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jellykyunnie · 8 months ago

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˗ˏˋ Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Soulmate! Au ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 043 ✦ ┆・

╰┈➤ ❝ [ I'm willing to bind myself to you] ¡! ❞

Jinwoo had always been curious about the little red string attached to his finger. He had this way before his regression. His mother always told him that he is lucky that he can see his red string, it meant that he would find his lover faster than anybody else would.

Does he, a man who really could care less about fantasy romance— Find this whole thing cheesy? Definitely.

While others would certainly start flipping rocks just to find their 'one true love'; Jinwoo did none of that.

He had priorities to deal with.

Such as suddenly becoming the patriarch of the family due to his father going missing, trying to provide care to his mother who has come down into a coma, and taking care of his dear baby sister on top of that.

Jinwoo probably got into debt in the process of trying to shoulder all the financial problems.

Would you really think he had some time for romantic relationships and much less go hunting for a needle in a haystack?

However... He did have some small chemistry with Hae-in, though, it felt more shallow than anything. After all, they only met a few times and decided to roll with it just because.

It felt... Empty so to speak.

They say that romance feels like a tidal wave, once it comes— It overwhelms you with such force you'd have nothing more choice than to kneel before it and surrender yourself to it's mercy.

But Jinwoo couldn't feel any of that with Hae-in.

Don't get him wrong, she is a wonderful person. Kind, pretty, all that and whatnot.

But what can he do if a heart does not want what it wants?

His red string wouldn't be reacting neither. Not a glow, not a tug, no nothing.

Jinwoo would eventually find himself just ignoring the little red string until the time he regresses.

Heck, he even forgot about it even if it's literally tied to his very own finger.

And as he traversed the long hallways of his school, hands shoved in his pockets while listening to his friends banter around him— He felt a soft tug on his finger.

"H-hey! Knock it off, I wanna pull for Aventurine myself!" A voice would erupt his bewilderment as a sharp tug at his finger pulls again. "Iseol!"

He looks back to see your figure running after your friend who had taken your phone.

"Huh..." Jinwoo hums, shaking his head and turning away.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jinwoo felt entirely restless after that little meeting. It's not like he caught a proper glimpse at you, your back was turned the entire time.

And yet he finds himself completely fidgety. His sister even rants that he had been pacing for hours if she wouldn't snap him out of his little trance.

Has he lost his mind over a girl he hasn't properly seen? Definitely.

Is it the effects of the red string? Not impossible.

"Goddamnit!" Jinwoo sighs, ruffling his head and flopping onto the bed.

"My liege..." Beru's small voice calls out. "My lord, you are... Anxious."

"Tell me about it" Jinwoo scoffs, groaning through his pillow.

"...My liege, I have her scent, do you wish to track he—"

"You do?!" Jinwoo perks up, staring intensely at his soldier before mentally slapping himself. "Ack... No, don't make me a creep"

He felt frustrated, why would he do that? Why should he? He might as well spend his time in jail for even trying to entertain the idea of stalking you.

Jinwoo's gaze would then absentmindedly drift towards the red string on his ring fingerz nothing how much vibrant it's color is now compared to before.

Was it your doing? Maybe.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

He told himself not to be a creep and yet found himself somewhat lingering around you. All the little things about you, he started taking note of.

From memorizing the frequent pastries you buy from the cafeteria, to the drinks you often buy from the vending machine, and even trying to overhear the games you play on your phone.

It was really just curiousity.

After all, he can't help but find it cute on the way your eyes would perk up as you ramble on to your friends about some lore or complaining about some game mechanics because of how hard it was.

Jinwoo was just about to leave you to your own devices until your voice ripped through the air—

"AVENTURINE!!!!" You cheer, standing up immediately and pacing back and forth. "HE'S HOME, AFTER SACRIFICING 30 DOLLARS FOR THIS DAMN BASTARD HE'S HOM—!!!!"

Your heart dropped immediately as your shoe got caught over on a crack— And for sure you were going to land but instead a hand would reach out to hold your shoulder and keep you steady.

"Easy there," Jinwoo says, helping you stand straight.

"!!!!" You panic, pulling away with your face entirely flushed. "I-I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean to!..."

"Wait, calm down—...." Jinwoo wasn't even given a second any longer to speak as you dashed away in a frenzy.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Your heart is beating out of your chest, your lungs are barely catching any breath as you coughed, the noises you made akin to whistles while trying to gasp out for air.

It's tight.

Painful.

Your hands are sweating, trembling as if it's suffering from frostbite.

Is it fear?

No.

It's just how you react after being way too dangerously close to the person you adored so much.

His eyes.

God those grey eyes.

Long lashes, a high nose bridge, thin peach lips, and that agonizingly relaxing scent on him— Gods.

Not to mention his height, he was like a tower. And those broad shoulders underneath his baggy clothing that hid the muscular form underneath—

Sung JInwoo will be the death of you.

You had been avoiding him ever since coming here.

How long has it been?... Ah... It's been 3 years since you arrived in this world.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

It was supposed to be your doctor's appointment. Since you have arrived an hour earlier from your check-up, you decided to stroll around the mall first.

Okay, you weren't really taking a stroll.

Your strides are purposeful and hurried, the goal is clear:

Get to the bookstore.

As you recalled, it should be at the other end of the mall.

It didn't matter how long you're going to walk, you needed to see if it's there. Nothing is more important than that.

Taking the elevator down and nearly having a heart attack from the sound of it creaking as it took you to the lower level; you stepped out and dashed immediately to the entrance.

Glancing around like a madman, you scoured the large and intimidating place before deciding to enter completely and attempt to look for the section you needed to be in.

Passing by interesting books wasn't the goal, and after almost 3 minutes of going in circles you finally saw the section you needed to be in.

As soon as your eyes landed on the cover of the book you have been searching for— You had to swallow your squeals.

Your hands however? They were shaking so bad.

You paced back and forth for a bit before finally deciding to reach out on the book and take it out of it's shelf cautiously.

Taking a deep breath, you gently pry open the thing and feel your heart flutter.

"Jinwoo-ah...." You mumble, giggling quietly as your eyes dilate into heart shapes at the sight of the precious man you cannot stop obsessing over.

Carding your digits carefully on the fine paper, your stroke Jinwoo's face on the page delicately like you were handling the most fragile little thing ever.

You can't help but admire him all the more as you silently freak out like a madman in the aisle.

He was so handsome.

And now that you can physically run your fingers across the pages while crushing on him felt a whole lot different.

You had about a decent amount of money on you, it should be fine. As you reach for your little bag, you hear some crackling above your head.

The next thing you knew? You were suddenly shrouded in darkness.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

You assume you must have died that day while shopping for your first ever solo leveling purchase. After all, you suddenly woke up in an unfamiliar apartment.

It tooka while to get used to it, but apparently you're in seoul living alone in a decent apartment with a black card containing a lot of money.

Complaints? Nowhere.

— Except that Solo Leveling doesn't exist in this world.

Did you have a literal mental breakdown over it? He yeah.

Big tears, pathetic sniffles and nasty snot. All that.

You cried like a toddler just because you cant do your monthly ritual of rereading solo leveling and admiration of Jinwoo anymore.

So with salty tears you grab a pencil and paper to start sketching him down. If you can't read, mind as well draw the image of him when it's still fresh.

It took 3 weeks to recover, and in youur room, your desk is full of Jinwoo's sketches. It isn't the same as the manhwa but it's the best you could do.

It took another 2 to finally come to terms with your new reality.

You're rich, mind as well live life, right?

You even enrolled to a highschool. After all, k-dramas are always centered around that part of life. Why not experience it yourself?

After successfully buying all of your school materials, you glance down at your ring finger and notice a delicately tied red string.

Huh...

That wasn't there yesterday.

Picking at it and attempting to take it off didn't work. So after an hour of struggling, you gave in and let it be.

Maybe the string was proof that you had died.

And maybe it was a sign that this is your purgatory. Or not, everything is way too normal except for no Jinwoo.

So heh....

But ah, it wasn't part of your plans to see a figure... Way too familiar.

Tall, dark, and handsome.

Three words and you associate it with only one person.

Amidst the crowd of students lined up on the grounds your eyes zeroed in instantly on a single boy who stood out amongst everyone.

No way... Right?

That piercing gaze, the fluffy hoodie, and a glove on his left hand.

That was Jinwoo's appearance when he regressed in time and went into highschool.

Shit.

Isn't your uniform similar to Jinah's?

You should've realized in the first place.

Wait no, you're not really mad it's just!... Jinwoo... Seeing him on the crowd, the probability of meeting him in the hallways isn't zero.

How are you going to survive? Is this why there isn't solo leveling in this world?

Because this world is where the protagonist lives?

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

And that is the story of how you arrived here in this world. During the 2 months of being in school, you occasionally passed by Jinwoo, and in each fleeting moment you had to hide in the washroom to try and calm yourself from your panic. Your heart would beat as if it's going to explode, your breathing would be erratic each time that you cant really take a breath.

You always knew that meeting him will quite take a toll on you because you loved him so much, but you didn't think it would be this bad that you look like you're having a panic attack.

Stay Calm.

You need to stay calm. If you pass out from fangirling over your precious idol it'll be embarassing as hell.

Calm down.

You need to calm down.

It's not like he actually saw you, it'll be fine.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

No, it wasn't fine.

Somehow, crossing paths with Jinwoo became more uncharacteristically frequent. It's to the point that you needed to actively avoid his usual walking routes.

Is it stupid to hide from someone who has the ability to locate anyone at any given moment? Yes.

Will you still keep doing it? Yes.

You don't hate Jinwoo, you just cant handle being around him knowing how much adoration you hold inside your heart and knowing that he will never be yours.

It should be around this season when Jinwoo asks Chae Hae-in out and kisses her under the falling snow.

It isn't december 24th yet but... Does it matter?

She's so lucky, having someone like him to admire her.

The only thing you have with you is a lonely life with money.

As well as this stupid red string wrapped around your finger.

What is it meant to represent anyway? A lover?

Surely not.

Who would love you?

The sad, pathetic, lonely, and broken you who doesn't belong in this world.

Just like your previous life and this one, you feel an awful sense of alienation that is unpleasant. The kind of loneliness that eats at your heart every single day.

"Ah, you're here?" A voice from behind you makes you jump and instantly whip your head around.

"A-ah..." You panic, recognizing the familiar grey eyes.

"Now, don't even run away." Jinwoo simply says, smiling.

It made you gulp honestly, something about that grin made you feel like he's willing to pull you into the land of eternal rest if you do.

"U-uhm..." You sputter, fidgeting.

"Not even wearing gloves in this weather?" He inquires, pulling the gloves off of his hands and gently taking yours.

"..."

The red string on your finger tingled, glowing softly as the broken ends binded itself to the strings on Jinwoo's finger.

"How cute" Jinwoo interrupts the silence. "Even if you run away now, these strings will keep us binded."

"W-wait!" You panic, utterly confused as you look up at him.

"I won't force myself on you," He says, his gaze moving from the strings to your eyes. "But I do want to court you properly,... If you'll let me."

"....."

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

"That's the story of how me and your daddy got together," You hum softly, caressing your fingers softly against your stomach that is now holding a four month old growing baby.

"What a cute bedtime story," Jinwoo chuckles, approaching from the door and pecking your forehead. "Now, shouldn't you be asleep, hm? My pretty wife needs a lot of rest since you're carrying our little ball of sunshine"

"I just couldn't help it..." You pout at him, and he only pinches your cheek before leaning down to kiss your stomach.

"Mhm, I can tell" He shakes his head while gently pulling the blanket over you. "Go to sleep, jagiya. I still need to shower after a long day at the office"

"Please hurry..." You ask softly, tugging at his sleeve.

"I will" Jinwoo promises, leaning in to kiss your forehead again. "So go to sleep."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: Sorry for the inactiveness ahhh... I'm quite burnt out as of late and I've been doing some commissions as well as running errands www. I'll postpone the cai requests for a bit longer ahhh... I have to make assassin au too ejshrgshs. Oh well, here's to praying I figure out wth I want to do with assassin au ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ — All stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

#sung jinwoo #solo leveling #sung jin woo #only i level up #solo leveling headcanons #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader fics #solo leveling fics #solo leveling x reader fics #ore dake level up na ken #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo headcanoncs #sung jinwoo fics #‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆— kyunnie's writings

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qierxing · 11 months ago

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Head empty just yandere Heartslabyul as your imperial harem members

yan!poly!Heartslabyul x Reader

tw/cw: dub//con, gender-neutral reader but referred with masculine terms, drugging, manipulation, implied somnophilia, political machinations

—

you were raised with the expectation that you would shoulder the crown and rule over your people, justly and fairly. because of that, by the time you were crowned, your mindset compared to others your age was mature beyond what was considered normal.

you would be lying if you weren't bitter. Although you've long accepted that no one else could be trusted to rule this land and its people, you often wondered what your life would be like if there were no etiquette lessons and sword practices consuming your childhood.

In the end, it's all foolish dreams. You sit on your glittering golden throne and watch apathetically as the imperial court cheers and raises a toast to the new royal blood.

You were prepared for the responsibilities of a monarch, but what you weren't prepared for was your vassals' obnoxious nagging.

Your kingdom's tradition and laws have long allowed for polygamy, and your previous ancestors were known for their large harems. That day, you finally learned why: to ensure that royal blood would still be carried on, no matter what.

it's distasteful to you. you try to ignore your vassals all talking your ears off about potential consorts and lovers. but it's only so long before you crack.

Riddle Rosehearts was the first one to be by your side.

Not by choice. Duchess Rosehearts was the one who brought up her darling son to your vassals first, who then presented him to you. You would've turned them away, if not for the boy's eyes. Something in those stormy gray eyes makes your heart ache. His mother clutches her son's shoulder in a vice like grip that goes far beyond parental worry. Perhaps he too knows what it feels like to have no control over his life.

And so reluctantly, you let him join you as a consort.

It's not bad. Rather, he's so intelligent and diligent that you often ask him for help and advice on the kingdom's affairs, knowing that his strictness with himself and others provides a valuable impartial view that you can hardly find anywhere else. Besides, even if he is too stiff and formal at times, you appreciate his aid in paperwork that threatens to drown you.

in fact, he's so dedicated to carrying out his duty, that you find him nearly unrobed on your bed. Seven above, that nearly gave you heart palpitations. As attractive as he is, you have no intention of forcing the boy to give up his virginity against his will, even if he is married to you.

you explain this to him as patiently as you can, even when his face scrunches up in hurt and confusion, asking if he wasn't enough–but you shut that down immediately. He is more than enough, and he isn't obligated to do anything he doesn't want to, even if his mother taught him otherwise. the revelation shakes his mind, causing his walls and views to crumble before him in the following days. you would like to think he became less stiff as he realized his true worth.

That is when an unexpected addition to your harem happened.

Actually, it was completely by accident. Your servants had often brought you various snacks and sweets during your work, as you were infamous for being extremely cranky without the motivation of good food. When Riddle, of all people, brings you a strawberry tart while you’re in the middle of some particularly grueling financial budget papers, it gives you pause.

It's not that you didn't trust him. It’s just…this is the boy who refused to eat more than the healthy amount of sugar. Even if you offered him various pastries and cookies, he always shunned them, saying it wouldn’t be right for him to consume them.

So you spear a fork into the tart and bring it up to your mouth. When the bite meets your tongue, you swear your soul ascends to heaven. The taste is absolutely indescribable: the crust was flaky and light and the filling was sweet and creamy. This has got to be the best dessert you’ve ever tasted in your short life.

When you inquire Riddle about where he had gotten his hands on the tart, he shyly looks away from you and mumbles something under his breath. Not wanting to pressure him, you decide to let it go with a request to send your highest compliments to the patisserie.

Since then, he is the one bringing you various treats, all unbelievably delicious tasting, each time you’re stuck among paperwork and meetings. You’re grateful, even if it does make you wonder who this mysterious patisserie is. You’re not particularly familiar with every kitchen staff member, but you would think that you would be aware of such talent residing in your walls.

The truth finally comes to light when Riddle bursts into your office one day, in tears and hyperventilating, as he collapses in your arms. Alarmed, you quickly try to make sense of his babbling words.

It turns out that the very patisserie wasn’t in your kitchens, as you thought. No, they were humble commoner folk who ran a modest bakery in the shopping district. Riddle had been secretly visiting the bakery whenever he had the time to buy their desserts and to visit his friend, the owner’s son. Problem is, his mother had found out and was furious that her son would debase himself and his reputation like that.

Trey Clover stands behind his parents with wide, frightened eyes as Duchess Rosehearts shrieks on about how she’ll shut down the establishment herself for daring to corrupt her son and so forth. It’s rather annoying that she would go this far in the name of parental love–thankfully she stops screaming once she catches sight of you.

For once, you’re thankful for the absolute authority of imperial power. Duchess Rosehearts begrudgingly draws back when you block her attempt to defame the bakery. With a disappointed glare searing over the rest of you, she storms out of the bakery, door slamming shut behind her with a deafening crack.

You watch with mild interest as Riddle rushes forward and envelopes Trey in a tight hug that nearly knocks the tall man over. Despite the fact that Trey should be the one more distraught, he comforts Riddle with an ease that is almost suspiciously, dare you say, reminiscent of fondness. You look away before your thoughts dwell on it for too long.

Of course, it’s not all over. Trey’s parents kowtow at your feet with desperate gratitude, even if you beg them to stand up and raise their heads. As you glance over at Riddle in Trey’s arms, thoughts begin to arrange themselves into a proposal.

You and Riddle both know that Duchess Rosehearts would not stop here. Your presence was only a mere temporary hurdle in her plans to bring down Clover Patisserie, and there was no telling what she would do next. So, you propose something nearly unheard of to them.

Your vassals will throw an absolute fit if you openly sponsor their bakery and provide protection without something in exchange. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but this is the only way that Trey and his family would be safe.

Surprisingly, he accepts the proposal with grace, becoming the second consort of your harem that very day.

He inquires if there’s anything he should be aware of for his duties, making you laugh raucously and Riddle blush to the roots of his strawberry hair. You wave him off, telling him he only needs to do the things he loves and to bring you more of those tarts that cured your stress during your work times. The smile he gives is radiant and you wonder how it is that Riddle managed to find someone who makes the sun pale in comparison.

The next day, Riddle tells you between paperwork that he gifted Trey his own kitchen to bake and cook, and you nod in approval. It’s too easy to tease him over his obvious favoritism toward the baker, and it only makes you want to bully him more when his face becomes tomato red.

The annual royal banquet comes up and it dawns on both you and Riddle that Trey will have to present himself to the feral noble masses who are itching to know who this new addition is. The three of you are thrown into a hurricane of preparations, not just for the banquet, but to prepare poor Trey, who has never attended such an elite event, for the troubles ahead.

It’s certainly not for naught, you think, as you rake your eyes over your consorts. Their beauty outshines everything, in your personal opinion. When you make the introductory speech, you’re well aware that the audience in front of you is not just dazzled by you, but rather the two handsome men dutifully hovering behind you.

You hope that Riddle is enough of a buffer when the nobles inevitably swarm them with excited and curious eyes. As much as you would like to help, you were stuck with your own battles of greeting various guests and entertaining those who were trying to butter you up.

The Diamond family catches your eye first.

It wasn't something positive, per say. But it is quite hilarious as the Marquis introduces you to his family: his wife, his two elder daughters and his only heir and son–only to find the aforementioned son missing. He’s left stuttering in shame even if you don’t particularly mind. It would’ve just been another boring greeting, but at that moment, his eyes dilates in fear, and when you follow his gaze, you see why.

Cater Diamond is currently flirting with Trey. And very openly, at that.

The sight should make you furious, and yet you nearly burst out laughing. How could there be anyone this daring? Surely the young man would know better than to try hitting on an imperial escort–if he was aware that is, of the man being one.

You decide to be the merciful mediator, because Riddle is nearly about to blow a gasket by Trey’s side and Trey looks like he’s too flustered to appropriately reject the advances of the eldest Diamond son.

“Lord Diamond, I do believe your father is looking for you.” His face is full of surprise at the image of you grinning at him in amusement when you gently break the awkward atmosphere.

After he leaves in a hurry, your two consorts apologize profusely for letting the flirtations happen. You reassure them that it was fine, that whatever they liked to do was not meant to be dictated under your actions. However, their faces still remain guilty and dismayed, as though you had reprimanded them instead.

The encounter remains in your mind as an entertaining memory. So much so, that when your vassals pester you again on adding another member to your harem, your mind immediately goes to sparkling jade green eyes and vivid orange hair.

If anything it was on a whim. Of course, you consulted both Trey and Riddle before sending the invitation, and they both agreed, even if Riddle looked much grumpier than usual. You hardly believed that the proposal would be answered favorably; after all, you’ve learned from recent gossip that Cater Diamond was a rather well known playboy. You doubt that kind of man would enjoy being tied to an imperial harem, even if it was under your lax control.

Perhaps that is why it’s so surprising that when he finally is in front of you, he acquiesces to your proposal with no hesitation at all. You ask in disbelief if he was sure of his decision, and he affirms it with no distaste in his voice. He notes your incredulous face, giving a cheeky grin in response.

Apparently he's been wanting to separate himself from his family for a while. The reason for his scandalous affairs were only attempts at getting his family to send him away, but he never succeeded. He says that your proposition finally gave him the freedom to be away from his family. While you don't want to pry further, it confuses you on how the Diamond family managed to raise such an eccentric young man.

Regardless, he becomes the third member of your harem. There were some small tensions between him and Riddle, but thankfully they resolved rather quicker than you expected–it seems that although Cater acted rather laid back, he has skills in organization and networking that even Riddle had to begrudgingly acknowledge. Ask him on the most recent gossip on the nobles and he's sure to provide you a list alphabetized on the latest trends around the capitol. Besides, it seems him and Trey get along quite well—too well, in a way. You don’t think you’ve seen a pair more prone to exchanging sensual, fleeting touches. Well, that’s not your problem.

You pray that nothing more eventful comes up in the meantime. Trey could only supply you with so much cake and cookies before you simply keeled over from sugar intake.

It seems the Seven were not on your side.

The Knights' jousting tournament was something that slipped your mind. When it gets brought up on the agenda in a meeting you silently curse. In the racket of you ascending to the throne and tending to your harem, you had neglected a big aspect to your royal life.

Personal guards. Normally, you should've had personally assigned soldiers that would accompany you for protection, but you've kept putting it off since you were able to protect yourself just fine with your abilities. And hiring new people, for any reason, was always going to be a long chore of vetting, paperwork, and tests.

The worst part is that Riddle and Trey joined in on the nagging. Going on about how they worried for your safety as if you weren't already trained in self defense and swordplay since your childhood days. Cater just shrugs when you look at him desperately for help and winks while running off to who knows where. Traitor.

Whatever. The sooner you pick, the sooner they'll get off your back.

Somehow this year's tournament is rather disappointing. Your three consorts give commentary throughout the matches, but it cannot stop the boredom starting to overtake you. Trey discreetly offers you a cup of wine and you take it gratefully.

The announcer signals the start of a match, with Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade taking a stand against each other. You hear Riddle faintly murmuring to your side about how they look rather young to be in a tournament like this. But you're rather absorbed in their intense fight, to the point where Cater teases you, asking if your taste included younger men. you roll your eyes and tell him to be quiet.

The fight ends in a spine tingling draw. Both men have their swords knocked out of their hands, but they’re still glaring at each other with such raw passion, that it’s fascinating. You know you will hardly meet any others that could catch your attention.

The end of the tournament ends with the roar of the crowd shaking the colosseum and the boisterous victory announcement. The two of them weren’t finalists, but that matters little to you. The victor was impressive. But they weren’t what you wanted.

“Ace Trappola, at your service, your majesty.”

“Deuce Spade, at your command, your majesty!”

The two greet you with enthusiastic fervor that has you chuckling in amusement. They are just the breath of fresh air you need.

“Starting from today, you two will be my personal guards.”

They’re left with gaping mouths at your bold statement. Your consorts, too, are sputtering at your side. Riddle is already trying to convince you to reconsider. Trey is gently trying to ask if you’re really sure about this. Even Cater, for all his light-hearted banter, chokes an incredulous scoff, covering his mouth with a fist.

Yes, there’s always the threat of treason, and they might be slackers, but if you were going to have to employ someone, you’d rather it be someone entertaining.

Regardless, the two are knighted and become your guards in record time.

For several days, a persistent headache haunts you with how much Ace loved riling up Riddle for no reason, or Deuce somehow managing to blunder his way into destroying several pieces of priceless antique furniture. It takes only two days for Riddle to kneel at your side, begging you to please just switch guards, these two were ridiculously incompetent and not worthy to serve under you, but you only pat his head and send him off back to his chambers to rest.

Trey and Cater were arguably more agreeable, but you don’t miss their tired looks whenever they had to clean up after Ace pissing off a passing noble or Deuce somehow causing a fire when tripping over an iron poker. It makes you feel guilty, of course, but you still cling on. Call it stubbornness but you didn’t want to let go of the two. It was selfish, you know, and monarchs could never afford to be selfish, but was it so wrong for you to indulge in the only pair who seemed to disregard your status?

The answer came one hot summer evening, when you’re on your balcony trying to unwind. Tonight was the usual designated night to share a bed with your consorts, but you deigned to postpone it since you weren’t in the mood nor did you want to force the other three to deal with your sour attitude. It’s halfway through your third glass of wine that you were a rustle, then after starting your fourth, you hear footsteps, to which you turn and just narrowly miss a dagger aiming for your heart. The blade instead rips a gash through your left shoulder, causing you to grunt in pain, alcohol thankfully dulling most of the throbbing sensations. Unfortunately, your mind is hardly clear enough to have a steady stance to fight back properly, let alone see the assassin’s face.

You can’t believe you were going to die pathetically like this. If this was going to happen anyway, you should’ve at least finished your glass of wine—

Shouts, then sounds of clanging steel, and a blur rushed into your sight, tackling the hooded assassin and knocking him down. Deuce’s familiar blue hair registers in your blurry vision, holding down the assassin, while Ace’s flaming hair and eyes come closer in view, shouting something that keeps fizzling out to nothing. Your world tilts to its side suddenly, a loud buzzing in your ears, and everything goes black.

When you come to, you find Riddle with swollen, tear-crusted eyes hugging your bedsheets, while Trey exhaustedly sits behind him next to a wash basin and several empty vials. Cater was out cold on the chaise beside him, several papers littering his body. It seems that the assassin was quite thorough, as they made sure that if their sharp blade didn’t manage to end your life, then the quick acting poison laced upon the steel would. Ironically, according to the herbalist and doctor, because you drank a whole wine bottle, the alcohol managed to slow it down somehow just long enough for you to get treatment. A miracle, indeed.

For once, the room is no longer filled with tension with all five of the men together, but a genuine sense of relief. You give the two of your knights soft smiles and a sincere thank you which makes their faces flush like a ripe strawberry. Your escorts don’t protest, mirroring the same gratefulness in their faces.

Something changes after that night.

Of course, you’re extremely glad that Riddle is no longer blowing his top off after Ace goads him about being a stick in the mud, but since when did Ace get into pet names with Riddle? Rosebud? The nickname makes you gag internally at how corny it is. Not to mention that Riddle…doesn’t mind being called that?! You watch in disbelief as he preens at the compliment from your knight, trying not to give away your incredulousness.

Okay…whatever, at least they’re getting along?

Deuce shows up with your slice of cake with a beaming glow that has you taken aback as you accept the offering. Ace mutters about how Trey must’ve spoiled him again behind you and it takes everything inside you to not spit out your cake mid-bite. Again? Trey was kind, you’ll give him that, and he did tend to baby Riddle and you but—

On second thought, perhaps this wasn’t out of left field.

Cater titters knowingly when you slump in bonelessly into the lounge next to him trying on new earrings and bangles.

“And what ails my dearly beloved king?” You choke on your spit before glaring at him. He giggles, dangly silver drops chiming in tune with the laughter.

“Not you too…” It felt like the whole day you felt like you were background to some of the most insufferable flirting, and with your escorts and knights, no less. You raise an eyebrow at the shiny, glittering jewelry scattered on the vanity in front of the man. All imperial escorts did have an allowance, but you don’t remember Cater buying anything like this nor gifting him such things. When you inquire about it, Cater gives you a smirk and a wink.

”Rido and the younger ones have been quite sweet lately.” The sentence makes you nearly fall off the lounge. He chortles and blows you a mock kiss with no shame as you sear him with another heated glare.

The way they started interacting starts making you feel self-conscious and…embarrassingly enough, left out. Which is such a foolish thought. Of course, who would in their right mind love the person who tied their lives to them, romantically and sexually? And even though they were in such a situation, the fact they all loved each other was a blessing, wasn’t it? How many history lessons did you have where the monarch’s harem wasn’t full of in-fighting? That meant more prosperity and stability political wise, and there wouldn’t be any trouble between you…

Yet, your heart clenches at the thought of Trey’s smile directed at Cater, of Riddle gently caressing Deuce’s head, and Ace slinging an arm around Deuce…none of that affection could ever be for you.

And it’s best that way. Your father’s voice echoes distantly in your mind. You watched him solemnly on his deathbed as he implored you to not make the same mistakes he did, before his breathing stilled, and his hand lay limp in yours.

Yes, perhaps it was better this way.

Still, your thoughts are still wandering that you barely jolt back to present to a cabinet meeting looking expectantly at you.

“Pardon, could you repeat that?”

Riddle watches in worry as a dark shadow crosses your face as the demand for your harem to grow is conveyed. He coughs, causing the members to turn to him instead.

”If that’s the case,” he states with no hesitation, “then I might have some candidates in mind.”

You turn to him with the same expression as the other cabinet members. It drops to shock at Riddle’s suggestion.

As much as you wanted to oppose it, there wasn’t really a good reason to. You sat with your arms crossed as Riddle explained the proposal to your very two personal knights. Ace and Deuce exchange looks, and something between them is communicated before they turn to you and accept, despite your hope they wouldn’t.

And so, your harem became five.

You put your foot down after that. It was already enough to have your heart cracked into pieces with the knowledge you could never have their love. You don’t think it could handle another.

So you tuck your heart away as you smile with them over dinner, bantering over whether flamingos can play croquet or dancing with them at various balls, heart racing as the chandelier lit their face with a warmth you’ve never seen before. If it means you won’t get hurt or distracted, then that’s all you could ask for.

One fateful day, a letter out of numerous piles is hand delivered by Cater and changes your entire world.

It’s sealed with the crest of the fairest queen in the seven realms, meaning only one person could have sent this—Vil Schoenheit. Inside the elegant letter details a marriage proposal that listed all the benefits of taking him as a spouse. With all the pros listed out so cleanly, it was clear that the queen already knew that you couldn’t reject it so quickly.

But you must dissolve your harem. I do not take kindly to those who are not loyal to me and me only.

Something in your heart cracks at reading the condition. You should feel elated, somewhat, that you no longer had to drag around escorts for formality. And for the others, it meant being freed from a duty they were all forced into. But tears threaten to bubble over your eyelashes, and when Riddle asks you if you’re alright, one manages to overflow and trail down your cheek like a traitorous banner.

You don’t want to let them go.

Trey asks for the nth time if you’re sure you don’t want him to be with you or if you want some tea before you shoo him away. Ace and Deuce were meant to guard your chambers, but you wave them off too, saying you’ll find stand-ins for their places. Riddle and Cater were harder to shake off, but even they, too, were finally shut out when you closed your bedroom doors in their worried faces.

In the end, like a coward, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell them what that letter was, despite them asking nonstop about it. You’re not sure what to tell them either—that they were being discarded of their positions, no longer needed, but it wasn’t out of maliciousness—oh, who would even believe you?

When Vil graces your halls, the looks your escorts give you is enough to fill you with burning hot shame.

Cater doesn’t have his usual mischievous smile when he greets the queen, his emerald eyes sharpening to pin pricks whenever Vil speaks. You should’ve scolded him, reigned him back, but the guilt eating away at you made you hesitate. It didn’t help that Riddle, for all his perfect etiquette, suddenly seemed to forget what formalities and niceties were around the queen. The regal queen gives you a strange look as Trey sets down a plate of pastries a little too hard in front of him. Your gaze darts away as you sip the tea in front of you nervously, flanked by Ace and Deuce, their scowling faces too apparent.

They’re not dumb. Royals don’t visit other realms willy-nilly often. And it’s clear what Vil is here for.

The next day leaves you lethargic and sluggish, but you try to pull through, if only for appearances. While you stroll through the gardens with Vil, you try to avoid the burning stares of your guards behind you, no doubt dissecting each and every bit of your conversation with the queen. They pull you away as soon as the clock hits the afternoon hour, stating you had duties to attend to and so on and so forth. You excuse yourself and hope you don’t look like a mess to Vil, whose appearance is still immaculate despite the heavy winds and hot sun.

You try to focus on the stack of papers in front of you, despite the edges of your vision blurring and your head spinning. Taking the last sip of what remained of your tea, you squint uselessly at the words as Riddle murmurs something to your right about dinner and farewell banquets. The last thing you remember is the smell of chamomile and poppy flowers and the last document regarding international treaties.

By the time you wake up from your ill-timed nap, it was midnight and it had been decided that you were too unwell to properly receive the fairest queen, and thus Vil would be sent back, to come back another time. Cater explains with a tight smile while Riddle nods along. Behind them, Trey pours another cup of warm milk and offers it to you with a sympathetic smile. You take it, despite the guilt threatening to swallow you alive.

The days following are a haze of routines that you thought you once knew but couldn’t process. Nothing had changed, right? It seemed like you couldn’t recall what Trey made for you for yesterday’s tea, nor whenever Cater asked you for an opinion on his outfit. Before, you remembered the guards’ shifts to the letter, and yet, you completely forgot when Ace took over to guard you. Riddle smiles at you like usual, helping you with paperwork as usual, and yet…why couldn’t you remember what you had signed yourself?

Some nights you wake up to Trey or Cater, running their hands over you, despite the fact that they weren’t there before when you went to bed. Sometimes, it would be Ace and Deuce, bickering in hushed whispers before they shut up seeing you awake. And every time morning came and soreness set in your body, Riddle would greet your groggy face warmly, wiping away sweat and a strange stickiness that clung to your skin.

The thought of marriage is erased from your mind, and slowly, but surely, you can’t remember why you thought of breaking apart the men who treated you so fondly.

Perhaps you should have heeded the tales of those who ended up being puppet kings.

#yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere heartslabyul #yandere reader insert #a wip i had in storage forever and didn't think i would ever get to finishing but here we are babeyyyyy #i am projecting har dbu talso mmmmmmmmmmmmheartslabyul rights

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sunshineangel0 · 1 month ago

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chapter one

pairing- Bang Chan x OC (Chi Nakamura) summary- Chi Nakamura, the owner of a cozy Seoul bakery, has a seemingly ordinary early morning encounter with a mysterious customer—one that lingers in her mind long after he’s gone. Little does she know, her small act of kindness has left an impression on none other than Bang Chan, leader of stray kids. genre- Slow burn, fluff, slice of life, a hint of romance (?) word count- 1.1.k warning- pure fluff, caffeine addiction (lol) a/n- This was just supposed to be a simple small idea with an oc I created in my head, but now I’m obsessed with their dynamic. Chi’s bright energy vs. Chan’s quiet exhaustion? Yes, please. Let me know what you think! 💕

The warm glow of early morning seeped through the tall windows of Mochi and Bean, casting golden streaks across the polished wooden floors. The air inside the small bakery was rich with the scent of vanilla, espresso, and fresh-baked pastries—a comforting aroma that wrapped around Chi Nakamura like a familiar embrace. She hummed softly along to the music playing through the speakers, a gentle K-R&B track that blended seamlessly with the quiet hum of dawn in downtown Seoul.

It was just past 5:15 AM. The streets outside were still sleepy, wrapped in the lingering hush of the night, where only the occasional early commuter or delivery truck broke the stillness. This was Chi’s favorite part of the day. The world felt softer, slower, like a deep breath before the city exhaled into the chaos of morning traffic. In these early hours, it was just her, her oven, and the quiet anticipation of a new beginning.

Behind the counter, she moved with precise, practiced ease, organizing the latest batch of butter croissants and matcha financiers onto their trays, each pastry arranged with delicate care. The polished glass display case gleamed under the soft café lighting, the golden layers of the croissants catching the light just so.

The bell above the door chimed, the sound crisp in the tranquil stillness. Chi glanced up, expecting to see one of her usual early birds—perhaps an office worker needing a caffeine fix or a delivery driver grabbing breakfast before the rush.

Instead, she was met with someone new.

A man stepped in, his presence quiet but deliberate. He wore a black hoodie pulled low over his forehead, gray sweatpants, and a mask covering the lower half of his face. He moved with the kind of energy that suggested he was used to going unnoticed—each step purposeful yet unassuming, blending into the background without effort.

Chi, ever the bright presence, propped her elbows onto the counter, resting her chin on her hands as she offered a natural, easy smile. She didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t matter.

"Good morning!" Her voice was warm, gently breaking the silence between them. "What can I get for you?"

The man hesitated for a second, as if her friendly greeting had caught him off guard. Slowly, he reached up, pulling his mask down just enough to reveal a glimpse of his lips and sharp jawline before tucking it under his chin. When he met her gaze, his deep brown eyes—slightly hooded with exhaustion—held an unreadable expression.

"Uh… just an Americano, please," he said, his voice a quiet rasp, the kind that came from too many late nights and not enough sleep.

Chi tilted her head slightly, observing him with a light curiosity. There was something about him that felt oddly familiar, but she didn’t press on it. Instead, she nodded, pushing off the counter with an easy grace.

"Coming right up! You want anything to eat? I just pulled out some fresh croissants—like, literally five minutes ago. Still warm," she offered, gesturing toward the display case where the golden, flaky pastries sat invitingly.

The man hesitated again, like he was about to refuse out of habit. But something in the way she looked at him—expectant but not pushy—made him pause.

"Yeah… sure. One croissant," he relented, voice softer this time.

Chi grinned, already turning toward the espresso machine, her movements fluid and practiced. "Great choice," she said as she punched in the order. The familiar hum of the machine filled the space, rich coffee dripping steadily into the cup. Meanwhile, she grabbed a pair of tongs, carefully placing a perfectly golden croissant into a small paper bag.

As she worked, she glanced over her shoulder, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "So," she started casually, "you’re out pretty early. Work?"

The man let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he tucked his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "Something like that."

Chi didn’t push for more. Instead, she simply nodded, setting the finished Americano on the counter alongside the bagged croissant. "Well, hope the coffee helps. It’s on the house since it’s your first time here."

The man raised a brow, clearly surprised. "You don’t have to do that."

"I know," she said with a small, knowing smile, "but I want to. I just opened like a week ago. I thought it would be nice offering a few things at first"

He exhaled through his nose—a quiet laugh, amused by her kindness. As he reached for the cup, his fingers brushed against hers—just for a fraction of a second, barely there.

Something flickered in his expression, like he was about to say something else, but instead, he just gave her a small nod.

"Thanks… Chi," he murmured, glancing at the name tag pinned to her apron before turning toward the door.

Chi blinked, slightly surprised that he’d noticed her name.

"See you around, uh…" she trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

He hesitated for a second before answering simply, "Chris."

And then, he was gone, slipping out into the early morning, leaving behind only the lingering warmth of his presence and the quiet weight of an interaction that felt like the start of something.

Chi exhaled, watching as the door swung shut behind him. Something about that guy was… interesting.

She just didn’t realize yet that Chris was Bang Chan—the leader of Stray Kids. And that was only the first of many mornings to come.

As the café settled back into its usual rhythm, Chi pulled out her phone, unlocking it with a quick tap. She hesitated for a moment before opening her messages and typing.

Chi: you ever just serve coffee to someone and feel like... that was kinda important???

A few seconds later, her best friend, Mina, responded.

Mina: girl it’s 5:30 in the morning what are you even talking about

Chi rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips. Before she could type back, Mina sent another text.

Mina: wait. was he hot.

Chi snorted, shaking her head.

Chi: idk??? maybe??? also kinda familiar but idk from where. anyway. just felt… different.

Mina sent back a string of eye emojis before typing.

Mina: oh you’re DEFINITELY seeing him again.

Meanwhile, across town, Bang Chan stepped into the JYP Entertainment building, the weight of exhaustion still lingering but… lighter, somehow.

Han looked up from where he was sprawled on the studio couch. "You look… unusually chipper for this time of day."

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, setting his coffee cup down beside the mixing console. "Do I?"

Han squinted. "Yeah. You actually look like you slept more than three hours."

Chan just smiled to himself, the faintest trace of warmth still lingering from the morning’s encounter.

"Maybe it’s just good coffee," he mused before slipping on his headphones, the soft hum of the bakery and Chi’s bright voice still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi ��

skz general tags: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789

(if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment under the post.)

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queensharotto · 10 months ago

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Brittle Doughie’s Cookie Run x Reader Masterlist (Part 7: Spring 2024)

A masterlist of @brittle-doughie’s Cookie Run stories organized by month.

Genre Emojis

😞 is for angst, 🎃 is for Halloween, 🎄 is for Christmas, 🍪 is for Cannibalism, 💗 is for Yandere, 💝 is for Valentine’s, 👻 is for Horror, 🎂 is for Birthday, 💚 is for Yandere!White Lily Cookie

The Indents are related to the featured cookies. If there are numerous cookies (Over 10 Cookies Featured), I’ll make a note on that as well. Additionally, I’ll categorize various cookies if they’re associated with a specific hobby, location, food etc.

Also, the ⭐️ will indicate a story featuring one of Brittle’s OCs while ✨ will indicate someone’s interpretation of Y/N Cookie.

Additionally, many people proved art to showcase to Brittle, which will be indicated by this: 🖌️. I will also mention who provided the art.

April 2024 ☔️

• “Meeting White Lily Cookie” 💚

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

• “The Sound of a Divorce” ⭐️

Featuring: Crowned Cupcake Cookie

• “Angry or Grateful”

Featuring: The Five Beasts

• “The Perfect Vessel Doesn’t Exi-”

Featuring: The Five Beasts

• “Harbinger’s Bride” ⭐️

Featuring: Crowned Cupcake Cookie

• “Intolerance for Malevolence”

Featuring: The Cookies of Darkness

• “A Brave Advice”

Featuring: Gingerbrave and Friends, Pure Vanilla Cookie and White Lily Cookie

• “Legendary Group Chat”

Featuring: Legendary Cookies

• “Flirtatious Margarine”

Featuring: Royal Margarine Cookie

• “Frosty Affection”

Featuring: Frost Queen Cookie

• “Dessert Report” 🍪

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies

• “New Lock”

Featuring: The Time Balance Department

• “Hail Deity”

Featuring: The Weather Deities

• “Who Touched Y/N?!”

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies

• “I Know You”

Featuring: Stormbringer Cookie, Wildberry Cookie, Black Raisin Cookie, Crunchy Chip Cookie and Dark Cacao Cookie

• “Goddess of Apathy”

Featuring: Mystic Flour Cookie

May 2024 💐

• “Remember Who?”

Featuring: Starch Noodle Cookie and Pitaya Dragon Cookie

• “A Date?”

Featuring: Crunchy Chip Cookie and Wildberry Cookie

• “Letters from the Three Houses”

Featuring: The Triple Cone Trio

• “Deliciously Evil Banquet”

Featuring: Gingerbrave and Friends, The Cookies of Darkness and Pure Vanilla Cookie

• “Under the Castle” ⭐️

Featuring: Dumpling Cookie, Blueberry Pie Cookie, Financier Cookie, White Lily Cookie, Moonlight Cookie and Pure Vanilla Cookie

• “How NOT to charge your phone”

Featuring: Stormbringer Cookie

• “Gotta Go” 💗

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies, Black Raisin Cookie and Princess Cookie

• “The Wishful or the Regal”

Featuring: Lotus Dragon Cookie and Longan Dragon Cookie

• “Important Talks”

Featuring: Dark Fondue Cookie

• “Destined to be with You”

Featuring: Mystic Flour Cookie

• “Cocooned”

Featuring: Mystic Flour Cookie

• “Don’t Leave Me”

Featuring: Caramel Arrow Cookie and Dark Cacao Cookie

• “Late Arrival”

Featuring: The Cookies of the Dark Cacao Kingdom

• “Browned Butter Cookie”

Featuring: Financier Cookie

• “Such Drama”

Featuring: Romance Cookie and the TBD

• “Return to Flour”

Featuring: Dark Cacao Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie

• “I thought we were friends”

Featuring: Shadow Milk Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie

• “Longing Tide”

Featuring: Sea Fairy Cookie

• “No Escape” 💗

Featuring: Mystic Flour Cookie

• “Disintegrate” 🖌️

Featuring: Dark Cacao Cookie

Art by sei-cookie

• “Plans of the Harbinger”

Featuring: Dark Enchantress Cookie

• “Uh Oh” 💗

Featuring: Longan Dragon Cookie, Pitaya Dragon and Starch Noodle Cookie

• “Bitter Enemies”

Featuring: Chocolate Frosting Cookie and Street Urchin Cookie

• “The Lone Giant”

Featuring: St. Pastry Order

• “Broken” 😞

Featuring: White Lily Cookie and Silent Salt Cookie

• “Living Legend”

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies

• “Picked Up”

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

• “Sacrifice”

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

Divider Source l Next Masterlist l Previous Masterlist

#brittle doughie masterlists #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ovenbreak #cookie run #yandere cookie run kingdom #yandere cookie run #Yandere cookie run ovenbreak #yandere cookie run kingdom x reader #crk #crob #cr kingdom #cookie run angst #cookie run x reader

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cool-fancier · 4 months ago

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Bound by Arrangement

Kim Jisoo x Fem Reader

Synopsis: A marriage of convenience binds a cold CEO to a resilient baker. Amid tension, longing, and unspoken desires, they discover passion neither ever expected.

Word count:4.3K

The bakery was more than a business to you—it was home. Nestled in a cozy, sunlit street in Seoul, its warm ambiance was a reflection of your life. You’d opened it with Rosé and Lisa, your two best friends since university. The three of you were inseparable, and every morning started the same: you’d unlock the doors, Rosé would roll out the fresh dough with her usual pep, and Lisa would craft intricate decorations for the day’s selection of pastries. Together, you had created a place that people loved, a neighborhood gem, where regulars knew you by name and new customers always left with a smile.

And in this little corner of the world, you were content. Life had a gentle rhythm—flour-dusted mornings, bustling afternoons, and quiet evenings spent laughing with Rosé and Lisa as you closed shop. Your mother worked at Kim Corporation, a powerful conglomerate in Korea, and she always joked that your bakery was her favorite place to relax after a long day of corporate stress. She admired your independence, and you liked to think that maybe, in a small way, you were rebelling against the grand life she’d always imagined for you. You didn’t need the grandeur or complexity of her world; you had everything you wanted right here.

But every so often, in the quiet moments of dusk, your thoughts would drift to what your friends talked about during breaks—rumors of Kim Jisoo, the infamous CEO of Kim Corporation and your mom’s boss’s daughter. They would share the latest gossip about her escapades, whispering about her latest conquests or who she was seen with at the newest exclusive club. Jisoo was like a character out of a novel to you, this enigmatic figure who lived in a world you’d never be a part of. Lisa’s eyes would light up with scandalous stories, and Rosé would give a dramatic sigh, calling Jisoo the “heartbreaker CEO,” and laugh at how Jisoo always seemed to have a new name in her dating roster. But to you, Jisoo was just a name, an echo of a world far removed from your own.

— — — — —

The bell above the bakery door chimed one evening as you were wiping down the counter, and you looked up, surprised to see your mother standing there. Her expression was serious, her hands clasped tightly together, as if she were bracing herself for something difficult.

You set your rag down, walking over to her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Mom? Is everything okay?"

She hesitated, glancing around at the familiar surroundings of the bakery before she met your gaze. "We need to talk," she said quietly. "It’s… about the Kim family."

Your stomach dropped. The way she said it, the tension in her face—this wasn’t a casual conversation.

Taking her arm, you led her to a table, and she sat down with a deep sigh, her eyes heavy with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

“Is something wrong at work?” you asked carefully.

“No, not exactly,” she replied, though the words felt like a half-truth. She took a breath, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “The Kim family… they’re under a lot of pressure right now, politically and financially. They’re concerned about stability, and they think a marriage… might help.”

A chill went down your spine. “A marriage? Mom, what does that have to do with me?”

She winced, as though the words hurt to say. “They want you to marry Jisoo.”

The words hung heavy in the air, surreal and impossible, and yet, in that moment, you could see in her eyes that this was real. You were being asked to marry Kim Jisoo, a stranger whose life barely intersected with yours beyond your mother’s job, a woman you only knew through whispers and tabloid stories.

“No, Mom, this isn’t right,” you said, shaking your head. “We don’t live in that world. I don’t know her, and she certainly doesn’t know me.”

“I know,” she whispered, reaching across the table to take your hand. “But… sometimes, in our world, things are more complicated. You know how much I’ve sacrificed to give you the life you have, and I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it weren’t important.”

You felt a rush of conflicting emotions—anger, disbelief, betrayal. “Mom, I’m not some pawn. I’ve built my life here. I have friends, a business. I don’t want to just be… some accessory in someone else’s life.”

She nodded, her gaze dropping. “I know. But I also know that this is a rare chance, an opportunity to protect our family. To help them secure their future, and ours. It’s not fair to ask this of you, but…”

She left the words unspoken, and the weight of her request lingered between you, pressing down like a heavy stone.

— — — — —

The days leading up to the wedding felt like a blur, filled with quiet arguments, moments of doubt, and the comforting voices of Rosé and Lisa, who were both baffled and furious at the situation. Rosé had tried to find a silver lining, reminding you that you were resilient, that you could handle this. But even she had her limits, and Lisa’s anger was tangible, simmering just beneath the surface.

“It’s ridiculous,” Lisa had said one night, slamming her fist on the counter. “You don’t even know her, and from what we do know, she’s not… she’s not someone you deserve to be pushed into a marriage with. She’s out there at clubs, living her life like she doesn’t have a care in the world. You deserve better.”

You could only nod, a lump in your throat as you tried to push away the fear and uncertainty that had become a constant presence in your mind.

When the wedding day arrived, it felt almost like a transaction. The venue was grand, filled with people you didn’t know, and Jisoo herself barely looked at you, her face an unreadable mask as you exchanged vows. She was beautiful, undeniably, but there was a coldness to her that made the whole experience feel distant, unreal. You repeated the words, feeling like a stranger in your own life, and before you knew it, you were married to a woman who seemed as indifferent to you as she was to everything else.

—————

The days after the wedding were quiet, almost painfully so. You moved into the penthouse Jisoo had prepared, a place so immaculate and perfectly curated that it felt more like a magazine spread than a home. She was rarely there, and when she was, she was polite but distant, slipping in and out of the penthouse like a ghost.

You tried to keep yourself busy, spending most of your time at the bakery, throwing yourself into work to avoid the loneliness that had started to creep in. Rosé and Lisa were your anchors, their presence a reminder of the life you still had, the life you wanted to hold onto. But no matter how hard you tried, the reality of your situation lingered in the background, a constant, inescapable reminder.

Every so often, you would see the tabloids, the pictures of Jisoo out at clubs, her arm around someone new, her face as calm and controlled as ever. She was still the woman you’d heard about, the heartbreaker CEO, and you were just the person she was married to, an afterthought in the grand scheme of her life.

One night, you found yourself alone in the penthouse, the silence pressing in from every side. You tried to distract yourself, but the loneliness gnawed at you, sharper and deeper than you’d expected. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard, this painful. You were supposed to be strong, to brush this off as a business arrangement, a necessary step for your family.

Unable to bear it any longer, you picked up your phone and called Rosé, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a murmur. “I thought I could keep my distance, that I wouldn’t care. But every night, she’s out there with someone else, and I’m… I’m alone here, wondering if this is all I am now.”

On the other end of the line, Rosé’s voice was gentle, soothing. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there with you.”

You let out a shaky breath, the vulnerability catching you off guard. “I don’t even know her, Rosé. I feel like a ghost in my own life. And the worst part is… I think I’m starting to care, even though I don’t want to.”

You didn’t notice the sound of the door until it was too late. You froze, turning slowly to see Jisoo standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable as she took in your words, your pain laid bare in the quiet of the penthouse. You quickly hung up, the silence stretching between you and Jisoo, heavy and charged.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, finally, Jisoo stepped forward, her face softening just slightly, an almost hesitant look in her eyes. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, a hint of regret flickering across her features.

“I didn’t know…” she began, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

You looked away, trying to regain your composure. “What does it matter? This is just… business, isn’t it? That’s what this marriage is supposed to be, after all.”

Her expression shifted, something almost vulnerable beneath the carefully maintained facade. She looked down, as if searching for words. “I never thought about it like that. I never thought you would… care.”

You felt a mix of anger and something else, something painful and raw. “Of course, I didn’t want to care. But I’m here, waiting every night, wondering if you’ll ever see me as anything more than just an obligation.”

She hesitated, a flash of something unspoken in her gaze. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think I’d ever have to consider what you felt. I thought it would be easier this way.”

The words hung between you, an uneasy truce, a moment of honesty neither of you had expected. And for the first time, you saw a glimmer of something beyond the cold mask Jisoo wore—a hint of the person beneath, someone who might, just maybe, be as lost as you were.

For a long moment, silence filled the penthouse. You stood across from Jisoo, the tension thick, your emotions raw and exposed. You felt vulnerable, as if she could see right through to the frustration, the loneliness, and the longing that had built up inside you. And yet, for the first time, she wasn’t turning away. She was watching you, her cool mask softened by something unguarded, something almost fragile.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’ve… avoided you,” she said slowly, as if the admission itself were painful. “And I know I haven’t been fair.”

You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping before you could stop it. “That’s one way to put it.”

Jisoo’s jaw clenched, and she looked away, her gaze fixating on the polished floor. “This life… this arrangement… it wasn’t my choice, either.”

“Maybe not,” you replied, unable to hide the hurt in your voice. “But you’ve made it very clear that you’re not interested in being here. You’re always out, and when you’re here, it’s like I don’t exist. Do you know how that feels?”

A flicker of guilt crossed her face, and she met your gaze, holding it for once, not retreating into her usual guarded distance. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” she murmured, a hint of sincerity breaking through. “But I didn’t know how to do this. I’ve spent my whole life focusing on work, on keeping up the image, on being who everyone needs me to be. I thought keeping my distance was the right thing to do.”

You looked at her, studying the lines of tension in her expression, the slight tremor in her voice. It was the first time she seemed… human, vulnerable. Beneath her cold exterior, you could sense something genuine, a glimpse of the person she was behind the headlines and the walls she’d built around herself.

“Maybe we both don’t know how to do this,” you said quietly, the anger ebbing away, replaced by something softer, something tentative.

Jisoo gave a small nod, as though acknowledging the shared confusion between you. “I think… I’d like to try,” she said finally, her words tentative, cautious. “If you’d be willing. To try.”

Her words hung in the air, and you felt your heartbeat quicken. It would have been easy to dismiss her, to retreat into your own hurt. But as you looked at her, at the woman who had been a stranger in every sense, you realized that, for the first time, she was offering you a part of herself—a real part, unguarded and uncertain.

You took a slow breath, allowing yourself to feel the weight of her words. “Alright,” you said softly. “But if we’re going to do this… I want honesty. No more walls. No more pretending.”

Jisoo nodded, a glint of determination in her gaze. “I promise. I’m done with pretending.”

— — — — —

The days that followed were different, like the first tentative steps in an unfamiliar dance. Jisoo was still reserved, careful with her words, but she made an effort. She’d started coming home earlier, joining you for dinner in the vast, empty dining room that had always felt more like a museum than a home. She would sit across from you, awkward at first, the silence between you heavy but no longer painful.

One evening, as you were finishing a quiet dinner, she surprised you by suggesting a walk. You looked at her, a bit taken aback, but she just shrugged, looking almost shy. “I thought… maybe it would be nice to go out. Just the two of us.”

You agreed, and soon the two of you were strolling through a quiet park under the soft glow of streetlights. The conversation was hesitant at first, both of you stumbling over words, unsure of what to share, what boundaries to test. But gradually, the tension began to melt away, replaced by an ease that surprised you both. She shared little details about her childhood, moments that broke the polished image she’d always presented to the world.

“I always wanted to run away,” she admitted, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Find some place where no one knew who I was, where I could just… be.”

You chuckled, finding it strangely endearing. “If you ever want a place to hide out, the bakery has a pretty good selection of hiding spots behind the display cases.”

She laughed—a soft, genuine sound that made something warm bloom in your chest. For the first time, you saw her not as the cold, distant CEO, but as someone who had been trapped in her own life, just as you had been trapped in this arrangement.

— — — — —

Slowly, your guarded interactions turned into small shared moments. She began joining you in the evenings, sometimes sitting on the couch with you in comfortable silence, other times talking about everything from her favorite films to the pressures of her job. The more time you spent together, the more you realized that beneath her aloofness was someone who had learned to be strong, but had also been forced to be alone. She had a sharp wit, a hidden warmth that she seemed almost afraid to let out, and with each passing day, you found yourself drawn to her in a way you hadn’t expected.

One evening, after a long day at the bakery, you invited her to join you there. She arrived after closing, looking slightly out of place among the simple charm of the shop, but there was a softness in her eyes as she took in the surroundings, her usual guarded demeanor replaced by something almost reverent.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she murmured, her fingers brushing over a display case. “It feels… peaceful.”

“It is,” you replied, watching her carefully as she explored the space. “It’s my favorite place in the world.”

Jisoo turned to you, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

The words were simple, but they carried a weight that made your heart ache, a reminder of how much she had kept from the world. And in that moment, you realized that your feelings for her had grown into something real, something you could no longer ignore.

— — — — —

One evening, she suggested a date—an actual, real date, and you agreed, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nerves. You met her in a quiet park, and under the dim light of lanterns, you walked together, talking, laughing, and letting the walls between you dissolve.

Under the soft glow of the park lights, your gaze met Jisoo’s, the world fading until it was just the two of you, wrapped in a silence that felt both fragile and electric. Her hand, tentative at first, reached for yours, her touch delicate, her fingers curling around yours as if she feared you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you held on, feeling the warmth of her palm, the way her skin felt against yours.

“Jisoo,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper.

She looked at you, her expression softening, her usual guarded exterior giving way to a vulnerability that took your breath away. “I… didn’t know it could feel like this,” she admitted, her voice breaking the silence, filling the space between you with something raw and honest. “Being with you… it feels different. Real.”

The words, simple yet filled with so much emotion, sent a thrill through you. You leaned closer, drawn to her, the intensity between you growing with every heartbeat. Before you knew it, her lips were on yours, soft and warm, a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened, a hungry urgency taking over. Her hand found the back of your neck, pulling you closer as her lips moved against yours, each touch sending shivers down your spine.

You pulled back, breathless, and a small, teasing smile played on your lips. “Maybe we should take this somewhere a little more private.”

Jisoo nodded, a slight blush coloring her cheeks, her gaze filled with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. You took her hand, guiding her back to the car, the air thick with tension, every glance, every brush of skin heightening the anticipation between you.

The drive home was silent but charged, your hand resting firmly on her thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her dress. She shifted slightly under your touch, her breath hitching as your fingers moved, grazing higher, just enough to tease. She looked over at you, her eyes darkening with desire, a silent plea that made you want her even more.

As soon as the door shut, you pushed Jisoo against it, your hands gripping her waist as your lips claimed hers in a heated, demanding kiss. Her gasp was muffled against your mouth, her body pressing into yours as you took control, the softness of her lips giving way to the dominance of your movements. You didn’t hesitate, pinning her against the door with your hips as your hands roamed her body, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her dress.

Her breath hitched as your tongue slid against hers, and she clung to you, her fingers curling into your shirt. You broke the kiss briefly, leaning back just enough to take in the sight of her—her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes dark with desire. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” you murmured, your voice low, tinged with a rough edge as your hands slid down to her thighs, gripping firmly.

Jisoo whimpered softly, her body shuddering under your touch. “Then don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

You growled low in your throat, lifting her effortlessly as her legs wrapped around your waist. Her hands tangled in your hair, tugging lightly, her lips finding yours again as you carried her to the bedroom. By the time you laid her on the bed, she was already breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she looked up at you, completely at your mercy.

You climbed over her, capturing her lips in another bruising kiss as your hands slid up her thighs, pushing her dress higher. Her soft moans spurred you on, and you broke the kiss to trail your lips along her jawline, down her neck, your teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her shiver.

“God, you sound so good,” you murmured, your voice husky as you nipped at the sensitive spot on her neck, leaving a faint mark. “I want to hear more.”

Jisoo whimpered, her hands clutching at your back as she arched into your touch. “I—ah—please,” she gasped, her voice breaking as your hands gripped her waist, pinning her firmly to the bed.

You leaned back just enough to tug her dress up and over her head, tossing it aside as your eyes raked over her. Her body trembled under your gaze, her breath catching as you took your time, letting her feel the weight of your attention. “You’re beautiful,” you said, your voice softer now, though still laced with a possessive edge.

Jisoo flushed, her hands instinctively moving to cover herself, but you caught her wrists, pinning them above her head as you leaned down to whisper against her lips, “Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you.”

She nodded, her breath hitching, and you rewarded her obedience with a deep kiss, your free hand trailing down her body, mapping out every curve. Her soft cries grew louder as your touch became firmer, more deliberate, your lips following the path of your hands, tasting the skin you revealed.

When you reached her chest, you took your time, your tongue circling one hardened peak before taking it into your mouth, sucking just hard enough to make her back arch. Her moan was loud and unrestrained, her fingers twisting in the sheets as you gave the same attention to her other breast, alternating between gentle flicks of your tongue and sharp grazes of your teeth.

“Does that feel good?” you asked, your voice rough as you bit down gently, earning a strangled cry from her.

“Yes,” she gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily against you. “Please… don’t stop.”

You grinned, your hands sliding lower, gripping her hips to still her movements. “I’m not stopping until you’re begging for more,” you growled, your tone dark and commanding.

Her body trembled as your hands moved to part her thighs, spreading her open for you. You leaned down, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh, savoring the way she shuddered under your touch. “You’re so sensitive,” you murmured, your breath hot against her skin. “I love it.”

Her response was a broken moan, her head falling back against the pillows as your tongue slid over her, teasing at first, slow and deliberate. Her hips bucked again, but you held her firmly, your fingers digging into her thighs to keep her in place. “Stay still,” you commanded, your voice rough. “Let me do this for you.”

Jisoo whimpered, her hands gripping the sheets as she struggled to obey, her cries growing louder as you worked her with precision. Your tongue found her most sensitive spot, circling it slowly before sucking gently, the combination making her gasp and writhe beneath you.

“God, you taste so good,” you murmured between strokes, your voice sending vibrations through her that made her cry out.

Her hands flew to your hair, tugging hard, her voice breaking as she moaned, “I—I can’t—”

“You can,” you growled, sliding two fingers into her slowly, stretching her as you kept your tongue focused on her. “Take it for me, Jisoo. You can handle it.”

Her body arched off the bed, her cries turning desperate as you set a steady rhythm, your fingers and tongue working in tandem to push her higher. You watched her closely, drinking in every reaction—the way her thighs trembled, the way her nails scratched at the sheets, the way her breath hitched every time you curled your fingers inside her.

When she finally fell apart, her body trembling violently as her release washed over her, her cries filled the room, your name falling from her lips like a prayer. You didn’t stop, guiding her through the waves of pleasure until she was completely spent, her body limp and her breathing ragged.

You kissed your way back up her body, your hands soothing her trembling thighs as you hovered over her. “You’re amazing,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to her lips, your voice rough but filled with admiration. “You’re perfect.”

Jisoo looked up at you, her eyes glassy with tears she didn’t bother to hide. “No one’s ever… made me feel like that,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

You brushed a strand of hair from her face, your gaze steady. “You deserve to feel like that every time,” you said firmly. “And I’ll make sure you do.”

Her lips found yours again, her kiss soft but full of gratitude, and as the night stretched on, you continued to take her apart, piece by piece, leaving her trembling and satisfied beneath you. By the time dawn broke, she was curled against you, her body spent but her heart full, her head resting on your chest as your fingers traced soothing patterns along her back.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “For showing me this.”

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her close. “It’s just the beginning, Jisoo,” you whispered. “There’s so much more I want to give you.”

And as she drifted to sleep in your arms, you knew that whatever had started as an arrangement had become something deeper, something real—something you both would hold onto fiercely.

#blackpink x reader #blackpink #blackpink imagines #blackpink scenarios #blackpink x fem #blackpink x you #blackpink fanfiction #blackpink x fem reader #blackpink fanfic #kim jisoo x reader #kim jisoo x fem #blackpink jisoo #jisoo x reader #wlw #kim jisoo

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almostwisegalaxy · 2 months ago

Text

Under a grey sky

Bonus part

Older men oc x fem!reader

Reader has a shy character in this story and is in his twenties

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: DtMF_bad Bunny

Debí tirar más fotos de cuando de tuve. Debi darte más besos y abrazos. Las veces que pude...

Translation : I should have taken more photos of when I had it. I should have given you more kisses and hugs. The times I could. (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

Sensitive souls please refrain. Sensitive subject. Death, cancer. I'm not making fun of anything. I'm just writing a story. As they say on Wattpad : I am responsible for what I write, you are responsible for what you read

..................................................................................

It was an evening like any other. The sky was overcast, threatening to rain. Y/n, apprentice baker, was finishing her day. She had spent hours crafting chocolate éclairs and apple tarts, her mind lost in the dream of owning her own bakery. But that night, her thoughts wandered. Too absorbed in calculating her savings, she hadn’t noticed the man crossing at a poorly lit street corner.

The screech of brakes. A thud.

Horrified, Y/n hurriedly got out of her small car. The man on the ground was still breathing, but a thin cut marked his forehead. She immediately called for help, her voice trembling with panic.

Armand opened his eyes in the hospital, disoriented. A dull ache pulsed through his head, and bandages covered his face. Yet what caught his attention was the young woman sitting by his bedside. Y/n was curled up in a chair, nervously twisting a tissue in her hands.

“You’re awake… I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her pleading eyes fixed on him.

Armand, a 39-year-old interior architect, looked at her curiously. Despite the pain, a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Don’t worry… It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious? I ran you over…”

“And yet, you’re here watching over me,” he replied lightly, trying to reassure her.

Y/n flushed deeply, but he continued, his gaze gentle:

“Go home. I’m fine, I promise.”

She hesitated but eventually obeyed. Yet the image of his comforting smile remained etched in her mind.

A few weeks later, as Y/n was decorating pastries in the bakery where she worked, the doorbell chimed. She glanced up briefly to greet the customer, but her gaze quickly returned to the tart she was preparing.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice.

She abruptly looked up. Standing before her was Armand, well-dressed, his bright smile hiding the slight scar on his forehead. She didn’t recognize him immediately.

“Do you have croissants?” he asked with a disarming ease.

“Yes, of course. Just a moment,” she replied, turning toward the display.

As she placed the croissants in a paper bag, he observed her with a hidden tenderness. She seemed more at ease here, in a world that felt made for her.

“You have a real talent,” he said suddenly.

Y/n blinked, surprised by the remark.

“Thank you… But how can you tell?”

“It’s obvious,” he said warmly. “I can see it in your movements.”

She blushed again, uncomfortable with such a sincere compliment.

Armand became a regular customer. Every morning, he stopped by for a coffee or pastry, finding excuses to exchange a few words with Y/n. He was interested in her work, her dreams.

“So, you want to open your own bakery?” he asked one day, taking a bite of a financier she had made.

She nodded timidly.

“Yes… But it’s still a long way off. I need to save, learn, and find the right place.”

“You’ll make it,” he said with conviction.

His encouragements touched her, but she never dared to ask him personal questions. She was too shy to dig deeper. Meanwhile, Armand found himself increasingly fascinated by her. Her passion, her reserve, and even her clumsiness made him smile.

One evening, as he worked on an architectural project in his office, Armand found his thoughts drifting. He realized he looked forward to seeing her every morning. But he couldn’t ignore the age gap between them.

“She’s in her twenties,” he murmured to himself. “She has so much to live, so much to discover.”

Yet he couldn’t deny the emotions growing within him. Every smile, every exchanged word gave him a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.

One day, as he waited in line at the bakery, he placed a book on the counter. It was a French pastry manual, thick and adorned with vibrant photos.

“For you,” he said with a smile.

Y/n stared at him, puzzled.

“Why…?”

“Because I believe in your dreams,” he said simply.

She clutched the book to her chest, moved by his gesture.

“Thank you… It’s… it’s a lot.”

For the first time, she looked up at him and held his gaze a little longer. An invisible butterfly stirred in Armand’s stomach.

Their relationship evolved slowly, like dough rising under a damp cloth. Y/n found herself waiting for his visits, listening for the bell to chime. Armand, for his part, took his time, respecting her pace, admiring every facet of her personality.

One day, as they shared a brioche fresh from the oven, he softly murmured:

“Y/n… You’re like this brioche.”

She looked at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re soft. And… you bring a warmth that isn’t always noticed at first, but it lingers long after.”

She blushed, lowering her eyes, but this time, she didn’t look away completely.

It was the beginning of a fragile yet sincere love, built on glances, gestures, and shared dreams. A love that, like a good pastry, required patience and care.

---

Weeks Passed, but Armand’s Ambition Remained Intact

Weeks went by, but Armand’s ambition remained unshaken. He was a determined man, always immersed in his work, pushing his limits day after day. His architectural projects consumed more of his life than he cared to admit, and every minute of inaction felt like wasted time. Yet deep inside, something grew stronger every time he crossed paths with Y/n: love.

But he was caught in a spiral. He saw their age difference as an undeniable obstacle he couldn’t ignore. He didn’t want Y/n to get lost in a relationship that, in his mind, had no future. She was young, full of dreams, and he… he was already in a different phase of life. He had made choices, sacrificed moments of leisure to achieve his goals.

One evening, after an especially long day, Armand went to the bakery as usual, hoping for a light conversation, a little comfort in Y/n’s small gestures. But something wasn’t right. The stress of his job, his grueling hours, the constant pressure, and lack of sleep weighed heavily on him. He entered the bakery, heading toward the counter, his tired gaze fixed on her.

“Hello,” she said softly, a shy smile on her lips as always. She didn’t know he’d had an especially difficult day.

“I need a coffee, strong,” he murmured, his tone sharper than he intended.

She looked at him for a moment, surprised by the coldness in his voice. But she didn’t respond, simply preparing his order with calm concentration. When she handed him the cup, their hands brushed briefly, and he felt a dull tension rise within him. She was so gentle, so calm. She seemed worlds away from his own turmoil.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to talk about his job, his frustrations. But instead of responding, his words came out more abruptly than he intended.

“Why do you always worry about everyone? Don’t you have anything better to do? It’s not your job to take everything on yourself.”

She flinched, her eyes widening at his harsh tone. He immediately realized his mistake, but he couldn’t seem to regain control of the situation. He had acted impulsively, without thinking. The fatigue and stress had overridden his usual gentleness.

Y/n remained silent, her gaze lowering. She didn’t know what to say, but the hurt was clear on her face. Normally so understanding, so kind, she now felt deeply wounded.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured after a long pause. “I… I just wanted to offer you a little… comfort.”

He looked at her, ashamed of his words. He shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, but his nerves were frayed. Watching her retreat in silence made his heart ache.

The next morning, Armand arrived at the bakery earlier than usual, his mind tormented by the events of the previous evening. He had spent the night reflecting on his behavior, knowing he owed her an apology. But seeing her behind the counter, arranging the morning pastries, he realized he couldn’t bear to hurt her any further.

He waited for her to look up at him. When she finally did, he approached cautiously, a bit hesitant.

“Y/n… I’m sorry about yesterday. I was… I was overwhelmed, and I shouldn’t have acted that way.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and he saw doubt flicker in her eyes. He knew his words had deeply hurt her, and the thought gnawed at him.

“It wasn’t about you,” he added, his tone calmer, almost gentle. “It’s just… it’s hard for me to balance everything I need to do.”

She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze, as if his apology wasn’t enough to erase the sting of his behavior. But instead of retreating into her usual silence, she offered a small gesture of understanding.

“I understand,” she said softly, but with a gentleness that instantly eased his heart. “It’s just… sometimes, we forget to rest. And that hurts you too, doesn’t it?”

Armand stood in silence for a moment, surprised by her insight. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t realized how much the tension was hurting him from the inside.

“Yes,” he said after a pause, his voice rougher than he intended. “Sometimes, I’m so focused on what I want to accomplish that I forget to stop, to breathe.”

She nodded slightly, a timid smile brushing her lips. She understood what it meant to be swept up in dreams and ambitions, forgetting to care for oneself.

That evening, Armand went home replaying their conversation in his mind. He knew he was still far from understanding everything that was happening between him and Y/n. But one thing was clear: he loved her, and he didn’t want her to suffer because of his own shortcomings.

He also knew he had to change. Not for her. But for himself. And perhaps, in that process, they could learn to understand and love each other in a healthier, gentler way. Because Y/n deserved to be cherished, with no room for anger or exhaustion.

And for the first time in a long while, he wondered if finding balance between his dreams and his feelings was the true key to his happiness.

---

Armand’s project had consumed every fiber of his being. For months, he had poured his heart and soul into it, investing his time, ideas, and ambitions. He had imagined, designed, and created with the hope that his work would finally be recognized. He knew the moment was approaching—the moment his project would be unveiled to the public, the moment his name would finally be associated with success. And that moment came.

But it wasn’t what he had envisioned.

The day the project was praised, with critics unanimously lauding its quality, Armand felt a strange coldness seep into him. It wasn’t pride. Nor elation. It was emptiness. A void. His superior, someone who hadn’t contributed a single idea, had taken all the glory. His name shone in the headlines, while Armand’s was nowhere to be found.

He was devastated. And yet, he felt nothing. No anger. No frustration. Only an endless fatigue, a deep exhaustion.

He wanted to scream, to overturn everything around him, but his muscles were paralyzed. He couldn’t even move. He couldn’t scream. His mind was blank, as if everything he had lived, everything he had accomplished, had been swallowed by an ocean of silence. His hands trembled slightly, but he couldn’t even lift them. It all seemed so futile, so insignificant.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the sense of loss. Of betrayal. Of frustration. He hated himself for not being able to feel the injustice more intensely, for not being able to scream, to fight. Why couldn’t he react the way he wanted? Why did he feel like an empty man, a broken man without the strength to get back up?

That evening, he returned home, devoid of any enthusiasm. He collapsed on his couch, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes. The air in the room felt heavy, almost oppressive. It was as if he were breathing in a space too small, drowning in a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn’t even organize.

It was far too late when he finally stepped outside. He didn’t even know why he left or what he was hoping for. Maybe it was the anxiety driving him out, or perhaps the need to be alone with his thoughts in the silence of the night.

The park was deserted, lit only by a few solitary streetlights. He sat on a bench under one of them and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against his face. The sounds of the city felt distant, muffled by the stillness of the place. He felt so far from everything, so disconnected from reality.

That’s when he saw her. Y/n. She was walking alone in the park, probably after her workday. When she noticed him, she stopped for a moment, seemingly surprised to see him there at such a late hour. He slowly lifted his head to look at her, expressionless. He didn’t have the strength to smile. Nor the strength to pretend.

Y/n approached cautiously, her gaze uncertain but gentle. She seemed hesitant, unsure if she should disturb him. But she didn’t need words to know she should sit beside him. She said nothing, offering only her quiet presence.

The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy but rather… soothing. She didn’t need to ask questions. Somehow, she knew he needed this moment of calm.

And that’s when Armand felt the first tears well up. He tried to hold them back, to stop them from falling, but it was no use. They began to stream down his face, slowly, gently, like a river cascading down a mountain, carrying away all the pain, all the frustration he had suppressed for so long.

The tears wouldn’t stop, one after another, breaking the silence of the night. He let himself go, giving in to the flood of emotions he had ignored for far too long. His body trembled as he leaned toward Y/n, unable to control the shaking.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him. He let himself lean into her, his face buried in her shoulder, the tears flowing endlessly. There was no shame in the gesture. No pride. Just the need to feel safe, to let go.

Y/n, silent, held him gently. She didn’t say anything, but she was there for him. That was all that mattered. She could feel the pain in his movements, in his cries, and she knew he wasn’t asking for anything other than understanding, support without judgment.

In her arms, Armand allowed himself to completely let go, his heart heavy but unburdened from the weight that had suffocated him for so long. He had finally stopped holding back his emotions, stopped repressing his pain. Y/n offered him the freedom to cry without judgment, without pressure.

Eventually, the tears subsided, though the emptiness lingered. Yet something had shifted. That emptiness, though still present, felt less insurmountable. He knew he wouldn’t face it alone. Y/n had accepted him without demanding answers, without imposing expectations. She had simply offered her heart, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he belonged.

---

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it was soothing. Y/n didn’t move; she stayed there, her arms around him, like an anchor in a calm sea. She understood that sometimes, words weren’t necessary. She felt the tension in his muscles gradually ease, and she knew that, little by little, he was regaining control over his emotions.

Armand eventually pulled away slightly, his breathing still uneven. His eyes were red, but they no longer held that empty expression. In Y/n’s embrace, he had found something precious—a peace he hadn’t sought but that had found him. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her.

“Thank you…” he murmured, his voice broken but full of gratitude.

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes gentle and reassuring. She didn’t need a response, but her gaze spoke volumes. She wasn’t judging him. She wasn’t trying to fix him. She was simply there, by his side, and that was enough.

“I’m here, Armand,” she said simply, her voice soft but filled with tenderness. Nothing more needed to be said.

A faint smile crossed Armand’s lips, but it wasn’t forced. It was genuine—a gratitude he never thought he could feel so purely.

He stood up slowly, taking a deep breath. The night was calm around them, but something within him had shifted. A weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying had lifted, and he felt lighter, even if only for the moment.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he offered, his tone now calmer.

She shook her head gently, a small hint of mischief in her eyes.

“No, I’m fine. But thank you. It’s… nice to be here, with you.”

He nodded, accepting her answer, though he felt a new warmth stir within him. It wasn’t just gratitude. He felt a connection, something deep silently weaving between them, without the need for words to express it. He knew that what he had just shared with her, this moment of vulnerability, could never be forgotten.

They remained there for a little while longer, enjoying the tranquility of the night. At some point, though, the silence became lighter, almost playful.

Armand turned to Y/n, his eyes now holding a spark of admiration he had felt for her since their first meeting. He looked at her, and this time, he didn’t see her as timid, fragile, or different from him. No. He saw her simply as Y/n—the person who, with a simple gesture of understanding, had brought him a kind of calm, a kind of peace he hadn’t known for a long time.

“You know, you’re really incredible,” he said softly, his voice both sincere and filled with tenderness.

Y/n blushed slightly, but her gaze didn’t waver from his. She was used to hiding her emotions, retreating into shyness. But that night, something about him encouraged her to be more open.

“Thank you,” she replied with a small smile. “But… I think we help each other.”

He smiled at her response. He didn’t need more words. He understood. They understood each other.

The days that followed felt different. Armand woke up in the morning with a slightly lighter burden on his shoulders. He continued to work, but he found himself appreciating the small things around him—things he had neglected for far too long. He spent more time reflecting on his life choices, his priorities, and what he truly wanted to achieve. But more than that, he started considering how he let his ambitions consume him.

And Y/n. He thought of her often. He hadn’t immediately seen her as someone who could help him through his moments of weakness, but he was beginning to realize that she might be the one who had shown him the path to a balance he had never sought before but was now striving to find.

For her part, Y/n seemed calmer too. She hadn’t tried to force her way into his world or immediately uncover the reasons behind his pain. She had simply listened, offering her support without expectations. She had always been a determined, dream-filled woman, but she understood that life had its own rhythm and that sometimes, stepping back was all it took to see things differently.

It wasn’t a fiery, explosive relationship, nor an all-consuming love story. It was gentler, calmer, like a quiet river. A love that grew in small gestures, in shared silences, in quiet laughter, and late-night conversations. They were learning about each other slowly but surely.

Armand knew he still had battles to fight. He also knew his responsibilities would pull him back into the whirlwind of work. But what he knew even more was that Y/n, with her quiet light and her gentle strength, would always be there, by his side. And perhaps, this budding relationship—fragile and uncertain as it might be—would become the key to a balance he had long sought without realizing it.

---

The little bakery, bathed in soft, warm light, was soothingly quiet. The last customers had long since left, and only Y/n remained behind the counter, meticulously tidying up the utensils, her precise movements reflecting her love for her craft. Armand stood in front of her, his hands buried in his pockets, looking unusually nervous.

He had rehearsed this confession in his head dozens of times. He had written a letter, carefully folded in the inside pocket of his jacket, just in case he forgot everything he wanted to say. But now, standing there in front of her, his thoughts seemed to unravel with each heartbeat.

Y/n finally looked up at him, intrigued by his uncharacteristic silence.

“Armand? Is something wrong?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

He pulled out the letter, hesitating.

“I… I have something to tell you,” he said, his voice rough, almost inaudible.

He placed the letter on the counter, but as he was about to hand it to her, his hand accidentally knocked over a cup of coffee left nearby. The brown liquid spread across the paper in an instant, soaking the carefully written words until the ink became a blur of illegible smudges.

Y/n, initially surprised, watched the scene before bursting into laughter.

“Oh no… You really planned everything, didn’t you?” she said, her playful smile lighting up her face.

Armand, initially panicked, began to laugh nervously too.

“Yes… Well, not exactly this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

Y/n’s laughter faded gently, but the smile remained. She looked at him, curious, waiting for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. So much for the letter. There was no escape now.

“Y/n… I’ll be honest—I’m terrible at expressing how I feel, especially about something this important. But I’m going to try.”

She stood still, her hands folded on the counter, her eyes fixed on him.

“For a while now, I… I’ve been struggling with how I feel about you. Not because I doubt what it is, but because I doubt… myself.”

She furrowed her brows slightly but said nothing, giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“You’re young, Y/n, full of dreams, talent, and life. You have your whole future ahead of you. And me… I’m…”

He paused, searching for the right word, but none came.

“I’m already in a world where I’m fighting just to stay standing. Where I work too much, where I’m always tired. And sometimes, I wonder if I’m just… an obstacle for you.”

Y/n opened her mouth, ready to protest, but he raised a hand to stop her gently.

“Wait, let me finish, please.”

She nodded, though her gaze softened.

“For the longest time, I told myself you’d be better off with someone else. Someone who could give you everything you deserve. Someone who could make you happy in ways I can’t. But every time I tried to let go of that idea… I couldn’t. Because the truth is, I want to be that person for you. Even if I’m imperfect. Even if I’m not the obvious choice.”

He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, his dark eyes filled with a vulnerability he had never shown anyone before.

“I love you, Y/n. Not in some grand, dramatic way, but in a simple, honest way. I love you because you’re you—with your shy smiles, your passion for what you do, your way of always seeing the best in others… And I know I’m clumsy, that maybe I don’t deserve this, but I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Y/n, her cheeks slightly flushed, seemed to be searching for the right words, her fingers playing with the edge of her apron. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“You know, Armand,” she murmured, “you’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“What I love about you isn’t some perfection you think you have to reach. What I love is you. Your clumsiness, your seriousness, the way you look at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. I’ve never wanted someone perfect. I just want you.”

This time, it was his turn to be speechless. She leaned slightly over the counter, reducing the distance between them.

“I love you too, Armand,” she added, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Even if you’re incredibly clumsy sometimes.”

He burst out laughing, relieved, and this time, the laughter was pure, sincere, full of a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So… you’ll have me, despite everything?” he asked, a hesitant smile on his lips.

She nodded, her smile widening.

“Yes. But only if you promise never to write letters next to a cup of coffee again.”

They laughed together once more, and in that shared moment of joy, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. It wasn’t a perfect confession, nor a scene straight out of a romantic movie. It was clumsy, sincere, full of laughter and shyness. But it was them. Just them.

---

The months had flown by, and their relationship had blossomed in a quiet, unexpected way. Armand and Y/n had found their rhythm, balancing Armand’s busy workdays with the long hours Y/n spent in her bakery perfecting her recipes. Their love was sincere, built on small daily gestures and shared silences that spoke volumes.

They had celebrated Y/n’s victory in the pastry competition together. That day, she had climbed the stage, trembling but radiant, to receive her trophy. Armand had watched her with unwavering pride, as if she had just reached for the stars. They spent the evening laughing and celebrating in a way that felt simple and true to them.

But a few weeks after that moment of glory, their happiness was brutally interrupted.

Y/n had begun feeling pain in her lower abdomen and a fatigue she could no longer ignore. At first, she thought it was due to stress or overwork and delayed seeking medical advice. But one day, Armand insisted she see a doctor.

The diagnosis hit like a thunderbolt: terminal cancer, already too advanced to treat.

When Y/n walked out of the consultation room, her legs trembled. Armand, who had been waiting in the hallway, stood up immediately upon seeing her expression.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then, with trembling hands, she reached out and grabbed his.

“I… I only have a few months left,” she finally murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Armand felt his heart shatter, as though the ground had been pulled out from under him. But he didn’t let the panic take over. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if that simple gesture could shield her from everything.

The shock of the diagnosis changed them. Y/n, initially terrified, found the strength to smile again thanks to Armand. He, though devastated inside, became her pillar of support. Together, they made a decision: they would not let this illness steal the time they had left.

They began crossing dreams off Y/n’s list. A weekend in a small cabin by the lake, where they fished together and stargazed. A day spent at a bustling market, tasting dishes they’d never dared to try before. And, of course, hours spent in the bakery’s kitchen, experimenting with new recipes Y/n had dreamed up.

One evening, as they kneaded brioche dough together, Y/n suddenly stopped, her hands covered in flour.

“You know, Armand…” she began hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I think… even if I’d known all of this beforehand… I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“Nothing?”

She nodded, a sad but sincere smile on her lips.

“Because meeting you, loving you… it was worth it.”

Armand felt his throat tighten. He stepped closer and gently wiped a smear of flour from her forehead.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.

A few months after the diagnosis, Y/n was weaker, but she refused to let it defeat her. It was the day of the event they had planned to share her final pastry creations with her loved ones and loyal customers.

The little bakery was filled with laughter and joy. Armand watched her from a distance, marveling at the way she lit up the room despite her visible exhaustion. At one point, she caught his gaze and walked over to him.

“You know, I saved the best for you,” she said, handing him a small box adorned with a ribbon.

He opened it to find a delicate dessert, carefully crafted.

“I named it ‘Renaissance,’ because… even when something ends, there’s always a part of life that remains.”

He looked at her, moved, and whispered:

“Y/n, you are my renaissance.”

That night, under a starry sky, they sat on the bench in the park where it had all begun. Y/n, nestled against him, felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“Armand… you’ve given me so much more than I could have imagined,” she murmured.

He shook his head.

“You’re the one who’s taught me everything. To love, to live…”

She looked up at him, her tired eyes filled with love.

“Then promise me something,” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“When I’m gone, live for both of us. Live so fully that people will say Y/n taught you how to smile.”

Armand felt the tears well up but nodded, unable to speak. He etched that moment into his heart, as an eternal promise.

Y/n couldn’t change her fate, but she had turned their love into a light that would never fade.

---

The months had passed, and Y/n’s condition had worsened. Yet, she tried to maintain her smile, like a shield against the pain—for Armand, and for herself.

That morning, Armand arrived at Y/n’s place with a box filled with croissants he had carefully chosen from a bakery she particularly loved. But when he knocked on the door and she didn’t answer, a wave of worry washed over him.

“Y/n? It’s me, Armand.”

The silence was oppressive. After a few moments of waiting, he pulled out the spare key she had entrusted to him. When he opened the door, the familiar scent of lavender and flour greeted him, but the atmosphere felt strangely still. He hurried upstairs, his heart pounding.

“Y/n?”

In the bedroom, Y/n was still lying in bed. She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, but something in her gaze had changed. She seemed… distant. Armand approached her, and that’s when he noticed the strands of hair scattered across the pillow. Her once vibrant hair was almost all gone.

She reached a hand to her head, then lowered her eyes to the strands. A faint “Ah…” escaped her lips, barely audible, as if she no longer had the strength to react.

Armand felt a dull pain crush his heart. That indifference, that emptiness in her voice—it was worse than any tears she could have shed.

“Y/n…” he whispered, kneeling beside her.

But she didn’t respond. Slowly, mechanically, she got up to get ready.

He stayed there, motionless, his eyes fixed on the empty pillow, his trembling fingers clutching the wrinkled sheet. She was moving forward, but he felt her slipping away, like a wisp of wind he couldn’t hold onto.

A few months later, despite Y/n’s obvious weakness, Armand organized a small evening just for the two of them. He wanted to give her a moment of lightness, a little escape.

They laughed. They talked about memories, unfinished dreams, and even joked about how Armand could never bake a cake without burning it.

Y/n, tired but glowing, rested her head on his shoulder.

“You know… I think I’ve never been happier than I’ve been with you,” she murmured.

Armand gently stroked what was left of her hair and kissed her forehead.

“You are my life, Y/n.”

She looked up at him, a peaceful smile on her lips.

“Then keep living, even after me.”

That was their last conversation.

That night, Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He preferred to watch her, to engrave every detail into his memory: the softness of her features, the rhythm of her breath in the silence, the fragile warmth of her hand in his.

In the early morning, sunlight timidly peeked through the curtains. Armand opened his eyes and immediately felt something was wrong. Y/n was still—too still.

“Y/n?” he called softly, his voice filled with a hope he knew was futile.

He touched her cheek—it was cold.

“No… no,” he murmured, tears welling in his eyes.

He held her in his arms, gently rocking her, as if saying a final goodbye. Her face was peaceful, as though she had simply fallen asleep after a beautiful evening. But for Armand, the world collapsed in that moment.

The days that followed were dark, but Armand found strength in the memories they had shared. Y/n had taught him how to love, how to live fully, and he knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to drown in despair.

He kept the notebook where she had written her recipes and thoughts, and he worked to keep the promise he had made to her: to live for the both of them.

A year later, Armand opened a small bakery, which he named Y/n’s Light. Each creation carried a piece of her, a tribute to her talent and her brilliance.

And every morning, when he saw the smiles of customers enjoying what she had inspired, he felt her presence beside him. Y/n may not have had all the time she deserved, but her love—her light—was eternal.

---

Days passed, yet Armand continued to visit the cemetery regularly. Under the weeping willow, Y/n rested in the peaceful spot he had chosen carefully for her. He often spoke to the grave as if she were still there, sharing his achievements, doubts, and even the mundane stories of his day.

He decorated the gravestone with care. At Christmas, he brought small garlands and winter flowers. At Easter, he left colorful eggs and sweets he had prepared while thinking of her. The engraved photo on the stone smiled back at him, soft and almost alive.

But one day, something changed.

As part of his new project—renovating an orphanage—Armand immersed himself in his work. He wanted to create a warm, welcoming space where children could feel all the love they deserved.

One afternoon, while discussing the plans with a nun, he passed by the nursery. His gaze was drawn to a group of infants sleeping peacefully, their soft breaths filling the room with a calming rhythm.

That’s when he noticed a little girl, apart from the others. She cooed softly, observing the world with curious but timid eyes. Her cries were gentle, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether she should ask for attention.

Armand froze, his heart clenching. She reminded him of Y/n. Not physically, but in the fragile sweetness she radiated.

In the days that followed, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. The idea of adopting her became an undeniable calling, almost as if Y/n had sent him a sign.

A few weeks later, after completing all the necessary procedures, he finally welcomed the little girl into his home. He named her Y/n, in honor of the woman who had changed his life.

Four months passed. Little Y/n clung to Armand as if afraid he might disappear. Her smile, her clumsy laughter, her first attempts to stand on her tiny legs—everything about her rekindled a light he thought he had lost.

One morning, Armand made a decision. He wanted to introduce little Y/n to her “mother.”

He prepared a simple picnic, packing bottles for the baby and snacks for himself.

When he arrived at the grave, he paused for a moment, his eyes on Y/n’s engraved photo.

“Hello, Y/n,” he murmured.

Little Y/n, nestled against him, babbled softly, her big curious eyes following the willow leaves dancing in the wind. Armand knelt before the grave, spread out the blanket he had brought, and gently placed the baby on it.

“I brought someone to meet you today,” he said, a fragile smile on his lips.

He sat facing the gravestone and placed little Y/n on his lap.

“This is Y/n. She has your name. I couldn’t think of a more perfect name for her…”

He ran a tender hand through the baby’s short, soft hair as she played with a fallen willow leaf.

“She’s incredible, you know. Every day, she reminds me that life can still be beautiful, even after everything.”

He spoke for hours, sharing stories, thoughts, and promises he wanted to keep.

“I’m doing my best to be a good father. It’s not always easy… sometimes I wonder if I’m enough. But she trusts me, Y/n, just like you trusted me.”

The little girl let out a joyful cry as she spotted a butterfly fluttering nearby. Armand laughed—a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in a long time.

“You see? Even a butterfly fascinates her. She has your way of finding beauty everywhere.”

He leaned forward slightly, bringing little Y/n closer to the gravestone as if to introduce her properly to her mother.

“ Say hi to Mama” he whispered tenderly.

The baby didn’t understand what was happening, but when she saw the photo on the grave, she cheerfully held out a flower she had picked earlier and babbled joyfully. The gesture brought a smile to Armand’s face.

“See, Y/n? This little one already loves you.”

As the sun began to set, Armand rose slowly, holding little Y/n close to him.

"In another life, I hope it's you and me... I beg God that it's still you and me. I hope we will be happy together, Maybe we can love each other and... grow old together?" The little y/n in his arms suddenly lets out a chirp, as if to make her presence felt. Armand laughs despite his tears that threaten to flow. "Yes, and that the three of us can form a beautiful and happy family" he said, playing with his daughter's little hand. "Until then, I'll take care of her for both of us. Promise, my love."

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking at the gravestone one last time. “Thank you for everything you’ve given me.”

He placed one final flower on the grave before walking away.

On the way home, little Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, walked with a lighter step. That day, under the weeping willow, he felt something shift. It wasn’t a goodbye, but a new chapter—a bridge between the love he had lost and the love he had found.

And he knew he would return to that willow, again and again, to share the joys and sorrows of the life he was building for the two of them.

..................................................................................

Next part

Tags list : @elizalabs3 @slvt4her

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sunrise-imagines · 1 year ago

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Marshall Lee and Gary Prince x reader dating hcs? NSFW and sfw plssss (can either be together or separate IDM)

Assjdhdhjd finallyyyy, thank you so much for requesting this! I’ll keep it sfw for now but I’ll post some nsfw headcanons for them later! Hope you enjoy!

(Also there are a few references to Adventure Time characters in the beginning, so if you recognize those you get a cookie!)

TW: Mentions of abuse, skip the section marked with “***” if you want to avoid these, mentions of homophobia, rich people

Poly! Marshall Lee x Reader x Gary Prince Relationship Headcanons

***

• Since we already know a bit about Marshall, I wanted to touch a bit on Gary’s backstory just for funsies. This is where the TW comes in so skip this part if you aren’t comfortable with that

• His parents died when he was very young, so he was given custody to his Aunt Griselda and her family.

• He also has a little sister, Nadine, who has autism and is nonverbal.

• Sadly, he and his sister were verbally and sometimes physically abused by them, so at the age of 16 he got emancipated and started to live on his own while taking care of Nadine.

• He’s currently enrolled in Community College classes and hopes to improve his financial situation to help support them both.

***

With that out of the way, onto the headcanons!

• Gay gay homosexual homosexual gay-

• Y’all are that totally-in-love queer couple throuple that make homophobes that see you in public clutch their pearls (the lemoncarbs).

• You all make sure to spend time together individually as well as all together so no one feels left out.

• Gary’s dates consist of taking you to a cozy café or sneaking into the bakery after hours to make you all kinds of sweets.

• Marshall is much more unorthodox in his choices, taking you to a bar on the other side of town or exploring a vacant building before chilling on the rooftop.

• Marshall will also steal his mom’s credit cards and take you two out to fancy restaurants, ignoring several missed calls and dozens of texts from her while the three of you try everything on the menu.

• If you want to learn how to play guitar, Marshall would be happy to teach you, or have a jam session if you know how to sing or play another instrument. As for Gary, there isn’t a musical bone in the poor man’s body. Karaoke night is always a struggle to get through with him, but you both love him anyway.

• You and Marshall have a never ending supply of sweets and pastries to try, as he has you two sample all of his pastrymanchen(?) before he starts selling them.

• Now that you’re all dating, Marshall will usually crash at either your or Gary’s places instead of Fionna’s. This means Ellis P is also around sometimes, but if he gets too annoying (which he often does) just let Marshall know and he’ll gently but firmly kick his ass out.

• You all sleep in a big pile with Marshall and Gary on either side of you, basically this but with you sandwiched in the middle

• Sometimes Marshall takes you out for drives in his van, parking by an overlook and just watching the sunset with y’all.

• In the winter you guys will go to the ice skating rink! Gary is a really good skater, so he’s the one guiding you both while you and Marshall hold onto the railing and try not to fall

• Marshall wants you all to get matching tattoos, and Gary is kind of hesitant about it, but if you want it too then he’ll agree to getting a small one.

• Although it would seem like Gary does most of the cooking, Marshall isn’t bad at it either and he’ll help out in the kitchen quite often (his Dad taught him how to make a few dishes when he was a kid)

• Both of them are very supportive of your goals in life and will help you to achieve your dreams in whatever way they can.

#adventure time x reader #adventure time imagines #fionna and cake x reader #fionna and cake fanfic #fionna and cake imagine #adventure time #adventure time fanfic #marshall lee x reader #marshall lee #gary prince x reader #prince gumball x reader #gary x reader x marshall #marshall x reader x gary #sfw #sfw headcanons #marshall lee x gary prince #marshall lee x prince gumball

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cookierunevents · 2 years ago

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#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run ovenbreak #crob #latte cookie #financier cookie #pastry cookie #caramel arrow cookie #finanlatte #lattecier #carapastry #latte x financier #financier x latte #pastry x caramel arrow #caramel arrow x pastry #wlw cookie run ships showdown #wlw cookie run ships showdown round 1

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queen-rainy-love · 2 years ago

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HellHound's Secret Part 2

Let's go! (Big thanks to @cherryartemis0)

*Three weeks later in the Pure Lily siblings' home, Pastry was just waking up and the first thing she saw was Pond Dino holding a crow in their mouth.*

Pastry: *quickly sits up* Nonononono! Pond Dino! Don't eat that! Spit it out! *Pond Dino lets go of the crow. It shivers and tries to dry itself.* Oh, you poor thing. I'm sorry you went through that. My little one is still learning a few things. You look like one of Black Raisin's crows. Do you have a message for me?

*The crow cawed and flapped its wings*

Pond Dino: Ooby! *reaches for the crow*

*The crow squawks and flies toward the door. Pastry tilted her head a bit before picking up Pond Dino and following the crow. She follows it all the way to the living room where her friends, Black Raisin, Caramel Arrow, Raspberry, Blackberry, Financier, Latte, Shining Glitter, and Parfait are waiting for her.*

Pastry: *confused* How did you guys get in here?

Raspberry: Red Velvet let us in before he left for his meeting.

Pastry: I see. And what is your reason for visiting?

Latte: We just want to check up on you.

Pastry: What for?

Financier: Recently, you have been helping with the band B.A.D. 4 as their bodyguard.

Pastry: Yes. They do offer some good pay, even when I don't want it.

Blackberry: And you do spend a lot of time with the members-

Raspberry: -Especially with HellHound-

Black Raisin:-and we just want to make sure nothing is going on.

Pastry:...what?

Shining Glitter: We just want to make sure that HellHound isn't trying to pull anything with you.

Pastry: Excuse me?

Parfait: They think HellHound is trying to take you away from Red Velvet.

Caramel Arrow: *mutters* Oh boy...

Pastry: *tilts her head in confusion* (Why would they...That's right. They think HellHound and Red Velvet are two different Cookies. I need Red Velvet for this.) Girls...

Financier: Some of us may not like Red Velvet-

Raspberry:-Only you don't like him, dear-

Financier: -But we know that you two do care for each other. And we don't want either one of you to get hurt.

Pastry: Girls...

Blackberry: We just want to know if HellHound is trying anything. And if we have to defend Red Velvet from HellHound, then we will.

Pastry: Girls...

*Before anyone could say anything else, the door opened up. A few seconds later, Red Velvet walked in.*

Red Velvet: Hey dear. *kisses Pastry's forehead* Hey dino bitter. *takes Pond Dino into his arms* Hello Cookies who don't live here.

Latte: Red Velvet, you're back early.

Red Velvet: Yeah...I broke Tea Knight...

Black Raisin: What did you do?

Red Velvet: I told him something and his reaction was just...him rebooting. Anyway, what were you ladies talking about?

Shining Glitter: Nothing much-

Raspberry: Talking about how HellHound is trying to take Pastry from you.

Red Velvet: *pauses before looking at the group* I'm sorry...huh?

Raspberry: HellHound is-

Red Velvet: I heard you the first time. Why do you guys think that?

Financier: This all started with Parfait having pictures of her, Pastry, and the members in her photo. Starting with a photo with ZZ Skull and HellHound.

Red Velvet: *turns to Parfait* The one with the bad angle? *she begrudgingly nods* Huh. That picture wasn't too bad. Still should have let me take it.

Shining Glitter: You were there? How? You were on missions whenever she had a job with them.

*Red Velvet looks over at Pastry, who just gave him a tired look, then at Parfait, who shakes her head. He sighs.*

Red Velvet: I already broke Tea Knight's brain...let's break some more. *he looks at Pastry's friends and takes a deep breath* I'm not worried about HellHound stealing Pastry.

Latte: What!? The fact that you were there, saw these photos, and were okay with this worries us! You didn't see him flirting with her during these photos?! How he holds her!? What backwards logic-!

Red Velvet: Why would I steal my girlfriend from myself?

Latte: ...Huh?

Financier: What are you talking about?

Red Velvet: Just let it simmer.

*Latte, Financier, Blackberry, Shining Glitter, Raspberry, and Black Raisin thought about it. As the thought bounced, their expressions morphed from confusion to shock.*

Shining Glitter: You're...you're...

Red Velvet: HellHound? Yes. *eyerolls* You guys are quite the detectives.

*The girls then started to freak out, both good and bad. Red Velvet, Parfait, and Pastry notices Caramel Arrow being fairly calm.*

Parfait: Caramel? Why aren't you freaking out? You didn't know about this.

Caramel Arrow: I already knew. Prince Dark Choco told us suitors about Prince Red Velvet's secret.

Red Velvet: *eye twitch* That mother-

#cookie run kingdom #crk headcanons #red velvet cookie #pastry cookie #redpastry #red velvet x pastry #pastry x red velvet #financier cookie #raspberry cookie #black raisin cookie #caramel arrow cookie #parfait cookie #latte cookie #blackberry cookie #shining glitter cookie #pond dino cookie #hellhound b.a.d. 4

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hopeluna · 1 year ago

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𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ — 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐵𝑂𝑌 𝐼𝑆 𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐸 (𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆'𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏)

✘ Part of the writing event by @carolmunson ! You can find the prompts n dialogue here, pls feel free to join in and write your own version <3

✘ the scene: a romantic night-in at the trailer.

✘ CW: eddie munsson x fem!reader, very much rom com vibes cause come on it's me, first time writing for eddie pray for me, was tryna do fluff but turned into hurt/comfort, mentions of financial insecurity, eddie being the best bf material out there. 1k

The trailer door creaks on it's hinges like it's going to fall off any moment. It hardly registers in Eddie's brain, pulling the door more forcefully open with a beaming grin to let you in.

He's practically vibrating from the pent up anticipation. It's been a few days since you both have properly spent any time with each other. Between you being busy with college and him playing to a steadily growing crowd at The Hideout, the past few days consisted only of short kisses and exchanging i love you's in passing.

Eddie didn't really wanna pester you much either. Even though he missed you these days like a starved man, the relationship was fairly new and blooming and he didn't have the heart to somehow accidentally mess it up right from the get go.

"What brings you to the freak's humble abode, my fair lady?"

He gives you a toothy grin when he sees you telling him to silently shut up. You weren't a huge fan of the 'freak' title. "I come with gifts!", you hold up the small pastel paper box like a medal.

Eddie lets out a low whistle, with a whisper of 'gimme', making animated grabby hands till you place the box delicately in his outstretched hands. He immediately digs in with hurried but careful hands, cautious to not damage the paper cause he knows you probably took hours to get it just right.

A soft smile pulls his lips up at the small pastries. It looks absolutely delectable. Whispy vanilla frosting coated all over the soft sponge, the scent of vanilla bean hitting his nose, little flecks of edible glitter and sprinkles all tied with a plump strawberry at the top.

"You made these?"

"Mhm! We did chocolate last week and red velvet the week before that, so I thought we could go for a classic vanil-"

Giggles fill the quiet space of the trailer, Eddie placing light, ticklish kisses all over your lips. His grin only stretches more when you shriek his name to let you go, "if you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem!"

"Oh yeah, sweetheart? And what is that problem?"

"I will-" you push Eddie away enough so that only your noses are touching "- revoke your kiss license." You let out a soft snort at your boyfriend's devastated expression.

"You wouldn't!"

"I would, baby."

Eddie's huffing away with a quiet 'meanie' as you shake your head fondly at him, nudging him silently to open the pastries. He carefully sets two out, putting the others in the freezer for Wayne when you come back from the kitchen with two chipped mugs. Eddie's heart falls a little at the thought of you maybe judging him for this.

"Eddie."

"Mhm?"

You roll your eyes with a smile, "don't just stand there, open the damn thing!" You nudge the poorly made cat themed mug in his hands- his favourite. You watch with wrung fingers as he practically balances more than half the dessert on the fork to shove in his mouth, leaving flecks of whipped cream and frosting on the corners of his mouth.

"It's so....sweet."

You wince without meaning to, "and you like that?"

Eddie lets out a amused laugh at your anxiety ridden face. "Baby, that's probably the second best damn thing i've tasted." He shines a gleaming smile on you at your own grin of accomplishment.

"What's the first?"

"You." Eddie's loud laugh fills the silence at your disgusted but flustered expression.

His face falters a little when you shove the throw pillow on the couch behind you to get comfortable. Eyes follow your hands as you tighten your grip on your own mug, the handle chipped away from wear. Eddie's gaze flits around the trailer- the old video player, the less than impressive flooring, the comfy but worn out looking blanket that you've draped over yourself. It's definitely not the white picket fenced dream most want. He feels comfortable here but do you? Maybe you sometimes wished to hang out somewhere els-

"Hey."

Eddie snaps his gaze over to you, expression nervous and concerned. "Um- yeah." Clearing his throat, he shifts a little forward to pick his notebook from the table, mindlessly going through it in an effort to seem busy.

"I-uh, i ran out of like, nice cups,-" he briefly gestures to the one in your hand, "-is that okay?"

He would've found your furrowed, confused expression cute if it wasn't for the small ball of anxiety etched in his throat. "Yeah- i mean, of course it's okay." You look back at the cup in your hand, then to him and back at the cup again. "Are you okay?"

The curls on his head seem to bounce a bit as he nods frantically, twisting the cover of the notebook in his hand "it's just, you know, that thing isn't the nicest " he gestures vaguely with his hand around you, "i mean-none of this is-"

"Eddie."

"The place isn't the most romant-"

"Eddie." His eyes go from looking around in the trailer to you, you who inched closer to him without him realizing. "I like- I love the trailer."

"But-"

"No, don't be like that. That's not even true. Just because it's not a house with a big front yard and white roofs doesn't mean it's nothing. It's home." You smile as Eddie's eyes widen almost unnoticeably as you cup his face in your hands.

"It's home because it has you in it. And I wouldn't change that for anything."

A breathy chuckle escapes you, Eddie now burying his face in your chest with arms snaked around your waist firmly. His voice is muffled against your shirt that you have to strain to hear what he says, "sometimes, I feel like you being my girlfriend is a very detailed fever dream."

You feel his smile against you as you press a kiss on the top of his head. The silence stretches for a while before you break it, fingers making mindless circles on his back.

"I also come here for the trailer park cats."

The gasp Eddie lets out, finally releasing you from his hold, makes it hard for you to not burst out ugly laughing.

"You would choose the cats over me?!"

"Maybe."

#stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fics #eddie munson one shot #joseph quinn #joe quinn

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sabrinasopposite · 6 months ago

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afterglow (little women version)

prince!tom holland x march!reader

! this story is inspired by the book and movie; little women. Y/N is also inspired by Jo and Amy March, which also includes some quotes of them in this AU.

Summary: Y/N March, one of the sisters from the March family, is spending time alongside her father, who is working for the rightful king in London. She isn't like the glamorous girls who dream of meeting a prince at a ball; she is the kind of girl who loves archery and painting. She dedicates her time to giving lessons to the king's sons, though one of them proves to be a challenge. A challenge that Y/N didn't like.

As minutes passed, the entire ballroom became crowded with elegance and wealth, something that Y/N March couldn't claim. Nevertheless, her father was the right hand of the King, and they didn't suffer as much as the citizens in London who barely had enough food and clothing. Y/N lived in a house with warm meals and clothes, leading a normal life for a young lady. However, she never felt like a conventional lady or woman.

She didn't fit into society's stereotype of a woman defined by love and elegance. Y/N considered herself a rebellious and boyish girl, much like her dresses, which lacked ladylike colors, and she often carried a bow with arrows on her back. She didn't want to marry merely for financial security that would ultimately belong to her husband; instead, she sought to live her own life and feel the freedom in her veins, and that's what archery represented for her.

Walking around the ballroom in a tight, darkened dress that emphasized her features made her feel like a vivid nightmare. The tight corset was uncomfortable, making her look constricted and ordinary. Her hair was braided, and she felt like a different person, but she knew deep down it was for her father. She wanted to make a good impression on the Holland family and her father, although no one had to know her true feelings or thoughts about the Holland family.

The room echoed with laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses, and classical music from the instruments played in the background. Y/N's eyes scanned the room for sympathy or interest, but nothing appealed to her; it was just another dull night. Leaning against the wall, she delicately brushed her dress with her hand.

"I see Mrs. March all formally dressed up. For what occasion, if I may ask?" The accent teased her ears, and she looked up to meet Harry's gaze. He smiled softly at her, hands clasped behind his back. Y/N's unbothered expression transformed into a beautiful bright smile. "Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you're here." "Of course, I'm here. It's my father's ball! It would be weird if his son disappeared." The two strolled slowly and calmly around the room.

"Unless his son stuck his face in a book or in the kitchen for some pastries." Y/N playfully poked her elbow into his arm, and he laughed heartily. "Hey, it was one time! What do you expect of me, not to sneak around for some Victoria Sponge?" "You could have waited like everyone else, but lucky you... you're friends with me, and I stole it for you." Y/N grinned as she stopped to look at him.

Harry was the only boy in the world of royalty that Y/N liked. He was different, just like her. He didn't care about the world as much as Thomas did, blindly following his father. Maybe it was because Thomas was the oldest son yet behaved like the youngest. Harry was more into science, the history of the world, or interested in the cultures of other countries that he would love to visit one day. Sam was the one who was more observant and calm, keeping to himself. That's what Y/N noticed.

He would sneak around the castle, just to cook or bake something in the middle of the night to give it the next day to the people in the streets who were yearning for it. It was Sam’s hidden secret that Y/N found out but gladly helped deliver the food that Sam made. If his father found out what Sam was doing, he would be in trouble, something that Y/N didn't want to put Sam through.

"Thanks to you, Archer. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be friends with you?" Harry grinned. "Your brother?" Y/N raised her brow. "Sam? That's nonsense. I thought you guys are friendly together, and Paddy likes you as well. Do I need to remind you how his face was when he saw you in archery?" Harry folded his arms, and Y/N chuckled. He looked handsome in his navy blue suit that matched his brown curls. "I am not talking about them; I am talking about your brother who stood me up on his, and may I repeat, his lesson." "Classic Thomas."

"That's what I am thinking too.’’ ,,Maybe you should confront him, Y/N. I mean, how many times has he stood you up?" Harry asked with a calm yet disappointed voice. He didn't understand why Thomas behaved like that in front of Y/N. "I lost count a while ago. May I remind you that it was your father—the King's decision and kind request—that Thomas would take archery lessons?" "Yeah, to move his ass around and not sip champagne all day and put his face between brea-"

"Harry?!" Y/N's eyes widened in shock as she heard how Harry bragged about his older brother. "You shouldn't say such things about your brother. Maybe I am allowed to say that, but he is still your brother." Y/N glanced at Harry and noticed how his jaw was tensed and his fists were formed together.

"I don't like how he treats you, Y/N. You are my friend, and I really appreciate what your father does for our family. You take time to teach us archery, painting, and all that. You don't do it on purpose; you do it because it is your passion, and that's why I appreciate you as a person."

Y/N's eyes met his, and her heart warmed. She didn't hear it regularly—a praise or empathy over her ideals or interests. People judged her for that. She wasn't the stereotype, and that was something people hated. She was a beautiful girl who was intelligent and remarkable, even a people pleaser. But she wasn't the woman everyone wanted; that's what she thought. "Thank you, Harry." Her attention was snapped when she heard loud laughter from behind; Harry's eyes were fixed on the person lying on the couch, arms wrapped around two ladies covered in beauty and elegance.

His hand held a champagne glass, and he chuckled his charms out. Y/N stared at him, Thomas. Her heart was beating low, and her gaze was fixed on him. How can someone so handsome have such a low personality?

"Go talk to him. I'll look for my Victoria Sponge," Harry pushed Y/N's shoulders while she muttered his name. He walked away, leaving Y/N alone, so she walked over to him.

"Prince Thomas," Y/N said with a sour yet venomous voice, her stare fixed on his behavior. His hair was messed up, and his jacket was open; he looked disheveled, not properly put together. His glance hinted that he was tipsy from the champagne he held in his hand. His attention was on Y/N, his eyes wide. She looked different and beautiful in his eyes, as she always was, but now he saw her as ladylike, and his heart raced.

Thomas composed himself, sitting properly and speaking with a charming, bleary voice. „Y/N."

"I waited hours for you."

"I don't recall inviting you for a dance," he chuckled, signaling the ladies to walk away, presumably to bring him more champagne. Y/N watched the ladies pass with observing glances that felt like daggers on her back. She rolled her eyes and turned away from Thomas and his childish words. As she walked away, he stood up and almost ran after her. "Y/N, wait!“ "Do you want to know what I honestly think of you?"

"What do you think?" Thomas walked after her, realizing every word she spoke was filled with honesty and stung like arrows. "I despise you.“

He laughed it off, as usual. "Why do you despise me? Just because I missed a lesson? Come on, that's nothing.“ "Because with every chance to be good, useful, and happy, you are faulty, lazy, and-" As Y/N listed his faults, her tones grew harsher and deeper. He chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, this is interesting."

"Oh yes, very interesting. Selfish people do love to talk about themselves.“ "Oh, now I'm selfish? Do I need to remind you of who you ta-"

"Yes, you are very selfish." Y/N scoffed at Thomas's drunk and childish behavior, despite being the next king of England, not behaving like it. "With your money, talent, beauty, and health." Thomas interrupted her again, pinning his jacket together drunkenly. They didn't realize they were in the midst of people, solely focused on each other. "Oh, my beauty?" Thomas questioned.

"Ah, you like that, you old vanity. With all these good things to enjoy, you can find nothing to do but dawdle your way." Y/N finished her berating, but Thomas drunkenly placed his hand over hers. "I promise I'll be good for you, Archer Y/N. I'll come to your lessons now, Master!" He mocked his voice, making fun of her as usual.

"Aren't you ashamed of a hand like that, Prince Thomas?" Y/N spoke with a disgusted voice and glance.

"No, I'm not." He replied with a self-confident aura. "It looks like it's never done a day of work in its life." She pulled her hand harshly away and looked at him. "I don't understand why you react like that, little March, hmm?“ "To give you some words in your brain instead of that stupid champagne that you sip around and act like this occasion is for you.“ "Which certainly is.“ "It is from the king personally, which you aren't."

"I will be one day, and you will be under my rules," Thomas smirked. Y/N looked into his eyes and shook her head. "I feel really sorry for the people in London, having a king who behaves like a child and doesn't value the things around his life."

"You are just saying that because you're a girl who has nothing and is not loved by a man." Thomas chuckled, making Y/N frown in surprise and a little pain. "You are right, but I'd rather be respected for who I am, even if I couldn't be loved." She turned around and walked out from the crowd towards the exit of the ballroom.

♡

The next morning was calmness flying in dust around the castle, the ball was over and the guest were gone. Toms head ached from a dozen bubbly champagne glasses, and he felt his throat was swollen. He could barely open his eyes through the exhaustion, but he knew that any minute his butler would come in and suggest a fresh, warm breakfast. He got up from his king-sized bed, walked over to the shiny window, and looked at the scenery in front of him—the blooming garden of colorful flowers.

A knock on the door caught his attention, and as he turned around, he saw his butler walking inside. "Prince Thomas, you are awake?" "Yeah, I kind of woke up from the sunshine," he chuckled. "Indeed, it is a beautiful daylight. Nevertheless, your father proposed breakfast for you." "I'll be there in minutes," he nodded with a calm glance at his butler.

The breakfast was delicious, as always; that's what Thomas couldn't complain about. He looked around the room and noticed that his brothers weren't present. "Where are Sam, Harry, and Paddy?" Tom glanced at his father, who was reading with focus on the developments that James offered him. They were invitations to galas, conferences about other kingdoms, or updates on affairs in London. King Dominic looked up to his son, "Around the castle, engaged in their usual activities—something you should participate in, Thomas."

Tom rolled his eyes and mumbled between his sentences, "Do you have anything else to brag about, Father?" "Did you say something?" "No, sir. I'll get myself ready for my archery lesson." "Miss March is giving Paddy his art teachings. I don't think it's your turn for archery today, Thomas," his father pointed out sternly. Tom looked at him and nodded.

It wasn't like Tom despised his father; on the contrary, he loved him. Yet, sometimes, he felt like people expected too much of him. He knew he would be the future king of London, and he realized he often boasted about himself, showcasing only his best side. However, no one saw the real him—the genuine thoughts and feelings he drowned in champagne and partying.

Thomas made his way around the castle and reached the art room. His hand brushed the doorknob, and something paused inside his body. A sudden nervousness rushed through his bloodlines. Was it because of the small fight between him and Y/N? He remembered it vividly. He even knew exactly what he did after she walked out of the ballroom, and how his hands landed on the champagne bottles until his brothers took them away from him.

He felt ashamed of the words he said to her, truly. Now, the realization that she might never talk to him again made it even harder for him to confront his actions. Nevertheless, as he opened the door, expecting hell, he found himself in heaven.

His eyes met the random paintings on canvases, beautifully painted in soft colors. Paddy was sitting next to Y/N, who wore a casual dress that wasn't as tight as last night. Her hair was loosely open, not in a stern high braided bun. She felt like herself—authentic. That's what Tom thought as he observed her.

Paddy turned his head around, locking eyes with Tom, and his smile brightened even more. "Look, brother! Y/N taught me how to draw our garden with the dozen of flowers!" Paddy was so proud and happy, something Tom couldn't relate to as he felt like a failure. "It looks great, Pads," Tom smiled calmly, but his smile dropped slightly when he noticed Y/N's stare. It was obvious—the "why are you still here" stare.

Y/N cleared her throat and placed her soft hand on Paddy's shoulder. "That was enough for today, Paddy. I hope you enjoyed the day as much as I did." "Yes, it was very delightful with you. I can't wait for our next session!" Paddy laughed with excitement, grabbing the canvas and rushing out of the room to show it to their father. Now, it was just Tom and her alone.

Y/N turned her back toward Tom, starting to clean the small atelier. "What are you doing here?" Her sentence was short and harsh, not soft and calm like before. Tom sighed and touched some stacked canvases with his fingers. "Y/N, I'm sorry for how I behaved." "Have you been drinking again? It doesn't suit you to apologize to an ordinary girl." She walked around the atelier, avoiding all around Tom. She placed the brushes and paintings away, mirroring the way she was avoiding her feelings.

"No, I'm not. I still have a headache from last night, so please don't be hard on me," Tom said as he looked at her. "Well, someone has to do it or not?" she stopped and looked at him. There was a small silence between them until Y/N continued to clean up, "I talked with your father. I won't give you any archery lessons anymore."

Tom's eyes widened. "What? Why?" „because I'm a failure," Y/N stated, avoiding the worried yet shocking glance of Tom. "Jo is in New York being a writer, and I am a failure." "Well, that's harsh to say when you are talented and have so much energy," Tom stated, and Y/N turned around to face him directly in the eyes.

"Talent isn't genius, Thomas. And no amount of energy can make it so. I want to be great, or nothing." Her voice felt flat and harsh for Y/N. She loved art and archery, two things that made her feel herself. Archery made her feel alive, like no one stood in her way. Art was someone she could talk to, a medium to express her thoughts and emotions. ,,I don’t see the point to do the things that aren’t archiving my hopes and dreams while being a women.’’

,,What makes you think that Women with dreams cant achieve things?’’ Thomas asked with curiosity. ,,You really ask me that?’’ Y/N frowned her eyebrows. ,,yeah I am asking you that. What women are allowed into the club of geniuses considering you are saying that talent isn’t genius?’’ Thomas walked to a chair and sit himself down on it, not breaking the intimate eye contact of Y/N.

,,maybe the Brontes? I don’t know.’’ Y/N cleaned her fingers with a tissue. ,,Hm standing a point but who declares whose a genius?’’ ,,Men, I suppose.’’ ,,They’re cutting down the competition. If you may ask’’ ,,Look Thomas I don’t know why you want to have this complicated topic with me.’’

,,i just want to find a way to reasoning with you. I don’t understand why you view yourself like that, you are talen-„ ,,How does it matter anyway? Soon or later I will marry one day a man, who provides the money. One day I will let go of all the things I like because I need to be in the role of a mother.’’ Y/N looks at Thomas with a glance, a glance that Tom noticed how aching it is for her. She knew she said the truth but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. ,,But what is marriage if there is no love in it?’’ Tom looked at her, with eyes that were trapping her.

,,Well, I believe we have some power over who we love, it isn’t something that just happens to a person.’’ Y/N throws the tissue away ,,I think that poets and books disagree on that.’’ Tom stated with confidence and calmness.

Y/N stared at him, he was just a man. He could say these things but he will never know how it is to be a woman.

,,Well. I’m not a poet, I’m just a woman. Even though people don’t consider me as a woman, because I don’t fit in the picture of the societies eye, I am still a woman. And as a woman there is no way for me to make my own money or to earn a living or to support my family. Don’t get me wrong I am lucky to be under a warm house with clothes, because my father works his body out for the King, to give me that opportunity to live. Even if I had my own money, which I don’t, that money would belong to my husband the moment we got married. And If we had children they would be his, not mine. They would be his property. So don’t sit there and tell me that marriage isn’t an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you because you are the son of the King of London, but it most certainly is for me.’’

Her eyes felt sad, the words she said came out of her deepest heart and she hold her fingers together to reduce the nervous tendency. In her voice Tom felt the acceptance of her life, he could tell that these words that Y/N just told him were words that implanted to every woman that was breathing on earth.

,,now if you excuse me, I have to go to the library’’ Y/N walked away from Thomas and took her small vest that was laid on her chair. She wrapped it around herself until Tom spoke with a light and calm voice. ,,the things I said yesterday night weren’t meant to be told, I am sorry about that. And I as well feel sorry for the way how you see yourself.’’ Y/N looked with a conflicted eye contact at Thomas but the sudden warm feeling that embraced the words of him on her made her feel calm. ,,I know this sounds hideous but would you allow me to follow you to the library?’’

,,you don’t need to sound so formale in front of me Thomas.’’ She chuckled softly.

,,then you don’t need to call me Thomas, it makes me feel old.’’ His face grimaced by the name.

,,so Tommy?’’ She raised her brow.

,,Tom would be alright’’

(its a very old AU that I wrote last December and man... I had to release it)

#tom holland #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom holland!prince x reader #tom holland prince #tom holland fics #tom holland imagines #thomas stanley holland #little women #Amy march #little women inspired fanfic #peter parker

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vagabond-umlaut · 1 year ago

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The Contract To Compromise

Chapter 1 of For Love's Sake Only... Or Is It? Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader; Victorian AU; Epistolary. Fluff, Angst, Drama & Romance; Arranged Marriage; Marriage of Convenience; Love at First Sight; Slow Burn; Letters; Secret Identity.

This work is loosely inspired by 'Daddy-Long-Legs' by Jean Webster, but of course, minus the icky problematic parts of the dynamics between the protagonist and her love interest. [The novel is a wonderful read otherwise!] [Also, I do not wish to kink-shame anyone.]

Chapter warnings: A FEW TOO MANY historical inaccuracies. Talks of bankruptcy and murder. [Nothing serious happens, though!]

To say you're happy might be the greatest understatement of the century.

Cheeks hurting from your wide grin, you throw the receding horse carriage one last glance before rushing out the front door. To the Itadori's two blocks away. Whose door is opened by none but your closest and dearest friend Yuuji.

"Oh, hello—" The boy greets, eyes wide yet crinkling into a slow smile, only for you to startle him further by suddenly pulling him into a tight embrace. The sound of his yelp lost in that of your hearty chuckles, you announce, "He agreed, Yuuji. He agreed. Oh goodness, I cannot believe my good fortune but he agreed."

"He... as in your fiance?" Yuuji inquires when you let go of him, closing the door behind you then leading you into the house. Sounds of sizzling food reach you from the kitchen further down the hallway. Ah, so Megumi must have woken up already.

You nod back. "Mmhm. The one and only. The man agreed to help me. I cannot believe it but his employee Uraume arrived at our place today morning and delivered a letter from their employer. Lord Ryomen says he agrees to fund the remainder of my college tuition."

A shadow falls over Yuuji's face at your words— one teeming with pity and sympathy— you try not to let it hurt your feelings, your pride as much as it should. As much as it used to.

Though you suppose there's very little of your pride left after your once-affluent family goes bankrupt and you give your consent to an arranged marriage with a rich stranger from faraway lands— something which once made you wrinkle your nose in distaste— but you agree to it eagerly now only for the financial help for your family promised by your prospective groom should you decide to wed him.

And even less of your pride left after you write him a letter not even three days later, requesting him to pay for your remaining last year at college, though not stating it in explicit terms. Instead, saying how one might benefit from a well-educated, empowered wife. Besides assuring you have every intention of paying him back the money he spends for your studies.

A call of your name draws you away from your mind. Yuuji frowns, miserable and contrite. "I wish we could help you, but with me paying for my grandfather's treatment and with 'Gumi paying his father's debts... we're very, very sorry."

"It's okay, you silly boy," you brush his genuine apology away with a chuckle, reaching forwards to squeeze his palm reassuringly, "To have the two of you by my side even when nearly everyone else left me— that's the greatest help you and Megumi could ever give me and my family. Thank you so much, Yuuji."

A weak grin breaks across his face but before he can say anything, Megumi walks into the room with a tray of tea and pastries. You send him a teasing grin, "So how's staying with Yuuji treating you, hm? Quite well, is it not?"

"Better than the very best," Megumi replies, simple and solemn, settling on the settee beside his lover and slipping an arm round his waist. "Though I suppose you're faring the best of us all. I could hear you laughing through the sounds of the pans and cookers."

"That I am," you admit easily, taking a bite from a red velvet pastry, an appreciative hum leaving you at its heavenly taste, "My fiance agreed to pay for my college tuition after all. I can now graduate with no worries in a year— and no. No more sorry's, please. I won't hesitate to forget my governess' lessons and hit the two of you if I need to sit through yet another apology. Please, Fushiguro."

The addressed boy sighs at your demand, relenting much sooner than you expected him to. "Alright, I won't. But know that we two are always here for you, okay? We might not be able to help you financially, but that should never stop you from sharing your troubles with us. Particularly if they concern your fiance. Especially if they concern him mistreating you in any form. Yes?"

"Is that an offer to murder him if he does so?" you inquire, half-amused, half-serious. He shrugs. "If the need arises, why not? My birth father was a horrible parent but he was a damn good assassin. He taught me more than a few tricks."

"Not that we will ever need to see them, however," Yuuji adds within the next beat with a tense chuckle and a glare at his lover you've never reckoned he can give, "Su– I mean, Lord Ryomen is a good man. He's certain to treat you right. Don't worry."

And worrying, you're not. Not very much, that is.

"I hope he is," you hum quietly, "Though he is kind of odd, I must say, what with his conditions for agreeing to pay for my tuition and such."

"Conditions?"

Megumi's sharp query shoves you out your thoughts, making you realize you weren't as quiet as you deemed you were. You throw back a small smile.

"Not anything serious, fret not. He simply wishes me to send him a letter every fortnight, updating him on my daily life. Uraume said it is for Lord Ryomen to know his help isn't being in vain. And to know his bride better, considering he cannot visit me from his province anytime soon."

"And you agreed to it?" Yuuji asks, exchanging a look with the other boy.

You pretend to ignore it. "Of course. Why wouldn't I? Although..." you trail off, eventually adding with a frown, "he asked me not to expect any reply from him, whatsoever— which is somewhat disheartening, if I must be honest. It's almost as if I'll be writing letters to a wall."

"Yet you agreed to it?" It is Megumi who asks this time, scowling, "If you did not like the condition, why did you say yes to it? You should have rejected it."

"Beggars can seldom be choosers, 'Gumi," you sigh with a mirthless smile.

"Besides, my marriage to Lord Ryomen will be one of convenience solely— it's good he won't be replying to my letters. This will prevent my heart from succumbing to foolish dreams of love— I'll remember our relationship is nothing but a transaction. Him, helping my poor family and me by sending money the 3rd of every month. Me, thanking him by agreeing to wed him thus providing him a companion, and possibly a means to carry forward his lineage. Nothing less. Definitely nothing more."

A stifling silence follows the tail end of your words— one you attempt to break with a wide grin when you realize the effect you had on the atmosphere of the room. "Ah, but the good thing is I can finish my education and be a graduate— something I've dreamt of ever since I was a tiny girl. I feel so immensely relieved now."

"Yes. Every cloud does have a golden lining, doesn't it?" Yuuji chimes in almost instantly with a cheery beam, bless the boy and his kind soul. Megumi regards you carefully for a moment longer then exhales audibly, a sign of him conceding.

"It is silver, not golden," he corrects the other boy with a disapproving look before pinning it on you, "and yes, I suppose it does— but don't let your head be in the clouds, will you?"

Your lips curve in a confident little grin.

"I won't, 'Gumi. Of course, I won't."

I had forgotten this was there in my drafts. xD

Divider by @benkeibear. Header from Pinterest. I don't own the characters used here.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #kit posts 📝

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