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solxamber · 9 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Please Let Me Live - Vil Schoenheit x reader

You get isekai'd into the worst novel you've had the misfortune of reading because apparently your life is a cosmic joke. Now all you have to do is not act like the character you've possessed and it'll be fine, you think? Your fiancé being Vil Schoenheit makes it a little harder to behave like a human being with functional braincells, but hey, atleast he likes you, you think?

Series Masterlist

You'd avoided it for so long. For months, your best friend had been pestering you to read the shoujo isekai novel of the year. According to them, it was the epitome of romantic drama, the kind that would "turn your heart into a mess of feelings" and "change your life." So, finally, after a particularly grueling week, your willpower hit rock bottom. You caved. You bought it, poured yourself a drink, and figured, "How bad can it be?"

Turns out, really bad.

You’d barely made it past the first few chapters before your brain began to leak out of your ears. Every overused villainess plot point imaginable was crammed into the story like a contest of "how much nonsense can we fit in here before the reader gives up?" The evil fiancée everyone inexplicably hated? Check. The perfect cinnamon roll male lead everyone adored even though he had the personality of wet cardboard? Double check. The heroine who was so pure that even her sneeze would be enough to unite warring nations who also happens to be the saintess? You had to put the book down and take a moment when she gave a speech about friendship that was so saccharine, your teeth hurt.

Grumbling and filled with regret, you got up to refill your drink… only to slip on bubble wrap you swore yesterday that you were going to pick up later, fall face-first into the kitchen counter, and began to bleed out.

It was a comically stupid way to die. You knew that as you lay there, watching the light fade from your vision, your last thoughts being, This is the dumbest thing that’s ever happened to me.

And then, darkness.

You woke up with a groan, your head pounding. As your vision cleared, you noticed you were lying in a very, very fancy bed. Silk sheets, gold trimming on the canopy, the works. And you were dressed in something frilly, layered, and far too complicated for someone who just woke up from a near-death experience.

"What the…"

You sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to freeze as the realization hit you. This was not your bed. This was not your apartment. This was… Oh god, no.

You whipped your head around the lavish room, recognizing it from the novel you’d been hate-reading just last night. The massive mirror above the dresser, the tapestry with an overly detailed family crest, the obnoxiously large bouquet of roses that smelled way too sweet.

You’re in the book.

Panicking, you scrambled out of bed and rushed to the full-length mirror by the wall. The reflection staring back at you was not your own. Instead, you saw an unfamiliar face—her face. The one mentioned once, maybe twice, in the whole novel before being discarded like an old shoe: the betrothed of the villain.

The fiancée who dumps him for the male lead. The fiancée who gets themselves killed in the process.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned, slapping your forehead. “I’m the villain’s betrothed? I’m that idiot who leaves Vil Schoenheit because I fall for the human incarnation of a sugar cube?”

But there was no escaping it. You were now stuck in the body of a side character so irrelevant that even her death was treated as an afterthought. The one who leaves her handsome, ambitious, gorgeous fiancé for… Neige.

No. No, no, no. You were not about to die over a soggy cinnamon roll.

Determined to change your fate, you gathered your wits and opened the door to leave the room. But of course, you ran headlong into a tall figure, knocking you both back.

“Oof! Careful there!” a smooth, yet stern voice said. You looked up—and froze. Standing before you, looking like something straight out of a high-fashion magazine, was Vil Schoenheit. The man whose heart you were supposed to break, the villain who would later descend into madness after you ditch him.

And wow. In person, he was even more stunning than the novel had described. His golden-blond hair shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the window, his purple eyes were as sharp as they were beautiful, and his posture screamed confidence.

You blinked up at him, utterly dumbfounded. You’re supposed to leave him? For Neige? You nearly gagged at the thought.

Vil raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your wide-eyed staring. “Is something the matter?”

You gulped. Right. You were supposed to be cold and dismissive toward him, weren’t you? But how? This man looked like he could make the heavens weep with his beauty. How had your character ever even considered leaving him?

“No, nothing’s the matter!” you blurted out, a little too enthusiastically. “Actually, everything’s great! You look fantastic! I mean, not that you don’t always look fantastic—because you do—but, you know, extra fantastic today!”

Vil’s eyes narrowed. “You’re acting strange.”

Abort. Abort!

You quickly cleared your throat. “Uh, I’ve just been… thinking. About us.”

His gaze became sharper. “About us?”

You nodded, plastering on your most sincere smile. “Yes! I’ve realized… I haven’t been very, uh, appreciative of you lately. And I’m sorry for that. Really, I am. So from now on, I’ll be the most appreciative fiancée ever!”

Vil looked at you as though you’d just told him the sun was cold. He clearly didn’t trust this sudden change in attitude. “What exactly brought this on?” he asked slowly, suspiciously.

Time for Plan B. “Oh, you know, just… reflection! Self-improvement! I thought, ‘Why would I ever look anywhere else when I’ve got someone like *you* right in front of me?’ You’re… amazing, really.” You cringed internally at how corny that sounded, but Vil didn’t seem entirely put off.

“Hm,” was all he said, but his piercing gaze stayed locked on you, watching for any sign of deceit.

You were sweating bullets, but at least he wasn’t storming off. Yet.

You knew from the moment you read the back cover that this novel was going to be a dumpster fire of clichés, but you were not prepared for the sheer chaos of it all.

So, first off, we have the heroine—the Saintess—who has somehow never faced a single hardship in her life, despite the fact that she’s supposed to be the kingdom’s beacon of virtue and a symbol of overcoming hardship. She’s engaged to the crown prince, who conveniently disappears on a diplomatic mission and dies offscreen, probably to make room for her new love interest, Neige LeBlanche. Neige. That sparkly ray of sunshine who is so perfect and pure that you feel like you need sunglasses whenever his name is mentioned. Because apparently, what’s more romantic than falling for a guy immediately after your fiancé kicks the bucket?

Then there’s the second male lead, the brooding Duke of the North, who checks all the boxes: tall, brooding, handsome, tragic backstory—yawn. Of course, he’s madly in love with the Saintess, and like any self-respecting second male lead in a trashy romance, he sacrifices himself for her later. Because nothing says “I’m irrelevant” quite like noble self-sacrifice.

And don't even get started on the heroine's best friend. She’s basically there to fawn over the Saintess and then inexplicably fall for Vil, the Grand Duke, after she pressures him into apologizing for insulting the heroine's dress. Like, why? Was his dress critique that alluring?

Now, Vil Schoenheit. The Grand Duke. The guy you’re currently stuck with as your fiancé. He’s actually a decent character—powerful, intelligent, not falling over himself to worship the Saintess like everyone else. But in the novel, he’s wasted. Why? Because he’s engaged to the character you’re now possessing—Miss Mean and Cold—who treats him like dirt because she’s too busy fantasizing about Neige. You know, the guy she has no shot with because he’s destined to fall for the Saintess. Then, when your character eventually dumps Vil for Neige, she dies in a freak accident. Vil, who actually loved her (for reasons no one understands), is so heartbroken that he turns into the main villain.

Yes, that’s right—this whole mess of a plot ends with Vil going full villain mode because the love of his life ditched him for the living embodiment of a children’s snowman and then died in a way that no one can explain. Cue the Saintess and Neige teaming up to defeat him and live happily ever after.

And that’s the story. A tangled web of nonsensical relationships, conveniently dead characters, and more emotional whiplash than you can handle. And the cherry on top? You're stuck in it, watching everything unfold firsthand. It's honestly a wonder the book didn’t end up as kindling.

A few days passed, and somehow, miraculously, you managed to keep up the act. Every morning you would wake up, still half-expecting to snap out of this bizarre isekai nightmare, but instead, you were met with Vil’s meticulous morning routine and the low hum of his voice offering helpful reminders about skincare.

And the more time you spent with him, the more baffled you became.

How the hell could the original character have messed this up?!

Sure, Vil was particular—okay, maybe borderline obsessive—about appearances. His lectures about proper sunscreen application could rival the length of the Odyssey. And yes, the daily inspections of your outfit choices felt a little like going through customs at a royal border.

But… he was kind? Like, actually caring?

Every meal was an event because he made sure you were eating properly and not just shoving random food into your mouth like the gremlin you clearly were before. He listened when you rambled about your day, offering advice with this gentle patience that honestly made you want to weep. How could anyone leave this?

You found yourself in front of a mirror one afternoon, pacing and gesturing wildly at your reflection, as if you could summon the spirit of the character you’d possessed. "What the actual hell was wrong with you?!" you hissed at the glass. “What kind of brain rot would make someone ditch a man like Vil?! Are you missing brain cells, or was your skull just a rental with nothing in it?!”

You paused, glaring at your reflection as if it could offer answers, but nope. It just stared back, helpless.

“Like, hello?!” you continued, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You had a golden opportunity here! He’s literally gorgeous! He’s got hair that looks like it was hand-spun by some ancient beauty god, his fashion sense could kill a lesser mortal, and he—*gasp*—cares about your well-being?!”

You slapped your forehead dramatically. “How did you mess this up? Were you allergic to good things? Did you wake up every day and choose to be a feral raccoon instead of, I don’t know, appreciating this actual masterpiece of a human being? What, did you look at his perfect face and go, ‘Nah, I’d rather yeet myself into self-destruction?’ Because clearly, that’s what happened!”

Your reflection remained silent, offering no help, which only fueled your rant further.

“You absolute donut! You ridiculous bottle of poorly mixed potion! You—” You stopped mid-sentence, running out of sufficiently creative insults to throw at the former owner of this body. Because seriously, what kind of fool would’ve thrown Vil away?

You gripped the sides of the vanity table, leaning forward, narrowing your eyes at your own reflection. "If I find out that you gave up on this because he once asked you to wear a face mask or told you to drink more water… I swear, I'm going to find a way to repossess you just to kill you again for making me deal with this."

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your self-directed tirade. You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning around to see Vil standing in the doorway, one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Talking to yourself again?” he asked, his voice smooth but with a teasing edge. “You know, that’s usually a sign of stress. Perhaps we should revisit that meditation routine I mentioned.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, wondering how much he’d overheard. But then you caught sight of that soft smile he reserved just for you, and your brain short-circuited all over again.

Right. The original character was definitely an idiot.

The first major hurdle hit you when you least expected it.

It all started with what should have been a calm afternoon—a brief moment of peace where you and Vil could actually spend time together, no schemes, no weird confrontations, just enjoying tea. You were finally getting comfortable with each other, slowly building the trust that had been so fragile at the start. Finally, you thought, things were moving smoothly.

Then the overused villainess trope decided to rear its ugly head.

Vil was talking about an upcoming event he’d be hosting, his voice calm, his usual stern features softened just slightly by the moment of peace. You were finally letting your guard down.

That was until the door creaked open and in waltzed the heroine’s best friend, a girl with wide, doe-like eyes and a penchant for stirring up unnecessary drama. Behind her, looming in the doorway, was the second male lead—your eternal source of frustration from the novel. He was tall, brooding, and always, always popping up at the most inconvenient moments. A defeated looking Epel walked in behind them, with a look that screamed 'trust me I tried to stop them.'

“Oh no,” you whispered under your breath, recognizing this scene before it could even play out. You knew what was coming, and you braced yourself for the utter absurdity of it.

Vil’s sharp gaze flicked from the two intruders back to you, his brows furrowing in mild irritation. “What is it now?” he muttered, already sensing the impending nonsense.

The heroine’s friend, ever the bringer of chaos, marched right up to your table with a dramatic flair that could only come from someone who believed they were the only purveyor of justice. “I can’t stay quiet any longer!” she declared, pointing an accusatory finger in Vil’s direction. “Vil, how could you treat the heroine this way?! You’ve been so cold, so distant—and it’s clear that you don’t truly care for anyone but yourself!”

You blinked. Excuse me?

Vil’s lips pursed, the irritation growing on his face. “And what, pray tell, did I do?”

“You know what you did!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms like she’d just delivered the most damning statement in history. “You’ve been ignoring her, brushing her off, and acting like she doesn’t even exist. She’s heartbroken because of you!”

You groaned internally. Oh no, this was that scene. The one where, because Vil once made an offhand comment about the heroine’s poor choice in dresses at a ball, suddenly he was painted as some cruel villain who was emotionally tormenting the delicate heroine. It was such an incredibly stupid misunderstanding that you distinctly remembered wanting to throw the book across the room when you’d first read it.

To make matters worse, the second male lead, standing silently but brooding in the doorway, was glowering at Vil like he was ready to challenge him to a duel at any moment. Because of a comment about a dress.

“Are you serious?” you blurted out, the frustration bubbling up before you could stop yourself.

The heroine’s friend gasped, her eyes wide. “Excuse me?!”

“Let me get this straight,” you said, rising from your seat with a groan, “you’re upset because Vil, what, didn’t shower her with praise at the last event? And now you’ve decided to come in here, storming into our tea time, to complain about it?”

The second male lead’s brooding scowl deepened, his jaw tightening. “Vil has been cruel—”

“About a dress.” You cut him off, waving your hand dismissively. “Vil made one comment about her dress. That’s it. And now we’re doing this whole song and dance like he’s some kind of evil tyrant?”

The room was already tense, the heroine’s best friend visibly fuming, but you couldn’t help it. The words just came out before you could stop them.

“And while we’re at it,” you said, your voice dripping with mock innocence, “let’s talk about that dress. You know, the one you’re all so upset about. I mean, I’m no fashion expert, but who in their right mind thought wearing that shade of mustard-yellow was a good idea?”

The friend’s mouth fell open, but you weren’t finished. “I mean, she walked into the ballroom looking like a sad banana trying to go to a high society function. I get it—saintess and all that—but there’s no reason to dress like the interior of an overripe cantaloupe.”

Vil made a choking sound next to you, and you dared to glance at him. His eyes were wide with shock, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement. Oh, he wasn’t pleased with the crudeness, but he definitely wasn’t going to stop you either.

“And you,” you said, turning to the second male lead, who had been standing there like a silent, brooding statue, just staring at the two of you menacingly. “What’s your excuse? You came in here with all this brooding energy, acting like you’re about to duel someone over the fate of the heroine. But seriously, what’s with your whole tragic hero act? Is your personality just permanent raincloud or do you practice that in the mirror?”

Vil covered his mouth with his hand, and you could see his shoulders shaking slightly. He was losing the battle to keep his composure, but he was trying—for dignity’s sake, of course.

Epel, on the other hand, had completely given up. The moment you’d said “sad banana,” he had fallen off his chair, doubled over in laughter, his face red as he clutched his sides. You weren’t sure if it was your insults or the second male lead’s thunderstruck expression, but either way, Epel was in hysterics.

“I—” the heroine’s friend sputtered, but you interrupted her again.

“Oh, and you.” You looked her up and down with a condescending smirk. “You really want to talk about fashion? Because I don’t know who told you that wearing ruffles with plaid was a look, but they were wrong. You’re out here looking like you got lost in a fabric store and fell into the clearance bin.”

This time, Vil snorted. Actually snorted. The sound was so out of place that it almost derailed your tirade, but you powered through, buoyed by his reaction.

The second male lead looked like he was ready to explode, his aura now bordering on murderous. “You can’t just—”

“Oh, can’t I?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Because it seems like all of you came in here with the intent to stir up drama over something as trivial as a constructive remark. If you’re going to go to war over fashion, at least wear something that doesn’t look like you picked it out with your eyes closed. Scratch that, I couldn’t imagine picking that up even with my eyes closed.”

By now, Epel was rolling on the floor, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “C-couldn’t pick it out… with your eyes closed!” he wheezed, slapping his knee.

Vil, despite himself, let out a low giggle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well,” he said, his voice steady but filled with mirth, “I suppose subtlety was never your strong suit.”

The heroine’s friend, now red-faced and flustered beyond belief, grabbed the second male lead by the arm and yanked him toward the door. “This isn’t over,” she spat, glaring at you. “We’ll see who’s laughing when the heroine—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved dismissively, “when the heroine what? Realizes she’s been pining for someone who can't tell mustard from elegance? Trust me, I’m not worried.”

With that, they both stormed out, slamming the door behind them in a huff of embarrassment and frustration. The second they were gone, you let out a breath and sank back into your chair, grinning at Vil, who was now openly smiling.

“You really didn’t hold back, did you?” Vil said, his amusement evident despite his usual calm demeanor. “I don’t approve of such… crude insults, but I must admit—” his lips twitched— “it was rather effective.”

Epel, still recovering from his laughing fit, managed to haul himself back into his seat, wiping tears from his eyes. “That was… that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said between gasps for air. “I can’t believe ya said that right to their faces!”

“Glad to be of service,” you said with a grin, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe you’d actually said all of that out loud. But judging by Vil’s pleased expression and Epel’s ongoing laughter, it had been worth it.

Maybe surviving this trash novel wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You’d barely had time to process how bizarrely normal your life as the villain’s fiancée had become when the next absurd isekai plot point decided to rear its ugly, trope-filled head again.

It all started at yet another lavish tea party. Honestly, you’d begun to lose track of how many of these events you were forced to attend. They all blurred together into a haze of polite smiles, floral patterns, and far too much sugar.

This time, you were seated next to Vil, who, as always, looked like he had just stepped out of a renaissance painting. You, on the other hand, were trying not to spill tea on the new dress he’d insisted you wear. The dress itself was lovely, of course—Vil had impeccable taste—but the whole setting made you feel like you were constantly walking on eggshells. Especially since she was here. The heroine.

Today, though, you were determined to get through it without any drama. Just smile, nod, and let the heroine do her thing. Easy, right?

Wrong.

Everything had been going smoothly, too. The heroine, in all her sunshiney glory, was seated at the table, surrounded by her usual group of admirers. You had been doing a great job of fading into the background until someone—the hostess, perhaps?—brought up your previous adventures.

“Oh, didn’t you once accompany the Grand Duke to deal with that bandit problem on the eastern border?” the hostess asked, fanning herself with interest. “What a thrilling ordeal!”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of too many eyes on you. “Well, I wouldn’t say thrilling exactly…” you began, trying to downplay it, but your nerves had other ideas. “I mean, the heroine here was probably off rescuing some poor lost puppy while I was just, you know, holding down the real danger.”

The air went cold.

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. The table fell silent, save for the quiet clinking of teacups being set down. Every eye was on you. The heroine’s wide, eyes blinked at you, full of hurt and confusion. And across from you, the second male lead—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding—looked like he was ready to leap across the table and strangle you on the spot.

Oh no. Oh no no no. Why did you leave your filter at home?

You opened your mouth to apologize, but before you could, the second male lead slammed his cup down on the table, the porcelain rattling ominously. “You dare insult her honor?!” he roared, rising from his seat like some kind of vengeful storm cloud. “I will not stand for this!”

*Why did I say that?* You cringed internally, face turning a bright shade of crimson. "I-it was a joke—"

“No,” he declared dramatically, pointing a finger at you. “I demand satisfaction! A duel for her honor!”

You were still too stunned to respond, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation. A duel? Over this? All you’d implied was that the heroine wasn’t exactly… battle-hardened. Surely that wasn’t duel-worthy? This man was acting like you’d called his mother a turnip or something worse.

The heroine, ever the epitome of grace, tried to intervene. “There’s no need for—”

But Mr. Broody wasn’t having it. “No! Her honor has been besmirched, and I shall defend it with my life!”

Vil, who had been watching this spectacle unfold with an expression of mild disgust, finally rose from his chair. His cool gaze swept over the table, landing on the second male lead with all the intensity of a snake about to strike.

“If anyone’s honor has been besmirched,” Vil said icily, “it’s mine. And I will not allow my betrothed to be disrespected by the likes of you.”

You blinked up at Vil, stunned. “Wait, you’re going to duel him? Yourself?”

Vil turned his piercing gaze to you, and though his face remained calm, there was a glimmer of something softer in his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “I would never entrust such a matter to anyone else. Besides…” His lips curled into a smirk. “It’s been a while since I’ve put an upstart in his place.”

You gulped, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed. Was it getting hot in here?

The second male lead, apparently unaware of just how screwed he was, smirked triumphantly. “Very well! Let’s settle this once and for all.”

The duel was set for the next day in your estate gardens. You spent the time leading up to it pacing back and forth in your chambers, wringing your hands in nervous anticipation. Somewhere along the way, you’d decided that you needed to do something—anything—to support Vil. So you had spent hours learning how to embroider a handkerchief, your fingers aching from the effort. By the time you finished, you were practically shaking, but you were proud of the result.

You didn’t expect Vil to be touched, let alone notice that you’d worked so hard. But when you handed him the handkerchief just before the duel, his eyes widened in surprise.

“You made this?” he asked, holding it delicately between his fingers, as if it were some priceless artifact.

You nodded sheepishly. “I figured, you know, for luck. Or to rub it in his face after you beat him. Whichever.”

Vil chuckled, his usually sharp expression softening. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. He then noticed the small needle marks on your hands and frowned. “You hurt yourself.”

You quickly hid your hands behind your back. “It’s nothing! I mean, I’m fine. Just a few pricks here and there.”

Vil’s expression softened even further, and for a moment, he looked almost… touched. He carefully tucked the handkerchief into his coat pocket, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll be sure to put this to good use.”

You didn’t swoon. Well, maybe just a little.

The duel was, in a word, ridiculous.

The second male lead strutted around like a peacock, his sword gleaming in the afternoon sunlight as he swung it dramatically for the small crowd that had gathered. “Prepare yourself, Schoenheit!” he bellowed, pointing his sword at Vil.

Vil, on the other hand, looked utterly unimpressed. He barely glanced at the man before calmly removing his coat and handing it to you. “Hold this, will you?”

You took the coat with a nod, trying not to pass out from how effortlessly graceful he looked even in the midst of preparing for a fight.

The second male lead lunged forward with all the finesse of a drunken ox, his sword clashing loudly against Vil’s. For a moment, it looked like a real duel—until Vil, with a single fluid motion, disarmed the man in one clean strike. The second male lead’s sword went flying, landing in the bushes several feet away with a pathetic thud.

The crowd gasped, and you had to stifle a laugh. It had barely been five seconds, and the duel was already over.

The second male lead stood there, stunned, his hand frozen mid-air where his sword had been. He blinked once, twice, then turned bright red with embarrassment. “W-what?!”

Vil, ever composed, didn’t even break a sweat. He sheathed his sword and gave the man a cold, dismissive look. “This duel is over. Consider your demand for satisfaction... fulfilled. Now, kindly leave before you embarrass yourself further.”

You bit your lip, trying not to giggle as the second male lead sputtered and tried to come up with an excuse, but it was clear to everyone that he had been utterly humiliated. Even the heroine, standing off to the side, looked like she was struggling to keep a straight face.

As the second male lead stumbled off, defeated, Vil turned to you and offered his hand. “Shall we go?”

You took his hand, still trying to process how easily he had won. “You were amazing,” you blurted out, your heart fluttering as you gazed up at him. “Seriously, that was… wow.”

Vil smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Of course I was.” He then leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I expect a proper reward later for defending your honor.”

Your face went beet red, and you were pretty sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Yep, you thought as he led you away, his hand still in yours, surviving this trash novel might not be so bad after all.

It happened at one of those overly extravagant banquets the royal court liked to throw. You spotted Neige from across the room, all bright eyes and an innocent smile. He was the epitome of purity, as if his very presence could summon woodland creatures to frolic at his feet.

And you hated him on sight.

You watched in disbelief as everyone around him melted into puddles of admiration. He was practically glowing, and his overly cheerful, squeaky voice was grating on your ears.

The overly saccharine male lead stood there, looking like a cross between a baby bunny and a sentient cupcake. Everything about him screamed "pure-hearted." You nearly gagged on your drink, hoping no one noticed your grimace.

Vil noticed your sour expression and leaned in. “Is something the matter?”

“That’s him, isn’t it?” you said through clenched teeth. “The one I used to follow around?”

Vil followed your gaze, and for a moment, his lips twitched in the faintest show of amusement. “Yes. That’s Neige.”

You snorted. "I can't believe anyone in their right mind would prefer him over you."

Vil's lips curled into a smirk, and he tilted his head slightly. “Oh? Is that so?” His voice was silky, dangerously low, but you could see the flash of satisfaction behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you muttered, still glaring in Neige's direction. “I mean, look at him. He’s so… good. And not in a ‘wow, what a decent person’ way. It’s like he’s one bad haircut away from sprouting fairy wings and breaking into song.”

Vil let out a low chuckle, right next to you ear, (Lord, have mercy) the sound sending shivers down your spine. “I never thought I’d hear you speak this way about him. You’ve been fawning over Neige for as long as I can remember.”

You rolled your eyes, throwing your hands up. “That was the old me. The dumb me. I mean, have you seen you?” You gestured dramatically toward him. “How could anyone even look at Neige when you exist?”

Vil was quiet for a moment, watching you intently. His violet eyes glinted with something unreadable, but you could tell he was pleased. Oh, he was very pleased.

“You certainly have changed,” he murmured, the smirk never leaving his lips. “And I must admit, I find it rather… delightful.”

Before you could respond, a very familiar voice rang out from behind you. “Ah! What a beautiful reunion this is! A moment filled with l’amour, sparkling like the stars in the sky!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Rook Hunt appeared seemingly out of thin air, his hands dramatically clasped together as he beamed at you both. “I have seen many couples in my lifetime, but none quite so radiant as you two.”

You blinked, trying to recover from his sudden appearance. “Rook… were you just… hiding in the curtains again?”

Rook, ever the dramatist, placed a hand on his heart and smiled wistfully. “Ah, but how could I stay away when the beauty of your love draws me in like a moth to a flame?”

Vil raised an eyebrow. “Rook, you’re not helping.”

“Non, non, mon ami,” Rook insisted, twirling in place with a flourish. “I am merely basking in the glow of what is surely a love for the ages! The way your eyes meet, the subtle tension in the air—it is magnifique!”

You sighed, shaking your head, though you couldn’t help but chuckle at Rook’s antics. Meanwhile, from the other side of the ballroom, Epel was watching the scene unfold with barely concealed amusement. He caught your eye and shot you a grin, raising his glass as if to say, Good luck with this.

But the fun wasn’t over. Oh no. Neige, the human embodiment of a children’s choir, started making his way toward you. As he approached, his bright eyes locked on yours, his smile so innocent and wide that you almost felt bad for what you were about to do.

Almost.

“Good evening!” Neige greeted you, his voice as sweet as sugar. “I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to properly meet.”

You stared at him for a moment, unimpressed. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

Neige blinked, clearly taken aback by your lack of enthusiasm. He probably wasn’t used to people not immediately falling at his feet. “It’s truly wonderful to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”

You squinted at him. “Mm-hmm.”

Vil, standing beside you, looked positively elated. You could practically feel the smug energy radiating off of him. He wasn’t even hiding his smile anymore.

Neige continued, oblivious to your complete disinterest. “I’m so glad we’ll have the chance to spend time together in the coming months! I hope we can—”

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” you interrupted, turning away and pointedly ignoring his very existence.

Neige blinked again, looking like a lost puppy. You almost felt a little bad. Almost.

Vil, on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early. His arm slipped around your waist, his touch gentle. “I must say,” he murmured into your ear, his voice laced with amusement, “I’ve never enjoyed one of these balls quite so much.”

Yup, maybe this novel isn't that trashy after all?

Everytime you think this novel might not be that bad, it manages to prove you wrong.

The day had finally arrived: the Founding Day Ball. The event to end all events, where the kingdom’s most distinguished were honored in a grand ceremony. And, of course, at the top of the list of honorees was Vil, who might as well have been carved into the actual history of the kingdom itself with how perfect he was.

As his partner for the evening, you were dressed to the nines, dripping in elegance you didn’t even know you were capable of. When you caught your reflection in one of the massive ballroom mirrors, you had to do a double-take.

"Who is that?" you whispered, eyes wide. "Oh. It’s me."

Honestly, if there was a chance of impressing anyone here, you were impressed with yourself.

The ceremony went as expected. Vil was awarded the highest honors, his name met with thunderous applause as he gave a speech that left the crowd swooning. You found yourself half-clapping, half-gawking, wondering how this man kept getting more perfect. Like, was he actually human?

But as the evening progressed, the dreaded scene you despised the most crept into the evening, like a bad smell at a gourmet dinner.

After the ceremony, it was time for the opening dance. Naturally, Vil, being the epitome of grace and nobility, was the prime candidate to lead it. You were fully expecting him to ask you, but before he could even turn in your direction, the heroine — yes, that heroine — appeared out of nowhere, like she was materializing straight from the pages of the worst romance novel ever written.

“Vil,” she said in a voice that sounded like honey and broken promises, “I trust you’ll grant me the honor of the first dance.”

You blinked. *Excuse me?*

She said it so confidently, as if it were a foregone conclusion, like she was used to the world revolving around her whims. It was the equivalent of someone just cutting the line in front of you at the store and expecting applause for their audacity.

Vil, for his part, didn’t even flinch. His expression was as cool and elegant as ever, but you could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“I’m afraid,” he said, voice smooth and polite, “I already have a partner for the first dance.”

The heroine’s face froze in a way that almost made you choke on your own breath. “W-What?” She blinked rapidly, as if her brain couldn’t process the fact that someone had just told her no.

You, too, were a little stunned, for a seperate. Was she actually planning on throwing a tantrum right now? In public? At a literal state function?

“B-But you always dance with me,” she stammered, voice rising in disbelief, her face turning an alarming shade of pink. “I’m supposed to be your first dance!”

You physically had to stop yourself from snorting. Always? He has never even looked at her for longer than five seconds! You couldn't recall a single time Vil had given her anything beyond basic pleasantries. The only reason she’d be in his line of sight was because she was constantly putting herself there.

Vil’s lips twitched slightly, though whether it was out of irritation or amusement, you couldn’t tell. “I don’t recall ever dancing with you,” he said calmly, as though she were discussing someone else entirely.

The heroine blinked, clearly taken aback. “W-What?”

Vil’s voice dropped to an even icier tone, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “In fact, I dislike the very idea of it.”

The heroine made a strangled sound behind you, like a baby bird trying to scream.

You looked around the room, half-expecting hidden cameras to pop out, because this had to be a prank. Who acts like this?!

And as you floated onto the dance floor with Vil, you couldn’t help but marvel at the absolute insufferable nature of the scene you’d just witnessed. This was, without a doubt, the moment that solidified your hatred for the trash-tier novel world you’d been trapped in. People like her actually existed here?

Behind you, the heroine stomped her foot like a petulant child, completely ignored by the crowd. It would’ve been almost sad if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

And as you twirled under the chandeliers, feeling Vil’s warmth beside you and the heroine’s tantrum echoing faintly in the background, one thing became crystal clear:

This novel may have been trash, but at least you were the one dancing with the prince of perfection.

It hit you like a ton of bricks one day—completely out of nowhere. You had been sitting in Vil’s study, watching him work. He was meticulously going over some documents, his brow furrowed in concentration, his golden hair falling perfectly in place despite him having been there for hours. You were supposed to be reading through some kingdom protocol book, but instead, your gaze kept drifting over to him.

He’s so… beautiful.

You blinked, the thought suddenly snapping you out of whatever trance you’d fallen into.

Wait…

Your eyes widened. Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

You slammed the book shut, startling Vil from his work as you stood up abruptly. “I-I need some air.”

Vil raised an elegant eyebrow, clearly amused by your sudden panic. “Something the matter?”

“No! Nothing’s the matter!” you said, far too quickly, your voice an octave higher than usual. You stumbled over your chair in your haste to get out of the room, nearly tripping on your own feet. “I just—need to—um—fresh air, yes, exactly!”

Before Vil could say anything else, you bolted from the study and down the hall, your heart racing as though you’d just run a marathon. You darted into the nearest empty room and pressed your back against the door, your mind swirling with confusion.

Am I falling for him?

You slapped a hand over your mouth, horrified by the realization. “No… no, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I’m in love with a character from this awful, brain-numbing novel?”

You slumped against the door, groaning as the full weight of the situation sank in. How could this happen? How could my first true love— you gagged at the phrase —be from this trash novel?

There was no escaping it now. The butterflies in your stomach every time Vil looked your way, the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled, the fact that you wanted nothing more than to be close to him�� it was all painfully obvious.

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die of embarrassment in this ridiculous world.”

And the worst part? It wasn’t even one of the good isekai novels. You’d somehow gotten stuck in what could be considered objectively the worst one, and yet here you were, head over heels for a character who—against all odds—turned out to be the most amazing person you’d ever met.

“Oh god,” you muttered to yourself, sliding down to the floor, your head falling back against the door with a thud. “I'm in love with Vil. I’m doomed. Completely doomed.”

“Mon Dieu! What a revelation!” a voice suddenly rang out from the shadows.

You yelped, whipping around to see none other than Rook Hunt—perched in the corner of the room like some kind of overly dramatic bird of prey, his hat casting a mysterious shadow over his eyes. His entire being radiated excitement, and you swore you saw actual sparkles in the air around him.

“Rook?! How long have you been there?!”

“Long enough, my dear,” he said, voice hushed with reverence, as though you had just confessed your deepest, most tragic secret. “Ah, love! The torment, the longing! The exquisite despair you must be feeling!” He took a step forward, eyes gleaming with unbridled enthusiasm. “But fear not, mon ami, for I, Rook Hunt, shall be your faithful cupid! Together, we shall make Vil see the truth of your affections!”

You blinked, stunned. “Uh… I’m not sure that’s—"

“Ah, but you must!" Rook declared, swooping down to kneel dramatically before you. “Love, once realized, must be pursued with all one’s passion and determination! Do not let this opportunity slip through your fingers like sand in the wind! I shall assist you!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sheer intensity of his expression made you falter. Rook was looking at you like this was the most important mission of his life.

Honestly, what did you have to lose at this point?

With a deep, exhausted sigh, you muttered, “Fine. Fine! I’ll do it. Help me, Rook.”

Rook’s grin stretched so wide it was borderline terrifying. “Excellent! This will be an adventure for the ages!” Before you could even process what you’d agreed to, Rook leaped to his feet and clapped his hands together. “But we will need more help. A certain someone with a youthful spirit and just enough mischievousness to add that je ne sais quoi to our plans.”

Oh no.

Cue Epel.

“What the hell are you ropin’ me into?” Epel grumbled as Rook dragged him into your predicament not five minutes later.

“I have volunteered you for a most noble cause, mon petit pomme,” Rook said, not even breaking stride as he swept Epel into the room. “Our dear friend here is head over heels for our Vil, and we are going to help them win his heart”

Epel paused, blinking at you in disbelief. “Wait, Vil? That Vil?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of where Vil’s office was.

“Yes, that Vil,” you said flatly, already regretting every life decision that had led you to this point.

Epel gave you a dubious look. “And you agreed to let Rook help you?”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Don’t remind me.”

“Alright, fine. I’m in.” Epel shrugged, a wicked grin creeping onto his face. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it big.”

Thus began the most absurd, over-the-top, and borderline catastrophic schemes in an attempt to prove your love to Vil Schoenheit.

It started innocently enough. You wanted to make Vil his favorite tea. Simple, right? But Rook insisted that it couldn’t just be any tea. No, it had to be presented with an air of mystery and allure.

“Bring it to him while reciting a sonnet of devotion!” Rook suggested. “Declare your admiration with each step, so that he understands the depth of your feelings!”

“I’m not reciting a sonnet, Rook.”

Epel, on the other hand, was far more pragmatic. “Or you could just… write him a note and leave it with the tea?”

That seemed normal. Rational. You’d take Epel’s advice. So, you snuck into Vil’s room, left the tea and a note on his desk, and slipped out before anyone noticed.

The next morning, Vil eyed you suspiciously over breakfast. “Did you leave tea in my study last night?”

You nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but you swore you saw the corner of his lips twitch into the faintest smile. “I see. How thoughtful.”

Then came Operation: Compliment Vil at Every Opportunity.

Rook, of course, insisted you be poetic. “Tell him his beauty rivals the very stars in the sky!”

“I’m not saying that.”

Epel chimed in with a much more straightforward approach: “Just tell him his hair looks nice. It’s always nice.”

But Rook’s enthusiasm was contagious, and before you knew it, you found yourself blurting out, “Your radiance is blinding today, Vil! Truly, I must shield my eyes from such ethereal beauty!”

Vil, who had been in the middle of inspecting his reflection, froze. His eyes darted to you, and he gave you a strange look.

“Are you… feeling alright? Did you perhaps get bitten by a stray Rook?”

You shook your head vigorously, your face heating up from how ridiculous you sounded. “Totally fine! Just… appreciating your beauty! Yep. Normal stuff.”

Vil didn’t say anything, but you could see a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He looked amused—and maybe a little pleased—but more than anything, he seemed confused.

At least he didn’t think you’d lost your mind. Yet.

You were convinced this novel had it out for you from the beginning, but this? This was a new low. The memory loss trope, the final attempt to make your life as ridiculous as possible, had arrived—right on schedule.

You knew how it was supposed to go. You’d hit your head (a complete accident, obviously), wake up with no memory of Vil, and immediately make the worst decisions possible, like falling for that knockoff prince, Neige. Cue dramatic heartbreak, public humiliation, and eventual abandonment. Classic trashy novel shenanigans.

But apparently, the universe—or whatever cosmic force was in charge of your suffering—had decided to take a vacation after all the work it had been putting in. Because when you opened your eyes and saw Vil leaning over you, worry etched into his perfect face, instead of forgetting him, you were… immediately smitten?

What?

And it didn’t stop there. When he took your hand in his, gently kissing your knuckles in that heartbreakingly tender way, it was like a light switch flipped. Your memories came rushing back, completely bypassing the whole convoluted plot about amnesia and bad decisions.

Because of course in this disaster of a novel, the solution to everything was true love's kiss. The most overdone, eye-rolling cliché in the history of romance, and yet here you were, living through it.

You almost laughed out loud. Of all the tropes this novel had thrown at you—evil fiancées, jealous heroines, duels for honor—this had to be the funniest. It was as if the universe had taken one look at your situation and said, “You know what? Let’s skip the suffering and go straight to the ridiculous happy ending.”

True love’s kiss. Really. This novel is mocking me at this point, you thought, fighting the urge to scream. But hey, at least you didn’t have to deal with more drama. And as Vil’s concerned gaze softened into a relieved smile, you couldn’t help but think that, maybe, this was one trope you didn’t mind after all.

You'd almost given up on confessing. Maybe you'll just live like this forever, your fate was sealed. The novel clearly doesn't want you to tell him how you feel.

But there was another ball (because apparently that's the only place that nobility had be at in this novel. What was this? the 108th ball of the year?) You'd decided that you'll ask him for a stroll under the moonlight and just tell him.

Of course, the novel is not on your side. What's new?

The ball was going well—well, for you and Vil, anyway. You’d just finished dancing, and he looked absolutely stunning, as usual. You were basking in the afterglow of all the whispered praise and envious stares. That is, until you overheard someone bad-mouthing Vil.

Of course, it had to be the heroine’s best friend, who was apparently using this grand occasion to air her grievances.

“I just don’t understand why Vil is always so cold to her,” she whined, loud enough for everyone within a three-mile radius to hear. “She’s the saintess! She deserves kindness and adoration, not disdain.”

Cue the dramatic gasps from the crowd. Ah, here we go.

You shot Vil a look, but he merely shrugged, rolling his eyes. He clearly didn’t want to start any trouble. But you? Oh, you were about to flip the table on these idiots.

“Excuse me,” you began, stepping forward, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as you made your way over. “I couldn’t help but overhear your incredibly loud complaints about my fiancé.”

The heroine’s best friend froze, clearly not expecting you to get involved. You smiled sweetly, but your eyes were throwing daggers.

“Let me set the record straight. Vil isn’t cold to her because she’s the ‘saintess,’” you air-quoted the title, “He’s cold to her because she’s an insufferable brat who’s so used to getting her way that she throws a tantrum every time someone says ‘no.’”

More gasps from the crowd. You could see Neige stiffening across the ballroom, already sensing where this was going. But there was no stopping you now.

“And don’t get me started on you,” you pointed at the best friend, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re out here defending her honor like you’re some knight in shining armor when, let’s be real, you’re just as bad. You fawn over her like a lost puppy, expecting her to shower you with praise when all you do is enable her delusions.”

Vil, somewhere behind you, was probably trying not to laugh. But you weren't done.

“And as for your precious Neige over there?” you tilted your head toward the prince-wannabe, who was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. “He’s not some perfect angel either. He’s just a guy with an unsettling talent for showing up at the most convenient times, with that same doe-eyed, clueless expression, making everyone feel sorry for him.”

You didn’t stop at Neige.

"And as for you," you said, spinning toward the brooding Duke of the North, the infamous second male lead, who had been leaning against a pillar, looking every bit the tall, tormented, handsome cliché. “You’re not fooling anyone either. You’re the king of melodramatic entrances. Always lurking in the shadows, trying to look mysterious, but really, you’re just sulking because no one’s paying attention to you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—are you brooding? Again? Let me guess, you’re thinking about some dark secret that you’ll drop at the most inconvenient moment to make things worse for everyone, right?” You mimicked his deep, serious voice. “‘It’s the burden I must bear… alone.’” You threw your head back in mock agony, hands dramatically placed on your chest.

He straightened up, clearly offended, but you didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“And stop pretending like you’re some tragic hero,” you added, lowering your voice with a sharp edge. “You’re just a guy with commitment issues who sacrifices himself because you can’t handle the fact that the heroine doesn’t want you. Let it go.”

There was dead silence. You half-expected a chandelier to drop just for the dramatic effect. Even Vil had to look away for a moment, probably to hide the fact that he in tears, about to burst out laughing.

The heroine was slack-jawed, her best friend looked like she wanted to melt into the floor, and Neige… well, Neige just looked confused. As always.

Satisfied, you dusted off your hands and turned back to Vil, who was looking at you with a mixture of shock and awe, as if he’d just witnessed some divine intervention.

You let out a satisfied huff and turned to leave. "Come on, Vil, I can't stand to be in the same room as these second-rate characters any longer, let's bounce"

Once outside, you saw Vil was still recovering, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I think you may have traumatized half the ballroom.”

“Good,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “They deserved it. Especially that brooding Duke. ‘I sacrifice myself for the greater good.’ Ugh, give me a break.”

Vil chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist. "Still, you didn’t have to go to such lengths for me."

You stopped in your tracks, spun around, and looked him dead in the eye. “Of course I did! I love you, Vil. I couldn’t just sit there and let them trash you like that.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. Oh. Well. There it was.

Vil’s eyes widened, a rare, unguarded expression crossing his face. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in your words. Then, without a word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, soft but sure, like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had.

When he pulled back, his smile was the softest you’d ever seen. “You love me,” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded, a bit breathless from both the confession and the kiss. “Yes, Vil. I love you. Even with all your ridiculously high standards and obsession with skincare.”

Vil laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Vil pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your waist, and asked with a quiet, almost teasing tone, "Well then, since you love me so much... should we get married?"

You blinked, your brain taking a second to catch up. "Wait—what? Married? Like, right now?" You stared at him, heart racing, before suddenly, an idea lit up your face like a firework. “Oh my god, yes! Let’s do it. Let’s get married ASAP. Like, today. Right now. Do we even need a ceremony? We can find an officiant and—boom—done. Just tell me where to sign!”

Vil’s eyes widened, taken aback by your sudden enthusiasm. “Are you… serious?”

You grabbed his hand, absolutely buzzing with energy. “Of course, I’m serious! Why wait? This dumbass universe keeps throwing garbage tropes at us, and honestly? Getting married right now is the perfect way to flip the script! Take that, fate!"

Before Vil could respond, an overly excited voice erupted from behind a nearby pillar. “Oh là là! Mon cœur can hardly handle this romance!” Rook leaped out from the shadows, practically sparkling with joy, as if he had been waiting for this very moment all his life. "The passion! The declaration of love! And now, a spontaneous wedding? Magnifique!”

“Rook!?” Vil’s voice was a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Have you been spying on us?”

“Spying?” Rook gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Non, non, Vil! I was merely ensuring your well-being as any devoted friend would!” He gave a wink, clearly pleased with his role as an unintended audience.

“Me too!” Epel poked his head out from behind another pillar, grinning sheepishly. “I mean, who’d wanna miss out on somethin’ like this? Y’all are gettin’ married!”

Vil let out a long, tired sigh, but you could see the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered.

“Oh, it’s happening,” you said, grabbing his arm again and dragging him forward. “We’re doing this, and it’s going to be the best wedding in this entire stupid book, Rook, Epel, you’re both invited. Wait, scratch that, you’re both in the wedding party now!”

“C’est incroyable!” Rook twirled dramatically, hands clasped together, already imagining his outfit for the occasion. “I shall be the most loyal and stylish groomsman! Oh, l’amour!”

“And I get to wear somethin’ fancy, right?” Epel asked, already envisioning something much cooler than his usual attire.

Vil was now fully grinning, his initial surprise turning into genuine amusement as he looked at you with sparkling eyes. “You really are something else.”

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna be your something else forever.” You beamed up at him, still holding onto his hand like you might drag him to the altar yourself right now.

“Well then,” Vil sighed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Let’s get married.”

Before you could even start plotting where to drag Vil to find someone to officiate, Rook suddenly gasped, clasping his hands together dramatically. "Mon dieu! How could I forget? I am more than prepared for this moment!"

You and Vil exchanged puzzled looks. "What are you talking about, Rook?" Vil asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Rook grinned, remviong his hat and and dramatically pulling out a folded piece of parchment. "Behold!" he announced, waving the paper with a flourish. "A certified license to officiate weddings. I took the liberty of acquiring it long ago, knowing that one day I’d be the one to unite you and your beloved. C’est le destin!"

“You’re… licensed?” Vil blinked, looking at Rook like he had officially lost it. "And you're walking around with the license in your hat?"

Rook nodded with a dazzling smile. “Why yes, I’ve been preparing for this glorious day! Every flower petal, every gust of wind, every glance of love I’ve witnessed between you both has been leading to this fated moment!” He struck a pose, the parchment still dramatically held aloft.

You stared at him, then back at Vil. "Okay, I know this is ridiculous, but honestly? This is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and I kind of love it. Let's just let him do it."

Vil put a hand to his forehead, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Are we really doing this?"

“Yes!” you declared, squeezing Vil's hand. “If we’re going full chaos, we’re going all the way. Rook, officiate the hell out of this wedding!”

Epel, watching the entire spectacle, burst into laughter. “Only in this house, I swear…”

Rook practically sparkled with joy, bouncing on his feet. “Oh là là, it will be my greatest honor! I’ve been rehearsing my officiating speech in front of the mirror for months”

“Months?” Vil repeated, a mix of disbelief and exasperation in his tone.

“Mais oui! Every day, I’d wake up and say, ‘Today could be the day!’” Rook sighed dramatically, already tearing up. “And here we are. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Now, shall we begin? I have the vows prepared, unless you have your own?”

You leaned into Vil, barely holding back laughter. “I have zero regrets about this. Absolutely zero.”

Vil sighed again but couldn’t stop smiling. “Only you could make something this absurd seem perfect.”

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

Okay, this became way longer than I expected it to be but to be fair, i was on an extreme caffeine high and i'd just finished an assignment that had been beating my ass

also sorry for the neige slander, I don't hate him but vdc broke me

#Vil x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #au: nobility #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #trash novel chronicles #fem reader

3K notes · View notes

i2sunric · 11 months ago

Text

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 (l.hs)

PAIRING: heeseung x reader (f)

SUMMARY: due to a storm, his parents are stuck in a motel for the night while you are stuck at his house. with wi-fi not working, heeseung can’t think of anything better than recreating the scenes of your smutty books.

WARNINGS: established relationship, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!), fingering, standing sex (?), missionary, pussy eating, masturbation, dirty talking, blowjob, oral (m and f receiving), rough sex, chocking, i lied about the doggy style, pet names (angel, baby), lmk if more, NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 13th August 2024

WC: 3.7k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey (oneshot) @trizdoniki @love4hee @strayy-kidz @baribaaari @shirizula @astratlantis @jaeyungxrl @heestarry @heeseungismymanz @mitmit01 @rayofsunshineeee @heesexual74 @deezbin @jakeswifez @nikiswifiee @hqqj @diorfmu @isa942572 @yjwluvs @norihoyeon @starggukies @shiningnono @sunpov @iamliacamila @strawberrhypen @gnvi-eve @wildflowermooon @kaykay11sworld @erenswifesposts @star-hoon @aubaee @lvnglysunoo @heebear @enhypenlovre BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED.

a/n: honestly the intro sucks and so does the outro but i swear the smut is GOOD. literally 3k words of filthy porn ngl. enjoy lol. please LIKE & REBLOG to spread and let me knows your thoughts 💗

What was supposed to be a cozy Thursday night ended up in you being forced to stay at Heeseung’s house for the night.

Forced? Not really, you enjoyed the excuse of spending more time with your boyfriend. Because of a flooding caused by the storm outside, you weren’t able to go back home.

But neither were his parents, who were supposed to have a nice date and ended up being blocked by the horrible weather.

The sound of the raindrops tapping against the window filled the room as Heeseung turned off the shower.

You were laying on his bed with your back to the wall as you peacefully read your book, thankful that your sixth sense made you bring it.

Heeseung entered the room with only a towel wrapped around his waist while he used another to dry his damp hair.

“Reading still?” He asked, nudging the book with toe. “Ew.” You stated, pushing his foot away “And yes.”

Heeseung just chuckled and moved to get his clothes from the drawer “Heard from your parents?”

He hummed “I called them before showering, they said they’ll stay at a motel,” He put his boxers on “But before they could say more, the line cut off.”

You threw a glance at the window “This storm is going to destroy a lot of things.”

Heeseung struggled to put on shorts and then rounded the bed, the mattress lowering where his weight was.

“I bet they’re having some wild sex right now.” You joked, flipping another page of your book.

Heeseung pinched your side “Ew? I don’t really want to think about my parents going at it.” He laughed, laying down beside you.

“Careful, you might have a brother soon.” You joked again, earning another gentle pinch.

A couple of minutes passed by and Heeseung groaned “Wi-fi doesn’t work.” He threw his phone at the end of the bed. “I can’t play games.”

“Poor you.” You cooed, caressing the hand he had placed on your hip, his chest pressed against your back.

“Can’t you put your book down and give me attention?” You could hear the pout in his voice “No boy, I’m at an important point.”

“Evil.” Heeseung murmured as he settled into a more comfortable position, strangely not going anywhere to do something else.

You felt his hand on your side, relaxed as well as his breath even. ‘He must’ve fallen asleep’, You thought, as you flipped another page of your book, unable to stop your eyes from reading the scene unfolding before you.

If Heeseung was to casually open his eyes and read even one line of the chapter, he would certainly make fun of you.

Who even reads smut in their boyfriend’s bed?

You felt his hand flex on your stomach but you didn't really mind, he would always move uncontrollably when asleep— sometimes, even kicking you.

As your mind proceeded the words written down on paper, your body reacted to it, almost unconsciously.

You could feel your core pulse in need, your body temperature raising and at the same time goosebumps appeared on your skin.

It always happened, you couldn’t help the way your imagination wandered with the characters of the book, the tension and the way they cared for each other. It was all too tempting, you could feel your stomach fill with butterflies.

But your boyfriend was sleeping and you didn’t want to disturb him, knowing he already had troubles falling asleep — the reason why he always stayed up late to play games —, so you kept quiet.

You felt Heeseung shift behind you, the hand on your stomach circling your waist until he was able to pull you against his chest, his breath hot against your ear.

You held your breath as he changed position, not making any sudden movement while he used you like you were a teddy bear.

Gulping down, you waited a few beats before focusing your attention back on the chapter.

It’s not like you and Heeseung had never gone further than third base, but it was always so… vanilla.

You longed for someone to use you for your own pleasure, to talk you through your multiple orgasms, to mark you up and manhandle you like a doll.

But you would never have the courage to confess that to Heeseung.

Yes, you two had been together for almost a year and half though you weren’t ready to open up to your contorted fantasies. Afraid that he may run away, you loved him too much for that.

So, you hid in your imagination, burying your nose in books that filled the void inside of you.

Letting out a quiet sigh, you tried to calm the fire igniting your bones, but your hips shifted uncomfortably, the ache between your legs too strong to be ignored.

Suddenly, Heeseung spoke to your ear, voice low and husky “You want to show me too?” You jolted and closed the book, catching your finger in middle, hissing at the pain.

You turned your face around and caught his gaze, something different inside it. Something primal.

“I-I thought you were sleeping.” You said, blinking faintly and Heeseung smirked, “I was reading with you.”

He reached the book from your hand and like a fool, you let him take it. He opened the page where you had left your finger in and cleared his throat “He looked at her with a strange urge, his attention gliding to her face,” He started reading.

“His voice was low when he said ‘Show me, show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone in the middle of the night’.”

The heat that was once in your stomach moved to your cheeks, embarrassment coating your expression.

“It’s just a chapter, I was skipping it.” You tried to reach back for your book but he held it up, sitting “Ah, lying is bad, Y/N.”

Heeseung’s smirk was cocky “You seemed pretty into it.” You scoffed, “Give it back.”

Your boyfriend was clearly enjoying it, the way you blushed and the flustered look on your face. He licked his bottom lip and eyed you up and down.

Only when you lowered your gaze, unable to meet his, did you notice the hard-on he was sporting. Was he enjoying it the same way you were?

“There’s no wi-fi.” He stated, “And my parents aren’t home, don’t you think we should occupy our time?”

This side of him was something you had never seen, perhaps, had he the same hidden likings as yours? Looked like you were about to find out.

“How?” You asked, your voice hoarse, barely yours. Heeseung glanced back at the page and said “Take off your shorts.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, “W-What?” And he just chuckled darkly “Do you think I didn’t notice your body language, mh? Do you think I didn’t see how you were craving… this?” He raised the book.

“Now, take off your shorts or I’ll have to do it myself.” Normally, you would comply, but you were feeling bold, adrenaline shooting in your veins, so you said instead, “Make me.”

His eyes darkened, his brow raised. He placed the book on the bed and crawled towards you as you backed away until your back hit the headboard.

He kept eye contact while his fingers hooked around your shorts, and instead of his usual slow pace, he yanked them off.

You gasped at the sudden force, soon enough your shorts were laying on the floor “Isn’t this what you want?” He questioned.

“You want someone to dominate you, uh? To show you what’s your place?” Your whole body shivered from his words as you mindlessly nodded.

“All this time I’ve been gentle, afraid to make you uncomfortable,” He gripped your panties “But all you wanted was to be fucked, hard, isn’t it?” He ripped them off you, the sound of fabric stretching making you gasp again.

He smirked and threw the messy fabric on the floor, with your shorts “So, I’ll follow what you like.” He pointed at the book resting on the duvet “Play with yourself.”

You widened your eyes. Heeseung’s behaviour was different from his usual one, though you couldn’t say you didn’t like it. Lord, you were drenched just from his words and he could see it, the way your juices coated your pussy, spread in front of him.

You gulped and slowly moved your hand down, reaching your clit which you started circling.

A soft hum escaped your lips at the sweet feeling and you watched him, his gaze so primal and full of lust as he took in the sight of you touching yourself.

Just a few beats passed before he asked “You know what she does now, right?” And you nodded, lifting your hand up to his lips. He hummed and took them inside his mouth, his warm tongue twirling around your digits.

The taste of you, even if it was just brief, was enough to make his head spin, so delicious and intoxicating.

You removed them “Let me watch while you fuck yourself.” He said and was suddenly aware of your position. Of how open you were in front of him, your folds clenching around nothing.

Heeseung raised an impatient brow and you hurried to coat your fingers in your juices, rubbing them against your entrance before thrusting one inside.

You moaned, your fingers brushing against your g-spot right away, given all the times you’d done this.

Heeseung licked his bottom lip, the taste of you still lingering in his mouth, on his tongue. He could feel his shorts grow tighter by the minute, his desire for you overtaking any rational thought.

“One more baby, I know you can take it.” He urged and you complied, adding a second digit to your ministration.

Heeseung let out a groan, his eyes locked on you as you brought pleasure to yourself. He quickly took the book back in his hands and flicked the page, a wicked smile on his lips.

“Yeah, bet you’ll like this.” He said as he pushed himself down the bed and took you by the back of your thighs, tilting your body until it was pending at the edge of the bed.

You stopped your movements and pulled your fingers out with a ‘POP’ sound, resting on your elbows to look down at him “Hee?”

“Don’t worry, angel.” He pried your legs open, his breath fanning on your cunt, making you squeeze your eyes “Just need to taste your sweet pussy.”

And then you felt it, the swipe of his tongue across your folds, your mind clouding from the pleasure as soft gasps escaped your lips.

Heeseung ate you like a starved man, alternating sucking on your clit and fucking you with his tongue, his strong grip prevented you from squirming around.

You rocked your hips against his mouth, needing to chase the pleasure building inside your lower belly.

You reached a hand and placed it on his head, your fingers tangling in his locks, “Mh, that’s it, angel.” He murmured, “Fuck my tongue.”

And so you followed his orders, moving with deep and slow thrusts, just enough to send jolts of pleasure through your jody as Heeseung stuck his warm tongue inside of you.

Soon, your movements grew sloppier and faster, your lips parted “I’m— I’m gonna—“ And before you could even finish your sentence, your orgasm hit you, making your back arch off the bed, your legs shaking.

“This was so hot, baby.” Heeseung pressed a few more kitten licks on your clit before raising himself, caressing your thighs with his thumbs.

You looked up at him, your breath still uneven from the great amount of pleasure he had put you in.

He gave you a small smirk before reaching behind you and taking your forgotten book back. He flipped the pages “Spoiler, she gives him a BJ.” He said.

You chuckled, your body now recovered as you sat up “And you don’t want it?” You batted your eyelashes.

Heeseung took a steady breath. “Don’t tempt me.” He quickly searched further one the book, scanning lines and as he found something he liked, he pointed at it, a small laugh escaping his lips.

“As much as I love feeling your mouth around me, I want to feel you whole.” He murmured.

You sat up, crawling towards him to the edge of the bed “Maybe I want to.”

His breath caught in his throat, your vicinity and your words going straight to his cock “The way she does.”

Heeseung went back to the chapter where it all started, scanning the lines until he read “After making her see stars, he quickly unbuttoned his jeans, his gaze dangerous. ‘Your moans were so sweet, darling.’ He murmured, lowering his jeans and boxers, his cock sprung free.” He paused to gulp.

“He took the back of her head and moved her ‘till her neck bent in an awkward position, his red tip brushing against her lips.” He lowered the book.

“Is this how you want it? Rough?” Heeseung questioned and you nodded “Might as well follow the script.” You shrugged.

A low groan built in his throat, you tugged the hem of his shirt “This off?” Your eyes glistened with fake innocence.

Heeseung swiftly worked his shirt off, throwing it on the floor. It’s not like you had never seen him without a shirt on, you were used to him during beach dates or pool parties, but it was always so breathtaking.

Heeseung smirked, noticing the way your hungry stare was studying his chest. In the blink of an eye his shorts joined his shirt, his cock hard and angry, some pre-cum smeared over the tip.

“Be a good girl and open up for me,” He murmured as he climbed on the bed, his hand clutching the headboard to keep himself steady.

You quickly laid down, his hips hovering on your face. You looked up at him, doe-eyes looking ever so pure… And then you took him all in your mouth.

Heeseung threw his head back at the feeling of your tongue swirling around his cock, your head bobbing back and forth.

“Fuck,” He breathed out, his eyes meeting yours “So good, always so good.”

He caressed your cheek, his thumb grazing gently your skin as his hips bucked, meeting your pace.

He then pulled out, making you frown which was soon transformed when his lips met yours.

You could feel his cock twitching between your breasts, one of his hands squeezing it as his lips claimed yours.

The kiss was sloppy and messy, both of your tongues moving together, his spit down your throat.

He was delaying his orgasm, you noted, because he would’ve cum just from a few licks of yours.

And then he pulled his lips away from yours to thrust his throbbing length inside your mouth again “Mh… Yes— Shit. You’re so good, angel. Mouth made just for me.” He praised as he moved.

You hummed, sending waves of pleasure all through his body.

You gripped his thighs, bobbing your head faster, desperate to bring him the pleasure he deserved.

Heeseung understood and gripped the headboard with both of his hands, his hips thrusting inside of your warm and wet mouth. He hit the back of your throat, making you gag “I’m so close.” He breathed out.

At his words, you ignored the burning sensation building in your throat and hollowed your cheeks, with a few more thrusts he was emptying himself with a groan.

When he pulled out, you licked any drop of cum that spilled out your mouth and hummed happily.

Heeseung chuckled, leaning down again to capture your lips in a messy but loving kiss.

You playfully bit his bottom lip and he pulled away, yelping “Brat.”

You smiled at him and sat up, your voice just briefly hoarse “What happens next?”

Heeseung’s gaze darkened but his words were serious “You sure you want to continue?” He sighed softly, “Baby, I don’t want to hurt you.”

You smiled reassuringly and beckoned to the book “Time to change chapter.”

Heeseung let out a quiet groan, his cock visibly twitching “He fucks her against the wall.” He narrated what he had read “Hard, hand around her throat… is that what you want?”

Just the idea of doing it that way had you drenched down there, a shiver ran along your spine “Yes, Hee.” You breathed out, and to emphasise you add “I need it.”

“My nasty girl.” He practically growled as he got up from the bed, taking you with him and slammed you against the wall of his bedroom.

You yelped when your back hit the cold surface, the tapping of the raindrops on the window your background music.

Heeseung claimed your lips again as one of his hands snuck to squeeze your backside, his fingers kneading it.

You could again feel his hard cock pressing against your stomach, its warmth infecting your core.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you,” He whispered on you throat “To have you milk my cock as I take you so hard you can’t say a coherent word.”

You rocked your hips against his, a clear effect of his words, your arms wrapped around his neck.

As if you weighed nothing, he raised you and you wrapped your legs around his sculpted waist.

Without any warning except for the aligning of his cock, he slammed deep inside of you, making you moan out.

Heeseung wasn’t the biggest cock you’ve seen, but he surely was the longest. You could feel him so deep, he could probably even reach your stomach if he tried hard enough.

You gripped the back of his neck like your life depended on it as he moved without any mercy, pulling all the way out until the tip just to slam back in, knocking the air out of your lungs.

He snuck one hand between your breasts and reached your throat, wrapping it around it. He gripped, not enough to choke you but good enough to make you light-headed.

His cock pounded hard into you, driving your brain into nothing but a puddle of his name, the one you screamed and moaned.

Your nails dug into his shoulders and he grunted, rewarding you with a deeper thrust, one you can almost feel in your centre, where the familiar knot was tightening.

Your eyes rolled back, just moans and whimpers escaping your lips.

Heeseung removed the hand from your throat and gripped your neck instead, letting your lungs that were screaming in protest fill with air up to their capacity.

He moved so your forehead pressed against his, both of you panting in each other’s mouth, your pussy clenching around him.

He groaned, he put one of his hands on the wall to steady himself as his hips kept bucking fast on yours, the sound of skin slapping mixing up with the rain’s.

“Is this what you like, baby?” Heeseung asked, moving his face to gently nip on your neck.

Your whole body felt sensitive from the attention he was giving it, from his small hickeys to the way he kept hitting your sweet spot “Y-yes.” You croaked out “Feels s’good, fuck.”

Heeseung grinned and stilled, twitching inside of you with a groan.

Before you could even comprehend it, he had you with your back on the mattress, never pulling out of you.

Your legs spread open, eager to feel him in you, to let him claim him.

“Fuck,” He grunted out, his pace never once faltering as he gripped your thighs to help himself, surely there would be marks the next day “Feels like heaven inside of you.”

You answered with a muffled whimper, not sure if your brain could even form out a word anymore.

He leaned on you, chest pressed against chest as he hid his face in the crook of his neck, his hot breath hitting your skin.

You rolled your eyes back, the pleasure building inside of you almost unbearable “Hee..” You breathed out, gripping his forearm to warn him where words couldn’t reach.

“I know,” He murmured, “Me too, baby…”

You cried out as you tried to delay your orgasm the same way he could do, but the pleasure was too much and before you could even try to resist more, you saw white.

Your back arched off the bed and squirmed around, your walls clenching tight around Heeseung who, despite your state, never stopped thrusting.

“Shit— Where do you want it?” He asked, because it was in some ways a first timer. First time going rough, first time going raw.

You couldn’t find your voice, your eyes watery from the impact of your orgasm, so you wrapped your legs around his waist, trapping him.

He frowned “Are you— Fuck.” You felt his cum filling you up to the brim, the sensation so sweet a gasp left your lips as he rocked slowly, adrenaline lowering.

After a couple of minutes where neither of you had the energy to move, Heeseung raised himself and offered you a warm smile “How was it?” He questioned as he stood up.

The sight of you, sprawled on his bed with both your seeds running down your thighs was enough to make him pop another boner, which earned him a side eye from you.

“Don’t worry, baby.” Heeseung chuckled, opening one of the drawers to retrieve one of his shirts and helping you in it. He then carefully cleaned you up, dried the sweat running down your forehead and after putting back on his shorts and underwear, he laid beside you.

One of his arms snuck around your shoulder, he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead “You’ll have to go commando, since I ripped your panties.” You giggled, hugging him tighter.

“I really enjoyed… this.” Heeseung smirked, “I bet.” He glanced at the book, now resting on the bedside table “Come to me when you start another book, yeah?”

Heeseung absentmindedly squeezed your breast through the shirt “I’ll make sure to recreate it all… even may steal some of the lines.”

Content that he wasn’t going to judge you for your strange likings, rather supporting them, you let yourself be held as the storm outside slowly died, the breeze hitting your skin as you fell asleep, safe in his arms.

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louisa-gc · 1 year ago

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how to start reading again

from someone who was a voracious reader until high school and is now getting back into it in her twenties.

start with an old favourite. even though it felt a little silly, i re-read the harry potter series one christmas and it wiped away my worry that i wasn't capable of reading anymore. they are long books, but i was still able to get completely immersed and to read just as fast as i had years and years ago.

don't be afraid of "easier" books. before high school i was reading the french existentialists, but when getting back into reading, i picked up lucinda riley and sally rooney. not my favourite authors by far, but easier to read while not being totally terrible. i needed to remind myself that only choosing classics would not make me a better or smarter person. if a book requires a slower pace of reading to be understood, it's easier to just drop it, which is exactly what i wanted to avoid at first.

go for essays and short stories. no need to explain this one: the shorter the whole, the less daunting it is. i definitely avoided all books over 350 pages at first and stuck to essay collections until i suddenly devoured donna tartt's goldfinch.

remember it's okay not to finish. i was one of those people who finished every book they started, but not anymore! if i pick up a book at the library and after a few chapters realise i'd rather not read it, i just return it. (another good reason to use your local library! no money spent on books you might end up disliking.)

analyse — or don't. some people enjoy reading more when they take notes or really stop to think about the contents. for me, at first, it was more important to build the habit of reading, and the thought of analysing what i read felt daunting. once i let go of that expectation, i realised i naturally analyse and process what i read anyway.

read when you would usually use your phone. just as i did when i was a child, i try to read when eating, in the bathroom, on public transport, right before sleeping. i even read when i walk, because that's normally a time i stare at my screen anyway. those few pages you read when you brush your teeth and wait for a friend very quickly stack up.

finish the chapter. if you have time, try to finish the part you're reading before closing the book. usually i find i actually don't want to stop reading once i get to the end of a chapter — and if i do, it feels like a good place to pick up again later.

try different languages. i was quickly approaching a reading slump towards the end of my exchange year, until i realised i had only had access to books in english and that, despite my fluency, i was tired of the language. so as soon as i got back home i started picking up books in my native tongue, which made reading feel much easier and more fun again! after some nine months, i'm starting to read in english again without it feeling like a huge task.

forget what's popular. i thought social media would be a fun way to find interesting books to read, but i quickly grew frustrated after hating every single book i picked up on some influencer's recommendation. it's certainly more time-consuming to find new books on your own, but this way i don't despise every novel i pick up.

remember it isn't about quantity. the online book community's endless posts about reading 150 books each year or 6 books in a single day easily make us feel like we're slow, bad readers, but here's the thing: it does not matter at all how many books you read or what your reading pace is. we all lead different lives, just be proud of yourself for reading at all!

stop stressing about it. we all know why reading is important, and since the pandemic reading has become an even more popular hobby than it was before (which is wonderful!). however, there's no need to force yourself to be "a reader". pick up a book every now and then and keep reading if you enjoy it, but not reading regularly doesn't make you any less of a good person. i find the pressure to become "a person who reads" or to rediscover my inner bookworm only distances me from the very act of reading.

#louisa-gc #academia #studyblr #aesthetic #book #books #reading #read #advice #help #university #study #uni #library #bibliophile #it girl #that girl #habits #booktok #booktube #bookstagram

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cyofii · 2 months ago

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⩩﹕IN WHICH Phainon, always the playful troublemaker, decides to help his friend Mydei get closer to you. With the new library opening next to your favorite café, Mydei, the kind and mysterious owner, has been secretly watching you but has never had the courage to talk to you. Now, with a little help from Phainon, the chance is finally here. As you share shy glances and small talk, the two of you slowly begin to understand each other. Meanwhile, Phainon watches happily, believing his plan will work… eventually.

wc: 3.6k 𐔌 ᯓ modern/college au, slow burn, friends to lovers, mydei being secretly smitten, mutual pinning if you squint, might be ooc!

“I heard there’s a new library that just opened right beside the café we always go to,” Castorice said, glancing up from her book with a hint of excitement in her voice. It looked like she had been jotting down ideas for a new chapter again—her pen still hovering above the page. You looked up from your phone, eyebrows raised in confusion as you tried to recall if you’d seen any signs of construction the last time you were there.

“Really? Are you thinking of going there to look for inspiration?” you asked, slowly lowering your phone on the table as curiosity began to spark in your voice. Castorice nodded, a soft smile spreading across her face, the kind that made her eyes light up. “I thought it might be nice,” she said, “A change of scenery could help me get through this chapter.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” you asked with a warm smile, your voice gentle as you leaned slightly forward, genuinely interested. “We could check out the library first, and then head to the café to hang out like we usually do.”

Castorice looked at you, her smile growing a little wider, touched by the offer. “I’d really like that,” she replied softly, her fingers pausing on the edge of her notebook. “It’s easier for me to write when you’re around… I feel less stuck.” Her gaze lingered for a moment, as if silently thanking you for always being there.

“No problem!” you said with a cheerful grin, flashing a smile in her direction. As you and Castorice continued chatting, the soft hum of the cafeteria around you blending into the background, a familiar figure with white hair approached, looking mildly frazzled and out of breath.

“There you guys are!” Phainon exclaimed, sliding into the seat beside you with a dramatic sigh. “Professor Anaxa just won’t let me go until I finish that one-thousand-word essay about Dromas,” he groaned, slumping forward onto the table as if the weight of academic suffering had finally crushed him. “I swear he has it out for me.”

“Well, you did turn in a blank essay before,” you said with a teasing smile, unable to hold back a laugh. “So honestly? This one’s totally on you.”

Castorice let out a soft giggle, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, clearly amused by the memory. Meanwhile, Phainon only sighed louder, dramatically resting his forehead on the table.

“I was having a creative block, okay?” he mumbled, voice muffled against the surface. “Totally different situation.”

“Whatever you say…” you said with a playful smile, shaking your head slightly. Then a thought struck you. “Oh, by the way—are you free after class? Cas and I were planning to check out the new library next to the café we always go to.”

Phainon lifted his head, blinking a few times before meeting your gaze. “Library and café?” he echoed, then gave a quick nod. “Sure! Sounds better than sulking in the dorms over that essay, anyway.”

The afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting golden patches of light across your desk. Professor Anaxa was deep into his lecture about ancient civilizations, his voice steady as he paced across the front of the room. You were half-listening, somewhere between jotting down notes and sneaking glances at your two friends.

Castorice sat a few seats ahead, scribbling diligently in her notebook, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration. It was clear she was trying her best to stay focused, though the way her gaze occasionally drifted to the window hinted that her thoughts were already wandering toward the library plans.

Beside you, Phainon looked like a tired golden retriever stuck in a history class. His head rested on his hand, eyelids drooping every few minutes, and every now and then, he’d scribble something that probably wasn’t related to the lecture, just enough to make it look like he was keeping up.

You nudged him with your elbow. He flinched upright slightly, blinking at you with a betrayed, sleepy expression.

“I was listening,” he whispered, clearly bluffing.

“Sure you were,” you whispered back, trying not to laugh.

Up front, Professor Anaxa paused mid-sentence and turned around. “Is there something amusing you’d like to share with the class?” he asked, arching a brow.

You and Phainon straightened in sync, both shaking your heads quickly like well-behaved students. Castorice glanced over her shoulder with a small, knowing smile, barely hiding her amusement.

As soon as the professor turned back to the board, Phainon leaned toward you again and muttered, “Okay, maybe I do deserve that one-thousand-word essay…”

The moment Professor Anaxa dismissed the class with a sharp tap of his pen against the desk, the three of you practically leapt out of your seats. Phainon let out a dramatic groan as he stretched, slinging his bag over his shoulder like he’d just escaped a life sentence.

“Freedom never tasted so good,” he sighed, trailing after you and Castorice as you all made your way down the hallway.

Castorice chuckled softly, hugging her notebook close to her chest. “You act like you just finished a twelve-hour shift at a coal mine.”

“I might as well have,” Phainon replied, feigning exhaustion. “My brain has withered. My soul aged ten years.”

You smiled. “Good thing we’re going somewhere peaceful. Who knows, maybe the library will help restore your ‘withered’ brain.”

The three of you stepped out into the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. The sidewalk was quiet, lined with swaying trees and the occasional rustle of passing students. Just a short walk from the campus gates, the familiar café came into view—its windows glowing softly, the scent of brewed coffee drifting through the air. But today, your eyes were drawn to the sleek building next to it: tall glass windows, elegant wood paneling, and a freshly painted sign that read Kremnoan Public Library.

“There it is,” Castorice said, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to it. “It looks so calm.”

“And bookish,” Phainon added. “Like a place where the air itself smells like old pages and productivity.”

You laughed. “Let’s check it out.”

The doors opened with a soft chime, and the scent of new books and polished wood wrapped around you like a gentle hug. Shelves stretched high and far, with sunlight pouring in from the skylights above. It was quiet, but not cold—welcoming, like it had been waiting for people just like you.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” Castorice murmured, already drifting toward a corner desk near the window.

Phainon blinked up at the ceiling. “I might actually feel inspired to write that essay…”

You raised a brow. “That’s a big maybe.”

He grinned. “I said might.”

Ignoring Phainon's words, the three of you quietly went your separate ways inside the library.

The space was bigger than it looked from the outside, with towering shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly. You wandered through the aisles, your eyes drifting over titles that sparked your curiosity, history books, fantasy epics, and scientific journals. Despite all the options, you somehow ended up in the light novel section, the one place you often found comfort after a long day.

You slowly scanned the shelves, your fingers brushing across worn covers and fresh ones alike. A few familiar titles stood out, but one in particular caught your attention. It was a book Castorice had recommended to you before. The cover looked exactly like how she described it, and just the sight of it brought a small smile to your face.

You reached out for it without hesitation, eager to finally give it a try. Just as your fingers touched the book, another hand reached out at the same time.

Your hands brushed against each other.

Startled, you looked up just as the other person did too.

A man stood across from you, tall and composed, with an unfamiliar but calm presence. His eyes met yours for a moment, sharp, golden, and strangely warm. He didn’t speak right away, and neither did you.

The silence stretched, not awkward, but still enough to make you realize your hand was still lightly touching his.

“Oh,” he said, voice low and smooth, almost too gentle for someone his size. He glanced at the book between your hands. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

You quickly pulled your hand back, heart skipping a beat. “Ah—sorry! Did you want it?”

He shook his head, the corner of his lips lifting into a small smile. “No, you go ahead. I’ve already read it. It’s a good one.”

He reached up to return another book to the shelf beside you. The cuff of his black dress shirt shifted slightly as he moved, his gestures neat and practiced. Before you could think of anything else to say, he gave you a short nod and stepped away, heading toward another section with quiet, steady footsteps.

You stood frozen, gripping the book.

“He’s… handsome,” you muttered, a bit too loudly.

A soft snort came from behind.

You turned to see Castorice standing there, eyebrows raised and clearly holding back a grin. “That obvious?”

Your face warmed. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

She laughed quietly, linking her arm with yours. “Come on, lovebird. Let’s find a seat.”

The next day, the cafeteria buzzed with its usual midday chaos—clattering trays, low chatter, and the hum of students trying to relax between classes. You and Castorice sat across from each other, your half-eaten lunch long forgotten as the conversation circled back to the one thing that had been stuck in your mind since yesterday.

“I still can’t believe you said that out loud,” Castorice teased, sipping her iced tea with a knowing smile. “You should’ve seen your face.”

You groaned softly, hiding behind your hands. “I was caught off guard, okay? He was just… he had this calm aura. And his voice. And the way he just—ugh. Why are mysterious guys always so cool?”

“He was polite too,” Castorice nodded thoughtfully. “Didn’t even look annoyed when your hand touched his.”

You glanced to the side, then back at her. “I wonder who he is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around before.”

Just then, Phainon plopped down beside you, placing a few snack packs on the table. “You two are talking about Mydei, huh?”

You blinked. “Wait. You know his name?”

Phainon raised an eyebrow like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. We’re in the same Ethics class.”

Castorice nearly dropped her drink. “You know him?!”

“Sure do,” he said with a casual shrug, already tearing open a bag of chips. “Smart guy. Doesn’t talk much. Kinda intense. Has this weirdly perfect handwriting.”

You stared at him. “And you just… didn’t say anything yesterday?”

Phainon stuffed a chip into his mouth. “No one asked.”

You and Castorice exchanged a look of disbelief.

“He’s a student?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Phainon nodded. “Same year, too. He just keeps to himself most of the time. Spends a lot of time in the library ever since it opened. Pretty sure he works there too or something. Might even live nearby.”

You blinked slowly, the realization settling in. “That explains a lot.”

Phainon smirked. “What, you gonna go back to the library and confess now?”

Your hand immediately went to your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering.

Castorice chuckled. “Be honest, if we run into him again, you’re totally going to freeze, aren’t you?”

“I’ll have you know,” you said, trying to sound dignified, “that I am perfectly capable of functioning like a normal person around handsome, mysterious guys.”

Both of them stared at you.

“…Sometimes,” you added.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself back at the Kremnoan Library, though you weren’t entirely sure why.

You hadn’t borrowed anything yesterday. There was no real reason to come back. But here you were, wandering past the front desk with Castorice beside you, trying to look casual while your eyes flicked over every aisle.

Castorice leaned in slightly. “So… are we pretending this is just another visit, or are we being honest about it?”

You gave her a pointed look. “It’s a library. I’m allowed to show up and browse.”

She grinned. “Sure. Totally not hoping to accidentally run into someone.”

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to turn into the same section as before—the shelves filled with light novels and some fantasy titles. You pretended to scan the books, fingers lightly brushing along the covers, heart quietly thudding in your chest for no reason you could admit aloud.

Then you heard it.

“You’re back.”

You turned, and there he was again.

Mydei stood a few feet away, holding a couple of books in one hand, a calm expression on his face. His gaze met yours easily, as if you were someone he fully expected to see again.

“Looking for something specific?” he asked, voice as smooth as yesterday, but a touch more curious.

“I… no,” you admitted. “Just browsing again.”

He nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the shelf you were near. “There’s a new arrival two rows over. Same author as the one you were interested in yesterday.”

You blinked. “You remembered?”

He gave the smallest shrug. “It was a good choice.”

You barely registered Castorice pretending not to hover behind you.

“Well, thank you,” you said, trying not to smile too hard. “I might check it out.”

He gave you a soft look, not quite a smile, but something that lingered in his eyes, before turning and walking past. His footsteps were quiet on the wooden floor.

Castorice waited two full seconds before whispering, “Okay. He remembered what book you were looking at, and you still think it was just a coincidence?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you said, trying to steady your breath.

From the next aisle, Phainon suddenly popped his head around the corner, holding a random book and grinning like he knew everything.

“Are we still pretending this is a casual visit, or are we admitting it now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “How long have you been there?”

Phainon shrugged. “Long enough.”

He tossed the book into the crook of his arm and added, “Oh, by the way, Mydei and I have a class later. I’ll tell him you said hi.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. “You are unbelievable.”

“But you didn’t say not to,” Phainon said innocently, strolling off like this was all a normal day.

Castorice was already laughing beside you. “We should’ve known he’d show up.”

“Mydeimos!” Phainon called out, walking toward Mydei, who was just about to exit the classroom.

“Oh, it’s you. What do you want now?” Mydei raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with indifference.

Phainon dramatically placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt by the cold reception. “When you’re talking to them, you get all soft and gentle, but when it comes to me, it’s all cold and distant!” He pretended to sniff, his eyes wide with playful sadness. “Why do you hate me, Mydeimos?”

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t get all nice and soft for you like I do for others,” he said, his tone playful.

Phainon let out a playful sigh, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I see how it is. I’ll remember this betrayal.”

“You’re impossible,” Mydei muttered, but the smirk on his face said otherwise.

“Still, though, you pulled it off!” Phainon beamed, clearly proud of himself. He hadn’t expected his little plan to actually work.

A few days before you and Mydei spoke for the first time, Mydei had already been admiring you from afar. Ever since Phainon befriended you on the very first day, he’d noticed the way Mydei’s gaze lingered a bit too long whenever you were around. It was a shame, really. Mydei didn’t even share a single class with you.

But Phainon had noticed. Whether it was in the corner of the cafeteria, walking down the hallway, or lingering near the courtyard, Mydei always seemed to be nearby whenever you and Castorice were hanging out. That’s when Phainon decided to do something about it.

He cornered Mydei one day after their ethics class.

“You like them, don’t you?” Phainon had said with a raised eyebrow.

As expected, Mydei did not give him a clear answer. He either dodged the question completely or brushed it off like it meant nothing. But Phainon did not give up. He remembered Mydei mentioning that he was the owner of the new library being built beside the café that the three of you often visited.

That’s when the plan formed.

The moment the Kremnoan Library opened, Phainon made it his mission to drag you there. He figured that if Mydei wouldn’t make a move, he’d give him the perfect opportunity: a quiet space, the two of you alone, no interruptions. Just enough to spark something... or at least get Mydei to finally speak to you.

And now, seeing how things were playing out, Phainon couldn’t help but feel smug.

“You know… I heard something new was added to the menu at the café next to your library,” Phainon said, wiggling his eyebrows at Mydei.

Mydei didn’t even hesitate, he lightly punched Phainon on the arm.

“What are you planning now exactly?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Phainon grinned. “You ask them to go on a date with you! I’ll make sure Castorice and I are conveniently busy so we don’t interrupt.”

He leaned back against the wall with a smug expression, clearly enjoying himself as he imagined how everything might play out. "C'mon, you've got the perfect setting. Just say the word, and I'll handle the rest."

It was a quiet Saturday morning when you found yourself once again wandering into the Kremnoan Library. With no classes and the weather calm and cool, it felt like the perfect day to catch up on some reading.

You were flipping through a book near the back shelves when you heard someone approach. The footsteps were light but familiar, and when you turned your head, you found Mydei standing there.

He looked a bit more casual than usual, wearing the same black dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and for a brief moment, he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Do you have any plans today?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not really. Just came here to read.”

“Perfect,” he said, a little too quickly, before clearing his throat. “I was thinking... maybe we could go to the café next door. Together.”

You blinked in surprise. “You mean... right now?”

He nodded. “If you’re free. I thought... maybe I could buy you something.”

You couldn’t stop the grin that formed. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mydei?”

He didn’t answer right away, but a small, almost shy smirk appeared on his lips. “Only if you say yes.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling a warmth rise in your chest. “Then yes.”

Mydei’s smirk grew just a little, and without another word, he motioned for you to walk with him. You both exited the library together, stepping into the gentle morning breeze. The café was just a short walk away, and for a while, the two of you walked side by side in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward at all.

You leaned back a little in your chair, sipping your juice as you watched Mydei quietly fiddle with the handle of his coffee cup. It was rare to see him look unsure of himself. Usually, he carried a calm, unreadable air, but right now, he looked like he was searching for words.

"Mydei?" you asked gently, setting your drink down. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head quickly, almost too quickly. "No. It’s just..." He paused, frowning at his coffee as if it would help him gather his thoughts.

You waited patiently, a small smile playing on your lips.

"I’m not good with... saying things," he finally muttered. "But... I think you’re... nice. And... I like being around you."

His voice was quiet, but honest, almost vulnerable.

You blinked, your heart fluttering at his words. A warm feeling bubbled up inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft laugh.

"That's the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day," you said warmly.

Mydei coughed awkwardly, his hand running through his messy hair as he looked away, his ears slightly tinted red. "I just thought you should know," he added, his voice almost a grumble.

You smiled brightly and leaned forward just a little. "Well, I like being around you, too."

He glanced back at you, and for a moment, the faintest smile touched his lips, gentle and unguarded.

The sun outside glowed a little brighter through the window, but somehow, nothing felt warmer than the look Mydei was giving you right now.

Unbeknownst to you and Mydei, two very familiar figures had quietly slipped into the café. Hiding behind a menu near the entrance, Phainon and Castorice peered over the top, barely containing their giggles.

"Would you look at that," Phainon whispered, a mischievous grin on his face. "Our dear Mydei actually pulled it off."

Castorice nodded, smiling fondly. "They look good together," she said softly.

"Should we say hi?" Phainon asked, already halfway standing up.

Castorice grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him down. "No way. Let them have their moment."

Phainon pouted, but stayed put, sneaking another peek at you and Mydei. The two of you were leaning closer now, smiling and talking like no one else in the world existed. It was honestly too sweet to interrupt.

With a defeated sigh, Phainon slumped in his seat. "Fine, fine. But I’m teasing both of them later."

Castorice chuckled. "Only if you want Mydei to strangle you."

Phainon snickered. "Worth it."

With that, the two of them exited the café, sneaking off down the sidewalk like mischievous partners-in-crime, already planning how they would tease you both the next time you met.

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lovetrouble123 · 19 days ago

Text

Kindergarten Crush

Synopsis: Damian finds himself stuck with the annoying popular girl everyday

TW: neglectful parent(s) alluded too???

A/N: okay yall🤩 since yall rlly liked that last fic I uploaded about all the boys, here’s one about just Damian lol🤭 (okay but fr yall ate that shit up and I couldn’t be any more thankful <3 thank you so much and enjoy reading!!)

Masterlist

part 2

⋆˚✿˖°

Gotham Academy was a school for the rich, and Damian Al Ghul Wayne was one of the many kids that attended…lucky him. The concept of going to school seemed like a waste of time for him considering he was an assassin. He should be spending his time training, and yet his father shipped him off to some useless school during the day.

He tried not to draw attention to himself, but his ‘sophisticated’ personality really just made him stand out all the more…especially considering his father is the Bruce Wayne. So, to counter the annoying popularity that came from his last name, he preferred to stay alone. Partner work? He would ask to work alone. Projects? Alone. Lunch time? He would sit in the school courtyard and eat the lunch that Alfred prepared for him.

It was always quiet out there. There would rarely be other students, and if there were, it was the social outcasts who preferred the silence like he did. But he couldn’t blame them, they left him alone and he left them alone.

It was like any other lunch period. Damian sat alone at one of the stone tables, bag of apple slices laid out and one of his many thick chapter books pressed against the stone with his free hand keeping it open. His green eyes scanned each word as his mind consumed the words on the page, his mind playing the scene in his head.

“Is that Y/N?”

“What is she doing out here?”

“Go talk to them!”

The once quiet courtyard was now filled with chatter that Damian desperately tried to ignore, but even with his icy glare toward the others, his gaze landed on Y/N. Damian labeled Y/N an annoying presence, just like the other popular kids at his school. He knew her, but not well. Her father was some big shot in the government or something, but Damian didn’t really care who her father was. He just knew that he despised her and her clique.

But for once, she seemed relatively human. She sat alone at one of the other stone tables, a sketchbook pressed against the table with her earbuds in.

He rolled his eyes and finished his meal before packing up and heading toward the library for the rest of the lunch period.

The following day, Y/N wasn’t outside and the courtyard returned to its quiet setting again…and for the next few days, it was the same.

Until a week later on some random Thursday.

Damian sat at his table again, this time studying for some math test he would be taking later in the day. He had finished his meal a little while ago, and now sat studying…or he would have been studying if it wasn’t for Y/N standing in front of his table looking at him.

“Can I help you?” He rudely asked.

“Would you mind being my muse?” Y/N sweetly asked.

Damian tore his eyes away from his textbook and looked at Y/N. “No.”

“Oh, okay,” she then turned and walked off.

The next day, Y/N found Damian again outside and sat down across from him. “I need help on my language homework, can you help me?”

“No—.”

“But it’s Arabic,” Y/N insisted. “Don’t you speak it? I heard that you did.”

He did, fluently. But why would he take time out of his day to help her?

“I do, but why would I help you?”

A week passed before Y/N wandered up to Damian after one of their shared classes together and asked him for some notes she missed. Damian wanted to tell her to go away, but she was clearly persistent considering she kept coming back. So finally, he gave in.

It took two months before Damian began to warm up to Y/N. He wasn’t going soft, not at all. But maybe she wasn’t as bad as he originally thought.

“Why do you no longer hang out with those popular kids?” Damian finally asked during one lunch period.

“I realized they weren’t good people,” she shrugged. “Why do you always hang out alone?”

“Touché,” Damian replied.

Another month passed and he found himself thinking about Y/N, even on missions. How bothersome. He still did his missions flawlessly with his father, but even he could tell he was acting slightly different, even if he didn’t admit it out loud. Self awareness.

“Do you want to share my Oeros with me?” Y/N asked as she sat beside Damian in the library. It was raining outside which caused the two to haul up inside the quiet library.

Damian glanced at the small blue box labeled ‘Oreos’ before his eyes flickered to Y/N. “I’m okay,” he said. “But a whole box for lunch? That seems…unhealthy.”

Y/N shrugged and opened the box of cookies. “Not all of us have parents who care about their kid’s nutrition.”

“My father does not care,” Damian replies. “Pennyworth is the one who prepares my meals.”

“Pennyworth?” Y/N replied with furrowed brows as she ate her cookies.

“My butler,” Damian said.

“You have a butler? Must be nice,” Y/N sighed. “I have to do everything myself.”

“It’s his job to provide assistance,” Damian stated as he reached into his black school bag and pulled out a container of strawberries. “But your self reliance is admirable…although I doubt that Pennyworth would allow Oreos for just a meal.” He then glanced down at his strawberries, “if you…want some strawberries…you can have some.”

Why did he just offer some of his meal? It’s his meal, and if Y/N was dumb enough not to pack a proper meal, that was on her.

“Oh, okay, thanks,” Y/N smiled.

Damian gently slid the container between them as he tried to act aloof and ignore the way his heart seemed to flutter at her smile. But he looked away and reached into his school bag and brought out a small black sketchbook, as well as a pencil. He flipped it to a free and clean page as Y/N spoke up, “I didn’t realize you drew, Damian.”

“Father said it would be good for me to pick up a hobby that wasn’t training…something to keep me occupied,” Damian admits. “I suppose I’ve found myself enthralled with it.”

His father had recommended a multitude of hobbies, literally anything that wasn’t training for missions. He already knew Damian would train anyway, he had done it since he was just a little kid…but Damian needed outlets…something other than getting murderous tendencies.

“Training?” Y/N asked, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

He slipped up, and he hadn’t meant to. Why did he slip up anyway? He was usually so good at keeping his mouth shut about the whole Robin thing.

“Fencing,” Damian lied. “Father believes that I spend too much time obsessing over it.”

“I didn’t know you took fencing,” Y/N said as she reached for the strawberry container and picked one up.

“Fencing, martial arts, self defense,” Damian trailed off as he began to draw. “I take multiple lessons.”

“Maybe you can teach me sometime,” Y/N suggested. “I used to take martial arts as a kid, but I was too little to keep it up.”

He briefly paused as he thought over her request. Was he seriously considering spending time with her? …yes.

“Perhaps when I have time,” Damian vaguely said.

Y/N nodded as her eyes flickered to the sketchbook, “what kinds of things do you like to draw?”

“Whatever comes to mind,” Damian admits. “I am not picky.”

Y/N smiles, “you’ll have to show me sometime.”

“No.”

“Yeah, alright, that’s fair,” Y/N said as she leaned back in her chair. “I refuse to show anyone what I draw too.”

Damian silently nodded as he went back to his drawing, although he was silently aware of the girl’s presence beside him. He was aware of the way she crunched on her cookies, which was a little annoying…but then she’d take a strawberry from his container. He knew his mother would be disappointed him, especially his grandfather.

“You’re staring,” Damian pointed out with his eyes still on his sketch. “You’re not very subtle.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Y/N nonchalantly replied.

The sound of a bell then echoed throughout the library causing Y/N to groan in annoyance. “Lunch is over already, how annoying.” She grabbed her last Oreo and shoved it into Damian’s hand before getting up and leaving.

Damian’s brows furrowed as he stared and watched Y/N leave before his eyes trailed down to the cookie in his hand. The dark cookie contrasted against the milk white cream in the middle. Damian couldn’t help but softly smile in amusement before shaking his head and silently eating the Oero.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #batman x reader #damian wayne fluff #fluff #batman fic #batman #say it with me guys…#ily Damian

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redeemingvillains · 9 days ago

Text

with one glance - mattheo riddle

summary: a picture's worth a thousand words, and just one manages to say everything you've desperately tried to keep hidden from mattheo.

word count: 4k

a/n: fluff, fluffy, fluffiest, fluff fluff. i'm giggling over it! 🌻

“I did it! I passed!” Pansy shouted as she burst through the common room door.

Mattheo’s eyes tracked her as she marched over to the couches and plopped the folder in her hand on the table in front of him with a flourish.

“And not just passed, top marks!” she said smugly.

He rolled his eyes at her as she spun on her heels and pranced towards the girls dormitory.

“I’m going to tell YN! Drinks on me tonight!” she shouted, her voice echoing as it faded down the stone hallway.

He focused his attention back on the book in his lap, but then his eye caught the folder on the table, and the corners of the pictures that stuck out from it, and his leg began to bounce as his fingers fiddled with the corner of the page he was on.

He glanced back to make sure Pansy was gone.

And then he reached for the folder.

❀ Two weeks earlier ❀

Rain pattered against the windowpanes in the library as you sighed and turned the page of your history of magic textbook, taking a large sip of your coffee. Across from you Pansy’s head lulled in her propped-up hand before she finally surrendered, laying her head on her equally large muggle studies tome.

“If I don’t find something to do my end of term project on I’m going to fail and I am not retaking this class; I don’t even know why we have to study muggles, I mean really…” she said, her voice muffled by the pages.

Theo and Mattheo laughed quietly on either side of you and you smiled at her as she picked her head back up and began flipping through the pages again.

A few moments passed and you refocused your attention, the sound around you dulled to murmurs, the quiet turning of pages, the pattering rain, and the scratch of Mattheo’s quill.

“Ok wait, that’s adorable” Pansy laughed, something between mocking and sincerity in her expression as your eyes flickered up, sure that at this rate you wouldn’t get any studying done.

“What?” you appeased her.

“This chapter’s all about weddings and such and, look, they have this cute little concept of taking pictures for their betrothal– engagement, whatever they call it.”

She turned her book and your eyes skated over a myriad of pictures of couples who were clearly hopelessly in love, ogling over each other, here at the beach, there in a field of flowers.

“That’s sweet” you acknowledged, smiling.

Theo leaned over and let out an unsatisfied grunt.

Mattheo’s attention didn’t waiver from his homework but Lorenzo leaned over him, craning to see.

“What’s the point?” he asked. “Sitting there staring at each other when you’ll take a thousand pictures at the wedding anyway? Their pictures don’t even move.”

You looked up in time to see Pansy roll her eyes before she glanced back down at the page, fingers tracing it and you could see a familiar glint in her eye.

“That’s what I’ll do, I’ll do a little engagement photoshoot. I love photography anyway, it makes sense.”

You nodded assuredly, thinking of the prints that littered the walls of your dorm, of each other, of your friends; your mind wandered to your favorite, intentionally plastered amidst the rest so as not to stand out, of the dark haired boy beside you, your best friend, his curls ruffled as he smiled wide and then stuck his tongue out, a loop you spent more time than you cared to admit staring at.

You smiled thinking about it and willed yourself not to look at him as your cheeks flushed, betraying you.

“So, you’ll help me?”

“Hmm?” you hummed.

“You’ll help? You’ll do it with me?”

“I’m neither engaged nor a muggle, Pansy.”

“No but you’d be sooo perfect, please? And we’ll get someone to do it with you, obviously—"

“—Stare into her eyes in a field of flowers? Steal a sneaky kiss?” Lorenzo said, his hand shooting in the air. “My weekend’s free.”

You laughed and Mattheo’s attention was dragged from his parchment as he sat back and stared at Lorenzo.

“What?” Lorenzo said defensively at his dark gaze. “Surely you’re not going to do it?”

Mattheo’s eyes narrowed.

“Your whole aura doesn’t really give ‘prancing through the flowers’, mate.”

“And yours does?” Theo clarified.

Lorenzo sat back and gestured at himself in defense like the response was obvious.

“I was made for the camera.”

The two of them continued to bicker in whispers back and forth as you watched them and tried to contain your laughter.

“I’ll do it” Mattheo said, just loud enough to be heard over them.

Your head turned quickly to him in surprise.

Lorenzo wasn’t wrong. Mattheo was more than a little stoic, a bit of a closed book, but it was one of your favorite things about him, because you knew when he laughed, when he smiled, when he let his guard down around you, it really meant something.

Pansy glanced to you and him and back again, her smile growing wider.

“Perfect!” she said enthusiastically.

“Don’t come crying to me when you have a roll full of scowls” Lorenzo muttered.

That Saturday you woke to an idyllic late spring morning. The storms had cleared to welcome a perfect blue sky and even though you were tingling with nerves you couldn’t deny your excitement. You dressed in a simple white sundress, let your hair fall naturally and added just a touch of makeup; Pansy had wanted to lean into the whole outdoorsy theme, so you opted to keep things simple.

You wandered outside and just past greenhouse you could see two figures at edge of a large field of wildflowers near the forest and ran to catch up with them.

“Hi! Sorry! I’m here!” you said, a bit flustered.

“No worries!” Pansy said, and she continued talking, but you’d caught Mattheo’s eye as he turned to face you and his face broke into a smile that you knew all too well to be genuine happiness as his eyes traced you.

You smiled back as you looked up at him, appreciating the way his white top clung to his arms, the way the sun was glinting off his chestnut hair, averting your gaze quickly when you felt a familiar heat creeping in your cheeks. When did you think having a fake romantic photoshoot with the friend you were unfailingly in love was a good idea?

“…So yeah just go on then” Pansy said as she gestured to the field and then began fiddling with her muggle camera.

You both looked back at her, your bewilderment clear.

“Gonna need a bit more than that, Pans” Mattheo clarified, his voice scratchy in an early-morning way that had your toes curling in the long grass.

She glanced up and sighed, placing a hand on her hip.

“Just take her hand and walk” she instructed, shooing you off.

He looked back at you, eyebrows raised, and reached out his palm. You placed yours in his warm grasp and fell into step with him as he began to walk into the field.

But you didn’t make it three steps.

“You’re meant to be getting married, can you please intertwine your fingers, Riddle, and get a little closer” Pansy yelled.

His hand shifted without pause as he wrapped his fingers in yours, squeezing tightly as he gently pulled you into his side.

“So bossy” he muttered and you laughed, the moment breaking the intense nerves you’d had that you sensed he could feel as he squeezed your hand again.

“Alright, stop there, turn and face each other” Pansy instructed from a distance.

Your feet slowed hesitantly and you could hear the snap snap snap of her camera as you turned to face him and felt like your whole body was your heartbeat, like you could feel your nerves in the tips of your fingers as you looked up at him. He reached for your other hand, holding them both. You glanced down at the gesture before looking up at him and he winked, causing you to smile, to laugh again.

“Hey” he said quietly as your eyes met his. “I know there are loads of guys out there, but try to act a little happy you’re marrying me. For Pansy’s sake” he joked and your eyes grew wide at that.

“I’m not – I’m happy!” you said, unable to articulate why you were so nervous, realizing it was coming across as something else entirely.

“Why don’t we do a couple sitting then?” Pansy said.

“So artsy” you replied, turning to her.

She pointed adamantly.

“Ok! Ok!” you said, dropping down, your dress fanning you as Mattheo sat beside you.

“Closer.”

You sighed and scooched closer, terrified to meet his eyes again.

“Just go ahead and talk to each other or something.”

Mattheo seemed completely at ease and didn’t seem to have any problem staring at you and you felt like he could see through your soul.

Finally, you met his eye, gathering yourself.

“Why’d you agree to do this?” you asked quietly as the camera clicked, releasing the question that has been on your mind since he’d volunteered.

Because I wouldn’t dare let anyone else do this with you, he thought.

He shrugged.

“No plans.”

You pushed his chest playfully and he grasped your hand.

“Perfect! So cute!” Pansy said.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t an act.

Mattheo leaned in and you stopped breathing altogether, certain he was going to kiss you, but then he reached for a wildflower, plucking it before looking back at you and thoughtfully tucking it behind your ear.

“Swoon!” you heard Pansy mutter, her camera clicking away.

“Smooth, Riddle” you said, your voice wobbly as his hand lingered against your cheek.

He didn’t have the heart to tell you it wasn’t an act.

“Alright, don’t kill me—” Pansy said, her voice dragging you away from the look in his eyes, and the feeling of his fingers against your cheek.

“—But is there a way you could like—" she motioned her hands like she wanted you to get closer. Short of crawling into his lap, closer wasn’t an option. You looked up at her, an eyebrow arched.

“Pans?”

“Maybe just make it look like, you know, like you’re going to kiss her, but if I stand here,” she said, moving away from the sun and kneeling down, “we can just make it look that way.”

Both of you paused, looking at her.

“Pleeaasee? I’ll be forever grateful.”

You turned to see him already looking at you.

“We don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable—”

“—It’s fine” you said, probably far too quickly. His lip twitched in a grin.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

It seemed an odd question, but you nodded, of course you did.

In a moment he reached for your hips and pulled you on top of him, the weight of you nearly toppling him over as your arms wound around his neck and his wound around you, holding you steady to him.

Pansy’s camera went wild like it was trying to keep in time with your pulse as you settled on his lap. You could feel his warm breath, his lips inches, centimeters from yours. He moved and pressed his forehead to yours and Pansy had some incredibly happy comment about it, but the world and all of your senses were reduced to just you and him, to how tightly he was holding you, to the smell of his cologne, mixed with wildflowers, like evergreen and summer, to the smell of the winterfresh gum that he favored and the look in his eyes, an unfailing sincerity there that had been there all morning, that was reducing you to a puddle. And then he smiled, the same smile in the polaroid that hung next to your bed, the same one you fell asleep looking at and woke up to every morning…

“Now she’s happy” he whispered, and you realized you were wearing a huge smile of your own.

A heartbeat, two.

Your hands moved to hold his face, to steady yourself, and you knew you couldn’t stay here a second longer without kissing him. But you also knew that kissing him would betray three years of friendship, and feelings that, if not voiced by now, clearly were not reciprocated.

His hand ran up your back and you felt him pull you against him and all you could think was how well he was selling it.

“Matty” you whispered, a plea, a beg, unsure whether you were begging him to keep going or to stop, though you were sure you’d never wanted anything more than this.

“M’gonna kiss you” he said finally.

He said hastily, leaving no time for a reply and then he was pulling you into him fully, his lips drawing yours to his and you couldn’t help the way your body relaxed and sank into him, the way your fingers threaded into his hair, the way you let out a tiny noise you’d never made before as his lips moved over yours like you’d done it all your life, unable to understand how this was the least nervous you’d been all day, because it felt right.

You kissed him back with the passion of three years of thinking about it, not leaving a single thing on the table, because there’d never be another moment to parade it like this again as you wound your tongue into his mouth, flicked his and his grip on your waist felt bruising in reply before he pulled away, fast.

“Fucking fuck” he hissed, holding you at a distance from him as he tried to catch his breath.

“S-sorry!” you replied, trying to catch your breath, to clear your clouded mind, hazy with him as you touched your fingers to your lips, already swollen from his kiss.

“No, do not, don’t apologize—"

Pansy cleared her throat.

And you both turned to see her not even bothering to point the camera, her face gobsmacked.

“Think I got what I need, then.”

“Right!” you said, shifting as Mattheo reluctantly helped you off his lap and you both stood and walked to meet her.

He casually intertwined his fingers in yours, and you held his hand tightly without realizing it. You didn’t let go until you entered the castle.

By the time you were back to the common room, the façade of the morning fell, and with it came a wave of uncertainty, of regret.

Mattheo slid onto the couch with your friends and you made your way, head down, to your room as Pansy followed quickly after you.

She was unusually quiet as she set her camera down and sank into her chair, watching you as you moved about the room, fussing, folding laundry, tying your hair up only to let it down again.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly.

Your movements faltered and you sighed.

“M’fine” you said quietly.

“That was …”

“Yeah. Well... I hope you do really well on your project.”

She knew you were being genuine, she knew you meant it, and that made her feel even worse than she already did, because even though you'd never voiced it, she knew exactly how much Mattheo meant to you.

“It looked real, YN. I mean the way he was looking at you all morning” she tried, reaching for her camera.

You shook your head.

“I don’t – it’s not like that” you said, shaking your head as she offered the camera to you. “Please. He was doing us a favor, plain as.”

You moved to bathroom and closed the door, and Pansy stared at the camera, flipping through the pictures for a long time.

Mattheo lay in bed that night and all he could think was how fucking stupid he’d been.

The second you’d come back to the common room you’d been off, and the rest of the day you’d kept him at an arms’ length. He’d pushed way too far when he kissed you, and clearly it’d made you uncomfortable.

… But the way you looked at him… The feeling of the warmth of your body against him, your fingers in his hair, the way you’d whispered his name…. he’d thought…

It didn’t matter.

Clearly he’d read the signs all wrong. And even that perfect fucking kiss wasn’t worth it because now you wouldn’t even look at him. He shoved his head in his pillow and groaned.

❀ Present ❀

Mattheo had been reading and re-reading the same sentence when Pansy burst into the common room, going on about her project.

He hadn’t forgotten about it, couldn’t forget the way you’d looked surrounded by that field of flowers in your white dress. It shouldn’t have done to him what it did but for the life of him he couldn’t stop thinking about it, the way you’d looked at him, the way the wind rustled your hair, the soft cotton of your dress, the feeling of your fingers in his, your weight in his lap, your fingers in his hair, your tongue... it plagued him. But he had forgotten completely about Pansy, about the project, about the pictures.

So when she left he reached for the folder with eager hands and six polaroids fell out alongside a scrap of parchment.

He flipped the pictures over and his heart stilled to a muffled beat.

The photos didn’t move, but in a way it made them more ethereal, like you were frozen in time, like had a piece of you, a moment that would never be the same again.

Him, with his fingers in your hair, tucking a flower there, how you’d teased him that it was for show, when it so clearly wasn’t.

Your tangled hands.

You in the summer sun glowing like a fucking angel. He refused to put that one back, holding it close to his chest instead.

Two others caught his eye. One of him, alone, clearly listening to something you were saying off camera, he stared at it and realized he looked like a lovesick puppy, like just how down bad he was might well have been written across his forehead. Am I that obvious? he thought.

But the last one.

It was one he didn’t even remember taking, both of you hand in hand, his back was to the camera but your expression was clear, you were glowing, you were looking at him like he hung the damn moon and stars, your eyes sparkled, and he loved it. He loved you he thought.

He looked back and forth between your expression and his and he replayed how you’d looked that day in his mind.

Why’d you agree to do this? you’d asked, like you didn’t already know.

Smooth, Riddle you’d said, begging him to tell you it wasn’t an act, though he couldn't find the words to.

And it was like he was solving a puzzle he’d been working on for three years; all the times you’d shied away from his gaze, the times you’d turned down dates with other guys or laid your head on his shoulder, it was always exactly what he’d thought it was, exactly what he wanted it to be.

He reached for the piece of parchment then, eyes scanning it quickly as he smiled, grabbing it alongside the polaroids before following quickly in Pansy’s footsteps.

Your door was open and he could hear your voices echoing as he moved to stand in the doorframe. You were seated cross-legged on your bed, textbooks open in front of you as Pansy chatted to you, walking around the room.

You looked up at him, surprise evident on your face; you’d been keeping your distance and until now he’d been respecting it.

“Oh” you said simply.

Pansy turned to see him, glancing at the messy bundle of pictures in his hands, and the expression on his face as he stared wide eyed at her best friend.

“Ha, yup, I’ll give you two a minute” she said as she brushed by him.

“Pans!” you whispered after her as you scrambled to your feet.

“Can I talk to you, please?” he asked.

“…Sure” you said hesitantly, not meeting his gaze as you leaned against your bed, eyes darting to your feet, unsure if you could ever look in his eyes again and see anything but his expression after you’d kissed, something you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life chasing.

He rubbed the back of his head and looked down at the pictures in his hands.

“Remember when you asked me why I offered to do Pansy’s project with you?”

Your eyes flitted up as his chosen topic of conversation.

“Yeah” you said quietly.

“Well – it’s… I thought – when she said – I mean for the longest time I…” he muttered. “Fucking hell. Here” he said, moving to your bed and dumping the polaroids there.

You glanced up at him before focusing your attention on the pictures.

You pulled one then another towards you, turning them so you could see them, analyzing them quietly, your fingers tracing over the frames, and stopping to rest on the one of you looking at him, the same one that had told him everything he needed to know, the answer to every question he’d asked himself for years clear on your face.

Your cheeks heated. Gods I look smitten, you thought and you felt your whole body blush.

In response he pulled the one of him next to it, the one where he was looking off camera at you, totally and completely enthralled and you bit your lip to keep from crying because you still weren’t sure what he was trying to say. We’re really good actors? Something more? And then he pulled the piece of parchment out of his pocket and spread it next to them. It was a note from Pansy’s professor.

Excellent, Pansy. Your talent with the camera is exceptional and you captured the essence of this milestone moment clearly. These two? They remind me of Mihri Hatun, ‘At one glance I loved you with a thousand hearts’. Beautiful!

You read the words and you felt a tingle throughout your body as the small hairs on your arm stood at attention and you looked up at him again.

“At first, I offered to do it because I didn’t like the idea of Enzo drooling all over you. But, selfishly? I wanted to know what it’d feel like, to pretend, for a while, that I could be something more than a friend to you, that you could look at me that way. But…” he looked back at the picture of you, “you kinda are looking at me that way. And Merlin, if you could put ‘down bad loverboy on a poster that picture of me would be it.’

You laughed despite the sincerity of the moment.

“And that kiss, I didn’t mean– didn’t intend for it to be like that… but you kinda kissed me like you didn’t mind…”

“I didn’t. I don’t. I didn’t think—” You tried to form a coherent thought but couldn’t as your eyes drifted back down to the picture of him looking at you, feeling the way it permeated you, warmed you.

He reached for your other hand, tangling your fingers in his. And he tugged, emboldened now by what he knew as he reached a hand to cup your face and then dipped his head, pausing for a second, maybe just to be 100% sure that this was what you wanted as his lips ghosted yours.

You tiptoed yourself to him, pressing your lips to his. His arms encircled you eagerly and lifted you up to him as you wound your legs around his waist and you smiled and laughed against his lips.

“I’ve been looking at you like that for the last three years, YN. M’glad you finally noticed.”

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#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle imagine

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helioooss · 22 days ago

Text

vi. i need to want something more (the end)

synopsis: after a rare drunken night, y/n wakes up in bed next to the most untouchable girl at yonsei: karina. she’s immediately thrown into a mess she never wanted, torn between her own moral compass and the undeniable pull of something she doesn’t understand. some lines, once crossed, can never be undone.

w/c: 10k+

warnings: heavy cheating, implied sex, alcohol, smoking, just normal uni stuff, swearingggg, slow burn

a/n: so here it is…was a long time coming; i appreciate all of you who stuck around long enough to see the end it. there will be no fics for awhile as i work on editing my older stuff — figured i need to show those a bit of love and polishing too. this series has so much potential to become more, i’ll keep my ears open in the future. always enjoy reading your takes on this chapter, so please let me know how you feel about it :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the light wakes you first. not the usual pale grey cast of a seoul morning, but something softer, whiter. your breath is visible in the sliver of air between your duvet and your face.

the heater’s still warming up — typical. you stay curled beneath the covers a few seconds longer, blinking toward the window, where the light presses through the glass differently now.

you already know.

when you sit up, you’re met with the season’s first snowfall. it’s not heavy yet, still a delicate sheet of white layered over the pavement and trees outside.

the world is slower; even the wind is holding its breath.

you get up barefoot, stepping around the pile of laundry near your desk, your laptop still open from last night. giselle flew back to japan last week and yunjin left a post-it note on your side table saying she was grabbing coffee with ryujin. they’ll probably be out for hours.

you should make coffee, maybe start reading that case brief you’ve avoided all week. instead, you stare out the window a while.

the trees outside are really bare now, snow clinging to every branch like a second skin. you reach for your phone and snap a quick photo.

your fingers hover for a moment before sending it to your parents.

first snow of the season! ❄️

they had invited you to join them in switzerland for the holidays; some rental cabin overlooking a frozen lake, something out of a postcard. you told them you had too much to finish here; that much was true.

the reply comes quickly.

from: dad 👨

beautiful! mum says bundle up. she’s already trying to book you a plane ticket despite your answer still being a firm no. 😂

you smile, a little and your screen dims again.

and then it buzzes.

from: sana 🩵

you still like watching the snow fall from windows?

something shifts in your chest as you stare at her name for a moment — warm and uncertain. before you can think about it too hard, you hit call.

she answers before the second ring.

“hi,” you greet, still watching the snowfall.

“hi,” she replies, voice soft and all. she sounds like she’s speaking from under a warm blanket. “you’re up early.”

“snow woke me.”

“hmm,” she hums. “me too, actually.”

you don’t say anything for a second, just listen to her breathing through the speaker because there’s something grounding about it.

“do you want to come over?”

she pauses, then says: “only if we get breakfast first.”

you smile, small and real. “our usual?”

“of course.”

you end the call and move slowly through your morning — brushing your teeth, pulling on layers, rubbing moisturiser into your face with hands that still feel half asleep. you stare at your reflection for a beat too long; there’s colour in your cheeks from the cold and your hair’s a little flat, but you look more like yourself lately.

or someone you recognise, anyway.

as you zip up your coat, you think of sana. how she’s never asked you to call this anything…or make you feel like you owe her certainty you don’t have.

and still — she shows up.

you think about how easy it would be to keep building this quiet version of love, one morning at a time. back then, you thought maybe the whole world would bend if you just stayed still beside her long enough.

you could get used to whatever this is again.

eventually, a car horn honks twice. when you step outside, the snow crunches beneath your boots. she’s already out of the car, walking toward you with a knit beanie pulled low over her ears. her breath clouds in the air.

the first thing she does is reach for your scarf.

“you still don’t know how to do this properly?” she mutters, unwrapping it halfway to re-loop it snug around your neck. “every year, it’s the same issue.”

“you’re just controlling,” you mumble, lips chapped and numb.

“you would freeze to death without me,” she shakes her head, focusing on the knot. her fingers are cold when it brushes against your neck.

there’s snow caught in her lashes and her cheeks are pink from the cold.

her hair is pulled back loosely, a few strands stuck to her collar. and she’s not looking at you. she’s still focused on that damn scarf. you study her face up close; how her brows knit together in concentration and how beautiful she is when she doesn’t know you’re looking.

“you’re pretty.”

she blinks and looks up; the corners of her mouth twitching. “don’t.”

you grin. “just saying.”

“you’re annoying.” she tugs your scarf tighter and gently shoves your shoulder before turning to the car. you follow, heart warmer than your gloves. “come on.”

the drive to itaewon is short and mostly quiet. the windows fog slightly and she draws a little heart in the glass with her knuckle at a red light. she doesn’t look at you when she does it.

“so,” you begin, glancing at her, “you could be in australia right now; drinking cocktails by a pool. why are you here in seoul?”

she glances over with a smile. “i could be.”

“so why aren’t you?”

she exhales through her nose, barely smiling. “because you’re here.”

“right,” you answer, cheeks flushing with warmth. and it’s enough.

that silences you, looking out the window as the snow settles along rooftops. your chest aches a little and it’s not in the way it used to; not with longing, but just with how much space she still takes up, even now.

grazia is tucked between two boutiques, all brick and wood and fogged-up windows. it’s warm and smells like cardamom and coffee inside. the waiter leads you to a quiet table near the back; you end up ordering pancakes and sana gets eggs on toast with extra mushrooms.

you talk about books — what you’ve been reading, what you haven’t had time to. she tells you about a ridiculous rumour she overheard at a party last week: something about taehyung and a chaebol heir (not jennie this time) who may or may not be fake.

it’s ridiculous.

after a pause, she stirs sugar into her coffee and asks. “so…have you decided?”

you look up at her, then down at your plate. “about the job?”

she nods.

“i think i’m gonna take it,” you answer, running your fingers through your hair. “taehyung’s dad offered me a contract starting next month. i’d be handling mid-scale portfolios. nothing glamorous, but…”

“it’s a start,” she finishes.

“yeah…a really good one.”

she smiles. “i’m glad — you’ll do so well.”

she stirs her drink once more, something milky and sweet. she’s dressed down today; soft turtleneck, old jeans, hair tied back with a velvet scrunchie that doesn’t match.

you rest your cheek on your hand and watch her; she looks comfortable.

“you’re staring again,” she chuckles without looking up and the sound makes your head all warm and fuzzy.

you clear your throat. “you’re always stirring your drink for no reason.

she grins. “i’m thinking.”

“about what?”

“you.”

you scoff into your coffee. “try something harder.”

she reaches across the table to steal a piece of your banana bread, doesn’t bother asking. you let her. then, more softly, she adds: “i’m really proud of you.”

“what for?”

“the job,” she mumbles. “with taehyung’s dad. that’s huge…everyone knows the kim family doesn’t let anyone in so easily.”

“it’s honestly just an entry contract.”

“it’s still a big deal,” she insists. “don’t downplay it. you worked hard and earned it.”

you press your hands around your mug and let the silence linger before asking: “and what about you?”

she lifts her gaze as you watch her carefully.

“when are you taking over your empire?”

sana snorts. “don’t call it that.”

“it is that…your family owns half of tokyo and most of osaka.”

“i mean when you put it like that,” she mutters. “it is…a lot.”

you raise a brow. “so? what’s the plan?”

she laughs, soft and brief — but you keep note of how her shoulders tense.

you don’t press, not yet. you just keep your voice even. “you know it’s coming.”

she leans back slightly, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup. “i know. my dad’s been…bringing it up more often lately. the board’s already making decisions ten years from now.”

her eyes lift to meet yours.

you try to sound gentle; encouraging. “so why not?”

she shrugs, looking away now. “because i’d have to be in japan…full-time.”

she hasn’t said it so plainly before.

you let the silence sit long enough, watching the way she presses her lips together, like she’s already prepared herself for this to hurt.

perhaps the part of you that’s been too afraid to name this…whatever this is — has been waiting for this conversation all along.

“it’s not that i don’t want to,” she adds, quieter now. “but i can’t leave you. not like this. not when we just…started again.”

she meets your gaze once more. there’s something in her expression that makes your chest ache. it’s not doubt.

it’s love, stretched thin by time and distance and the inevitability of her life pulling her somewhere you can’t follow — not yet.

and maybe this is what it means to be grown. to sit across from someone you love, knowing love might not be enough to keep things from changing.

“i’d never ask you to stay just because of me.”

“i know you wouldn’t.”

“but i also wouldn’t hold it against you if you needed to go.”

she exhales, blinking down at her hands. “i don’t want to go if it means leaving this.”

“we’re not a place,” you tell her gently. “we’re not a time either. we’re just…us. maybe we’ll always be.”

you reach for her hand across the table and she lets you take it. her fingers are cold but steady, thumb rubbing against the inside of your wrist like she’s trying to remember how to hold on without gripping too tightly.

you think: if this is all we have right now, i’ll take it. and across the table, she looks at you like she’s thinking the same thing.

as you walk back to the car, she slips her hand into your coat pocket; not your hand. just your pocket.

you laugh at her, feeling a bit lighter now. “what are you doing?”

she shrugs, looking forward. “just making sure you’re warm.”

you don’t reply, sliding your hand over hers, not lacing your fingers, just covering them because her palm is cold. you press your thumb into the space between her knuckles and feel her lean a little closer as you walk.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sound of your door clicking open feels louder than it should. your body aches from sitting too long in the same position, neck stiff, legs heavy and your brain mush after hours of reading case law. you drag yourself into the main living area where the scent of cheap popcorn lingers and twilight is somehow playing again — muted blue and green tones flickering across the television screen.

bella is mid-monologue; the sky is always grey in that fuckass town.

yunjin and ryujin are curled up on opposite ends of the couch, each with a throw blanket and a half-empty bowl of snacks between them. yunjin’s legs are draped over ryujin’s lap and they’re blth eating crispy m&ms (because they’re the best) like it’s the end of the world.

you drop onto the armchair beside them.

“how many times do you guys need to watch this a year?” you ask, voice still rough from not speaking all afternoon.

ryujin doesn’t look away from the screen. “you’re uncultured.”

“she just doesn’t get it,” yunjin agrees, nudging you with her socked foot. “she never got the team jacob to team edward pipeline.”

“i was studying contract law while you two watched vampire melodrama,” you grumble.

“that was your mistake,” ryujin shrugs, refusing to look away from the screen. “and so the lion fell in love with the lamb.”

you sit with them a while, with bits of and pieces of them mimicking lines and a type of silence that only happens when people know each other too well to need to fill it. it’s almost dinner time, you realise. you probably haven’t had a proper meal since breakfast.

yunjin turns to you like she’s reading your thoughts. “so, what do you want to do for dinner?”

you hesitate. “uhh, i’m actually going to sana’s soon.”

ryujin raises her brows without comment. yunjin shifts slightly, pulling her knees to her chest.

“movie night?” she asks, a little teasing, but gentle.

you nod, reaching down to adjust your sock. “yeah, she said she found this old japanese film she wants me to watch.”

“what’s going on with you two anyway?” ryujin looks at you. “it’s been a while now.”

you pause because putting it into words makes it feel more solid.

“we’re…good,” you say slowly. “we don’t talk about what it is. but it’s been really good.”

yunjin hums softly. “and…have you heard from karina?”

her name hits like a stone through still water, your shoulders tensing without meaning to. you haven’t thought about her in ages.

not really, anyway. not since early winter, when snow was just beginning to settle and you were still getting used to the way sana folded your blankets and made you tea before you even asked.

after that dinner scene, jimin just simply vanished. no texts or awkward sightings. not even a whisper from giselle, who always managed to mention her in passing before.

and you didn’t chase it. perhaps you were too tired…or maybe you were finally learning how to let silence be what it was.

still, the name makes something flicker inside your chest. it’s no longer pain, not anymore…just something dull and hasn’t fully left.

“no,” you finally answer. “i haven’t heard anything.”

yunjin fiddles with a popcorn kernel. “well, she’s in seoul, i saw her on ningning’s story last week. she was in the background.”

ryujin says nothing for once, she just reaches for the remote and lowers the volume a bit.

your stomach twists. “really?”

“looked like a rooftop thing. not much though, was just a glimpse.”

you nod, mouth dry. “guess she didn’t end up going to europe with jaewook after all.”

“yeah, guess so,” yunjin smiles at you, the way she always does when she wants to comfort you but doesn’t know the words to say.

you push yourself off the chair and stand. “i should get going though.”

ryujin gives you a slight wave. “tell sana we said hi. and look after yourself. and your heart.”

you pull on your coat, scarf still a mess from how it was folded. your bag’s got a change of clothes stuffed at the bottom and a book you haven’t opened. as you walk out into the cold, your breath clouds in the air and the sky has that faint blue cast of early evening.

sana’s apartment is warm, smells faintly of citrus and something boiling on the stove. she answers the door in a navy jumper and fuzzy socks, her hair damp like she just stepped out of the shower. you blink once and feel your chest ease.

“hi,” she grins, already reaching for your scarf, unravelling it to untie it properly now.

you laugh. “seriously?”

“you’ll thank me later.”

you follow her inside, boots off, bag dropped near the shoe rack. she’s already set up her bedroom —blankets stacked and mismatched pyjamas folded on the edge. you change slowly, the clothes a little big on you, the sleeves brushing your knuckles. she doesn’t say anything when she sees you wearing her shirt, but she smiles like something in her has softened.

you settle into the blankets while she brings over miso ramen and sushi on two trays; simple, warm, comforting.

she really insists on playing an old japanese film she watched once with her mum. it’s black and white and slow-moving, all long glances and quiet music. halfway through, your head finds her shoulder and eventually, her chest.

and somewhere near the end, your eyes start to slip closed. you don’t mean to fall asleep. but sana’s warmth is steady, her breathing’s a weird kind of comfort and her hand has found yours under the blanket.

when you stir awake again, the room is darker. the credits are rolling in soft kanji across the screen. she hasn’t moved.

you lift your head slightly and find her staring at you. “were you watching me?”

she smiles, lazy and unbothered. “a little.”

“creep.”

“you’re peaceful when you sleep.”

you groan and bury your face in her arm. “don’t look at me like that.”

she laughs quietly. “and you’re warm, i didn’t want to move.”

you stay there a while longer, the silence easier now. then something tugs at you. “i’m sorry.”

she doesn’t respond right away. “about what?”

“about how we’re still…like this,” your voice is small. “no labels, no real plan — i really need to fix myself.”

she lifts a hand to push your hair back, thumb brushing your temple. “you don’t need fixing, y/n. not for me. i love you the way you are now. and i’ll still love you when that changes.”

you exhale shakily, not sure if it’s relief or fear that floods your chest.

she squeezes your hand to ground you.

“you know when i was a kid,” she adds after a moment, her fingers gently playing with your hair. “i used to imagine running away.

you look up at her. “why?”

“not because i wanted to disappear,” she says softly. “i just wanted to choose who i came back for.”

you don’t say anything.

you just press your face into her neck, grip tightening around her waist while listening to the rhythm of her breathing until you fall asleep again…because maybe that’s what this is. not the end, not even the beginning.

it’s her coming back. and this time, you’re here to open the door for her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the suit bag hangs on the edge of your wardrobe, unzipped and half-open, like it’s waiting to be taken seriously. inside are five options. none of which you picked. sana’s stylist had dropped them off earlier that morning, her usual chirpy self making you try on half of them while sana watched from the bed, cup of coffee balanced on her knee.

now it’s dusk and you’ve been through three shirts, three full outfit changes and a minor crisis about the perfect sock colour. the room smells like sandalwood and setting lotion. your window’s open just slightly, letting in the bite of the air, that particular cold that only ever feels sharp in late december.

sana’s standing behind you, hair already done —glossy, parted perfectly with the ends curling. she’s wearing a black suit, white shirt buttoned down enough to make you look twice. or three times. the fabric clings at her waist and loosens again at her hips.

it’s unfair. criminal, even…to look that good.

you’re standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuff of a white shirt that isn’t yours.

“this one’s too tight,” you complain, tugging at the collar. “i look like i’m going to cry at prom.”

“you always look like that,” she replies, flicking through jackets on hangers. “it’s part of your charm.”

you glare at her through the mirror and she laughs at your own expense without bothering to look up.

you’re staring.

of course you are.

“you’re staring at me again,” she says, not even looking up.

“you look ridiculous,” you reply.

“that’s not what your face is saying.” she lifts the black lapel of a suit jacket and gives you a side glance, smug. “should we match, bub?”

you cross the room before you even decide to. she’s still smiling when you reach her, but it drops slightly — just enough to tell you she knows.

you don’t think.

you’re already up before she can finish her sentence. your hand finds her waist, and then her back, and then her mouth. the kiss lands hard and sure, pulling her in until her spine meets the wall beside your wardrobe. she lets out a surprised sound that turns into a low laugh against your lips when your hands grip her tighter than you mean to.

she tastes like spearmint and skin warmed by sunlight. everything else fades — your open window, the hum of the street below, the muted rustle of ryujin and yunjin bickering in the hallway.

your entire world narrows to the sound of her breathing, quick and uneven, her hands slipping beneath your shirt; not greedy, never, just holding you in place.

when you finally pull away, you’re still gently cupping her face as she blinks slowly, breath catching.

“you’re such an ass,” she starts, voice rough. “you’re really going to do that an hour before i introduce you to my entire bloodline?”

“hmm,” you murmur, forehead pressed to hers. “seemed like the right time.”

she exhales a laugh and shoves your shoulder lightly, but she doesn’t move away. her lips are redder now, eyes much darker. you like how she looks like this — just a little undone.

“you’re the one in a suit,” you continue, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. “this is your fault.”

she kisses you again — just once, before tapping your chest. “grey suit. last one on the rack. wear the white shirt with the pearl buttons.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you sure?”

“you’ll make everyone nervous,” she confirms, unbuttoning the shirt you just complained about. “it’s perfect.”

when you finally walk out of your room — now dressed, hair styled and tie slightly crooked on purpose, ryujin and yunjin are waiting in the living room in matching red dresses that clearly weren’t planned but still managed to look coordinated.

yunjin looks up from her phone. “are you two done making out?”

sana’s behind you, still adjusting your collar from the back. “oh,” she says lightly. “what gave it away?”

they groan in unison, ryujin grabbing a cushion to half-heartedly throw at you. “disgusting.”

“embarrassing,” yunjin adds.

you just roll your eyes, cheeks still warm.

the minatozaki family meet every year in seoul a few days before christmas, no matter how scattered they are across time zones or industries. they are old money, after all, operating like a boardroom with laughter; polite, but rarely without genuine warmth.

it’s all carefully curated holiday cards, biannual art acquisitions and a shared family lawyer who’s probably been with them longer than most cousins have been alive. and they’re big on tradition, binding them like a woven thread across generations.

sana once told you that missing the family holiday party would be a bigger scandal than missing a wedding of the year. no one has ever dared skip it — not even the cousin who got stranded in switzerland one year; he video called in wearing a tux.

the venue this year is a five-star hotel in gangnam; just one of those buildings with glass facades and understated signage. as soon as you walk inside, the ballroom is glowing with golden lights and crystal fixtures, the chandeliers dimmed to a soft glitter. waiters move between clusters of people with trays of champagne and tiny canapés.

she walks beside you, hand in yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you hear ryujin swear while yunjin nervously fidgets around. her other hand rests lightly on your lower back as she steers you through the room, the guests are all family, more or less: great-uncles and cousins and elders you can’t quite place.

everyone already knows. there’s no guessing involved. they all smile at you politely, a few with surprise but no one dares to question your presence.

her mother hugs you as soon as she sees you, still smelling faintly of lavender and expensive tea.

“finally,” she sighs in relief, smiling. “we were starting to think you were imaginary.”

her father smiles approvingly while eyeing your blazer. “you look very sharp, you wear the colour well.”

you thank him, a little awkwardly, and sana leans in to whisper, “he only says that to people he really likes.”

you laugh, brushing her fingers with yours.

throughout the evening, relatives come and go in waves. they ask what you’re doing after graduation, if you’ve thought about law firms abroad, if you would consider working in japan. you answer each one as politely as you can and they nod like they’re taking mental notes.

sana’s grip never wavers. this is the difference.

with her, there’s no hesitation. she doesn’t shrink you and make you feel like something to be hidden. she says: this is y/n like that means something…it has to.

you think about that as the night goes on. how strange and comforting it is, not to be the shadow in someone else’s story. she’s proud. of you. and the whole room knows it.

then, somewhere between dessert and after-dinner drinks, an uncle announces the annual family photo. the photographer’s already setting up near the grand staircase, light stands flaring against the high ceilings.

you start to step back, figuring this part isn’t for you, when she tugs you gently by the wrist.

“and where do you think you’re going?” she asks, an eyebrow raised in that demanding tone too.

you glance at her. “i figured i’d stay out of the frame.”

“don’t be stupid,” she shakes her head, tone now soft, not scolding.

she brings you forward, weaving through her cousins and uncles, until her mother sees you both and waves you in closer. the photographer arranges everyone once again, gesturing toward the centre of the front row.

sana takes your hand and leads you there — right beside her, between her and her mother like you’ve always belonged.

“this okay?” she murmurs.

you nod slowly.

“good,” she fixes your collar, smooths your jacket, then slips her hand into yours again.

her father smiles at you two and her mother wraps an arm around your waist like it’s second nature.

when the photo is taken, sana’s thumb gently brushes against your knuckles. you’ve never felt more seen in your life.

later on, sana excuses herself to the bathroom and you’re suddenly cornered by ryujin and yunjin near the dessert table. they both have shit-eating grins on their faces like they’ve been here before.

“so,” ryujin begins, popping up beside you with a glass of wine, “you’re marrying another heir of a billion-dollar company? what’s this obsession with rich people? when i said ‘eat the rich’, i didn’t mean in a literal sense.”

you nearly choke on a piece of almond tart. “what the hell are you on about this time?”

“we didn’t realise,” yunjin perches in from the other side. “like, you know, she had this vibe of maxed-out platinum card and four overdue bills she refuses to open.”

“i thought that girl was dangerously living beyond her meanest,” ryujin mutters. “like…’it’s crippling, i’m gonna run away eventually’ kind of debt.”

“and giselle used to pray you never had to cover any of her bills,” yunjin laughs. “she was scared for you.”

“you’re all idiots,” you say, but your cheeks are warm. you sip your wine and glance around the room — gold, velvet, soft laughter under chandeliers.

“seriously,” yunjin continues, nudging you. “how does it feel?”

you pause, thinking about it. “honestly? it feels…nice. to belong in the room, be held like this isn’t something anyone’s ashamed of.”

they go quiet.

and then ryujin offers you a mini tart she already bit once. “you earned it.”

you roll your eyes and take it anyway. you’re halfway through your first glass of champagne when nayeon somehow ends up in front of you. ryujin and yunjin shyly greet her before running away to the bar.

“well, well,” she says, appearing at your elbow like a headline. “if it isn’t little top-of-her-class.”

you nearly choke. “hello to you too, nayeon.”

“you didn’t think you’d escape me, did you?” she laughs, pulling you into a hug. she still smells like endless paperwork. “look at you — looking all grown.”

“you’re not still in that securities firm, are you?”

“worse: corporate advisory. mina’s still keeping me sane.”

as if summoned, mina appears beside her, dressed in an ivory pantsuit and the kind of earrings that could probably pay your rent.

“hey,” she smiles, eyes warm. “it’s really good to see you.”

“you too,” you say honestly. “both of you.”

nayeon leans in. “we always knew you and sana were going to find your way back to each other. she was such a mess about you in undergrad.”

they were two of sana’s closest friends at yonsei. both a few years older than you and practically royalty in their own right; effortlessly composed and always surrounded by people who wanted to be close to them — or be them.

you used to see them around often when you and sana were first getting close. they never treated you unkindly…in fact, nayeon always greeted you with a loud “oh, you again?” and mina would smile quietly, handing you a drink like you already belonged. they were your seniors in every way: in age; in experience; in the kinds of heartbreaks and head starts that come with growing up too fast in worlds you barely feel like you belong in.

even now, years later, the sight of them still pulls something warm and nostalgic from your chest. they remind you of a different time — the nights you stood by sana’s side…feeling small but safe, never knowing just how much she would come to mean to you years down the line.

“i was not,” sana says, appearing behind you with two plates of dessert.

“please,” nayeon rolls her eyes. “she used to leave dinners just to call you and then cry about how complicated everything was.”

“used to?” mina murmurs, eyebrow raised. “i think the streak ended, what — last year?”

you give sana a look. “so i’ve heard.”

she hands you a plate and shrugs. “they’re exaggerating.”

“you used to leave parties to sit in stairwells and call her.”

“i was dramatic.”

“you cried.”

she waves them off, then glances at you with a crooked grin. “they’re jealous.”

“of what?”

“that you’re the first person i’ve ever brought here.”

“what?” you blink in disbelief, mouth already full of something sweet and expensive. “no dates before me?”

“not here,” she repeats. “this place is family.”

“so i’m special.”

she rolls her eyes, a teasing smile appearing in the corners of her mouth. “you literally dumped me and i’m still here, so yeah.”

you nudge her, she bumps your shoulder back.

mina watches you both with a quiet smile. “i’m glad you’re here, y/n. you’re both good for each other.”

it takes you a second to absorb that because you do. for the first time in years, maybe ever, you’re in a room full of people who know each other’s names, whose approval isn’t cautious or polite but warm and unconditional — and you’re not being hidden.

it’s late by the time the car rolls through empty streets. the city lights pass like slow waves against the windows. you’re both a little buzzed from wine, shoes kicked off, blazers draped in your laps.

sana’s fingers are still laced with yours, she looks softer now. her voice quieter as she talks to you, like the world is shrinking back to just the two of you.

your hand rests lightly on her thigh, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of her trousers.

“can i ask you something?” you murmur.

“you’re allowed,” she replies, tilting her head toward you.

“so why have you not brought anyone to this party?”

her brow lifts, leaning her head back against the seat. “honestly?”

you nod.

“you’re the first,” she begins to explain. “because you scare me a little, you never asked to be here — you just…showed up and made space without needing to take any.”

you stare at her, a little breathless.

she turns to look at you fully, her expression is open. “it’s always been you, even when it wasn’t.”

you swallow hard.

the car still moves quietly through the city, lights passing over the windows in slow, golden waves. and you think, for the first time in a long time, that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it’s christmas day and sana’s family home is lit like something from an old winter painting. the snow clings to the trees and lines the edges of the roof like icing. and there’s warmth in every room inside; everything made out of oak in that traditional japanese sense.

you’ve never had a christmas like this.

there are matching slippers at the door, monogrammed napkins and the kind of table setting that makes you hesitate before sitting down. the candles flicker low between you all, flames catching on the wine glasses as her father lifts his to inspect the pour.

he sits at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, wine glass already half full. “not too much,” he chuckles, topping yours off. “don’t want you falling asleep before dessert.”

“no promises,” you reply, and he laughs louder; shoulders shaking and all

it’s just the four of you. no cousins, no extended family or staff pacing in the background. sana sits beside you, ankles crossed under the table, her hand brushing your thigh every now and then like she’s checking that you’re still here.

“your parents must miss you,” her mum says, spooning rice into her own bowl. “have you called them yet?”

you shake your head. “not yet, i was waiting until things quieted down.”

“call them now,” sana says softly, nudging your foot under the table. “you can put it on speaker.”

you hesitate, but her mum is already nodding. “that would be great, we would love to say hello.”

your phone is in your pocket so you fish it out, glancing at the time — still early evening in switzerland. you press call. the dial tone hums once, then twice and then your mum picks up.

“merry christmas, darling!”

“hi, mum,” you greet, smiling. “you’re on speaker.”

“oh?”

“i’m with sana’s parents,” you explain. “they wanted to say hi.”

sana’s dad leans forward. “merry christmas, hope you’re both having the best time,” he waves, warm and clear.

you can hear the delight in your mother’s voice. “oh, how lovely! thank you for hosting our daughter this year. we were sorry she couldn’t come with us.”

“she’s very welcome here,” her mum adds. “we’re happy to have her.”

sana chimes in next, her voice light. “hi, mr and mrs y/l/n. thanks for raising the most stubborn woman alive.”

your father’s voice comes through faintly in the background. “you’ve got your hands full, then.”

they all laugh and you feel your face warm. it feels good.

“we’ll let you go enjoy dinner,” your mum adds after a minute more of cheerful noise and small talk. “we’ll talk properly tomorrow.”

you hang up and sana squeezes your knee gently beneath the table.

her father’s already mid-sip of his wine when he says, “so, this firm you’re joining — under the kim family?”

“yes, taehyung’s dad offered me a placement earlier in the year.”

he snorts. “sounds about right; that man’s sharp. got his claws into you before the others could.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “he was persuasive.”

“a good sign,” he nods, raising his glass. “people chase talent, it means you’re doing something right if you’ve got one of south korea’s richest men to persuade you.”

you hum and it settles over you: the warmth, the acceptance, the easy rhythm of it all. there’s no tension in your shoulders and you don’t feel the need to read between words or brace yourself for correction — it’s a slow meal with people who see you as someone worth being proud of.

not tolerated nor excused, but welcomed with open arms.

dinner finishes with tea and fruits. sana’s mum brings out small velvet boxes and pushes one toward you. you hesitate, glance at sana, who’s smiling gently.

“we said no gifts.”

“and we ignored it,” her mum replies.

you open it carefully.

inside is a watch; silver and elegant, the weight of it immediately grounding as you glance at the name richard mille.

jesus christ, you thought.

beside it, wrapped in a velvet slip, is a gold pen with your initials carved at the top of it.

you’ve seen something like this pen before. on sana’s desk, in her hand, tucked into her notebook. she mentioned she got it at eighteen.

you look up, words forming slowly. “this is too much.”

“nonsense,” her father groans. “you’re part of our lives now; get used to it.”

you don’t trust your voice enough to speak, so you nod, fingers curling around the velvet like it’ll anchor you.

they don’t need thanks drawn out and scripted; you know their kindness doesn’t ask for anything in return and that’s the part that stings the most. you never knew you could be carried like this without having to earn it.

and when the table’s been cleared and the kitchen grows quiet and her parents disappear up the stairs with soft goodnights and kind glances, it’s just you and sana again — on the living room floor, legs stretched toward the fireplace, two glasses of wine resting on the table between you.

the fire crackles quietly, the only real sound in the room. you can still hear music faintly from the kitchen; jazz, maybe, but the rest of the world has dimmed.

your head leans slightly against her shoulder. she doesn’t move.

you’re full in every sense of the word. full of food, of warmth, of something else you haven’t named yet. and then your phone buzzes.

you feel the vibration in your pocket before the ring even begins.

it’s faint, easily ignorable, except something in your body registers it before your mind does. you shift slightly, ease your hand into your pocket, still curled up beside her in front of the fire.

the screen lights up and her name flashes once.

karina.

the air feels colder all of a sudden. your stomach twists, a quiet clench that catches you off guard. beside you, sana stirs slightly but she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. she sees the screen.

you stand up, too quickly.

“i’ll just — be a minute,” you murmur.

you stand without a word and she doesn’t look up.

you step out onto the balcony, sliding the door closed behind you. the air is cold against your neck, your breath blooming white in the dark.

and you answer before you can talk yourself out of it. “hello?”

her voice is exactly how you remember it — low, careful, like it’s measuring the silence between your words before they’re even spoken.

“hi, merry christmas, y/n.”

you close your eyes for a moment, let the wind bite at your face. “merry christmas, jimin.”

there’s a pause. you hear the hum of something in the background and neither of you speak for a second.

“i wasn’t sure if i should call, but you crossed my mind. i guess…you still do,” she continues, her voice is so small it barely carries on top of the breeze. “but i didn’t want to let the day pass without…saying it. i know you were excited for christmas.”

your hand curls around the edge of the railing, feeling the ache before it even takes shape. it’s not a painful, but more like the kind that’s been dulled by time but not erased.

“how are you?” you ask, unsure what to say next.

jimin exhales a shaky breath. “i’ve been better, but my parents are still asking if i’ve managed to win you back,” she lets out something close to a laugh, but it doesn’t reach her chest. “they say it like it’s a job — think they really wanted to know you more.”

you let the silence settle for a moment. it’s familiar, but it doesn’t hurt the same way anymore. you didn’t need to know any of that; no longer have the right to.

“how’s…jaewook?”

she’s quiet for a second too long. “umm, yeah, we broke up the day after that night i saw you. i think i knew i couldn’t keep lying to him and myself after that.”

you chew the inside of your cheek, the words settling slowly, heavy but unsurprising.

“i’m sorry,” you croak out.

“don’t be,” she replies. “i should’ve ended it a long time ago.”

the wind whistles faintly between the railing bars. you adjust your weight, heart beating a little harder than you would like.

“are you happy?” she asks; it’s barely more than a whisper. “with her?”

your breath catches with how much weight the questoon carries. you look through the frosted glass, into the house where sana still sits, curled into the couch, waiting patiently — warm and steady.

“yeah,” you reply after a second. “we’re…taking things slow. but it’s real; she’s real.”

she doesn’t reply right away either. when she does, her voice is rougher than before. “good.”

you believe her, mostly, or at least you want to.

“i’m glad,” she continues, though there’s something behind it…like she’s letting go of something without knowing if it’s the last time.

the silence comes back, thicker this time.

“thank you for calling,” you tell her, meaning it. “it’s really good to hear from you.”

you hear her exhale, something like a smile buried in it. “take care of yourself.”

“you too.”

the call ends.

you watch the snow fall for a few more seconds, then slide the phone back into your pocket, letting the cold seep into your skin just to feel everything clearly.

it was kind, that call. necessary, maybe. but you don’t feel unsteady and you don’t feel torn.

it feels…finished.

sana looks up as you return. she doesn’t move, but her face has changed, ever so slightly — like something pulled rigidly just beneath her eyes.

you feel it settle between you like a window left open just a little too long.

“if you ever want to go back to her,” she suddenly voices out, tone sorrowful: “i won’t hold it against you, i knew what i was getting myself into. and you don’t owe me anything at all.”

your heart drops as you stare at the fire for a second longer before you speak. “sana, baby, i want to keep moving with you.”

the words sit between you, unfurling slowly. she nods. once. but you can see how tightly she’s holding herself together.

under the couch, you pull out the small box you had been keeping for her. it’s not wrapped well and the corners are uneven and you had to tape the bottom twice because you suck at wrapping gifts — but you place it on her lap anyway.

“this is for you.”

she looks at you, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. she doesn’t reach for the gift right away. instead, she unwraps it slowly, fingers catching at the tape.

inside is a square canvas — the edges still a little rough where the paint dried too fast. it’s the two of you, sitting on a bench in that quiet park from that night. backs facing the viewer, just two figures with shoulders leaning in, hair caught in a breeze. nothing fancy, but it’s unmistakably you and her.

you wait while she stares at it.

then: “you painted this?”

you nod. your voice shakes a little. “a few weeks ago.”

her eyes flicker up. they’re glossy now and it breaks something open in your chest. she doesn’t speak for a long time, just holding the frame in both hands like she’s afraid it’ll slip.

you shift a little closer.

“i know we didn’t take a photo that day, we were both too drunk,” you explain, a smile on your face. “but i remember it. i remember thinking that if anything in my life ever felt like home again, it would be that moment — us under the stars, quietly figuring ourselves out.”

her breath hitches.

“i’m still scared,” you admit. “i still think i might mess this up. i still wake up sometimes not sure if i deserve any of it. but i want to try. you’re so, so, so important to me, sana, i never want to lose you again.”

the tears spill slowly, she doesn’t even bother hiding them.

“you’re such a jerk,” she mumbles through a soft laugh. “you couldn’t have said all that before the wine?”

you smile, a little helpless. “sorry.”

she puts the painting down carefully and reaches for your hand. “you won’t lose me, not this time.”

you pull her in gently and she lets you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, the painting resting carefully against her side.

“you matter to me,” you whisper. “always.”

“i know,” she says. “i just needed to hear you say it.”

and so you do. again and again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you wake to the dull hum of your phone vibrating on the nightstand. you don’t reach for it straight away — your eyes are still adjusting. and sana’s breath is warm against your neck, she shifts slightly, murmuring something in her sleep and her arm curls tighter around your waist.

the screen glows again. this time you blink fully awake and glance over.

but the sound doesn’t stop. it pulses again —persistent. you shift, groggy, reaching toward the nightstand where your phone is lighting up.

karina is calling…

“the fuck?” you let out a quiet sigh through your nose, staring at the screen like maybe, if you’re still enough, it’ll stop ringing.

it doesn’t. the digits blur slightly — 2:31 a.m.

sana stirs behind you. “who is it?” her voice is still caught in sleep, soft and heavy.

“it’s…jimin,” you mumble out in slight disbelief. “she’s calling, should i answer?”

you half expect her to roll away, to go quiet like last time. but instead, she rests her hand against your shoulder and says, gently: “answer it.”

you turn to her. “are you sure?”

she nods; her hair’s messy against the pillow, eyes barely open, but she still offers you a small, understanding smile. “i know what it’s like…to be the one who never gets the call back.”

your heart aches at that, but you nod and slide off the bed quietly, grabbing your hoodie from the chair as you step out into the lounge room.

you swipe to answer. “hello, jimin?”

you’re already halfway down the hallway, bare feet padding softly against the hardwood, heart thumping as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

her voice cracks instantly through the speaker. “you answered…i wasn’t sure.”

it’s messy — slurred, uneven, like her tongue’s too slow to keep up with her mouth. there’s noise in the background. a car maybe, or the wind, it’s nothing solid.

“are you okay?” you ask. “where are you?”

“i don’t know,” she breathes. you can hear her sniffle. “i didn’t want to call, i just — i couldn’t not. fuck, i sound so stupid.”

your brows furrow, concern rising. you drop onto the couch, pressing the phone harder to your ear.

“jimin, what’s going on? are you out?”

“i wanted to see you,” she answers, voice trembling. “i keep wanting to see you. i keep seeing you. it’s like — everything i do reminds me of you and i don’t even know if you care anymore. do you still care?”

you sit down on the couch, rubbing at your temple. “what more do you want from me?”

“you,” she says it so fast like it’s always been waiting behind her teeth. “i want you back.”

you close your eyes. “karina…”

“don’t, don’t say it like that, don’t say it in that tone like you pity me.”

you run a hand through your hair, staring at the dark screen of the tv in front of you. “you’re drunk, can you please send me your location?”

“you still care?” she asks, voice wobbling. “you still care about me, don’t you?”

you don’t answer that. instead, you repeat, firmer this time, “send me your location. please.”

she sniffs, quiet for a moment. then the familiar ping of a map drops into your phone. “you didn’t answer me…”

“stay on the line,” you demand. and she doesn’t argue.

you get up from the couch, walking back toward the bedroom. sana’s sitting up now, pulling her hair back into a bun. the bedside lamp is on, casting soft yellow against the walls. she looks tired, but she’s already pointing at her bag.

“keys are in the front pocket,” she gestures you over with a sleepy, understanding smile.

you lean in, press your mouth to her temple, then her cheek, her skin warm and soft against your lips. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t be,” she cups your jaw gently. “all i want is for you to bring her home safe.”

“i’ll be back soon,” you whisper.

“i know.”

you slip your shoes on at the door, phone still pressed to your ear as you speak quietly to jimin, who’s gone quiet but hasn’t hung up.

“hey,” you say. “i’m coming to get you, okay?”

there’s no response at first. then: “okay.”

the street is cold and quiet, light snow from the previous night still melting in uneven patches along the curb. you get in the car, engine humming to life with your hand tight on the wheel. you glance once at the rearview mirror and try not to think too hard about where this night is headed.

because even now — even with sana asleep in your bed, with your life finally steady, with love that doesn’t hurt — you’re still driving out into the dark when jimin calls and a part of you hates that you always will.

the streets are empty this late. seoul feels softer somehow, the edges dulled by the chill and the quiet. traffic lights flicker through amber and red, casting slow glows against the frost on your windscreen. the heater hums low.

while jimin’s still on the line, she’s quiet now, only the sound of her sniffling breaking through. you don’t say anything. there’s nothing left to say in the silence and yet you stay on the call.

you drive with one hand on the wheel, the other holding the phone to your ear, her breath moving in and out like waves.

the location leads you to a quiet side street near a convenience store. a line of taxis sits idle nearby, lights off, drivers probably asleep. you see her before she sees you — curled up on a bench, knees pulled tight to her chest, hair tousled and damp. her coat’s buttoned wrong and she looks smaller than you remember.

the sight of her like this does something strange to your chest — splits it, gently, like an old wound reopening along its scar line. you hadn’t realised how deeply the memory of her lived in your body.

but you get out anyway.

each step toward her feels like walking underwater. heavy and unreal. it’s not like the movies; there’s no music, no chatter, not even the buzz of the neon bar sign — just the sound of your boots crunching over ice and her small, wracked breaths in the distance.

she looks up; mascara smudged under both eyes, blinking like she’s not sure if you’re really here.

“you came,” she speaks, voice shaking. “you actually came.”

you crouch down beside her. “of course i did.”

it’s not even a sentence, really. her lips part like she wants to speak, but nothing comes out except a new wave of tears. she breaks immediately — no hesitation, no pride left to cling to. she just folds into you like muscle memory, like all those months apart didn’t stretch the distance between your bodies.

her arms lock around your neck, shoulders shaking violently, the kind of crying that comes from somewhere deeper than sadness.

grief, maybe. or realisation.

“you look so much happier now,” she mumbles into your sleeve, voice muffled in between breaths. “with sana. i see it in your face…you never looked at me like that.”

“that’s not true,” you reassure her. “

she puts a slight distance between you two, wiping her face with the sleeve of her coat instead. her eyes are swollen, cheeks red from the cold. “i ruined it. i ruined everything.

you look at her, really take a good look at her. the way her lips are chapped, she looks so tired. you wonder if she’s eaten today.

if she’s still trying to pretend she’s okay to everyone but you.

“maybe,” you say gently. “but that doesn’t mean i hate you.”

she laughs bitterly through her tears. “you should.”

“i don’t,” you say again. “you loved me in the way you could…it just wasn’t enough.”

the words feel cruel even as you say them, but they’re honest. and maybe she needs that more than kindness right now.

you guide her to the car with gentle hands, barely saying a word. she’s compliant but stumbling, half-apologising through her sobs. her coat slips off one shoulder, and you pull it up, fasten the belt for her. the seatbelt clicks into place and you pass her the water bottle from the centre console.

“drink some of this, you need it.”

she obeys. she always does with you, even now. she’s still crying — softly, into the crook of her elbow. you start the car and pull into the road without asking where to go.

you already know.

the han river’s quiet this time of night. empty car park, the kind of silence you used to share like a secret. back then, it felt like the only place in the city where you could breathe together.

no lights except the scattered halos of streetlamps catching on the water. you pull into the spot she used to love — far left corner, facing the ripples.neither of you speak right away.

the engine hums low on the background.

“i used to take you here every time i ran out of things to say,” she whispers. her voice is hoarse. “and somehow you always found more.”

you turn to her. she’s staring out at the river like it holds every answer she was too scared to look for back then. her hands tremble as she sets the water down to her lap.

“why did i do that?” she asks, voice small. “why did i lie to you every time i told you i was choosing you? why did i make you believe that?”

you don’t know how to answer. you’ve asked yourself the same thing, over and over. back then it felt like she was always reaching for you with one hand and holding something else in the other.

you wanted her to choose, you waited for it. but she never did.

“i was so scared,” she admits, eyes glistening again. “not of you. of what it meant to love you that much and the expectations already set out for me in stone.”

you remain quiet because your throat aches with too much of everything. she reaches for your hand, like she’s checking to see if it’s still real.

you watch the water shimmer through the windshield, her reflection blurring next to yours in the glass. “i tried so hard to let you go, but i think i just…folded you into every part of me instead.”

“i hated myself for how i treated you,” jimin continued, her voice cracking again. “i still do.”

“don’t,” you finally look at her. “you were scared. people make stupid choices when they’re scared.”

“you weren’t,” she lets out a pained sob. “you never were. you always chose me, even when it hurt. even when i couldn’t say your name out loud.”

“and you’re punishing yourself for not being ready, but that’s not love, jimin. it’s guilt. and it’s going to eat you alive if you let it.”

you both sit there for a long time, her head resting against the window and her hand still holding yours.

she folds over again, body racked with sobs, and you do what you’ve always done — you hold her. her head lands onto your shoulder this time and she grips your sleeve like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

at some point, you find tears slipping out of your eyes too. not because you still want her, not in that way. but because once, you really did. and that kind of loss never leaves quietly.

you stroke her hair slowly, the silence stretching around you like a blanket pulled tight. it’s not cold anymore, but you’re both shivering from everything else.

then, your phone buzzes. sana. asking if you’re still there…but it feels like a different question, like it holds another meaning than just there.

“we should go,” you heave out a sigh. “sana’s waiting for me.”

“okay,” she nods quietly. “okay, we can do that.”

she’s quiet when you drive her home. her hand stays in yours the whole ride, resting on the centre console, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

nothing needs to be said now.

when you pull up outside her building, she doesn’t move at first. she just turns to you, eyes full and steady. she hesitates. and then, barely above a whisper: “will you stay with me tonight?”

you pause, heart twisting, then stills. “no,” you say, as gently as you can. “i can’t.”

she nods, like she expected that answer but it still wounds her. “this is goodbye, isn’t it?”

you look over at her. “i…yeah. i think so.”

she reaches out, touches your cheek gently, her fingers cold but still familiar. you shake your head, but she leans in, presses her forehead against yours and keeps going. “if i ever get another chance…i’ll do it right.”

your eyes sting and having her this close again makes your chest ache. “jimin —“

her voice is barely a whisper now, her tears falling on your lap. “if i have to wait a lifetime, i will. if not this one, then the next.”

you don’t promise anything, but you press your forehead to hers for a moment longer and then pull away.

“please go inside,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “goodnight, jimin.”

she nods and steps out of the car — doesn’t look back but you can see the way her shoulders shake. you watch her walk away until she disappears into the building, and only then do you let the tears fall freely.

it’s not love anymore, not quite. but it’s still something. maybe it always will be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you don’t mean to make a big deal of it. not really.

the sky’s that bright blue that means late spring is almost over and it’s warm enough that the breeze coming off the han river barely makes a difference.

sana’s leaning back on her elbows, the grass soft beneath the blanket she insisted on bringing. it’s the same one from the last time — the one you two fell asleep under after sneaking snacks into a campus lawn movie night months ago. you’re both stretched out at yeouido park, iced coffee mostly melted between you, the soft hum of people around blending with the low strum of an acoustic busker in the distance.

you should be focused on your book but you’re not. you’ve been reading the same paragraph three times; she keeps tapping your ankle with hers. she’s got sunglasses on, head tilted back like she’s soaking in the last of the coldness before summer pulls it away.

“you’re staring,” she says, not looking at you, her mouth tugged up into the smallest smirk. “i can feel it.”

“i’m not,” you lie, flipping the page like that’ll save you.

she doesn’t push, just keeps tapping your ankle lazily, her foot warm against yours. you want to tell her to stop because it’s driving you mad, the affection of it.

the way she still treats you like someone precious, even when you’ve made her wait all this time.

you glance sideways at her. her lips are soft and she’s wearing your hoodie. she smells like the inside of your pillow. and when she turns her head to face you — sunglasses sliding down a little — you feel it all at once.

every slow moment you’ve spent together since winter. the little things. the movie nights, the long drives, the way she remembers how you take your coffee. how she’s never made you feel like loving her is a countdown to goodbye.

and god, you love her.

you set your book down. “hey, sana.”

she hums.

“can we —” you falter. clear your throat. “can we make this official?”

that gets her. she pushes her sunglasses up onto her head, blinks at you like she didn’t hear you right. “what?”

you sit up straighter, stomach twisting. “i mean…i want to be with you. like, actually with you. if you still want that.”

she’s silent for a second too long, in the way you know she’s replaying your words, making sure they’re real. her smile starts in her eyes before it reaches her lips.

“you’re asking me to be your girlfriend,” she repeats slowly, softly, like she wants to savour it.

you nod, heart thudding. “yeah.”

“finally,” she lets out a breath, practically laughs, and then leans forward, pulling you in by the front of your hoodie and kissing you, full and slow and warm like sunlight. it’s like she’s known it would happen, eventually, and now it has. her hands cradle your face as she pulls away. “took you long enough.”

you smile against her lips, relief blooming in your chest. “sorry.”

“i forgive you,” she grins. “but only because you’re cute.”

you groan, bury your face in her shoulder. “i should’ve asked you when you brought me coffee every morning for a week. or when you stayed up all night helping me with my thesis draft.”

“or when my parents bought you that fancy watch for christmas.”

“okay, yes, that too.”

she plays with the hem of your sleeve. “i would’ve said yes every time.”

you look down at her fingers brushing yours. “i know.”

and you do. you really do…because that’s the difference with sana. with her, there’s no guessing. just quiet loyalty, kindness that doesn’t make you feel small.

you both lie back again, the moment settling into your bones. she squeezes your hand once and doesn’t let go and the grass rustles beside you.

you don’t say anything more. you don’t need to. she knows.

and somewhere, maybe not too far off, you think of jimin — how some things burn out before they ever have the chance to be steady. how sometimes, it’s not about who makes your heart race, but who makes it feel safe to stay.

today, you chose safety. and maybe that’s what love is now. not the ache of almost, but the warmth of finally.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fuck, you didn’t plan on seeing her.

not today of all days — when you’re feeling light, even content, walking along the street with a brown paper bag in hand, the apricot pastry tucked neatly inside.

sana had texted you earlier, something about being stuck in a last-minute campaign, promising to make it up to you with takeout and terrible reality tv.

but campus is small, specially after graduation. the cafés are familiar and the corners shared.

jimin.

she’s sitting alone outside, cup of americano going cold in front of her, a book she isn’t reading open on her lap. her hair’s even shorter now, blunt around her jaw and she’s dressed in black again, like she’s always bracing for winter, even in the middle of summer.

you think of walking past or turning around, but your feet don’t move fast enough and she looks up like clockwork — and there it is. the recognition and the pause. her eyes soften the second they land on you and she lifts a hand in a small wave.

your feet begin walk over. there’s no ache in your chest now. it’s something softer; nostalgic.

“hey y/n,” she smiles, a bit brighter now.

“jimin!” you sit across from her, slipping the bag onto your lap. your heart isn’t racing like before, now it’s a steady thrum, a quiet reminder of everything you used to feel.

“hey,” she repeats, voice low.

still familiar. still jimin.

“hi, how are you doing?”

“i’m well,” her lips twitch into something like a smile. “you look good.”

you shrug. “so do you. different…i like the short hair, it’s good.”

it’s awkward in a way it always is with exes…or whatever you two were.

she nods slowly, as if she knows. “i feel different.”

you glance at the book on her table — something classic, spine cracked, pages annotated in the way she always used to do when she was trying to understand something deeply. you used to love watching her read like that, as if the words meant everything and they were a map.

“i heard about you and sana,” she adds after a beat. not bitter, just factual. “and graduating top of your class isn’t an easy feat; i’m so proud of you.”

you nod again, it means a lot coming from her. “we’re doing well.”

there’s a pause. then she says: “she’s good to you.”

“she always has been.”

and jimin looks down, eyes on her coffee. her voice is steady when she speaks; “i’ve been thinking a lot. about everything. about how i was with you. with jaewook, with…myself.”

you don’t say anything. just listen.

“after you,” she continues, “i tried to fill the space with noise. with him. with plans that didn’t belong to me. i thought maybe if i pretended hard enough, it’d go away. the guilt and the wanting.”

you watch her hands as she speaks. they’re calmer now. no shaking, no nervous twitching. just open palms, resting on her lap.

“i broke up with jaewook a few weeks after that night at the restaurant. i didn’t tell anyone. i think part of me was still waiting for you to come back.”

your chest tightens — not painfully, but enough to remind you that the past isn’t as far away as you sometimes pretend.

“but you didn’t,” she adds. “and i’m glad you didn’t because it forced me to stop waiting and start…choosing.”

you tilt your head slightly. “choosing?”

“myself. finally,” she lets out a breath. “i’m taking over the family business.”

that makes you blink. “really?”

she nods, chuckling. “yeah, i always thought it was a sentence. something i’d be trapped in. but now it’s…mine. i want to do it right. make something out of it that means something. not because they told me to — but because i want to.”

you can’t help it; you smile. for her; with her, because you can recognise how far she’s come.

“i’m proud of you for deciding on that; jimin, the ceo of yu group — can’t believe i get to say i knew her.”

jimin looks up then, really stares at you. and for a second, you see her as she was when you first fell in love — messy-haired, sharp-tongued, eyes always searching for something to hold onto.

“thank you for loving me the way you did. i was too young to understand it at the time, too scared and stupid.”

you nod slowly, the words settling somewhere deep inside. “i used to wish you’d been braver.”

“i know,” she smiles, a little sad. “i wish i had been too.”

you both sit there for a while, letting the silence do what words can’t. there’s nothing sharp in the air anymore. no what-ifs or if-onlys; just two people who survived each other.

“i miss you,” she admits, finally.

you meet her gaze. “i miss you too, but i don’t miss us.”

it’s gentle, the way you say it, but you can see it hit her — the truth of it. she doesn’t cry and doesn’t reach for you. instead, breathes in then out.

“and thank you for loving me when i didn’t know how to love you back properly.”

you smile, soft at the edges. “you taught me a lot. even in the mess of it.”

she laughs, a little broken, a little healed. “that’s the nicest way anyone’s ever told me i was a total disaster.”

you smile shyly too, brushing imaginary dust off your jeans. “take care of yourself, jimin.”

“you too,” she says. “and y/n?”

you pause.

“if you ever need someone to have your back — even if it’s from far away — it’ll always be me. what i said that night…i meant it. in every lifetime.”

your throat tightens, offering her a small smile. “i know.”

you walk away, heart strangely light. there’s no heaviness, but you carry the knowledge that some people are lessons. and some are homes.

sana’s probably waiting for you back at the apartment now, with her soft playlists and too-large jumpers and the smell of peppermint tea she always forgets to finish, wondering if you remembered the name of the pastry this time.

you did; and this time, you’re bringing it home.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

#heliooosss #kpop x reader #kpop gg #kpop imagines #aespa x reader #aespa imagines #aespa #angst #karina #karina imagines #sana imagines #sana x reader #minatozaki sana

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clockwayswrites · 2 months ago

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The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 3, Part 2

masterpost (pls no editing or concrit, my words have been a mess but I'm trying!)

Dick took the corners of the halls at reckless speeds, careening around the corners in a way that only his Robin training saved him from smashing into walls. Speed was more important than safety.

Wally might be here.

“Verdict?” Dick heard Gar ask.

“Your vegan macaroons get a ten from me, could eat way too many,” a voice that Dick didn’t know said. “Though I still don’t get why you’re feeding me.”

“Dude, your heart stopped a few days ago. Cookies are in order after something like that!”

Who’s heart stopped?

Why?

Dick made himself to slow down a little from his panicked sprint as he entered the room. He scanned the space instantly: Victor, Raven, Gar, and the mystery person all settled on the couch. The news played silently on the TV.

“N.” Cyborg set the device he had been fiddling with down and stood. “This is Danny.”

Danny stood and spun around. He almost looked like he could have been an early Wayne with the black hair and blue eyes and weight he carried on his shoulders. “Flash sent me here. He said to tell you that you’re a ‘real dick’, but he said it fondly or like it was a joke!”

“Yeah,” Dick choked out. Even though Victor had told Dick the message, it still took him out at the knees to hear it from this stranger. “He would have.”

“I don’t know why that phrase works on all of you, but, I, um,” Danny grabbed a spiral bound book off the coffee table. “I also have a drawing I did of him after the first time that I got to see him clearly, if that also adds to what I’m saying. It’s him without his mask.”

Dick was torn between rushing over or going slowly in case that the image shattered their hope. He was there before he had decided how to proceed, taking the sketchbook.

Wally stared back at him from the page.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Danny asked, voice almost impossibly gentle. “He says he’s trapped in something called the Speed Force.”

“It’s him,” Dick said after clearing his throat. It didn’t help the mixed feeling of tears and relief clogged there. He brushed his fingers over the dotted freckles of the drawing. “And he would get trapped by his own powers. Idiot.”

“Why don’t all sit down!” Gar said with forced cheer and a clap of his hands. “Danny can explain things now that you’re here and then we can figure out how to rescue W—Flash!”

“I even have drinks, since someone abandoned me as soon as he had cookies,” Donna said with a pointed look towards Gar as she entered from the direction of the kitchen. She passed out the armful of sodas to everyone as they sat back down. When she got to Dick, she took the drawing from his hands (he resisted the urge to grab it back) and replaced it with a ginger ale.

It was the same drink Danny had gotten.

“Explain from the start. From before Flash,” Raven instructed, which sounded foreboding.

Danny turned the drink between his palms. “Like I said, I’m a psychopomp. Ghosts and I—death and I have a pretty close relationship with each other. Have since I was fourteen and I sorta died in an accident in my parent’s lab, which I really don’t want to get into. But they’re ectobiologists, they study ghosts.”

“And one lab accident later you can talk to them?” Victor said. “Sure you’re not a superhero?”

“You joke, but I was, at least as far as my home town is concerned. Seems to come with having a fucked up lab accident, you know?” Danny asked, his smile crooked.

“Yeah,” Victor rumbled. “I know.”

“Anyways, I was never anything big, and I’m okay with that. It doesn’t really matter now anyways, dying comes with a pretty limited lifespan for a superhero sort of body,” Danny said with a wave, as if that would be the end of that conversation. “But the talking to ghosts stuck around.

“Outside of my home town, most haunted place in America, they’re pretty quiet and pretty incorporeal. They don’t bother me often, but sometimes there’s one strong enough that needs help moving on—willing or not. It’s usually not a problem to do it around my work and college, but then your Flash shows up and he’s not like the other ghosts.”

“How quickly could you tell that?” Donna asked.

“Pretty much instantly. He feels like… you know when you’d put a hand up against an old TV or CRT monitor? And you could feel that static hum? He feels like that,” Danny explained. “I couldn’t see him or communicate with him either. There was no sort of… Ancients this is hard to explain. There was no resonating vibe with him. It didn’t—doesn’t mean that he’s not dead, though he’s sure he’s not, but I knew he wasn’t a normal ghost right away. And that was before the seizures.”

Nightwing rested his head against the cold can of ginger ale. “…the seizures?”

Danny hummed. “Whenever Flash gets too close—touches me, I think—I have a seizure.”

“Dude! And that doesn’t concern you?” Gar shouted, bits of macaroons flying.

And Danny just shrugged, like it didn’t! “Well, I mean, I’ve already died? Twice. Well, three times now if my heart stopping counts.”

“Yeah,”Dick mumbled, “I think that counts.”

“Anyways,” Danny continued guilelessly, “the seizures basically put me in a state where I could have contact with Flash. I could see him, at least. There were only a few anyway before I tried the tea. The tea worked enough for me to talk to him. He gave me the messages, and now I’m here.”

Victor leaned forward. “I want you to take us through what Flash told you as best as you can remember.”

“And I want to know what was in that tea,” Raven said.

“And I want to know if you have your medication!” Gar chirped. Everyone turned to him and he deflated a little. But he continued gamely on as he always did, “Dude still has a hospital bracelet on! He might have come right here. See! Look at that face! He came right here.”

Danny did look pretty guilty with how he was rubbing at the back of his neck and pointedly wasn’t looking at any of them.

Dick sighed. He might not have Wally right then, but it did seem like he had another overly thoughtful idiot to look after in the mean time. “Did you come right here?”

“I had to let you know about Flash!” Danny said. “I know how long he’s been hanging around me and who knows how long it took him to find me. You all have to be worried.”

“Your medication?” Dick asked.

“It’s being filled?”

“Right. We can have Kori grab it on her way. She was finishing a thing up with the Outlaws,” Victor said. “We’ll just need your full name, birthday, and pharmacy where it’s being filled.”

Danny took a long breath and then took a decisive nod. “Right. I can do that. And then I’ll call Miss Wilhelmina Aleshire, so brace yourself for that.”

#dp x dc #thodf #danny/dick/wally

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ariestrxsh · 9 months ago

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roughdom!stepbro!chris x bratty!stepsis!reader

🖤 content warning: 🖤 smut, heavy step sibling kink, brutal face fucking, breath play, dacryphilia, degradation, humiliation, light praise

🖤 summary: 🖤 after arguing about whose turn it is to do the dishes, you and your step-brother chris decide to have a breath-holding contest, but there's only one way chris can be sure that you're playing fair

this is not incest!!! the characters are step siblings. i'm aware that it's still morally grey for some people. totally get it. if you don't like the concept, don't read it bc it will literally be impossible for you to forget they're step siblings. 😭 i just need rough dom stepbro chris more than i need air in my lungs. (this joke will be even funnier to you after you read this fic if you do.) and last thing: sorry x100 for writing this lmao. and a super big sorry to anyone who's on my taglist who didn't wanna read this.

dividers by @/strangergraphics

holdyourbreath

chapters: | 1 |

"So, are you going to do the dishes before my dad and your mom get home?" Your eyes darted up at Chris, your disgusting new step brother, from across the room while you were curled up on the living room floor next to the dim lamp with a warm blanket and a good book.

"Are you fuckin' with me, kid? I thought it was your turn to do the dishes," Chris replied smugly, glaring at you from his gaming chair as he sat in front of the TV, mindlessly playing some dumb Modern Warfare whatever number they're on now.

"I did them last night," you responded defensively, your voice becoming shrill. "Yeah, and I did them two nights in a row before that. What's the big deal?" Chris snapped back, rolling his eyes at how whiny you were.

You resented how hard-headed he was, especially because you were hard-headed, and there was only room for one stubborn person in this house.

His mom had met your dad about six months prior and three months into knowing each other, they eloped, and now you were stuck living under someone else's roof with an obnoxious, gross, smug step brother who never carried his weight around the place and made everything everyone else's problem.

You weren't the type of person to use the word hate lightly, but you hated Chris.

"Chris, can you please just do the dishes? I'm busy. I'm right about to reach the climax in this book," you responded in an agitated and slightly desperate tone. "Well, I'm busy, too. I'm about to go climax after this game," Chris chuckled at your word choice.

"Ugh, you're disgusting!" You slammed your book shut, shooting him a look of contempt. "Sorry, princess. Did I ruin your climax?" Chris smirked, motioning towards your book and biting his lip.

You almost got up and just did the dishes yourself, because you knew they needed to be done, and despite how much you didn't want it to be true, Chris was perhaps, even more hard-headed than you, but you had an idea.

"Let's settle this like adults. Breath holding contest. Whoever holds their breath the longest doesn't have to do the dishes tonight," you suggested, and Chris gave you a look like you'd given him an offer he couldn't refuse.

You and Chris were both competitive, and contests were often the only effective way to settle arguments between the two of you. Sometimes it would be rock, paper, scissors. Or a staring contest. Or a one-on-one game of basketball. Anything you guys could turn into a competition really.

"Deal," Chris confidently responded, pausing his game and spinning around in his chair until he was facing you. "Okay, on the count of three," you said, setting a stopwatch on your phone, and the two of you both took in a deep inhale before holding your breath as long as you could.

You and Chris stared directly at each other, giving each other dirty looks and sizing each other up, both trying to gain dominance over the other. You didn't really care to stay true to the game and play fair. When you started running out of air, you slowly exhaled through your nose, cycling your breath and hoping Chris wouldn't catch on.

You couldn't let that smug bastard win. After all, it was his turn to do the dishes, and your book was way more important than his stupid video games.

After the stopwatch hit a minute and a forty-five seconds, Chris' face was turning a bit red. He pinched his eyebrows together and scrunched his nose at you in a look of displeasure, and after about fifteen more seconds of this, Chris let out a long, angry exhale. "Fuck you, you're cheating!" He accused you.

"I am not!" You snarked back, but the way your voice naturally raised an octave or two had even you unconvinced of your own lie. "Bitch, you didn't even breathe out before you said that. And you don't look or sound out of breath at all," Chris replied, narrowing his eyes at you and clenching his jaw.

"I wasn't cheating," you said, avoiding eye contact. "You were, and I can prove it," Chris licked his lips maliciously and grinned at you. "You can prove it?" You said in a skeptical tone, testing him. Chris stood up, slowly sauntered over to you while you were still sitting on the ground.

He peered down at you with a darkness in his eyes as he started unfastening his belt and unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. "What the fuck are you doing?" You asked, glaring up at him, but your eyes fell and widened when he pulled out his big, juicy dick. It was already hard and the tip was swollen and shiny with a layer of precum.

Conveniently for Chris, your jaw dropped as you studied the way his veins webbed out across the backside of his shaft, and he took this opportunity to grab onto the back of your head and shove his throbbing cock into your gaping mouth. He let out a satisfied exhale and his eyes gently rolled back as he relished in the wet warmth you provided for him.

He held your head in place and forced every inch down your throat until you could feel the hem of his shirt tickling your nose. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and he opened the stopwatch function on it. He then placed it into your trembling hand.

"You're gonna hold this for me, you fucking cunt. You're gonna hold it up so I can see it, and we're gonna count together how long you can hold your breath, yeah?" Chris said through gritted teeth before hitting the start button.

Chris' left hand was still tangled in your hair, and with his right hand, he pinched your nose closed between his thumb and pointer finger. "Be a good girl and hold your breath for me," he whispered to you, admiring the way your soft, pretty lips looked keeping his cock warm for him.

"Come on, princess. It's only been fifteen seconds. I know you can keep going since you're so good at holding your breath, right?" He taunted you as he peered down at the tears forming in your eyes.

"Like having your step brother's dick in your mouth? I bet you do. Didn't even put up a fight or nothin', you just let me stick it in," Chris spoke to you in a low, dominant voice that immediately had your pussy drooling for him. "Thirty seconds," Chris relayed, his eyes bouncing back and forth between your pretty little mouth and the stopwatch.

"Fuck, it's so nice to have some peace and quiet around here for once. No bitchin', no complainin', no whinin'. Just the sweet sound of you gagging on me," Chris moaned, gently rocking his hips back and forth and relishing in the soft choking noises that came from you, his belt buckle softly clanking against itself.

"See? Now that's what it looks like when you're actually holding your breath. Forty-five seconds," Chris smirked down at you, noting how red your face was getting from lack of air.

He started to fuck your face a little rougher, still cutting off your oxygen flow, the sound of the metal on his belt getting louder. You could feel his tip grazing that spot at the back of your throat, tickling your gag reflex. You could feel his pretty veins with your tongue as it rested on the backside of his length.

"You like having your mouth used by your step brother? I bet you like when I remind you what I am to you, huh? Does it make you wet? How wrong it is?" Chris teased you, thrusting back and forth, his eyes rolling back into his head as several animalistic moans left his mouth.

You didn't want to admit it, but Chris was right. There was something about it that was so taboo that you couldn't help but soak your panties while Chris used you however he wanted. "One minute. You already look like you need air, princess," Chris taunted you, his jaw slacking as he looked down at the tears rolling down your cheeks. "So pretty when you cry for me," he let out a breathy moan while he threw his head back.

Your heart started pounding in you ears, your palms were sweating, and your eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of your head. You did secretly love choking on your step brother's gorgeous cock, but you really couldn't breathe, and you didn't have the lung capacity for this.

You took your free hand, made a fist with it and started pounding on Chris' thigh to let him know you'd had enough. "Admit you lied and that you like this, and I'll let you breathe," Chris cooed, peering down at you and how desperately you gazed up at him.

You were too prideful. Surely, he'd have to let go of your nose regardless of whether you admitted to it or not, right? You pounded on his thigh again.

"All you have to do, princess, is nod your head when I ask you these next few questions, and I'll let go," Chris said to you slowly as if you were dumb. "Did you cheat during our contest and then lie about it?" He inquired, staring down at your makeup streaking down your cheeks. You couldn't take it any longer. You nodded.

"Good answer. Now does it make you wet? How wrong it is to have your step brother's dick in your pretty little mouth?" He asked in a soft, sweet tone, which didn't match the vile words pouring from his pouty lips. Humiliation welled in you, and you looked up at your step brother in shame as you hesitantly nodded your head.

"That's what I thought," Chris whispered, finally letting go of your nose and pulling his meat out of your throat, eliciting several loud gasping and coughing sounds from you before you started violently panting, desperately trying to catch your breath.

"Fuck, I can't believe you liked that. You're so fucked up," Chris whispered, winking down at you and smiling, knowing he liked it just as much. "You know, while I have you here, I may as well have you finish the job, hmm?" He suggested, searching your face for a reaction.

Desperation filled your eyes while you gazed up at him and slowly nodded. You hated the way he had you submitting to him, and so easily, too, but you couldn't help the way it turned you on to think about your step brother busting all over your tongue.

He grabbed the back of your head again and made his cock vanish behind your lips once more. He gripped onto your hair tightly, controlling your movements and causing your mouth to jounce on his meat. His hips began involuntarily thrusting back and forth while he enjoyed the way you graciously took every inch like you were starving for it.

Your tongue danced around on the underside of his shaft, supplementing the sensations he was already giving into. The way you stared up at him with your lips embracing all his sensitive nerve endings made him melt in your mouth, and his eyes started to glaze over. You could tell he was getting close.

"Fuck, you're such a good step sister. Takin' me so fuckin' well," he whispered in a sultry voice, contemptuously smiling at you. You couldn't believe how much you were looking forward to making Chris finish on your tastebuds, and you felt repulsed with yourself for getting so wet at his words. No matter how much you tried to remind yourself what a disgusting, selfish jerk he was, your pussy was drooling for him.

"What would your daddy think if he knew his little princess were choking on my dick right now while he finishes up at work?" Chris seductictively teased you, feeding your humiliation kink.

You didn't need to use your words to tell Chris how much you liked everything he was saying to you. He could tell by the desperate glint in your eye that lingered as he degraded you.

"Want your step brother to cum on your pretty little tongue?" Chris cooed, his movements becoming more jagged and messy as he fucked your mouth. "You gotta beg for it, princess, or else I won't give it to ya," he snarked back, his lips curling into a devilish grin.

You peered up at him in silence. Of course you wanted to taste his seed as it poured from his tip, but you wanted him to beg you to let him cum, not the other way around.

He roughly pulled you off his cock and leaned down so that his face was only a few inches from yours. "I said beg," he rasped. Fuck, you thought when you realized you'd already lost the power struggle the second you cheated during the breath-holding contest.

Chris wasn't the type to let things go, and he didn't care about cumming if you weren't going to beg him. He'd leave himself unfinished just to spite you. "Please, Chris.." you softly whined while you were on your knees peering up at him, longingly. "Please what?" He inquired, needing to hear you say it.

"Please. I want you to fill up my mouth," you quietly admitted. "Good girl. Say it again. Beg harder," he lustfully stared down at you, hanging onto your every last word, but you thought you'd try one more time to flip the dynamic on him.

"Be a good boy and cum for me," your lips curled into a smug smile, but Chris wasn't the least bit amused. "That's not how this works. You are not domming me right now, fucking bitch," Chris said, taking your hair into his tight grasp again and shaking you around like a doll. "I fucking said beg. And if you misbehave one more time, I'll never let you suck my cock again," he threatened. You hated how effective this was.

"No, no, no. Please. I'm sorry. Please finish on my tongue. Please. I'm dying for it. I need your cum flooding my mouth until it's overflowing. I'd do anything for it," you whined, giving Chris exactly what he wanted.

"Fuck. So easy. Such a good girl for me. How could I not reward such pretty words?" Chris cooed, making his wand disappear behind your pretty lips again like some kind of deranged magic trick.

He rocked his hips back and forth, triggering your gag reflex some more and relishing in the lovely sound of you choking on him. His moans became deeper and more urgent as you took him so well. "Good girl. Get ready for me, princess. I'm so close," Chris breathlessly called out, violently fucking your face while he manipulated the movement of your head, still holding your hair in his tight grip.

His guttural moans echoed throughout the house as his dick throbbed against your lips, emitting a hot, thick, sticky substance onto your eager tongue while he pumped back and forth, savoring every last bit of pleasure. "Good girl. Swallow," he commanded you, smiling down at the way you obediently listened.

"Fuck," he whispered when he was done using your pretty little back-talking mouth. As he tucked his satisfied cock back into his pants, he wiped away a tear that was running down you cheek and softly said, "Now those dishes aren't going to wash themselves, princess."

part two here 🖤

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#sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #ᴀʀɪᴇꜱ' ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙#ᴄʜʀɪꜱ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙#ꜱᴛᴇᴘʙʀᴏ.ᐟᴄʜʀɪꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙

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mydearzero · 1 month ago

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The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader - Chapter 9 | Attachment

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter.

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader

Read it on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 8

2.3K words

Life changed after that. It went unspoken, but Bob had emotionally attached himself to you in a way that was unprecedented. You barely spent time at your own apartment anymore.

Bob was in his little spot on the windowsill, reading one of the books you’d picked up with him. He looked tired, but content. You looked around the room and spotted your shoes stacked neatly next to his. One of your sweaters was draped over the couch. The contents of your bag were strewn around, never quite making their way back to your home.

You got up from your spot at the breakfast island. You hadn’t claimed it, exactly, but you noticed just the other day how nobody ever sat there anymore but you. Bob shifted in his seat, eyes following your every move. It was a new development.

“Where are you going?” He asked anxiously, just like he’d done a million times already these last few days.

“I’m just gonna put my bag in my room,” you chuckled.

“Ah– Okay,” Bob nodded, returning his attention to his book. You could tell he was still watching you from his peripheral.

That too, was a development. The empty room next to Bob’s had unofficially become yours. You’d stayed over more often than not. If anybody had noticed Bob sometimes sneaking into your room after he’d had a nightmare, nobody cared to mention it.

✶

The first time it happened, he’d scared you. He stood in the doorway (which had been repaired during his time in the bunker) like a toddler scared to tell their mom they’d thrown up. You had no clue how you’d even woken up that night, but the dark figure looming in the hallway was enough to make a yelp escape your mouth, quickly turning on the light on your nightstand.

“Jesus, Bob, you scared me!” You whispered loudly.

“Can I come in?” His voice was so small.

“Yeah,” you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. A glance at your phone revealed it to be 3 in the morning. “What’s up?”

“It’s just–” he paused, stepping inside and softly closing the door behind him. “I can’t sleep…”

“Okay?” You encouraged him to continue, still confused about what he was doing in your bedroom at this time of night.

“I, well. I was asleep at first. But then… Y’know. I woke up?” The story was vague. Too vague.

“So what’s the problem?” You were still half asleep and didn’t have the brainpower to connect what he was on about.

“I had a nightmare,” it was barely audible. “I can just, this is stupid I’ll just go–”

“No, no. Stay. C’mon,” you scooted over, lifted the blankets and made extra room for him to sit. The bed sure was big enough for the two of you. He hesitated for a second before shuffling over to the bed. He got under the blankets but stiffly stuck to one side of the bed.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” You asked, lying on your side and propping your head up on your elbow so it was easier to look at him.

“Not really, if that’s okay,” he admitted.

“Yeah, of course that’s okay. We can just talk, or sleep. Whatever you want,” you smiled.

“Can you– no. Uh,” he started, but rubbed his palm against his face. His shaky hands had returned once more.

“Can I what?” You reached for his other hand, playing with it mindlessly to distract him a little.

“No, it’s dumb. You can just go to sleep. I’ll go back to my room.” He moved to get up, but you gripped his arm tightly.

“No, tell me. It’s not dumb. You can stay here, I don’t mind, I swear,” you reassured him.

“Can we maybe, like, hug? Not anything weird, I promise, just–”

“Aww, you want to cuddle?” You teased lightly.

He groaned. “Don’t laugh!”

“Of course we can cuddle. If that’ll make you feel better. C’mon, get in here,” you lifted the blanket again and patted the extra pillow he was leaning against. He shuffled around a bit, awkwardly trying to find a comfortable position without disturbing you. You sighed, grabbed his arm and slung it over yourself. On the outside you tried to look collected, but your heart was racing.

Bob tugged you a little closer, pressing you up against his chest. “This okay?” He mumbled. You could feel his lips move against the top of your head as he talked. You nodded and snuggled against him. You could hear his heartbeat with your head on his chest, somewhat relieved to find it matched yours, beating fast. Whether from this situation or his nightmare, you’d never know.

He reached to turn off the light on the nightstand, dousing you in darkness. A content sigh left his lips as he finally let his limbs relax. His breathing slowed, light puffs of air hitting your face.

✶

So Bob had some attachment issues. Could anyone blame him? You indulged him to the best of your ability, but it was hard, sometimes. You kept thinking about the days he’d spent as Sentry, about what had happened in the bunker. You knew he didn’t remember, but some part of you wished he did so you could talk with him about it. You knew Bob had noticed you were distracted at times. He’d probably figured out it had something to do with those days, too.

When you returned to the living room Bob visibly relaxed. Though you didn’t blame him for the way he’d anxiously attached himself to you, at some point it would have to stop, realistically. You couldn’t always be around and he would need to learn to be able to depend on himself.

For now, though, you poured him a drink and handed it to him without thinking twice.

“What are you thinking about?” Bob wondered, sipping his soda.

Your brows furrowed. “Nothing in particular, I guess. Why?”

“You looked a bit far away, there. Happened yesterday too. I’m just curious,” he shrugged.

You sat down on the other side of the windowsill, pulling your legs up and mirroring his pose. You’d have to talk about it eventually.

“Do you remember anything that happened in the bunker?” You asked tentatively, absentmindedly pulling at the skin of your lips. Bob’s gaze dropped to your hand, and you quickly stopped the action.

“No, I don’t remember anything. Never do when he shows up,” he pressed his lips together in a light grimace.

“I didn’t expect you to remember,” you admitted.

“What happened that makes you keep worrying about it?” He closed his book and put it away. You tried to find the best way to tell him, but it was difficult.

“You can tell me,” he encouraged.

“You… I know it wasn’t like that. It’s just…” You looked down at your hands, refusing to make eye contact. Was it hot in here?

Bob leaned forward, putting a hand on your knee. Your eyes shot up to meet his investigative gaze.

“You kissed me,” you sheepishly admitted. You wanted to avert your eyes, but couldn’t tear them away from the intense look on his face.

When he didn’t respond, you elaborated. “I’m pretty sure it was just– There were cameras inside and he wanted to prove to me that he knew that. I think.” You let your eyes wander to the city skyline through the window as you awaited what he’d say.

“Oh– I’m sorry? That’s not– He shouldn’t have done that,” he shook his head, leaning back, his hand leaving where it had been resting on your knee to rub at his temple.

“You don’t have to apologize. I just thought you should know that that happened.”

He nodded. “Thanks for telling me. Don’t know what I expected but it sure as hell wasn’t that,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, needless to say I hadn’t expected it, either,” you laughed stiffly. You nervously rubbed your hands on your thighs, glad it was off your chest.

“What was it like?” Bob asked. Your jaw dropped ever so slightly before you could catch it.

“Huh?”

“The kiss,” he clarified. “I wanna know what it was like.”

You tried to read his expression to understand what he was getting at, but it was illegible, aside from a hint of amusement.

“Well… It was a kiss. I’m not sure what else you want me to say about it.”

“Did you like it?” He smiled. You opened and closed your mouth several times in an attempt to formulate a response.

“I– I was a bit preoccupied at that moment, Bob!” You huffed.

“That’s not a no, though,” he shrugged.

“You are unbelievable,” you moved to get up, done with this conversation. Did you like it???? What kind of question was that??????

Bob called after you as you turned into the hallway. “You’re not denying it!”

“I’m done talking about this, Reynolds!” You yelled back. You heard a soft chuckle from his general direction before you closed the bathroom door. You quickly turned on the tap, splashing your face with cold water.

Did you like it?

You looked at yourself in the mirror, noticing the flustered expression still painting your face. What a jackass. Did you like it, my ass.

But, did you? Did you like it? God, this was going to haunt you for even longer than the kiss itself had. At least he’d found it amusing.

You thought back to the question Sentry had asked you. Would you rather it have been Bob? The answer was yes, quite obviously. You knew Bob. You didn’t know Sentry. Bob was sweet. Of course you’d rather it had been him.

But…

Did you like it?

GOD. SHUT UP.

You unlocked the door and walked back into the living room like nothing had happened. You ignored the smug look on his face and walked past him into the kitchen, ready to go make some dinner.

Most of the team was out, though not on a mission. It wasn’t any of your business what they were up to, yet you couldn’t help but be curious. The only person whose whereabouts you were up to date with was Yelena.

She had a meeting with a therapist to vouch for her and set her up with regular appointments with Bob. Mel had said the therapist came greatly recommended by other enhanced people. Where she’d gotten that info, she was unwilling to disclose. It didn’t matter, as long as Bob finally got professional help with his issues.

It wouldn’t be a walk in the park. Far from it, even. But you were sure that with the help of the team, the therapist, you and most importantly himself, there was a lot of progress to be made in the coming time.

Yelena had returned by the time dinner was finished. It was just the three of you, for once. It was a nice change from the loud environment the penthouse was usually basked in. Sometimes you wondered what the rest of the tower was used for now, as it hadn’t been Stark Industries property in a long time. You assumed something OXE related, as Valentina owned the building. It was better to not ask questions.

“Didn’t know you were such a deep sleeper, Bob,” Yelena casually mentioned with a mouthful of rice.

“What do you mean?” Bob asked. He wasn’t a deep sleeper whatsoever, from his recollection. He’d describe himself as a light sleeper, if anything.

“I knocked on your door like four times this morning. No answer,” she shrugged. You narrowed your eyes. What did she know? Her eyes glanced over to you, delight clearly shining bright in them. She definitely knew something.

“Huh, interesting. I guess I must’ve been sleeping very deeply then, yeah,” Bob replied, scarfing down a few more spoons of rice. One day you’d teach him to eat with chopsticks, though you doubted that would slow him down in the bulldozing of his meals. The spoon was more efficient, anyway.

“Yeah, it was almost like there was nobody in there, at all,” Yelena prodded.

“Interesting, indeed,” you interjected, trying to shoot the subject down. You knew it was an innocent thing, the arrangement you had with Bob, yet you felt caught.

When you finished dinner the three of you made quick work of clearing the table and doing the dishes.

“By the way, Bob. Can I borrow your charger? My cord is all frayed. It’s a miracle it still worked this long,” Yelena asked. You exchanged a quick look with him. She was good, you must admit.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go get it in a sec,” he replied, drying the last plate.

“No, that’s fine. I can just get it from your room,” Yelena replied. Fucking spies. Can’t hide shit from them. Yelena waited for an answer, a self-satisfied smile stretching her cheeks as far as they would go. Bob sighed, put the now dry plate on the stack and hung up the tea towel.

“It’s not in my room,” he admitted.

“Oh, really? I wonder where it is, then,” Yelena tapped her chin theatrically.

“Oh my god– Yes, he’s been sleeping in my room. Just go get the damn charger, Belova,” you attempted to throw some soap suds her way, but failed.

“Your words, not mine! I didn’t say anything!” The Russian yelled over her shoulder as she walked out of the kitchen.

“Do you think she’ll tell the rest?” Bob asked, putting the plates in the cupboard.

“Bold of you to assume they don’t already know, at this point,” you sighed.

“We’re not doing anything wrong, though.”

“No, but you know that hiding it in the first place kinda implies…”

“Implies what?”

“Shut up, you. I’ve had enough of you today,” you took the plug out of the sink and let the dirty water drain away.

“You wound me,” Bob put a hand to his chest, laughing. You scoffed, but let out a laugh. These people were going to be the death of you.

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mandoalorian · 2 months ago

Text

if this is war, i surrender — prologue

Revenge had a price. You just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

Pairing: New Avenger!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Synopsis: You wanted revenge. He became the reason you hesitated. He was the ghost from your past—the one who took everything. But getting close to him meant playing a dangerous game. And somewhere between hating him and pretending not to care, you forgot the one rule you swore you'd follow: don't fall for the enemy.

Word Count: 2,700

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for eventual smut - and there will be a lot of it, mentions and descriptions of abuse (both physical and emotional), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, death of a family member, Sam/Bucky aren't friends.

Author’s Note: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* (and is tagged accordingly) — as promised, a brand new fic series for our beloved New Avenger!Bucky. And it's an Avengers Tower fic! I am so excited for this. If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Masterlist | next chapter

You’d lived your whole life feeling what others couldn’t hide.

Anger that simmered beneath polite smiles. Grief was tucked behind practised charm. Lust, hatred, envy—emotions wrapped in flesh and bone and lies. Most people were predictable once you knew what they’d do before they did it.

It wasn’t magic. Not really.

It was you—something twisted into your blood long ago. You could read them. Sense the weight of a person by the colour of their aura, the heat of their intent. It made the world feel like a game of chess, you were always five moves ahead in.

And still, somehow, you’d lost everything.

No family. No justice.

Just a face burned into your memory—cold, unfeeling, and soaked in your brother’s blood.

The Winter Soldier.

You’d read all the self-help books and spent years in counselling and therapy. God, you had tried everything to get over it. But you remembered it like it was second nature, so much so that your Void Room felt like a nightmare you’d been used to for the past twenty years. It wasn’t reliving trauma, because you had never left. You were only a small child when it happened. You remember the fear that outlined your brother when he was cornered by the Winter Soldier, and the Soldier’s aura? Nothing. Like he was cut off from the world. Not an ounce of feeling or emotion.

But how could that be possible?

They said he was reformed, that he was out in the city under a government pardon, trying to live a ‘normal life’ after the Battle of Earth. There were traces of his presence a few years ago, working alongside Captain America to disassemble the Flag Smashers. And since then, a brief stint of being Brooklyn's Congressman.

Seriously, who would vote him into power?

You had been waiting for the world to hand him a spotlight, a new beginning, because that always seemed to happen to men like Bucky Barnes.

A fresh start. Forgiveness.

You were okay with waiting because a plan like this had to be made with precision, and precision took time. You couldn’t fight him with fury or fire.

You’d get close. You’d make him trust you. And when the moment came, you’d watch his world fall.

But for now, you worked at McCready’s bar in Lower Manhattan.

The neon lights outside the bar flickered in a lazy rhythm as you wiped down the counter for the umpteenth time, the stale smell of spilt whiskey and cheap beer lingering in the air. It was a Tuesday, but the bar was packed — a sea of half-drunk faces and the kind of conversations that never mattered. You hadn’t expected much from the job, but at least it kept you afloat. Barely.

The tips were inconsistent, the hours long, but it was all you had. Living in New York City wasn’t kind to anyone who wasn’t swimming in money, and you weren’t even close. You’d gotten used to the way the city hummed around you, indifferent to your struggles, just another face in the crowd. At least you weren’t completely alone. Shane was always there, hovering in the background like a constant reminder of the life you were stuck in.

He was your roommate, sure — but the lines had blurred long ago. It was more than that. You couldn’t leave him, not because you loved him, but because you had nowhere else to go. Shane had a way of turning everything he touched into a mess, and you were caught in the fallout. He was just… volatile, always drunk, always angry. His mood swung like a pendulum — when it was good, it was fine, but when it was bad, it was a storm. And you were always the one caught in its path.

Tonight was no different. His eyes were bloodshot, his speech slurred, but you knew better than to challenge him. You knew the look, the one that came just before things went south. You had learned how to move quietly, how to keep your head down when he raged. It wasn’t the first time he’d lashed out — and you hated yourself for staying, for letting him control so much of your life. But you couldn’t leave. The apartment was cheap, and it was better than being homeless. The city wasn’t kind to women on their own, and you weren’t naïve enough to think you’d be different.

So you endured.

The clink of glass broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the bar. Another customer. Another drink to serve. You plastered on your best smile and handed over the next round, trying to ignore the ache in your chest, the one that never went away. The ache that was there every time you realised you were stuck in a life that wasn’t yours to begin with, with a person who only made it harder to breathe.

But then, he crashed against the bar when your back was turned.

You felt it before you saw him.

A tight heat in the centre of your chest, like a warning flare under your skin. The aura rolled in a moment later—dark, pulsing red, bloated with alcohol and laced with something sharp. Bitterness. Rage. Shame. It wrapped around you like smoke, familiar and suffocating.

Shane.

You didn’t even need to look up. The aura was unmistakable. Predictable. He always came into your orbit like this—loud, drunk, and looking to pick a fight he could pretend wasn’t his fault.

You braced your palms against the sticky bar top and sighed.

“Didn’t think you worked Thursdays,” his voice slurred from your left. He leaned heavily against the counter, already swaying.

“I switched shifts.” You kept your eyes on the glass you were drying, steady and detached.

Shane scoffed. “Of course you did. Probably duckin’ me.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned in closer, breath hot and sharp with whiskey. “You can’t keep avoiding me, babe. We’ve got things to talk about.”

You turned to face him. “We broke up.”

His jaw twitched. You saw the spike in his aura before he even moved. The humiliation—how quickly it curdled into fury.

He slammed his palm down on the bar. “You can’t just cut me off like that! I still have your stuff!”

“And I’ll pick it up tomorrow when I get off work.” You spoke calmly, but your fingers curled against the wood.

“You act like I was the problem. Like you’re so perfect.”

You felt his emotions boiling up, the weight of everything unsaid pressing into your ribs. Your powers made it impossible not to feel it all—the guilt, the desperation, the jealousy eating holes in his brain.

He reached toward the shelf behind you, fingers clumsy and quick.

You saw it in a flash—his intention. The movement. The bottle. The shatter.

“Shane,” you warned, voice low.

But he grabbed the glass anyway.

And when you didn’t flinch—didn’t react—he hurled it at the far wall. The sound of shattering exploded through the bar like a gunshot.

Conversations cut off. Heads turned. The bartender at the other end shouted something you didn’t catch, but you didn’t move. You stared him down, heart steady even as your powers screamed with the heat of his spiraling aura.

“Get. Out.” Your voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to.

Shane scoffed again, as if that might somehow make him look less pathetic. He backed up with slow, jerking steps, flipping off the room as he staggered toward the door.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he muttered, just before the door slammed shut behind him.

The silence he left behind was louder than the glass.

You let out a breath, realising you’d been holding it. Then you grabbed the broom from behind the bar and swept the shards into a dustpan, the sharp scrape of glass grounding you.

Your skin still tingled from the contact with his rage. You hated that you felt it all—the fear before it turned violent, the hurt beneath the anger. You hated that your powers made it impossible to just forget someone.

But maybe that was the curse of being who you were. You always saw what was coming. You just couldn’t always stop it.

As the last pieces of glass clinked into the bin, you finally straightened. The bar had settled again. Conversations resumed. The music picked back up.

“Rough night?”

The voice came from the far end of the bar—smooth, level, edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You looked up. Black hoodie. Cap pulled low. Sunglasses indoors. He didn’t look dangerous, but he looked like someone who could be.

“Getting there,” you replied.

He offered a small nod. “Water, please.”

You poured it and slid it over. “You don’t seem like a regular.”

He chuckled. “I’m not.”

There was a pause. You watched him closely, brushing your senses over his aura. It was… quiet. Centred. Strong in a way that didn’t shout. But frayed at the edges. Worn. Heavy. You sensed something simmering—like a soldier forced to sit still while a war started without him.

“You handled yourself well earlier,” he said, not looking up.

You blinked. “You saw that?”

“I saw enough. Most people don’t know when to walk away. You did.”

You tilted your head, wary. “You following me?”

“No. Just watching.”

That didn’t make it less strange. But your instincts didn’t scream danger—only mystery.

You turned toward the corner TV to anchor yourself—something normal. Background noise. Distraction.

Instead, your stomach dropped.

You hadn’t meant to keep watching.

The TV had always just been background noise—old games, muted news reels, the occasional infomercial to fill the gaps between orders. But tonight, the screen was impossible to ignore.

A navy-blue backdrop. Stark white letters:

LIVE: O.X.E. GLOBAL INITIATIVE PRESS CONFERENCE

At the podium stood Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, sharp in her suit, that perpetual half-smile like she knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

“Today,” she said, “marks the beginning of a new era.”

You barely noticed the sound of glass clinking behind the bar as someone restocked. The world had narrowed to that screen.

Val continued, cool and poised. “A world in chaos needs structure. Direction. Accountability. O.X.E. was founded for that purpose—and now, I’m proud to announce its greatest achievement yet.”

The camera panned as she lifted a hand, gesturing to the five figures standing just out of frame.

Your heart skipped once—no reason. Just instinct.

“Earth’s new protectors. A team not built on nostalgia or outdated legacies. But on precision, strength, and experience.”

The screen cut to a slow pan across the group.

First: Yelena Belova.

You recognised her instantly—shoulders squared in sleek black tactical gear, expression unreadable. There was something fiercely restrained in her stance. A storm with a chokehold on itself.

Next: Ava Starr.

Ghost. Gloved hands in her pockets, hood half-drawn. She looked like she wanted to vanish right through the floor. Her energy vibrated through the screen—quiet, unstable, barely contained.

Then: John Walker.

U.S. Agent. Chin high, arms crossed like he was daring someone to challenge his spot. The smugness rolled off him like oil.

After that: Alexei Shostakov.

The Red Guardian. Smirking like he thought this was a stage play. You remembered his face from news clippings—over-the-top patriotism paired with brute force.

And then—just as the camera reached the final spot—

You felt it before you saw him.

Cold steel wrapped in guilt. A storm buried under a thousand locked doors. It hit you like a tide and settled in your bones.

Bucky Barnes.

He stepped forward into frame, silent. Dark clothes. Gloves on. That familiar stare—the one you’d only ever seen in flashes, or in the brief security footage you weren’t supposed to find. The one from fourteen years ago.

Your grip on the counter went white-knuckle.

His name appeared below him in bold, unmistakable letters, sub-titled with the words Team Leader.

The world faded around you. The bar. The people. The music. It all disappeared.

There he was. Front and centre. Standing tall like the past never happened. Like the blood on his hands had been scrubbed clean.

Leader. Hero. Forgiven.

And just like that, the plan began to form.

Because if he was back—if he was leading this new world—then this was your chance.

You’d get close. You’d get answers.

And you’d finally make him pay.

“Mind if I use your phone?” The voice cut your thoughts off with a sharp snap.

You hesitated. “Landline’s under the register. Doesn’t do long-distance.”

“That’s fine. He’s local.”

The man in the cap dialled quickly, voice low as he turned away from the bar. You stayed close, listening despite yourself.

“Yeah. It’s me.” Cap said. That was the nickname you’d given him. It felt fitting. You read his aura, and found it laced with anger. But it wasn’t like Shane’s anger. It wasn’t volatile or red, but instead, it was muted and hurt. Betrayal.

A pause.

“No, I saw it. They didn’t clear it. Val went public without warning.”

Another pause.

“No, he didn’t tell me. Look, Torres. He knew— he knew about my plan to restart the Av—”

His jaw clenched before stopping mid-sentence, aware of his audience.

“Just be ready. If this gets worse, we’ll need to act fast. I’ll call him tonight.”

He hung up. Didn’t say goodbye.

You crossed your arms. “You talk like someone important.”

He gave you a look, unreadable behind the glasses. “Depends who’s asking.”

You lifted your chin, refusing to back down. “I’ve had enough people lie to my face tonight.”

For a beat, he said nothing.

Then, with the tiniest smirk, he pulled off the sunglasses and tucked them into his hoodie.

“I’m Sam.”

Your breath hitched.

Captain fucking America.

────✪────

Bucky’s phone lit up the second the press conference ended.

Sam Wilson.

He stared at the name a moment longer than he needed to, then answered with a clipped, “Yeah.”

Sam didn’t waste time.

“You really let them use the name.”

Bucky leaned back against the edge of the hotel desk, jaw tight. “It’s just a name.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam snapped. “It’s our name. You think you get to let some corrupt agency parade it around like a branding tool? Like Steve’s legacy didn’t mean a damn thing?”

Bucky said nothing.

“You stood up there like it was nothing,” Sam continued. “With Walker. With Val. You think this is what Steve would’ve wanted? You think he’d look at that team and—”

“Don’t,” Bucky cut in, voice suddenly cold. “Don’t bring him into this.”

Sam didn’t flinch. “Someone has to.”

Bucky exhaled, short and sharp. “I didn’t choose the name. I didn’t write the headline. I chose a mission. That’s it.”

“Yeah?” Sam snapped. “Well, congratulations. You just handed the Avengers legacy over to a bunch of government puppets.”

Something burned behind Bucky’s eyes. He clenched his fist.

Bucky’s silence was answer enough, and Sam could feel his partner’s stoic glare through the line.

Sam exhaled, like he was holding back something worse. “You think this is justice? You think you’re fixing something?”

“I’m doing what I can with the mess that’s left,” Bucky said through gritted teeth. “Same as you.”

“No, I’m trying to honour what came before. You—? You’re just trying to outrun it.”

That struck a nerve.

Bucky stood straighter, voice low and clipped. “You think I give a damn about your approval? I don’t need your permission to do something that matters.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam snapped. “Since when do you care about legacy?”

The air between them tightened, stretching thin with unspoken names and unforgiven history.

“You’ve got no idea what I care about,” Bucky said coldly.

Sam paused, just long enough for it to sting. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Click.

Bucky hung up first.

The fourteen months that followed weren’t peaceful.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

Fic taglist: @ruexj283

#thunderbolts spoilers #thunderbolts #the new avengers #new avengers #marvel #bucky barnes #avenger bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes series #mcu #sam wilson #thunderbolts*#avengers tower fic #avengers tower #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you

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wordsofwhimsy · 3 months ago

Text

【Ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅｓ　

Ａｔｔｒａｃｔ】 - Part One

a/n: ok but do y’all see this BEAUTIFUL artwork commissioned by @gods-banshee?? not me crying over it T-T literal perfection; i'm fucking obsessed also WILDLY hype about this series. gonna be a slow burner for sure!!!

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice of life

Word Count: 2,835

Brief Reader Background: You have an ability to bring inanimate objects to life. After years of training and testing with the GDA, however, it's determined that your ability is maxed out at small, harmless things – think teddy bears, dolls, and the like. Your powers manifested a little after your 7th birthday, but prior to this you lived on the same block as Mark and were childhood friends.

Chapter Synopsis: After 10 years of being in the GDA’s custody, you're “emancipation” from them and start attending your first – and final – year of schooling as a high school senior. The story is gonna have time skip within the next chapter or so; don't worry you wont be stuck in high school forever lmao

It’s funny, isn’t it? The way you spend your entire life imagining a moment, only to have it feel completely different when it actually happens.

You stand at the entrance of the school, heart racing in your chest like it's trying to escape. You should be excited. This is it, after all! Your first day of typical, public academia. You were finally free; out of the sterile rooms where you were tested like some kind of lab rat. No more government buildings. No more men in white coats watching you expectantly, just to be disappointed. Finally, a chance to be... normal.

Except, standing here at the edge of this intimidating hallway, the weight of the moment hits you. This place, the one you thought would feel like a new start, feels more like a cage than a haven.

You tug at the sleeves of your oversized hoodie, hiding your hands, as if making yourself smaller will make the world less overwhelming. You’re not ready for this.

Sure, you’ve spent the past decade in government custody. Sure, you’ve been pushed to test the limits of your powers since you were seven. But none of that prepared you for high school. No one ever taught you how to make friends or blend in with a crowd. How to pretend like you don’t feel like an outsider, a walking alien in a world that doesn’t want you.

Around you, the students swarm through the hallways with an ease you swore you’d never have. They laugh, they talk, they fit in. You’re invisible—something that should be comforting but now feels suffocating. What if you never fit in here?

You hug your books tighter, but it doesn’t help. You’re just another ghost walking down a hall full of people who don’t see you, don’t care to see you.

Your thoughts spiral. Should you talk to someone? Maybe try to make friends? No—don’t be stupid. You don’t know the rules. You’ve never been here before. All you know is how to stay out of sight.

As you drift along, your mind spinning, you notice a change in the air. The chatter and footsteps fade for a moment—an unnatural quiet falls over the space. It’s like the world just paused.

And then you see him.

Mark Grayson.

Your heart skips a beat. There’s no way—could that really be him? You haven’t seen him since you were a kid, but he’s unmistakable. The same messy black hair – albeit buzzed into a more alternative style. The same tall, broad frame. He is unquestionably the same guy.

But you quickly take note that he’s not the goofy, awkward kid you remember. Which of course he’s not; it’s been over a decade, after all. But even still, he seems… different. He walks through the space like he owns it, like everyone should step aside for him.

And they do. They part like the Red Sea. It’s as if they all know he’s something bigger than the rest of them.

The room feels like it freezes as Mark passes by, but you don’t care. You can’t care.

You have to talk to him.

Do it. Don’t think, just do it.

You take a deep breath and walk toward him, pushing through the crowd. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure everyone can hear it. You’re not thinking anymore. You just… have to see him, talk to him, maybe get that little piece of your old life back. Was then even possible?

“Mark!” you call out, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice.

There’s no response, and you wonder if he heard you – how could he not though, when the building was deadly quiet?

“H-Hey, Mark!” you say again, louder this time, almost desperate.

His eyes flick toward you for a split second, but then he just… keeps walking. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even give you a real look. His face is set, cold, like he doesn’t care who you are or that you’re calling out to him like a scream in the void.

You freeze. His sharp eyes felt like ice water being dumped on you. He doesn’t care. He’s not happy to see you. In fact, he’s not anything about you. He doesn’t even seem to recognize you.

And just like that, he’s out of sight down the hall, leaving you standing there, utterly dumbstruck.

The students around you are still watching. Some are whispering, others are glancing at each other and back at you. You can feel their eyes on you like a heavy weight, and all you want to do is disappear.

You take a shaky breath and try to calm yourself. Okay. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal, you say in your mind. Maybe he’s just having a bad day. But then again, maybe Mark had just changed. Maybe he was a different person now.

But that didn’t matter, did it? You weren’t here to find pieces of the past. You were here to start something new. Right?

But even as you think that, a worse thought settles in your stomach. You could never belong in a place like this.

But then you catch yourself. This isn’t you. You’re not some weak pushover who would just let herself fall because of a bitter glance. You’ll figure this out. You have to. You won’t let this place swallow you up like everything else in your life has.

You push your shoulders back, block out your doubts, and start walking again, the noise of the hallway beginning to buzz again in your ears. This new chapter of your life is just beginning, and you’re not going to let it be the end of you.

—

It’s been months since that first day, and nothing has really changed. You’ve kept to yourself, as usual. You go through the motions, your head down, eyes on the floor, trying to blend in with the crowd. It’s easier that way. The loneliness doesn’t sting as much anymore. You’ve grown used to it, the way you’ve grown used to all the other parts of your life that never quite fit.

At lunch, you find your usual spot—the quiet corner near the window, where it’s easy to pretend you’re somewhere else. You unpack your lunch, but your mind is elsewhere, and you catch yourself absentmindedly playing with the small dragon charm that hangs from your bookbag. It’s one of the few things from your past that you still carry with you. You loved the way the charm sways in the light, like a tiny piece of magic you can hold onto.

A chuckle pulls you out of your thoughts. You glance up to see a guy, someone you’ve seen before—a jock—standing a few feet away with his friends. They’re all looking at you, and you feel the familiar heat of embarrassment creep up your neck.

“You know, I thought you were kinda cute at first,” the guy says, grinning like he’s just discovered a new joke. “But then I realized... you’re just a fuckin’ freak.”

He laughs, his friends joining in. Your face flushes with a mix of surprise and embarrassment, your fingers tightening around the charm in your hand.

You open your mouth, but the words get stuck. You don’t know how to respond. You just want to disappear.

But then, something happens. Something that you can’t quite believe.

The jock freezes, his face suddenly contorted in pain, as if something is crushing him from behind. He lets out a whimper, and his friends stop laughing. The cafeteria falls into an eerie silence.

You look up to see a hand gripping the guy’s shoulder. It’s large, powerful, and the grip is tightening. The jock’s face goes pale, and his friends are frozen, unsure of what’s happening.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny?” The voice is vaguely familiar; cool, detached—it’s Mark’s voice.

The jock tries to turn around, but he can’t. Mark’s hand is practically crushing him, and it’s clear he’s not letting go until he’s had his say.

“Go ahead. Tell me,” Mark continues, his voice a low threat. “I wanna laugh too.”

The entire cafeteria is watching now, all eyes on Mark and the guy whose face is turning red from the pressure. The tension is thick, the kind of heavy silence that only comes when everyone knows they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t be.

An administrator, a stern woman who’s been standing by the door, steps forward, trying to break up the confrontation.

“Mark Grayson! What do you think you’re doing?” she says, her voice sharp.

Mark doesn’t look at her. He just gives the jock’s shoulder one last squeeze, and the guy winces before Mark releases him. The jock stumbles forward, clutching his arm, too humiliated to speak.

Mark turns his gaze on you next, his expression unreadable, before he starts to walk away, heading for the exit. The cafeteria slowly returns to its usual noise, but you’re still frozen in your seat, doe eyes watching him as he went.

You can’t help it. You’re in shock, your heart still pounding in your chest. Your hands are shaking slightly, and the dragon charm still dangles loosely from your fingers.

For a moment you sit there, struggling to process what just happened. Did Mark really just stick up for you? Your brain turned slowly in confusion. You’d already given up on the idea that the so-called friendship you once shared would ever come back, but now, with him standing right there, was this… some kind of invitation?

The jock is still rubbing his shoulder, trying to regain his composure, but Mark is already gone.

Your heart is racing in your chest, and before you can second-guess yourself, you shove your things back into your bag and rush to your feet. You’re not going to let this chance slip away.

You move quickly, pushing past the crowd of students who are still staring at the scene. You can’t help but feel that familiar mix of nerves and excitement twisting in your gut. He’s not gone yet. You can catch up. You will catch up.

“Mark!” you call out, your voice a little louder than you intend. It’s shaky, but there’s no turning back now.

Mark doesn’t stop. But that’s okay. You won’t stop either.

You break into a jog, your shoes skidding slightly on the linoleum floor as you make your way down the hallway.

“Mark, wait!” you say again, a bit more forcefully now. You’re not going to let him just walk away this time.

Finally there’s a hesitation. Mark pauses just for a moment, not turning around, but long enough for you to catch up. You hadn’t really thought about what you’d say if you got to him, but now that you’re here it really all just comes pouring out. The words tumble over each other, as if they’ve been stuck inside your throat for years.

“Hey! Mark! You remember me, right? [First Name]—[First & Last]. We used to play on the swings together, remember? You’d always try to push me higher, and I’d scream for you to stop, but you didn’t listen, and I’d cry. That was such a good time—do you remember?”

You continue to ramble, not even giving him a chance to respond, the words coming faster the more you talk. You try to force yourself to slow down, but it’s like the floodgates opened, and you can’t stop now.

“I mean, after everything happened, I never thought I’d see you again, you know? I wasn’t sure if you remembered, but I always thought about you—about us. I-I didn’t really have anyone else to think about, you know? I was stuck in those government buildings, just being tested and waiting and then more testing and more waiting… It was awful, Mark. I mean, just really fucking shitty, y’know? I didn’t get to go to school or… be normal. I didn’t even get to be a kid, really. And don’t even get me started on puberty—talk about a nightmare. But then they didn’t want me anymore so I ended up here! And—well, obviously, I don’t exactly fit in. But I thought, maybe we could talk, you know? I mean, we were friends once, right?”

Your rambling was out of control, the words an awkward mess as you take quick and uneven breaths. You’re not even sure if what you’re saying is making sense, but you can’t stop.

Mark had finally stopped walking, and you stood only a few feet away from him now, the hallway otherwise empty. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable, before muttering, “Jesus Christ, I don’t remember you talking this much.”

The sound of his voice, a full sentence—an actual, coherent sentence directed at you—makes your stomach flip. You can’t help the wide grin that spreads across your face. He’s talking to you!

And your attachment to him is immediate.

“I—I—well, I have a lot to say, obviously! It’s just, you know, after all that time and stuff, I wasn’t sure if you—if you remembered anything about me, or if you even wanted to—" You keep going, voice a little higher now, eager and breathless. “But anyways here you are, talking to me! Hey, do you remember—"

“Whoa, whoa,” Mark cuts you off, rubbing his temples slowly. “I literally can’t understand a word you're saying. It all just sounds like… mouse noises. Like you’re just squeaking at me.”

You stop mid-sentence, your face falling slightly. The silence between you two feels like it stretches on longer than it should. Mark’s eyes flick to the side, and for a moment, you can see him tense up, almost like he thinks he might’ve hurt your feelings—not that he would care. But then, before he can say anything, you burst out laughing.

“I forgot how funny you are!” You can’t help it. The awkwardness, the tension, everything melts away as you laugh. You laugh because this is Mark, the same guy who used to make dumb jokes and laugh at all the stupid stuff you said. The same Mark who wouldn’t let the other kids on the playground kick over your sandcastles, even if he looks a little different and acts a little… rougher now.

Mark stares at you, wide-eyed, blinking like he doesn’t quite get what’s happening. But for a second, his lips twitch. It’s the barest hint of a smile—almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Maybe it’s because he didn’t expect you to laugh at his insult. Maybe he didn’t expect any of this.

Then, he finally speaks, his tone dry, laced with that familiar sarcasm. “Y’know, this is why that fucking meathead called you a freak.”

You rock back on your heels, hands clasped behind your back as you tilt your head and stare at him with an almost innocent expression. “That’s okay. I might act the part, but you definitely look it,” you say, giggling a little. Mark’s brows furrow, and he gives you a look that would’ve sent any other student running for the hills. You, however, are completely unfazed.

You step closer to him, and, moving with the quickness of someone who’s truly bad at reading the room, you rise onto your toes and curl a lock of his mohawk around your finger, studying it with exaggerated interest. Mark, of course, could’ve easily grabbed your wrist the second you made a move toward him. Any other person would’ve found themselves nursing a broken limb, but for some reason, he remains as still as stone under your touch.

Your finger lightly tugs at the end of the strands. “What’s with the hair, by the way?” you ask, genuinely curious. “I mean, you did always act like punk-ass when we were kids, but this is like... next-level.”

Mark glances down at you, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge whether you're serious or just messing with him. “You’re a nosy little shit, aren’t you?”

You shrug, still not taking your finger from his hair. “You think so? I dunno, I guess I’m just kinda surprised by this version of you,” you say, a teasing grin tugging at your lips. “You’re, like, all tough guy now.”

Apparently having had enough Mark abruptly smacks your hand away with the back of his own. He tsks through his teeth, eyes closed as he turned his head away. You furl your lips inward, eyes wide as you stare at his face. You wait a second, then murmur,

“… Did I make you mad?” He hopes you don’t notice the way his lips twitch upward. “Anyways what’s your schedule! Maybe I can switch into some of your classes.” Mark opens his eyes again, glancing down at you with almost disbelief. Were you for real?

He starts to walk away, hands shoved casually in his pockets as he went. And you stayed right beside him, a shadow to his every step.

——————————

Part Two!

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson fanfic #mohawk mark x reader #variant!mark x reader

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