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meanderingwistera · 1 day ago

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The Empress

Summary - You have prepared for years to take over your Father’s kingdom. You have studied everything from politics to mathematics to philosophy for your future role as Queen.

But when a proposal too good to pass up crosses your Father’s desk your wishes are pushed aside. You are sent off to marry a King from a larger neighbouring kingdom, despite your protests.

Now you have to navigate a new land, people and a Husband who keeps his secrets far from your reach.

Pairing - King!Satoru Gojo x Queen!Reader

Content - Angst, a tiny bit of fluff if you squint, afab!reader, arranged marriage, court politics, historical setting, depressive symptoms, mentions of death, Gojo is down bad, reader is oblivious to Gojo’s feelings, it’s just a hot mess tbh

Word Count - 4.9k

A/N - your dad sucks, sorry about that

Chapter 1 - Marriage

“You are to be married in a month.”

The heavy history book falls from your hand onto the stone floor.

It is the only sound in the quiet sanctuary of the library. The sound echoes back from the shelves as you process the words just spoken to you. Staring at the cover of the book on the floor you try to grasp what was just said to you.

“Did-“ You suck in a deep shuddering breath, “-the King approve this?”

The servant looks at you with something akin to pity in his eyes. It swirls in the edges of his face and you hate it.

You don’t want this man’s pity.

You want this to be a mistake.

“Yes, your Highness.” His voice is soft and apologetic.

With a wave of your hand you send him away so you can properly break down. Only when you hear his footsteps receding, do you pick up the book you were wanting to read. Holding back tears you walk back through the book shelves.

You had been raised with intention, you were raised to inherit your Father’s kingdom.

It had been an almost unspoken promise. You were the first born and already did everything a Crown Prince would. You have studied history, military tactics, politics for years hoping for the day that your father would name you heir.

He was supposed to name you heir.

But now you are getting married to a man you don’t know and don’t want to know. All of your dreams shattered on the floor next to the dropped history book. You feel the tears prick your eyes. Grief for a future you will never get bubbles in your chest hot and thick like tar.

Sitting on a plush chair in between two bookshelves. You had always felt safe here even as a child. Your mother had always read here and after her death you had taken up her habit to cope. Now you wouldn’t have access to this place anymore.

Hot tears pour down your cheeks as you look out the small window to the courtyard. The beautiful wisteria garden that covers the whole left side of the castle looks so beautiful over here. Now it seems to not look as beautiful as before.

The edges of your vision twinge with grey at the thought of your impending wedding.

In the carriage, that feels more like a jail cell, you gaze out the window. It is a day before you walk to your new lifelong shackle. Your future husband will keep you here for the rest of your life.

The rain is most fitting, you think, for this. As the people rejoice at your upcoming wedding you hope that lightening hits your future husband multiple times so he is dead by the time you get there. That would be a thing to rejoice about.

“You are very quiet, My Lady.” Pierre, your personal guard, says. He looks sad as he watches your gloomy expression.

“I have nothing to say.” You say with a bite you didn’t mean. But don’t see any resentment for your remark, only sorrow, which you think is worse.

The both of you know that this is the last time you will see each other. Once you enter the palace you will be the future Queen of another kingdom and no longer tied to your homeland. So he cannot come with you. The man who has watched over you since you were five now has to watch you leave your home in rage and despair.

Far too soon the carriage comes to a stop. You breathe in deeply as the end is near.

This may not be your death but it is an end of some kind

A knock is heard at the door. Pierre opens the carriage door and you see a guard with the colors of your new home. A quiet conversation goes on between both guards as you are helped out of the carriage. It is raining lightly but you don’t mind it. You let the rain splatter on your hair, face and dress. It is cleansing in a way for you.

Your bags, which is not much, are taken into the large castle in front of you. The architecture is beautiful, sweeping arches and towers give it character. It is bigger than your home, maybe it will be more isolated that way.

“My Lady.” A male voice says from just up ahead.

A man walks over to you with a kind smile. His clothes suggest high status and you resist the urge to bow in greeting. Many times you met nobles with almost the same rank with respect but as the future Queen you bow to no one but the King. His long black hair is tied up in a bun at the nape of his neck.

“Hello.” You greet him as he bows at the waist.

“I am Duke Suguru Geto, I have been ordered by the King to show you around the grounds before the wedding.” He explains with an analysing glance.

You can tell that this man is trying to decide if you are a threat or not. Whether he was sent here or not, he is checking you out first before the King. But you know this all too well from your previous dealings with nobles. They send someone of lesser status out first to test the person on how they react.

But if you are right, the King should be watching you as well. Looking up into the many windows you see a figure of a man staring down at you. He moves when you look but you see him nonetheless.

“Lead the way.” You say after returning your eyes to Geto. He just smiles pleasantly and ushers you into the castle.

Because of the sprinkle that soon turns into a downpour, Geto just shows you the inside of the castle, which is beautiful but so different then your old home. This place feels hollow, the blue and white scheme gives it a cold feel. It feels devoid of any warmth and love until your home.

You miss the vibrant gold colors of your homeland.

Once the tour is over he leads you to the set of rooms intended to be yours. They are even barer than the rest of the castle. No tapestries or decorations of any kind.

“We wanted to let you choose how you want the Queen’s hall to look like.” Geto says to you, sensing your discontent with the blank sheet in front of you.

“Thank you.” You utter, it is quiet and you don’t even know if you mean it.

The sound of heels clicking against marble floors gets your attention. A girl of about 18 walks over to Geto and bows to you.

“This is Riko Amanai, a personal maid for you. Once you are married you will have free reign to choose your own staff but for now she will be helping you.” Geto explains to you, the same analysing gaze in his eyes as you nod.

“Nice to meet you, Your Majesty!” She chirps cheerfully as she stands up.

You give her a small smile, “Nice to meet you as well and thank you.”

She blinks at you, confused, “There is no need to thank me! I am happy to serve you!”

“Can you show me to my room?” You say, relenting.

She smiles and leads you to the room given to you. You both leave Geto behind but you don’t feel too bad since you have seen ever other part of this place except for where you sleep. It has been a long day and you want to relax in the comfort of your own room.

The room is fully furnished and the colors that fill it are gold and green. It reminds you of home. The room is bigger than yours at home, you could fit at least two lengths of your previous room in here and still have room. A grand fire place is on the far wall and a set of chairs and a couch surround it.

“Is it to your liking?” Riko asks you at the door as you explore the room.

“Yes.” You say, trying to tamp down the anger rising in your gut.

It isn’t the room and she doesn’t deserve your anger. None of the staff deserve your rage at your situation so you keep your biting remarks to yourself. Your anger you will reserve for your future husband.

The day of the wedding you are woken up at 5 am to begin to get ready. You think it is ridiculous as the numerous maids fuss and fawn over you for hours. They rub lavender and rose scented oils into your skin and hair. Each of them have big smiles on their faces as they congratulate you on your wedding. But your blank expression doesn’t escape their eyes so they change their tune, telling that at least your husband will be kind to you and is handsome.

Multiple times you send them outside so you can cry in peace. When they come back each time they don’t acknowledge your tear stained face, only give you looks of concern.

Riko is surprisingly helpful despite her young age. She commands the maids with authority and lets you have a break when you need it. You thank her multiple times for it. That seems to make her uncomfortable but you do it anyway. If you are forced to stay here for the rest of your life then you might as well have a few good people next to you.

They help you into the wedding dress, which is too much for you. It has too much fabric, four maids have to hold the train. The shape and style is beautiful but you know that if people weren’t helping you you would have been lost in trying to get it on. You feel like a child in her mother’s clothes.

When they are done you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You look like a completely different person. They have done their job well, the makeup brings out your best features and in any other situation you would marvel at it. Your hair is styled up and away from your face in an intricate style.

But the make up, hair and dress don’t hide the dread in your eyes or the deep set frown on your lips.

Walking down the long cathedral is the hardest thing you have ever done. People line the path with bright smiles. If you could you would have run back up the aisle, you would have kept running until you could breathe again.

You try to calm yourself down as you near the altar you spot your family. They have neutral expressions on their faces. For a moment you lock eyes with your Father. His eyes are cold and distant as he stares back at you. You beg him to stop this with your eyes. He could call this off and take you home. But he looks on like he never saw your expression.

All the sadness thick in your chest turns into molten rage. How dare he sell you off to a man you don’t know for a few trade routes and some coal. You can’t stand to look at him, after years of looking up to him and his silent promises to let you rule he has finally shown his true colors.

When your eyes look ahead again you are at the altar.

Your future husband stands with his hands clasped in front of him. He looks almost nervous as he watches you ascend the stairs. Even when you are at the altar you still have to look up at him. He is as handsome as the maids said.

You have only truly met Satoru Gojo once.

It had been at a ball years before he became King. You were only sixteen at the time. He, of course, had attracted attention with his looks and the young daughters of the nobles all vied for his attention. No matter where he went a trail of young ladies followed him. You had thought that it was hilarious to watch him try to get away from them.

Later you wanted some air and went out on one of the balconies. You saw him out there, leaning against the balcony, the moon shone on his white hair as he looked out. He looked beautiful then, not having to play the act of the flippant Crown Prince. Noticing you he turns around quickly. You watch as the mask that just a moment ago was gone returns in full force.

“Oh! I didn’t know anyone would be out here.” You said, trying to let him know that you didn’t follow him out there.

“It is alright My Lady. I am just taking a break from the festivities.” He said as you approached him. Gojo watched you carefully as you leaned on the railing and looked out.

“I am doing the same,” You admitted turning to look at him, “And don’t worry, I am not going to beg you for a dance.”

Gojo basically slumped over in relief and you giggled at him. He resumed his position a second later, leaned on the rail next to you. But this time he was staring at you.

“Has anyone told you that it is rude to stare?” You teased him and he blinked in surprise.

“Actually, no one has before.” He admitted sheepishly.

“Well I am honoured to be the first Prince Gojo.” You said with a smile.

You both had talked for a while about everything and nothing. Eventually you had to go but you promised him that you would help him avoid the women at the next ball. He had laughed and said that he would take you up on the offer.

Now years later you don’t know him now, well you never really knew him before. You can only just hope that he will be kind to you.

After the vows are said the festivities start. A big party is thrown to celebrate your wedding. Because both of your kingdoms are bigger than most, the ballroom is crowded with all types of people. You don’t really participate, sitting in your throne next to Gojo’s. Not many approach you, too scared off by your cold expression. It feels so isolating to see everyone laugh and talk amongst themselves as you stare from the dias.

Gojo tries to make conversation with you a few times but each time it is cut off swiftly. You give him short, blunt answers to each question. He looks confused at your mood and that makes you even more angry than before. Of course he doesn’t understand how you feel, he has a choice in this, you didn’t. He eventually gives up and goes to mingle with the others.

At one point during the party your father walks up to the dais. It is bold for how he has treated you for the past month since he sold you. You glare down at him coldly as he bows to you.

“My beloved daughter, how happy I am to see you on this blessed day.” He says as he stands back up.

“I am happy that you find today joyful.” You return, practically spitting out the word joyful.

He doesn’t even flinch or show any other emotion, just pure apathy.

“Now, please remember your new status daughter. It is not one easily won.” He states the threat plain in his voice.

‘I got you this position. Don’t mess this up for me.’

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.” You dismiss him. There is a flicker of rage in his eyes as you dismiss him. He turns on his heel and storms away.

Halfway through the night your maids get you and get you ready for your wedding night. You feel so tired as they attend to you. The day has drained you. You just want to sleep and not think about what will happen next. You have heard about wedding nights and how hard they are. But you know that you won’t be able to avoid this.

They put you in a short blue dress and a long white robe. You wrap the robe around yourself, trying to find some semblance of warmth in the large unfamiliar room. Sitting on the bed you dismiss the maids. They look at one another with looks of pity for you.

Over the course of the day they have grasped the situation and try to make this as easy for you emotionally as possible. You can’t thank them enough for all of their help and companionship. Back home you had preferred to do everything yourself, it was easier that way and you liked it that way. But maybe their help would not be so bad here.

The door creaks open slowly as Gojo slips into the room. His legs are a bit wobbly as he enters, most likely from the wine. Carefully he shuts the door behind him as stares at you. His blue eyes trace your face gently, almost reverently.

“Let’s get this over with.” You say and shift so you are sitting on the bed.

Gojo blinks at you in confusion, “What?”

You close your eyes with a sigh.

“The consummation. I am tired and want to sleep.” You say, letting the unspoken emotions slip into your voice.

“If you are tired we don’t have-“ He starts but you cut him off.

“No, you paid for this so let’s just do this so I can sleep. Unless you want me to beg for it.” You say, irritated that he wants to drag this out.

“Paid for? I didn’t pay for you.” He says with a furrow to his brows.

“The trade routes on the border between our countries, the coal and iron you gave us were the bride price or do you not remember what deal you made?” You explain to him as if you were explaining it to a child.

“I made a deal with your Father for your hand but I didn’t buy you.” Gojo says and walks closer to the bed.

“Oh really? If you didn’t buy me then why didn’t I have a say in this?” You ask him and he flinches hard.

All of the anger and frustration you had built up over the past month comes bubbling to the surface.

“Do you know how hard it is to be told that you are going to be married to someone you hardly know? To have your whole plan for your life thrown out because your father found a man’s offer better than your own opinion?”

Tears stream down your face as you let him have all the pent up emotions you have felt for a month now.

Gojo just stares blankly at you as you rage and that only enrages you more.

“Maybe you should take other people’s opinions into the matter instead of just yours!”

Gojo watches as you cry on the bed. He looks almost lost, like he doesn’t know where to begin with you. But you see genuine remorse and sorrow in his eyes. That hurts more than what he has done. It makes your empathy kick in and makes you want to apologise for your outburst.

“I- I will go.” He says and rushes out of the room leaving you alone with your guilt and despair.

Satoru Gojo walks through the walls of his castle quickly. He doesn’t know where he is going but he is outrunning his suffocating guilt. The look on your face will haunt him for the rest of his days. He never wanted to do that to you.

When he first became king he had wanted to improve the relations his country had with others. His father had been a conqueror. He had pushed the borders and boundaries of other countries and even overthrown a few. So Satoru’s goal was to attend to his people instead of trying to push outside of his borders

And after a year he wanted to have a partner to help him with his goal. His mind kept drifting back to you and that night all those years ago. He does go back to that night a lot but even more so around that time. The way you treated him as a person and not a sparkly prop for someone’s day dream, the way you handled your subjects have always caught his eye. If he could envision anyone by his side it would be you.

It had taken him a couple days to gather the courage to write to your Father. A response came within the week and they began talking about the bride price. Gojo had asked in his letter if you had been okay with this but your father had assured him that you were okay with it.

So when you had told him that he bought you it felt like his world was crashing down. He now sees why you were the way you were all night. He had chalked it up to you being nervous and tired but he should have known better.

Gojo opens the door to his office and walks into the dark room. Walking up to the desk he just decides to sleep here tonight so that he doesn’t bother you. He turns on the lamp with a sigh and stares at the paperwork he had put off since it was his wedding day.

“What are you doing in here?” Suguru says from the doorway, leaning in the doorway. His jacket is slightly askew and Satoru can see the wine induced flush to his cheeks.

“She didn’t agree to the marriage.” Satoru says plainly, taking his head into his hands.

“What?” Suguru says, disbelief in his voice.

“I have trapped her into this marriage and she is miserable here.” He says.

They sit there in silence for a while.

“I will make sure that she doesn’t see me.” Satoru says, lifting his head up to look Suguru in the eyes. “Make sure she has anything she needs- no matter how expensive.”

The morning after no one comes to wake you up at eight so you sleep in. You curl around a pillow in the too large bed and think about last night. At first you were angry, now you feel depressed. You feel like Atlas holding the sky, you can’t get out of this bed.

Around noon a knock comes at the door. You don’t want to answer but Riko’s voice talks softly to you through the door.

“My Lady? It is almost midday and I wanted to see if you needed anything.” She says but it is muffled through the door.

When you don’t answer she opens the door and walks in. You lift your head to look at her. Riko’s face immediately turns to concern. She walks to you and puts a hand on your cheek, running a thumb under your red eyes. You lean into the touch.

“I need you to eat My Lady. Is there anything in particular you would like?” She asks you, her concerned eyes searching yours for any reason as to why you were like this.

“No.” You say and your voice is hoarse from not being used and not drinking water. She just nods and walks out to get you food.

About half an hour later she is back with food. You only pick at it for a while, taking a small bite here and there. Riko watches you carefully, trying to gauge whether you just don’t like the dish or if it is something else.

“Is there anything else you would like, My Lady?” She says when she takes your empty plate.

An idea comes to your mind, “Do you have a library here?”

Her face lights up.

“Yes! We have a huge library.” She says excitedly, “Would you like to go?”

“That would be wonderful Riko.” You say and get out of bed. She helps you into a dress. It feels so restrictive but you bear with it.

The walk to the library is long but Riko’s idle conversation fills the space between you. She tells you about her life and asks you questions about yours to get you out of your shell. You tell her about the large wisteria garden that your mother helped to cultivate. She nods a bit wide eyed as you tell her how large it is.

When you get to the door Riko opens it to reveal the biggest library you have ever seen. The library back home was large but this one is two stories full of books. Large windows illuminate the space and give it a bigger feel. Riko leads you through the shelves.

You have lived most of your life in the library back home and you still miss it but this is a beautiful place. You will use this place often.

“What books do you like?” She asks as you look around.

“Almost any. I have read books about any subject that I can get my hands on.” You tell her, some light returning to your face for a moment.

“Amazing!” Riko says with childlike enthusiasm.

The two of you walk over to the section that has history books in it.

“Well, since I live here I should know your history.” You say and reach for a history book. You also grab a few more by different authors so you get an unbiased account.

Next you walk to the romance section. A good romance book will balance out the pile of history books you have. You run your hands over the covers, relishing in the textures of the spines. Your eye catches on a smaller book with a light purple spine. There is not the regular gold lettering on the spine so it peaks your interest.

Carefully you pull it out and study the blank purple cover. Usually there is a title or something but it is completely blank. When you open the cover you see two initials on the inside left side.

H.G.

The handwriting is elegant and loopy. You run your hand over it, trying to decipher the letters. Shutting the book you put it on the pile that you have in your arms.

“Do you need me to hold those, My Lady?” Riko says, a bit frantic.

“I got them!” You reassure her and put a romance novel on the pile.

It looks interesting, a knight falling in love with a princess after escorting her to her betrothed. You have always been a sucker for a good love story.

Over the next week you settle in. It is easier than you had imagined. You had imagined that you would be too depressed and angry to do anything but that isn’t true.

In this last week you have studying the history and the geography of your new country. Even if you don’t want to be here you don’t want to take it out on the people. You want to do a good job in your new role.

Riko is a big help. She helps you decorate the Queen’s chambers and the hall. You both decided on bright greens and silvers for the color scheme. It makes you feel at home and Riko seems to adore the color silver so you slip some in to make her happy.

The head maid had asked if you wanted another personal maid but you had turned her down. You were far too attached to her to have someone else take her place.

One problem is that not once this week have you seen Gojo. You want to apologise for your outburst but you haven’t heard a whisper of the man all week. It would be impressive if it wasn’t infuriating. You don’t want to ask after him in case he doesn’t want to see you.

But as the first ball of the season approaches you can’t sit idly by.

When a Queen is not approved of by a King, rumours spread like wildfire. The people will try to discredit anything you do and for you to rule successfully you need to be able to do your job. So you need to make a truce with your Husband so that this can work.

You walk down the halls of the west wing of the castle with Riko behind you. She looks nervous as you approach Gojo’s office. You give her a reassuring smile which doesn’t really work because she still fiddles with her sleeves. Knocking on the door you breathe deeply.

“Come in!” A voice says from inside the room and you open the door.

Gojo looks startled behind his desk as you breeze into the room, the image of composed. He blinks in surprise as you approach his desk. You almost want to laugh at his dumbfounded expression but hold in your laughter.

“Husband.” You say in greeting.

If you looked closer you would have noticed the hitch in his breath as you called out to him.

“Wife.” Gojo responds to you, looking you over.

A tense air falls over the room as the two of you stare at one another. The other people in the room seem to find the floors very interesting at the moment and you don’t blame them. Taking a deep breath you speak,

“I would like to speak to you alone.”

Gojo looks like he would be more comfortable if you set him on fire.

He looks so wildly uncomfortable that you feel maybe you should just leave but he dismisses the other people in the room. You hear at least two sighs of relief as they exit, leaving you two alone for the first time since your wedding night.

“What would you-“ He clears his throat nervously, “-like to talk to me about?”

“The first ball of the season is coming up. I need us to put aside our differences and act like we are at least on good terms.” You explain to him, not bothering with small talk. “Your approval will be necessary for me to do my job as Queen.”

He contemplates this for a moment before nodding, “I can do that.”

“Good!” You say, happy to get that off of your mind. “I will see you in two days then.”

Gojo nods and you lose the motivation to say anything else. His quietness has all the words you wish to say die on your tongue.

“I will leave you then.” You say goodbye and walk out of the room.

Shutting the door behind you you sigh in relief. Riko is waiting for you outside and rushes over after you begin to walk from the door. She gently asks questions about your conversation, trying to understand the situation but you keep it under wraps.

As much as you trust and enjoy her company, you can risk putting your situation in jeopardy.

Tag list - @tenaciousavenueavenue @hyori2 @joyfulweaselbananapanda

#You are pissed off and Gojo is confused in this one lol #I love him but he is a bit dense at times #don’t worry he will get there!#The Tarot Deck #blue’s fics <3 #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo

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miorirenkova · 2 days ago

Text

"dream about me" CHAPTER 04

park sunghoon x fem!reader

“park that car, drop that phone

sleep on the floor, dream about me.”

CHAPTER 01, CHAPTER 02, CHAPTER 03, CHAPTER 04, CHAPTER 05

synopsis: you weren’t a good person—everyone knew that. cruel, sharp-tongued, and ruthless in high school. but you weren’t a killer. at least, that’s what you told yourself.

just as you were trying to change, news breaks: your high school enemy, park hana, has taken her own life before university.

and her brother?

he’s convinced it’s your fault. determined to make you pay. but the deeper he digs, the more you both realize—hana’s death isn’t as simple as it seems.

warnings: heavy mentions of suicide, self harm and bullying, violence, abuse, terrible parenting, heavy topics like death (mentions of a character’s death), gaslighting, manipulation, corruption, blackmail, guilt, trauma, revenge, LOTS of angst, fixation, smut (smut warnings will be given in the smut chapter!!), forgive me if i miss any/more might be added

note: sorry about not doing my requests yet, just a lil busy pand trying to focus on this. will get to them soon trust

song for this chapter: scott street by phoebe bridgers

word count: 15.6k words

whole paragraphs in italic are flashbacks of past events and color text without quotations are lyrics ! if they have quotations too, they are lyrics + dialogue in story.

playlist link: click here !

mdni . hate comments will be deleted.

the kitchen is dimly lit, the only light coming from the glow of the refrigerator left slightly ajar. the clock above the sink ticks softly, the silence between each second pressing in like a weight. sunghoon pauses in the hallway, his eyes adjusting to the low light, and sees her—hana—sitting at the counter in some oversized sweater, legs pulled up onto the stool, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her.

she doesn’t notice him at first. she’s staring into the bowl like she’s waiting for it to speak, spoon limp in her hand. her hair is tied up messily, and her face looks washed out, almost too pale against the navy of the sweater. the kind of tired that seeps into your bones, not the kind a good night’s sleep can fix.

he steps inside, careful not to startle her. "you’re up late."

her head jerks slightly in surprise anyways, but when she turns to him, she just nods. it doesn’t reach her eyes. "couldn’t sleep."

he moves to the sink, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. "me neither. too much going on in my head, i suppose."

hana hums in agreement, but it’s a quiet sound. barely there. she takes another bite of cereal and chews slowly, like it takes too much energy to do even that. there’s something off about her—more than usual. it’s not just exhaustion. it’s like she’s not really here.

"you’ve been quiet since dinner," sunghoon says, trying to sound casual.

she shrugs. "just tired. school’s a lot."

he leans against the counter, watching her. "you’re usually better at faking it."

hana lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. "guess i’m slipping."

for a moment, he sees it—just a flicker—when her sleeve shifts as she lifts the spoon. a faint mark on her wrist, thin and almost healed, but unmistakable. his chest tightens. he wants to say something, ask why, ask if it was because of what happened, what she’s been going through, why she’s so… gone.

but he doesn’t. maybe it’s fear. maybe it’s denial. maybe it’s because if he asks, he has to hear the answer. maybe he knows. maybe he doesn't.

maybe he's willing to accept the wrong answer that he has in his mind. as long as it filled the blank. helped him avoid the truth.

avoid the truth, that's what sunghoon's always done.

so instead, he says, "mom and dad are just on edge. it’s not you. you know how they are."

hana looks down at her cereal again. "it’s always me."

her voice is so quiet he almost doesn’t catch it.

"what?"

she shakes her head. "nothing."

a beat passes.

"but maybe that’s fair, they don't expect much of you." she adds, even quieter this time before looking towards him, still avoiding his eyes and scoffing.

sunghoon straightens a little. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

she meets his eyes for the first time, and for a second, he sees something heavy there—something dark and too complex for words. but then it’s gone. she blinks, and her smile is back, paper-thin.

"don’t worry about it. just me being dramatic."

he doesn’t push. maybe he should. but he doesn’t.

hana stands up, rinses her bowl in the sink, and walks past him with a soft "goodnight." he watches her disappear down the hallway, the sleeves of the sweater that were previously rolled up now falling down, her steps silent.

he stays in the kitchen for a while after that, staring at the empty stool she left behind. the refrigerator hums quietly beside him. there’s something in his throat he can’t swallow down.

he tells himself everything's fine. their parents have always been like this. what's another day?

that she’s just tired. that she’s stressed, like everyone else.

but deep down, a part of him knows he missed something. that maybe she wanted him to miss it.

and still, he let her walk away.

the car ride to the police station is quiet, except for the dull hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio that no one bothers to fix. you sit in the back seat, hands in your lap.

you don’t ask questions. you don’t speak unless spoken to. the officer in the passenger seat glances back at you now and then, but he doesn’t say much either. his partner drives like the road is made of glass. slow. deliberate. quiet tension hangs in the air like fog.

you keep your gaze out the window the whole time, watching the city blur past. familiar roads, cafés you’ve been to. the ride was pretty uneventful.

all you could do was watch the world blur past through the window. the city is bustling. early morning, students getting to university or school and others getting to their jobs. it feels like you’re slipping into a different version of the world—one where time is slower and things feel heavier.

no matter what might be going on with someone else, the rest of the world remains unaffected, everyone going on with their daily routine. it's a reminder, in a way, that the world will always go on. time and life don't stop even when you feel like the world is crashing down on you.

when the car finally pulls up to the station, your stomach knots. the building isn’t as intimidating as it should be—just gray brick and glass, with a flickering security light over the entrance. but still, every step toward the door feels heavier than the last. like something is pulling you backward, whispering that you shouldn’t be here.

well, no shit, you know that. you know you shouldn't be here.

the air in the police station is sterile and too cold. it smells like paper, burnt coffee, and something metallic that clings to your tongue. fluorescent lights buzz overhead. the walls are washed in off-white, lined with framed badges and safety posters. it smells like cleaning chemicals and old paper.

the station isn’t as intimidating as movies make it out to be. a few officers nod to the officer who brought you here as he passes by, but no one really looks at you. it’s quiet. oddly calm.

he leads you down a hallway to a small room—not an interrogation chamber, not exactly. just a plain room with a table and two chairs. a clock ticks somewhere nearby. the AC hums faintly overhead.

you sit stiffly in the narrow chair across from the officer, fingers locked tightly together in your lap. the fluorescent light overhead buzzes faintly, just enough to be annoying. it feels like you’re being watched from every corner of the room, even though you aren't.

or maybe you are, who knows.

the officer who walks you in—detective mark, his badge reads—offers you water, which you decline. your mouth’s too dry to drink anyway.

"just need to ask a few questions," he says as he takes a seat across from you, opening a navy colored folder. "you’re not under arrest. this is just to help us clarify a few things. we’re just reopening some things regarding the hana park case. we’re reaching out to people who were close to her back then."

you look up at the detective, scoffing. "you don't have to lie to get me to stay calm, officer. i already know why i was called here."

the detective raises his eyebrows before leaning back in his seat, smirking amusingly. "then, that makes my job easier."

he flips the folder open slowly, almost theatrically, like he wants to draw out the tension in the room. your stomach twists at the sound of paper shifting. you can't see what he's looking at, but you catch your name typed in bold near the top of a document.

"let’s start simple," he says. "tell me about your relationship with hana park."

you exhale through your nose, sharp. "we weren’t friends, if that’s what you’re asking. we went to the same school. that’s about it."

he hums, pen tapping lightly against the folder. "did you ever fight?"

"define fight."

"any verbal altercations? disagreements? tension?"

you tilt your head, resisting the urge to laugh. "we were teenage girls in high school. what do you think?"

he writes something down, the scratch of his pen somehow louder than anything else in the room. "so there was tension?"

"if you’re trying to build a case off of high school drama, i think you're reaching."

"so, you're saying you didn't have any tension between her?"

you furrow your brow, shaking your head. "now when did i ever say that, detective mark?" you pause, before continuing. "i'm sure your witness told you all about that, though. why waste time in getting me to say it too?"

detective mark doesn’t respond right away. instead, he turns to a different page in the folder and slides it toward himself. "so you agree." he says casually. "you agree to having bullied her in high school?"

you stare at the folder, then at him. the word bullied feels like a punch to the gut, even though you’ve had years to prepare for it. even though it’s not the first time someone’s thrown that word at you. and even though… maybe, on some level, they’re not entirely wrong.

you swallow. "yeah," you say quietly. "i did."

detective mark doesn’t look surprised. he just nods, as if ticking a mental box. "care to elaborate?"

you run your fingers over your thumb, tracing over the nail like it might distract you from the lump forming in your throat.

"i was cruel," you admit, voice low. "not all the time. but when it counted. i said things i shouldn’t have. made her feel small. laughed when others did too. there were moments when i could’ve stopped it and i didn’t. moments when i made it worse."

you don’t look at him when you speak. you’re not sure you could.

"so why?" he asks.

you pause. "because she got under my skin. because she wasn’t as sweet as people like to pretend she was. and maybe because, deep down i envied her. the fact people cared for her no matter what. her parents did too."

that gets his attention. he sits forward a little. "meaning?"

"meaning," you sigh, eyes flicking toward the corner of the room, "she knew exactly what she was doing, too. hana wasn’t some defenseless, helpless victim. she had claws, she just knew how to hide them better. she played the part of the perfect girl when adults were watching, but she—she had her own way of hurting people. quiet, subtle. calculated."

you lean back in your chair, your gaze hardening slightly.

"she’d spread rumors and make sure they couldn’t be traced back to her. she’d isolate people, whisper things that made you question your friends. it wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was there. and if you ever tried to call her out, she'd act like you were insane. and people believed her. they always did."

detective mark raises a brow but doesn’t interrupt.

"so yeah," you continue, "i fought back. immaturely, harshly. i wasn't as good as her in controlling my emotions. in ways i regret. but i wasn’t the only one who did damage. i didn’t push her into a cliff. and, god, i’m tired of being painted as the sole villain just because i didn’t pretend to be nice."

a tense silence stretches between you.

shit.

you didn’t mean to say all of that. not like that. but now that it’s out, you don’t take it back. you can't.

"but, don't worry. i know how bad of a person i was too. hell, i'm reminded of it every day. i wasn't some saint. like i said, i was cruel and you don't have to tell me twice. i'm not trying to sugarcoat my actions."

detective mark nods slowly, flipping to another page. “and was anyone else aware of this? her… two-sided behavior?”

"i don't know, how am i supposed to know.." you paused before continuing. "she was sweet to everyone, i guess. she only behaved like that with me. don't ask me why, i'm just as clueless as you so i don't fucking know."

the detective nods before flipping through the pages, taking his attention off you.

he turns to a different page in the folder and slides it toward himself. "we asked the witness about the last notable interaction you and hana park had at school." he says casually. "he mentioned an incident a few months before graduation. something involving a confrontation between the two of you in the school courtyard."

you freeze.

your heart skips a beat, but your face stays neutral.

you remember that day. how hana had cornered you near the garden benches, how her voice had been loud enough to draw attention. how she'd twisted the truth until her version sounded cleaner, more sympathetic. and how sunghoon had seen it. how he’d believed her without a second thought.

you lick your lips, trying to find your voice. "what about it?"

"you tell me," the detective replies smoothly. "i want to hear your version."

you smile flatly. "my version won’t match the statement you have in that file."

"doesn’t matter. tell me anyway."

you pause, staring at the table, the cold metal edge pressing against your arms. then: "we argued, what else?"

you purposely leave out the painful part of that interaction. the part that solidified your doubts that day.

detective mark raises his eyebrows. you can’t tell if he believes you or if he’s just letting you speak.

"that's not the full truth, is it?"

you stay quiet. your mind is scattered, you don't know what to say.

"you know what i think?" he says, closing the folder. "i think there’s more to this story. and i don’t think you’re telling me everything. not yet."

"maybe i’m not," you reply, leaning forward slightly. "but that goes both ways, doesn’t it, detective? and plus, i told you everything that you asked for. i admitted i was a bad person. even told you about what i think of hana. not that you believe it."

his smirk fades, just slightly. "we have reason to believe hana’s death wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed. and based on what we’ve been given, you're a name we can't ignore."

"by sunghoon?" you ask flatly. you don't even try to hide the bitterness in your voice. you were avoiding mentioning his name till now, even though you already knew.

mark doesn't answer.

instead, he stands. "that’ll be all for now. you’re not being charged. but stay available in case we need to talk again."

before he walks out, you call him. "by the way, what exactly did your witness say about me?"

mark turns around. "confidential."

"seriously.. don't i have the right to at least know what i'm being accused of.."

he shrugs before walking out, the door closing behind him.

you remain seated for a second longer, fingers digging into your knees.

you don't know why you did that. why you barely said anything. you had a chance to talk about why it's not you. yet you didn't. you went quiet.

maybe you just don't care anymore. it's driving you insane and you just want this to end.

maybe you're sick of no one actually listening to your side of the story. never really believing you.

you tell yourself you're not guilty every time. that you aren't the reason. yet, when you're put on spot, you can barely say anything.

it feels painful to talk about anything negative related to hana because god, you aren't any better.

but you're happy with what you did say.

you rise out of your seat, following mark out, head spinning with more questions than answers.

you sit on the hard, plastic chair just outside the interrogation room, your arms wrapped around yourself even though the room isn't cold. it’s quiet, the kind of quiet that buzzes in your ears. same fluorescent lights hum overhead, and the faint sound of phones ringing and keyboards clacking drifts in from deeper inside the station.

you check your phone—low battery, two missed calls from emi, and a message from your family’s driver saying he’s stuck in traffic and will take at least twenty more minutes to get to you.

great.

you rub your eyes, leaning back and staring at the scuffed ceiling tiles. it’s funny how sterile everything feels here. emotionless. like the building itself doesn't care who walks in and out of it, or what they leave behind.

a soft click of a door opening draws your attention. two officers walk out of a hallway just off to your left, not noticing you sitting there as they continue their quiet conversation.

"—didn't think a family member would reopen the case himself." one of them says, flipping through a file.

"the brother, sunghoon park?" the other asks, voice curious.

"yeah. gave a written statement early morning. said he suspects someone and even gave text messages as proof."

your blood goes cold.

you don’t mean to eavesdrop, but your body goes still, ears straining.

"did you read it?" the second one asks.

"part of it," the first replies. "he said his sister had told him that the suspect—" there’s a pause, "—that she'd tried to push hana down the stairs, purposely. like a physical confrontation. apparently hana came home crying and suspect almost got suspended because of it."

your stomach drops. you know exactly what they’re talking about. the rumor. the lie.

"the department's treating it like crucial evidence now. it can't even be overlooked since it's coming from a family member of the victim."

you almost got suspended because she accused you of physically hurting her. you fucking didn't. you had never gone that far. you never tried to push her down the stairs! but of course, no one believed the bully. you can't even be mad about it. you had that reputation.

but honestly, maybe you should thank her. that day, the principal called your parents and for once, they actually came.

they scolded you pretty bad at home but hey, at least they noticed you.

no, wait ..what the fuck are you saying?! that doesn't make it any better. the police is actually basing the case off a false allegation?!

you clench your fists.

you remember every detail of it—how no one believed you even when you tried to explain. how hana wouldn’t meet your eyes after it spread. how sunghoon’s glare followed you down every hallway, convinced you were even worse than what he thought.

the whole thing damaged you mentally pretty fucking well.

the chair scrapes harshly against the tiled floor as you stand up abruptly. the sound earns a glance from the receptionist, but you’re already walking — storming — down the hallway where detective mark disappeared not long ago. your chest feels tight, heart pounding loud in your ears.

you make it halfway down the corridor before spotting him through a cracked office door, casually sipping from a paper cup while skimming through a file.

"detective mark,” you say, voice sharp.

he looks up, surprised. "miss—"

"you’re seriously basing this case off of that?" you step into the room, not waiting to be invited. "a story she made up years ago? something that never even happened?"

his expression doesn’t change much — he just lowers the cup and leans back slightly. "careful, miss. i can’t have you barging in here—"

"no, you don’t get to sit there and pretend this is procedure," you snap, anger bubbling past the point of reason. "she lied, it's a fucking lie! no one believed me then, and now you’re dragging it out like it’s proof i—"

you stop yourself, breathing hard.

his gaze narrows, calm but unyielding. "you’re saying it was an accusation she made back then?"

"yes!" you bite out. "she told people i pushed her down the stairs. that i was violent. everyone looked at me like i was a monster after that."

his silence is maddening.

"you think i don’t feel guilty about the way i treated her?" you go on, voice lower now, bitter. "i do. i think about it all the time. but i never stooped as low as physically hurting her."

detective mark says nothing for a long moment.

then he closes the file slowly, fingers tapping on the top of the folder. "we’ll follow the truth wherever it leads," he says finally. "if it turns out what you’re saying is right… that’ll come to light, too."

but you don’t feel reassured. not when the damage is already being done all over again.

you swallow back the rest of your frustration and leave before you say something you’ll regret.

your phone buzzes—driver’s outside.

you walk slowly, your legs stiff, heart heavier than when you walked in. outside the station doors, the sun is starting to dip beneath the skyline, casting long shadows across the pavement. you didn't realize it was that late.

you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and walk toward the car, the echo of their voices still lodged in your head.

the front door clicks shut behind you, the sound unusually loud in the quiet house.

your shoes are off before you even realize it, and your bag drops to the floor with a dull thud. the hallway is dim, just like always—your parents never remember to leave the lights on, or maybe they just don’t care to. the silence is so thick it presses against your skin.

there's soft noise from the cluttering of utensils, probably from one of the housekeepers.

you don’t turn on any lights. you know the way.

the living room feels colder, like the air hasn’t been disturbed in hours. you greet the housekeeper, with as much politeness as you could possibly foster up. you were exhausted, obviously.

you groan and fall onto the couch.

your phone buzzes. a message from emi.

emi: u good? call me back when you're free.

you stare at it for a few seconds before locking the screen and tossing the phone face-down onto the blankets sprawled out on the couch.

your gaze drifts to the coffee table, to the old yearbook shoved halfway under a stack of papers. you’d meant to throw it out years ago but never did. maybe part of you was waiting for someone else to throw it out for you.

just yesterday, it felt like you were so sure about your role in this whole thing.

and now—you’re not even sure what part you play in it anymore.

the fabric of the couch is cool against your skin. the house feels like it’s breathing with you, the quiet heavy and suffocating. the only light comes from the dim lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the room. your legs are pulled up under you, knees to your chest, arms wrapped around them like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

everything feels... still. like nothing’s really moving, but at the same time, everything’s swirling around inside you. emotions you can’t quite name, thoughts you can’t untangle. it's too much. it's too quiet.

you think about emi's message. about hana. about everything that happened and everything you didn’t say. everything you didn’t do. maybe you were supposed to be something else. maybe you were supposed to be stronger, better. maybe things would’ve been different if you had known what to do when it mattered.

but you didn’t.

you exhale slowly, trying to breathe through it, but it’s hard to escape the weight that’s settled on your chest. the silence gets louder the longer you sit, like it’s filling up the space around you, inching closer, pressing in. you can't even hear the clatter of the utensils anymore. you look around, at the empty room, at the things that were supposed to make it feel like home. but it doesn’t. not anymore.

and you're not sure what’s left for you to do.

you glance at your university bag, still slumped by the front door where you left it yesterday. the edge of a notebook sticks out from the half-open zipper, a corner bent, like even it gave up halfway.

you sigh, the sound thin in the silence. maybe if you just did something—anything—it’d be easier to breathe. even if it’s meaningless. even if it’s just pretending like university matters right now. pretending like you're still a person who can still piece things together. even if it’s just noise to fill the space, to drown out the parts of your brain that won’t shut up.

you sit for a few more seconds, just long enough to debate not moving at all. but eventually, gravity gives in and so do you. you push yourself up, legs stiff, joints creaking like you’ve aged decades in a single day. your steps toward the bag are slow, reluctant. like each one costs something.

the zipper’s stuck for a moment—snagged on something you can’t see—and you almost leave it there. but then it gives way with a sharp tug. your fingers brush over textbooks, loose papers, the corner of a crumpled receipt, a pen you don’t remember packing. finally, your hand finds your laptop. it’s cold.

you settle back onto the couch, the cushions dipping beneath your weight. the screen lights up your face in a dull, pale glow. your reflection stares back at you for a second too long before the desktop loads. empty folders. deadlines you want to ignore. unread emails with subject lines that suddenly feel like they're written in another language.

still, you click open a blank document. type a title. backspace it. retype it again, slower this time. open a reading you’ve already skimmed three times and highlight the same sentence twice without realizing. you stare at it like it might give you some kind of answer if you just look long enough.

it feels ridiculous. like going through the motions of someone you wish you could be, stress free.

but it’s something.

and right now, that’s all you’ve got.

well shit. you tried to study, refocus all your attention from everything else in your life to your university life. you tried to complete some of your assignments, study for your upcoming tests.

you tried hard to distract yourself but it seemed futile. you couldn't pay attention at all.

you stared at the same paragraph for what felt like hours. the words blurred, reshaped themselves, stopped meaning anything halfway through the first sentence. it wasn’t even complicated material. you'd read tougher things with half a brain and no sleep before. but now? you couldn’t even make it to the end of a line without your mind wandering somewhere else—somewhere you didn’t want it to go.

hana’s name kept surfacing, uninvited, like a splinter your brain kept picking at. like an itch beneath your skin. everything else around you faded into static, muffled by the sharp, insistent memory of things you didn’t say. things you did. things you never understood.

you blink down at the document open in front of you—blank except for a single header, blinking cursor beneath it like it’s mocking you.

you rub at your eyes. they’re tired, even though you haven't done anything. maybe that’s what exhaustion looks like now. not physical, not from long nights or too many lectures, but from everything else. the kind of tired that settles in your bones and just stays there. you could sleep for a week and still wake up hollow.

you pull your knees back up to your chest. press your forehead against them. breathe in, out, like you’re trying to manually remind your lungs how to work.

minimizing the tab, you are met with the black screen of your laptop home screen, forcing you to look at yourself in the reflection. your reflection stares back at you in the black screen. and you hate how tired you look. like someone you wouldn’t recognize in a crowd.

it felt like life was forcing you to acknowledge just how much everything had changed.

damn it!

you can't focus on studying. at least not right now. you had to do something to get this off your mind.

you could talk to sunghoon, tell him that whole incident was an accusation and that you didn't even do anything like that but.. you know how well that went last time. that's probably out of question.

they already made up their minds.

you swallow hard. the anger sits in your chest like a stone. how did everything spiral like this?

your knuckles tighten against the laptop edge. the screen reflects you again, faint and ghostlike—and it hits you all at once: if no one’s going to believe you, then you’ll prove it yourself.

fine.

if they want to think you’re the one responsible, let them. let them whisper. let them look.

but you’re not going to let this be the end of your story.

you're going to have to prove it yourself that you changed.

and the first step for that would be having to prove that you had never gone as far as making someone commit suicide.

and that weird, eerie feeling you have deep down that there's something else that led up to this? something that you're missing that's always been right in front of you?

you're going to start by figuring that out.

your heart pounds as you yank your bag closer, pulling out old notes, your phone, even the journal you swore you’d stop using. you don’t know what exactly you’re looking for yet—maybe a timeline, a detail someone missed, a message someone forgot they sent.

but you’ll find it.

you’ll find something. anything.

because if clearing your name means doing it on your own—then so be it.

the cafe is nearly empty, save for the soft hum of music and the occasional clink of ceramic mugs being cleared behind the counter. sunghoon sits in the far corner, hoodie pulled up, hands wrapped tightly around a lukewarm drink he hasn’t touched. jay walks in with his phone still in hand, eyes scanning the room before spotting him.

jay slides into the seat across from him, shrugging off his jacket. "you could’ve picked somewhere less depressing." sunghoon doesn’t look up. "you came, didn’t you?"

jay leans back, watching him for a moment before furrowing his brow. something’s off. more than usual.

"what’s going on with you? you've been acting weird since friday."

sunghoon hesitates. his knuckles tighten around the mug. "i went to the police station yesterday."

jay frowns, sitting straight before motioning for the waiter to come back in a bit. "why?"

"i gave a witness statement. in hana's case."

there’s a beat of silence. jay blinks, confused. "what witness statement? wasn't the case closed by your parents?"

truth is, hana's suicide was going to be investigated by the police as there was suspicion of something dark going on in that high school due to the fact this was the second suicide in almost the same timeframe.

hana and sunghoon's parents shut the case down to save face, just in case something weird was discovered.

only now, when sunghoon gave a statement, was the case reopened.

sunghoon swallows, and finally looks up. his expression is unreadable. "i got it reopened. i gave a statement about her."

and suddenly, the air feels colder. heavier. "what the hell are you talking about, sunghoon?"

"i told them they should question y/n," he says, like that explains everything. "and everything i knew about those two."

jay’s eyes narrow. "you gave a witness statement against her. that could ruin her life. you realize that, right?"

sunghoon’s jaw tightens. "i didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. and for all i care, she deserves it."

"no," jay says, voice rising just slightly. "you said what you think was true. what you think happened. that’s a big difference. look, i'm not trying to defend her in any way, she was cruel but are you actually going to say she was the one responsible for hana's suicide?!"

sunghoon doesn’t respond.

jay leans forward, elbows on the table. "you didn’t even talk to her."

"didn't need to," sunghoon snaps, defensive now. "she made hana's life hell in high school! everyone knew that! any sensible person would come to this conclusion too. why would hana randomly take her life in the summer after high school ended?! you think i don’t know that? you think i don’t know how it looks? it looks exactly like how it is."

"how it looks?" jay echoes, incredulous. "you’re basing your whole version of the truth off how it looked? god, sunghoon—this isn’t just some high school drama. this is someone’s future. her name. everything."

sunghoon’s fingers twitch against the ceramic. "i'm not a kid. that's exactly what i want. my sister lost her life and you know damn well i won't stay quiet. she deserves a punishment for what she put her through. i know what this means."

"do you?" jay’s voice is sharper now, anger breaking through. "because it sounds a hell of a lot like you’re just trying to pin it all on her so you don’t have to face the real mess."

sunghoon’s eyes narrow. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

jay stares at him, voice low and deliberate. "i'm not against you wanting to get justice for your sister but what i am against is you pinning it on some high school drama. you’re avoiding the truth and you know it damn well. blaming her so you don’t have to deal with the fact that your parents—had a huge role in what happened that night."

sunghoon freezes. "you don't know shit jay. it wasn't just some high school drama. i saw how hana was at home."

"and you also know damn well it wasn’t all y/n's fault," jay continues, quieter now, but no less forceful. "you know it. but it’s easier to point fingers than admit the whole system’s screwed, that the people you both grew up trusting are the ones pulling the strings, isn't it?"

"don’t," sunghoon warns, his voice cracking just slightly. "don’t bring them into this."

"why not? because it makes things harder?" jay’s words are a slap."“because then you’d have to accept that this isn’t just about her? that this is about you too—and how you let it get this far?"

sunghoon’s silence is answer enough.

jay shakes his head, bitter. "you’re smarter than this. you’re better than this."

"it’s not that simple. jay, you don't fucking know my parents and you don't have the right to comment on them either." sunghoon says quietly.

"right. of course. it's not like i grew up with you sunghoon. spent all my childhood in your house because i lost my parents early. it's not like i saw how your parents acted with you and hana. of course." jay paused, exhaling before continuing.

"but still, no, i'm not saying i know everything about your family sunghoon but i know enough to tell that your parents are fucked up. and most of all, i know you sunghoon. you've been my bestfriend ever since nursery for god's sake!"

the silence fills the atmosphere again, making the whole mood all the more unbearable.

sunghoon begins, "but what she did wasn't right."

"no," jay agrees. "it never was. but that doesn’t mean you get to throw her under the bus just to make yourself feel better."

sunghoon finally looks up, really looks at him—and there’s guilt in his eyes. fear. regret.

but also something else. a flicker of uncertainty. like he’s only just starting to question everything.

"fuck." he whispers under his breath.

jay’s voice softens, just a little. "fix it."

the sky’s dark by the time sunghoon pulls out of the lot. jay’s words still echo in his ears, louder than the music playing low through the speakers.

you’re just avoiding the truth. you’re putting the full blame on her because you can’t accept that your parents had a part in it too. and you know damn well.

he grips the steering wheel tighter, knuckles pale. the city glows outside his window in patches—streetlights casting halos onto the pavement, shop signs flickering neon. everything feels distant, like he’s driving through a world half-asleep.

the car’s too quiet. even with the music. which is ironic, since he had kept it on max volume.

he rolls the windows down a little, just enough for the cold air to bite his skin. it helps. not much, but a little.

he doesn’t know why it pissed him off so much—what jay said. maybe because it was true. maybe because it wasn’t. maybe because it was easier to believe that none of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t been the way she was back then. cruel. sharp. calculating. that’s how he remembers her, at least.

but memory’s slippery. especially when guilt’s involved.

he stops at a red light. drums his fingers against the steering wheel, creating some sort of rhythm he couldn't recognise. exhales.

it’s not like he doesn’t feel.. weird about it. he does. god, he does. but regret doesn’t equal innocence. she did things too. they all did. none of them walked away clean from high school. honestly? maybe not even him.

the light turns green.

his phone buzzes in the passenger seat. he doesn’t look. probably someone from uni. or maybe his mom, asking when he’ll be home, always so strict about knowing where he is. he doesn’t answer.

the streets start to empty as he nears his neighborhood. the city bleeding into suburbs, lights getting dimmer, the hum of traffic thinning out. the same route he always takes, but tonight, everything looks different. like he’s not really here. like he’s watching someone else drive his car, live his life.

he pulls into the driveway. parks, but doesn’t get out.

his hands stay on the wheel.

maybe jay was right. maybe he was just scared of what it would mean if he admitted he was wrong. or maybe he was wrong. he couldn't figure it out.

and if he looked at her—not the version of her in his memory, not the girl he’s been blaming—but her, now.

he leans back in his seat. stares up at the ceiling of the car.

what then?

the guards open the gate. his house looks the same as always. neat. cold. silent.

he stays in the car.

just a few minutes more.

you missed the first call.

it rang while you were organizing your bathroom shelves, too muffled through the bathroom door to catch your attention. the second one came less than two minutes later—this time, vibrating loudly on the counter like it had something urgent to say.

you didn’t expect to see yunchae’s name on your screen again so soon. not after she moved abroad last year. not after everything went to hell.

yunchae was your bestfriend in high school. in a way, she still is. but you both grew out of contact after everything.

"hey," her voice was bright, a little breathless. "surprise. i’m back."

you blinked, still half-distracted. "what?"

"can you pick me up from the airport? i landed early. flight was hell. i’ll owe you forever."

you processed what you heard for a second before sighing and reaching for your keys. "text me the terminal."

the drive there was a blur of traffic lights and soft music humming through the speakers, your mind running faster than the car. she hadn’t said anything else on the phone—no explanation, no warning, just hey, i’m back. like it was that simple.

it was like that before too. she just left suddenly after everything happened. and now she's back, just as suddenly.

you spotted her by the arrivals gate, dragging a worn brown suitcase behind her and waving with a grin that somehow made you feel seventeen again. hair a bit longer now, outfit still impeccable despite the 13-hour flight. same old yunchae.

you rolled down the window and she slid in, tossing her bag into the back seat.

"god, i missed you," she said immediately, pulling you into a quick side-hug before settling in.

"care to explain why you keep disappearing and appearing out of nowhere?" you glare at her before starting the car, placing your hands back on the steering wheel.

"man, i'm really sorry. shit came up. i want to meet you before i left but i couldn't." yunchae says as she leans against the window.

"could've at least texted me. be glad i didn't make you take a cab."

she rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. "still dramatic, huh?"

"pot, meet kettle."

the car fills with easy silence, the kind that only comes from old familiarity. there’s music playing low on the radio—some mellow pop song neither of you know. streetlights start to flicker on as the city shifts into midnight.

"so, how's university?" she asks, taking out her phone, responding to texts, at least that's what it looked like from the corner of your eye.

you shrug, eyes on the road. "fine. same old, i guess. assignments piling up, annoying professors…"

she snorts. "yep. sounds about right."

the road curves gently, streetlights casting long shadows across the dash. you pass a late-night convenience store glowing pale in the dark, a couple walking a dog, an old man locking up his storefront. everything looks peaceful in that surreal, 11 p.m. kind of way.

"how was switzerland?" you ask, glancing at her briefly. "did you fall in love with a ski instructor or something?"

"god, no," she groans dramatically, stretching her arms over her head. "you have no idea how boring that whole thing ended up being. not only was it sudden, my cousin flaked on me half the time, and the other half i was stuck in some crusty museum trying not to freeze my ass off."

you smile. "damn, that's rough. still sounds better than being stuck here."

"okay, fair," she laughs. "but i did miss this. all of it. even your shitty driving."

"watch it. i'm technically in charge of your life right now." you say, joking.

she grins, but there’s warmth behind it. "i mean it, though. missed you."

you glance at her again, this time a bit longer. "yeah..i missed you too. felt weird having no one to talk to. felt foreign in a city i grew up in."

another lull falls between you—comfortable again. the kind that doesn't feel like silence at all, just space.

you turn into a quieter street, trees lining both sides. yunchae tucks her legs up on the seat, head tilted toward the window.

"hey…" she starts, after a while. "i know you’ve probably had to talk about this a lot lately, but—i heard about hana. and… the investigation."

your grip on the steering wheel tightens for just a second. you keep your eyes forward. "yeah. figured you would."

"i didn’t want to bring it up right away. i just... i’ve been reading stuff online, and people keep saying you were called in for questioning?"

you nod once. "they think i had something to do with it."

she’s quiet for a beat. the car hums softly as it glides down the road.

"do you?"

you let out a humorless laugh. "you think i'm the one who drove her to this point too?"

"no," she says quickly. "no, i didn’t mean it like that. i just—fuck. you know i don’t think you’d ever do something like that."

you don’t say anything.

"i mean, we were bitches back then," she continues, softer. "like, really awful sometimes. i know that. but you wouldn’t—"

"it doesn’t matter what i would or wouldn’t do," you say, cutting her off gently. "people already made up their minds."

yunchae leans forward, finally putting her phone down completely. "then screw them. you don’t owe anyone shit. do you think you're guilty?"

you glance at her. "..no. no fucking way. sure, i fucking regret shit too but this?!"

"then that's all that matters. as long as you know you're right. but.. we still have to prove to the investigation team you aren't involved in her suicide."

you nod, your mind scattered with other thoughts. "'we'?"

"i mean it," she says. "we used to be a team, remember? i’m not just gonna sit here while you get blamed for something you didn’t do."

your chest tightens—not in a painful way, but in that strange, foreign way that happens when you realize someone is still in your corner.

"…thanks but you don't have to do that," you say, quieter than before, avoiding her eyes.

"i don't remember asking you. pretty sure i was informing you." yunchae says, grinning.

you raise your eyebrows before grinning back, nodding.

she leans her head against the seat, eyes closed, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "besides, i’ve been out of the drama loop for way too long. might as well catch up."

you laugh softly, turning into your street. the headlights cast brief golden glows across parked cars, windows, the quiet world you’ve been trying to keep steady.

"you sure you’re ready to dive into all this again?" you ask.

"for you? always."

monday morning hits like a slow punch to the ribs.

campus feels... well.. the same.

that's what pisses you off the most.

the sky’s overcast, but the sun pushes through in hazy streaks, casting long shadows on the concrete as you walk across the quad. your hoodie is a bit too warm for the weather, but it was what you found in your closet first thing in the morning. comfortable and more than enough.

your steps are steady, practiced—you just keep moving, wanting to get the day over with as fast as you could, hoping that you somehow walking faster would make everything else faster.

but that's the problem.

it doesn't really matter what you do in this world.

because it was already starting.

two girls at the bike rack near the literature building, whispering between sips of iced coffee. "…did you hear? they’re reopening that case. the one with that girl, hana something—" "from eles high, right? the suicide?" "yeah. police called someone in last week. crazy."

well, that's just insane. sure, you knew your high school was famous since it was a prestigious one. and on top of that, this was the second suicide case from your high school. you knew it had a lot of media coverage but,

hearing it right in your university?

damn, life kicks you when you're down, huh?

you keep walking. you don’t look over, you can't. all you can do is just push your hands deeper into your sleeves and pretend the words don’t land.

they do.

a group sitting outside the cafe, half-laughing, half-hushed. "isn’t it wild how no one really talked about it after graduation?" "someone I know said she was in the same friend group as hana. apparently there was drama—like, serious shit." "do you think it was, like… foul play? or just guilt-trippy rumor stuff?"

you pass by them like a ghost.

walking scott street, feeling like a stranger.

a guy in your psych lecture, nudging his friend as they scroll through a forum post on his phone. "swear to god, someone said she was bullied. like, seriously messed up shit back then." "who even gets questioned after so many years? they must’ve found something new."

you slip into your regular seat, jaw tight. no one’s looking at you. obviously. they don't know. maybe that's worse.

the room smells like old paper and burnt coffee from a travel mug someone left open. the air conditioning hums unevenly overhead. your professor is late. the chatter doesn’t die down, it just shifts—murmurs beneath the surface, soft but constant, like static in your ears.

you pull out your notebook, draw aimless lines in the margins. pretend to reread last week’s notes. you try your best to not listen, but your ears catch every fragment. "can’t believe she jumped—" "—they say it wasn’t that simple—" "—heard she was one of those rich girls, y’know?"

you feel your throat tighten.

because it’s not about you. not explicitly. not yet. but it’s getting closer. every word feels like it’s orbiting your name, spiraling in, just waiting to land.

you shift in your seat, trying to ignore the prickle on the back of your neck. the tension in your shoulders is beginning to ache. everything feels just a little too loud, a little too sharp, like the world is breathing down your spine.

and the worst part?

part of you wonders if you deserve it. if your silence back then makes you guilty now. if the rumors, the whispers, the unease—they’re just karma working its way toward you.

you stare at the blank space between your notes, heart thudding quietly. not enough to panic, not enough to break. just enough to remind you it’s there.

you don’t say anything. you don’t turn around. you just sit there, breathing through the noise, the tension curling in your stomach like smoke.

trying to remind yourself that you know the truth. trying to believe that’s enough. trying to believe it still matters.

you reach into your bag, pulling out a pen that clicks too loud in the quiet. someone glances your way. you look away immediately. not weird at all.

the door opens and your professor finally walks in, shuffling papers. the noise dies down slowly.

but the air doesn’t clear.

because even as the lecture begins, even as words fill the space and the lights hum above you, you can still hear it.

the not-knowing. the suspicion. the story that’s rewriting itself without you.

and you wonder how long until it stops being whispers.

and starts being your name.

you almost don’t hear her at first.

you’re halfway down the hallway outside your lecture room, still trying to blink the heaviness out of your eyes, when a voice cuts through the noise.

"y/n! where the fuck were you?"

you freeze.

the tone hits first—urgent, sharp around the edges—but not angry. not really. more like worried frustration, the kind that comes from someone who’s been spiraling quietly on the other end of a phone you haven’t picked up in days.

you turn, slowly.

emi stands just a few steps away, one hand clenched around her phone, the other stuffed in her jacket pocket. her hair’s slightly messy, like she rushed across campus to find you. there's a crease between her brows, and her chest rises and falls a little too fast.

you don’t say anything right away. you hadn’t meant to ignore her. not really. you just… couldn’t. not when every message felt like it needed an explanation you didn’t have the words for.

"emi—" your voice comes out hoarse. you clear your throat, try again. "sorry. i was busy."

"don’t do that," she says immediately, stepping closer. "don’t give me some half-assed answer like that. i’ve been calling you all weekend. you know how worried i was because you weren't picking my calls up? it was normal once but then i felt weird when you didn't call back."

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, eyes flicking away. the hallway is mostly empty now. the crowd that spilled out from class has thinned. only a few scattered footsteps echo behind you.

"yeah, i know, i should've called you back," you admit. "emi.. i messed up."

"messed up?" she tilts her head. her expression softens, the crease in her brow loosening, just slightly. "what happened?"

you open your mouth but the words don't fall out. you still don't have the courage, do you?

what an idiot.

you don’t realize your zoning out until emi reaches out and gently grabs your wrist, grounding you.

"y/n?" she asks, quieter now. "you seem.. off."

you swallow hard, jaw clenched.

"emi, do you trust me?"

emi stares at you for a moment. "uh.. as much as i can trust someone i met around two weeks ago?"

you huff out a weak laugh. "well, that works too. then, just give me time. i'll tell you everything."

"..what?" her voice is firm. "stop acting like some protagonist in a sulk movie. what are you talking about?"

now that she mentions it, you kind of are.. doing that.

you cough out awkwardly, smiling before pushing her forward, urging her to lead the way to your next class.

something inside your chest gives a little, like pressure easing from a valve. you blink hard, biting the inside of your cheek. you won’t cry—not here, not now—but god, do you feel the ache.

"i’m sorry," you murmur.

you don't know to who. or to how many people.

you let her tug you along the hallway, her hand still loosely around your wrist.

act like a normal functioning citizen for once, y/n. goddamn it.

the next morning comes too fast.

you wake up late. the kind of late that makes your stomach twist the second you check the time on your phone. some random message notifications, and other usless notifications. and a lecture that started fifteen minutes ago.

"shit," you mumble, dragging yourself out of bed.

your limbs feel like lead as you move. sleep didn't come too fast. you’d spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, your thoughts stuck on an endless loop—but eventually you did fall asleep. it was good but now it feels too short. despite waking up around thirty minutes late.

your bag’s already half-packed from yesterday. you throw on whatever you could find first, tying your hair up quickly, and barely remembering to grab your ID before rushing out the door.

campus is already alive by the time you get there—students scattered across the green, clusters of voices rising and fading as you pass. the sky is overcast, soft and gray, a gentle wind curling around your sleeves. it smells faintly like rain, despite it not raining. you hope it does, the weather is terribly hot.

you jog across the quad toward your building gate, praying you can make it on time. this is definitely not the first time you've barely made it and it's still the first month of university.

you're so fucked.

your lungs are practically burning, your breath coming out in uneven gasps as you slow down near the entrance, clutching the strap of your bag as if it was on the brink of falling off. you were though.

you lean down slightly, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. the cool morning air stings your throat.

oh.

you blink.

as if the universe hadn’t already done enough to mess with your week by making you late, you spot that familiar head of black hair just a few steps ahead—neatly styled, effortlessly careless in the kind of way that’s probably unintentional.

how is it even possible to look attractive from the bac-

wait, no, that's not the point! why does sunghoon have to be running late on the same day as you?! damn it!

you groan under your breath.

seriously?

he’s heading in the same direction as you. which means—unless you want to risk being even more late—you’ll have to walk behind him, or worse, catch up.

you slow your pace automatically, trying to create distance without making it too obvious. you consider ducking behind a group of students near the vending machine. or maybe pretending you forgot something and doubling back?

you curse internally.

alright, y/n, think. how do you avoid him without looking like a total weirdo?

wait, no.

why do you even need to avoid him, huh? it’s not like you did anything wrong. it’s not like you’re the one who jumped to conclusions and went ahead and gave a damn witness statement some random saturday morning.

yeah. exactly.

your spine straightens a little as the thought lands. annoyance starts bubbling beneath the nerves. who’s hiding? not you. definitely not today.

in fact… you could even be a little petty.

you smirk to yourself—barely, but it’s there. subtle, bitter. a defense mechanism, maybe. or maybe just a reminder to yourself that you do still have some control, even if it’s just this.

that's when you get an idea.

perfect.

with a subtle shift of pace, you time it just right—cutting ahead of him at the last second and "accidentally" fumbling with your bag right in front of the path.

you bend down, slowly, dragging the moment out as you pretend to fix your strap. rummaging just enough to take a little longer than needed. just enough to make him stop behind you.

"seriously?" you hear under his breath. that's when you both look towards the building gate as it closes.

perfect. sure, you're late too but honestly, you were willing to sacrifice your record (as if it wasn't already bad) if that meant sunghoon would too, end up being late.

you blink innocently over your shoulder. "oh—sorry," you say, all airy sweetness and false concern. "my bag strap’s been acting up all morning."

his jaw ticks.

he doesn’t respond. just shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly annoyed. and maybe, just maybe, the tips of his ears are a little red.

you don't know what the hell you're doing but what you do know, is that you're definitely enjoying it.

you stand upright again, adjusting your strap with a fake little tug for dramatic effect. "you can go ahead now," you say, finally stepping aside with a polite, practiced smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching your eyes.

you’re not proud of it. okay—maybe a little proud. damn, it's been a while since you let yourself be petty. well.. if you don't count the paper incident from last week.

"go ahead?" you hear him scoff, "the gate closed."

"oops, guess you'll have to take the longer route. don't worry, you're already late sunghoon, another ten minutes won't make a difference, will it?" you smile, looking right up at him.

told you i'd get you back for that water incident.

"you, are late too." sunghoon replies, shooting you a glare, narrowing his eyes at you.

"uh-huh. and whose fault is that?" you say, leaning back a little.

you see sunghoon furrow his brows, shocked as if you'd just told him that the laws or gravity were a political lie. you were barely controlling your laughter.

"are you actually saying i'm the one who made you late?!"

"yeah! you're the one who started talking about nonsense with me! now look, because of you i have to not only miss my lecture but also face consequences later."

you'd easily turned it around to make it look like he was the one who made you late causing you to argue with him. you grin but quickly cover it up, putting on an annoyed expression.

sunghoon stares at you like he’s trying to calculate the trajectory of your logic and where it all went so horribly wrong. "you literally blocked the gate," he says, gesturing dramatically toward the now-shut entrance behind you. "with your body."

you cross your arms, feigning offense. "wow. body shaming now? really, sunghoon?"

his jaw drops. "what—no! that’s not even what I meant."

"mmhm," you hum, looking away, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning again.

he runs a hand through his hair, clearly on the verge of losing his mind. "you are so—"

"brilliant? intelligent? witty? correct?"

"insufferable," he finishes, deadpan.

you cough out, hand flying to your chest in mock betrayal. "wow. let's not go that far, now. that's harsh, isn't it?"

sunghoon takes a slow breath, clearly counting to ten in his head. "you are not blaming this on me. and i don't even want to talk to someone like you."

you look away before looking back at him. "but i do, and am blaming you 'cause you are at fault."

he steps closer, arms crossed now, mirroring you. "is that so?"

you swallow before nodding, looking back at him.

he huffs a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. "you are unbelievable."

"and you," you point at him, poking his shoulder, "are late. because you distracted me. don’t deny it."

"you distracted me!"

you raise an eyebrow. "is that your way of admitting you were looking at me?"

sunghoon’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again like his brain had to reboot mid-thought. "i— that’s not—" he groans, turning around as he mutters, "i can’t do this with you. fuck off."

"yeah, well say that to my face park su-"

professor sen's voice interrupts the very polite interaction you and sunghoon were having.

"well, well, well. if it isn’t my two most punctual students."

you and sunghoon freeze like you’ve just been caught committing a federal crime. slowly, both your heads turn in unison to see your elective professor standing a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow arched in classic judgmental fashion.

shit.

"not only do you both skip my class," professor sen continues, pacing a little in front of you, "but you also have the audacity to stand here and argue? loudly? in front of the closed gate? during class hours?"

sunghoon clears his throat. "technically, the gate closed while we were talking—"

"mr. park, would you like me to round your grade down to the nearest zero?" the professor snaps without missing a beat.

sunghoon instantly straightens. "no, sir."

"good. and ms. y/l/n? this isn't a high school for you two to be arguing like kids."

you give your most apologetic, wide-eyed look. "we weren’t arguing arguing. it was more like… academic debating. elective bonding, if you will."

professor sen blinks. "elective bonding?"

sunghoon side eyes you, about to complain about you when you plead to him with your eyes, as best as you could.

sunghoon, i swear to god, my grades are like the one thing i have-

you don't really expect him to listen, not like that's ever worked before but you try anyways.

thankfully, he does end up listening. ironic, really, someone who gave a witness statement against you and thinks you're a terrible person and is accusing you of shit you didn't do actually ended up saving you.

well, maybe not for your sake. technically, he had to save himself too.

"yeah," sunghoon chimes in. "we were discussing, uh, social dynamics. and how personal interaction can impact stress levels and time management skills in—"

"in young adults!" you finish quickly, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. "like us!"

the professor stares at the two of you. long. hard. like he’s trying to determine whether you’re completely full of shit or just mildly delusional.

"you know what," he says finally, voice way too calm to be comforting. "you want to study social dynamics? perfect."

uh-oh.

"you’re both going to write a paper on it. together."

sunghoon audibly chokes. "wait—together?"

professor sen grins like this is the best part of his day. "yes. a joint essay. i want a five-page analysis on the impact of interpersonal conflict on productivity—due by the end of the day.”

"end of the—sir, that’s—" you look at your phone. "it’s already almost noon.."

"then i suggest you get started," he says, clearly enjoying this a little too much. "maybe next time, you’ll consider attending class instead of engaging in whatever this was." he says, accentuating the 'whatever this was' with his finger, pointing at you two.

he walks off without another word, leaving you and sunghoon standing there like you just got hit by a truck.

you both slowly turn to each other, only to turn away and groan. what the fuck did you just get into?

damn your pettiness. you felt very proud of yourself earlier but now you're damning your actions.

you both ended up being pushed to some room in the corner of the campus to work on this essay with a stupid deadline.

"so.. uh.. how's it going? sorry for all this, by the way.." you ask, wincing at the awkwardness but trying to start a conversation with him anyway. maybe you can even gradually bring up the topic of the case.

..or maybe not.

sunghoon looks up at you, glaring. "weren't you just shouting at me ten minutes ago?"

you cough out, muttering out another awkward apology. how do you always fuck up this bad, y/n..

"you should be sorry. you're the last person i want to be stuck here with." sunghoon replies, going back to writing something on his laptop.

you sigh, groaning in your seat at sunghoon's response before leaning back.

"but now we’re writing an essay about it. poetic, don’t you think?" you say, giving another shot at starting a conversation with him.

...only for sunghoon to side eye you again before going back to his work, not responding.

...when did you become this awkward and bad at conversing with people? last you remembered, you were amazing at this. you sigh once again, exasperated.

sigh, then again, it's not like he would talk to his sister's "tormentor" or something.

..wait, no. it's not even you! he's gaslighting you too now. goddamn it.

you groan again, looking over at sunghoon who was completely ignoring you and concentrating on his work.

..honestly, if you think about it, he's kinda cute when he's being cold and focusing on someth-

no! what the fuck is wrong with you, y/n?! get ahold of yourself, seriously..

you straighten up before grabbing your bag to take out your laptop. enough of whatever you're doing right now, you need to help out in this essay too. especially since you might be kind of at fault for this. aha. and it's your responsibility too.

finally, you both do manage to finish everything before noon and submit it, taking a sigh of relief at finally being done.

"not bad. you both make a good team." says professor sen as he goes over the essay you both submitted.

yeah, good team my ass.

professor sen hadn’t even made it five feet to the door when he suddenly turned back around, clapping his hands once like a man who just remembered he had more to ruin. great.

"oh, and before i forget—there was also a group project assigned in class today. partners were chosen during the first half of the lecture."

you and sunghoon immediately stiffen.

"and since you two weren’t there to draw names from the list," he says, "you’ll be working together. you seem to make a great team anyways." professor sen completes, exaggerating the 'great'.

you gape at him. "what?!"

sunghoon groans, already half-turning away. "thanks, professor, but i’d rather die."

what the hell?! is this man stuck in highschool?! he's so childish!

..okay, maybe you aren't one to talk.

"great. then you can write your own eulogy as an appendix to the essay," professor sen says with a sweet smile, then points a finger at the both of you. "i expect genuine teamwork. the topic and rubric are already uploaded. due in two weeks. now, unless you’d like another assignment on top of that, i suggest you both start walking toward the library." he finishes before glaring, giving no space for further argument.

you and sunghoon stand there in stunned silence as the professor finally leaves for real this time, humming to himself like he hadn’t just handed you a joint death sentence.

sunghoon mutters something under his breath as he runs a hand through his hair. "i swear to god, i am going to lose my mind."

you don’t reply.

you’re too busy watching the way his jaw tightens. the way he exhales like the air around him’s not enough. the way he starts to turn to leave like he can’t get away from you fast enough.

like being seen with you is somehow beneath him now.

and something inside you—somewhere between the exhaustion, the tension, the bitter twist of everything that’s happened—just snaps.

"you know what?" your voice cuts through the space between you, sharp and loud enough to make him freeze mid-step.

he doesn’t turn around.

so you keep going.

"just so you know—your whole fucking witness statement is based on a lie."

that makes him turn.

his eyes are dark now, not in that amused, teasing way they sometimes are. this time it’s different. heavier.

you breathe out shakily, the words rushing out before you can stop them. "hana fed you a story and you ate it up without a second thought. and now, what? i’m the villain? i’m the one everyone whispers about in hallways like i planned it all from the start?"

sunghoon doesn’t say anything, jaw clenched.

silence again. thick and heavy, like the sky’s about to break open.

you blink, suddenly aware of the heat behind your eyes, the weight in your chest pressing harder than before. this wasn’t how you wanted to tell him. hell, you didn’t even know if you wanted to tell him. you were still unsure if you wanted to bring this up at all but now you did.

you did. and it’s out there now. floating in the open air between you.

you get that he would be angry. that's his sister for god's sake but it hurt that he was blaming you for something you didn't do.

but then again, maybe his anger is warranted for. god, you have no idea.

sunghoon’s eyes flicker, something unreadable shifting behind them. but before he can say anything—

you turn away.

"forget it," you mumble, already walking ahead. "i'll complete the project myself and add your name in it. i am responsible for this mess anyways and you don't want to work with me."

and maybe, just maybe, this is what rock bottom looks like. arguing in front of a locked gate. group projects with the guy who wants you behind bars. your truth spilling out like it’s been waiting for months.

but if nothing else—at least now it’s out.

and he heard you. for once, he heard you.

you walk out before he can, your steps abrupt and your thoughts scattered.

you take out your car keys, walking toward your car when you hear the sharp buzz of a notification from your phone.

you don’t check it at first. your hand tightens around the steering wheel before you even get inside, the conversation from moments ago still echoing in your head. your voice, louder than usual. his expression—blank, then angry, then something else you couldn’t read even if you tried.

you finally glance at the screen.

???: how do you sleep at night, i wonder ???: maybe you'll sleep better behind bars.

your stomach drops.

for a second, all the air seems to leave the car. the world outside feels muffled, like someone stuffed cotton in your ears. the soft thrum of the city—the distant horns, the footsteps, the rustle of leaves—fades into nothing.

you reread the messages. once. twice. and then again, as if the words might change.

they don’t.

you don’t recognize the number. it’s not saved, and it doesn’t ring any bells. but the weight of the message—it’s personal. specific. targeted. this isn’t a spam text or some twisted joke.

whoever it is… they know. they know everything in detail.

your hands are suddenly clammy against the leather of the steering wheel. the conversation with sunghoon might’ve left you rattled, but this—this is different. this is fear. this is the feeling of being watched.

you look out the windshield, half-expecting to see someone standing there. watching you.

no one’s there.

you lock the doors anyway. your thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether to block the number. report it. reply.

you don’t do any of those things.

instead, you just stare.

because deep down, even if you don’t know who sent it, you think you know why.

and that might be worse.

it can't be sunghoon, you think. it just feels weird for him to do this. he isn't scared to tell you that to your face. he has, told you that to your face. why would he suddenly resort to mysterious threat messages?

only someone has has a need to conceal their identity would do this.

..but who?

the message doesn’t leave your head.

it’s burned into the inside of your eyelids—every time you blink, it’s there, etched like a warning carved in stone.

"how do you sleep at night, i wonder."

you never replied. never blocked it either. just let it sit there in your phone like a ticking bomb you’re too afraid to dismantle. it was dumb but you could barely think when you got that message.

by the time you get home, your hands are shaking. not violently. just enough to make the key miss the lock once, twice before it finally clicks. the hallway is dim, quiet. you don’t even bother flicking the lights on anymore—you know the way. you always know the way.

but the silence tonight feels heavier. like the walls are listening. well.. it always does feel heavy, who are you kidding?

you toss your bag on the couch and sit down next to it, only intending to catch your breath. but your body doesn’t move again. it just stays there, curled in on itself, a hand pressed to your mouth as if that might stop the nausea rising in your throat.

guilt is a strange thing. it doesn’t always come like thunder. sometimes it drips—slowly, steadily, like water from a cracked ceiling.

and tonight, it’s pouring. it's pouring hard.

there's helicopters over my head,

hana’s name wasn’t in that message. but you felt her in it. every syllable. every sharp edge.

and it felt like there was something else. something you were missing. you couldn't figure it out even if you wanted to. your mind was far too scattered.

her face flashes behind your eyes. not the real one, not the one you remember in hallways and classrooms—but the one from the yearbook. the one frozen in time. forced smile. hair curled just right. the version of her that people posted when the news broke, as if that was all she ever was.

a picture. a tragedy. a headline.

you close your eyes and wish you hadn’t.

every night when i go to bed.

because you see her.

and you don't know what's real and what's not anymore. your mind was doing everything to make you forget what you thought you knew. it felt like she was standing in the hallway. behind your reflection in the mirror. curled at the edge of your bed. silent. watching. never speaking. but always there.

you sit up abruptly, heart pounding, chest tight. you try to tell yourself you’re just tired. just stressed. just paranoid.

probably.

you rub your arms, suddenly cold. your laptop is still on the coffee table, screen black, reflecting your face back at you. you stare at it and you can’t help but think of that conversation with sunghoon. the way his expression shifted. the way your voice cracked even though you told yourself it wouldn’t.

and now—what?

now you’re getting cryptic messages from strangers. now it feels like you’re seeing ghosts in every corner. now hana’s name tastes like blood in your mouth.

maybe this is what she wanted. no—no, she wouldn’t want this. right?

hell, who are you kidding? no one but yourself, you suppose.

except… who knows anymore.

you weren’t kind to her. not really. and while you weren’t the only one—you were one of them. and the only one who people really saw.

they didn't see her. they saw you.

you deserved it, anyways.

and that truth sticks to your skin no matter how hard you try to scrub it off.

you cover your face with your hands and exhale, the sound trembling and thin.

the guilt doesn’t just sit in your chest anymore. it moves. it creeps up your throat and into your bones. it’s rewriting your memory in real-time, coloring every laugh you shared with your old friend group, every sharp whisper behind someone’s back. twisting it. warping it.

and worst of all?

you can’t even tell what’s real anymore.

was it as bad as it feels now? or are you just haunted by the version of events you think you remember?

either way—hana is everywhere. in your mind, your dreams, your silence.

you reach for your phone again. not to call anyone. just to check if the message is still there.

it isn't.

you blink, double checking, checking again, as if it would bring the message back.

it's not there anymore.

fuck. you should've saved it. then again, it's not like you were thinking straight. and so what if you save it? so what if you manage to track the person?

then again..

you might have actually lost it. are you seriously imagining threats now?

no, it was definitely there! there's no way you imagined all that..

but honestly, you don't know what's real and what you're making up anymore.

you should just go sleep.

the cemetery is quiet. the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel peaceful—just still. still, and cold.

sunghoon walks slowly, hands buried deep in his coat pockets. he hadn’t meant to come here. not really. it wasn’t planned. he was just driving. at least, that’s what he told himself. but somehow, the turns felt familiar. somehow, the wheels knew where to go even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

it’s not even that far from the city. just a short drive away, tucked between hills and behind wrought-iron gates. hana’s resting place. marked by a polished stone that felt too heavy.

his footsteps crunch softly against the gravel. there’s no one else here. of course there isn’t. it’s too early for weekend visitors, too late for the caretakers to be around. the sun is barely hanging above the trees, a washed-out gold behind thin clouds. shadows stretch long and spindly across the earth.

then—he sees it.

the grave is simple. her name carved cleanly into the stone, with the dates beneath. the flowers someone placed there have wilted around the edges, petals dry and curled inward. he doesn’t know who still comes here. probably not their parents.

he scoffs at the thought.

sunghoon stands still for a long while. just looks. as if he expects her to rise up from beneath the ground and tell him what he’s supposed to do now.

"...hey," he mutters after a while, voice low and awkward. "it’s been a while."

the wind answers him. dry, indifferent.

he wasn't used to this. it's not like he visits graves on a daily basis but also because hana and sunghoon weren't close at all.

he sits down in the grass, elbows on his knees, clasped hands in front of his mouth. he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. there’s nothing poetic or profound about this. he just didn’t know where else to go. he just.. ended up here.

"you’d probably think i’m stupid for being here," he says. "i think i'm pretty stupid too, for coming here."

he lets out a humorless breath, something caught between a chuckle and a sigh. his gaze falls to the dirt, to the small cracks in the stone’s base.

"i thought i was doing the right thing," he says finally. "when i gave that report. when i told them what i remembered."

his voice wavers. just slightly.

"but now i don’t even know what the hell i remember. i mean.. i do.. i do want to do this.. but now, i'm not too sure. i was so sure just a few days ago. i don't know what happened."

he picks at the cuff of his sleeve, jaw tightening.

"y/n… she said i only saw what you wanted me to see. and maybe she’s right. maybe you… twisted things. maybe we all did. god, maybe jay is right. maybe i am only seeing things the way i want to. but that.. doesn't make her any better. but that's still.. fuck, i'm lost."

there’s bitterness in his voice now. confusion wrapped in the kind of guilt that doesn’t leave no matter how many times you try to shove it down.

"i keep going over it. what happened. what we all were back then. and i just—" he stops himself. his throat feels tight. "i don’t know what’s real anymore."

the wind shifts again. a crow caws distantly in the trees.

he looks at the stone. the name. her name.

"you’re not here to answer me," he whispers. "and that’s the worst part. you left, and now all we’re left with is versions of you that none of us can agree on. hana, you've always done this, huh?"

he runs a hand through his hair. looks away, swallowing hard.

"maybe i'm the stupid one. maybe i was the one who sad our parents through those stupid rose tinted glasses too much. maybe i didn't see things the right way. maybe i saw you wrong too."

he pauses.

"...or maybe i just didn’t want to."

the silence grows again. deeper. he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t move. just sits with it. with her. with the weight of what can’t be undone.

after a while, he rises to his feet.

"i don’t know who to believe anymore, hana," he says quietly. "but i’m starting to think i should’ve listened more. to everyone. to myself."

his eyes flicker back to the name carved in stone.

"whatever happens… i’m sorry. it feels like i'm the one whose actually at fault, hana. don't worry, i didn't come here for empathy."

there’s nothing else to say. not really.

he turns and walks away slowly, footsteps lighter than when he came. but the air still presses down on him like the ghost of a weight he’s only beginning to understand.

the phone buzzes once, twice, before you finally reach out to answer it, thumb sluggish against the screen.

"y/n?" yunchae’s voice comes through, bright, a little breathless, like she’s walking somewhere.

you don’t respond right away. your gaze is fixed on the ceiling, lying on your bed with your hair splayed out and limbs heavy. the phone is on speaker, propped up beside you, the light dim and the outside world a soft gray blur beyond the curtains.

"hey," you say finally, voice low. "what's up?"

"you sound like you haven’t slept."

"haven’t."

she clicks her tongue before you hear her sigh. "couldn't?"

"mm. i have some projects to do and i already skipped university. i’ll sleep later. or after this life. whichever comes first."

she sighs. "morbid."

"kidding."

a pause settles over the call, static and silence humming between you like a shared thought neither of you wants to say out loud. yunchae clears her throat.

"anyway… i was thinking about what we talked about yesterday. about the whole thing about finding evidence that's in your favour."

you blink, eyes drifting toward the mess on your desk. papers. post-its. the faint glow of your laptop screen still open to a document you haven’t touched in hours.

"yeah?"

"so… i remembered that girl who always used to hang around her. rina, i think? i didn’t know her super well, but she and hana were pretty close in second year. i might still have her number from back then. or at least her socials."

you nod slowly, even though she can’t see it. "what about her?"

"well, i'm not too sure but," yunchae admits. "we could try talking to her. if we find out if there was anything else that was bothering hana, it would automatically prove you innocent."

you close your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nose. your chest feels tight. like everything’s being held together by fraying thread.

"as if she would talk," you murmur. "for me."

yunchae’s voice softens, a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. "it's worth a try. do you have a better idea, ms sherlock?"

"i don’t know yunchae. maybe this isn't a good idea. why do we have to play detective.." your voice cracks just a little. "maybe we should just forget about this. let what happens just.. happen. i don't know if i can do this."

"well, if you want, you can drop out." her voice is quiet. "but i'm not backing out, thanks. whatever this sunghoon dude is trying to do, i'm not letting him do it. accusing you of something so insane."

"it's not like what he's doing is unaccounted for.."

"shut up. no more words."

you stare at the ceiling again, smiling a little, letting her words sink in. you don’t have the energy to say thank you. you hope she hears it anyway.

"okay okay ms world peace. send me her number if you find it or something else." you say after a beat, voice steadier than it feels. "i’ll try to reach out. or you could."

"will do," she says, already typing. "and y/n?"

"yeah?"

"whatever happens next… i’ve got your back. i mean it."

your throat tightens.

"i know. thanks."

the line goes quiet again. this time, it doesn’t feel as heavy. not completely.

but still, you don't know quite what to feel. you thought maybe her words would be that little push to give you hope but it seems like that's not it.

you'll just have to wait and see.

sunghoon closes the front door behind him, the soft click of the latch sounding louder than it should in the sprawling, immaculate hallway. the marble floor reflects his silhouette as he slips off his shoes, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. he can feel the weight of the cold from the cemetery still clinging to him, in his fingers, in the ache in his chest as he walks into his house.

he doesn’t bother announcing his arrival. someone always knows. someone always sees.

he’s halfway to the stairs when the sharp voice cuts through the stillness.

"where were you?"

his mother stands at the threshold of the sitting room, arms crossed over her designer blouse, lips painted and perfect like always. his father looks up from the newspaper, seated on the pristine white couch that’s only ever been used for guests.

sunghoon doesn’t answer at first. he drops his bag on the floor by the stairs. his shoulders are tense.

"i asked you a question."

"i visited hana," he says flatly, not looking at her. "the cemetery."

there’s a beat of silence. then the familiar scoff. clipped, disapproving.

"and for what purpose?" she says. "to wallow in sentiment? she’s been gone for almost half a year now, sunghoon. it’s time to move forward."

"she was your daughter," he says, more bitterly than he meant to. "you could at least pretend to give a shit."

his father lowers the newspaper, eyes cool. "watch your tone."

"why? because i’m embarrassing you? ruining your perfect little image of the ideal son?"

his mother’s expression hardens. "this has nothing to do with image—"

"everything is about image with you!" he snaps suddenly, voice cracking under the pressure that’s been building all day, all year. "you only see your kids as trophies! a list of achievements to parade around your dinner parties and club meetings!"

do you feel ashamed,

"that’s not true," his father says sharply, standing now. "we’ve given you everything. the best education, the best opportunities—"

"and what was the cost for that? to lack us of any kind of love?" sunghoon cuts in, eyes burning. " to give us nothing but pressure. expectations. judgment. and hana? all you ever cared about was how she reflected on you. and when things got bad, when she started falling apart—she became a liability, didn’t she?"

his mother’s face goes pale. "enough."

"no. say it. she was a taint on your reputation, wasn’t she? that’s what she was to you. not a daughter. not someone who needed help. just a stain on the perfect little family portrait you like to shove in everyone’s faces."

when you hear my name?

the silence after that is thick. heavy.

his father doesn’t say a word. his mother looks like she’s about to explode — or cry. but she does neither. just stands there. frozen.

sunghoon breathes hard, jaw clenched. his hands shake slightly at his sides.

"i’m not going to be your puppet," he mutters. "so quit fucking asking me where i was like some spy. you find out anyways through all of those agents of yours, why bother asking me?"

he turns on his heel and storms upstairs before either of them can say anything else, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

behind him, the house stays still. suffocating. fake.

just like it’s always been.

he was halfway to his room when he stopped in front of the door.

hana’s door.

it looked exactly the same — untouched, neat and fitting of someone who never left her bed without making it. the soft cream paint, the little chipped edge at the bottom, the old sticker from a concert they went to years ago still peeling at the corner.

he should’ve kept walking.

but his hand reached out before his brain caught up, fingers curling around the doorknob and twisting it open.

the air inside smelled faintly like her perfume. floral, quiet and old. her room was still frozen in time — the books on her shelf, her throw blanket draped over the chair, half-finished project stacked neatly on her desk.

he stepped inside slowly.

his heart twisted at the sight. a rush of guilt, grief, and confusion all at once. he didn’t come in here often. their parents were working on emptying this soon. probably to erase every trace of her. every trace of her from their family. maybe it could ease their guilt. if they even had any. after all, it was just another set piece in the house of perfection they lived in.

sunghoon walked toward the desk, running a hand across the wooden surface. he glanced at the scattered books, the dried-up pens. and then, something caught his eye in the little drawer under the desk.

he opened it before he could stop himself. it's like his hands moved on their own volition.

notebooks. old polaroids. a few folded papers.

and one envelope. his name wasn’t on it, but he recognized the handwriting immediately.

your handwriting.

he was able to recognize it due to the project you both had to do and submit together. he had seen your handwriting there.

..totally not because he was paying a bit more attention to you then he should have. for whatever reason he couldn't wrap his head around.

his chest tightened as he slowly pulled it out, the date on the corner unmistakable — mid-summer, the summer after high school ended. right around when you'd said you sent an apology.

his brows furrowed. carefully, he opened the letter, his eyes scanning each line.

it was an apology. genuine. messy. emotional. you admitted to everything — the way you’d followed along with the group, how you let things go too far, how you didn’t know how to fix what was broken but you wanted to try. how you had some sort of insecurity. there was no defensiveness. no excuses. just remorse. regret. sincerity.

his stomach turned.

hana told him you never reached out.

she told him you kept bullying her even after high school. she cried about how you still laughed at her online, how she couldn’t escape you, even in the holidays. and he believed her. because she was his little sister and you were the easy villain.

but this letter — this existed.

i asked you "how is your sister?",

and it made no sense. why would you send something like this if you were still tormenting her?

his hands trembled slightly as he folded the paper back up, thoughts spinning too fast to catch.

why would hana lie?

he sat down on the edge of her bed, the letter in his lap, replaying everything in his head. your voice from earlier in the day echoed louder now.

"just so you know, your whole witness statement is based off a lie hana fed you."

back then, he was too angry to understand what you meant. too loyal, maybe. too convinced of his own version of the truth. too blinded by his own version. the one he wanted.

"heard she got her degree."

but now… he couldn’t ignore the doubt creeping in. if you were telling the truth about this, what else were you telling the truth about?

what did hana hide?

what did she want him to believe?

sunghoon’s gaze drifted across her room again, looking at her posters, her old notes stuck to the wall — all the little pieces that once made up a girl he used to call his sister. a girl he used to care for deeply, even if he did not show it. a girl he thought he knew better than anyone else.

but now, for the first time, he wasn’t so sure.

maybe he didn’t know her at all.

maybe he only knew what she wanted him to see.

and what about you? did he truly know you?

it wasn't a lie that you were cruel. everyone knew it. but what he knew, was that a lie?

his fingers tightened around the letter as the silence in the room thickened.

it used to comfort him, this silence. now it felt like it was watching him.

accusing him. he deserves it, maybe.

and once again, since the investigation started, sunghoon wasn’t sure what he believed anymore. or who.

maybe the truth wasn’t as simple as he thought. maybe it never was.

he might be on the right track but maybe not in the right way.

he stood up slowly, folding the letter with care and sliding it into the pocket of his jacket like something fragile. something dangerous.

and as he stepped out of hana’s room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him, a single thought pressed itself into his mind, quiet but undeniable—

what if i was wrong? what should he do now? should he really drop this so easily because of this?

he didn’t have the answer.

end note: petition for both reader and sunghoon to go therapy!!!!! anyways this was really long wtf but i hope u all enjoyedd <3333 tysm for the support

taglist: @arcvillie @mochi13 @chocminteu @outroherrr @gyurilla @supershy3 @woibeb @saraabbas @nithxhoon @dajeong-cats @rairaiblog @beebopisjustwatching @rikidaze @renlikecookies @graythecoffeebean @ginjey19 @semi-wife @valesunae

(sorry if i missed anyone, please lmk if i missed u) mdni, feedback and reblogs, comments and likes appreciated. hate comments will be deleted. please let me know either in the comments or inbox if you want to be added to the taglist <33 also im opening a permanent taglist so do lmk if u wanna be added to that too <3

#enhypen #kpop #fanfic #x reader #enhypen x reader #angst #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon enhypen #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader angst #sunghoon x reader angst #park sunghoon #sunghoon #sunghoon angst #park sunghoon angst #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon x reader #enhypen sunghoon angst #enhypen sunghoon x reader angst

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2demondogs · 3 days ago

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Ok hiii

Could you write low honor arthur as the dad of gn!child reader (like age 8 or older)? Like a despicable me type thing where arthur’s a mean guy but a good dad? Can be headcanons, drabble, wtv would best for you

Anon I know exactly the archetype u mean but "despicable me" is the funniest fucking way you could've described it I'm fried

I wrote headcanons for now, but I do like Dad Arthur so who knows maybe I will scrounge braincells up. Tried to keep it canon compliant-ish. Also I wrote this a while ago, thought I'd mention it since it's a similar type of fic.

CW off-page canon-typical violence, past canonical character death

To call Arthur a good dad is a bit of a mischaracterization. Is he loving? Absolutely. Is he responsible? Absolutely not. He is the last person anyone should leave teaching life lessons to. He also forgets that children aren't smaller adults with fully functioning brains and are, in fact... children. You've known how to shoot a gun since you were five and he lets you have a cigarette whenever you want it, because that's how he was raised.

More complex things end up piled onto Hosea, Dutch, Susan, or other gang members. It takes a village. Dutch, Hosea and Susan provide most of your education, because Arthur trusts Hosea and Dutch to teach you how to act right and Susan doesn't trust either of them. The women sew you clothes and, when you're young, toys. When Arthur is busy or in a bad mood, there's no shortage of people who will take his place for a day. Even when he's in a good one, he's just about got to fistfight Abigail and Tilly for time with you.

And he's busy often. Once you're around eight, he starts bringing you on hunting trips and off to town when he chaperones the girls. By fourteen, he leaves the choice up to you. In his eyes, as long as you're with him you're in the safest place there is. Not only is he skilled, he's ruthless; if anyone looks at you with bad intentions, they will no longer have eyes. He may also be haunted by a paralyzing fear of losing you and under the false impression that he himself was grown by thirteen, but that's neither here nor there.

It's his first time living, too. That was especially evident when you were taken into the gang, be it at birth or otherwise. Besides those short-lived weeks with Issac, Arthur's only experience caring for something so fragile was when Copper was a puppy. For a good bit he was treating you more like a dog than a human. You seemed to enjoy the head pats and extra helpings off his plate when that was his go-to form of affection, so he doesn't see the harm.

Arthur is glad that you seem to think he's a fun dad and that you love him. He knows he must be doing something right if those things are true, but he's constantly got people in his ear — and nagging voices in his head — telling him that if he doesn't shape up, he'll end up getting you hurt or turning you into the ugly thing he's set to become himself. He's learned to mend your clothes and boots, how to cook food that's a little less harsh on the stomach than his own slapdash dinners, saved money back for you. Doctor's visits, sturdy boots, good quality guns. He'd sink the gang if it meant you'd walk free. He'll make sure you have something nice for your birthday. He will try.

And there's a bright side to his inexperience. He'd rather enjoy his time with you than be concerned with what he's supposed to be doing as a father. While that's not always the smartest, it leaves you with a lot of good memories. Arthur teaches you to draw, shows you how to see the world completely; plays pickpocket games in the street with you, always passes up the big steals to let you have them; makes sure you know that items have meaning and that you must keep his hat, too. Your items have meaning, anyways. We don't talk about what's stolen or bloodied, or what selfishness looks like.

#rdr2 headcanons #arthur morgan #arthur morgan headcanons #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 imagine #neutralreader #platonic x reader #Arthur's in a perma crisis that won't end until his kid is like 30 btw #Isn't it funny how that tag is also relevant to this post. Call that CONSISTENCY baby!#low honor arthur morgan #sfw #headcanon #fluff #ask #Low honor Arthur just means that he's covered in blood while telling dad jokes

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maviescafe · 1 day ago

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Let's get through somethings that intrigued me in the trailer.

"Death slumbers in memories, and life awaken in despair.

What gives existence its meaning? Seek the answer in Deepspace, the origin of all"

This is the quote that hints about the updated and we are in for some emotions!

The Timelock Key event has a interesting one too.

"Join the event to unveil his past hidden within the cervices of space and time"

🤔

Let's watch the trailer! (for the 200th time!)

youtube

[ DEATH AND REBIRTH ] the name of the chapters makes me think about MC, until now the only one who does this is her, it looks like she will discover her past as an experiment and learn about the Wanderer. It will destroy her, make her doubt herself and what she believes in but it's inevitable. If this triggers a way of her getting more powerful, it will be awesome to see her growth but both remembering and discovering will be painful!

The trailer opens up with Sylus and MC in a car race? Maybe this is the Zoion Hunt thing because there is a Cube that never appeared before and MC asking him if he destroyed could be the starting of the Chapter (or the conclusion) since we are going to the ruins of the Gaia Research Center, we explored Charon during Sylus's myth event. What the cube is for? Also what's the function of the Arena?

Allow me to recall what the event is about. Gem Hunting is about looking for a supposed cursed gem that Stylus lost it. They go to Charon, localized at the Southwest area of the N109 and the largest trading hub, everything can be sold and bought there so the probability of the gen ending up there is high. Search to know more about, I assure it's worth it.

"the experiment didn't lead to new life. It turned people into Wanderes, minions of a Protocore"

WHAT EXPERIMENT ARE WE TALKING ABOUT HERE?

The Alterum? The reached Linkon but from where? This may be the Abominations Dawnbreaker get rid of and they found a way to go to Linkon through the Spatium Core? 🤔

What is reached through the Cocoon? What exactly achieves, just a dorment stated or a sort of temporary control over the transformation? Or a type of fusion with a "controlled" wanderer?

What if MC can do this naturally? She doesn't need any of this since she is "... The most successful test subject"

the kindle moments of Sylus makes me believe that the car chasing is the Zoion Hunt and the Cube is the prize? It doesn't seem a Protocore but could be related to the Fountain or something else... And they need to win but Shlus isn't worried because his duo is MC (I wouldn't be worried either, I mean this is MC we talking about, she is THE hunter.)

The Timelock Key event will allow us to learn about their past, I'm particularly looking forward to this, the images are intriguing. Zayne is almost touching a Wanderes claw? And then someone is being carried. I have theories about this but it's better to wait. Sylus is in front of a well known place and just looking at it just brings tears to my eyes, and the building one makes me believe is tied to the end of [ Prologue to Tomorrow ].

The outfits are amazing!

Let's talk MC for a while. Our girl is rocking a new hair in Sylus parts of the trailer and sporting the new uniform of the HA. I'm not sure if the gun is an update of the current one we use. I would love to have new Companions, but these are not Branch Stories and since we only have one for Sylus there isn't much to go abou it, but still connected to the Anecdotes. Which would be awesome to see more of it as well!

#love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #lnds zayne #lads sylus #lnds sylus #lads zayne #Zayne Li #Sylus Qin #Youtube

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group-dynamic · 20 hours ago

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Doctor Who Ep. 6 Interstellar Song Contest Spoilers

Loved everything about this episode (Ok, except one (1) thing!). . .

First, I think if you try to read this episode as a direct allegory you're going to have trouble because the layered thematic ideas allow for about 100 different readings that can't be simplified including:

Showing a planet like Earth while talking about "The Corporation" stripping Hellion of its resources and burning it down is a condemnation and warning against capitalism's responsibility for global warming

Discussing "buying" an entire culture and its people in order to get one silly food resource you don't even need but just want to sell evokes colonization and specifically reminds me of what Dole did to Hawaii or what United Fruit Company, Nestle, etc. have done to South / Central America and various parts of Africa.

Centering the queerness of the doctor, including gay / queer characters and icons, and using a reference to "Rise Like a Phoenix" also acts as an homage and recognition of Eurovision as a beloved segment of queer culture, giving a sympathetic look at how that might complicate our feelings about the event's ability to build community beside its complicity in harm. This, to me, was one of the episode's strengths. Its willingness to show that we can hold contradictory and complicated feelings about things.

Furthermore, the Hellions are a representation of the IDEA of a marginalized community, combining the greatest hits of classic bigotry from across time including the accusations of cannibalism (indigenous communities), secret horns (antisemitism), and self-destructive, naturally evil terrorists (Muslims).

And that brings us to the genocide issue. The idea that "Kid" is literally someone whose mother was shot and killed in front of him and suffered from the loss of his home and subjugation of his people creates a clear argument that the violence of domineering, capitalist, colonial powers ARE terrorists acts. The Corporation is a terrorist group. If their behavior creates "terrorism" as a result, that is hard to blame on the victims. (Also, calling him "Kid" was clearly deliberate, and although this episode literally can't be an allegory for the ongoing genocide it reminds us of, it certainly evokes how the literal majority of Palestinians suffering are and were children). I thought the show was very careful to balance the idea that Kid and Wynn's actions are wrong, but that Kid and Wynn are more sympathetic and fleshed out than the nameless, faceless advertisement that represents the Corporation.

Including Cora also seemed like clumsy if thoughtful choice to remind the audience that judging any group of people on the actions of the one or two individuals who get in the "news" for doing something heinous is its own kind of atrocity.

THAT BEING SAID. There was a huge fumble here with the Doctor. Sure, The Doctor has suffered a genocide, but he has also caused them. His torturing the terrorist is clearly meant to make us uncomfortable and disgusted. However, he does not learn any lesson here. He has a CHANCE to, but we're only shown how the torture affects him (which felt an awful lot like the old "the U.S. will carpet bomb your country then make a movie about how sad it made their soldiers"), and he does not in any way modify his beliefs or stance after. He stands there and says basically "I'm coming after you" to Kid in an extrajudicial killing kind of way. He says "You have put ice in my heart." And since Bel does not call him out more than "Oh, I was scared for a second," what I think we needed was for Kid to say to him, "Good. Now you know how I feel." Instead he says nothing and so. . . we're left assuming the Doctor is in the right, I guess? I suppose I wanted a "You would make a good Dalek" moment here. We needed something that sealed the message of "Wow, the deaths of trillions of people is a heinous and abhorrent act, how could anybody do that? And how could you just stand by and DO NOTHING (the episode actually did make this note!) while it happens. Gosh, if that happened, I'd be so angry I'd want to destroy the people responsible and take them out. . . Oh. . . Ooohh, that's what Kid is feeling. The Doctor was angry about a potential genocide. Kid was angry about the real one that happened. If the loss of innocent life can drive you to do things so tremendously out of character. . . Again, this wouldn't EXCUSE the actions. It would HUMANIZE them. It would remind us that our righteous fury over terrorism can only be earned if we bring that same energy toward the colonial, genocidal powers that create the conditions which cause it. Those powers which operate by that same deadly playbook then cry foul when its turned on them.

#doctor who #dw spoilers #doctor who spoilers #So nearly stuck the landing

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clumsypuppy · 1 year ago

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meow

#i feel like i should have made his ears a little bigger in th first pic. maybe ill go back and edit it later #GET WRINKLED IDIOT #i first thought of drawing him as a sphinx cat bc i looked at his third eye like hm... if he had wrinkles he could hide his eye #its also very fun imagining him wearing head coverings and hoods cause hes so fucking nakey #kinda makes me wanna draw him more... sphinxes are fun to draw. i kinda wanna make a sphinx design now <- loves designing characters #a thought i had while drawing this is that if only few had seen narinder before (like the lamb and previous vessels) then not many would #know what he looks like. since hes supposed to be death and the only time you see him is when you die and pass on i guess??#so i think it would be an interesting situation if the lamb just introduced narinder as some guy without telling anyone he is or used to be #the one who waits.. smth like a false idolatry situation so everyones like. oh wow our leader has been channeling the messages #of the one who waits for so long its almost like they have become death itself!! ^_^ and narinder is just. standing there #maybe if he gets enough power he can grow more eyes between his wrinkles like in his eldritch form. that would b cool #cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl narinder #cotl fanart #my art #myart #doodles #the one who waits

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sskk-manifesto · 6 months ago

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Next time we should just skip over ep 3 and do a chapters 84-87 reread

#Mmmmmmhhhh.#Well. If anything you can always tell when there's a ss/kk episode by the fact that it takes me two hours to watch it lol #What can I say. I'm a compulsive screencap taker #Mmmmmmhhh... I was right it wasn't as bad as I remembered it. Still moderately bad but not all bad.#It's just. I can feel the animators did their best.#I suppose it's just a difficult episode to animate within a short time frame since it's a specifically action packed one.#And the lack of time really shows. Like there *are* some detailed animated passages here and there. But then there's also these long static #shots that stretch on forever that are just... Idk. A little saddening to see I guess? Like the animators really ran out of time for them #There's also a big component of... I just can't vibe with the newfound artstyle. Like it looks soooo much worse than s1 in my opinion #Which you know‚ is only subjective! But eh... The distance between s2ep11 and this feels abyssal.#Everyone looks so ugly oftentimes. Like even in curated shots‚ they're just very rough and ungraceful.#Which like?? How could you look at Harukawa's art and come up with //that//??????? But it's whatever #And the pacing is so so off 😭😭😭 God please to death with 11 episodes long seasons give us filler episodes back. Please!!!!#The pacing is atrocious and it has not even to do with the animation. Even greatly animated episodes suffer from it.#Mmmmhh... I don't particularly like Fukuchi's vacting... He doesn't sound tired enough. Nor as pitiful as much as he should tbh #Among the three I feel like only Uemura really nails the job. I'm so sorry Onoken but I feel like even Akutagawa needs to sound vulnerable–#once in a while‚ you know? Although‚ if he's only going with how Bones depicts him‚ then I get why he would act him out like that 😭😭😭#There were so many reused shots too... The ones from the end of s2ep11... The s3ep12 kokko zessou one... Ss/kk running in the corridors...#Overall. Not as bad as I remembered it. But at the same time I get why I was so distraught because they really wasted the best four–#chapters of the manga just like that.#The “is his life that precious to you” moment was terrible 😭😭😭 Head in hands fr #Oh well. I babble a lot but it was okay. Like at least it wasn't season 3 kind of bad. And definitely wasn't t/pn s2 kind of bad LOL #I just hope ss/kk will be made justice in the future (╥﹏╥)#Especially since their new scenes (current manga events) are possibly going to be adapted in the first episodes of the new season.#If Bones pulls another s5ep3 on them you're going to see me on the news #Then again I have hope the arc finale will be adapted in a movie... Who knows...#Most of all I hope they change art style direction again D:#random rambles #Whaaaa it's so late already!!!#Edit: Oh also to not forget I've made like. One hundred posts. Maybe it's time to unfollow me now if you haven't already D:

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muntitled · 4 months ago

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Better Than Drugs

Pairings: Namgyu x Fem!Reader | Brief!Thanos x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with your shitty ex boyfriend in the games.

Warnings: Language, Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Male Manipulation, Coercion, Smut (+18) mdni, High sex, Dub/con, Choking, Exchange of Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, Unedited (we die like soldiers)

A/n: literally no one will read this but I need him and I wrote this for me!

Being treated like a lamb being led to the proverbial slaughter in a death game sucked ass but seeing your ex boyfriend there sucked even more, somehow. From your vantage point perched on your bed tucked away from all the central conflict, you notice them talking about you again.

Call it past bully traum but you knew when people were talking about you and although you couldn't make out what they were saying, a part of you just knew...

Another vote had ended and Namgyu was still staring at you, his head bowed, chewing his fingernails. He was watching you, while you were forced to watch as democracy crumbled around you.

Your brain made you think Namgyu was perhaps berating you in front of his new friend. Bad-mouthing you to absolutely no end, perhaps saying what a lousy, uptight girlfriend you had been in the outside world. How you kept him from his habit. How you tried to force him into rehab countless times.

And so you shrink into yourself, squeezing yourself further into your bed, hugging your knees.

How were you supposed to know the conversation went nothing like how you thought it was going?

"We need to get her on our team," Thanos had said when the voting concluded and they were watching you pick at your roll of tin-foiled kimbap.

"She's already on our team," Namgyu muttered, more quiet than usual as he watched you through the corner of his eye. He didn't feel like eating. He felt like doing drugs. And fucking, maybe, but eating? It never occurred to him.

Without you to remind him to eat, and to actually take care of his bodily health outside of his substance abuse, he really was a mess.

"Oh yeah," Thanos muttered dumbly before turning back to his own food, "Kay, well, I need to sleep with her."

Namgyu didn't even look up from his food, still leaning against the metal beds as he murmured a quiet, "Nope." Popping his lip, extenuating the 'p'

Thanos himself was rallied into silence as Namgyu casually clicked his tongue before adding, "I called dibs on that bro," he steals another glance. You're searching your chest for a piece of cucumber that's fallen out of the kimbap

This unfortunately, zeroes his gaze in on your ample chest, miraculously squeezed into that tracksuit jacket. Now Namgyu was thinking about your tits while Thanos' head whips to the side, his brow lifted.

Namgyu couldn't take his eyes off you since the games began. Watching you during voting time had stirred up all kinds of lost emotions. The easy and almost thoughtless way you had pressed the blue button before tucking your hands in your pockets, never sparing anyone a second glance. He had to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpant. If it weren't for him you might have continued to go amongst the games as an anonymous spectre, with that cash prize as your only goal.

"I didn't know we were calling dibs!?" Thanos stomped his feet petulantly, "That's not fair, man. Not. Cool."

"That's the point of dibs," Namgyu said, pushing his hair behind his ears as he continued to stare you down. "Who knows how long we'll be here?" As he watched you, he tilted his head downwards, causing a thick shadow to fall over his eyes as he watched you. He leaned against the railings of the metal beds piled up to the ceiling, watching you tuck your hands deeper into the sleeves of your sweater. Really fucking cute.

"B-But Homies don't call dibs on girls!" Thanos whines.

"Yeah," Namgyu nods, "but, I'm gonna need more than magic pills and a homie to get me through the night," He made a ring with his index and thumb finger, pinching his one eye shut as he spied at you through it, "She can help,”

Thanos was quiet, eerily so. Good things never happened when Thanos was quiet,

"Let's go over to her right now then. Since she's stealing my homie-"

That immediately snapped Namgyu out of his lust-filled gaze, promoting his shoulders to straighten as he tried to stop Thanos from taking another step towards you.

"Senorita-" he said in a singsong voice and you rolled your eyes as you saw them approaching. Namgyu walked behind like the shadow he always tried to be, with his hands tucked in his pocket. Your bed is relatively low to the ground and your heart stammered when both their shadows fell over you.

"Don't have any change," your eyes whipped to your ex-boyfriend before narrowing, "Or drugs. Sorry." you mustered a painfully sarcastic smile as you attempted to turn in another direction, hoping they might take the hint.

Thanos' teeth stretched as Namgyu swallowed thickly, watching you in that distinctly predatory way of his as he propped his forearm against the railing of the bed. You hate how both of them make you feel and your eye scans in vain around the premises, hoping someone might save you from the duo.

"Lemme make this quick," Thanos said with his drug addicted hand gestures. "My bro wants you and whatever bro wants-" he taps Namgyu's chest behind you- "Bro gets."

Silence passed with you staring deep into Namgyu's dark, almost sinister black eyes. You admitted that you were still painfully attracted to him. Knowing that he knows your body. He's already seen what hid under your blue tracksuit, it was dizzyingly sobering.

He still seemed so devastatingly sleezy it bordered on attractive, like he didn't care about what anyone really thought of him. It still brought an uncomfortable amount of attraction that you didn't really know what to do with. "No thanks," you said, bending your head to take a bite of the kimbap.

"Cunt." you heard him mumble under his breath. That caused your head whip up to glare at him.

"I'm a cunt because I'd rather not fuck a drug addict?"

"No," Namgyu shrugged, "You're just a cunt."

Your nostrils flared as something diabolical ignited inside you. Up until this point, fear had been the only emotion you allowed yourself to feel. The fear of dying to keep you alive. But right now, you're being plagued with another emotion and it's setting you alight with interest.

Your dating preferences were never orthodox. You knew you could never truly be satisfied with any other timid nice guy, and that's what drew you to him. You hated admitting to it but Namgyu calling you a cunt did more than irritate you, it ignited you.

"I'm not here to make friends,” You marvel now, in the tense darkness, how confident you had been then.

“How about a boyfriend then?” Namgyu asked and Thanos whistled lowly as he mutters a ‘nice bro,’

“How about choking?” You shot back, “I tried the boyfriend thing and he stole all my savings to buy drugs.” Namgyu’s jaw ticked and you can see his fist fold and unfold. Thanos’ commentary continues. ‘Shit boyfriend-’ he says under his breath.

“Don't be a bitch so early in the morning…” Namgyu says finally before turning his head, somewhat distracted, “Or at least I think it's morning. Hyung do you think it's morning-”

Thanos raised his hands, “Morning is what we make it in here, bro.”

“Leave me alone of I'll fucking scream.” you cut through all their useless chatter, letting a tense silence settle between the three of you. Eventually, Thanos reluctantly pulls Namgyu away. Murmuring a quiet ‘just take a hint bro.'

Soon, you were left in your bed but not without one more backwards glance from Namgyu over his shoulder. He wasn't done with you and that thought sat heavily on your shoulders until the robotic voice from unseen speakers made the countdown to lights out.

The very last thing you remembered, before the overhead lights were snuffed out, was his black, almond eyes still watching you from his bed.

The blue 'O' velcroed to your breast burns a hole through your conscience as your eyes flutter open in the middle of the night, really needing to pee. The prize money acts as the only source of gold light illuminating the hall while everyone else remains soundly asleep.

Life in the games was so much more stomachable during the day, but when the lights went out, you were forced to sit with your thoughts. That piggy bank didn't have money inside it, it held bodies, and the ghosts practically filled this room.

Still, you can't help but whisper to yourself, “I really have to pee.” The only thing stopping you from going to the bathroom is the gaze you knew would somehow find you from three beds over. Your ex boyfriend watches you, even when the lights go out.

Paranoia be damned.

Cursing softly, you maneuvered yourself to the ground. Trying to make the least amount of noise possible as you moved through the row of beds.

If you were being followed you'd never know. Everything was too dark but a part of you sighed as you reached the small arched doorway completely unscathed.

Almost unscathed.

Your heart hammers in its cage when you feel his heavy arm settle over your shoulders. Your mouth falls open but Namgyu is already banging on the arched door with a closed fist. You flinch with every loud, metallic hit.

The little window opens to reveal a triangle-masked soldier. He stands there emotionless.

“My girlfriend's on her period- she's bleeding everywhere. We need the bathroom.”

There is silence from the Guard who is clearly unimpressed. Just before the little window is about to slide shut Namgyu kicks at the door, “Hey! I wanna fuck my girl- if you want, we could do it out here?!”

You try to wrench yourself out of his grip, toilet be damned but your heart absolutely sinks to find the pink soldier opening the metal door.

Namgyu only twirls, pumping his fist before pulling you in his arms, biting back a smile.

“Can't believe that worked,” Namgyu says, with a raised eyebrow and a happy little shrug as he drags you across the threshold. The trip to the women's bathroom is relatively short as you writhe and fight in his hands. There's virtually no reason for the pink guard to think any of this was consensual but they kept their stoicism on their face as you reached the girl's bathroom.

“We'll be quick,” Namgyu assures the guard with a tight sort of smile before pushing you into the bathroom, and closing the door after himself.

You trip on your way running into one of the stalls and he watches you, biting his nail.

“This is the girls bathroom, or are you too high to notice?” You hiss absolute venom as he bites his fingernail.

“Nah, I'm sober right now, which means I need something to take the load off.”

“Cool. Use your hand,” you sigh from within the stalls before dropping your pants to pee. It irked you that he was standing there, on the other side… waiting for you.

You make quick work of it all. Wiping, flushing, and making a beeline for the sinks. He lets you wash your hands but before you make it to the door his arms are wrapped around your waist.

“Uh Uh,” he tsks, “No ‘i miss you’ kiss, huh?” He drags you into his arms, kicking and screaming as he swipes your brains from across your panicked face.

“Only competent boyfriends get kisses,” Despite the fuss, the door doesn't open. Those guards have quite literally abandoned you in here to fend for yourself.

“I can make it up to you,” he said, “I miss you really bad, baby,” Namgyu's pushing your back against the sink, stained with that sickening, pastel colour as he lowers his nose into the crook of your neck. You writhe as he breathes you in deeply, before sighing. His erection pressed against your thigh.

“Someone else could walk in here,” you cry, feeling a dampness seep out of you, wetting your underwear. Your body was being traitorous because it was enjoying feeling anything other than fear. It yearned for it.

“Sto-” you attempt to catch your breath as he gropes at your breasts from over your tracksuit. “Stop touching me-” you say despite your legs getting weaker and weaker.

“You don't get to touch me anymore. You lost that privilege when you stopped being my boyfriend.” He was so much taller than you when he stretched his hand across your cheeks, forcing your neck back to make more space for his lips. A moan nearly spills out of you.

His hands are trembling and his tongue swipes out to lick the length of your neck. To your shock and horror, you melt in his grasp.

“You don't mean that-” he whispers against your skin. “No one's gonna fuck you like I do-”

“No one's going to steal my money like you do either-”

His hand flies down to your throat, choking as he says through clenched teeth, “I told you I had a problem-” he squeezes and for the briefest moment, you see stars. “I needed help and you abandoned me, you bitch-”

“I didn't abandon you-” His lips are on yours, silencing you in one messy kiss that him forcing his tongue into your mouth.

“You gonna be good for me, Huh?’ He says, hoarsely, your eyes glare up at him.

“Leave me alone-”

“You know I love it when you try to fight back,” his mouth breathes against your hair, “You trying to get me riled up babe, huh?”

His fingers find the lining of your own sweatpants and your heart stammers as he turns to push your front against the sink. Your hand grips at the cheap plaster and you avoid your own traitorous reflection in the mirror, lest you find not only fear in your eyes, but lust

“You know how bad I've needed this- fuck,” his voice cracks when fumbles his cock out, grinding against your ass with his eyes closed in ecstasy and his mouth hanging open. Your finger curls around the sink as the first moan slips out of you. It had his eyes flying open to look down at you in amusement and awe.

“I knew you weren't a completely stuck-up bitch,” he says, pulling you up by the base of the throat, “I knew you still wanted me.”

“I don't,” you squeak out as he pulls down your pants.

“No- but your body does,” he swipes your underwear to the side.

Your body spasms as he roughly sinks his digits into you once before pulling out.

“You miss me real bad,” he brings your fingers up in front of your face and your heart drops to find the arousal webbing his index and middle.

He continues to swipe your arousal from from your ass to your puffy clit and the need wracks through your entire body, building as you arched your ass backwards against him.

His mouth is by your ear, breathing heavily as he lines his cock up at your entrance, already leaking precum, “I know I gave you hell when we were out there-”

“Hell doesn't begin to cover- FUCK-” he rams his cock into you. Positively brimming with need as his hips stutter against you.

“Y-ou stole my fucking savings for drugs-” you get the sentence out quickly before moaning into the air, as your boyfriend fucks out all the frustration he's been carrying, all the need and the withdrawal.

“And I ate you out as an apology-” He reaches his hand around to clamp down on the base of your throat. Your mouth falls open when he cranes our neck back, his eyes boring into yours. “Don't you miss it baby, don't miss having me inside of you?”

“Y-Your eyes are diluted-” you begin to say, utterly incredulous. “You're high right now!”

His hips thrusts in shallow, quick strokes. “And your pussy's wet, guess we're both fucked.”

Your pussy tightens around him like a long lost friend, it knocks you out how deeply you've craved him. Needing reprieve from all the fear. “You're squeezing around my cock, you fucking slut-” that nearly has you seeing stars. Your body spasms.

“That it…” he whispers, “Don't think I haven't forgotten the way you abandoned me out there… But in here,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, “You dont so much as fucking breathe without my permission.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as his cock hits that particular pillow of nerves inside you, nearly flipping you off the edge.

“Spit on my hand,” he says, an edge to his voice that let you know he was far too close. You forgot how messy things got when you had sex with him. How much of a mess he made of you.

You do it without thinking about it and his eyes widen as he presses that same hand to your clit.

“F-Fuck!” Your eyes are squeezed shut as he reaches around to rub you to your orgasm. His movements only fumble when his hips start stuttering.

“N-Need you to cum for me-” he breathes out. “I’m jittery- baby. I need it- shit-” you slip into your orgasm right in front of him, milking his cock for all its worth. “F-Fuck this is so much better than drugs,” he murmers, eyes rolled back as a drunken smile ghosts over his face. He's in complete and utter euphoria.

Two rough knocks on the door signal the need for your return but Namgyu's cock is still spilling ropes of his cum inside you and you're doing nothing but taking it.

“I hate you,” you breathe out, because it's true. If it weren't for him you wouldn't be here.

His breath is warm against your neck as he says, “I love you too.

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #nam gyu #namgyu x reader #player 124 #player 124 x reader #namgyu smut #thanos x reader #thanos fanfic #nam gyu x reader #nam gyu smut

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shadowykittengladiator · 5 months ago

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Damian looks at the green letter that simply appeared in his room a few minutes ago. He wasn't sure if he is supposed to be happy or crying.

He still thinks about Danyal all the time. It has been a long time since his brother died. Damian still mournes him two times a year, at their birthday and the day Danyal died.

He told his family, on his fifteenth birthday. Father hadnt been happy but he tearfully hugged Damian the next day and apologized for ever making him feel like he couldn't talk about his brother.

He still thinks of his brother every time he goes to the Watchtower. Father thankfully gives him a minute. Sometimes he joins him too.

But he wasn't expecting this. He looks at the green letter again. He already read it. A bit idiotic, touching an unknown like that. But the code on the side of the letter almost caused him a struck, because it was the code. The code that him Danyal came up with and nobody else knows about.

Dear Damian Wayne

The note reads.

You are invited to the coronation of the Prince of the Infinite Realms, Danyal 'Danny' Phantom, formerly Al-Ghul. The coronation is set to take place two weeks from now. As a part of the Royal Family, you are obligated to join the coronation at your brother's side. You are to wear formal clothes of whichever culture you subscribe to. A knight will take you to place at which coronation is set to take place.

The letter continues on and on about the coronation, about his brothers numerous titles, about proper ettique and many more things. But Damian does not care about that.

What was the possibility of this thing being fake? Maybe, but he doesn't think so. The code alone would confirm its authenticity.

A knock sound from the door and his father enters the room with a familiar copy of the green letter in his hands.

---------------------------------------------------

Constantine has been looking at the letter for the past ten minutes and he looks more like he is about to faint with each line he reads. Finally Damian can't hold it anymore.

"Say something magician! Is that thing real? What is the Infinite Realms!? "

Constantine looks up from the letter and takes out a cigarette to smoke, only to put it down at his father's glare.

"Of course you people would get tangled in the business of the bloody Infinite Realms." Constantine stops for a second. "Basically it's the dimension between dimensions. Thing of it like the glue holding the multiverse together. It's also where ghosts live."

Oh.

Of course.

Damian is an idiot for thinking his brother might be alive. Danyal is dead.

He hears his father turn around and sitting down on the bat computer.

"Ghost?" Richard thankfully asks. "Like Deadman?"

"No."

As Constantine starts a lecture about the difference between magical and ectoplasmic ghosts, Damian's mind wanders towards his brother again.

His brother is still dead, he still died. And of course his brother, his wonderful, idiotic, amazing brother would somehow make himself a king of an entire dimension after death. One of the strongest beings in existence, according to Constantine.

"Damian!" Richard is snapping his fingers in front of his face. "Are you alright? "

"I am fine." Damian says, "I am fine." He repeats a second later.

"It would be a shock if I learned my brother is going to be a king." Constantine is staring him weirdly. "How in the bloody hell that happened? I never knew bats had another kid."

"Doesn't matter." Damian snarks, "Is it safe to assume this coronation will take place in this Infinite Realms? "

Constantine shrughs his shoulders.

"Wouldn't know. Not exactly my area of expertise."

Great, just great.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #damian wayne #dcxdp #batman

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starpens · 4 months ago

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୨୧ㅤִㅤׄ COUGH SYRUP ― GOJO SATORU.

satoru is a bit of an idiot who will do anything to get you to speak to him after an argument.

𓈒 ݁ ₊ content ﾉ fem reader, clingy satoru, established relationship, mild argument, fluff, not proofread, randomly started missing my boy :( <3

satoru can’t function when you’re upset with him.

he knows he should be an adult about it — he is an adult, after all. he should give you space, let you simmer down. most people do not do things such as send one hundred and fifty text messages (he counted each of ‘em; you left him on read one hundred and fifty two times. who does that?) to your phone while you’re in the middle of grocery shopping and they most definitely do not take a sick day because their significant other is mad at them.

but then again, satoru isn’t like most people.

which is why he’s currently sprawled out on the sofa in the middle of the day, wrapped in your favorite throw blanket — one that still smells faintly of your perfume. tissues litter the coffee table and floor around him, an unconvincing movie set of misery. call him manipulative, but it’s the only thing he’s got left in the tank since, for the last seventy-two hours, you haven’t spoken more than five words in a sentence to him.

you’re his main source of enrichment, his brain stimulated by your sweet kisses and good loving so when you take that away, you’re stripping away his heart and soul. he’s got nothing left. he might as well die.

in satoru’s brain, he figures that surely, if he’s coughing up a lung, you’ll feel bad for him and start talking to him again. in sickness and in health, right?

by the time you walk through the front door after making a quick run to the supermarket for groceries, he’s in full performance mode, clutching his stomach with a groan.

the sound is so realistic that you feel a sudden stab of worry, wondering if he’s injured. rushing into the living room, you find all six foot three of your boyfriend balled up on the sofa, looking like walking death.

or trying to, anyway.

“satoru?” you ask, eyebrows arching as you set your grocery bags down on the floor, taking out your phone and glancing at the time on the lockscreen. “why are you home? it’s eleven am.”

“baby,” he groans pitfully, looking up at you. his glacier blue eyes are red rimmed and shimmering suspiciously — like he squeezed them shut repeatedly until he got the desired effect. satoru sniffles for good measure, huddling into the blanket. “i’m sick,” he announces, his lower lip wobbling, dragging out the last syllable like it physically hurts him to say it.

“sick? you seemed fine when i left this morning,” you say, taking a step forward. you reach out a hand, pushing back his wintery locks to check for a fever. his skin feels normal, cool to touch even. your eyes narrow. you’re dubious — satoru never gets sick, yet it is his favorite act whenever he’s in the doghouse and wants attention. that, and he’s a terrible actor. you purse your lips, irritated. this is what he does instead of just apologizing?

“i wasn’t fine emotionally,” satoru whines back. “i’m heartbroken here. it’s debilitating my health rapidly.”

your expression doesn’t budge and satoru’s pout deepens when he realizes you’re not buying it. he clutches the blanket tighter around his big body, exaggerating a shiver for good measure. “you’re my life force, angel. my happiness. my —”

“stop it,” you interrupt and hold up a hand, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. you’re mad at him — you are. “but let me get this straight. you called out of work because i wasn’t talking to you?”

“it was a medical emergency. do you have any idea what it’s like to go hours without hearing you voice?! without seeing you smile at me? you wouldn’t even let me use your body wash last night so we could share the same scent. i barely survived the night. any longer and i’d be a goner,” he sighs dramatically, then remembers he’s supposed to be on his last leg and hacks, phlegm rattling in his throat.

“you’re obsessed,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to hold firm. but your damned heart has selective memory and it is making an appearance again, rapidly forgetting why you’re still mad at him. oh, you had a right to be upset over what he did, but it seems insignificant now when he’s in front of you, groveling like a servant at a throne.

“angel, come on,” he presses, sitting up on the sofa and reaching for your hand, hurt flashing bright across his eyes when you step out of range. if you let him pull you down on that sofa with him, he’ll sweet talk his way into you forgiving him without consequences. he’ll do that anyway, but you won’t make it easy for him. “i’ll do anything to make it right.”

“don’t angel me. you can’t just manipulate me into forgiving you with your big pretty eyes,” you wag your finger at him. “i bet you don’t even know what you did.”

“i know, but it’s working, ain’t it?” he grins, shamelessly dropping the congested tone in his voice. “and i know what i did,” he scoffs. “you’re mad at me about that thing.”

yes, that thing.

two nights ago, your body pillow — your very expensive, weighted body pillow which happened to have a giant render of your boyfriend on it, went missing. you’d commissioned it to have something to cuddle with on those nights when satoru is away on business and you miss him in your shared bed an unhealthy amount. you’d become a little too attached to it, though, while satoru wanted nothing more than to burn it.

“he has a name,” you hiss, swatting satoru’s knee as you struggle not to laugh. “don’t call mr. comf-toru-ble a thing! he’s sensitive.”

“see?” satoru says, scrubbing a hand over his handsome face before gesturing around wildly. “you even named it.”

you give him a sharp look. “he cost me an entire paycheck— an entire paycheck that three days ago, you gave to the garbage collectors because i was cuddling him instead of you!”

“i was feeling neglected!” he defends, voice pitching higher in his affront, placing a hand on his chest. “you spent the whole night with it. meanwhile, i— your husband— was right there, cold and alone. i can’t let me steal my wife.”

“we’re not married, satoru,” you remind him, then pout. “unlike my husband, the pillow doesn’t hog the covers, snore, or throw out things that i really like.”

“it’s not hogging the covers, it’s redistribution of them for my comfort,” he grins playfully, but upon seeing your serious expression, he concedes, sobering up. in truth, he knows he messed up and went too far. it was childish to throw out something that you bought because of his frequent bouts of absence. maybe if he was around more, you wouldn’t need to cuddle with body pillows that look like him. “look, baby. i’m sorry. it was a moment of weakness. it’s not everyday i gotta be in competition with myself, but i’ll make it up to you! i even ordered you another one.”

“a moment of jealousy, you mean,” you counter, but there’s no real bite behind your tone now.

“hey, you gotta see it from my perspective though. it’s kind of crazy seeing you cuddle with a pillow that looks like me when the real thing is right here,” satoru gestures down the long line of his body, though it looks more comical than inviting when he’s wrapped like a overstuffed burrito in your throw blanket.

“mm,” you nod, “well, maybe if the ‘real thing’ is a good boy, i’ll cuddle him more often.”

“deal,” he answers immediately and when his muscular arms shoot out from behind the blanket and reach for you this time, you let him. his arms circle around your waist, pulling you into his lap. it was just a few days of silent treatment, but satoru wastes no time tucking his face against the dip of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent like you’re something precious and rare he lost ages ago and is just discovering again after eons.

he’s squishing you, he knows it, but god he hates it when you’re mad at him — and you, in return, hate being at odds with him too. you both make too much sense to each other to be apart, and there’s upset in the balance of the world when the two of you are in an argument.

“worst seventy-two hours of my life,” satoru blows out a breath of relief, the air tickling the hair at the nape of your neck, drawing a shiver down your spine. “never do that to me again, angel. you hear?”

“don’t throw out my customized satoru merch again and i won’t, baby,” you coo, smiling.

“you’ll still choose me over the other guy though, right?”

“we’ll see, ‘toru, we’ll see,” you answer playfully, yelping when he darts in to nip at your ear in retaliation.

getting comfortable in satoru’s lap, you lean in to put the both of you out of your miseries and forgive him with a kiss when you get a whiff of menthol and childhood memories wafting from his chest.

“are you wearing vaporub?”

#gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader

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sangunary · 1 month ago

Text

YANDERE BATFAM x NEGLECTED READER

-Hush now crybaby.

SYPNOSIS: When your family only cherish you after your death.

Warning: Child neglect, bullying,violence, gore, death.

\\ Part 1 // \\ Part 2 // \\ Part 3 //

You were the blood daughter but not the same as how Damian was, you were from a simple one night stand your father had... A mistake.

Ever since your mother left you behind with your suppose Father your life took an unpleasant turn.

Your life with your father was supposed to be colourful and exciting afterall you've been watching the other kids playing with their Fathers in the park. You remembered how envious you were back than, how everybody have a sibling to talk about, but for you? It wasn't that much of a talk on your end and you felt boring.

It broke your little heart when you realised that... Family really suck.

If it wasn't true than you wouldn't be standing alone on the stage while everyone else have their father's by their side.

It was supposed to be a father daughter day.

You inform him yourself even picking out a new dress for the special occasion with Alfred but your Father wasn't even near sight.

You were holding back your tears, gripping onto the end of your new dress looking at the ground.

Each time your heart pounds against your ribcage you could feel the agonizing pain that sent shock throughout your whole body.

The tears in your eyes were filling, dangerously close to bursting out. Yet you tried your best to not spill even a drop of tear.

Everybody called you a crybaby, but you weren't a crybaby just- it's hard to understand why you even cry ay times.

It wasn't your fault your poor heart couldn't handle their harsh word... It's not your fault your heart is fragile, it just needed some love and maybe a tint of understanding to fix it.

"Im sorry kid, I can't bring you to the park on Tuesday, me and little wing made an arrangement that we would go to the museum" Dick words ring inside your ears.

"But you said- you promised me that you'd bring me to the park... last sunday, I ask first" You replied, your hand's wrap around the little bear that you were going to give to your older brother... To thank him for bringing you to the park.

You couldn't help but feel a terrific ache inside your heart.

It wasn't fair, Damian asked today and you already asked last Sunday! And Dick and Damian already went to the museum together last monday...

"Im sorry but... Damian you know how he is, he's just cold and opportunities like this never come often, you have to understand. You're a big girl" Dick reminded you.

You couldn't help but let out a little huff. Damian that Damian this when was it ever about you. Even on your birthday Dick always brought present for him!

You remembered how Dick gave you a silly bunny doll abit chewed on, said it was his dog old/favourite doll... While Damain received a literal book signed by the very author on your birthday!

"You... promised first!" You spit back.

You were on the verge of crying spilling it all out. You grip onto your doll as you looked at the ground a drop of tear fall from your eyes and land on the marble floor.

And that's when you heard the disappointed sigh from your older brother.

The floor was clean enough to the point you could see your own pathetic face... Face red and eyes watery... You look ugly.

"Kid look... See this is why I choose Damian, you're too... spoiled, you can't just cry to get what you want. If you don't change this behaviour I won't go out with you"

"I-"

"No 'I', you're extremely spoiled and Damian isn't. This is why I don't want to go out with you, Damian is somewhat more shameful than you"

You swallowed your Saliva, staring into the marble. Tears began to rain as you couldn't stop them from spilling, you wipe your tears with your hands which wasn't helping.

You sniff and hiccup not daring to even look at Dick.

It was very clear who the favourite was from the beginning. Even if you were to get stab Damian would be the first they check on for any scar or scrab.

Every night you would weep inside your room or bathroom, grabbing onto anything and wrapping it around you to envision the warmth of comfort.

"Jason?" you called out. You only called out because you were on the verge of crying and you could smell the cigarette and you knew only Jason smoke.

"Jay?" you called out again, walking towards the balcony, you're in desperate need of comfort now. It was your birthday yet nobody remembered even Alfred forgot it.

It was terrible, the only thing you asked for was a little family dinner together having fun not everyone forgetting your own existence.

"Ja-"

"I heard you the first time"

Your hand's were twiddling with eachother, showing a clear sing you were somewhat anxious.

"Could you hug me? Please"

You cried out looking up at the older male.

You could never forget to say please cause last time it didn't end up well for you. They called you mannerless and even insulted your mother! You couldn't quite understand what Damian was speaking but he called a shame saying you ruin the perfect blood! to your face! Infront of everybody... Just because you forgot to say something!

"You're too old for one"

"I don't mind, just once please... it's my-"

"not everything have to be about you, princess"

Your smile flattered into a frown, when Jason first started calling you princess you were excited and extremely happy thinking he saw you as an amazing princess... Turns out that he only see you as a spoiled little girl... You heard it yourself.

"Just- it's my birthday and I thought a hug would be a very nice gift"

You spoke bravely again, maybe if you were persistent he might give up and hug you?

"...I don't want to hug you or acknowledge you, I don't want to hurt your little feelings but, do not indulged yourself with me. Is that clear?"

"Yeah... sorry"

Without a word you left the room, walking towards yours... Jason was compared to other's very good to you: he usually ignored your presence which was alright.

Before your reached your room you had to walk pass tim's and he was home but locked up again doing whatever he wished.

You could hear him mutter something from outside and you had a very nice idea.

After abit you knock on his door, your hand's wrap around a cup of coffee which you made yourself!

You knocked again. Nothing happened.

You knock thrice... Not even a sound.

Just than you decided to invite yourself in, afterall everyone in the family can definitely do that. You've never seen them knock to enter Tim's room.

"Tim?" you called out poking inside you check if he was there. Cause last time when you enter his room he went out the window, you found it funny.

The room was dark and the only source of light being the computer in which he was so absorb into.

Without thinking you went inside not forgetting to close the door.

"I made you coffee!" you announced to him.

"Thanks"

"...What are you doing" you asked hoping to atleast have a little conversation with him...

"Adult stuff" Tim was very vague.

"Can I se-"

"Im busy, put the coffee on the table and leave"

"Alright..."

You did as he asked and went towards the door and before you could even leave you watch as Tim throw the whole mug into the bin.

He definitely knew you were still in the room afterall he was smart he should know that. But, you didn't even speak up just suck it up and leave the room.

And as soon as you close the door, from the coner of your eyes you saw Damian. Looking at you directly.

Damian was bold and said lot's of bad stuff to you, as a result you spent half your day's avoiding him and as usual you tried avoiding him but... he stopped you.

"Where have you been?" His tone was surprisingly calm.

"Urm... I- was ugh..." You didn't know what to say? Told him that you were avoiding him and getting grounded or just yourself more of a victim than ever.

"You can't speak now?"

"I... sorry"

"Happy Birthday"

You couldn't even contain your shock face. Damian remembered your birthday? That's odd but very nice.

"Thank you!"

You couldn't help it, Damian of all people remembered your very existence... You felt important and that's all you need.

"There's a gift for you... Inside your room."

"Thanks! Im so... I thank you so much! I'll go check it!"

Before he could speak you ran towards your room all your tears gone now and you were filled with joy and excitement.

The moment you open the door to your room your heart dropped.

"..."

Your room was in ruined... Your heart dropped as you walk inside, your bed was wrecked your clothes were gone... most importantly the only picture of your mother was gone.

"What did you do?!"

You turned back, Damian was leaning against the door frame with that cocky grin on his face.

"Im helping you grow out your crybaby phase."

"What...?"

"See, crying again. Is that your only talent to cry until you get attention? Pathetic"

Without thinking you launched at him, it turn into a brutal fight but with Damian skill you were no match. He wasn't not going to pity you and you knew.

It took atleast two family members to seperate you two and stop the fight.

Jason was holding you by the hair but he wasn't pulling on it just silently threating you.

Everybody else were checking on Damian completely ignoring the fact that Damian punch you so hard your nose was bleeding.

And ever since that day everybody in the family saw you as the troublesome kid and whenever anything bad happened it was always your fault.

Not to mention how they even take a step further in ignoring you.

Every family movie night you would sit alone while everyone else sit in this big couch cuddling and giggling together. Even during Tag they completely forgot about you... Saying you were too old to play tag with them which made no sense...

Alfred was suddenly busy whenever you needed him and sometimes you had to walk home during a cyclone/rain because Alfred was busy.

Bruce become more strick and because of that your friends at school didn't even want to talk to you. Saying that as much as they wanted to be friends it to them it seems as you were ghosting them. You tried explaining even crying and begging humiliating yourself further... They never even dare to looked at you.

Everyday kept getting worse and you didn't even know what you did wrong.

You finally snapped out your thoughts and looked around... The same stage and same faces just- Bruce was still not present.

Salty tears stream down your face as you couldn't hold it in anymore. Everybody just stared at you and before your teacher could even ask you aside you ran.

You didn't know where or what your destiny was, your leg just moved on their own.

And before you knew it something hard hit you and your light were cut short.

From that day you found out you died, unfortunately you didn't went straight to haven and instead forced to stay on Earth.

You watched as your family finally acknowledged you. Always visiting your grave and even crying when nobody were around.

You felt happy, they finnally loved you!

But all it took was your life for them to realise their fault.

This Suck So MUCH.

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brawberryz · 1 month ago

Text

⎯⎯ㅤSay you'll never leave me

Batfam Yan! × Negleted Idol! Reader

| Platonic |

Note / English is not my first language / Inspired by the anime "Oshi No Ko" / M.List

TW / Yandere behaviors, Toxic relationships, emotional dependency, neglect, violence, blood, death, murder, mentions of sex (not explicit), abandonment, stalking, harassment, daddy issues, Dark themes

What is love?

That's what you've always wondered: was it really as good as people said it was?

Is true love the same as fake love? You didn't know

You never experienced any kind of love from your family

The people who were supposed to care for you and protect you just treated you like garbage

The people who were supposed to be there for you when you needed them most abandoned you as soon as they could

Since you were little, you knew none of them liked you, but you could pretend they loved you

You could lie, lie about your life, lie about your feelings

Lies tasted better than the truth, because lying made you look better in people's eyes

Lies didn't hurt, truths did

You are the perfect liar

And those lies got you to where you were now, everyone loved (name)

The perfect idol, you were in a small group of idols, but your charisma and affection for your fans took you to the top

Your face was everywhere, there wasn't a single person on the planet who didn't know your name or face

And even when you were still alive You foolishly wanted your family to notice you, you became an idol out of spite.

You thought if you became famous they would be proud of you.

That he would be proud of you.

For as long as you can remember, you fought for your father's acceptance.

You wanted him to notice that you existed, to look at you with the same affection you looked at your other siblings.

But it never happened that way. You thought it was because you were weak.

Everyone else was so unique and talented.

And you were just (name). The only thing that stood out about you was the fact that you had the last name 'Wayne'.

But then you were a nobody.

But on stage, you could forget all your worries. You could feel that people loved you.

They praised you, loved you, and supported you.

Even though you knew it was fake, it was all always fake.

They only loved the perfect (name), the one who never made mistakes and was always smiling.

You should be perfect. Your job as an idol was to give the fans what they wanted.

Your feelings didn't matter; you had to give people what they wanted, even if it killed you.

You knew all the admiration was only superficial, but it still felt so good.

For the first time, you felt loved, even if it was fake.

You made bad decisions throughout your life, from personal to romantic.

You ended up pregnant after sleeping with a stranger. You thought you'd finally found the love of your life.

But all he did was use your body for pleasure.

And even though you knew he never loved you and only used you, you knew there was a little bit of love in it.

Or so you wanted to think, so you wouldn't feel stupid.

But being an idol and being pregnant wasn't easy.

Your agency decided to hide everything. It would be terrible if one of their idols was pregnant.

It would ruin your entire reputation.

They couldn't allow that. One of they best idols was hated.

You wanted to call Bruce, tell him everything that happened.

But you were too cowardly.

What if he was disappointed?

Maybe he'd think you called him to take advantage of him.

Maybe he'd tell you you were an idiot for the things you did; you were too young.

You knew it was a risky decision, but you decided to keep the baby.

Although apparently it wasn't a baby, but twins.

You were happy because you felt that after so much time, you wouldn't be alone anymore.

You would be able to start a family; that was what you always wanted.

Months later, your babies were born. You had never felt so happy in your life.

That day, you swore you would protect them with your life.

For the first time, you experienced what love was, and this time, it wasn't fake.

You're so cute, Aqua!"

You said laughing, squeezing one of he chubby cheeks.

You decided to retire from show business for a while; you wanted to dedicate all your time to your children.

You didn't want them to feel the same way you did.

You would be a better version of them.

"Oh!" You felt a small push on your arm and could see Ruby looking at you with those eyes of hers. They were so similar, yet so different from you. "You're very pretty too, Ruby. The cutest girl in the world!"

You hugged them both with all your strength. Everything you'd ever dreamed of was now yours.

For the first time in your life, you allowed yourself to feel loved.

This love wasn't fake; it was real.

Here, you didn't need to lie or pretend.

The doorbell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Uh? I don't remember ordering anything..."

You said, getting up from the couch.

You left Aqua and Ruby in the living room as you headed for the door.

But Aqua was too stubborn and decided to follow you. he felt something wasn't right.

You opened the door and found a strange man standing there, but you were surprised when you saw the flowers he was carrying. Perhaps it was a gift from your manager.

It wasn't uncommon for someone from your company to send you gifts to let them know you were okay.

But you could barely react when you felt something sharp enter your abdomen.

"M-Mom..."

Was all he could say when he saw the whole The blood in the hallway and the man with the knife in his hand

Apparently, one of your fans had found out you had children, that you had a family

And he couldn't stand that his 'innocent and tender' (name) had some kind of boyfriend or husband

So he decided to kill you as revenge

The man ran out of your apartment; you barely had the strength to close the door, and your body collapsed right there

Aqua ran to hug you even though he knew your blood was staining his body

You could only hug him tighter as you tried to reach the phone on the wall

Aqua saw you dial a number and how the brightness of your eyes grew dimmer when the voicemail rang

It seemed like not even in the midst of death could you count on your family

"Dad...?" You said, barely trying not to choke on your own blood. "I know you probably d-don't want to talk to me... and I understand, but..."

You could feel Aqua squeezing you tighter, trying to keep your blood from spilling out. You could see Ruby from the other side of the glass.

Her look of terror hurt you. It hurt to see how scared she looked.

And you understood. No child should see their mother die.

You barely gave her a weak smile. You wanted to go over and hug her, but your body could barely hold the phone.

"Please... take care of Aqua and Ruby. They're all I have." A long silence fell over the room, and only small sobs could be heard in the hallway. For the first time in your life, you were afraid of dying. "Dad... I'm scared... please take care of them."

Your voice grew fainter and fainter, the brightness in your eyes dimmed, and tears streamed down your face.

A small "I love you" was heard, but Aqua couldn't tell if you were saying it to him, Ruby, or the man you were talking to.

The phone fell to the floor, and Aqua could feel the soft beat of your heart stop.

Your body felt as cold as snow.

He see his mother die before his eyes, and he couldn't do anything.

That day, Aqua promised himself he would kill the man who did this to you.

And maybe he would seek revenge. Your own father didn't answer your call when you asked for help. What kind of family was that?!

The message was sent, and the only noise left in the room was Aqua's frantic breathing and Ruby's crying from the other side of the glass.

Bruce could only repeat the voicemail over and over again. All he had left of you was your voice pleading for help.

He was supposed to be Batman, a hero.

But he wasn't even able to save his own daughter. Maybe if he answered that call, you'd still be alive.

He thought if he pushed you away, you wouldn't have to suffer anything. Being a vigilante wasn't easy, and he thought if he kept you away from him, he wouldn't have to put you in danger.

But even so, now you were dead.

When you mentioned Aqua and Ruby, he didn't know what you meant, but when he found out you were pregnant and had children, he felt worse.

You were pregnant and you never told him!? It sounded so hypocritical, and he knew it, but he couldn't stand that you decided to hide something as important as that.

Why didn't you ever call him? Even though I knew he didn't call you, it was for a good reason.

He wanted to keep you away from any danger, and he was too cowardly to call you.

After so many years, what could I say to you?

He ignored you your whole life. Would you let him back into your life?

Would you still consider him family after all this time?

He was a coward, and he knew it.

He wanted to have you back in his arms and make up for lost time.

But now you were just a memory, a blurry memory because he couldn't even remember the sound of your laughter or your gaze.

Your voice was the only true sound of you he could remember now.

But he swore he'd make the guy who did this to you pay. Maybe this time he'd let go of the no-kill rule.

Meanwhile, the sound of the television in the living room filled the room.

There was no sound, just the reporter's voice as she said you'd been found dead in your apartment.

Your face appeared on the screen; no one could believe you were dead.

In everyone's head, they had different ways to make the man who did this suffer and torture him.

They knew it was hypocritical to worry about you now, but they loved you!

In their own way...

But there was still a little bit of affection for you.

Damian thought about using the Lazarus Pit to revive you. He knew the consequences, but he couldn't allow his older sister to be dead.

You were supposed to stay alive!

He and you are Wayne by blood, you can't die!

You can't leave him alone. You were so stupid to leave the mansion and become an idol.

But it's okay. He'll find the signature to revive you, and this time he won't let you go.

Jason thought about crushing that man's skull with his bare hands. He wasn't the best brother to you, and he knows it.

You used to get along, before the Joker killed him and then he was revived.

At that moment, he was filled with rage and felt like everyone had betrayed him.

And he pushed you away, thinking it was for the best.

He was afraid of breaking you. He had broken many things in his life, and you were the only thing he hadn't broken.

So he pushed you away out of fear and rejection, and right now, he regrets it so much.

He'll avenge his sister and kill anyone who dares to say anything about you.

Dick couldn't even process it. He was the older brother who held the family together.

But it was always very different. with you, ignoring your needs or forgetting you.

It wasn't on purpose! He swears.

He was just too caught up in his responsibilities that he put you aside.

He wanted to pretend it didn't affect him so much, but inside, he was devastated.

But he was going to make amends for his mistakes, but first, he had to take care of the bitch who dared to touch you.

Tim barely found out you died; his whole world fell apart. He wasn't even prepared for that.

Your death?

This couldn't be possible. How? When?

He had a plan for everything, but this?

This was simply out of his hands.

But he pushed himself and began to investigate more than any other detective. Your killer was good at hiding, but he was much smarter.

It wouldn't surprise anyone that he was the first to discover the culprit.

He liked psychological torture more than physical torture, so he knew he could have fun with it as soon as he got his hands on it.

They were a bad family, but they got better!

It wasn't easy for Aqua and Ruby to adapt to their new family either.

For them, Aqua and Ruby were the only thing closest to you.

They were so similar to you.

Although Ruby accepted the overprotectiveness and affection, Aqua denied it.

He knew their intentions, Aqua still hated them for all the harm they caused.

He was going to get revenge on the man who did this to you and on your family.

They didn't deserve you; they're all hypocrites and manipulators.

Aqua knew your whole family was crazy.

I just hoped they weren't crazy enough to revive you.

They would never do that, right?

Right...?

After a long time, I decided to post something again.

Artist's block was the worst thing that could have happened to me.

I don't know if I'll do a second part; I'm too lazy to do any kind of series. So, it's an open ending

:vvv

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shadyfestivalperfection · 1 month ago

Text

Fifth Time’s The Charm~Oneshot

Summery: Every date gets interrupted before they can steal the deal. By the fifth one, they’re both so wounded up, it turns explosive-in the best way

Characters: Bucky Barnes x F!reader

Vibes/warning: Sexual tension, mutual pining, flirty banter, interrupted make out sessions, smut, tension building.

Note: All characters except y/n are not mine.

||Master List||

🌙 Date One: Rooftop Romance & a Falcon Crash

Bucky’s hand is warm as it slides over yours, his vibranium arm resting on the rooftop table like it belongs there.

The rooftop restaurant is quiet. Just a few candle-lit tables surrounded by fairy lights, with soft jazz playing through overhead speakers. The skyline behind him glows like a dream. And Bucky?

He’s in a button-up. Sleeves rolled to his forearms. Hair tied back. Eyes locked on you like he still can’t believe you said yes to dinner.

“So,” you murmur, swirling the wine in your glass, “this is… kind of perfect.”

Bucky smiles. “I figured if I’m going to ruin someone’s night, might as well do it with a view.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re not ruining anything, Barnes. Though I’m still not convinced this isn’t some weird pity date.”

He leans forward, eyes twinkling. “Sweetheart, if this were a pity date, I wouldn’t have rehearsed what to say in front of my mirror five times before picking you up.”

Your heart flips.

It’s funny—everyone sees Bucky Barnes as the brooding soldier, the stone-faced assassin, the Winter Soldier. But here, tonight, he’s just Bucky. Soft-spoken. Charming. A little shy. And very into you.

“So… what’d you rehearse?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He groans, covering his face with his hand. “Nope. That was supposed to stay buried.”

You grin. “Come on. You owe me at least one line.”

He groans again. “Fine. I was gonna say…” He sits up straighter, exaggerating the delivery. “‘You look beautiful tonight, doll.’ And then maybe something cheesy like… ‘Nothing in this city shines as bright as you.’”

You blink. “That’s… actually good.”

“Right?” he says, pleased. “Sam told me it was too much. Said I sounded like I was

quoting a romance novel.”

You’re about to respond—something flirty and appreciative—when your phone buzzes on the table. You glance down, but Bucky shakes his head.

“Don’t check it. I’m trying to live in the moment.”

You nod. “Me too.”

You don’t even notice how close you’ve gotten until his knee brushes yours beneath the table. His eyes drop to your lips for just a second. And your breath catches.

He leans in.

You lean closer.

He’s inches away. One hand rising to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His voice drops—

“I’ve been wanting to do this since the first time you handed me a cup of coffee in the break room—”

CRASH.

A loud thump echoes above you. Then—

“Shit! Sorry!”

You both jump as something heavy hits the rooftop ledge and rolls, a few pebbles scattering across the floor.

Bucky’s eyes go wide. “No. No no no—”

“BUCKY!”

You turn to see Sam Wilson—in full Falcon gear—tangled in his own wings, skidding to a stop right in front of your table.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bucky hisses, standing up.

Sam grins sheepishly. “Hey, man. Didn’t know you were up here. Testing some tech. Kinda… overshot the landing.”

You just blink. “That’s… impressive. Actually.”

Bucky runs a hand down his face. “Sam. I swear to God.”

Sam glances between the two of you. “Oh. OHHHH. Shit—were you two—”

“Yes, Sam,” Bucky snaps. “We were on a date.”

Sam’s mouth opens. Then closes. Then he shrugs.

“Well… my bad. I’ll just… backflip off the side and leave you to it.”

“You do that.”

With a whoosh of his wings, Sam vaults back off the building—leaving behind only a couple of knocked-over chairs, one blown-out candle, and the unmistakable sound of Bucky’s teeth grinding together.

You burst out laughing.

Bucky glares at you—but it’s mostly mock offense. “Glad you’re enjoying the death of our first date.”

You reach across the table and take his hand again. “Okay, it was interrupted, not dead. Honestly? I like that he crashed it. Now you owe me a second date.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” You squeeze his hand. “Next time… somewhere Falcon-proof.”

His grin is soft. Wicked. “Anywhere you want, sweetheart.”

You smirk. “As long as I get that kiss you were about to give me.”

His eyes darken. “Oh, you’ll get it. Trust me.”

🎬 Date Two: Movie Night & Third-Wheel Steve

The sound of a movie plays quietly in the background, but neither of you’s really paying attention.

You’re curled up on Bucky’s couch, under a fleece blanket, one of his old sweatshirts hanging off your shoulder. He sits behind you, legs spread, body warm and solid, and you’re tucked between them like you belong there.

Spoiler: You do.

“I swear,” you mumble, reaching for more popcorn without taking your eyes off the screen, “if this ends with another crash landing, I’m suing Sam for emotional damages.”

Bucky laughs into your shoulder, breath hot against your skin. “This one’s Falcon-free, I promise.”

“You said that last time.”

He groans, playful. “C’mon, don’t hold that against me. It was one crash.”

“It was our almost first kiss, Barnes. That’s a felony in some states.”

He leans closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You want me to make it up to you?”

Your breath catches. “Yeah. I do.”

You twist in his arms, shifting so you’re straddling his lap, knees on either side of his hips. The movement is smooth. Bold. A little reckless.

But he doesn’t mind. In fact, he looks thrilled.

“Well damn,” he says, hands gripping your thighs through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts. “Is this part of the movie, or…?”

You smile, teasing. “Bonus content.”

His eyes flick to your lips, then back to your eyes. “You’re killin’ me, doll.”

And then his hands slide up your thighs, fingers curling around your waist. You can feel him underneath you—hard, hungry, ready—and you’re barely even kissing yet.

His voice drops, rough with restraint. “Tell me to stop now if you want to.”

“I don’t want to,” you whisper, breathless.

That’s all he needs.

His lips crash into yours—hot, intense, a kiss you’ve both been aching for since the rooftop. His tongue teases your bottom lip, and you open for him, moaning into his mouth as his hands tighten on your hips. You rock forward instinctively, and he groans, hips bucking beneath you.

“Fuck,” he whispers, “you’re gonna make me—”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

A heavy knock slams against the front door, startling you both.

You freeze.

“No,” Bucky mutters against your neck, lips still brushing your skin. “No. Not again.”

“Ignore it,” you whisper, grinding against him a little just to tease.

He groans. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re gonna kill me.”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Bucky!” a familiar voice calls from the hallway. “I brought pizza!”

You pull back, blinking. “Is that—?”

“STEVE,” Bucky growls.

You scramble off his lap, cheeks blazing as Bucky nearly explodes off the couch.

The front door swings open—of course he still gives Steve a key—and there stands Captain America himself, smiling, holding two pizza boxes and a six-pack of root beer.

“Hey,” Steve says, totally oblivious, “movie night?”

Bucky’s expression is somewhere between a murder charge and emotional devastation. “STEVE.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

Bucky gestures wildly. “What does it look like?!”

Steve finally notices your flushed cheeks, the messed-up blanket, the very awkward distance you’re both now keeping.

“Oh,” he says.

There’s a pause.

Then: “Should I… leave?”

Bucky looks like he wants to throw him through a wall. You try not to laugh.

“Probably,” you say, standing and adjusting the oversized sweatshirt. “Unless you wanna be very scarred tonight.”

Steve holds up the pizza hopefully. “I brought pepperoni?”

You groan. “Okay, fine. But I’m picking the movie and you’re sitting at the other end of the couch.”

Bucky mutters something under his breath about “damn super soldiers and their terrible timing,” but you give his hand a squeeze as you walk by.

When your eyes meet, he mouths:

“Next time. You’re mine.”

And something about the heat in his stare tells you next time’s gonna be very worth the wait.

🖼️ Date Three: Art, Anticipation & An Unwelcome Mission

The Met is unusually quiet for a Saturday evening. Dimmed lights. Velvet ropes. Elegant, whispered conversations.

But Bucky’s not paying attention to the Monet in front of him.

No—he’s watching you.

Your dress hugs your curves too perfectly. Your eyes shine every time you pause in front of a new piece. And when you tilt your head, smiling at some abstract sculpture like it just told you a dirty joke, he damn near loses his mind.

“You’ve been staring at me for the last ten minutes,” you murmur, not even turning around.

“You make it hard not to,” he replies, stepping closer, voice low. “You know that dress should be illegal, right?”

You smirk, still pretending to focus on the painting. “So arrest me, Sergeant Barnes.”

His fingers brush your lower back. Soft. Teasing. “You sayin’ you want me to cuff you, sweetheart?”

You shoot him a warning look, cheeks heating. “This is a museum.”

“This is foreplay,” he corrects, voice deep and delicious in your ear.

You nearly choke on a laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet…” His metal hand slides down your waist, resting right at the curve of your hip, “…you still came out with me.”

You turn to face him, caught in that pull he always seems to have over you.

“I came because I like the way you look when you pretend to care about art,” you tease.

He raises an eyebrow. “I do care. Especially about the nudes.”

“Bucky!”

But you’re laughing, and he’s leaning in—smirking, dangerous, beautiful. The tension between you crackles like electricity in the air.

“I need to kiss you,” he whispers. “Right now.”

“Not in the middle of the sculpture room.”

His smirk grows. “Then come with me.”

Before you can protest, he takes your hand and tugs you down a quiet side hallway labeled “Staff Only.”

“Bucky,” you hiss, half laughing, “we’re gonna get kicked out—”

“I’ll make it worth it,” he says, pulling you into the shadows.

The hallway is dark. Silent. Cold stone walls and empty echo. And Bucky?

He’s all heat and hands and hunger.

His mouth finds yours like it’s been waiting too long. You melt into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands grip your hips and press you against the wall. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you whimper—soft, needy—hips rocking forward just slightly.

The sound he makes? Absolutely feral.

“God, doll,” he groans, grinding into you. “You keep makin’ those noises and I’m not gonna make it to date five.”

You gasp against his lips. “Then make this one count.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His lips travel down your jaw, nipping along your throat. One hand slides under your dress, brushing the inside of your thigh—and you know if anyone catches you right now, you’d be banned for life.

And honestly? Worth it.

Just as his fingers start to trail higher—

Bzzt. Bzzt.

His phone vibrates hard against his chest.

Bucky groans like he’s in actual pain. “Ignore it.”

But it buzzes again. And again.

And then your phone starts to vibrate in your bag.

You both freeze.

He curses softly, reaching into his coat. The moment he checks the screen, everything changes.

His entire posture shifts. Military. Tense. Ready.

“What?” you ask, straightening, heart dropping.

“It’s Sam,” he mutters, already walking back down the hallway. “HYDRA hit a black site in Berlin. Nat’s down. Cap’s calling us in.”

You’re suddenly cold all over.

He turns back to you, jaw clenched, eyes apologetic. “I have to go.”

“I know,” you say quietly, following him.

“This isn’t how I wanted tonight to end,” he admits, pulling you into a brief, fierce kiss that tastes like regret.

“I know,” you whisper again. “Just… come back in one piece, Barnes.”

He cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek. “You too.”

And then he’s gone.

You’re left standing in that dim, forgotten hallway—heart pounding, skin still tingling from his touch—wondering what the hell it’ll take to finally finish one damn date with him.

🌧️ Date Four: Rain, Restraint & a Damn Phone Call

It starts as a simple walk after dinner.

You and Bucky wander through downtown Brooklyn, hands tangled together like you’ve been doing it for years. The streets are damp, slick from a light drizzle that started an hour ago, but neither of you care.

You’re laughing. Warm. Buzzed off good food and wine and him.

He keeps sneaking glances at you like you’re the most stunning thing in the entire city. And truth be told, the way the rain makes your dress cling to your curves? He

might be right.

“You cold, doll?” he asks, pulling you a little closer under his umbrella.

“Not with you like this,” you reply, and rest your hand on his chest. It’s firm, warm even through his jacket, and you feel the way he subtly leans into your touch.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “You say things like that, I’m gonna have to press you against this brick wall and make out with you like we’re in a damn movie.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

His smirk could melt steel. “Why don’t we find out?”

And that’s all it takes.

You stop walking.

Grab the front of his coat.

And pull him into the nearest alley.

“Holy shit,” he laughs, stunned, as you shove him gently against the damp brick. “You’re serious.”

“I’ve waited long enough, Barnes,” you say, pressing your body to his, looking up through soaked lashes. “Every single date, someone or something gets in the way. Not this time. I want you. Right now.”

He growls low in his throat, both hands grabbing your waist with barely restrained hunger. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, sweetheart.”

Then he kisses you—hard.

Tongue, teeth, rain-slick lips. It’s messy and desperate and hot. One hand slides down to your ass, gripping it like it belongs to him, while the other slides up under your dress, metal fingertips dragging fire across your thigh.

You whimper against his mouth, grinding into him. He’s already hard, pressed right against your core, and the friction makes your knees damn near give out.

“You feel that?” he rasps against your throat, dragging his mouth down to your collarbone. “That’s what you do to me. Every time.”

You moan, tugging at his belt. “Then do something about it, James.”

The way he groans at that—your real name for him, full of need—it’s feral. You feel him fumbling to push your panties aside, fingers sliding through your slick folds, and—

RING. RING.

You both freeze.

The loud, shrill ring echoes in the alley.

“No,” you gasp, panting. “No. Don’t you dare—”

He pulls back just enough to glance at his phone, face wild with frustration.

“Ignore it,” you plead, nails scraping down his chest.

“I want to, believe me,” he groans. “But it’s Sam.”

You nearly scream.

He kisses you again—fast, deep, like a fucking apology—then answers the call with a snarl in his voice.

“What?” he snaps.

You can hear Sam on the other end: “Uh… hate to ruin your date again, but we’ve got a situation.”

Bucky closes his eyes and lets his head thunk back against the brick wall.

You adjust your dress and sigh, already knowing the answer.

⸻

Fifteen minutes later, you’re back at his place, soaked and pissed off, watching Bucky gear up like he’s going into war. (He is. Kinda.)

“I’m starting to think the universe hates our sex life,” you say flatly, arms crossed.

He gives you a tight smile as he straps on his thigh holster. “I’m gonna kill something just for interrupting us.”

You walk up to him, grab him by the collar, and pull him in for a slow, intense kiss. Your lips barely part, breath warm and heavy between you.

“When you come back,” you whisper, “you’re not getting another first date.”

He nods. “When I come back, you’re getting every inch of me.”

Your cheeks heat. “Bold talk for someone who’s gotta run.”

He presses his forehead to yours, voice ragged. “I’ll be back soon. And when I am… we’re not stopping.”

You don’t say goodbye.

You just let the promise hang between you—thick with tension, soaked in heat, and aching to be fulfilled.

💥 Date Five: No More Waiting

He doesn’t knock when he comes back.

He storms through the front door, drenched in rain and adrenaline, chest heaving like a man who’s run straight through hell just to get to you.

And when he sees you—curled up in one of his shirts, waiting on the couch with wide eyes and bare thighs—he stops.

You rise slowly, heart thudding, drinking him in. His hair’s wet and messy, jaw tight, dog tags clinking as he drops his gear to the floor.

“Bucky—”

“No more interruptions,” he growls, striding toward you. “No more missions. No more waiting.”

You don’t speak. Just back toward the bedroom.

He follows.

You barely make it through the door before he has you pressed against the wall, kissing you like it’s the last oxygen on Earth. Tongue, teeth, need. You moan into it, fingers already tugging at his shirt.

“Off,” you breathe. “Want to feel you.”

He rips the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, muscles rippling as he tosses it aside. You press your palms to his chest—scarred and strong—and slide down, mouth open as your lips trail kisses across his pecs, down his abs.

But he stops you with a growl, metal hand in your hair.

“Not tonight, doll,” he says, voice rough with control. “Tonight’s about you.”

He lifts you easily—like you weigh nothing—lays you gently on the bed, and kneels between your legs.

“Bucky—”

“You’ve been so damn patient,” he murmurs, dragging your borrowed shirt up your torso, kissing every new inch of skin he exposes. “Four. Fucking. Dates. And every single one? Ruined.”

His mouth ghosts over your navel. “I haven’t touched you the way I want to.”

“Then touch me now,” you whisper.

He looks up at you—eyes dark, starved, desperate.

“Oh, sweetheart… I’m gonna do more than that.”

And then he slides your panties down your legs and devours you.

His mouth is sinful—hot tongue swirling, slow licks that make your hips jerk, breath catch. He doesn’t rush it. He feasts. Like you’re dessert and he’s been starving.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, back arching as his tongue circles your clit.

He groans into you, loving the sounds you make, the way your thighs shake around his head.

“Let go, baby,” he murmurs against your heat. “Come on my tongue.”

You do.Hard.

Your climax crashes over you like a goddamn wave, and Bucky doesn’t stop. He guides you through it, tongue relentless, even as you squirm and gasp from overstimulation.

“Too much—” you whisper.

But he pulls back, just enough to kiss your trembling inner thigh. “Too much? Or not enough?”

You blink, dazed. “Bucky—”

“I need you,” he growls, standing, shedding his pants, revealing just how ready he’s been. “Been dreaming about this. About you. Every fuckin’ night.”

He climbs over you, forearms braced beside your head, his tip sliding along your still-wet folds.

“You want me?” he asks, voice thick.

“Yes. Please—”

He sinks into you in one smooth, slow thrust, and everything else disappears.

Your moan is filthy, and his? It’s practically a growl.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he hisses, forehead resting against yours. “God, you feel perfect.”

He starts to move—slow at first, deep and steady—rocking into you like he’s savoring every inch.

“You take me so good, baby,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Like you were made for me.”

Your nails dig into his back. You wrap your legs around his waist. “Harder.”

He obeys instantly.

His thrusts pick up speed, power—his metal hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread wide as he pounds into you with deep, possessive strokes.

The headboard hits the wall. The bed creaks. The room fills with the sound of skin, breath, moans.

“Fuck—Bucky—yes, just like that—”

He leans down, nipping your jaw, your throat. “You’re mine,” he groans. “This pussy? Fuckin’ mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp. “All yours.”

He kisses you then—hungry, messy, like he’s claiming you—and slips a hand between you to rub your clit, fast and perfect.

You shatter around him a second time, crying out his name, your entire body trembling. He follows moments later, burying himself deep, moaning low in your ear as he comes.

He doesn’t move for a moment.

Just holds you, breathless, bodies tangled, hearts racing.

Eventually, he rolls onto his back and pulls you with him, cradling you on his chest.

“Worth the wait?” he murmurs, brushing your hair from your sweaty face.

You hum, nuzzling into him. “Absolutely.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Next time,” he whispers, “we skip the date and go straight to dessert.”

You laugh softly, eyes fluttering closed.

And for the first time in weeks, nothing interrupts the night.

-The end

(Yes, I know that I said I don’t write smut. I am not good at it. But… I gave it a shot to see how it goes.)

#marvel #avengers #fanfiction #romance #female reader #captain america #shadyfestivalperfection #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #smut

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