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yourownutopia · 4 months ago

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Ultraviolent Heart

╰┈➤You know how it ends. From the very beginning, you carried that knowledge like an inescapable burden, a quiet ache that shaped your every choice. Yet you stayed—for him. Jin Woo—your confidant, your light in a world of darkness—could never walk with you to the very end. But you couldn't take it anymore. It was too much to bear. So, you leave - knowing your place by his side was never meant to last.

Left behind is Jin Woo, with questions no one will answer and a gaping void where your presence once was. You are gone, and yet the emptiness you leave lingers longer than any memory. ༊*·˚

Crywolf - ULTRAVIOLENT [adrenochrome] ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚--~

Your heart is torturing me.

Knock.

The dull sound of his fist striking hard stone echoed through the air.

Once—not too hard.

Twice—with more force.

Three times—before the rigid concrete wall could no longer withstand the immense power of the Shadow Monarch. Cracks spread across the structure, and where solid stone once stood, now a large, gaping hole remained, with Jin Woo’s hand at its center—much like the gaping hole in his heart.

The overwhelming anger he felt threatened to consume him entirely. Beru flinched violently, fear creeping up his limbs as his master’s eyes glowed dangerously. He had brought bad news—perhaps the worst Jin Woo had received in a long time.

"Search more thoroughly."

The black-haired man’s voice cut through the silence like his blades through flesh. Yet, despite his usual composed demeanor, his voice quivered with rage.

Beru wanted to point out that it was a pointless endeavor. If you were still there, he would have already found you. But his master would not accept that answer.

"Yes, my king," Beru replied reverently before retreating into the shadows, leaving Jin Woo alone in his fury.

This couldn’t be true. No one could simply vanish without a trace. And yet, it seemed that was exactly what had happened.

A thousand miles an hour again.

It had been a week, and none of his shadows could locate you. Even the Hunter’s Association had been unable to find any information about your current whereabouts. There wasn’t even a hint that you had left the country.

But giving up the search would mean it was over. It would mean that a part of him was gone forever and that the memories you shared were nothing more than illusions.

He clung to the last shred of hope he had because, no matter how furious he was with you, he desperately wanted answers.

And all that stays with me

How could you do this to him? He had trusted you so much, and you had abandoned him in the most cowardly way possible—without a word. No goodbye, no note, no message—as if you had never existed. And with that, you had torn a massive hole in his heart.

The anger began to ebb, only to be replaced with a suffocating fear—a fear that had gripped him time and time again in recent days.

Is the fear inside my gut.

It felt as though he was bleeding out, choking, drowning in place. As though his heart was overflowing with pain, longing for your warmth and softness, and all the things he had never been able to say—the things you had denied him. The fear that he would soon no longer remember you gnawed at his soul.

Memories were all he had left of you, yet even they were beginning to fade. What did your voice sound like again? Your beautiful face, once so vivid in his mind, was now blurring. Were you only a beautiful dream from which he had now awakened?

You're the fear inside my gut -‘๑’-

Two years had passed since you had been pulled into this world—the world you knew so well, almost like the back of your hand. The world that had accompanied you through so many sleepless nights as you eagerly read each chapter on your smartphone.

But just as you were about to finish the story, with the last chapter ahead of you, the universe intervened. You were pulled into the story yourself, long before Jin Woo set foot in the double dungeon.

You became Player 2. The system welcomed you like an old friend, and you quickly adapted. At first, you wanted to return home, but the system refused your departure with a single window:

[You can only leave the game when you truly want to.]

And, evidently, you didn’t truly want to leave. You wanted to stay, to experience firsthand the world you had come to know so well. And so, you stayed—with the goal of making life a little easier for Jin Woo, as though that was your purpose.

Starting as a C-rank mage with a few healing spells, you participated in every raid Jin Woo was involved in, which quickly made you friends. He had admired your strength from the beginning, just as you had admired his courage and determination.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t always lend him a helping hand. Every time something story-relevant occurred, no matter how you tried to intervene, it would inevitably happen anyway—only the timing or the path there would show minor deviations.

Whenever this happened, the system would display a message:

[The story will not change.]

The system made it painfully clear that you had no influence over key story elements. And though you had never had issues with the system before, these moments felt like mockery—a cruel reminder of your limitations.

No matter how heavy your heart felt or how deeply you wished you could change things, events unfolded as they were meant to. Ultimately, all you could do was make Jin Woo’s journey a little lighter, which he accepted with gratitude. The two of you were like light and shadow—one could not exist without the other.

You’ve been my reason to breathe

Not only were you an incredible team in battle, your abilities complementing one another seamlessly, but everyone who knew you—or even those who didn’t—could see that you belonged together. He trusted you; you were the light in his life. The lifeline that kept him from drowning in a sea of darkness. The one who reminded him he was still human whenever he no longer felt like one. The one who had held his trembling hands whenever he needed it—even after those hands had taken lives.

You were the one who stayed with him through so many nights, just to keep him from being alone with himself. The one his shadows respected and whom Beru grandly referred to as "his queen."

His shadows had known from the start how Jin Woo felt about you. But he feared telling you, terrified that it might drive you away. No heartbreak in the world could compare to the thought of you no longer by his side.

Of course, you had noticed, probably much sooner than anyone else. How his behavior changed—how his cheeks would flush whenever you complimented him. How he sought your company more often, how his voice would falter when you came close. Things that had always been intimate but normal between you suddenly left him flustered.

How deeply you wished you could give in to it, but you knew better. There was no happy ending for the two of you. You knew it, and the system knew it—perhaps that’s why it had never responded to his advances. Only Jin Woo remained blissfully unaware, while you locked your feelings away and buried them deep.

The gravity that pulls me in

Despite your efforts to keep him at arm’s length—to keep yourself at arm’s length—those moments grew more frequent. Moments when your gazes lingered a second too long or his hugs lasted just a little longer than necessary. Moments when his hand found yours, and your fingers intertwined. Moments when the two of you lay side by side, silently watching the stars, just to have an excuse to share the night.

It was almost impossible to push him away when he looked at you with such tenderness, smiling at you as though you were all he needed. The thought that the two of you didn’t have a chance began to fade into the background, and as long as the system didn’t intervene, everything felt fine.

I can't escape the weight of your ultraviolent heart

Until that day.

-‘๑’-

The Jeju Island raid had been about two weeks ago, and life had returned to normal. People mourned the fallen S-Rank hunters but celebrated the victory of reclaiming the island. You hadn’t participated in the raid yourself, only watched from a distance—at least until the moment when Hunter Cha was injured and Jin-Woo rushed to her aid.

The thought sent a pang straight to your gut.

What disgusting and pathetic thoughts to have. After all, Cha had nearly died—you knew that all too well. And yet, you struggled to ignore the stabbing pain in your chest, which worsened when she showed up at the guild's office building.

As usual, when there was nothing to do, you lay sprawled on the couch, your head resting lazily on Jin-Woo's lap while he scrolled through his phone.

At first, Jinho had been a little taken aback by the closeness between you two. But he’d quickly adjusted to the fact that his two best friends behaved like a couple—despite not being one.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door, and Jinho looked up from his computer.

You were momentarily confused before realization struck. You’d spent so many days here that you’d completely forgotten about when Hae-In was supposed to arrive. If it were up to you, you would’ve bolted; the less interaction with her, the better. But that would’ve raised too many questions.

You felt Jin-Woo shift, and you immediately sat up, unwilling to give the wrong impression. The black-haired man gave you a confused look as your warmth left his lap—though he made no move to get up himself.

“Who could that be?” Jinho asked, heading toward the door. You could already hear her soft voice as he opened it.

“Is this Mr. Sung’s office?” she asked quietly. When the door opened fully, all eyes fell on the blonde beauty in the doorway.

She wasn’t just pretty; she was immensely strong. Not stronger than you, but far more graceful in everything she did. She was perfect in every way, much to your dismay.

Her eyes widened briefly when she saw you, but she quickly masked her surprise with a polite cough.

Jin-Woo had now risen as well, his gaze cool and appraising as he looked at the young Hunter whose life he’d saved.

“What brings you here, Miss Cha?” he asked, his tone cold—devoid of the softness he reserved for you.

The blonde hesitated for a moment before stating that she wanted to join the guild.

Jin-Woo’s expression didn’t change, though Jinho looked like he’d just been hit with a bombshell.

This wasn’t a surprise to you, of course, but the words still felt like a blow to the stomach.

Less than five minutes later, you found yourself sitting across from Hae-In on the sofa. Jin-Woo sat beside you, once again asking why she was there. The blonde reiterated her desire to join the guild, causing Jin-Woo to frown in confusion as she sipped nervously on a cola. She dismissed his speculations, her cheeks growing redder with every passing moment as she avoided eye contact.

It was almost ironic how Jin-Woo, despite his overwhelming senses, had no clue that Hae-In was flustered. Of course, you knew better. She wanted to be near him because, unlike others, he smelled good and intrigued her. And you had to accept that.

When her face turned beet red and she began fanning herself nervously, Jin-Woo paused and asked again why she was going to such lengths to join the guild.

“I want to live a comfortable life. Is that so wrong?” she replied softly.

Jinho popped up behind you, whispering, “The Hunters Guild must’ve overworked her.”

Jin-Woo’s eyes darted to you, silently asking a question: What do you think?

Of course, you hated the idea. You didn’t want to lose him to her—but what could you do?

Your contemplative expression and brief hesitation were all Jin-Woo needed. He turned back to Hae-In and rejected her request.

Your eyes widened, staring in disbelief at the black-haired man. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go—the conversation wasn’t over yet.

Hae-In lowered her head, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“I understand,” she murmured, looking utterly dejected.

Panic surged through you. What was happening? A deviation?

“W-wait!” you blurted out, drawing everyone’s attention. Hae-In’s gaze flickered with hope, while Jin-Woo raised an inquisitive brow.

“P-please give us five minutes, Miss Cha,” you said, quickly standing and grabbing Jin-Woo’s hand to drag him into the adjacent room.

Almost disappointed when you released his hand, Jin-Woo looked at you as the door closed behind you.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, hands on your hips.

He seemed genuinely confused by your question.

“What?”

“Why are you rejecting her?!” you demanded.

Jin-Woo shrugged, his expression indifferent.

“I don’t want her in the guild,” he said flatly, his gray eyes avoiding yours.

He wanted to tell you that you were more than enough for him—that she was unnecessary. But saying so might’ve been too much in this situation.

“This is a one-time opportunity!” you argued, hoping he’d use his brain for once.

“I have you. We don’t need anyone else,” he countered, his cheeks tinged pink.

What the hell was he saying?

No, things couldn’t go this way—it would disrupt the entire timeline. Your thoughts spiraled.

“Then… have her fight Beru!” you blurted out. Jin-Woo stared at you, dumbfounded.

“And why would I do that? She’ll lose,” he said, still not understanding why this mattered so much to you.

“Then it’s a win-win. She doesn’t feel rejected, and you… get rid of her.”

He seemed to consider your words for a moment. From his shadow, the winged ant manifested.

“What do you think?” Jin-Woo asked.

The insect clicked its mandibles excitedly.

“Kekeke, that’s a wonderful idea, my queen,” it replied, clearly far too enthusiastic.

Why could you understand it? No clue. It was probably because you were also a Player, and Jin-Woo had drilled it into Beru from the start that he should listen to you as well. Besides, you liked him—and he liked you.

You looked expectantly at the Shadow Monarch, whose lips curved into a smile as he turned back to you.

“If it makes you happy,” he said, placing a hand on your head. A soft blush spread across your cheeks.

-‘๑’-

"Why the hell?!" you asked the moment your feet touched solid ground again.

You, Jin-Woo, and Hae-In now stood in the middle of the training arena. You hadn’t wanted to be part of this situation in the first place, and when the black-haired man had pulled the blonde closer, it had sent a sharp pain through your chest. You wanted to leave. But Jin-Woo had grabbed you by the wrist and brought you here, knowing that words alone wouldn’t convince you to stay. For once, he had chosen to be selfish.

Clearly irritated, you pulled yourself free from his grip and moved away from the two of them, seeking refuge at the edge of the arena. You trusted Beru to avoid accidentally hurting you, but the ant could be reckless in battle.

Jin-Woo watched you walk away, his mouth opening as if to stop you, but you were already storming off. This would have consequences later...

While Jin-Woo and Cha retreated to the armory, you were finally alone with your thoughts for the first time that day. Worry gnawed at you. Everything was unfolding differently than the story you remembered. Was it your fault? Had you interfered too much? If so, why hadn’t the system reacted? And if not... then what was the reason? Something was terribly wrong... but what?

Your mind drifted back to the manhwa, trying to recall the exact details of the events. Yet they eluded you. Meanwhile, the two hunters returned. Cha was now equipped with a weapon, and Jin-Woo stood several meters away. It wasn’t until Beru’s overwhelming aura enveloped your senses that realization struck.

This wasn’t right... She was supposed to face Igris first.

Before you could voice your concerns, the battle had already begun.

The fight went horribly wrong. Beru had lost control, and if Jin-Woo hadn’t stopped him, he would have torn Hae-In apart. The arena lay in ruins, and the black-haired man stood protectively in front of the blonde, while Beru fell to his knees, apologizing profusely.

Slowly, the conversation from the manhwa came back to you. She would tell him that she was interested in him.

I’ve been splintering apart

Badump.

Your heartbeat grew louder in your ears as the other sounds faded into the background.

Badump.

Your heart clenched as your eyes remained fixed on the two of them. They looked good together... too good.

Badump.

Panic slowly but surely crept up your limbs. You didn’t want to be here when she said it. You didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want to face the truth. You had known it all along, but you had willingly ignored it. They were meant to be together.

Badump.

Breaking open from the start

Your breaths became shallow, and your pounding heart grew louder as you watched Hae-In’s cheeks flush pink. Soon, you would see his eyes light up as he realized why Hae-In had taken on all these burdens. The pain in your chest made it hard to breathe, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

Badump.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You didn’t even hear the black-haired man call your name as you bolted out of the arena. The cold air outside whipped against your face.

But you didn’t get far. A warm hand gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, forcing you to stop.

“Hey!” His voice was both frustrated and worried—clearly not understanding why you had left without a word.

“Let me go, please,” you said softly, tugging lightly to reinforce your words. But Jin-Woo didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he held on tighter to keep you from walking away.

You bit your lower lip, holding back tears. You avoided looking at him, unable to face the concern in his eyes.

“Hey... it’s not your fault this happened. I shouldn’t have let her fight him in the first place,” he said, his voice quieter now. Was that it? Did he think you felt guilty?

The evening continued its quiet work, slowly but surely extinguishing all the colors. Deep blue blended with pale orange where the last warriors of the sun made their final stand.

Gates of heaven are closing

Much like your emotions, fighting against the encroaching darkness—the images of the two of them vivid in your mind.

“That’s not it,” you replied, your voice strained.

Jin-Woo’s concerned expression hardened further. Was it... because he had dragged you here against your will?

But that wasn’t it.

Your throat felt tight, and you swallowed hard.

“That wasn’t fair of me... I’m sorry, I—” Jin-Woo began, but when he saw your face, the words caught in his throat.

Your expression was equal parts hurt and angry. Your [E/C] eyes, usually so bright with joy, were brimming with tears.

Why was this idiot here and not with Hae-In? Had he left her standing there? Why was he making it so hard for you to do the right thing?

His eyes widened, and his heart sank into his stomach as he took in your pained expression. What was wrong? What had he done?

“Why aren’t you with her?” you managed to ask, your voice trembling. Jin-Woo reflexively released your wrist in shock. What? Who?

You seized the opportunity and ran, leaving Jin-Woo momentarily speechless as his mind raced.

Did you mean Hae-In? Why should he be with her? That made no sense to him at all.

Until suddenly, realization struck. Could it be that...? No. That couldn’t be it.

He quickly caught up to you, your gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.

“Stop,” his voice was calm, and his tone commanding, but you had no intention of listening.

When you ignored his second plea, he firmly grabbed your wrist once more.

The protest died in your throat as he pulled you into his chest, trapping you in a warm embrace.

What did you do in my head?

His scent filled your nose, and the warmth of his body spread through your limbs as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

Why?

Jin-Woo held you tightly against him, one hand on your waist—the other buried in your hair.

“Wha—” you began, your voice trembling, but he silenced you with a soft sound.

“Because I want to be with you,” the black-haired man murmured into your hair, before gently pulling you away to look into your eyes.

The cool gray of his eyes softened, as it always did when he spoke to you, catching your [E/C]. But this time, there was nothing playful in his gaze. He was serious.

Jin-Woo noticed the confusion written on your face.

One of his hands found its way to your cheek, a warm tingling spreading across your skin as he cupped your face.

What are you doing?

“You asked me why I’m not with her,” he explained, gently wiping away a tear that had escaped from the corner of your eye. He had never seen you cry before, and he didn’t like the sight. Especially not if he was the reason.

Weren’t you laying in my bed

He had never intended to tell you, but he couldn’t keep it inside any longer. It had to come out. You needed to know how much you meant to him—that she didn’t matter and that you were everything he had ever wanted.

“I just want to be with you,” he repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly. He leaned down slightly, as if even this close wasn’t close enough. His breathing quickened as the sun’s rays fought valiantly against the darkness creeping over the sky.

Your heart pounded wildly, and your thoughts raced. Your palms grew sweaty, and you felt as though you might faint at any moment. The tension between you was palpable, begging for resolution.

You wanted to bridge the remaining inches, to tell him how you felt—to throw all your plans out the window.

Jin-Woo took a deep breath.

“[Y/N], I lo—”

[The course of the story remains unchanged.]

The window that flickered behind the black-haired man for a fraction of a second was a knife in your heart, now riddled with cracks, as you reflexively pressed a finger to his lips, stopping his sentence.

He fell silent immediately, looking at you in confusion, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Had he misread the signs after all?

Telling me I was chosen

“Don’t,” you whispered softly—your voice barely audible, but he heard it clearly.

If he said those three words, it would be over—there would be no turning back. If he said those words, you would break. If not now, then eventually—when fate ran its course. Because if you had learned one thing, it was that the system would find a way.

His throat tightened, and his chest constricted.

"I can’t—" you began haltingly, stumbling over your words. You couldn’t think of a single sentence that would make this situation any less painful for him.

You lowered your gaze, feeling Jin-Woo give up. His embrace loosened, and his arms fell limply to his sides.

You didn’t want to do this, but you had no choice. There simply wasn’t a happy ending for the two of you. Happiness together wasn’t meant to be.

Jin-Woo was hurt—he couldn’t believe how wrong he had been.

"I’m so sorry," you whispered before daring to look into his eyes one last time—eyes filled with anguish—before you turned and walked away.

-‘๑’-

The following weeks were quiet. Too quiet.

Jin-Woo and you hadn’t spoken since. Both of you were waiting for the other to take the first step, but neither of you dared to break the uncomfortable silence.

For Jin-Woo, the situation was clear: you didn’t return his feelings and wanted distance, just as much as he did. Yet it still felt wrong.

Your presence had taken over his life; he saw your shadow everywhere. Your absence had left a gaping hole, and the simplest things no longer brought him joy. Even Jinho was dejected. His shadows, too, felt the emptiness your absence had created in his heart—his inner turmoil and recklessness as he threw himself into battles reflected it.

Beru, in particular, wasn’t happy about your absence and kept asking after you until Jin-Woo firmly explained that you wouldn’t be coming back. The insect accepted it, albeit with a heavy heart.

Now I don’t even know you, and that’s the best part of it

Weeks turned into months, and Jin-Woo had regained much of his strength. He had grown more ruthless, focused solely on his goals. He had achieved so much, but none of it mattered if you weren’t there to cheer him on.

Neither the recognition from the Hunter’s Association nor the countless media articles praising him to the skies brought him any satisfaction. It wasn’t your recognition, so he didn’t need it.

He buried his heavy heart behind a wall of indifference, but he realized he was drifting further and further from any semblance of a normal life. He was rarely home, found himself in increasingly precarious situations during battles, and noticed how little he cared.

No matter what he did, nothing could fill the void.

It simply couldn’t go on like this, so he decided to do something he usually resisted.

He resolved to ask Hae-In on a date.

All I know, you’re the only thing that I see in color

While Jin-Woo threw himself into leveling up, you had shut yourself away at home for some time. Jin-Woo’s wounded face was burned into your mind; after all, it was the last thing you had seen of him.

Guilt gnawed at you, sapping your strength and will to move forward.

You had lost weight, only left your home for absolute necessities, and spent most of your time sleeping. You cried so much that you began to believe you had no tears left.

Every fiber of your being missed him.

His voice.

His scent.

His laughter.

Even his reprimanding tone when you and Beru got into trouble.

Everything about him. Your heart cried out for him, whether you were awake or asleep.

This heart is torturing me

A sigh escaped your lips as you stared at your phone screen—the numerous missed calls from Jinho had gradually become fewer, but he never gave up.

More guilt.

But what could you do to fix this? Calling Jin-Woo? Just tell him the truth? Maybe that would be the fairest way…

Countless times, you had typed his number into your phone, only to stop yourself at the last second. The fear that he wouldn’t believe you was too great. Or was it the fear that he would believe you?

You shook your head and stood up. This couldn’t go on. You had to talk to him, at least one last time—to come clean before you returned home.

You couldn’t bear the silence between you anymore.

The only pain I understand

Your eyes widened as you stared at the TV screen. A photo had just appeared on the display—your hands instantly dropped the paper cup you’d been holding, spilling the hot coffee it contained onto the ground.

With your mouth slightly open, you stared at the screen, which was displayed in the shop window of a store you had just been walking past.

You had stopped in your tracks as the image suddenly changed, revealing a paparazzi photo.

It showed Jin-Woo and Hae-In, with his arm around her shoulders.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything—maybe it was all just a big misunderstanding—but in your current state, you didn’t want to hear any of it.

Your heart had already cracked when you had to reject his feelings, but this time it felt as though it had shattered into a thousand pieces.

Your mouth went dry, and you couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

You stared at the picture as if hypnotized.

You half-expected a spiteful inner voice to appear, taunting you and telling you it had been right all along—but it stayed silent.

I can't escape the weight of your ultraviolent heart

You tore your gaze away from the screen, and your legs started moving on their own.

Faster.

Much faster.

As if you could somehow run away from it, as if these images wouldn’t follow you for the rest of your life.

Your body instinctively reacted to the pain in your soul, numbing it.

The pain ebbed away, leaving behind an emptiness that took over, shielding you from breaking down—at least for the moment.

When the door to your apartment finally closed behind you, shutting you away from the public’s eyes, every bullet hit you at once.

Your stomach churned, forcing you to vomit into the sink.

Your body doubled over, and you clung to the edge of the counter until the shaking subsided, until you rinsed your mouth and collapsed to your knees, clutching at your chest in anguish.

Your body trembled uncontrollably as you screamed out the pain you had been holding back for so long. You screamed until your voice grew hoarse, until no words could escape your throat anymore.

How had it come to this? Why had he entered your life if he was never meant to stay? Why was the universe so cruel? What had you done to deserve this?

It’s a poison in my gut

It took an eternity for your body to stop trembling and the sobs to subside. Your tears dried up, your body too exhausted to produce any more.

You sat on the floor, your back against the wall, drained of all strength. Your head throbbed, and every trace of willpower had left your body.

Weakly, you lifted your hand and swiped downward in the air.

[Do you really wish to leave the game?] [Yes] / [No] [Yes]

Jin-Woo woke with a silent scream from his nightmare, his hand outstretched, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes darting frantically around the room.

A few seconds passed before he realized he was in his bedroom. The full moon shone through his window, bathing everything in silver light.

It was just a dream…a damn nightmare. But it had felt so incredibly real.

His hand clutched at his chest, which ached under the crushing weight of emotion. He had seen your tear-streaked face as you looked at him, whispering a faint, “Goodbye.” Relief washed over him as he realized it had only been a dream. He rubbed his eyes, only to notice the glimmer of tears on his hand under the moonlight.

But it still felt so real - he felt so hollow, as though a giant hole had opened in his chest. As if something was terribly wrong. His mind wandered to you once again, missing the warmth of your Presence once more. He was sure you had seen the News, the speculations and rumors about his relationship with the blonde S-Rank - but they were all false. He only wanted to shield her from the Spotlights, since it was him who dragged her along in the first place. The Date with Hae-In was a welcoming distraction from fighting in a Dungeon, but it felt all wrong. It just made him realize once more, that it was you he wanted by his side - as lovers or friends, he couldn't care less. He just wanted you.

His resolve hardened: tomorrow, he would visit you and ask for your forgiveness, hoping you would be willing to forgive him. Hoping the empty feeling would finally disappear, that he would be whole again.

With that thought in mind, he drifted back to sleep. But the emptiness remained.

You’re the only thing that I see in color.

[part 2]

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ꨄ︎ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ Wow, this story just came to me while I was on the bus, listening to music…what can I say—I had to write it down before it was too late!

English isn’t my first language! I hope everything was understandable and legible.

since y'all are just suckers for drama, there will be a part two~ But first, feel free to read my series! A Jin Woo x Shadow! Reader story. [Shadowborn] Thank you for all your support! likes, reblogs & comments or just reading <3 .'*•.¸♡ I really appreciate it <3 ♡¸.•*'

♡¸.•*' ˋ°•*⁀✎ 𝑢𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑎

#Solo leveling #solo leveling x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #angst #jin woo x reader #songfic #one shot

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zorosangell · 2 months ago

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⛥ﾟ・。 perfect match: chapter one

chapter synopsis: ten singles are brought to a villa on a tropical island in order to find their special someone. they'll go through challenges, heart throbs, and heartbreaks, but only one couple will be named the perfect match. who will win it all? who will be sent packing? stay tuned to... PERFECT MATCH!

cw: modern au, mature themes, innuendos, drinking, parties, nudity, profanity, sports, slight character changes, etc.

"God, I'm gonna regret this..." you muttered to yourself, swiping strand of hair from your face as you entered the villa, slightly glancing at the camera man trailing not to far away.

Carefully, you stepped down the lip, the light clack of your heels echoing throughout the seemingly empty house, your heart rate spiking with each step.

You knew your nerves were showing, as embarrassing as it was, and you knew that you'd have to get yourself together before you met the others.

Taking a deep breath, you re-centered yourself, adjusting the bust of your dress and straightening up your posture in an effort to exude at least some sort of confidence.

Though you still felt like barfing into the nearest trashcan.

"Hello!" you smiled, walking through the entrance to the backyard as you waved. "I hope I'm not the last one."

"(y/n)! Glad to see you could make it!"

You turned to the source of the voice, only to find a familiar looking man known for his friendliness, his warm grin directed toward you.

The one and only Soul King, beloved celebrity and host of Perfect Match International.

Behind him, an attractive group of singles were mingling, getting to know each other with fruity drinks in hand.

'Shit. I'm already behind...'

Discreetly, you took another deep breath, adjusting that same unruly strand.

"Yohohoho! The rest of your fellow contestants are getting familiar down below. I suggest you hop to it and get to joining them," he took your hand in his, carefully helping you down the rest of the steps. "And make sure you're matched up by the end of the night!"

Your brows flattened, slightly.

'Easier said than done...'

You gave him a nod of acknowledgement, before finally touching down on the grass, quickly rushing over to the bar to get something to calm your nerves.

Leaning against the counter, your nose twitched, your entire body abuzz with jitters.

You auditioned for the show on a dare made by your friend while she was half-drunk, and not once during the entire process did you think you were actually going to make it on.

But now here you were, your first time on a reality show alongside what looked to be nothing but absolute tens.

It'd be a lie if you said you weren't intimidated, and it took a whole lot to intimidate you.

So you kept your exterior cool and collected, hoping you came off assertive and unbothered despite the uncomfortable churn in your stomach.

And while you couldn't see it, the men of the villa took notice almost instantly, marveling at the woman that just strutted in.

You gave the bartender a thankful nod as he handed you the house special, which looked suspiciously like a tequila sunrise, before taking a tentative sip, your shoulders sinking slightly at the sweet taste.

Like citrus-spiced strawberries.

"It's good, right?" an airy voice smiled, sliding into the spot beside you.

Curious, you turned to it, only to find a girl with clear, freckled fair skin and beautiful brown eyes.

"I've already had three. At this rate I'll be face down under a table before I match tonight."

You chuckled, her atmosphere easing the tension of your shoulders ever so slightly.

Despite just meeting, she had a way about her that made the air feel lighter, and suddenly freer to speak in.

"I'd settle for that over this," you sighed, resting your cheek in your palm, "I swear I think they made some mistake putting me here."

Her brow quirked in curiosity, "Why do you say that?"

You scoffed, almost disbelieving of your circumstances.

"I've never been on any kind of TV show before... let alone one as highly viewed as this..."

"Girl, you gotta shake off those jitters!" she grinned, giving you a soft, little hip bump, "It doesn't matter how much of a celebrity you are. You're here surrounded by sexy men and strong liquor, so leave that other stuff behind and have a good time!"

You turned to her, hesitant, fiddling with the ring on your thumb.

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" she chuckled, "And looking the way you do, I'm pretty sure you could have any one of these guys following you back up to your room."

Your face flared at the compliment, completely taken by surprise, but you played it off with a coy laugh, hiding your smile by taking a sip of your drink.

"You're just sayin' that," you waved off, snickering at her dramatic gasp.

"You don't believe me?" she raised a brow, a determined smile on her face as she turned toward the others, eyes scanning over the small crowd, "In that case, walk up to any guy you want and strike up a conversation. I promise you he will be asking you to match by the end of it."

You scoffed, shaking your head with a grin, amused by her absurd request, "I think those drinks are startin' to hit."

"Maybe. But that's beside the point," she assured, running a manicured hand through her hair, "C'mon, what's the harm in it? I think your chances of coupling up tonight would be ten times higher if you stopped talking to me and started mingling with a hottie."

With a sigh, you turned to look over all the men, noticing a few eyes already on you, watching intently.

"You sure?" you asked, a little intimidated.

This was so far out of your comfort zone, you'd need GPS to navigate back.

"A hundred percent," she nodded, resting an encouraging hand on your shoulder, "This whole setup may be a little overwhelming, but fake it 'til you make it. The confidence will come naturally with time."

Your gaze slowly shifted to a little farther in the distance, what looked to be a head of scruffy, green hair sitting on a couch not too far away, fiddling with the threads on the armrest.

"Just start small. Maybe a guy who looks a little more nervous."

'He's perfect!'

A small grin stretched on your face, eyes locking on the poor man.

From his demeanor, he looked like he would rather be anywhere in the world.

Just the practice you needed.

"I'm goin' in," you steeled yourself, gulping down the rest of your drink before picking up a new one, heading over to his seat.

"Good luck!" she sang, a curly-haired man with a particularly long nose already swooping in to take your spot.

And despite the slight oomph you put in your step, the walk toward the mystery man still felt like eons.

Not only that, but your body felt as if it was going through the five stages of grief, wanting to vomit, scream, and run for the hills all the same time.

But you held strong, and as you drew nearer, you were finally able to focus in on his features.

And just like that, all air left your lungs.

'Holy shit...'

He was absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous.

Now that you were closer, you could see that he was huge, about six feet of pure muscle, with a jaw carved out of stone and steel gray eyes that could bare into your soul, and even beyond that, with just a simple glance.

It was nothing short of a miracle that you were able to keep your cool.

"This seat taken?" your sultry voice rang through the space space between you two, "I was hoping we could have a chat."

His brows furrowed at the remark.

He figured sitting off to the side would make his intentions, or lack thereof, quite clear.

Annoyed, he lifted his head, eye landing on your figure as you emerged from the faint blue lighting, widening at the sight as your hips swayed from side to side.

Long (h/c) hair, plump lips, heavenly curves made evident by your dress draped over your luscious, curvaceous body that exposed the delicious plump of your thighs.

You paired the outfit with some cute, wedged heels, which he bet barely made you taller than him if he were to stand up.

The lights illuminated your skin and glossed lips, which curled into a smile when you caught sight of him.

You were dripping in beauty and danger.

Zoro, so mesmerized, didn't even realize you had already arrived, and were now standing directly in front of him, drink in hand.

"Everyone else is off doin' their own thing, so I figured I'd get to know at least one person tonight," you greeted, taking a seat next to him and swiping that same damned strand of hair out your face.

It was almost funny.

You had to tilt your head up slightly to even look the man in the eye.

With a smile, you held out your other hand to shake, "I'm (y/n). S'nice to meet you."

Zoro didn't register a single word.

He could only focus on the way your lips moved as you spoke, enunciating each syllable so smoothly.

Though, when he realized you'd stopped speaking, his eyes found yours, a bashful glow rising to his cheeks.

"Zoro," he grunted out, curtly, returning the gesture.

You felt chills when his hand touched yours to shake, years of hard work evident in his rough, calloused hand, which held yours with the gentlest touch.

Shaking his hand, your eyes came up to meet his once more, his pulling you in like a strong current.

You studied his facial features up close, taking notice of the subtle things you hadn't noted in your first glance.

The slight pink of his smooth lips. Or the faint scar stretching over his closed eye. Or the peek of the stitches at the thin flesh of his collarbone; not that such a tiny detail would be picked up unless one was really looking.

You felt like the handshake was going on for ages, but you didn't want to let go, and deep down, neither did he.

He, too, was studying your face.

And he never wanted to look away.

'The cameras!'

Awkwardly, you cleared your throat, the two of you quickly letting go as warmth rose to your cheeks.

Shaking yourself out of the daze, you went back into confidence mode, ready to take your skills for a test drive.

"So...any reason why you're over here all by yourself?" you started, voice alluring as you turned to the man. "I know I was a little late to the party, but shouldn't you be getting to know the others?"

Your eyes, which looked bigger with your mascara, ticked from each of his eyes to his lips.

He shrugged, jutting a thumb in the direction of the straw-hatted man you had passed earlier, "M'not here by choice."

You turned to the man, raising a brow.

His hair was a deep black—and significantly longer than Zoro's—and his personality seemed to be the complete opposite.

From what you saw, he had talked to everyone—save for you—his award-winning smile never faltering.

He certainly wasn't lacking in the looks department, but you were more of a doberman girl rather than a golden retriever.

You giggled, Zoro's chest stirring at the sound of your breathy, soft laugh.

"Him?" you asked with an amused smile.

"He applied and didn't wanna do it alone. So he forced me along," he grunted, scratching the nape of his neck, "Wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. This isn't really my type of scene."

'What a coincidence...'

"Why are you here?"

"Similar reason. Me and my friend got drunk on a Friday night and she dared me to sign up," you answered, sheepishly. "Didn't think I'd actually get in though. And when I did she wouldn't let me back out."

He bit his cheek to fight off the slight smile threatening to rise on his lips.

You were downright adorable.

He grumbled a chuckle, looking down at your lips then back to your eyes, "Watching you I didn't think you'd be a party girl."

"So you've been watching me?" you cocked a brow, a small smirk curling on your glossy lips.

But he played it off, taking your question in stride.

"Guess you're right... wouldn't be the only one, though," he shrugged.

Now your brow was to the roof.

"Whaddya mean by that?"

His breath hitched.

Zoro wasn't one to give compliments.

Shit, he didn't even know how to without sounding like a complete asshole.

And as much as he played the aloof, heart-of-stone, tough guy, he didn't want you to see him as that.

You were too sweet.

So he told you the truth.

"You've got everyone watchin' you."

'Did that sound creepy? That sounded creepy. Fuck.'

But he kept talking.

"Your dress, your jewelry... you're a beautiful woman."

He was digging himself in a hole now.

You laughed, light and fluttery, the smile that rose to your lips filling him with butterflies, "That's really sweet. I didn't think you'd be like this."

He frowned, cheeks warming at sweet.

He wasn't sweet... was he?

"What did you think I'd be like?"

You hummed as if you were thinking.

"Smart gym bro. Y'know, the guy who lists his stats and gains and makes it seem like I'm lucky to even be near him while trying to educate me on things I already know."

He cringed, but knew that he was indeed lucky to be talking to you, "Well, I got stats if you want 'em. I can bench press four hundred and—" a smile sprouted on his lips at yours, your hands waving in the air for him to stop.

"See, now that's not sweet. No need to brag, I can already tell you work out."

"You can tell?" he rubbed his jaw to dull his grin, his comment working when your eyes flicked down to his neck, biceps, and chest.

"Well...yeah. You're very... built."

"I'll take it."

"You got a pretty face, too. Long eyelashes, full cheeks, strong jaw. Perfect mix of everything. And nice eyes, too."

You swore you weren't rambling, but he called you beautiful and you called him built and those drinks were starting to get to you.

Zoro froze for half a second before gulping down the rest of his sake, hoping he wouldn't get burpy.

He was trying so hard not to blush, but it wasn't everyday that he was complimented on his face—usually his body.

"If you're tryin' to get me in your bed it's workin'."

You gasped, shock sliding on your face as you chuckled at his statement.

This Adonis of a man was getting flustered by you?

You chewed the inside of your cheek, settling in the comfortable silence for a moment before speaking up.

"If you wanna end up in my bed one of these nights you know where to find me."

That was his last straw.

He hadn't mingled with a single soul the entire night—save for you—and despite that, he knew he already liked you ten thousand times more than them.

So you know what?

'Fuck it.'

"And what would you say if I match with you tonight? I'd already be there," Zoro asked, you trying not to faint on the spot.

Fuck mingling, you were gonna get to know this man real well.

"I'd say yes and lead the way."

#zorosangell #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa #roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro #zoro x reader #op

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waitingandwishing · 5 days ago

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(Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3)

Prev. - Next Chapter

-> context: you like this show

-> fandom: cookie run kingdom

-> warnings/tags: female reader, shadow milk

“Ladies, gentlecookies, and those somewhere in between!” Shadow Milk Cookie bellowed, “I present to you: the Life of Y/N Cookie! Based on real-ish events! Told with 43% accuracy, give or take—mostly take!”

A cardboard cutout slid dramatically onto stage, bearing an uncanny resemblance to you with a bright smile and a sparkle in the frosting. Then came the others, one with long black icing hair and red detailing, another with floury white dough and eyes closed in calmness, a pink one with a halo and wings, and an intimidating one in a full helmet.

“Long, long, LONG, ago, there lived six llllegendary beasts! Burning Spice Cookie, Mystic Flour Cookie, Eternal Sugar Cookie, Silent Salt Cookie, the one and only Shadow Milk Cookie, and our charming guest… Y/N Cookie!!!”

The four other cookies left, the stage scattered with cardboard cutouts of pastel sunsets, overly dramatic scenery, and a poorly drawn cardboard version of a fancy dinner table with jellybean wine glasses. “But since this is the most beautiful act of them all, who cares about them?! This is our tragic, sweet, sugar-glazed tale of our rrrrromance!”

A glitter bomb popped loudly, sprinkling all over the stage and when it cleared, two cardboard cutouts popped up. One of him, looking heroic, and one of you, drawn with extra sparkles and hearts for eyes. “Our eyes met across the battlefield of broken dreams and cookie crumbs. Her frosting? Like stardust. My heart? Already melting.”

This felt oddly familiar. Like déjà vu. Like you had seen this before. Had you really done this in the past? A smile tugged at your lips before you knew why. It was like a song you half-remembered from a dream.

“She said to me, ‘Oh, Shadow Milk Cookie, your dough smells like moonlight and your hat is extra jingly today.’” Shadow Milk gasped dramatically as if it was the most romantic sentence ever spoken, “And I said, ‘I’d juggle flaming licorice sticks for you!’ Which I did, might I add!”

A cardboard cutout of juggling flaming sticks burst into view behind him, and even though it caught on fire, he was still looking at you behind the curtains to watch your expression. “We danced under the moon during the night of her whole kingdom’s celebration!” Cue a cardboard moon on a string being lowered from above.

‘Her kingdom’? You had a kingdom? You were a queen? Apart of royalty? You were so confused. From what you got from Shadow Milk, though you weren’t sure if it were true, you used to be a beast- whatever that was-, you used to be his romance partner, and you used to be royal… Odd.

“We kissed in front of her whole entire kingdom!” Two cardboard cutouts smashing into each other with loud kissing noises he made himself. You found yourself chuckling to yourself, and although you couldn’t see it, Shadow Milk’s grin widened by a large amount.

There it was! That’s it! That’s the laugh! He’d missed that sound. He used to always make you laugh so hard, even when he was the… Fount of Knowledge… The title left a foul taste on his tongue and that alone urged him to clear his throat and continue.

“And then… the moment of destiny!” His excited voice dropped to a dead serious tone, “The stupid witches who ruined our moment.” The cutout of you dropped down dramatically onto the stage and a grey colored tree as well as a cookie with horns and white hair appeared.

“But thankfully, this other cookie released us and then I ended up getting free and blah blah blah, WHO CARES?! Because sadly-” Another Shadow Milk cardboard cutout appeared, this time with a teardrop under his eye. You furrowed your brows. So you… You knew him before you were trapped? And that tree… It was so familiar…

“I was released without my sugar puff! And she surely missed me too, as I thought! BUT NO! Betrayal! Heartbreak! Probably a fire!” A paper heart was suddenly lit on fire (Whether it was on purpose or not you didn’t know) and a stagehand quickly put it out with a cotton candy bucket.

A cutout of a pale green heart then appeared on stage, “BECAUSEEEEE she pulled out her Soul Jam and left me in Act One! She vanished without a monologue! WITHOUT CLOSURE!” Cutouts of a weird looking creature and a pointy hat also appeared on stage. You recognized the cardboard cutout as the witches.

The witches… It was their fault you were like this? Why you couldn’t remember anything? Why you had to learn your name again from a stranger (But maybe he wasn’t a stranger?) and why you couldn’t tell if this cookie had been the cookie you’d been dreaming about for years? The Witches? Rage boiled within you and you almost stood to get up before Shadow Milk continued again.

“Ahem… Thank you Enchantress Cookie for releasing us but for also releasing my sugar puff…” He muttered under his breath, “ANYWAYS! I’m so so so so so so SO glad my Y/N Cookie is here! Give it up for our leading lady!” Shadow Milk appeared on stage, a grin still apparent on his face, as the lights then shined towards you.

You turned your head away, lifting your hand to shield yourself from the light. The ‘crowd’ clapped and cheered wildly, proud to be in your presence. It was so weird to be in this… Situation. It was almost… Comical. The delivery, the cardboard. It was stupid but… It made you laugh.

And of course, it was also familiar because somewhere in that chaotic mess… Was truth. But it’s unsettling that he’s romanticizing moments you barely remembered, and it’s also sad because there seemed to be some bittersweetness behind this whole… Show. And it was all, unmistakably, yours.

“But now you’re back, Y/N!” Shadow Milk said, his smile more genuine, “Our second act will be even better than the first.”

The audience applauded and cheered even louder, giving a standing ovation to the cookie that stood center stage. Shadow Milk bowed low, basking in the sugar sweet applause and the candy flowers tossed at his feet. He clearly basked in the glory and praise, but you didn’t know he was looking for yours in particular. And as soon as he found it, it was almost as if everything else vanished like powdered sugar in the wind.

The cookie lifted his head with a sense of hope he hadn’t felt in a long time. And as he spotted you up in the main balcony also standing and clapping with a smile on your face You were smiling. For him. Just like you used to. His breath hitched. That one expression, that curve of your lips… He waited lifetimes for it and could wait even more.

Oh, he hadn’t felt this way in a long time, he hadn’t felt so… Relieved? Content? Whatever it was, he wanted to hear your voice first! Shadow Milk teleported from off the stage, leaving you slightly confused. Where was he now?

“Sooooo? What did you think about our show, sugar puff?” A voice behind you asked.

You paused, turning around to see Shadow Milk’s tilted face a centimeter too close to yours. You backed away, eyes wide, and looked back at the stage of where he had once been. “I…”

“Was it beautiful? Tug at your soul jam- Well, you don’t have it anymore so I guess that doesn’t make sense- But still! Did it stir your frosting?” Shadow Milk asked, walking forward with an expectant look.

“I… It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.” You answered carefully.

Shadow Milk paused, clearly not expecting that answer but taking it as positive feedback nonetheless. “Great! And do you like your outfit? I’m sure it fits perfectly, I would know… Unless you’ve grown since then… Hm… You wouldn’t mind me taking measurements right?”

“I- The outfit is perfect.” You said. For some reason, you just couldn’t get his name out of your mouth. It left a… Bitter? No… That wasn’t the right word… “Thank you, Shadow Milk Cookie.” Medicinal. That was the word. Thick, syrupy, unpleasant, but also… Sweet. Artificially sweet but sweet nonetheless.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes widened, along with the ones along his hat. “Oh how I love it when you say my name! Don’t worry, sugar puff, you’ll be saying it a lot now that you’re here!” He grinned.

“I’m staying here?” You asked, a frown now on your lips. You didn’t expect Shadow Milk to keep you around, well, maybe you did considering he must’ve liked you enough to put on this whole production for you and also because you had been his romance partner in the past. If you two didn’t exactly break up, did that mean you were still romance partners?

“Well of course! It’d be so so so so SO irresponsible of me to leave you out in Beast-Yeast without your memories! You need to get your abilities back too!” Shadow Milk Cookie explained.

“My abilities-?”

“I’ll explain it alllll after dinner! We need a feast for my leading lady after all!” Shadow Milk grinned, placing a hand on your lower back as if it had always belonged there. “Dinner awaits, sugar puff,” he purred. You followed, the warmth of his touch clashing with the chill crawling up your spine.

#fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk crk #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla x shadow milk #puremilk #shadowvanilla #crk x reader #crk #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run kingdom

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diamonddaze01 · 6 months ago

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The Somerset Affair | Chapter 2: When the Music Stops

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.8k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, crying, mentions of a panic attack (not being able to breathe), eventual smut, more to be added a/n: sorry sorry i know ch 2 took forever // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // 3rd chapter will be up faster than this one i swear!!!

summary: when the music stops and everything goes wrong, will seokmin always be there to defend you?

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here!

The morning of your debut should have been perfect. Every detail had been painstakingly planned over months, from the delicate lace of your gown to the pearls in your hair. But as you sit in front of your vanity, eyes bloodshot and heavy with fatigue, you know deep in your bones that this day is not destined to go smoothly.

You had stayed up the entire night, restless, thinking about Seokmin. Every word he had said, every smile, every fleeting touch that had seemed so innocent before now felt charged with meaning, occupying your thoughts and stealing away any hope of restful sleep. The result was staring back at you in the mirror: bloodshot eyes, dark circles beneath them, and lips that trembled as your maid worked tirelessly to dress you. It’s a pity – no amount of powders or rouge can hide the exhaustion and heartbreak written plainly across your face.

The soft rustling of your white debutante gown fills the room, each movement whispering of elegance and careful tradition. The gown is a masterful creation, carefully chosen by your mother months ago to reflect the quiet dignity of your family’s name. Its bodice is fitted, meticulously embroidered with the finest ivory threads that weave delicate patterns of lilies and vines across the fabric, adding dimension without overpowering.

Around the neckline, a border of tiny pearls catches the morning light, giving the gown a subtle shimmer that, like everything else about it, speaks of refinement over opulence. The gown’s sleeves, long and sheer, are trimmed in lace as fine as a spider’s web, designed to lay gently against your skin rather than cling, as if even the gown itself recognizes the demands of decorum.

The skirts cascade from the waist in a perfect fall of lace and satin, layers upon layers of gossamer fabric that float with your every step. Each layer, though fragile to the touch, is artfully arranged to maintain the gown’s perfect shape, a testament to the skill of its makers and the patience it took to assemble. At the hem, more intricate lacework peeks out, creating a subtle scalloped edge that brushes softly against the floor, finishing the gown with a grace that echoes the restraint of your mother’s discerning eye.

You cannot deny that the gown itself is a marvel, designed to highlight and enhance rather than dominate. It is beautiful, in the way a rose is beautiful—with an elegance that feels both timeless and delicate, whispering that a lady’s virtue lies in restraint, in never asking to be noticed and yet never failing to command attention.

But the corset. Oh, the corset. It felt as though it were designed to squeeze the very life from you.

“Breathe in, my lady,” your maid instructs, her voice strained from the effort of pulling at the stiff fabric. She pulls at the stays until your ribs protest in pain.

“I can’t breathe in anymore,” you bite out, trying and failing to draw in a proper breath. The corset feels like it’s made of iron, constricting your lungs until your vision begins to blur. “It’s too tight. I— I can’t—”

But your lady’s maid is relentless, ignoring your protests as she cinches you even tighter. She ties the final knot with a satisfied sigh. “There. That should hold.”

Hold? It felt more like it was keeping you prisoner, you think grimly, but before you can voice any more complaints, your mother sweeps into the room, her graceful presence filling the space with a quiet authority. Dressed in an elegant gown of soft gray silk, she pauses to take in your appearance, her sharp eyes noting every detail.

Your mother’s eyes scan your dress approvingly, but when her gaze lands on your face, her expression falters. “Dearest, you look... unwell.”

Your heart sinks. “I didn’t sleep much last night,” you confess, eyes cast downward, though you don’t dare mention why. The last thing you need is your mother knowing Seokmin has occupied your thoughts in such a way.

Your mother sighs softly and moves to stand beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “This day is important, darling. I had hoped you would be well-rested, but...” She trails off, her tone not unkind, but laced with concern. “There is no time now to dwell on it. The Queen waits for no one.”

You nod, feeling a rush of guilt, knowing how much effort has gone into preparing you for this moment. But the weight of the corset and your sleepless night are conspiring to make you feel utterly overwhelmed. Your mother notices, of course. She always does.

“Try not to worry too much,” she says, her voice softening, though it still holds that undercurrent of expectation. “You must keep your chin high, shoulders back. No one need know what little sleep you had. You are beautiful, my dear, no matter the circumstances.”

Her words, though comforting, do little to ease the anxiety building in your chest. But there’s no time left. Your lady’s maid places the final pearl pins in your hair, and your mother gives you a reassuring squeeze before she gestures toward the door. “It’s time.”

Your nerves flutter violently as you’re escorted downstairs and into the awaiting carriage. The ride to the palace feels both endless and far too short. Every bump in the road jostles your already-tight corset, pressing against your ribs and leaving you breathless. The palace is as magnificent as you had heard—no, it’s more. The palace itself is a marvel of architecture, an opulent structure that seems more the work of fantasy than reality. Vaulted ceilings soar impossibly high, held aloft by marble columns adorned with delicate carvings of ivy and mythical creatures that seem to come to life in the flickering candlelight. Every archway is flanked by gilded moldings, winding and curling like golden vines, each detail rendered with the precision of a master sculptor.

Each corner, each angle of the palace seems to lead to something grander than the last, as if it were designed to swallow you whole in beauty. And perhaps it is, you think, as you press a hand over your fluttering heart. For despite the elegance, there is an undeniable sense of intimidation in the sheer scale of it all—a reminder of how small you are in the face of such a place, and of the scrutiny that awaits within these towering, timeworn walls.

You can feel the architecture itself imposing upon you, weighing down like the firm hand of tradition. For a fleeting moment, you imagine yourself wandering through the palace alone, exploring every column and arch, free of the hundreds of eyes upon you. But here, now, with the gaze of history and expectation pressing down, you straighten your shoulders, drawing in a steadying breath, and follow your Mama into the Great Hall.

The hall is grander than anything you had even dared to imagine. The polished marble floors shine like glass, capturing reflections in delicate ripples that turn the passing gowns of debutantes into pools of lace and silk. Chandeliers hang from above, so immense and dazzling that they appear to drip crystal stars. They illuminate the room with a glow that is almost celestial, casting every inch of the hall in a warmth befitting the Queen herself.

To your right and left, mirrors taller than any man stretch to the ceiling, framed in gold leaf as intricate as lacework. The mirrors hold your gaze as you pass, capturing the girls beside you as they float forward with their mothers, each one a shimmering, blushing vision in white. You see yourself in these mirrors too, and although the gown fits you perfectly, somehow you feel like you’re wearing another’s skin. For a moment, you imagine your reflection whispering back, “Are you really here?”

The walls are covered in the richest velvet, deep greens and ruby reds that somehow make the hall feel even grander, as if you’ve stepped into the very heart of royalty itself. Enormous portraits of past queens and kings line the hall, each gaze strong and serene, as if they’re assessing every girl who dares to walk beneath their painted eyes. Somewhere in your chest, a knot forms and tightens. It’s strange, the feeling of being surrounded by so much opulence, as if the walls are watching, waiting for something that only they understand.

And perhaps that’s why your breath is so unsteady, why your heartbeat seems to echo through the hall in time with your footsteps. The palace, beautiful as it is, leaves you feeling like a creature of some lesser world, an intruder who has somehow wandered into a realm that does not belong to you. It’s not so much a place as a spectacle, a stunning, overbearing reminder of all that you must live up to, of all the scrutiny you’ll face from these grand walls, these glittering chandeliers, and yes, the very Queen herself. Every step feels like you are walking deeper into a lion’s den, where your every move will be scrutinized, your worth as a young lady judged by the sharpest eyes in the kingdom.

You move with the other debutantes, each girl dressed in white, adorned with jewels and delicate veils, the picture of youth and grace. The line seems to stretch forever as you wait your turn to be announced. The air is thick with anticipation, the rustle of satin and silk as the ladies murmur quietly to one another, some excited, others as nervous as you feel. Your own dress, despite its beauty, feels like a trap. The corset restricts your every breath, and the weight of expectation presses on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the room, your nerves growing worse by the second. And then, in the far corner, you spot them. Minghao stands with an air of composure, his eyes quietly observing the room, his presence as regal as ever. Your brother watches the proceedings with a detached elegance, his eyes flickering over the debutantes without much interest. His gaze flicks to you, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of calm knowing your brother is watching.

But next to him, is Seokmin.

He stands taller than most, his posture rigid but his face warm, though tinged with concern. While your brother is a portrait of his birthright and title, Seokmin is different. His gaze is sharper, more intent, and when his eyes find yours, the familiar comfort of his presence makes your heart stutter. You try to remind yourself to breathe, but the memory of his touch, his words, from the night prior clings to you like a shadow.

Seokmin’s expression softens when he sees you, and for a moment, the whole room seems to fall away. His lips quirk in a small, reassuring smile, and though you try to return it, your own face feels tight, your nerves too frayed to muster anything convincing.

As if sensing your unease, Seokmin’s eyes narrow with concern. Does he notice how your corset presses too tightly into your ribs? Or how your eyes are puffy from lack of sleep? The warmth in his gaze is mixed with a flicker of something unreadable, something almost protective. You are painfully aware of his gaze, and the thought of him watching you stumble through this day feels like too much to bear.

The line of debutantes inches forward, each young lady presented with grace and poise, or at least, the appearance of it. Your nerves churn violently in your stomach as your name is finally called. Your mother tightens her grip, ever so slightly, and it’s a silent reminder – You are a Xu. Do not falter.

“Miss Y/N Xu, sister of the Duke of Somerset,” the herald crows, and every eye in the room fixes on you. “Presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Dowager Duchess of Somerset.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you take your first step forward, your skirts swishing around you. The weight of the gown, the tightness of your corset, and the heavy stares from all corners of the room press down on you. You try to steady your breathing, but the corset refuses to allow for even that small comfort.

Just as you take a step, disaster strikes.

Your heel catches on the hem of your gown.

You stumble forward, arms flailing slightly to catch yourself, but the weight of your skirts and the tightness of your corset make it impossible to recover gracefully. A collective gasp echoes through the room, and you feel your cheeks flush with mortification.

The whispers are instant, rippling through the crowd like wildfire. You can feel the stares—sharp, judgmental, unforgiving. Your mother’s grip tightens, and though she says nothing, you can feel her disapproval radiating through her hold. She doesn’t need to scold you—not in public. But the sting of her disappointment is enough to make you want to shrink into the floor.

Still, you manage to regain your footing, if only barely. You take a shaky breath and continue forward, your knees trembling with each step. But it gets worse. With every move, the corset seems to tighten further, squeezing the breath from your lungs until black spots dance in the corners of your vision.

Just as you’re about to curtsy before the Queen, your knees buckle.

A choking cough rips from your throat, loud and desperate, echoing through the grand hall. You’re bent over at the waist, gasping for breath, your corset pressing tighter with every moment. You cough again, and again, unable to stop, your eyes watering as you struggle to compose yourself.

The Queen, perched on her throne in all her regal glory, watches with a raised eyebrow, her disapproval palpable. Her expression is one of distaste, as if you are a spectacle—an amusing disaster.

Your mother murmurs beside you, “Steady yourself,” and her grip tightens with fury and disappointment in equal measure. It’s too late. Your corset has robbed you of the ability to breathe, and the weight of the entire room’s gaze crushes you. Your vision swims again, and for one horrifying moment, you think you might faint right there in front of the Queen.

Finally, you manage to straighten yourself, gasping for air, your face flushed and tear-streaked. You risk a glance toward the far side of the room, where Minghao and Seokmin still stand.

Minghao’s face is impassive, though his eyes are dark with what could only be disappointment. Seokmin, on the other hand, looks as though he might bolt across the room to help you. His hands clench at his sides, his jaw tight as his eyes flick between you and the Queen.

The Queen’s cold, cutting voice slices through the silence. “Miss Xu,” she says slowly, her tone dripping with disapproval. “It seems you are... unwell.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You manage a wobbly curtsy, your knees nearly giving out beneath you again as you lower yourself.

“Perhaps Miss Y/N should reconsider her readiness for society,” the Queen continues icily. “A young lady of such delicate constitution may not be suited for the rigors of court.”

Her words land like a blow. You rise slowly, trying to keep your chin held high, though your hands tremble and your vision remains blurry from the humiliation. All you want is for this moment to end. To disappear.

As you retreat, the whispers rise in volume, filling the grand hall with gossip and speculation. You can feel the weight of every gaze on you, every judgment passed in an instant. But it is Seokmin’s gaze that you search for in the crowd. His eyes meet yours, and though they are filled with concern, they are also gentle, understanding. A small comfort in the midst of your disaster.

Your mother, ever composed, whispers to you as she leads you from the room, her voice calm but firm. “We will speak of this later, darling. But for now, we must leave with grace.”

You nod weakly, still too breathless and embarrassed to respond. And as you step out of the grand hall, the day that was supposed to mark your entrance into society feels like anything but. All you can think about is how miserably everything went wrong—and how, even in the midst of it all, Seokmin’s gaze had found yours, steady and unwavering.

The silence presses on as the carriage trundles through the city streets, each wheel hitting the cobbles with a sound like a hammer to your heart. You’re trapped, here in this carriage, with no escape from your mother’s disappointment or the day’s memories—the whispered laughter, the blunder before the Queen, and the sheer, unbearable heat of your mortification.

Minghao’s hand rests over yours for only a heartbeat, but it’s enough to keep you from crumbling entirely. Though he releases your hand quickly to avoid Mama’s watchful eye, the gesture is enough to ground you, pulling you back to this place instead of letting you spiral into all the things you could have, should have done differently.

At last, your mother clears her throat, a carefully composed sound that cuts through the quiet like a knife.

“Well,” she says, her voice clipped and precise, “that was… quite the spectacle.” Her tone is a blend of disappointment and a tight, forced restraint. “I had hoped, naturally, for a… more dignified presentation.”

You swallow, feeling the flush of embarrassment burn anew. “I—” you start, but the words catch, failing under the weight of everything you wish to explain and the knowledge that no explanation will undo what’s done.

She adjusts her gloves with a sharp, precise tug, a calculated movement that somehow manages to convey her frustration without a single word. “I trust,” she begins slowly, every syllable measured, “that you understand the gravity of today’s events.”

You swallow, focusing on the intricate embroidery of your gown, tracing the delicate threads to distract yourself from the pressing sting of her words.

“Mother, I—” you stammer, but she holds up a gloved hand, silencing you before the words even form.

“We spent months preparing for this moment,” she continues, her voice tight with restrained emotion. “Months, to ensure you would have the debut any young lady of our family should. Your dress, your bearing, every detail was attended to so you would represent us with grace, with decorum. And yet, today…” She trails off, her eyes gliding over you with a look that could curdle milk.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Minghao interjects quietly, and though his tone is gentle, there’s a faint edge to his words, as though even he cannot quite hold back his defense. He shoots a quick, sidelong glance at you, a small, reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The Queen’s hall was suffocating, and the entire affair was clearly designed to unnerve anyone in attendance.”

Your mother’s expression softens just a fraction as she regards her son, but she’s hardly swayed. “The Queen’s hall has been the site of countless debuts. If anything, the occasion called for composure, not… fainting spells.”

You clench your fists, the fabric of your dress twisting between your fingers, and look resolutely at the floor. As painful as it is to hear, you know your mother is not entirely wrong. Today was supposed to be your moment of triumph, the day you stepped forward as a young woman ready for society, carrying your family’s reputation with poise and dignity.

But instead, you remember the heat that had pressed in from all sides, the feeling of your corset cutting into your ribs, how your hands had trembled with each step. It was supposed to have been an easy task, to walk forward, cursty, and meet the Queen’s gaze with calm respect. And yet, you had felt every gaze upon you like a burn, each stumble echoing through the endless hall. And then, Seokmin’s eyes finding yours, calm and steady…

The memory stirs something warm within you, a faint flicker of relief that somehow dampens the embarrassment. The Queen’s gaze may have been unyielding, your mother’s disappointment all-consuming, but for that one moment, you had felt tethered, no longer alone.

Outside, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the city as the carriage continues its steady roll homeward. The silence stretches again, and the weight of it settles around you like an invisible veil. Minghao catches your eye, and though he says nothing, the look he gives you speaks volumes—a quiet reassurance, a reminder that this one day does not define you, that he still believes in you despite every misstep.

Your mother finally sighs, a faint softening in her shoulders. “We’ll regroup,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “There will be more opportunities, of course, but we’ll need to be mindful, thoughtful. A second chance may not be as kind.” She glances at you, and though her expression remains stern, there’s a glimmer of something almost like understanding.

The carriage ride stretches on in silence once more, each of you lost in thoughts. You glance out the window, watching the city roll by, lanterns casting fleeting golden glows against the carriage walls. It feels surreal, how a day so longed for turned into a series of mishaps, one after another. But as the carriage rounds a corner, you catch a memory from earlier: Seokmin’s eyes, grounding you, unwavering, somehow knowing how terrifying each step felt, how every misstep seemed amplified beneath the weight of so many watching.

As the carriage wheels finally begin to slow, approaching the gates of your family estate, you feel a shift within yourself. Today may have been a disaster, and yet, Seokmin’s gaze and Minghao’s quiet support linger, like small anchors in the storm of the day.

The drawing room is a sanctuary of elegance, its ornate moldings and rich fabrics designed to impress. Tall windows frame the view of the manicured gardens outside, sunlight pouring through in golden streams that dance across the polished wooden floor. Yet, despite the beauty surrounding you, it feels more like a gilded cage today. The delicate scent of lavender from the nearby vase does little to soothe the turmoil within.

You sit hunched over a needlepoint project, your fingers fumbling with the bright threads that feel foreign against your skin. The canvas before you, a swirl of colors and patterns, seems to mock your inability to focus. Your mind wanders far beyond the needlework, replaying the events of your disastrous debut like a never-ending nightmare. Each time you think of it, a fresh wave of humiliation washes over you, sharp and unyielding, like a thorn that refuses to dislodge itself from your heart.

“Goodness, how is one expected to focus with this nonsense?” you mutter under your breath, the needle slipping from your fingers yet again and leaving a careless knot in the thread. You curse softly, frustration bubbling to the surface.

Your mother sits comfortably in her armchair, her brow slightly furrowed as she loses herself in the pages of a novel, the rustle of paper punctuating the silence. Minghao lounges on the settee across from you, flipping through a collection of sketches, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at his artistic efforts. Every so often, his gaze flickers towards you, a mixture of concern and curiosity etched into his features, but he respects your silence, understanding that you are still recovering from the scarring events of your debut into polite society.

Just then, the door swings open, and Seokmin steps into the room, his presence a burst of light that seems to chase away the shadows clinging to your thoughts. It has been years since the butler last announced his arrival—his visits are far too frequent now, and you can’t help but feel a mix of warmth and apprehension at his entrance. His usually buoyant demeanor is tempered by a trace of concern as he takes in the scene before him, the way your shoulders droop as if weighed down by invisible chains.

“Good morning!” he declares, his voice bright yet careful, testing the waters of your melancholy. “I do hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” your mother replies, glancing up from her book, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “In fact, you may be just what our dear girl needs.”

You offer a small, half-hearted smile, the corners of your lips barely lifting. “And what would that be? A distraction or a dose of reality?”

Seokmin approaches, his smile as warm as the sunlight flooding the room. “A bit of both, if you’ll allow me.” He perches himself on the arm of your chair, leaning in just enough to draw your focus from the needlepoint chaos. “That was quite the debut you had, dear friend. How are you holding up?”

“Barely,” you sigh, tossing the errant needlepoint aside as if it were the source of all your woes. “I feel as if I’ve stumbled through a door marked ‘exit’ into an abyss of mortification.”

His eyes widen with sympathy, and in that moment, your heart flutters, torn between admiration and the painful reality that he may never feel the same. Seokmin has a way of making the world feel lighter, yet your feelings for him are a weight that often threatens to pull you under.

“Ah, yes,” he nods sagely, as if you have just shared the most profound wisdom. “The abyss of polite society can be quite unforgiving. I believe it’s marked with ‘no entrance’ signs, but alas, they are easily overlooked.”

Minghao chuckles softly, his attention now fully diverted from his sketches. “You do have a gift for exaggeration, Seokmin.”

“It’s a talent,” Seokmin replies, feigning an air of grandeur, his hand pressing dramatically to his heart. “But truly, do not let the Queen’s judgment define you. You are far too radiant for that.”

You snort, the sound escaping before you can suppress it. “Radiant? Is that what you call it when one trips over their own gown and nearly faints in front of our sovereign?”

“Why, yes! A splendid display of athleticism!” he shoots back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve inadvertently entertained a room full of people—something they are certain to remember for ages.”

“But not in the way I had hoped,” you reply, frustration seeping into your voice as the memory of the evening flashes before your eyes, a storm of embarrassment churning within you.

“Ah, but hope can be a slippery creature,” he counters, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “What matters is how you choose to move forward. I have heard of many a lady whose debut was marred by similar accidents—yet they rise from the ashes like phoenixes, dazzling everyone with their resilience.”

“Is that your way of saying I should make a grand return to society?” You raise an eyebrow, your heart flickering with the suggestion. “Perhaps adorned in feathers and sequins to distract from my previous mistake?”

“I’d be the first to support such a feat,” he replies earnestly, the sincerity in his voice a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. But beneath your amusement lies an aching truth: his encouragement only highlights the chasm between your feelings and his indifference. He will never look at you the way you long for.

“Yes, Lord Lee, what a wonderful idea!” your mother exclaims, her book long forgotten. “The Fitzwilliam Ball is to be held in the coming weeks—what a splendid way for our darling girl to re-enter society!”

Your face falls. A ball? So soon? The very thought sends a tremor of panic racing through you. “Mama, I—”

“Yes, Mother, a splendid idea indeed,” Minghao muses, a teasing glint in his eye. When you turn your glare to him, he sticks his tongue out meanly, and Seokmin suppresses a chuckle.

You take a deep breath, fighting against the swell of anxiety rising in your chest. “I’m not certain I’m ready for another ball, not after—” you start, but the words die on your lips as Seokmin’s gaze locks onto yours. His expression is gentle yet determined, a silent encouragement that stirs something deep within you.

“Ready or not, life moves on,” he says softly, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You have to take the reins, even if the prospect is daunting.”

You want to believe him, to embrace his unwavering optimism, but doubt gnaws at you. Can you truly face another crowd, the whispers, the judgment? Your heart flutters erratically, caught in a tempest of affection and despair. Seokmin’s eyes shine with an earnestness that quickens your pulse, yet it only reminds you of the gulf that lies between your feelings and his casual indifference.

“Life indeed moves on,” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. “But what if I stumble again? What if I make an even greater fool of myself?”

Seokmin’s smile falters for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of understanding that cuts through the air like a knife. “We all stumble, but that’s how we learn to rise,” he replies, his tone steady yet soft. “And besides, I’ll be there. I promise I’ll help you navigate any disaster.”

His words wrap around you like a lifeline, a flicker of hope igniting your heart. But as the warmth of his promise settles in, a cold weight begins to press upon you. You look into his eyes, searching for something more, but find only the steadfast gaze of a friend—someone who would catch you if you fell, but only as a friend.

“Right,” you murmur, the pain of acceptance settling in your chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding, a reminder of the distance between you.

The late evening light filters softly through the sheer curtains of your room, casting a warm glow that barely reaches the pile of books haphazardly stacked beside your bed. These books, filled with tales of love and adventure, have provided a much-needed refuge from the reality of your recent debut. For days now, you’ve chosen to cocoon yourself in their comforting embrace, avoiding the whispers and curious glances of society that followed you after your disastrous introduction.

You had resolutely refused to attend any of the society events your mother deemed essential—the lady’s tea, with its orchestrated conversations and veiled judgments, or the garden party, where laughter seemed to echo around you while you felt only isolation. The thought of facing the same debutantes, the same mamas, their glances lingering a moment too long on you, made your stomach churn. Instead, you preferred the solace of your room, the pages of your books offering both distraction and comfort as you lost yourself in worlds far removed from the judgmental eyes of the ton.

But tonight, your mother is insistent. At last, the Fitzwilliam Ball is upon you, and you have no escape from your mother’s gentle chiding. “Darling,” she calls gently, her voice a melody that pulls you from the pages of your latest escape. The delicate scent of lavender wafts through the air as she steps into the room, her presence commanding yet warm. It is an unusual moment—your lady’s maid typically oversees your dressing, managing the layers of fabric and the intricate details of your ensemble. But today, it is your mother who steps into that role, a significant act that carries with it the weight of her affection and a chance to bridge the gap that your previous missteps had created.

“It’s time to get ready, my dear,” she says, her tone gentle but firm, as she approaches your wardrobe. As she opens the doors, the sight of your gown hanging inside takes your breath away.

The dress, an ethereal creation of lavender silk, shimmers like moonlight trapped in fabric. The bodice is adorned with intricate embroidery that depicts delicate vines and blossoms, each stitch telling a story of artistry and care. The sleeves are fitted, with lace cascading down to create a soft ruffle at the wrist, and the skirt flows in layers, each tier of lace and silk billowing like clouds as it moves. It is a gown befitting a princess, meticulously designed to showcase your family’s esteemed standing while allowing a hint of youthful exuberance to shine through.

“This gown is truly magnificent,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the embroidered flowers as your mother gently lifts it from the wardrobe. “I can’t believe you chose it yourself.”

“Of course, I did. It’s time for your grand re-entrance to society, after all,” she replies, a smile dancing on her lips as she helps you into the gown. The fabric wraps around you like a dream, soft and luxurious, but as your mother laces the bodice, the realization of how tightly it pulls leaves you breathless. Each tug of the laces feels like a reminder of the expectations that have come to define you, but your mother’s presence softens the edges of that pressure.

Yet, it is not discomfort that fills the room. Instead, the sounds of your mother’s laughter and intelligence wrap themselves around you. Your mother’s hands are gentle as she fastens each lace, her fingers brushing against your skin in a manner that reassures you. The stern disappointment of your debut, where you felt like a shadow beneath the weight of expectations, seems to dissipate, replaced by her usual grace and kindness. As she works, her voice drifts like a melody, recounting stories from her own youth, her laughter echoing softly against the mirror as if the memories bring light to the room.

With every loop of ribbon and every gentle tug, she weaves a tapestry of love and support, a tangible reminder that tonight is not merely a duty but a celebration of who you are. As she arranges your hair into an elegant updo, delicately weaving in pearl pins that glimmer like stars, you catch a glimpse of the woman she has always been beneath the layers of propriety. The warmth of her presence washes over you, igniting a flicker of hope that perhaps tonight will mark a new beginning.

“Are you ready?” she asks, stepping back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“I suppose as ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, taking a moment to admire your reflection. The gown transforms you into a vision of beauty, yet beneath the surface, you feel a tempest of uncertainty swirling within you.

“Now, let’s see what your brother thinks.” Your mother gestures toward the door, and as you descend the staircase, your heart quickens with every step.

At the foot of the stairs, Minghao waits patiently, the embodiment of duty and familial pride. His presence, regal and calm, adds to the moment’s gravity. Dressed in a tailored coat that accentuates his stature, he stands as the dutiful son and duke, ready to escort both you and your mother to the ball. The contrast between his composed demeanor and your own fluttering heart is stark, yet comforting. As you make your way down the stairs, your mother’s gentle squeeze of your hand gives you a modicum of strength, each step drawing you closer to the world outside that awaits your return.

“Sister,” Mighao greets, mirth dancing in his eyes. “I suppose if tonight is your big night, this gown does not offend the eyes.”

“Minghao!” Your mother’s rebuke is instant, a gentle reprimand that lightens the atmosphere with her authority.

“For goodness’ sake, brother,” you admonish, donning a façade of false bravado to hide the anxiety swirling within. “It seems as if you would simply keel over before you ever paid me a proper compliment!” You attempt to feign indignation, but the corners of your mouth betray you with the hint of a smile.

As you reach the bottom step, he extends his arm, a silent invitation to escort both you and your mother to the ball. It’s a gesture of duty, but there’s an undertone of affection that brings warmth to your heart. He may be the dutiful son and duke, poised and impeccably dressed in his tailored attire, but in this moment, he is simply your brother—standing beside you as a steadfast protector against the uncertainties of the evening ahead.

Your mother glances at both of you, her eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of nostalgia. “Shall we?” she prompts, her voice carrying a note of excitement that sends a flutter through your stomach.

With a deep breath, you take Minghao’s arm, feeling the reassuring strength of his presence as he leads you both toward the waiting carriage. The air outside is brisk, filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and the distant hum of music preparing to fill the grand halls. Each step you take resonates with the rhythm of your heartbeat, a mix of trepidation and hope.

As you settle into the plush interior of the carriage, the door closes with a soft click, sealing you away from the familiar confines of home and ushering you into a world of possibility. The grandeur of the evening awaits, and as the carriage rolls forward, the cobblestones beneath you echo with the anticipation of what’s to come.

You can’t shake the feeling that this night holds the promise of something new—perhaps redemption, or at the very least, the opportunity to reclaim your place among the society that had once felt so cruel. As the carriage sways gently with each turn, you steal a glance at your mother and brother, their expressions a blend of excitement and encouragement. In this moment, surrounded by their unwavering support, you begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, tonight could be different.

Fate is certainly a cruel mistress—despite your greatest hopes, the ball is positively dismal.

The ballroom is every bit as grand as you’d imagined—no, grander. Chandeliers dripping with golden light cascade overhead, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the polished marble floor. The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of roses and jasmine, mingling with the lively music of the orchestra, where violins soar and the occasional trill of laughter punctuates the harmony. Silks and satins swirl in every direction as the season’s debutantes twirl with their suitors, their gowns a riot of color that makes you feel like a ghost in comparison.

But none of it feels as magical as you once thought it would. Instead, you stand to the side, clutching the silk of your gown, its intricate lace and delicate pearls feeling like a weight rather than a luxury. Your mother had ensured that every stitch was perfect, every detail immaculate, to help erase the memory of your disastrous debut. Yet, it hasn’t worked. The whispers haven’t stopped. Even here, amidst the splendor, you can feel the gazes sliding over you, only to dart away, as if your very presence is a reminder of your failure.

The other debutantes are radiant, their smiles bright as they are swept onto the dance floor by handsome, eligible gentlemen. But you... you might as well be invisible.

Your heart sinks as you watch them, a heavy weight settling in your chest. This is meant to be a night of joy and celebration, yet you feel like a fragile glass ornament left behind, forgotten in the bustle of a festive occasion. The laughter and music create a vibrant tapestry of life around you, but inside, you’re drowning in a sea of insecurity and self-doubt.

Just when despair threatens to envelop you entirely, a presence beside you breaks through the haze. Seokmin, as effortlessly charming as ever, sidles up, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” he remarks, his voice low so only you can hear. “I’m certain some of these mamas could lead an army with the way they maneuver their daughters.”

You blink at him, surprised by his lightheartedness. Despite the heat of embarrassment burning your cheeks, a smile pulls at your lips, momentarily pushing aside the shadows clouding your heart.

Before you can respond, he holds his hand out to you, a silent invitation, and for a moment, you hesitate. Seokmin, who could have any lady in the room, is asking you to dance? Your heart stutters, a wild flutter of hope mingling with anxiety, and you glance around, acutely aware of the whispers beginning to stir again. People are noticing the exchange, their eyes narrowing in speculation. But Seokmin stands before you, his hand outstretched, waiting with an easy confidence that momentarily disarms you.

With a deep breath, you place your gloved hand in his, and he leads you to the center of the ballroom as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The moment your feet hit the floor, however, the murmurs begin in earnest, slicing through the enchantment that had briefly settled around you.

“Isn’t that the girl?” someone whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. “The one who fainted?”

“I’d heard,” another voice chimes in, “that no one would ask her to dance. Poor dear, but what did she expect after such a performance?”

You keep your eyes firmly fixed on Seokmin, but each word is like a needle, sharp and painful, pricking at your composure. The worst of it comes when you catch sight of one of the mamas, her face set in a smirk as she whispers to her daughter—the same daughter you had once taken pianoforte lessons with. The girl lets out a small, mean-spirited laugh, and your stomach twists, the laughter echoing like a death toll.

The memory of your debut hangs over you like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. Your embarrassment simmers, threatening to boil over. The murmurs become unbearable, and instinctively, you move to pull away from Seokmin, ready to flee. But before you can, his grip tightens, firm but gentle.

“Leaving so soon?” he teases, his voice low and playful, a lifeline in the midst of the storm. “Didn’t your mama teach you it’s bad manners to leave in the middle of a dance?”

You try to focus on his words, on the feel of his hand in yours, but it’s no use. You feel like every eye is on you, dissecting your every movement, judging, whispering, laughing. Seokmin is a shield, but he can’t block all the venom aimed at you.

“I can’t—” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but Seokmin cuts you off.

He reaches up, loosening a perfectly pinned curl from your hair, letting it fall gently by your cheek. His eyes are soft, almost tender, and in that moment, you feel something flutter to life in your chest. “Eyes on me, Tulip,” he murmurs, and the way he says it—so calm, so sure—makes your heart skip a beat.

For the briefest moment, you think he might love you. That despite the gossip, despite the humiliation, Seokmin sees you—the girl beneath the debutante, the one who has admired him from afar for so long. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Minghao. He stands by the edge of the ballroom, watching. And then—he nods. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but Seokmin notices, and he nods back.

Your blood runs cold.

You blink up at Seokmin, the warmth in your chest turning to ice. “Did you do this because Minghao asked you to?” The words slip out before you can stop them, low and desperate, laced with betrayal.

Seokmin’s brow furrows. “Do what?”

“This. The dance.” You glance around at the swirling crowd, the eyes that have never left you. “The attention. Did you ask me because he wanted you to? To salvage my prospects?”

His confusion is genuine, but the truth is written in his face—open, honest, and devastating. He hesitates, and it’s all you need to know.

“Damn you,” you whisper, voice shaking with fury and hurt. His eyes widen, shocked by the venom in your voice, the curse slipping from your lips like something foreign. “Damn you, Lee Seokmin.”

“Y/N—” he starts, his voice softening, trying to explain, to defend himself. But you don’t give him the chance.

“I thought,” you continue, the words tumbling out in a rush, “I thought you asked me because you wanted to, not because you were told to. I thought you held me in higher regard than this.” You laugh bitterly, a sound that catches in your throat. “How foolish of me.”

The onlookers are whispering more now, their curiosity piqued by the tension in the air, the way your voice trembles with barely contained emotion. But you don’t care. You’re done caring.

With a mocking curtsy, you drop your hands from his and step back. “My lord,” you say, dripping with sarcasm, “I do apologize for any inconvenience to your social standing.”

Seokmin’s eyes widen, panic flashing in them as he realizes the gravity of your words, the weight of what you’re about to do. “Y/N, wait—”

But you don’t wait. You turn on your heel and stalk toward the ballroom’s exit, your skirts swirling around you in a flurry of lilac silk and lace, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The gasps and murmurs of the guests fade into the background as you flee, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

Behind you, Seokmin’s voice calls out, desperate, pleading. “Y/N, please—stay—”

But you don’t look back. You run.

The chill of the night air bites at your skin as you emerge from the grand ballroom, the sounds of the festivities quickly swallowed by the night. Minghao is hot on your heels, and you hear the familiar click of his shoes echoing against the cobblestone streets. As you enter the carriage, your fury erupts like a dam breaking.

“How dare you meddle in my life?” you exclaim, the words bursting forth with a fervor that sends a shiver down your spine. The tears spill over, mingling with the delicate fabric, each droplet a testament to your exasperation. “I wish to be left alone!”

Minghao, ever the picture of serene composure, raises an eyebrow, though his calm demeanor only serves to ignite your temper further. “I’m only trying to help you, dear sister,” he replies, his voice as soothing as a summer breeze.

“Help? Is that what you call this? You think I’m some delicate flower that requires your constant tending?” Your heart beats faster, each pulse an echo of your indignation. “You are not my keeper, Minghao!”

He opens his mouth, surely to deliver some well-meaning retort, but you are not in the mood for restraint. “You think I can’t manage my own affairs? That I need you to dictate who I should associate with? Let me remind you, I am not a child!”

In a fit of fury, you throw one of your shoes toward him, the delicate slipper soaring through the air; Minghao ducks just in time, the shoe landing with a soft thud against the carriage wall.

“Is this truly your idea of a civilized discussion?” he remarks, feigning offense. “Throwing footwear instead of engaging in rational discourse? My, how you’ve mastered the art of temper tantrums!”

“Better to throw a shoe than to be lectured like a schoolgirl!” you counter, your voice rising to match his. “You presume to know what is best for me, but you are merely reflecting your own apprehensions! You have no concept of my struggles!”

Minghao’s brow furrows, and for a fleeting moment, his expression softens, as if he might relent. But then he leans forward, his voice low and fervent. “And you believe that sulking in the corner will resolve anything? You are only isolating yourself further!”

“Perhaps I wish to be alone!” you declare, your voice ringing with defiance, the words spilling out like water from a broken dam. “Perhaps I grow weary of this charade, that everything is perfect when it is most decidedly not!”

A tense silence envelops the carriage, the air thick with unspoken words. You both breathe heavily, the conflict hanging between you like a fine silk thread ready to snap. The rest of the ride is steeped in a heavy silence, each passing moment thickening the air with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You lean against the plush seat of the carriage, your gaze fixed on the world outside. The blurred lights of the city flicker past, dimming into the encroaching darkness, and with each glimmer that fades from view, a piece of your heart seems to shatter.

Inside, your thoughts spiral. Betrayal gnaws at you like a ravenous beast, devouring any remnants of confidence you had managed to muster before the ball. Seokmin was supposed to be your ally in this fight, your so-called “loyal servant”; a beacon of warmth amidst hushed whispers. Yet now, as the reality settles in, you realize he is merely Minghao's friend, not yours.

How could you have been so naïve? Your mind races back to moments you once cherished: the laughter shared over private nicknames, the comfort of his presence when you felt small and insignificant. He had danced with you, yes, but it had been an act of duty, an obligation to your brother, not a genuine desire to hold you close. You had hoped, foolishly, that he might look beyond your failed debut, that he might understand the person beneath the gown and lace. Yet here you are, reduced to a mere pawn in a game you didn’t even want to play.

A sob catches in your throat, but you swallow it down. Instead, you grip the edges of your gown tightly, feeling the intricate lace and delicate pearls dig into your palms, until you are sure you will have bruises in the morning.

How could Seokmin have allowed himself to be used this way? Did he not care enough to stand by you when it mattered most? He had seen you, yes, but only through the lens of loyalty to Minghao, not as the woman you wished to be, not as the friend you had thought he saw.

By the time the carriage arrives at your home, the bitterness in your chest is a wellspring of anguish. The vibrant ball is now a distant memory, a dream turned nightmare, and all you can do is silently mourn the friendship you thought would endure. You glance at Minghao, his face set in a mask of determination, oblivious to the storm of emotion swirling inside you.

As you step out of the carriage, he follows closely behind, his footsteps heavy with regret. “Y/N,” he begins, his voice low and earnest, “I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought—”

You cut him off, spinning to face him, your expression fierce with hurt. “It’s too late, brother,” you declare, the words like shards of glass spilling from your lips. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You’ve ruined everything.”

His eyes widen, a mixture of shock and remorse flooding his features. “I never meant to hurt you—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant!” you snap, frustration and pain intertwining in a chaotic dance. “You acted without thinking. You’ve taken something precious from me.”

Minghao opens his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but the words die on his lips. The truth hangs in the air, heavy and palpable, as the reality of your fractured trust settles between you.

For the rest of the season, you do your best to blend into the walls at every ball, and you succeed. You become a shadow flitting between vibrant gowns and boisterous laughter. Each event becomes a blur of swirling colors and muffled sounds. You move quietly, navigating the sea of opulence with a heavy heart, wearing a mask of indifference that hides the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface.

You linger in corners, your fingers tracing the intricate patterns of wallpaper as if seeking solace in their delicate designs. The bright chandeliers above cast their warm glow on the happy couples swirling in perfect harmony, while you remain firmly anchored in your solitude, an invisible wall erected around your heart. You watch as others twirl and laugh, and your heart aches for Seokmin’s easy companionship, the lively conversations and playful banter that now feel like a distant memory.

With each passing ball, the weight of your isolation grows heavier. Minghao’s well-intentioned apologies echo in your mind, but their impact fades against the reality of your existence. You’ve become an expert at deflecting curious gazes, practicing the art of blending in so well that the laughter and music seem to wash over you like water off a duck’s back.

But it is Seokmin’s absence that echoes loudest in your heart. He might have always been your brother’s best friend, but you had hoped he would be something more—something real. As the music swells, the realization settles heavily on your shoulders: you are utterly, irrevocably alone.

Seokmin doesn’t ask you to dance again for the rest of the season.

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits@moondustmemories@shinwonderful@ivehypnosis@gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13 @mellowamour @blissedjoon @begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld @archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange

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angellayercake · 4 months ago

Note

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

(For the writing ask!)

Thank you so much 😊

This was a really fun exercise and something I might spend a bit more time on when I need an inspiration boost!

Although I am currently working on chapter eight of Banchetto I decided to rewrite the last part of chapter four when Terzo and his little chef share their first kiss.

Ask game here!

‘You do not have to give your answer now mia cuocoina or you can just say no,’ he says uncertainly, trailing behind her into the kitchen. He is surprised at the turn of their conversation, having been mostly convinced she was about to tell him he could stick it and starve after what he had done.

He hadn’t meant to play with her, well he had actually, but he had underestimated not only her feelings but his own. While he had initially been reluctant to accept her presence in his life he had come to admire her obvious skill, her determination, her passion. He enjoyed watching her work, listening to her explanations and even just her presence in his quarters. When she was here everything felt lighter, a little more bearable and yet he hadn’t realised until she was gone and it had been all his fault.

Absent-mindedly he twists his fingers together in front of him trying not to succumb to the war between hope and disappointment that was waging in his chest. While she had admitted having feelings for him, there was still a high chance he may have sabotaged whatever potential they may have had. This is uncharted territory for him and it was unsettling. Seduction was second nature to him but this wasn’t about that. This was raw and vulnerable and opened him up to heartbreak and he hated it.

She watches him from a seemingly safe distance with an unreadable expression that does nothing to soothe his nerves. Her gaze is searching but he has no idea if she can see his sincerity, see how much he needs some reassurance. With a shake of her head she seems to come to a conclusion and begins to close the distance between them. His heart hammers in his chest with every step she takes, his tension bleeding out through his fidgeting hands until she stills them, taking hold of his hands in her soft, warm grasp.

He can’t look up at her, his eyes fixated on where they are joined, feeling like his hammering heart had suddenly. A pleasant heat trails from her touch as she drops his hands following up his arms, across his shoulders and finally down to settle on his chest. He feels his heart restart and wonders if she can feel the nervous beat against her palm. He needs to look at her, he knows this but it takes a few breaths before he can look away from how close they are, how she is touching him. There is a slight tremor to her breathing and while it doesn’t soothe his uncertainty completely seeing her even a fraction as nervous as he feels allows the hope to begin to win the battle.

When she finally looks at him his breath catches. She looks so beautiful, she is so close he could count her eyelashes even as they flutter. It’s not affected coyness either, it’s as if she can’t quite believe they are here, like this and he can feel his lips pull up in a smile as the hope continues to grow. Her eyes roam his face, no longer searching but the hope says perhaps appreciating? He has never had need to doubt his appeal, often being remarked handsome over his life. And as much as he has distaste for the signs of aging that seem to grow every day that passes he knows objectively that they don’t diminish his appeal he can’t entirely ignore his fear of being found wanting under her scrutiny.

When her gaze ends up fixating on his lips though he knows she must be satisfied by what she saw. She leans closer almost unconsciously, a quiet gasp escaping her lips as she pauses and he is certain that he is being invited to kiss her for the first time.

Their lips meet and it’s so soft and tentative and perfect. Now he can feel her lips against him he needs more of her, his hands settling on her waist, closing the distance between them as her arms wind around his neck. She is so warm against him he wishes he could keep her there forever but as much as he wants to indulge he knows he mustn't. The kiss ends and he feels suspended in the moment, gazing at her flushed face he feels as if they are on the precipice of something potentially great but he stops that thought there. He wants to keep all his focus on this moment here.

She leans back in deepening the kiss just enough to send tingles to every nerve ending in his body, allowing the tentative exploration of her tongue and following her lead in return. It’s almost as though she is tasting him and he has to swallow down a moan at the thought, her tasting the food she had made him with such care on him, tangible proof of her influence on him but he can feel her begin to pull back. He had rushed things and look where that had got him, it was her turn to set the pace.

She doesn’t leave him entirely, lingering in his arms even as she subjects his face to another up close inspection. She is more daring this time following her eyes with her fingers but he is surprised at where her caresses land, smoothing the lines at the corner of his eyes with such undisguised affection. But pull away she does even if her reluctance matches his.

‘I should finish up here Papa,’ she says, gesturing to the counter behind her. He lets his hand drop from her and just watches happily as the distance between them increases.

‘Terzo,’ he says hesitantly. ‘You should call me Terzo now, si?’

‘Ok Terzo.’ It feels strange to hear but he is glad she accepted his invitation. ‘Now let me get on here,’ she says chiding but is sure he can still hear the affection in her voice.

‘Si Capocuoco,’ he snaps almost to attention, happy when he hears her laugh but as he turns to leave something makes him hesitate. ‘But you will be back tomorrow morning si? Like how it was before?’

‘Yes I will.’ He leaves her then to get on without him getting in her way. He felt like he was walking on air as he headed for his room, closing his bedroom door gently leaning against it with a wistful sigh. At least until he caught his practically swooning expression in the mirror across the room. He looked ridiculous and yet even that thought didn’t wipe the smile from his face for the rest of the evening.

#asks #terzo x reader #papa iii x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo #papa iii #papa emeritus iii #banchetto #the band ghost fic #my writing

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ariadnew · 4 months ago

Text

The Lowmax property has a long history. Locals can at least agree on that.

The details, however, are sketchy.

It's hard to discern exactly where the stories come from. To separate straight facts from the fanciful, from the embellished, from conjecture. Historians in the area do tend to concede that the most prevalent stories each possess a measure of veracity, though they do so with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Bootlegger Maximillian 'Low Max' O'Leary, for example, did indeed exist and was known to have passed through the area in the Prohibition Era. Whether he was the seasonal inhabitant of Pemberton as claimed or threw lavish, star-studded parties in his hill-top hideaway, however, is still the subject of debate (some assert he inspired F. Scott Fitzgerald; others have it the other way around.) Captain Nathaniel Stanley Maxton, too, exists in the historical record, but the story of his defection toward the end of the American Revolutionary War in favour of running away with an American girl (romantic? or stupid?) (hotly debated) remains entirely unsubstantiated. There is no proof he settled the wild valley plain several miles north-east of Heartbreak Lake and dubbed it 'Low Maxton'; no proof he adopted a new identity and lived quietly with his love on this beautiful, isolated land, farming to eek out a living. On the other hand, Ludlow and Maxwell, enterprising orchardists of the early to mid 20th century, unquestionably worked the property. Apples, predominantly, with a small venture into pears and plums. So it is on paper, at least. Off-paper sources suggest Ludlow & Maxwell had their fingers in other more lucrative (and significantly less legal) pies- and that's not to say they began dabbling in cherries. Reportedly absconding suddenly and hastily at the tail end of the thirties, the facts and theories concerning the duo's moral characters, the truth behind their abrupt departure, and their subsequent total absence from the historical record are yet another set of murky waters for local history buffs to debate- with fiendish pleasure, generally, over coffee and cake at their monthly meeting (the first Thursday of every month, in the upstairs room of the Pemberton Public Library; new members welcome!)

A handful of Pemberton inhabitants bemoan the property went to the notoriously-private Foskett family rather than a preservation foundation, or a benefactor who'd see it restored and open to the public, but in truth, there's little of historical merit to see anymore: precious few of the original- original original- structures remain. The pillar at the end of the drive, however, is one of them. The bronze plaque near the bottom is scuffed and weathered; the rampant growth of wild grasses and meadow flowers at foot sees to making sure it goes unnoticed by most. Nevertheless, it quietly continues to declare the age of the property. Lowmax: pre-dating the airplane, the American Civil War, the telephone, the telegraph, electric light. Age after age, two centuries and then some, keeping staunch watch over the horses and humans dwelling in the valley alongside the mountains and forests that stood long before it, and will stand long after it-

A looming reminder that the story playing out there now is just another chapter, waiting to be lost to history.

#The Sims 3 #TS3 #Simblr #Equus-Sims #Winter #Scenery #Lowmax Stud #Lowmax Grounds #Story #Writing #Lowmax History #Maybe time to post some of this winter set I began two winters ago #Now that summer has beaten me to the punch twice #Maybe #Sims 3 Scenery #Sims 3 Landscaping #Sims 3 Story

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acatalystrising · 7 months ago

Text

I’m back!

I know it’s been a while. 2024 hasn’t been kind to me, and my creative spark just wasn’t there. But I’ve had so many stories I’ve wanted to write, and as always, Boba has been there as a comfort character to get me through. So, now as the year is drawing to a close, I want it to end better than it started…with new content!

I’m currently writing the next chapter of Moth to a Flame, but in the meantime, here is something entirely new, the first chapter in The Way That You Were! I hope you enjoy!

(Also, @daimyosprincess I finally wrote this! So sorry for the delay 😅)

Pairing: Boba Fett x (F)Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Trigger warnings: Injuries, blood, emotional distress, abuse, capture

Series synopsis: A desperate bounty crash-lands on Tatooine and seeks sanctuary in the palace, only to discover the greatest bounty hunter of all time rules from its throne. Will she find mercy, death, or something more?

Ch 1 - These Burning Sands, Your Scarred Hands

“I’ve found, in my experience, that the most desolate place can bring healing. Wastelands can flourish. Heartbreak can mend, and love begin anew. Even the mighty desert can once again bloom.”

You didn’t remember the crash, only that you’d awoken to the charred wreckage of your ship, blood stained clothes, and the acidic tang of grief heavy on your tongue.

You honestly didn’t know how you survived, tangled in the debris. Part of you wished you didn’t.

Despite this, you kept going.

Forcing yourself to climb from the wreckage, even as your vision spun. Searching it for anything you could salvage, finding very little. Realizing that it had nothing left for you, and you’d hopefully have better luck moving on. Ironically, your past was also something better left behind, just as smoldering as the husk of metal you were abandoning.

You weren’t familiar with this planet, one your ship had registered as Tatooine before it had plunged into the atmosphere, one that boasted the biggest desert you’d ever seen. In fact, you wondered if the entire planet was just one massive, windswept wasteland.

Your pain had reduced to a pounding headache, nearly distracting you from the burn of muscles unaccustomed to traversing a desert’s shifting terrain. It couldn’t distract you from the deep gash in your shoulder, out of your reach, the extent of the damage unknown. There was no point in staying with the ship, not when you needed to disappear. You were alone, wounded, and running out of options.

There were too many hunters after you, but perhaps you could disappear on a planet as vast as this one. Maybe the sands would be your savior, instead of your doom.

You peered up at the setting suns, a fierce burning duality sinking behind the cresting dunes. They made the sand shimmer, and for a moment, you could have sworn the fiery light transmuted the sand to gold. Despite your circumstances, it was beautiful, but your awe didn’t last. It would be dark, soon. Despite your lack of desert experience, you knew it would only grow more dangerous once night fell.

You had to find shelter, quickly.

You stopped on the sloping hill of a dune, boots sinking in the sand, and cast a glance back the way you’d came. The faint dark trail of smoke from your crash was still evident on the horizon, cutting through the sky like an ugly wound. You hoped you’d made a far enough distance away, even though you had absolutely no idea where you were going.

Your crash was a beacon…one that would draw far too much attention.

Sighing, you crested the dune with clenched fists, blood trickling down your arm and dripping into the sand, blossoming like a macabre flower. Great. You were no doubt leaving an easy trail that even the most inexperienced welp of a bounty hunter could track. You didn’t want to think of the experienced ones.

Your vision blurred, and you blinked, panic finally, truly, setting in. You were losing blood, moving too slowly, and rapidly running out of time.

You turned your quivering gaze ahead, eyes wearily scanning the horizon, falling on a massive building that seemed cut from the rock itself. It was tan, like the sands, sporting a domed roof that was a stark contrast to the jagged rocks surrounding it. And judging from the lights you could see from within, it was occupied. You found yourself trudging in its direction, despite your reservations.

You would die out here, injured and alone, and finding shelter was your best option.

You only hoped it wouldn’t cost your life, but at this point, you had nothing to lose.

The building towered above you like a waiting beast, maw-like gate slowly opening wide with a grinding roar.

You felt every bit like a mouse entering a trap, a deep fear setting in your chest when two armed Gamorrean guards approached, eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. You doubted they saw you as much of a threat - your weary frame and bloodstained clothes surely made quick work of that assumption. As you suspected, they merely grunted, gesturing for you to follow.

I’m doomed, you thought, as you stepped further into the dark cavernous maw beyond.

The sand at your feet was cool, and judging by the sheer size and craftsmanship of the hewn stone around you, this wasn’t a mere home. It was a fortress.

Perhaps the mouse had jumped right into the loth cat’s stomach.

The halls were long and narrow, but surprisingly well lit. You didn’t see any signs of filth or decay, which was astounding for a place in such a seemingly seedy area, but you knew first impressions weren’t everything. Anxiety twisted deep in your gut when you heard a bark of raucous laughter somewhere ahead, every alarm ringing in your frazzled mind. The Gamorreans walked on, framing you between them, a silent reminder that you were trapped. But you’d come here willingly, perhaps foolishly, seeking shelter - and you didn’t have anyone to blame for whatever would happen to you then yourself.

Even if you’d never intended to land on this maker-forsaken planet.

Despite that fact, you felt fear creep down your throat when you reached a set of downward sloping stairs, a multitude of voices echoing from within the chamber.

Your knees locked up, but the Gamorrean behind you gave your shoulder a nudge with a grunt. Pain flared to life, and you winced, nearly tripping down the steps as you entered the room, heart hammering so loudly in your ears you thought it would burst.

Your eyes swept the room, which was filled with all manner of ilk, and your heart sank even further upon realizing very, very quickly, that many, if not all, were likely bounty hunters. Your gaze was pulled to the center of the room as if gravity itself demanded your attention, and your world ground to a screeching halt. Only one thought managed to escape your panicked mind before terror and recognition seized your heart.

You should have let yourself bleed out in the desert.

Maker, I am such an idiot.

An idiot who was about to die. A fool who had gone out on a limb, one last ditch effort, to survive. Instead of being rewarded for your final act of desperation, fate had decided to give you the most cruel, ironic end possible.

Because sitting before you, impossibly broad frame sprawled on a carved throne like the very Galaxy was his footstool, was none other than the notorious king of the very beasts you’d been trying to outrun.

Boba Fett.

His dark green helmet tilted down at you, the angle harsh and predatory, torchlight flaring like shattered glass on his visor as a terror unlike anything you’d felt before settled its way into the pit of your stomach.

You were a dead woman walking.

There would be no escape. The Gamorrean guards stood behind you, narrow eyes fixed on your every move. A dark clad woman with a deadly rifle leaned against the dais, gaze sharper than a vibroblade boring into you. Everyone fell silent, still, as if made of stone. Not stone, you realized, simply pieces in a larger clockwork puzzle - all here to serve him. You were trapped, hopeless in Fett’s clutches, merely waiting for the hunter to strike.

A hunter who should have been dead.

He leaned forward, muscles rippling even under all that armor and cloth - unseen gaze undeniably focused on you. Maker, he was more frightening then any of the stories could ever capture - a warrior in every right, someone who didn’t have to boast of his power or even show it.

He simply was.

A deep voice spoke, carrying a dialect that was foreign to you, one you instantly thought was both alluring and deadly, even as you also noted it was coming from the very person staring you down.

“What,” the tone was all thunder and calculated coolness as he flicked a small projector to life on his gauntleted wrist, displaying a listing with your face for all to see. “Do we have here?”

Stars above, you were doomed.

Chills ran down your spine. Your lips parted, but no words came, as if your own mind conspired against you. Fear was all too familiar a paralysis, doom settling deep in your bones. What could you say to him? What even was the point? You knew the stories. Tales larger than life spread across the Galaxy of this man, this legend now in the flesh before you. Begging would be pointless. Hoping for mercy, even less so.

But kriff, you hadn’t survived this long to simply give up, either.

The Gamorreans grunted behind you, and a meaty hand shoved your wounded shoulder, knocking you to your knees. You yelped in pain, blood trickling down your back in rivulets, the cool tile beneath you the only thing grounding you from your agony. You looked back up, sweat beating your forehead, finding Fett’s unseen gaze tilted down, watching you in silence. Waiting. Expecting.

You were, after all, in his court.

A heavy silence had fallen, as every hunter watched your exchange with bated breath. Surely they wondered if Fett would claim your bounty, or if you were up for grabs. Terror settled deep in your chest, and you winced, pain radiating from your wounded shoulder. Fett suddenly shifted forward, and your words bubbled from chapped lips, as if sensing your impending doom.

“I…I seek sanctuary, my…” you blinked in confusion, wondering what honorific would work best, “my lord. I’m aware I have a bounty. I…”

Your world spun, everything fading to a muted blur. You could barely keep your focus on the armored figure looming above you. Shit, you’d lost too much blood. You tried to keep your head high, your quivering body fighting against your every move. If Fett didn’t kill you, you’d surely die first. Either way, you were doomed to die alone, among strangers, in the den of the very wolves you’d sought to escape.

His helmet tilted to the side in a gesture you could almost interpret as curiosity, remaining silent. Leaving you to desperately amble on.

You swallowed hard, clenching your hands to fists. You saw your reflection in his black visor; a pathetic image of a broken, bleeding, scared woman. A shell of the fierce warrior you once were.

“I crashed in the desert,” you tried to continue, you really did, even as your body grew oddly warm, exhaustion and blood loss taking their toll. “I was…betrayed. I didn’t…”

Your knees shook, fresh blood dripping freely. Several of the hunters amongst the crowd shifted closer to you, their eyes sharp, hungry. Kriff, they were like sharks, drawn to the blood you spilled. Interestingly, Fett’s helmet flicked their way, as if in a silent warning, and they quickly backed off without a single complaint.

You didn’t have the time to process the action.

Your vision flickered, as if a light switch had cut off and on, and the last thing you saw was a swirl of green and red hovering over you before darkness mercifully took over, and you collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

“Want me to put her in a cell, boss?” Fennec’s voice was low, calm, in Boba’s ear. “She’s garnering too much attention.”

Boba deigned a response, too focused on the unconscious woman before him, your bedraggled state, and the blood staining his floor. You were near death, that he could determine, but that wasn’t the only thing that drew his intrigue.

Strung around your neck, just peeking out from under your shirt, was a mandalorian necklace. And not just any necklace, but the very mythosaur sigil he bore. He generally didn’t give a damn about Mandalorians. They were a stubborn lot, fiercely independent. On that, he supposed they were similar, and that was exactly why they didn’t get along. That was, until Din. Their interactions had brought back memories of his father, of a past he’d long been haunted by. Perhaps, in some ironic twist of fate, that past was still revealing itself in new, unexpected ways.

You’d come here for sanctuary, knowing you had a bounty, which clearly indicated you hadn’t known where you were, or that you’d stumble upon him. Judging by your shocked expression, you’d clearly recognized him, but he doubted you’d known he was alive.

There were enough reasons to ask questions, at least, before final judgement.

“No, Fennec.” Boba kept his voice low, for her alone to hear. “Take her to the medical droid. Give her a room, keep it locked and guarded.”

“Hmm. Almost hospitable.” Fennec’s angular brow lifted, but she didn’t press further. “To what end?”

Boba found himself looking back down at you, an emotion he could almost interpret as concern flaring in his chest. Something about your broken, bloodied form twisted in his stomach like a knife, and he sighed, clenching his gloved hands to fists.

“I have some questions first.”

“Jaceyn!”

The alarms blared like sirens in your ears as your ship spiraled out of control. Lights swirling, screams echoing, panic overriding common sense as the escape pods ejected, the crew leaving you to your doom. Your footsteps pounded down the hall, sweat beading, dripping into your eyes, desperation flooding your chest.

Your ship was crashing, your armor was missing, and your love…

“Jaceyn! Wait!” Your plea flung into empty space like the shrapnel that had torn into your shoulder. Tears blurred your vision as you bolted after him, heart pounding desperately in your chest. “Please…”

A fist connected to your chest, throwing you backward onto the doomed craft. Pain burned through your body like fire as you watched the final pod eject, leaving you to crash to your death.

The damn coward’s back was turned.

The ship spiraled down, down, and down, reducing your world to an agonized blur of pain and confusion, fading until there was nothing left but sand and blood.

Your eyes snapped open, heart pounding like a war drum, sweat drenching your body. You gripped the sheets with panicked gasps, fingers quivering, limbs shaking. Your breaths were ragged, as if from knife-torn lungs.

You were swathed in darkness, and swore you could still taste blood on the back of your throat. Your confusion subsided enough for you to register that you weren’t in the wreckage, but rather, a large bed.

What the…

Panic grew to sheer terror, and even with all your training, you felt your limbs locking up. Where the kriff were you? You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves. You hadn’t lived this long by being stupid, nor would you start to engage in foolishness now. Your gaze swept the room, starting at the far corner, analyzing every detail, cataloguing every potential threat.

You certainly found one when your eyes fell on the same armored figure you’d seen before you’d passed out, that T-visored helm fixed on you with deadly precision.

So, you were still the infamous Boba Fett’s prey. A curse flew from your lips before you could stop yourself, finding yourself wishing you’d bled out in the sands.

“I’ve been called worse.” Fett’s voice was deep, dry, and void of emotion.

Your lips snapped shut, and you instantly went to shift out of the bed and away from him - as far as you possibly could. Your body lurched in pain at the movement, a dull agony cording through your veins. Kriff…you were too wounded to move much, especially to be able to run.

You were hopelessly trapped in his clutches.

“What…” you blinked, swallowing hard as you dared to glare back at his visor. “Did you do to me?”

“You were dying.” His tone was matter of factual, curt. “Needed bacta.”

Now you were even more confused. He was helping you? Surely it was to receive a higher sum of credits for your bounty. You couldn’t fathom a different reason.

“I get it. You wanna fetch a higher sum for me.” You shot him a blank glare despite the fear thrumming in your heart like a living thing. “Sorry I arrived as damaged goods.”

Fett fell silent, and you couldn’t tell for the life of you if he was angry or simply bored. When he finally spoke again, there was little change in his tone, other than what you could only guess was curiosity.

“The mandalorian necklace.” His helmet tilted slightly downward, at your neck. “Where’d you get it?”

You glanced down at your chest, eyes falling on the necklace that was bared freely for him to see. Another curse rushed from your lips. Fett’s helmet tilted to the right. If you were to reveal your true identity to him, a bounty hunter…you were as good as dead. The last remaining vestiges of the Empire would pay handsomely for your blood.

It was as if Fett could read your mind.

“I’ve no interest in turning you in.” He leaned forward, a warning thrumming in his deep tone. “Unless you give me one. Understand?”

You felt yourself nodding, as if your body managed what your brain could not. Judging by the tilt of his helmet, Fett seemed pleased.

“Now.” He leaned back in the chair, arms draped over the armrests, a finger casually tapping the polished metal. “Who are you?”

“I…” you swallowed your fear, pushing it back, already theorizing ways you could escape if he didn’t stick to his word. “I’m a mandalorian. My clan was killed by Moff Gideon. I escaped, but was betrayed…so forgive me if I seem doubtful, but I know your kind. And I know how many credits I’m worth.”

Fett remained silent, his helmet tilting slightly to the left in a gesture that could have nearly been interpreted as curiosity. So, you continued.

“I know I’m wounded, but,” your eyes narrowed at the black, impassive t-visor staring you down, “I won’t go down without a fight.”

“That, I believe, little one,” Fett finally spoke, his voice softer than you’d expected. He slowly stood, as to not alarm you, hands hanging loose at his sides. “You need rest. Stay here, where it’s safe. I’ll ensure it.”

He turned to leave, armor glinting faintly under the light of the moons.

“Why help me?” You watched him pause, heartbeat fluttering, worry that he’d change his mind coursing through your veins.

No one could be trusted.

“My father was mandalorian.” His tone was rougher, more ragged, yet constrained. “I would not wish to see you meet his fate.”

He left without another word, the door shutting behind him, leaving you in confused silence.

Exhausted from your struggles, you collapsed on the bed despite yourself, wondering that dreadful, or nebulous, fate the Galaxy held for you next.

#boba fett #the book of boba fett #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x reader #boba fett x reader smut #boba fett x you #tbobf #book of boba fett #boba fett smut #boba fett is my favorite #daddy boba fett #daimyo boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fluff #my writing #acatalystrising writes #star wars

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slytherinshua · 1 year ago

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EVEN YOUR IMPERFECT LOVE IS ENOUGH

genre. fluff. this is more just descriptive word vomit than an actual fic. warnings. mention of crying and not feeling good enough. pairing. taehyun x reader. wc. 638. request. no. a/n. it's been so long since i wrote for tae :( my love for him is still astronomical 👎

Taehyun was heartbreakingly beautiful.

His perfectly sculpted face lived in your memory every day; the slope of his nose, his perfectly rosy and plush lips, his smooth soft cheeks that would tinge a shade of red whenever you kissed him, and, your favourite— his big wondering eyes that held more knowledge and care and love than you could ever possess.

He was heartbreaking because you knew that he was the only one for you, and you lived every day wishing you had realized that earlier and simultaneously feeling eternally grateful that you could call him yours until the day you died. There were no words to describe Taehyun. He was too beautiful for language’s flaws and discrepancies.

He looked the most beautiful when he smiled; when those pretty lips would upturn into the loveliest of smiles and the sweet sound of laughter would escape from them. He smiled before he kissed you, and before confessing his love for you. He smiled whenever he thought you looked pretty, and also when you looked dishevelled with your hair a mess and the sleepiest look on your face. Taehyun smiled because you were his.

Just as much as he looked beautiful when he smiled, Taehyun looked beautiful when he cried. It was a weird thing to say, but after years of observing him, you knew it was the truth. He didn’t know how to cry ugly, and even if he did, you would still think he was the most gorgeous man to ever walk the Earth.

His tears rarely reflected pain and sadness, but most often vulnerability and even more love. They resembled glistening diamonds falling from those deep mysterious eyes that were your favourite thing in the entire world. And though your heart ached every time you saw the alluringly tragic teardrops streaming down his cheeks, you knew that once you kissed them away, all would be well again.

To think that you even had that power— the power to make things just a little better by simply being by his side was almost hard to fully comprehend. You knew it was true for you. Whenever you so much as looked in his direction, you could find it in yourself to let a smile breakthrough the sadness.

You supposed it was just a testament to how deep your love was; how completely inseparable and irreplaceable you were to each other. Your life wouldn’t be worth living if Taehyun was not in it, because no one else could effortlessly give you the experience of every pure and pleasing emotion known to mankind.

Joy and gratitude and affection and compassion and pride and amusement and fulfilment and hope and empathy and bliss and contentment and trust and acceptance and love.

Each moment with Taehyun was a silent promise to continue writing the story of life together— to include each other in every chapter, every page. Each new experience and obstacle felt just a little easier to tackle because you had him by your side. He was steadfast and reliable, and even when you doubted your very existence, he would be able to find your meaning again.

He was too good for words and too precious for your imperfect love. You could never love him as much as he deserved. You loved him with every fibre of your being, yet it still felt minute to the amount of love he deserved.

But he wouldn’t accept the type of love you gave him from anyone else. There was no one else he would allow to kiss away his tears, hug him to sleep, or kiss him awake when the morning came. Those precious tasks were reserved for you and only you. Despite your faults and flaws, the more he loved you, the more you started to believe that somehow you were enough for him.

↳ txt taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @minholing,, @delcakoo, @wolfmoonmusic,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @amara-mars

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lady-rose-moon · 1 year ago

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Wildest Dreams || Chapter Two ||

A/N: Helloooo everyone, I am sorry that this took so long to be published, I forgot which chapters I had and hadn't posted. Also, My laptop kind of stopped for a week so there's that! I really hope you like this chapter, it really ups the ante! I will not keep you further, ENJOY!

↣ MASTERLIST

“Are you happy, darling?” the gentle voice cut through your peaceful silence and a smile broke through on your lips. The man had reached your side by now in your dreams, his golden and green armour dazzling you as it caught the suns rays perfectly. His ebony hair fell across his shoulders and his green eyes never looked away from yours for long. For him, it seemed, you were a precious diamond. If only this world was real.

“I am very happy,” you replied softly, whispering into the winds and knowing that he’d heard you, this world was entirely yours so you knew he could hear you, you wanted him to. “The sky is prettier than it was before,” you remarked with a soft sigh, feeling his hand slide onto your shoulder as a familiar fuzzy feeling overwhelmed you. His skin was soft, his long fingers perfectly fit your shoulder. As if you were made for him or he for you.

The man chuckled and turned his gaze to the skies for a few moments before he turned to face you again with a loving gaze. “The skies are always this beautiful on Asgard, my dear,” he replied, his casual statement giving you a fraction of an answer to your dreams.

“Asgard,” you whispered curiously, your eyes meeting his and you saw a slight smile light up his face as he reached forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You are a smart woman, Y/N, a rare jewel to occur these days,” the man commented with a smile, his breath caressing your face as you leaned into the touch, “use that rare jewel to your advantage.”

You awoke after that feeling confused and a little annoyed at the man for not giving you the answers that you desired. Going about your day, you couldn’t help but think about the last words that the man had said to you before you awoke. How sincere he sounded, how lonely his voice rang through your ears, how his eyes – even though they were filled with love – were also filled with heartbreak.

Normally you’d head off to work after the dreams left you but today was a Saturday and the world was your oyster. “I don’t even like oysters,” a voice rang in your mind, similar to the man in your dreams. Something told you to not follow your Saturday routine of Tumblr, Netflix and ice cream, however, drawing you out into the world and down to your local coffee shop.

The bell jingled as you stepped into the door after the brisk walk through the winds and the ignorant heads-down crowd of London. The coffee shop greeted you with the scent of hot chocolates, coffees and foods that were being prepped for other customers. Taking a deep breath in, you smiled and stepped up to the counter, “one hot chocolate, extra marshmallows, please.”

“That’ll be £3.95, Miss,” the server said with a polite smile before tapping in the order and lifting her head, “cash or card?”

“Card, actually-,” you began before someone interrupted you.

“Cash, if you don’t mind, my dear, the lady seems to have forgotten her chosen payment method,” came a familiar voice from behind you and you turned to see the man that you’d gotten used to seeing in armour standing behind you.

You were about to protest and tell him that you had your phone but then you realised that in your hurry to leave the apartment, your phone had been left behind, same as your purse. How odd, you thought as the man passed the cash over to the server, I could’ve sworn my phone was in my pocket.

The man took the change and smiled at the server before turning to you and holding out his hand with the money to you. “Here,” he began with a raised brow and friendly smile, “fetch yourself something to eat on your way home.”

“You don’t need to do that,” you replied in shock as you gazed up at him and attempted to reacquaint yourself with his human attire after weeks of seeing him in just your dream-conjured armour. He’d been gone without a trace for weeks and then showed up today? Yeah, not a coincidence.

“I insist,” the man replied with a smile before pushing the money into your hands and grinning mischievously at you.

You just nodded and looked away, your gut telling you that something was wrong, very wrong with the situation. He’d disappeared for weeks, no meeting on the way to work, back from work, in the coffee shop, nothing! Then, after your dream with him last night, he suddenly shows up!?

The man before you was the same man from your dream, that’s for sure. Only, he wore suits and kept his hair either up in a half up half down man bun or braided. His green eyes held a promise of mischief and yet also held a sadness. The man in your dreams appeared to hold only affection and love in his eyes when he looked at you. Was it possible that you had called forth the man in your dreams because you were attracted to the man in front of you?

“You never told me your name,” you murmured absently and when you realised that he was looking at you, your cheeks heated and you avoided his gaze again, turning to watch another server prepare your drink.

Before the man could speak, the server looked in your direction and called out, “one hot chocolate, extra marshmallows.”

You smiled at the man and took the cup, sniffing the scent before nodding to your dream-man and walking out of the door. Only, when you were on the step outside did you realise that it was raining. Odd, it wasn’t raining when you stepped inside a few minutes ago. Then again, this is England, it’s conventionally known for its rain. Sighing and accepting your fate, you began to make your way back to the apartment.

It only took a few moments for the rain to cease beating down on your hair and when you looked up, you saw an umbrella held above your head with the man holding it. You only stared at him for a moment before muttering a soft, “thank you”, and standing close to him to escape the pouring rain surrounding the small piece of fabric protecting you.

When he began to walk, you didn’t realise and almost got soaked as the umbrella moved over you. When you did realise, you hurried after him and held the handle of the umbrella just above the man’s hand as you walked down the streets. Nothing was said as you walked, just a quiet that you’d expected to be awkward but instead it was serene and comfortable. You took the time to sip your hot chocolate as you watched the people around you scurry through their day, some forgetting their umbrellas and ending up being soaked and some walking with purpose below the safety of their umbrella.

As you turned onto your street, you looked up at the man and really looked at him for the first time. At his eyes, his hair, his physique, his lips, how he walked and then you thought back to the man in your dreams and decided that they were one in the same. You didn’t know how but this man was visiting you in your dreams, using some sort of magic.

“Here we are,” his voice broke you out of your thoughts, pulling you back to consciousness on the street, the rain still beating down on the umbrella as his emerald eyes gazed down at you.

You brushed your hair back with your nails before staring at your apartment door and then back at him before whispering, “who are you?”

Instead of shock at the question as you expected, the man’s lips turned up in a sad smile and he cupped your cheek, a spark of warmth ripping through you at the feeling, pulled you close and kissed your forehead. “My name is Loki, darling,” he whispered against your skin, sending a shudder down your spine at how familiar this was for you.

You knew the name was familiar, where had you heard it before? Keeping the thought in mind, you whispered a soft goodbye and retreated back into your apartment block and hurried up to your home. While the elevator whirred to your floor, you took a sip of your hot chocolate and were surprised when the liquid was still as hot as it was when it was given to you. It should’ve been cold by now. Another oddity you added to the collection.

Pressing your key into the lock, you gazed out of the window at the end of the hallway and saw that Loki was still standing there, under the umbrella, sad eyes trained on you even from the height of the tenth floor of the block. Opening the door, you left him standing there in the rain, and stepped in.

As soon as you fell asleep, you woke up in your paradise. This time, you woke up in the comfort of your Dream Loki’s arms. Sitting up, his arms moved and fell from your waist as he eyed you warily, as if expecting something like an outburst.

“How are you doing this?” you asked instead, visibly taking him by surprise before he settled and held your cheek in the exact way that he had just hours before on the pavement outside your apartment block.

“Magic is a wonderful thing, min kjære,” Loki replied softly, his eyes taking in every aspect of your face as he shuffled closer to you, only releasing a hurt huff when you moved back slightly. “You’re not ready yet to know the truth, you’re too much like them currently,” he continued after a moment of peace, his hands fussing with a corner of his cloak and you could tell that he was seeking your reactions. He wanted your opinions.

You looked around your paradise, the greenest trees and grass, the golden castle in the background, the sound of birds chirping in the trees, swords clanging in the distance, many things that gave you peace, a peace that you’d never felt in your waking life.

“This place…” you whispered softly, your eyes landing on him, tilting your head as he studies you, “it’s beautiful, Loki.”

He seemed to light up at the compliment and took one of your hands after a moment of hesitation, bringing it to his lips and he kissed your knuckle. “It’s all for you, my darling,”

“But why? I am not even someone special, why me?” you whispered, your brows pulling together with a look of confusion as you stared at the man before you. He seemed to know more than he would be willing to tell you and that disturbed you quite a bit.

Loki seemed to pause before he stood and pulled you close to him, his eyes roving deep into your soul. “You,” he began, his voice heated with promise and desire, “are the most important person in my whole world. No one equates to your value in my mind.”

Before you could respond, you were ripped from your dream into the waking world by the shrill ring of your burglar alarm.

A/N (2): ooooooh what happens! Tune in next time for all to be revealed!

Regular tags:

@lokisgoodgirl @lokisninerealms @slpnbty2001 @jennyggggrrr @hahaha12123445 @ozymdias @holdmytesseract @itsybitchylittlewitchy @lovingchoices14 @xorpsbane @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbs @nerdy-fangirl-65 @lonadane @silverfire475 @chantsdemarins @iamsherlocked1479 @kittiowolf210 @just-someone11 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loki-laufeyson-1054 @fictive-sl0th @coldnique @anukulee @eleniblue @asgards-princess-of-mischief

Fic Tags

@jaidenhawke @crimson25 @buttercupcookies-blog @loz-3 @qalijahbydior @isimpforloki @fournat @chantsdemarins @izka8520

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #tom hiddleston #loki fluff #loki laufeyson x reader #mcu loki #reblog please #tom hiddleston character x reader #loki hurt/comfort #loki x you

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