#this is what I look like when someone slightly mentions these so now I must yap forever about them

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

(Answer this after watching Chapter 4)

I NEED an X Reader where Reader comforts Doey after he's first frozen, or maybe one where Reader literally smacks some sense into Doey after the Safe Haven blows up(and we need the refugees to escape PLEASE-)

"Oh, it's you! Is the Doctor...?"

"No. Not yet. I'm working on it." You shook your head, looking apologetically at the doughy toy that had recently become one of your allies.

Even though you were just halfway through your trip through "No Man's Land", you're relieved that you didn't have to worry about Yarnaby following you around. You could have certainly used Doey's help beforehand, but he did save you from Pianosaurus at a critical moment where you thought it was truly the end for you.

Besides that, you were used to dealing with things on your own.

You sent Huggy into a pitfall, killed Mommy Long Legs, and set Catnap and Yarnaby ablaze without really anyone's assistance.

Killing the Doctor, on the other hand, was going to be a very different challenge. He wasn't some Bigger Body with flaws you could exploit--he was cruel, calculating, and wanted to prey on your fear and reasons for coming back to this factory.

Not to mention the Prototype, who was working with the mastermind behind the experiments for reasons still unclear to you. But the "why" wasn't important to you right now--letting this place burn down is what mattered most.

Doey was rather opposed to the idea of setting explosives in the foundation, although after everything you've seen (and knowing him and Poppy have probably seen things ten times worse), you were on board with the plan.

Because what was the alternative?

Letting all these toys starve and cannibalize each other? Waiting for some other poor soul like yourself to come here and die? Allowing the Prototype to have his way?

Absolutely not.

First things first..you had to find the omni hand for your grabpack, knowing it would give you greater access to the facility's systems. Apparently the Doctor had it under lock and key, meaning you had to take him out of commission before you could reach it.

At some point in your mission, you came across Doey again, who was inspecting a pipe. You felt a little bad for disappointing him when you said the Doctor wasn't dead yet, although he must have known it was going to take you some time.

But who could blame him? Him and the others have waited years and years for an opportunity like this. For someone like you to come along and save them.

He couldn't be at fault for being so eager.

"I figured as much." He sighed, smiling at you as he turned away from the pipe. "I've been here gathering parts for the generator."

"Really? Where's all the.....oh." You stopped yourself upon seeing him holding his stomach and giggling. "Right."

"Yup! LOTS of--ah!"

Without any warning, the pipe burst open with loud hiss and began spraying a cloud of cold gas directly onto him. Upon contact with his body, he became frozen solid.

You stood there in shock for a moment, before remembering that dough didn't mix well with the cold, and you panicked as you looked for a way to stop the flow of gas.

Then you looked up to see a switch, using one of your grabpack hands to turn the handle. Fortunately that seemed to do the trick, as the cloud dissipated almost instantly, allowing Doey to thaw out rather fast.

Despite your quick actions, he seemed thoroughly shaken, his eyes wide and his yellow arm stretched out, dragging it behind him as he quickly huddled into the nearest corner of the rooms.

"Hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, HURTS!!!" He cried out, his arm morphing back into its usual shape as he tries taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

You frowned slightly and approached him, ignoring the opening doors for the moment. "Doey, are you okay?"

"N-No. He's made it impossible for me to get around here!" He snapped at you. "Traps like this are everywhere!"

His voice sounded different--with a lot more aggression to it, and so you kept your distance, feeling yourself growing tense.

You had to remember that no matter how innocent or kind these toys appeared to be...they were traumatized and obviously not of sound mind. They could turn on you at the drop of a hat.

Either that, or they're simply animals with unpredictable behaviors.

But you knew Doey wasn't some animal. He was an ally, someone you had learned to trust.

Your gut says that you seriously shouldn't, considering how trusting Mommy almost got you eaten alive, and trusting Poppy led to her redirecting the train and dragging you further into this mess.

But once you saw things from her point of view, you've come to realize that this wasn't something you could just walk away from.

How could you go on with life knowing all of this was happening beneath your feet? Especially now that she believes you were the only person who could help everyone who's suffered here--or at least whoever's left.

She put a lot of faith in you, and you couldn't let her down.

Although she definitely wanted you to hurry, you had to at least take the time to make sure Doey was okay after that trap was set off.

"It's the cold that hurts....th-the big mean Doctor knows that.." He sniffled, now sounding on the verge of tears as he hugged himself.

"And that's why I'm gonna stop him." You promised. "I'm gonna find whatever's left of that prick and destroy him. Once and for all."

"...I-I know. You can go on ahead. I'll..I'll be okay...I'll be okay..."

Despite what he says, you knew he very much wasn't okay just yet.

Then you had an idea.

"I know you will be. But first..."

The clay creature looked at you, seeing you open your arms up, the grabpack's mechanisms down at your sides. "Can I get a hug for the road, big guy?"

Doey sniffled again, at first hesitant to respond, but seeing your sweet attitude and the hope written on your face brought a smile back to his own features.

He nodded and hugged you tightly, squishing you against him and lifting you off the ground a few feet.

The smells of clay and dough were overwhelming, but they're a lot better than the other...ghastly scents you've somehow grown desensitized to.

"Of course you can, buddy!" He laughed. "You'll need it!" After a few moments, he set you down and checked to make sure he didn't leave any residue on you or your grabpack. "Thank you. That...made me feel a lot better."

"I'm glad. I feel better, too." You chuckled, adjusting the straps before making your way further into No Man's Land, praying that you'd make it to the Doctor's hideout and back to the Safe Haven alive.

They were all counting on you.

You couldn't fail.

Not after everything you've been through.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

I Can Show You Lies

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 11

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

6.6k words

Warnings: Language, angst and pining, Vigilante Shit & Roy's very understandable reaction, mentions of an almost-hookup, Roy is still an idiot

A/N: I hope you enjoy the angst! I can't believe I'm almost done with this series... Thank you for being so wonderful as always ❤️

“Uncle Roy, did you get all these bracelets last night?”

Roy glanced over his shoulder from our spot in the kitchen to the living room, where Phoebe was. “Yeah,” he called to his niece before turning to face me again. “Thanks,” he continued, grinning down at the tickets on the counter. “She’s going to lose her shit.”

My own smile grew as I looked over at Phoebe, sitting crisscross on the living room floor and sorting through the friendship bracelets Roy had been sporting the night before. “I’m a little offended you felt like you had to ask,” I teased as I took a bite of one of the cookies I’d brought over with a pair of concert tickets. “I thought you bringing her would be a given.”

Before Roy could answer, Phoebe’s little voice cut though our conversation. “Uncle Roy, why does this one say ‘Daddy’?”

Cookie crumbs sprayed onto the counter as I tried and failed to hold back a laugh. Roy shot me a dirty look, his face furiously red as he stammered out a couple syllables of nonsense.

“Uncle Roy!” Phoebe ran into the kitchen, clutching the bracelet in question. “Are you two having a baby?!”

My face was probably as red as Roy’s now. I eyed the manager, wondering how the hell he wanted to navigate this one.

“No one’s having a baby,” he growled, hastily taking the bracelet from his niece and stuffing it into his pocket.

Her smile faded into a small pout. “Oh,” she sighed. “I would’ve liked having a baby cousin.”

At least this time I didn’t have a cookie in my mouth to spit out. Roy paused for a moment, eyes flickering briefly to me, before snatching the pair of tickets from the kitchen counter.

“Here,” he said simply as he handed them to Phoebe.

There were a few seconds of silence in the kitchen as she scrunched her nose and cocked her head, studying the tickets she clutched. That silence was pierced by a high-pitched shriek as Phoebe threw her arms around her uncle, who now wore that smile he only ever had for her. He laughed and hugged her back, planting a little kiss to the top of her blonde hair.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she was gushing, sounding like she was about to border on hyperventilating at any moment.

“You’re welcome,” he chuckled, releasing her slightly; he was probably hoping she’d take a breath or two, I realized. When we locked eyes over the top of her head, his smile softened. “D’you think there’s someone else you’d better thank?”

In an instant, Phoebe’s arms were around my waist as the little girl beamed up at me. “Thank you,” she repeated. “Thank you so much. This is going to be the best night of my life!”

Unable to help myself, I hugged her back tightly. “You’re so welcome, Pheebs. I hope you have a good time tonight.” I glanced back at her uncle, who was watching us with that familiar fondness on his face. “Both of you,” I added with a grin.

~

“Wembley, you are looking beautiful tonight!”

The crowd cheered boisterously for the popstar, who smiled as she took in the sold-out arena. Roy was impressed; her energy was just as strong as the previous night, her awe and amazement genuine, as though this was her first time performing for a full stadium as opposed to her second night in the row.

When Roy managed to tear his eyes away, he looked down at his niece. The look on her little face was magical. She was completely entranced with the show- the lights, the dancers, the music, her- that she barely even looked at Roy. He smiled to himself, remembering his own catatonic state the previous night; this must have been what it was like for Keeley and Jamie. This concert really was impressive, he told himself. That was why he’d been so enraptured, of course.

Onstage, the singer strummed her guitar casually, beaming at her screaming fans. “You know,” she was saying, “I’ve been hearing a lot of rumors lately. And, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to clarify something.” The song she began to play was familiar, bouncy and fun, sending the entire stadium into an uproar.

I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey But something happened, I heard him laughing I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent They say home is where the heart is But that's not where mine lives

When Roy glanced down, his niece was positively gleeful, singing along to every word of the pop hit from the singer’s previous album. He felt a strange surge of pride at how familiar he was now with her discography. A smile on his own face, he turned back to the stage just in time for the first chorus, her pretty voice almost drowned out by the fans who sang along.

You know I love a London boy I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon He likes my American smile Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates So I guess all the rumors are true You know I love a London boy Boy, I fancy you

Roy bopped his head along, almost tempted himself to sing along; maybe, just maybe, by the end of this tour he would be, he pondered. That would be fucking something. Surely their publicists would be thrilled at that image, of Roy Kent singing along to these silly love songs that weren’t as silly as he’d initially believed them to be.

And now I love high tea, stories from Chelsea, and from Richmond You can find me in the pub, we are watching football with his teammates

The stadium practically shook with excitement at the lyric changes. Roy’s cheeks were red-hot from the sight of all the eyes- and camera phones- that turned his way immediately. His face burned hotter when he caught that cheeky grin onstage, clearly smug over the reaction her surprise had garnered from her fans. Roy laughed and shook his head when their eyes met; he could admit when he’d been bowled over.

But God, I love the English- And he laughs at all my jokes And he says I'm so American Oh, God, it's just not fair of him To make me feel this much

Fucking hell, Roy thought, tearing his eyes away from the singer to marvel at the crowd. Has Wemley ever been this loud in its entire history?

He vaguely knew the song she’d switched over to; it was by another singer, another American popstar, he recalled. It was a cute song, one that Phoebe really liked, based on the way she bounced and sang along. He’d heard that this was a common thing at her concerts, covering songs by friends or singers she really admired, as well as mashups. And, if the crowd’s reactions were anything to go by, this would end up being a fan favorite.

I'd go anywhere he goes And he says I'm so American Oh, God, I'm gonna marry him If he keeps this shit up I might just be in lo-lo-, lo-lo-, lo-lo-, lo-lo-lo-lo-love

Her eyes were on his, sparkling and joyful. Fuck, she was perfect up there, singing and smiling. Something in Roy’s chest ached as he watched her, that weird ache he’d begun to feel back at the lake, the one that popped up in her kitchen and at the quinceañera. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, or what he should do about it. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he liked it.

But damn, he couldn’t help but admit to himself as she basked in the audience’s deafening applause. He sure as hell liked watching her.

~

The Liverpool crowd was deafening, just as loud as the fans at Wembley had been. The first three shows in London had streamed all over TikTok; it was fun to see people so excited to share their experiences, but I had worried about it taking some of the surprise away for other fans. If the Anfield Stadium audience felt any disappointment, they sure as hell weren’t showing it. They screamed and cheered and cried just as much as that first night at Wembley did.

One of my stagehands, one who’d been touring with me for years now, handed me my guitar with a smile and a wink, the way he always did. I slid the strap over my shoulder and smiled into the microphone, letting the sound of the stadium sink into my heart. I didn’t care how many times I did this or how “used to it” I was supposed to be; every little moment made me wonder when I was going to wake up from this fantasy.

“Liverpool,” I started, the simple few syllables sending the stadium into pandemonium. I laughed and shook my head. “Being here is so unreal. I mean, you’re only the home of the biggest band in history!” The mention of the city’s musical history garnered more shouts and cheers. “And I would be completely remiss if I didn’t take the opportunity to pay tribute to them and share one of my favorite songs with you.”

I closed my eyes and gave a little strum, smiling at the light, easy sound, one I’d played countless times in my bedroom as a teenager.

Here, making each day of the year Changing my life with a wave of his hand Nobody can deny that there′s something there There, running my hands through his hair Both of us thinking how good it can be Someone is speaking But he doesn't know she′s there

Through the lights and blur of faces I managed to find Roy’s eyes, a familiar anchor now that made my smile grow instinctively. I shook my head at him as I sang, hoping he’d recognize the look in my eyes, the one I always wore when he was around. His own grin widened as the song went on, and I swore I saw him mouthing along to the words. Somehow, in a stadium of thousands of people, it felt like it was just the two of us, the way it had been by the lake, where the rest of the world didn’t matter as long as we were together.

Knowing that love is to share Each one believing that love never dies Watching their eyes And hoping I′m always there I will be there, and everywhere Here, there and everywhere Mmm-mmm Here, there and everywhere

As the stadium burst into cheers and applause, I kept my eyes on Roy, who wore that stupidly bashful and adorable grin that made my insides scramble. Unable to help myself, I blew a kiss in his direction and mouthed the three words I couldn’t help but think every time I saw him-

“I love you.”

~

Roy should be used to the knowing smiles at this point, he realized. For months now, the Greyhounds had smirked and winked at him whenever her name, her music, her pretty face appeared. So, he really should have known they’d spend half her concert with their eyes on him rather than the stage.

She’d generously offered to host the Greyhounds at any show they wanted to attend, probably assuming they would want to see her at Wembley. Instead, Richard had joked about everyone coming to France for the Paris show, Jamie had said something about wanting to take April to see the Eiffel Tower, Colin commented that he and Michael were planning on something special for their next holiday, and the next thing Roy knew, about half the team was booking flights and hotels to see her opening night in Paris.

Roy wasn’t sure how many of her shows he was supposed to travel to- especially with pre-season training looming on the horizon- but he was keen to fit in as many as he could. Initially, he’d grimaced at the thought of seeing the same show over and over, convinced that it would eventually grow tiresome to keep rewatching it. But, not for the first time, the pop star proved Roy wrong. Between the energy of the crowds, her adlibs and surprise song performances, and, honestly, her magnetic showmanship, Roy found himself just as enthralled as he’d been that first night at Wembley.

And he had to admit, seeing his team so mesmerized was pretty fucking fun.

“Roy, you must really love those costumes of hers, no?” Richard chuckled, elbowing Roy in the side. “Does she ever bring them back after a show?”

All Roy could do was roll his eyes and blush, hoping that was a believable enough response for his player. As he watched her strut in the dark blue bodysuit she’d suddenly appeared in- this one’s new, Roy mused with a quirked eyebrow- Roy couldn’t help pondering that last bit of Richard’s teasing. Those bodysuits were flattering, he admitted. Each and every one was custom-made, after all, designed to show off both her fluid dance moves and her gorgeous figure. He’d stumbled upon some photos and videos online of people- men and women alike- gushing over how good she looked and calling Roy a lucky man.

Yeah, he admitted with a dry chuckle as he watched the lights change for the next song. If this was real, I’d probably insist on seeing those fucking outfits at home.

But he didn’t have time to scold himself for his admittedly dirty thoughts, or to linger on what those thoughts could mean. Not when the music started and the dancers appeared back onstage with- chairs?

On Roy’s other side, Jamie leaned close. “Don’t remember this part,” he said, echoing Roy’s own thoughts.

Before Roy could confirm the striker’s comment, his mouth went completely dry.

Shrieks and screams filled the stadium, along with the sultry music, but Roy honestly couldn’t hear any of it. Not over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, drowning out every noise in the packed stadium- except for her voice.

Draw the cat eye, sharp enough to kill a man You did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them

Once again, he knew the eyes of his teammates- and probably a lot of other people- were on him. But, fucking fucking fuck, he could only gaze at the vision onstage.

She stood center stage in that shimmering bodysuit- with so many damn cutouts he wondered if she was sewn into the thing- looking like sin itself with that red smirk of hers. One boot stomped onto the seat of the chair in sync with the music, showing off those thick, powerful thighs that Roy couldn’t help remembering feeling wrapped around him. Her movements, while smooth and confident as ever, were methodical now, copied by dancers Roy’s fuzzy brain barely registered.

I don't dress for women I don't dress for men Lately I've been dressing for revenge

Her hand traveled down her front slowly, tantalizingly, bringing Roy’s wide eyes down its seductive path that ended before it could land anywhere truly scandalous. The smile she flashed was sinful and teasing- and aimed right at him.

Without missing a beat, she turned and plopped herself into the chair with practiced ease, bouncing enticingly with her legs spread, the way Roy suddenly wished she would bounce on-

Whoa, he warned himself, swallowing hard and forcing himself to blink. Don’t fucking go there, Kent. He wasn’t sure what he was more worried about: crossing lines that had already been violated, or his… arousal becoming obvious to anyone who glanced at his jeans. More than ever, Roy Kent needed to get his imagination under control- and fast.

But it was as if she was trying to thwart his attempts to keep his cool. She stood and strutted as she sang in that sultry voice, the sequins on her costume shimmering as if they were trying to keep his attention on her suggestive movements. Hips that dipped just so, coquettish winks over her shoulder, open-mouth smirks; Roy couldn’t stop watching her even if he wanted to.

And she looks so pretty Driving in your Benz Lately she's been dressing for revenge

Oh fuck, she was doing that hand thing again. An involuntary gulp travelled down Roy’s throat as he once again forced himself to blink, briefly wondering what kind of dazed expression he wore; he’d be seeing it soon enough on social media, he thought wryly. There was no fucking way his every reaction wasn’t going to end up all over the internet.

She hovered over the chair, her back to the crowd, and slowly lowered herself back over it. Lower, lower, lower… and down with a satisfying bounce, her ass perfectly curved as she arched her back.

Don’t get mad, get even

Roy’s face- hell, his entire body- was white-hot as his jaw slacked, watching her turn over her shoulder to sing directly at him, adding a shameless wink as she continued to sing. She held his eye firmly for a moment, as if this were a private show, just for Roy, rather than a stadium filled with screaming fans who only grew louder with every erotic little movement.

So on the weekends She don't dress for friends Lately she's been dressing for revenge

She rose from her seated position, her movements slow and enticing, keeping Roy’s eyes glued firmly on her backside. He marveled at how truly sexy she was up there. Thinking back to the previous concerts, to the events where she was all dolled up, to the sleepovers where she wore pyjamas and sweatshirts, even to that night that he kept trying to push out of his mind, Roy had known all along that she was beautiful and attractive. But fuck. She was glowing up there, confident, moving flawlessly. She looked like any man’s fantasy come true.

Fuck it, he thought, shaking his head and grinning at her. She kind of looked like Roy’s fantasy come true.

~

April giggled as she scrolled past another video. “Holy shit, look at this one.”

I rolled my eyes and attempted to take her phone. “Stop,” I whined as she pulled out of my reach. My cheeks warmed as I glimpsed yet another video of me dropping onto the chair during “Vigilante Shit”, a sight that was apparently trending online.

“You look great,” my assistant insisted as she perched her phone on my nightstand and out of my reach. “Believe me.” She offered me a wicked smirk. “Roy Kent seemed to think so too.”

My face was warm as I laid back on my bed. “Oh hush,” I scolded, trying to hide a growing smile.

Her smirk widened. “Jamie said Roy looked absolutely wrecked when he saw you up there doing that chair dance,” she went on, as though I hadn’t just shushed her. “He barely blinked the entire song, just kept watching you do that little chair dance.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. Dating Jamie Tartt had made April bold, I realized. She had never teased me this much during my other relationships. But for some reason, here she was, sitting in my hotel room after a night out with the Greyhounds following the show, giggling like a schoolgirl over my fake boyfriend.

She went on. “And you’ve seen the videos of him during the concert, right?” She fanned herself. “I think Mister Roy Kent might have lost his damn mind watching you, babe.”

“Sure,” I scoffed, shaking my head. “Kent, interested in me. That’s a laugh.”

April studied me carefully for a moment, as if she was considering her next words. “What if he was? Interested in you, I mean.”

The words caught in my throat. Sure, I’d spent months with this man on my arm, kissing and fawning over him for the world to see. And for a few weeks now I’d been singing songs about him, teasing an album about him. But I had yet to tell a single living soul how I felt about him. How could I? Nearly everyone in my life thought we were in a serious relationship, clearly blissful and in love. The only people who knew the truth about me and Roy were Lanie, April, and Keeley Jones. Lanie was out of the question; she’d kill me for complicating the plan and mumble something about shitting where I ate. And Keeley Jones? The thought of telling Roy’s gorgeous model girlfriend- the one who got away- that I had feelings for Roy made me feel like my head was going to fall off.

So that only left April.

I swallowed hard and turned my gaze to closed curtains, as though the greige material was the most interesting thing in the world rather than April’s implications. “If Roy Kent was interested in me,” I repeated slowly, knowing that I’d never get this cat back into its bag, “it would not be the worst thing in the world.”

April shot up faster than the fireworks my brothers set off in the streets after the Dodgers won the World Series. “Excuse me?” she squeaked, eyes wide. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” I scoffed, sitting up. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Does that mean…?” She quirked an eyebrow at me expectantly.

For a moment, the two of us simply stared at each other, neither willing to break the silence. We’d engaged in countless staring contests just like this over the years, with victories shared pretty evenly between us. But this time, I was determined to take the win, desperate to prolong the way I kept my feelings for Roy to myself.

Sure enough, the corner of April’s mouth finally ticked upwards. “You finally gave in, huh? I wondered how long it would take.”

My friend’s smile was impossible to resist. “Guess I did,” I chuckled, running my fingers through my unruly hair.

Before I could get in another word, April grabbed me and pulled me in close for a hug. “I knew it!” she gushed, laughter in her voice. “I knew from that first match I went to with you that this would happen.” She let me go, choosing to simply take my hands in hers, reminding me of childhood sleepovers with friends, chattering about crushes and chisme. “When did it happen?” she demanded. “How’d you realize you liked him?”

Unable to help myself, I shifted on the mattress, straightening my shoulders and thinking back. “When I met his niece,” I finally murmured, feeling my entire body soften as I remembered that night. “He was so soft and gentle with her.” I sighed dreamily. “And… and we ended up sharing his bed that night- Not like that!” I quickly added when I saw her eyes light up wickedly. “But I did wake up with his arms around me,” I admitted. “And I realized… I think I could love him.”

“Love?” April’s smile widened. “All of those songs were for him, weren’t they?” she whispered, eyes sparkling with suspicion and joy.

“Maybe,” I murmured with an eyeroll. It was pointless trying to play coy now- but it was kind of fun. “The man is kind of… inspiring.”

April shook her head. “I’ll bet,” she purred, waggling her eyebrows. She sobered a little, giving my hands a squeeze. “And Roy? How does he feel?”

My smile faltered. “I… I don’t know,” I admitted. “We, um, nearly had something happen in L.A., after the quince. But then he just kind of left.” I blinked rapidly, trying not to dwell on that night. “And then we came home, and after a while we went back to normal. Which is good.” I cleared my throat.  “We’re friends. And that’s good.”

“But you don’t want to be friends, do you?”

I shook my head. “It’s good enough for me,” I assured her. “I… I’d rather have Roy as my friend than not at all.”

April studied me for a moment, her head cocked thoughtfully. “But what if…” She pursed her lips. “What if he does feel the same way?” As I opened my mouth to refute her, she continued. “I mean, Jamie talks about Roy. A lot actually. It’s a bit concerning sometimes.” She let out a fond chuckle and went on, “And he cannot stop saying how in love Roy is. How he’s always got your music playing, how Jamie’s seen him just casually scrolling through Tweets and TikToks about the two of you, how he lights up when you’re around. How he hasn’t seen Roy like this in a long time.”

My voice came out so small I hardly recognized it, especially after singing in front of a sold-out stadium. “Should I tell him?”

“That’s up to you,” April said slowly. Leave it to April to choose now to stop trying to tell me what to do. “But,” she added, “I think either way, you can’t lose Roy Kent.” She squeezed my hand. “I think you’ve got that man for life.”

~

Some small part of Roy was almost dreading the second Paris show. Not that he was tired of seeing it; on the contrary, the show only seemed to get better with each performance. He found he not only had, well, fun, but he had a sense of pride watching her grow in confidence each night, looking more and more at home on that stage and the joy that radiated from that pretty face when she saw her fans’ passionate reactions to the new work she premiered. No, Roy could watch this show every damn night and never get bored.

What had Roy’s palms feeling clammy was knowing he’d be seeing that dance again. During the late dinner the Greyhounds had shared after the show, the guys had teased Roy nonstop, eliciting soft chuckles and eyerolls from him and the popstar who snuggled close to him at the table. Roy’s chest tightened with every joke about that little bodysuit, every wink shot their way, making his mind wander back to her bedroom in Los Angeles, to her arms around him and her mouth desperately on his, to all those things he was still trying to shove into a small corner of his brain and forget about.

But fucking hell she made it impossible, grinding on that chair again, putting on a damn burlesque show that made his skin go hot. At least this time he didn’t have to watch it in front of his entire team; no, tonight his only company was Keeley, who’d insisted on flying out after seeing all the clips of “Vigilante Shit” that Jamie kept sending her the night before.

Keeley’d said it was because she needed to see the sultry performance in person, something every single Greyhound understood. But, if the blonde was being honest, she wanted to see Roy. She’d had her suspicions for a while now, but she needed to see up close and in person how her ex reacted to seeing that gorgeous woman moving around in ways that made even Keeley’s mouth go dry.

And oh, Roy did not disappoint either. Keeley caught the way his jaw slacked and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he watched her plop onto that chair. If nothing else, Keeley mused with a smirk, her friend was clearly attracted to the beautiful singer. That much was obvious.

Roy managed to get his heart rate back down in time for the surprise song. He couldn’t help smiling as he watched her strum her guitar, reminding him of those afternoons by the lake, of that late morning in her backyard, moments he realized he held close to his heart.

Moments that might be more special to him than he’d even let himself believe.

“I want to share a really important song with you,” she told the already screaming audience. “You know, when you meet someone, it’s the scariest and most exciting thing in the world. You’re so thrilled to find someone so amazing and wonderful, but there’s that gnawing feeling of… ‘they’ll never like me back’. And living in that limbo is the most wonderfully hellish thing.” She laughed and shook her head. “And everything just feels so… Delicate.”

Roy’s ears were bombarded with screams as the crowd recognized the title, one of the songs from the new album. He allowed himself to add his own clapping and shouts, thrilled to get to hear yet another song that she’d kept hidden from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Keeley, her mouth wide with glee and her phone ready to record; but, not for the first time, he ignored the sight of his ex-girlfriend in favor of focusing his attentions on the popstar who began playing the new tune.

This ain't for the best My reputation's never been worse, so You must like me for me We can't make Any promises now, can we, babe? But you can make me a drink

She swayed to the music she played, looking bashful in front of the thousands of people screaming and cheering for her. Her voice was tender and vulnerable, as sweet as Roy remembered it being those afternoons at the lake, in their own little world of laughter and music. Some of the happiest afternoons of his life, he realized. Just the two of them, the cat, and her pretty voice.

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

Roy stopped fighting his usual statuesque instincts and let his body rock back and forth to the music, the way he had in her kitchen while cookies baked in the oven and a Selena song filled the house and her fingers intertwined with his.

Another memory locked in his heart.

Third floor on the West Side, me and you Handsome, you're a mansion with a view Do the girls back home touch you like I do? Long night with your hands up in my hair Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share

Something in her voice changed, carrying an almost desperation, something strangled, something that made the muscles Roy’s throat freeze up, making it impossible for him to swallow all the feelings that refused to stay squashed anymore. All he could think of was the image of her in her bed, the smell of alcohol floating in the space between their mouths, the shots he’d taken all night whispering doubts in his ear, telling him that the desire in her eyes was drunkenness and months of pretending, nothing more.

But when her eyes found his in the crowded stadium, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, those doubts were wrong. Because she was singing, right at him, eyes sparkling with something Roy knew his held, too.

Sometimes I wonder, when you sleep Are you ever dreaming of me? Sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you're mine all the damn time

Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck. Roy’s heart pounded in his chest so hard he pondered if he should call a medic.

What the fuck was he doing? This woman- this beautiful, talented, intelligent, fun, sexy as all hell woman- was serenading him in front of thousands of people. The past few months with her had been some of the best he’d ever had- months of laughter and joy and affection.

He loved her. Fucking hell, he loved her. Of course he did. He’d been in love with her for a while now, if he was being honest. How could he not be?

Isn’t it delicate?

Yeah, he realized as he added his clapping to the cheering crowd. It was delicate. Really fucking delicate. He couldn’t just dive in; he needed to get this off his chest and talk to someone, get some advice.

“Keeley,” he huffed in the model’s ear. “After the show, can we talk?”

~

See you at dinner!

I reread the text from Roy and fought the silly grin that grew at the sight of his contact name on my phone. After the show he’d suggested we grab some dinner, saying I should take my time getting ready because he needed to talk to Keeley first. (“Some stupid PR shit,” he’d grumbled with light eyeroll.)

A late-night dinner in some cozy Parisian restaurant after performing one of the most vulnerable songs I’d ever written? Seemed like just romantic enough to be the perfect opportunity to tell Roy how I felt about him.

I took a deep breath as I entered the restaurant, thankful that neither of our publicists had insisted on tipping off our location to photographers. No one paid any mind to me and my racing heart as I scanned the tables looking for-

Roy sat with his back to me, with Keeley perched on the chair next to him. Neither seemed to notice me, too engrossed in whatever somber conversation they were in the middle of.

I pondered what was the least obvious way to get Keeley to leave so I could be alone with Roy. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her, she’d actually grown on me quite a bit, but I couldn't handle having to fake my way through a casual dinner. Not when I had my feelings for Roy weighing in my chest.

“Keeley,” Roy was saying as I got closer, “I just don’t know how to fucking do this anymore.” His growling sigh had me stopping in my tracks. “All this fucking pretending, I… fuck.”

The model patted Roy’s arm sympathetically. “You’ve gotta tell her,” she said softly. “You really have to just tell her.”

Roy shook his head. “Fuck am I supposed to say?” he hissed. “I mean, I only did this in the first place because I was trying to win you back, Keels. Because I never fucking got over you.”

My hands began to shake as I took a step backwards, turned, and briskly walked out of the restaurant. I tried to get my breathing under control as I flagged down a taxi and climbed in, mumbling the address for my hotel.

I was trying to win you back. I never got over you.

Stupid, stupid me.

I stumbled into my hotel room, finally allowing the tears to fall as I slammed the door behind me. The feeling in the pit of my stomach was all too familiar as I flopped onto the bed, not caring about the mascara stains I’d leave behind on the pillowcase.

I was trying to win you back. I never got over you.

How dumb could I be? I really thought Roy felt something more than friendship for me. Really? After that night in L.A., how could I be so damn foolish? A few smiles, a couple of compliments, some tipsy encouragement from April, and I really tricked myself into believing that Roy could love me too.

As I turned onto my back and let the silent tears stream down my cheeks and onto the pillow, I made a decision.

Friends with Roy Kent was no longer enough.

~

“You’ve gotta tell her,” Keeley had told him. “You really have to just tell her.”

 “Fuck am I supposed to say?” he had argued. “I mean, I only did this in the first place because I was trying to win you back, Keels. Because I never fucking got over you.”

After a moment, Keeley gave a twinkling little giggle. “But you did,” she pointed out. “Just like I knew you would.”

She admitted it: this had been her plan all along. She knew from the moment she met the pop star that she was something special, and that she and Roy could be something special together. All Keleey had to do was give a few little pushes- sleepovers, a vacation, an album full of love songs- and watch the obvious attraction take its course.

As Keeley explained the plan she’d deviously masterminded, Roy glimpsed his phone; a text, saying the popstar was really tired after her show and would be staying in.

“Go get her,” Keeley had laughed, seeing Roy’s disappointed face. “Hurry up now, or I’ll steal her from you.” She fanned herself playfully. “I mean, after that chair dance, Roy-o…”

So now, Roy strode down the hotel hallway, clutching the sunflowers he’d nicked from a closed flower stand on the corner; he figured the fistful of euros he’d left behind would more than cover his theft. Maybe it was a little cheesy, bringing sunflowers for the woman he called Sunshine, but to hell with it. He’d listened to enough of her music to know she liked cheesy and romantic and all the other silly things Roy suddenly wanted to be.

It felt like an eternity before he was finally in front of her door. Scrounging up every ounce of bravery he had, Roy knocked, two quick, hard raps, praying she was still awake and that he wouldn’t have to pound on her door like a werido-

The door opened quickly, revealing the popstar, in those familiar cozy pyjamas Roy found so damn endearing. His entire body softened at the sight of her, his excitement fizzling slightly when he caught sight of the streaks running down her cheeks. But dammit, he was a man on a mission and he just needed to fucking say it.

“Sunshine,” he breathed, his entire body trembling. “Listen, I-”

“Go away, Kent.” Her tiny, sharp voice stabbed at Roy’s heart.

His face fell, but he took a miniscule step towards her. “No, see, I’ve gotta tell you-”

“Just leave,” she said harshly. “Like, back to London.” She shifted, leaning in the doorway, her body blocking Roy from entering the room. Her eyes refused to meet his. “We’re done with this. We did our jobs, I got the press off my back about Everett, so congratulations. We can be done with this whole charade. So just… go home.”

Roy couldn’t believe a single thing she was saying. “But Lanie and- and Keeley-”

Something in her face darkened. “Yeah, I think Keeley will be just fine,” she all but spat. “So, why don’t you go so ask her to book you a seat next to her on the next flight out to London, hmm?”

What the fuck?

“We have that preseason match coming up,” he tried again, growing more desperate with each word out of her mouth. “You’re still coming, right? Even just as my friend- we’re friends, right, sunshine? Real friends?”

The dry laugh that came out of her mouth lodged a pit in Roy’s already turning stomach. “Friends?” she repeated. “Roy Kent, let’s be fucking honest about one thing, nothing about any of this has ever been real.” She shook her head, gripping the door so tight her knuckles turned white. “I fucking heard you, man.”

Roy winced at her words, at her tone, at her stony expression, and could do nothing but blink at the furious popstar.

She went on, “I was going to that restaurant to tell you how I felt about you, maybe turn dinner into a real date.” He now realized the streaks on her face were from crying- because her tears were flowing like a pair of rivers. “And I got to hear you tell Keeley Jones all about how you only did all of this to win her back. Well, congrats. You’re officially single again, so go fucking get her.”

With a finality that stole the breath from Roy’s lungs, she shut the door, leaving him with a bouquet of sunflowers and maybe a broken heart.

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten@ladygrey03@book-of-roses@thatonedogwithablog@misshall14@wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff@akornsworld@itswhateveripromise@purecinnamonextract@oceanncurrent@dearvoidgoodnight@hopefulromances@respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog@hotleaf-juice@emmy2811@captainorbust-blog@preciousbabypeter@shion-ah@royalestrellas@eugene-emt-roe@littleesilvia@teenwolf01@sisinever@yagotgames@queen-of-the-downtown-scene@emmaallisonann@mrdsturd@confessionsofatotaldramaslut@charkachow@mrdsturd@littlepinapple@sunfairyy@shadowzena43@uhmidkmuch@imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme@alicedsworld@222333777@thegivenvoid @tortilla-maria1@treblebeth@maackiimoo@di-essere-amato@sortzz@i-am-mrsreckless @dreadfuljas @klaudosh @adri4na

[skipblebee]

Omg,, is that,,, Adrien Monk from hit series Monk 2002?? And what's this?? H-h-he's a danmei fan?!?!?!? 🤯🤯🤯🤯🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🤯🤯

Psst everyone say thank you @starleska for the template :] I saw it and had to make these hehe, HE LOOKS SO SILLY I LOVE HIM

[nostalgia-tblr]

i nearly anon'd the thorki non-con fic out of SHAME but in two weeks it's become my third most clicked-on fic of the year, behind only a multichapter fic and a bit of angsty sifki porn lololol

[luvsupa]

I WANT TO HEAR YOU SCREAMMM!

summary: whatever you do, do not fuck mr.ghostface!

tags: ghostface!geto x fem!reader, naoya mention .., set in the 90s and inspired by fear street!!, smut, ōral sex (m and f receiving), knife play, slightly mask kink, humiliation kink, exhibitionism kinda, death, mentions of blood, etc, mdni

w.c: around 3.6k (sorry I got carried away …)

a/n: THANK U GUYS FOR 1.6K WAAAATTTT WE GOIN UPPPPP YEASSS

+ geto in tbis fic looks just like this fanart 🙂‍↕️

kinktober masterlist

you lean against the register, bored out of your mind as you scribble distorted faces on your company’s notepad. working a night shift sucks—especially a closing shift. you huff as the intercom blasts the latest rock song, a weak attempt to liven up the dead atmosphere. lately, the cd shop has been busy with customers buying vinyls, posters, and movies. ugh, it was so annoying having to scan the newest movie, scream. the line was always so long it nearly wrapped around the whole building!

you glance out the glass front doors, scanning the empty, dark streets, genuinely debating whether you should close two hours early since no one is coming. your attention shifts as you hear the bell ring, indicating a customer entering.

ugh.

your smile drops when you see naoya, your annoying coworker who flirts with you in the weirdest ways. he’s always condescending and putting you down until you found out from another coworker that he’s actually attracted to you. he walks toward you, standing in front of the register as if he were a customer. you honestly forgot he was still here after he said he would take a ‘five-minute’ break an hour ago.

“you don’t get paid to draw, now do you?” he says, leaning over to grab the notebook. you let him take it, but he rips the page clean, crumpling it in his fist. gosh, you hated when he acted like the manager. “anyways, I’m clocking out! must suck having to stay for another… two hours!” he laughs, glancing at the clock above. he giggles as he walks behind the counter into the bright red font ‘employees only’ room, leaving you scoffing in annoyance. you waste time fixing the decorations on the register as every minute drags by.

ring!

your heart stops when you hear the company phone ringing. who the hell calls at this hour? you pick up the corded telephone and force yourself into a professional tone.

“thank you for calling cursed tracks, how may I help you?” you say, lazily watching over the store. there’s a long pause, and your brows furrow. is this a prank call?

“hello—”

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

you burst out laughing, doubling over at the blatant prank call. there’s no way. it’s beyond cringey that you would be a victim of ghostface’s evil scheme. tears roll down your cheeks as you hang up the phone, your laughter still ringing in your ears. but then, you stumble backward, colliding with something solid—no, someone. your laughter halts as you slowly turn your head, gulping hard as your eyes drop in horror. screaming in genuine fear, you see him: ghostface, knife in hand, just like in the movies.

you stumble back into the counter, panic rising as you cry out, cornered in the booth. he drops his hand and bursts into laughter, and your brows furrow in confusion. he lifts his hand to remove the haunting mask, and embarrassment floods over you.

seriously.

“naoya, that wasn’t funny,” you snap, shoving him away as he continues to laugh uncontrollably. “you— you should’ve seen your face! I wish I recorded this— we would’ve been stars!” he wheezes, still amused as you find none of this funny. he continues to mimic your reaction, and you bite your lip to keep from lunging at him.

“stop wearing display costumes, asshole! you’re gonna get us in trouble,” you scold, turning away as he playfully bonks your head with the fake plastic knife. irritation washes over you.

“jeez, naoya— just leave already, you’re ruining my alone time,” you say coldly, clearly annoyed by his antics. you hear his footsteps retreating to the employee room, allowing you to calm down from his stupid joke.

you lean against the counter once again, watching over the store in boredom, your eyes feeling heavy as each minute passes. maybe you should really quit- you’re not getting paid enough for this. you roll your eyes at the ruckus coming from the room behind you—nayoa’s making way too much noise.

bastard, you mentally insult him.

you close your eyes to rest them, feeling exhausted from the long shift when you suddenly sense someone standing behind you. your eyes shoot open, and your heart drops again as you turn around to see nayoa in that damn ghostface costume.

“very fuckin’ funny, naoya,” you scoff, trying to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. he’s breathing heavily under the mask, staying still as if waiting for your reaction. you turn to yell at him, but the words choke in your throat. your eyes drop to the knife he’s gripping in his hand, and it looks too real—dripping with what looks like blood. your breathing quickens as you glance at the fake plastic knife that naoya left on the counter, your eyes twitching in disbelief.

“o-okay, naoya, you’re scaring me.”

“darling, who’s naoya?” the male voice says, distorted through the mask’s speaker. tears rush to your eyes as you see blood seeping from under the employee room door.

you step back, your back hitting the counter, trapping you just like before when nayoa scared you. the male steps closer, tears spilling down your cheeks as fear overwhelms you; you can’t call out for naoya—he’s fucking dead!

without thinking, you attempt to jump over the counter, but before you can touch the ground, you feel yourself being yanked back by strong hands. you squeal at how fast he moves, pinning you against the wall with one hand holding you in place and the other gripping the sharp, bloody knife to your throat. your eyes widen, the blade too close to your artery. if you looked up at the popcorn ceiling. you’d see the end of it—your life flashing before your eyes.

“oh pretty, you were just acting like a big girl,” geto coos, his voice soft yet terrifying. the grip on the knife loosens slightly as he pulls back his head, and your eyes remain shut, fear washing over you.

“y’r sooo fuckin’ nasty, huh,” geto comments, and your brows furrow as you stare at the creepy face behind the mask. he chuckles, and you follow his gaze down—oh fuck. you wish your body wasn’t reacting on its own! you’re grinding your hips against his knee placed between your thighs, your rhythm so subtle you didn’t even realize.

“let’s test how nasty you really get.”

those were the last words that echoed in your head as he had you behind the counter, knees grinding against the freezing floor, your jaw aching from the relentless thrusts. his thick cock slammed into your mouth with brutal force—so deep that you swore you could feel him in your chest, the bulge in your throat visible as he used you mercilessly. both of his hands gripped your head with brutal force, his long fingers tangling in your curly locks as he fucked your face like a filthy fucktoy. his groans, muffled by the infamous ghostface mask, sent shivers down your spine, the hollow black eyes staring soullessly at you as he threw his head back in ecstasy. the obscene sounds of wet gags and sloppy suction filled the store, the mess overwhelming—drool and spit spilled uncontrollably from your mouth, coating his shaft and dripping down your chin, soaking into the front of your work shirt.

your nose repeatedly slammed against his crotch, the rough patch of his pubes tickling against your skin, making you tear up even more. the strain in your jaw was unbearable, his fat cock stretching you wide, each thrust so forceful you thought your jaw might snap. but you kept your grip on his jeans, fingers digging into the fabric as your throat was pounded raw. his heavy black boot was wedged between your legs, you couldn’t stop grinding on him. each roll of your hips against his boot sent delicious friction through your core, and you were drenched, your panties soaked through your pants, sticking to your swollen folds. the slick sounds of your cunt rubbing against his boot mixed with the wet slurps coming from your mouth, each grind making you moan pathetically around his cock.

geto’s head dropped down to watch, eyes behind the hollow mask taking in the sight of you—a filthy, drooling mess on your knees with his cock buried so deep down your throat that a bulge swelled in your neck. drool poured from your lips in thick strings, and your hips moved desperately against his foot, grinding on him like you couldn’t help yourself. but he didn’t let you keep going. his movements stopped abruptly, and with a harsh yank, he pulled your head back off his cock, making you gag and cough, gasping for air. the sound of your desperate choking echoed through the store as strings of spit connected your swollen lips to his twitching tip, your eyes wide with lust and tears. the sight of you, completely ruined in your leggings, face soaked and pussy grinding against his boot, only made him harder, his cock throbbing in front of your face.

“you jus’ can’t help it, can you?” geto growls, his voice thick with cruel amusement as he grinds his boot harder into your cunt, your soaked panties doing nothing to dull the friction. the pressure sends jolts of filthy pleasure up your spine, making you cry out pathetically, your body writhing against him. his grin stretches behind the ghostface mask, those empty black eyes staring down at you, drinking in your desperation.

in a single, brutal motion, he rips you off the ground and slams you onto the counter, CDs clattering to the floor around you. your legs fly up, bent and spread wide, exposing you to him completely. his eyes rake over your body like you’re nothing more than prey. with a harsh tug, he rips your pants off, tossing them carelessly behind him. the moment his gaze lands on the soaked crotch of your panties, your clit twitches in response, your cunt clenching involuntarily, knowing what’s about to come. the fabric is practically see through now, drenched in fear and filthy arousal, and it only makes his smirk widen behind the mask.

your eyes are glossy, chest heaving as your legs stay bent up, thighs trembling with anticipation. you should be terrified, and you are—but the heat pulsing through your core is undeniable. the sight of him towering over you with that eerie mask, black eyes hollow and unfeeling, does something sick to you.

without warning, geto pulls a another knife from behind him, the blade gleaming dangerously in the store light. you gulp hard, a whimper escaping your lips as he waves it inches from your face, the cold steel sending a wave of fear coursing through you, but it only makes your cunt throb harder.

“don’t move,” he whispers darkly, dragging the tip of the knife down your neck, making your skin break out in goosebumps. the blade hovers over your chest, your nipples hardening as he traces your curves. he presses just enough to remind you of its sharpness, enough to let you know he could cut deep at any second. the threat lingers in the air, the thrill of it making your thighs tremble.

he doesn’t hesitate when he reaches your shirt. with a quick flick of his wrist, you hear the rippppp of fabric as the blade slices your work button-up clean open, exposing your bare chest. the sharpness of the knife cutting through the material like paper sends a shiver of fear and arousal down your spine.

“cheap shit,” he sneers, but the way your nipples perk in the cool air has his cock straining even harder. his hand moves lower, the tip of the blade dragging dangerously over your trembling stomach, inching closer and closer to your cunt.

you gasp when he finally reaches your panties, the cold metal resting against the swollen lips of your pussy. “y’know. . .” he trails off, voice thick with lust as he presses the flat of the blade against your clothed clit, the cold, sharp edge making you jerk involuntarily. “never had someone so . . .desperate in their final moments.”

it’s humiliating how your clit twitches at the contact, how your cunt clenches around nothing, soaked and aching for him. he notices, of course, the way your hips twitch toward the blade, and the wetness that’s already beginning to drip down your thighs.

“fuckin’ embarrassing,” he mutters, but his voice is laced with something darker—he’s getting off on this, on how soaked you are for him. the knife slides lower, grazing your inner thigh, just shy of cutting you, the scrape of the blade against your skin sending shivers through your body. you can feel your pulse in your clit, each drag of the cold steel only making you wetter, more desperate.

“this turning you on, baby?” he asks, his voice low and mocking. you can’t even respond, too lost in the filthy heat coursing through you.

with a quick flick of his wrist, the knife slices through your panties, the sharp blade cold against your slick folds. you gasp, your pussy finally exposed, clit twitching as the cool air hits your drenched core. the knife grazes your swollen lips, barely a whisper of pressure, but it’s enough to make you moan, your cunt clenching desperately.

he hums in approval, staring down at your glistening pussy, the wetness dripping from your folds, thighs trembling as you lie there helplessly. geto’s exposed cock twitches painfully at the sight, his eyes narrowing behind the mask as he drinks in how ruined you already are.

“fuckkk,” he mumbles, voice thick with lust. he lets the knife trail up, dragging it over your clit just enough to make you gasp, the cold edge sending waves of agonizing pleasure through you.

you’re fighting the urge to touch yourself, legs trembling with need, but he’s dragging it out, watching you suffer, savoring every filthy, desperate moan that spills from your lips. your cunt clenches again, dripping, aching for more, but all he does is graze the blade over your sensitive skin, keeping you on the edge, waiting for him to finally take what’s his.

without a second thought, geto rips off the ghostface mask, revealing his face in all its sinful glory. his long black hair cascades down his back, a few loose strands framing his face just right, giving him that perfect, messy look. your heart nearly stops at the sight—those silver piercings in his lower lip glint under the lights of the CD store. fuck. your breath catches as you realize just how devastatingly hot he is, a man who could ruin you in every sense of the word.

“f-fuck, mr. ghostface. . .you’re so fucking hot,” you moan, your cunt clenching involuntarily at the sight of him. he smirks, catching your reaction instantly, bringing the blade right back to your dripping cunt, but now it’s different—now you can see every twitch of that gorgeous smirk, every glint in his wicked eyes. nothing is processing in your mind at this point. you’re too far gone, body shaking as he holds all the power over you. he could do anything right now, and you’d let him.

geto leans in, inhaling deeply, letting your scent drive him mad before diving headfirst between your thighs. his lips find your cunt with no warning, devouring you like a fucking beast. his tongue plunges into your soaked hole with reckless abandon, the wet, obscene sounds echoing through the empty store. your back arches violently against the counter, the cold glass windows around the store only barrier between you and the outside world. if anyone walked by and caught sight of this—fuck, you’d be fired in an instant. but the thrill of that thought only makes the heat in your core burn hotter.

your body reacts before your mind can catch up, hands flying to tangle in his thick, soft hair, yanking him closer. he groans deep, the sound vibrating through your clit as you pull his head in tighter. mr. ghostface loves his hair being pulled—check! you think, feeling the way his body reacts to your grip, only making him devour you more ruthlessly.

his nose nudges your clit, adding to the torment as his tongue relentlessly works your insides, the metal ball of his tongue piercing sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. it’s so nasty, so fucking loud as he slurps up your juices, the slick sound echoing around the store. you can’t believe your body is making this much of a mess, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling on the counter beneath you. you’re losing it, completely undone by how he’s devouring you.

geto’s tongue is merciless, and just when you think it can’t get any better, he brings two thick fingers to your entrance, thrusting them in deep. the stretch makes your head spin, his digits spreading you open wide as his tongue continues to work your cunt. he groans low in his throat, the vibrations sending another wave of ecstasy through your core. the sensation of his tongue, his piercing, and his fingers all working together has you seeing stars, your walls clenching around him uncontrollably.

“fuck, look at you,” he growls against your cunt, his voice muffled but still dripping with arrogance as his fingers curl inside you, finding your sweet spot instantly. your eyes roll back, legs shaking uncontrollably as the tension in your belly coils tighter. your grip on his head tightens, forcing him further into you, needing more, more of that perfect, filthy mouth. his lips close around your swollen clit, biting at it just enough to drive you insane, while his fingers pound into you relentlessly.

you catch a glimpse of his face between your thighs, his half-lidded eyes fluttering shut as a moan slips past his pierced lips, his tongue flicking out to lick your slick from the corner of his mouth like he can’t get enough. he’s completely lost in you, ruthlessly making out with your cunt, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge, your body trembling violently as you feel your orgasm building, heat burning in your stomach, your cunt clenching around his thick fingers.

“listen to how talkative she is,” geto sneers, a wicked smirk stretching across his face. without hesitation, his free hand grabs the store’s telephone, fingers working quickly to connect it to the intercom. before you can process what he’s doing, he presses the microphone right up against your drenched, sloppy cunt.

your eyes go wide in horror as the filthy, wet sloshing of your pussy echoes through the entire store. the slick, obscene sounds of your cunt squelching and dripping around his thick fingers fill the air, amplified by the speakers. every thrust makes it squirt, the embarrassing symphony of your slick coating his fingers making your stomach drop with humiliation. you’re completely exposed, the sound of your body’s desperate reactions bouncing off the store walls, reminding you just how nasty this is.

the wet slaps, the relentless gushing of your cunt, and the squelching noises leave you utterly mortified. It’s so loud, so filthy that if anyone were to walk by, they’d hear everything—and know exactly what a mess you’re making for him. every slick, nasty sound screams your shame, broadcasting to the entire store that you’re getting off to a literal serial killer!

“look at you,” geto chuckles darkly, his voice dripping with arrogance. “so fucking nasty for me. all this for a killer? huh? you like knowing what a filthy slut you are?”

geto throws the telephone, letting it dangle by the cord, before roughly flipping you onto your stomach. your feet barely touch the ground as your chest presses into the counter- bent over, giving you a full view of the empty store. his eyes darken as he takes in your position, biting his lip at the sight of your ass wiggling back, grinding against his hard cock. you can’t help but plead, your voice breathy and desperate.

“please, mr. ghostface, you’ve been sucha tease,” you whine, turning your head to watch him as he toys with his lip piercing, eyes fixed on you like he’s weighing his options. before you can beg again, he makes his choice—sliding his fat, mushroom tip past your dripping entrance. the stretch of his tip slightly burning but- oh it felt so good. your body jerks forward with the slow, agonizing thrust, his thick crownhead teasing innn and outttt of your needy, aching walls. you cry out, wanting—no, needing—more.

desperation overtakes you, and you try to fuck yourself back onto him, but his hand comes down hard, swatting your ass. the sharp sting only makes your pussy clench harder, and you hear him tut in disbelief at how filthy you’ve become for him. “unbelievable how you’re this horny,” he sneers, gripping your hips tighter as if to hold you still.

“if you’re a virgin, just say—ahh,” you taunt- gasping loudly when his fingers wrap around the back of your neck, his grip firm as he pulls you flush against his broad chest. his thick tip remains lodged inside your cunt, teasing you with how little he’s giving, yet how desperately you crave more.

he leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. “i’d love to stay and prove your point,” he purrs, eyes flicking to the front of the store, where the bright blue and red lights of approaching police cars flash in the distance. your mind is too foggy, too consumed with lust to understand what he’s hinting at. “but baby, your little coworker—the one you never bat your pretty lashes at,” he continues, his tone darkening as his grip tightens around your neck, turning your head toward the ‘employee’s only’ door.

that’s when you see it—the large, dark puddle of blood seeping from under the door, your coworker’s lifeless body hidden from view.

“i-i don’t care, i wan’ you,” you plead, tears stinging your eyes as your walls grip his girthy tip, trying to coax more from him. geto chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. he turns your head back toward the front of the store, where the police cars are getting closer. his hand slips away from your neck, leaving you trembling as he cruelly pulls his cock from your addicting cunt, leaving you empty and desperate as he swiftly tucked it back in his pants.

tears spill from your eyes as you feel him slipping away, denying you what you need. “he’s the one that ruined our fun,” geto says, his voice soft but menacing. “and sadly…” his words trail off, and you freeze as you feel the cold tip of a sharp blade pressing against your neck. you gulp hard, heart pounding as the reality of the situation sets in.

“’m really sorry, baby, but i can’t have you snitching to the police, can i?” he whispers, and with a swift motion, the blade slices cleanly across your throat. blood trickles down in a warm line, your breath catching in your chest as your body collapses to the floor. the cold tiles beneath you feel distant as your vision blurs, the last thing you see is geto standing above you, pouting as he watches the life drain from your body.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Your husband usually calls for you to join him during his bath.

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of Sukuna killing people, rough pregnancy, Sukuna being fluffy (so slightly ooc), reader is mean to Sukuna

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Ever since you shared the news of your pregnancy with your husband, Sukuna has become more loving. The man who’d talk to you however he wanted, now makes sure to soften his voice when talking to you. He wants to see you every hour of the day, even when you don’t want to see him. Sukuna is seeing how you’re struggling with your pregnancy, and he wants to check up on you constantly.

You’re not too far along that you both know of, yet you’re huge. He grows worried that his selfish want of a child will cause you harm. There’s one person that Sukuna would die for, and it’s you. If something were to happen to you because of himself then he’d– He doesn’t want to think of it.

Lately he’s been asking to take baths with you. At the end of the day, a servant walks into your chambers and informs you, “Lord Sukuna requests for you to join him in his bath, mistress.”

She bows her head to not look at you, scared that she’ll end up like the last servant that dared to look you in the eye. It was Sukuna’s doing because how dare someone look his wife in the eye? You sigh before telling her, “I’ll be there in a second.” 

She stands in the entrance of your room, given orders to not leave without you. Sure, Sukuna requests to see you but it’s an order from him. You don’t have much of an option. 

You follow behind her, and she excuses herself when you���re finally with him. Sukuna lays comfortably in the water, patiently waiting for you to get undressed and join him in the water. He watches as you take off all your garments and walk over to him when you’re completely bare. 

“You need to start leaving me alone, you’re starting to annoy me.” You tell him as you get in the water. Sukuna chuckles, finding it amusing how you’ve completely stopped fearing him. One of his hands caresses you from your breasts to your bump, resting there.

“Now, why are you getting mad at me? I thought you wanted a loving husband?” Sukuna comments, kissing the top of your head. Your hand rests on top of his, lightly squeezing it.

“I wanted one before he got me pregnant. I swear I must be carrying twins– Or the baby also has four arms. I don’t know, I’m just miserable.” You confess, and Sukuna kisses the top of your head again. He really shouldn’t have expected it to be any different. Sukuna’s huge, why would his baby be any different?

“It’s just one and done then?” He asks, and you hum in response. Maybe your answer will be different in a few years, but for now it’s that. He feels a tug on his heartstrings, seeing how much you’re struggling. He’s worried. “Are you holding up okay, though?”

“Not like we could do anything if I wasn’t.” You answer. He’s definitely much softer than your usual husband, and you would’ve loved it if you weren’t carrying a monster child. His hand remains on your stomach, and he feels as his baby kicks while you moan in pain. Sukuna shushes you, feeling as his baby moves.

“I’m trying to feel him! Shut up, woman!” He raises his voice, and you slightly turn to glare at him. A look that would surely kill you if you were anyone else.

“How does me making noise correlate with you feeling the baby! Think, Sukuna! Use your fucking brain.” You’re definitely bolder than usual, which makes him laugh. 

“You’re so beautiful when you’re yelling at me.” He says, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips so he can kiss it. “I love seeing you demanding and mean. It shows the effect I have on you.”

“Really?” You answer, and he hums in response. There’s no better time to bring up what’s been bugging you than now. “I hate that new servant you took in. Kick her out.”

“And why is that?” He asks. 

“She was looking at you funny.” You respond.

“In the sense?”

“She has the hots for you, and I don’t like it.”

“Hmm… What if I was looking for–” He begins and you glare at him. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, but he guesses that’s something that’s off limits when he tries to joke. “Don’t you want me to do more?”

“Like what?” You question, even though you should know your husband better than anyone.

“Kill her.” He answers. 

“Hmm… Up to you.” You reply. You lay comfortably on his chest, feeling as his finger traces lazy circles on your belly. You change the topic, “Why do you think it’s a boy?”

“I can’t see myself with a daughter.”

[fastandcarlos]

Soft Launch : ̗̀➛ Lance Stroll

summary: follow along as you and lance slowly reveal your relationship to the world, and your ever so slightly protective brother charles

pairing: lance x leclerc!reader

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and 139,503 others

ynusername: nice way to spend the end of race week ☺️☀️

7,301 comments

username1: wtf yn you can’t just suddenly spring something like this on us 🤯

charles_leclerc: excuse me what happened to heading back to the hotel early to sleep??

username2: hahah not charles having no idea about this 😂

username3: I just wanna know who this guy is…

arthur_leclerc: you’ve gotta lot of explaining to do 🙄

ynusername: @/arthur_leclerc have to catch me first 🤷🏻‍♀️

arthur_leclerc: @/ynusername why have you suddenly turned into a sassy devil??

username4: time to put my investigative skills to use 🔍

carlossainz55: thank you for making your brother freak out, just what I needed on the plane home!!

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 pls remind him how many times he’s surprised me with a new girlfriend over the past few years 😂

username5: it must be someone who was also at the race, but that’s thousands of people 😭

alexandrasaintmleux: ignore your brothers…I want to hear everything 😂

ynusername: @/alexandrasaintmleux knew I could count on you 😘

charles_leclerc: @/alexandrasaintmleux um no you’re supposed to be on my side!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by logansargeant, danielricciardo and 294,604 others

lancestroll: definitely think I could get used to this 💞💞

38,596 comments

username6: ah finally lance has got himself a girlfriend!! 🥺🥺

danielricciardo: lmao scotty mentioned you had a girlfriend but I thought he was joking 😂😂

username7: she looks beautiful, why not let us see her face???

estebanocon: damn bro, looks like you’ve been pulling out all the stops!

lancestroll: @/estebanocon when you know they’re someone special then you gotta spoil them

username8: notice how he’s cropped the photo so we can’t see the reflection in the first pic 🙄

username9: damn these photos are just a reminder that money talks

fernandoalo_oficial: now I see why you couldn’t hang around for a coffee today 😂😂

username10: clearly he must like this girl to be this romantic 🥺

logansargeant: fancy wining and dining me like you do your girl? ☺️

lancestroll: @/logansargeant date night next week pending…

username11: I promise we’re happy for you lance…just spill the beans

chloestroll: my baby bro is all grown up 🤧🤧

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by lancestroll, carlossainz55 and 189,482 others

ynusername: adventuring with you is my favourite thing to do ❤️🩷

28,573 comments

username12: eurgh have I ever told you how much I hate soft launches??

charles_leclerc: you just wait until you arrive back in monaco…you’re mine!

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc you gotta catch me first 🏃🏻‍♀️💨

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername I swear-

username13: anyone else think this looks a tad like one of the drivers 🤔🤔

username14: so we’re thinking tall, athletic, dark hair…

carlossainz55: whilst I might not be your brother, I’m begging you to stop sending yours on the verge of a nervous breakdown 😭

username15: peep how lance also announced he was in a relationship last week too 🤷🏻‍♀️

pierregasly: why are you making me so bloody invested in your relationship yn!?

username16: aquariums are such cute places for dates 😭😭

ybffusername: IM WAITING FOR YOU TO GIVE ME DETAILS HURRY YOUR ASS UP

username17: whoever this guy is he clearly looks like he’s falling for yn hard

alexandrasaintmleux: I keep telling your brother to take me to the aquarium, he never listens!!

ynusername: @/alexandrasaintmleux when I’m home we’ll go on a thousand aquarium dates 🐠🐠

username18: I can’t be the only one who noticed that lance liked..

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, astonmartinf1 and 139,592 others

ynusername: experiencing life in the paddock in a different colour this weekend 🏎️💚

14,964 comments

username19: I would not like to be in the leclerc household tonight 😂

charles_leclerc: wtaf this is the ultimate betrayal 😭😭

username20: this has trouble written all over it!!

carlossainz55: can’t believe you abandoned the red corner yn 💔

username21: but why did she pick aston martin over all the other teams??

landonorris: all those times I’ve told you to come and be in our garage but you go here instead 🙄

ynusername: @/landonorris I had my reasons!!

username22: the biggest clue yet that lance is our mystery man surely 🔍

username23: can’t believe people are ruling out nando so easily 😂😂

arthur_leclerc: I’m telling mum that you didn’t support your brother this weekend!

ynusername: @/arthur_leclerc I’m a grown woman who can do what she wants 🤦🏻‍♀️

fernandoalo_oficial: it was lovely to finally meet you properly this weekend 💚

username24: i hope lance realises he’s a dead man walking with charles around

lancestroll: 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, arthur_leclerc and 169,692 others

ynusername: sailing away with my best friend 🤍🛥️

14,604 comments

username25: best friend 🤯🤯🤯

alexandrasaintmleux: @/charles_leclerc take note 📝

username26: they’re still not ready to admit they’re dating are they 😭

charles_leclerc: and here I was thinking that I was your best friend 💔

username27: you cannot convince me that third photo is not lance btw

pierregasly: why am I now playing this stupid guessing game too 🤦🏻‍♂️

username28: only lance would do all this for a girl, he’s a true romantic ❤️💕

arthur_leclerc: how about sailing back home cause we’re still waiting for some explanations???

username29: I love how they still think we haven’t figured everything out 😂

chloestroll: well isn’t this just the cutest date ever, this guy must be obsessed 🥺

ynusername: @/chloestroll what can I say, I’m a lucky girl 🩷🩷

username30: I just want to sail away with lance stroll too yn, I feel ya!

lancestroll: look at that beautiful smile 💞

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by ynusername, estebanocon and 295,608 others

lancestroll: in my boyfriend era 👑

13,704 comments

username31: lance is glowing in his boyfriend era wtf

estebanocon: idk what this girl has done to you but I don’t recognise you anymore 😂

danielricciardo: is it wrong to say I’m obsessed with boyfriend era lance??

username32: I wanna know who put the smile on his face 😭

username33: surely it’s obvious who put the smile on his face??

scottyjames: since when were you so boyfriend material 😂🤧

pierregasly: I’m only here cause apparently there’s a soft launch going on and I want the gossip 😂

username34: I’m so happy that you’re so happy lance!!

charles_leclerc: funny how you’ve told me nothing about this new girlfriend…

username35: now these photos make me want lance as my boyfriend too

chloestroll: these are the cutest photos, can’t wait to remind you of these every birthday for the rest of our lives 😂😂😂😂

username36: everyone needs a lance stroll in their life ☺️☺️

ynusername: looks like your girlfriend is very lucky to have someone as funny as you 🥺

lancestroll: @/ynusername no no I’m the lucky one 🫠

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by lancestroll, charles_leclerc and 159,925 others

ynusername: turns out dating an f1 driver is a lot cooler than being the sibling of one 🥺🩷

21,573 comments

username37: they’ve finally gone official 🎉🎉🎉

chloestroll: my two fave people 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

username38: I can’t cope with how adorable these two are!!

charles_leclerc: there are thousands of people who would disagree btw 🏎️💪🏻

username39: can’t wait for lance to crash all future leclerc family gatherings 😂

lancestroll: seems to me that your boyfriend driver is a lot fitter than your brother driver too 🤔💕

ynusername: @/lancestroll oh he’s definitely the hottest 🫠

carlossainz55: don’t tell charles but he did secretly tell me that he was happy earlier…

charles_leclerc: @/carlossainz55 that was supposed to stay between me and you 🖕🏻

username40: this makes my heart so so happy 💕💕

fernandoalo_oficial: thank god I don’t have to keep that a secret anymore 😂

username41: thank you for ending the soft launch game!

pierregasly: why do I feel proud that I guessed it was lance all along 🤦🏻‍♂️

username42: now this is what we call an adorable f1 couple 💞🏎️

arthur_leclerc: I guess I won’t be needing that explanation anymore…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

requests for smaus are currently open!!

[multifandom-exe]

Oblivious - A. Hotchner x Reader

Request: Hotch x bau reader where hotch has feelings but reader is completely oblivious? 

Word count: 2k 

A/N: this is a rewrite of a fic from like 5 years ago, if you want to check out the original here to see how much has changed. Feel free to leave requests! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK IN COMMENTS OR ASKS PLS i need to know if I'm still writing like I'm 14 😭.

The line. There was always a line. A line between good and evil. A line between love and hate. A line between professional and personal. That was a line you loved to flirt with, to teeter on, to play with like it was your favorite toy. Of course, you shouldn't be flirting with your boss, but when he was stood there, in that suit that highlights his shoulders and his wrists and his thighs and oh god... 

“(Y/N)?” And the way your name came from his lips was like heaven on earth right there. “(Y/N)?” What? A hand lightly brushed against your shoulder as he moved his head to be in eyeline with you. Slight concern in them as he gave you a small smile, sending electric through your body and thoroughly grounding you to earth. 

“Yes, I'm sorry, I'm just... tired.” You tried to look anywhere but his eyes as you so desperately tried to cover the train of thought that had your skin buzzing and your heart racing. You glanced at his hand on your shoulder as he took it away, wanting to whine at the loss of contact.  

Flirting with your boss was your own self sabotage. But you relished it every time. Every touch he missed. Every glance he didn't see. Every time your heart rate sped up as you saw him leave his office. He didn't notice any of it. And it made you want him all that much more. You should've been glad. Ecstatic even. Because once he realized you liked him, in a way he didn't like you, in a way no subordinate should ever like their boss. That line would be crossed. And no amount of ‘I'm sorry’ or ‘let's forget about it’ could undo it. 

Morgan and JJ stood a length away, taking in the scene in front of them. You, absentmindedly playing with your hair, a sign of flirting. And him, fiddling with his hands as he looked into your eyes whilst you spoke. 

- 

“Do you think they’ll ever notice the other is so head over heels for them?” JJ stated, watching you two with a look that's usually only reserved for Henry when he doesn't understand what he did wrong, or when Emily is openly talking about someone right behind her. A grimace more like. 

“Nope.” He started, popping the ‘p’. “They've been doing this dance for too long; I'm starting to think it's never gonna happen.” He tutted and tried to take his eyes off... whatever was happening over there. 

- 

“You look nice today, by the way. You do every day, but you know.” His attempt at flattery didn't go amiss as you smiled bashfully. 

“Thank you, so do you. I enjoy this side of you much more, the happier side. Is this some new technique to raise team morale?” You quirked an eyebrow as you smiled at him, desperately trying to quell the faint blush on your cheeks. 

His smile faltered slightly. Right. The team. It's been years since he flirted with anyone and clearly, he must be doing something wrong if you're thinking of him and the team. Every day he saw you. And every day he just wanted to throw caution to the wind and hold your hand, touch your face, stroke your hair. Feel you. Gently. Fully. Months. Months of slight flirts and fleeting touches and he feels no closer to being with you now than when you first joined the team. How one of his best profilers could miss something that was right there, he would never know. He was sure he was getting to the point where he looked pathetic. Rossi had even mentioned it to him, a late night in his office over a bottle of scotch. ‘I'm starting to question your profiling skills Aaron, if you two could see what everyone else sees, you'd know there's no question about what happens next with you two’. But here he was, trying his best to put his heart on his sleeve, and even that wasn't working. Or maybe it was, and you knew, and you were simply saving him the embarrassment of rejection. 

A cough broke him away from his thoughts. He looked at you as you nodded your head towards your nosy team members, who stood absentmindedly watching the two of you. He copied your cough and looked pointedly at his team. 

“Back to work.” He said firmly, turning to touch your arm and give you a small smile before returning to his office. Your cheeks heated as you stared at the spot on your arm, slowly walking back to your desk. You sat in your chair, thoughts going a mile a minute and you sighed, pulling your files closer. 

“Oh, Hotch your just so dreamy!” Morgan lays his hand dramatically on his forehead, attempting to mock you. 

“Oh (Y/N), you look absolutely ravishing today.” Emily came over to join in the teasing, doing her best Hotch impression. 

“What are you two idiots yapping about?” You looked up at the scene, laughing inwardly at their antics. 

“Cmon, Hotch is so into you!” Came from JJ as she giggled softly. “And I'm willing to bet the feeling is reciprocated.” She tugged at your cheek, pointing out the obvious blush dusting them. 

“Okay, we’re all bullying me, stay mad.” You tried to joke but they all gave you pointed glares like you were the stupidest person in the world. “He is not into me! He just wants someone in this office to actually do their work.” You giggled before pulling all your files together. You pushed your chair back and stood up to deliver your files for the day. 

“Keep telling yourself that, Sugar!” Derek shouted as you walked away, receiving an unceremonious middle finger in response. 

You jogged up the stairs to Hotch's office, raising your hand to knock on the door, finding it already open. Your heart hummed against your chest at the thought of him hearing the ‘workplace gossip’. Well, can it really be gossip if it's true? 

“I have the files you wanted.” You held them close to your chest as you absentmindedly played with the small pieces of paper sticking out. The tension in the office was palpable. The same tension that hung over you when you looked a little too long, or smiled a little too brightly.  

His head snapped up at your voice and he broke out into one of those very rare Aaron Hotchner smiles TM. “You can just put them there.” He pointed to his desk, trying to shield his face that sported the same bright pink as you. As you approached, he begged to every god on earth you couldn't hear his heartbeat threatening to break out of his ribs. There was a beat of silence as you put the files down. You knew you shouldn't linger, but you couldn't help it. Youd do everything in your power to look at him a second longer each time he leaves. He looks up at you. He really looks at you. Eyes so bright whilst still working a job like this. Plump lips being gently bitten between your teeth. That conversation, outside. A conversation he never should've heard. This was his in. 

“They are right you know.” Your head lifted gently, taking you away from whatever thoughts lingered. Your eyebrows knitted together as a nervous smile and quizzical look painted your face. He stood and moved around his desk toward you. “i am ‘so into you’.” He tried his best to keep his earth shattering confession as light hearted as he could, rolling his eyes a little at the end of his sentence. He sucked in a breath as your face didnt move an inch from the shocked look plastered on it. God. This was the worst idea ever. He could already feel the anxiety and the nervousness and the everything, trying to claw its way out of his throat. His usual stoic look must have faltered, as he felt you lay your hand on his arm, breaking through his layer of despair. 

“Hotch.” Your eyes softened as you looked at him, and your eyes closed lightly, a blush spreading on your cheeks. It felt like this wave of emotion had hit you and you just wanted to cry. The line. It had been crossed, and it was so utterly terrifying, and felt so fucking amazing. 

He had obviously mistaken your soft tone as one of pity, of rejection. He stuttered slightly and turned his back to you, flushing deeply. He babbled, about how ‘sorry’ he was, and how we should ‘just forget he said anything’. God, he had taken risks in his life, but this was possibly the most, stupid, miscalculated, inconcieve- 

“Hotch!” Your raised voice broke him out of his spiral as he turned to face you once more. You moved toward him and lightly pushed a stray hair from his forehead. He so desperately wanted to lean into your touch. “Whatever is going on in that pretty little head of yours, at least let me finish what i was saying.” He shook his head lightly, like he was trying to shake his thoughts away, as he gazed into your eyes for the first time since his confession. “I'm totally into you too.” You mirrored his earlier words with a slight giggle. And just like that, a wave of emotion erupted in him. He breathed deeply, not realizing he was depriving himself of air waiting for your answer.  

He moved to softly run his thumb over your cheek as he gazed at you lovingly. “I've been wanting to tell you for so long. I tried flirting but I figured I just wasn't very good because you hadn't realized.” 

“Stop. I've been doing the same thing!” You gently dropped your head to his chest, laughing incredulously at the stupidity, that two very intelligent profilers had missed all of this. So oblivious. Both wrapped in their own little world of desperate pining.  

“How about i take you on a date? I could definitely use some time away from this office.” He lifted your chin gently, so you were looking into his eyes. 

“I couldnt think of anything better” You gazed at him, happiness threatening to burst your heart into two. 

Bonus 

Through the large office window, the 5 profilers stood, huddled around your desk, staring intently, like it was the finale of their favorite rom-com. They all sighed a huge breath as they saw you lay your head on Aaron's chest, all turning to eachother with the most shit-eating-grins. 

“I think, Reid and Morgan owe me 20 bucks.” Rossi smirked as JJ and Emily burst into laughter. Morgan hit himself on the cheek playfully with a little ‘ouch’ before rooting through his pocket for a 20. Reid had tried to argue ‘as Hotch's best friend, of course you'd understand him the best’ But it was to no avail, as Rossi just stuck his hand out and gave him an unconvinced look. He sighed and rooted through his pockets.  

After much laughter and gossip, they all turned back to see you placing a chaste kiss on his cheek and hurrying out of his office. They caught him lifting a hand to where you had kissed. Upon realizing his blinds were open, he promptly shut them, trying his best to plaster his intimidating look back on his face. You stopped at the top of the stairs as you realized all eyes were on you. You coughed and tried to indignantly hide the blush that coated your cheeks.  

“Back to work.” 

-

let me know what you think! and pls request this was so cute.

Taglist

@back-totheoldhouse

[justauthoring]

I really like your Tokyo revengers He’s Taken scenario. What if it happened in reverse where someone told the boys that they would be a better fit for reader <3

TOKYO REVENGERS - UM, SHE'S TAKEN?

includes: manjiro "mikey" sano, hanma shuji, baji keisuke and kazutora hanemiya all include xfem!reader!

a/n: this is so late but i felt i should actually do a request for once :) and i always love me some jealous boys!

MIKEY:

The audacity of this man.

That was all Mikey could think.

Did he not know who he was? Did he not know who you were dating? The Invisible Mikey, Toman's Leader and the most handsome boy you knew?

Clearly not.

Frowning, Mikey watches with barely concealed disdain as your classmate (the one you’ve been complaining to him about for weeks now) follows you outside of the school. He couldn’t always pick you up from school with Toman business and the like, but today he’d made sure he’d be able to after you’d texted him the day before that your annoying classmate had proceeded to take his infatuation with you a step further and follow you out of school. It had taken you great convincing to get him not to ‘walk you home’ as he so eloquently put it – stalking more like it – and though you’d tried to play it off, Mikey knew how scared you were.

The second your eyes fall on Mikey making his way over to you, he sees the instant relief that floods through them. Despite everything, Mikey can't help but feel slightly smug at that, hands shoved nonchalantly in his pockets as he crosses the distance over to you.

"Y/N-channn!" He calls out, arms stretched out towards you and with a single brief glance at the boy next to you, you all but race towards him, allowing yourself to fall into his arms. Mikey hates the way he feels you shake slightly beneath his fingertips, and he throws a not-so-subtle glare the classmates way, who – as he figured – is glaring right back at him.

"Y/N," the classmate calls, and Mikey's eyes narrow at his familiarity when regarding you. "Who's this?"

You lean back from his hug, and Mikey can see you look rather annoyed at the question – clearly, you've told him this before.

"Mikey," Mikey cuts in dryly, "her boyfriend."

And he must really not know who Mikey is because he has the gall to laugh.

"Boyfriend?" Haru laughs, mockingly and loudly, head thrown back as you cast a quick glance up at Mikey in uncertainy, trying to gauge he's reaction. Truthfully, Mikey looks unphased. "I thought you were joking about that, Y/N."

And then Haru steps forward, moving towards you; "I mean, you and me make a much better–"

It happens in a flash. Suddenly, you're no longer in Mikey's arms and rather set gently behind him, Mikey’s body blocking your view as Haru's hand that was outstretched towards you is now tightly grasped in Mikey's fist. A quick glance at Haru's face, and you can tell that Mikey's grip is tight, his face twisting with pain.

"Did I forget to mention?" Mikey smiles, "I'm also the leader of Toman."

Haru's eyes widen and he looks scared–well, shitless.

Mikey's grip tightens, finding the way all colour leaves Haru's face rather amusing and the way the panic wells with pain as Mikey bends his arm to the point of just being about to break.

"Now, what was that about you and Y/N-chan being a better match?"

"I was wrong!" Haru cries, voice pitching pathetically, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!"

"Don't apologize to me," Mikey shrugs, "apologize to Y/N-chan for making her so uncomfortable for the past few weeks."

Slowly, Mikey takes a step back, allowing you to fall in the view of Haru again, who, near crying, falls to his knees. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!"

Cheeks red slightly in embarrassment, you turn to Mikey.

He lets go with ease, Haru falling to the ground with one last cry, before Mikey makes his way to you, pulling you back into his arms with a wide grin.

"Let's go eat!" Mikey calls out with a cheer, snuggling into you. "I want you to feed me!"

HANMA:

"I mean, you're no good for her."

There's a beat. One long, single beat of silence before Hanma can't hold himself back anymore and he burst into laughter.

You, whose stood next to him, looks at him in disbelief, eyes widening as Hanma all but cackles in response to Asahi's words. Asahi, to be fair, looks just a stunned, and with a frown, you step towards your boyfriend, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Shuji!" You hiss, grip tightening on him.

He falls quiet at that, letting his eyes drift across you briefly, taking in the worried look in your eyes and the laughter stops at that. Hanma lets his eyes fall back on this boy, Asahi apparently, and the frown deepens – you were scared of this guy? He looked like wind might blow him over.

Besides, didn't you trust him to protect you?

A single glance back at you, and you're still throwing worried glances at Asahi, shuffled close to his side.

Guess he had something else to prove then.

"That's funny," Hanma finally speaks up, letting his eyes fall on Asahi with disinterest. "Hilarious actually." But all the humour has left his body, and Hanma simply stares back at the boy with a straight face.

Asahi falters, just slightly.

"I-I mean, you're a deliquent!" He calls out, gesturning in front of him at Hanma, before his eyes fall on you. "I mean, surely you can see that being with him will be nothing but a bad influence. If you were–"

Hanma steps in front of you, blocking you effectively from him.

"You don't get to talk to her," Hanma states rather bluntly.

Asahi turns to him, lips parting.

"You're not worthy enough to talk to her, pipsqueak. So let's keep this between you and me, huh?"

The air changes, thickens, and although you can't see it, you can practically sense as Asahi grows nervous, registering the glint in Hanma's gaze as he stares him down.

"I mean, surely, if you knew I was a... what did you say? Delinquent." Hanma snorts, "you think you'd have the brains to realize I'm not someone to mess with. And I don't take kindly to idiots like you trying to tell me who my girl should or shouldn't be with."

Hanma takes a step forward then, towering over the boy whose skin has grown pale, eyes flooding with fear as he stares up at Hanma.

"I especially don't take kindly to you scaring my girl either."

"I-I–"

Grabbing Asahi by the collar of his jacket, Asahi falls silent as Hanma pulls him up until he's standing on the tip of his toes, kicking his feet beneath him.

"But it seems I screwed up too, huh? My girl shouldn't have to be afraid because she should know I'd never let anyone touch her, let alone look at her if they made her uncomfortable."

There's a pause and Hanma's gaze grows wild as his fist slowly raises beside him, Asahi's cries of panic and pleads of mercy simply a background noise.

"So it looks like I gotta show her why."

BAJI:

"You're loud."

Well, Baji guessed he couldn't necessarily argue with that.

"You're rash."

That, too... maybe.

"You're not very smart."

Uh, ouch.

"You act without thinking. It could get Y/N hurt."

Okay, well that was just rude.

You were always Baji's top priority.

Well, that and fighting. But, still.

"I think I'd be a much better fit for her."

Baji should've figured this is where the conversation was going. Letting his eyes drift across the boy stood in front of him, he takes in the sight of his Toman uniform. He doesn't readily recognize the boy, so he's certainly not in his division.

Ballsy, he'd admit.

But stupid nonetheless.

He's probably in Mitsuya's division, Baji laughs to himself.

Well, not for much longer.

"I'll take your silence as a sign you agree with me–"

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions," Baji chuckles, grinning down widely at the boy. "What makes you think you're so great for Y/N? I know she's happy with me."

Lips parting, the boy pauses; "what?"

"You listed off all the reasons why you think I'm not a good fit for her, right?" He quirks a brow, and the boy nods. "So, tell me why you think you're a good match for her. You win, I'll break up with Y/N. And if you lose... well, needless to say." With a wide grin, Baji cracks his knuckles, baring his fists down at the boy.

The boys eyes widen, and he fumbles for a second, before he steels himself, inhaling deeply.

"Well, I'm smart, for one–"

"Wrong," Baji cuts in, "Y/N doesn't like smart guys. Why else would she have gone for me?"

Faltering, the boy shakes his head; "w-well, I'm a good cook–"

"Y/N prefers cooking herself," Baji shakes his head. "It's her passion."

Cheeks redenning, the boy rushes to add; "I-I'm! I'm strong!"

Baji just laughs; "not as strong as me. You're not even a vice captain of Toman!"

Thoroughly embarrassed, the boy hesitates, face bright red.

"Looks like you lose," Baji sings, stepping towards the boy. "I mean, if you really knew Y/N, you'd know the most important thing."

"W-What?"

"That none of that matters because she loves me!"

"You can't just–"

He never finishes what he's about to say before a fist makes contact with his cheek, knocking him off his feet and sending him straight to the ground.

Baji glances down at him with a blink.

"Strong my ass."

He makes a move toward him, before;

"Keisuke!"

Eyes lighting up, Baji spins, grinning at the sight of you. "Y/N!"

You fall in front of him, eyes flickering from the boy groaning on the ground back to him, "did you get in another fight again?"

Baji shrugs; "the guy deserved it. Not much of a fight either.”

And your eyes fall back on the boy on the ground and there's a flicker of hope where he thinks you might help but, but then after a moment you follow Baji's lead, shrugging, letting him take your hand in his before leading him off.

Guess Baji was right – you really did love him.

KAZUTORA:

"I mean, didn't you go to juvie?"

Frowning, Kazutora glares at the man, Daiki as he'd introduced himself as, in front of him. He was apparently a co-worker of yours, though Kazutora's never heard you talk about him before.

Stuck at this party your work was holding for you as a celebration for the promotion you'd received and your excellent work at the company, Kazutora had gotten a whole half hour of your time before you'd been whisked off by two woman, you offering an apologetic smile over your shoulder in response.

At the time, Kazutora hadn't minded – this night was for you after all and he wanted you to enjoy it.

Now, though? He desperately wanted to leave.

"How do you even know that?" Kazutora asks, his patience thin.

"I did some research when Y/N mentioned your name," Daiki shrugs. "Of course, when she mentioned you she hadn't mentioned that."

It's obviously meant as a jab. But Kazutora knew you weren't embarrassed of him – at least, he'd been pretty sure of that.

"Well, it's not really any of your business is it?" Kazutora cuts in, barely able to contain the snide in his tone. He barely liked socializing with people anyway, especially strangers, but he'd gone for you and because he wanted to be apart of your celebration. It was the least he could do after all you'd done for him.

But now he wishes he’d stayed home if he had to continue dealing with this guy.

"Still," Daiki insists, "aren't you embarrassed? I mean, such an upstanding woman... it's a wonder why she ever chose you."

"I chose him because I love him for him," you cut in and Kazutora’s eyes widen, glancing over his shoulder to see you making your way over to him. You look absolutely stunning, dressed in a floor length Y/F/C dress and when you notice his eyes on you, you smile at him, before it falters as you turn back to glance at your coworker. "But I hardly think that's any of your business anyways."

You fall next to Kazutora, wrapping your arm around his waist as you fall into his side, and the second you do, you squeeze Kazutora's side, and he realizes you're trying to reassure him.

"Y/N–!"

"Honestly, Daiki," you breathe out, voice coming out purposely exasperated as you roll your eyes. "I've had this conversation with you multiple times. I am happily in a relationship and your obsession with my personal affairs is strange and inappropriate. Given my promotion, I could easily have you fired."

Kazutora watches as the man's eyes widen, cheeks bleeding red as he shakes his head; "my-my apologies. Please, you don't have to go that far. I'll... I'll make sure I stop."

You raise a brow, holding the man with bated breath for a moment, before you nod. "Just don't let it happen again."

Daiki scurries off without another word, desperate to get away and Kazutora watches as you let out a sigh, shoulders falling as you shift, coming to stand in front of him, hands falling on his hips.

"I'm sorry about him. He's been... annoyingly persistant about asking me out for the past bit. I thought he'd have stopped when I reported him last week but when I saw him talking to you just now, I realized he hadn't."

Kazutora glances down at you, meeting your gaze.

You understand what he's trying to say before he even does; "nuh-uh," you shake your head, tugging him closer to you. "Don't let a word that idiot says get to you. He's just a pervert anyways. He spends half of his time looking down my shirt and I would never want to be with someone like him over you."

Biting his lips, Kazutora smiles softly; "I love you."

"I love you too," you grin, before slipping your hand into his. "Now, come on, I want to introduce you to my friends."

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Gala Buddies

Sam Manson glares out across the sea of the rich, snobby ‘elite.’ The people mingling with one another, all fake smiles and false niceties slipping from their lips easily. Every face a mask they put on to hide their true selves from the view of the public. They made Sam sick. She hated Galas, particularly the ones that took her away from Amity.

So of course, her parents had insisted that they simply must attend the gala in Gotham being held by none other than Bruce Wayne. They couldn’t miss out on the opportunity to see their old pal again.

Though Sam thought it was more like they wanted to suck up to the man for some business venture.

Or try to set her up with one of his sons again.

At least she got to see Gotham’s architecture. That was a positive, she concluded. She’d get some cool photos out of the trip to show Danny and Tucker back home. And maybe she’d get to see one of Gotham’s infamous vigilantes up close, she could try to learn anything from gauging the way they handled themselves that might be useful for Danny.

Sam readjusted her stance, the fabric of the obnoxiously pink dress making her legs itch uncomfortably. Her mother had gone through her luggage before they left when Sam hadn’t been looking and slipped in the monstrosity she was currently wearing, and removing the dresses she had selected for this torturous night. She was becoming moodier, and ‘crabbier’ as Tucker and Danny might have put it, by the second.

Maybe she could ‘accidentally’ trip into the chocolate fountain and ruin the dress. At least then she’d be getting some form of retribution for being forced into the frilly cocoon of humiliation. And it’s not like her parents would be able to scold her too much in front of all the other rich schmuks attending the party. As Sam was eyeing the chocolate fountain she noticed in her peripheral vision a person approaching her.

“Not in a party mood I take it?” Asked whoever had walked up to her.

Sam turned to examine the guy in front of her. He looked to be roughly her age, dark skin and a fancy suit that he looked uncomfortable in. A nervous energy permitted off of him, Sam guessed he wasn’t used to these sorts of events and was unashamedly out of his depth.

“Nah, not particularly,” Sam offered with a shrug, “you seem like you want to be here as much as I do.”

“Ah yeah,” the guy rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly, “I’m kinda only here because my brother didn’t want to be here alone and most of our other siblings were unavailable aside from my sister and I. But now he’s off talking to a friend of his that happened to be here, and my sister’s disappeared to who knows where.”

“That’s rough buddy,” Sam offers him a sympathetic smile.

The guy snorts before asking, “did you just quote Zuko?” And Sam grins. He holds out his hand to her, “Duke Thomas.”

Sam shakes his hand, “Sam Manson. Nice to meet you, Duke.”

Duke visibly appears to relax a little and the air of nervousness around his somewhat dissipates. He shifts of his feet for a moment before deciding on something. “So,” he starts, “if you weren’t stuck here what you normally be doing with your time?”

“Probably playing Doom with my two best friends back home,” Sam doesn’t mention anything about the ghosts. She hopes Danny and Tucker are alright in their own.

“Oh cool,” Duke smiles and Sam would be lying if she said she’d never seen someone so perfectly embody literal sunshine like he did. “I usually play videos games with my siblings. Mario Kart can get super competitive though.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at that, intrigued. “How competitive?”

Duke grimaces slightly but looks amused at the same time, “well, tables have been flipped and expensive things broken. And everyone lost Alfred’s cookie privileges for a week.” He ground out that last part as though it physically pained him.

“Damn. They must be some good cookies if you’re that bummed about it.”

“Your have no idea. Alfred’s cookies are the best thing in the world. Fights have broken out over them.”

“Your family sound insane,” Sam chuckles and quickly adds, “in a good way.”

Duke grins at her, “yeah they’re kinda crazy sometimes, but they’re great. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

“It must be nice, having siblings like that.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Nah,” Sam shakes her head, “only child.”

Before either of them know or Sam and Duke have been talking for nearly the entire gala. They remained glued to one another chatting even as one or both of them wanted to grab something to eat from the buffet table. Their interactions didn’t go unnoticed by Bruce and the others.

Sam couldn’t remember the last time she had such a normal and fun conversation with someone other than Danny or Tucker.

The end of the night came too soon, Sam felt. Things were winding down and people were bidding others farewell. She could see her parents speaking with Bruce Wayne, possibly thanking him for a wonderful night.

“Looks like I’ll probably be leaving soon,” Sam deflated a little.

Duke pondered something for a moment but seemed to reach a decision quickly. He pulled out his phone and offered it to Sam, “here, give me your number. We can keep talking later. If you want that is.”

And Sam couldn’t find any reason to say no, especially when Duke was smiling like that. “Sure,” he took the phone from his hand and added her number into his contacts. She pulled out her own phone and handed it to him to add his number in too.

“Well then,” Duke fighters with the end of his suit jacket.

“Sammikins!” Pamela Manson called out, “it’s time to go sweetie.”

“I’ll talk to you late?” Duke asked with a smile.

“Yeah,” Sam smiled back, “talk to you later Duke.”

[triptuckers]

dawn - percy jackson

Request: nope Pairing:  percy jackson x child of apollo!reader Summary:  percy wakes early because of a nightmare and you're not next to him Warnings:  swearing, mentions of nightmares, percy being scared :( Word count:  900 A/N: SHIFTING INTO PERCY JACKSON MODE AGAIN !!! I cannot wait for the show !!! also this is based on a head canon I saw once and now it's my favorite, enjoy!

percy hears you scream again. he needs to find you now.

he's been running for too long now, you've been screaming for too long. he could tell from your screams you had gone from scared to absolutely terrified.

and he knows you've been through as much as he has. it took a lot to make you scared. and something has made you terrified.

percy runs around the corner, gripping his sword tight. up ahead he can see a shadow. that must be you.

he takes off running again but as he gets closer to the shadow, it's not you. it's someone - or something - that is holding two very long, very sharp swords.

percy turns around and bolts through a door. you scream again. and again. he can't get to you. gods, he's going to lose you.

with a start, percy's eyes fly open.

he's breathing heavily and his hands are gripping the bedsheets. percy's chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to calm himself. he reaches out to you, but you're not next to him.

what if it wasn't a nightmare? fuck.

he pushes himself up with one elbow and notices the door to his cabin is slightly open. he can see you sitting just outside.

percy closes his eyes and lets himself fall back onto his pillow. he frowns when they're damp. great, he was sweating. that means it was a really bad one.

'shit.' he sighs, dragging a hand over his face. there's no way he's getting any sleep now. at least not with the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

he can tell it's very early in the morning. the sun is starting to rise, but it's still pretty dark outside. percy looks over to you again and notices a mug in your hands, steam rising from it.

after the nightmare he had, he just needs you close. so he gets up and puts on a sweater and boots before joining you outside.

you look up when you hear footsteps on the wooden floor.

'hi. did I wake you?' you say, reaching for percy and pulling him down to squeeze into the chair next to you, careful not to spill your drink.

'no.' his answer is short.

'nightmare?' you ask, noticing the collar of his shirt that sticks to his sweaty neck.

'yeah.' he moves to get closer to you, needing to be near you.

'want to talk about it?' you say, lazily running your fingers through his hair near the back of his neck.

percy sighs softly. 'lately it's the same one.' he says. 'you're somewhere, I don't know where, I can't see you. but I can hear you. you're screaming for help, for me to come get you out of wherever you are. but there's this big guy chasing me and I can never get to you in time.'

he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to drown the image out.

'it's okay.' you say. 'I'm here now.'

'I know you are. you think I can ask any of the gods if they can stop the nightmares?'

you chuckle softly. 'it's worth a shot.'

'hey, wait. why weren't you next to me when I woke up?' he says, remembering the moment the nightmare shook him awake.

he turns slightly so he can look you in the eye, brows slightly furrowed. 'do you still have nightmares?'

'sometimes.'

'but they didn't wake you tonight?'

'no.'

'wait, so you willingly got up at the ass crack of dawn?'

you smile. 'also no.'

'you're usually up early, though. even on quests when you're exhausted but we need to go on, you're always the first one awake. perks of being apollo's kid?'

this time you laugh softly. 'no, more like downside of being his kid.'

percy frowns again. 'what are you talking about?"

'well, everyone wakes at dawn. look, will's awake as well.' you say, pointing to your cabin in the distance. 'michael is just coming back from getting his coffee. I saw lee as well.'

percy still looks confused. you're tempted to give him some weird reason and have him figure out I fit's real or not. but he might not even believe the truth.

'you know how apollo uses his chariot to ride across the sky to give us the sunrise, right?' you say.

'yeah, you told me about that.' says percy.

'well, when he does that he blasts heavy metal at a frequency only apollo kids can hear. so we can see him in the sky in all his glory.'

'seriously?'

'his words, not mine.'

percy laughs. 'that does sound like apollo, yes.'

'it's nice, tough. waking up before everyone else does. especially the younger kids.'

'hey, next time, wake me up okay?'

'I prefer to let you sleep. that's why I always get up quietly.'

'I know, and I appreciate it. but this is nice, just us.'

'us and all of my cabin.'

'well, yeah, but you're the only apollo kid sleeping in my cabin.' says percy, nudging your shoulder an smiling.

'and it better stay that way.' you say, smiling as well. 'I call dips on the shower.'

you lean in to kiss his cheek and get up, letting percy enjoy the rest of the sunrise on his own.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[gothicfied]

can you write for thanos x reader where the reader is really stoic and calm, not mean, but just does not express much emotion and it drive thanos crazy trying to impress her and get a reaction? Thanks :)

Hard to get - Thanos / Player 230

Pairing: Thanos / Player 230 x calm!reader

Summary: Thanos will do anything to get a reaction out of you, even if that means he has to put himself in danger.

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, blood, gunshots, killing (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff (kinda lol), not proof read (english isn't my first language)

Word count: 971 Words

A/N: hii, I hope this is alright and what you had imagined!

When you woke up in a random bed, in a new environment with random people, you almost started to have a panic attack. Usually, you don't really show your emotions, you just keep them locked inside you and let a war rage in your mind while appearing to be calm about a situation you can't be calm about. After the initial shock wore off, you made your way to the middle of this area filled with beds, where other contestants or players with different numbers started complaining to the guards, that wore pretty ridiculous outfits you thought, about where their belongings went and other stuff.

After getting to know the rules of this.. 'game' you guys were playing for money, as everyone including you was here because of huge debt or money problems, you were led to the first mini game. Everyone went up the stairs while upbeat music was playing in the background, the fun colors of this environment stinging in your eyes. Suddenly, you hear someone whistle behind you: "Señorita!" The voice of a man seemingly called out to you. Without stopping, you turned your head around to face a purple-haired guy with a shit eating grin on his face. "Wow, what is a pretty thing like you doing here?" Without giving him a reaction, you just shrugged and went on, feeling your legs grow tired of climbing these stairs.

"What? You don't know?" Player 230, the numbed on his chest, seemed relentless. "Well, yeah, I obviously know. You do too, we're all in here because of one reason." you answered him, matter-of-factly, not giving him the time to speak to his face. "Have I already told you how pretty you are?" This guy's flirting techniques weren't really that great. He continued to shower you with compliments, to which you mostly didn't reply or at most said "Thank you."

When arriving at the top, every player had to take a picture in front of some screens. Conventionally, Thanos, as you gathered his alias was from others who seemed to know him, was waiting in the queue next to you, now talking with.. his fans? You didn't quite get it, but apparently he was some sort of rapper you had never heard of. A few players wanted to take a group photo with him and when he said yes, he looked at you, still waiting in line for your turn. "Hey, you there. Come on, you can be in the picture, too." Thanos said, signaling you to come over to him. Raising your eyebrows slightly, you just waved it off, with it now being your turn to take a picture.

Entering the open-roof arena of sorts, with the femald voice explaining the rules of Red-Light-Green-Light to the players, you found yourself next to Thanos, again. "So, you don't know who I am?" You just said 'no' and looked at him expectantly, like you wanted him to explain who he was. It seemed to annoy him. The man went on about how he was a rapper, even demonstrating that to you with some cheesy rap he came up on the spot, until he was interrupted by some guy, yelling that everyone who'd move during red light would die. How drastic.

"What is he talking about?" Thanos whispered, but you didn't show a reaction and rather listened to what Player 456 had to say. It started to really get on Thanos' nerves that he couldn't even coax one reaction or emotion out of you. No matter gow charming he was or how many questions he asked, you remained aloof. He kind of liked it.

"Must be on drugs, huh?" Another attempt of him to talk to you, to which you shushed him. The man in up front was talking about how you'd get shot if you moved, that being disqualified just meant they'd execute you. You didn't want to believe him, like, this sounds too crazy to be real, right? Yet still, you were determined to follow his directions. Everyone lined up on the white line, the mechanic girl doll thing staring you down. It was big and scary, also mysterious in some way. How would they shoot eliminated players? Would she shoot lasers out of her eyes like in some kind of film?

You found out pretty quickly that it was just guards who did it, as one girl panicked when a bee landed on her and that set off a chain reaction with others trying to run for their lives, just to get it taken away from them. You were floored. Splatters if blood landed on your face from one woman being shot right in front of you, Thanos not far away experiencing the same. Player 456 was screaming everyone to either run or freeze, depending on if it was red light or green light, guiding the remaining players through the game quickly.

Thanos and you had been locking eyes everytime you were supposed to freeze, him sending you a small wink everytime he saw your disturbed face. Unbeknownst to you, to everyone, he had taken some kind of pill out from his cross necklace, some kind of drug, and was now bouncing all over the place, like this wasn't serious. He reveled in the fact that he was able to get a reaction out of you now: you were mortified everytime he did something even remotely dangerous. Aww, you cared for him!

Going as far as pushing other players over, getting them killed, you concluded that this guy was mental.

The last few seconds of the given time were scary. You had made it over the finish line, saving yourself from a gruesome death, just like Thanos.

"Glad to see you on this side, Señorita. Would've been too bad if I couldn't have seen your pretty face ever again."

[vunblr]

Toy Soldier (part 3)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut. Dark Content: Sexual Assault Wounds (Bucky). Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims)

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 6.8.k.

notes: This chapter includes flashbacks to non-con situations. Please be mindful of your media consumption and take care of yourself. Passages containing this content are marked with ****** at the beginning and the end, in case you wish to skip them.

Previous Chapter

The next days passed uneventfully after the brawl at the bar. Every location listed in the government-provided intelligence was either empty or completely inconsistent with the reports. It felt like chasing ghosts, a frustrating pattern that left them all on edge.

By the end of the week, they were on a military plane heading back to New York. Sam leaned back in his seat, glancing idly at the other two. It didn’t take him long to notice that they were... talking.

Not in the awkward way of the first days, or the strictly mission-related conversations that followed. In fact, it wasn’t the body language he’d expect from two people who barely knew each other. Bucky’s body was more relaxed than Sam had seen in years while interacting with someone, and at one point, he caught a faint smile on Tinman’s face, a real smile.

What the hell happened between those two?

Asking Bucky directly wasn’t an option. The guy was like a human wall when it came to personal questions. He had learned long ago that pushing him only made him clam up more.

No, if he wanted answers, he’d have to go to the other source. She might be more willing to spill the details, especially if he caught her in a casual moment.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back in his seat. He’d find a chance to ask her soon, maybe over coffee. Whatever had happened on this mission had clearly done the impossible: it got the Winter Sulkier to actually drop the act.

His attention was drawn back when he noticed Bucky tense slightly, as his expression shifted while she asked him a question. She leaned toward him, perched on the edge of her seat, focusing on the phone he held in his hand. Sam, feigning a search through one of the nearby bags, edged closer to eavesdrop.

“See, you just tap here,” Bucky said, oddly patient, something Sam would’ve thought impossible coming from him. “Then swipe left to go back, or hit this button if you want to-”

“Wait, wait,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “So anyone can message me, or is it just the guys I pick if we... match?” Her brows furrowed, her tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Sam’s eyes widened slightly. Is he teaching her how to use a dating app?

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Just the ones you match with,” he replied evenly. “But... don’t expect much. Most of these guys don’t know how to hold a conversation past ‘hey.’”

She snorted. “That’s it? No effort at all?” Then she tilted her head. “How’d it go for you, then? Using the app, I mean.”

Bucky shrugged, with a carefully neutral expression. “Tried it a little. Didn’t stick with it.”

She narrowed her eyes and the corners of her lips twitched in amusement. “You ‘tried it a little,’ huh? Because you seem to know a lot about it for someone who barely used it.”

He shot her a quick look before deadpan. “You pick things up.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she studied him. “Come on, you are handsome, you can’t tell me you didn’t get one match.”

“I got a few,” he admitted reluctantly, blushing slightly. “Didn’t go anywhere.”

“Why not?” she pressed.

He hesitated, and his discomfort was more noticeable now. His gaze quickly darted to Sam and then went back to her. “It’s all surface-level. A few pictures, some vague descriptions, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Her teasing expression softened at the shift in his tone. “Okay, fair. But isn’t that the point? It’s just supposed to be an icebreaker, right?”

“Maybe,” he muttered, leaning back in his seat. “But I’m not great at... small talk. And that’s all this is. Small talk that leads nowhere.”

Sam, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke up. “You’re not really helping her case, you know. You’re making this app sound like a deathtrap.”

Bucky shot him a glare. “It’s not a deathtrap. It’s just... not worth the hassle.”

She raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I won’t know until I try it. Maybe I’ll get luckier. How different could it really be once you meet in person, like a traditional meetup?”

Before Bucky could respond, Sam chimed in from a few seats over, a mischievous smirk on his face. “Well, you should also know that you might receive some... unwanted pictures.”

She tilted her head, frowning. “Unwanted pictures? Like what?”

“Dicks,” Sam deadpanned, his expression unflinching.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Why would someone... Is that supposed to attract me? Like they think, ‘Oh, I’ll send her a dick pic, and she’ll say, sure, John, let’s go feed the ducks at the park?’”

Sam doubled over laughing, while Bucky shifted uncomfortably, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “Yeah, uh... I forgot to mention the unwanted pictures,” he muttered.

She quirked a brow, and her lips twitched with amusement. “How is it for the guys? Did you get unwanted pictures too? Like, ‘Hey, handsome,’ and bam! Wet nipples pic?”

Bucky froze, his eyes widening slightly “I- what? No,” he stammered, his usual stoic mask cracking under her teasing.

Sam burst out laughing, leaning back in his seat. “Oh, man, you broke him.”

Bucky shot Sam a death glare, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “It’s not... That’s not how it works.”

“Oh, come on, someone must’ve tried.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, clearly wishing for the conversation to end. “No,” he said firmly. “Guys don’t get stuff like that. Not usually.”

Sam wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all week.”

“Glad I could entertain you,” Bucky muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, fixing his gaze firmly on the floor.

Sensing his discomfort now that Sam had jumped into the conversation, she decided to redirect the attention. She leaned slightly toward Sam, with a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.

“Speaking of unwanted pictures,” she said casually, “remember when that agent flashed us his brand-new Prince Albert in the Rome safehouse? Because he thought it was infected and wanted me to take care of it?”

Sam choked on his laughter. “Oh, man, that guy! How could I forget?” He shook his head, still grinning. “I got traumatized. The guy showed it off like he was proud of it. Even with the swelling and all. And you…you just stood there like it was any other Tuesday.”

She shrugged, her expression deadpan. “What was I supposed to do? He dropped his pants before I even knew what was happening. First of all, you might find it hard to believe, but it wasn’t the first time I’ve seen a dick, and second, I’ve seen worse things over the years.” if he only knew how much worse.

Bucky’s frown deepened, snapping his sharp gaze at her. His jaw tightened, and there was a flicker of something in his expression, something dark and protective. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, coldly.

She glanced at him, startled by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “What?”

“That guy,” he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Dropping his pants like that. You’re a lady, for God’s sake.”

Sam burst out laughing again, “I hate to break it to you, but modern life’s not exactly full of boundaries, Buck. Especially when the dude thought his dick was going to fall off.”

Bucky ignored Sam’s laughter. “Still doesn’t mean it’s right.”

His gaze drifted, growing distant, and she knew exactly where it was traveling. The countless times Hydra had forced her to touch him in clinical detachment, to treat his groin marred by shrapnel, burns, and other injuries she’d long since pushed to the darkest corners of her memory. Also, that time when…

She clapped her hands suddenly, trying to steer the conversation away.

“Anyway, about the app-”

“Wait,” Sam interrupted, leaning forward with interest. “About that, last time I talked to you, you said you were dating some dude from the library. Some kind of meet-cute.”

Bucky’s attention snapped back to the conversation, as a strange, twisted feeling settled in his gut.

“Clearly, if I’m asking about the app, I’m not seeing him anymore,” she replied, with a certain edge.

“What happened?” Sam pressed, furrowing his brow. “You seemed interested in the guy, and it sounded like he was into you, too.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “It just... didn’t work out.”

Sam gave her a pointed look. “That’s not a real answer.”

She groaned, leaning back in her seat. “Fine. Over the weeks, it was like everything he said he liked about me at first became an issue.”

“Like?” Sam prompted, tilting his head.

“Like preferring to stay home instead of going out all the time, it bored him. Or how he’d tell me he loved my cooking but would complain about his sweater smelling smoky after I’d make something. Little stuff like that.” She paused. “Then one day, I knit him a scarf. And do you know what he said?”

Sam raised a brow. “What?”

“He said, ‘I have a grandma who can do that,’” she said flatly.

Sam let out a sharp laugh of disbelief. “What a jackass.”

“Yeah,” she said with a humorless chuckle. “That was the last straw. Especially since he was the one who said he’d love it if I made something for him while flirting.”

“Oh my God, Sarah would’ve shoved the scarf through his ass, crochet hook included. And… uh did you two, you know…” Sam made a wave with his hand implying intimacy.

She couldn’t stop herself from briefly side-look at Bucky, who was staring at the ground. “No. I mean there was… but no. I don’t know, maybe that’s why suddenly everything started to annoy him.

Bucky felt a sharp surge of anger toward the faceless man. His fingers flexed against his thigh as he tried to push it down, but it stayed there. Sure, things had changed over the decades, he’d seen that much already. But memories of Rebecca knitting gloves for her sweetheart by the window, or his ma stitching clothes for them during the Depression, flooded his mind.

He knew what it meant to make something with your hands, the time, care, and thought behind every stitch. For that man to dismiss it like it was nothing, to compare her work to something anyone could do... it was a slap to everything he’d grown up valuing.

“That guy was an idiot,” he muttered, with irritation. “You took the time to make something for him, something personal. That matters. If he couldn’t see that, he wasn’t worth it.” The look on his face betrayed rage, the kind that made it clear he’d have no problem to physically teach the guy a lesson if he were standing in front of him.

She felt warmth rise in her chest at his words, “Thank you.”

Sam, who had been watching the exchange with growing amusement, leaned back in his seat with a knowing grin.

----

A couple of days had passed since they returned to New York, and she sat on her couch, biting her nails absently. The soft ticking of the wall clock felt louder than usual.

It was almost time for the doorbell to ring.

When they landed, Bucky had set her aside hesitantly and asked her if it was alright for them to talk. He’d made it clear that there was no pressure, no expectations. If she didn’t want to, he’d leave it alone. The last thing he wanted was to cause her discomfort.

She’d promptly agreed, “We can talk at my place if you are okay with that.” the offer had spilled from her lips before she could even think it through.

Her house was small but cozy, cluttered in a lived-in way. Books and plants filled old wooden shelves, the soft glow of a lamp in the corner painted the room in warm tones, and the faint scent of lavender lingered from a candle burning on the coffee table. She’d baked cookies and tidied up, in an unconscious effort to keep herself busy.

The doorbell finally rang, startling her.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she stood quickly, smoothing her hands over her shirt before heading to the door. When she opened it, there he was. Red henley, dark jeans, and a stuffed paper bag in his hand, standing on the threshold with a casual but guarded expression.

“Hi,” she managed to say, calmer than she felt.

“Hi,” he replied, nodding slightly before extending the bag toward her. “Um, for later. I figured it’d be rude to come empty-handed.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have” she said, clearly pleased, stepping aside while taking the bag, gesturing for him to come in. “Make yourself comfortable”.

Bucky hesitated momentarily before stepping inside, flicking his gaze briefly over the room. It felt... welcoming, familiar. He sat on the couch stiffly, resting his hands on his thighs.

She followed him, putting the paper bag on the coffee table and taking a seat across from him. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“So,” she began, breaking the silence, “what did you want to talk about?”

His eyes met hers, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh his words carefully. “I just... wanted to say I’m sorry,”.

“For what?” she asked, puzzled.

“For everything,” he said, dropping his gaze to his hands. “For what Hydra put you through because of me. For being part of the reason you were stuck in that hell.”

Her breath caught, and she shook her head instinctively. “What- Bucky, you weren’t the reason-”

“I was,” he cut her off gently, lifting his eyes to meet hers again. “I might not have had a choice in what they did to me, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t pay the price for it.”

She swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “You’re not responsible for what they did.” she said softly. “Neither of us is.”

“Objectively I know,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it is.”

The air between them felt heavy, charged with unspoken pain and understanding.

She sighed. “They abducted me because of my mutant powers, Bucky. They eventually assigned me to be your… maintenance tool because you were their most effective asset, Hydra’s fist. But even if you have not been there, there were others. For one reason or another, I would have ended up there anyway.”

The others.

******

Her words triggered memories he didn’t want but couldn’t avoid. The unending hours of hand-to-hand combat, training the newly enhanced assets. His missions didn’t end when he returned from the field; Hydra had repurposed him to mold their next generation of tools.

The rules had been clear: restrict his strength, take the blows, and avoid permanent damage. These trainees were expensive investments, after all, and he had the privilege of having his Tinkerbell next door to sprinkle some powder to fix him anew after every session.

Was in one of those travels to the neighboring cell when Soldat’s brain used the gray zones in the rules for the first time.

As he opened the heavy door, his gaze landed on the stretcher. She wasn’t alone. The asset bending her over the surface, fisting her hair, was making sure of it. His other hand fumbled, trying to place his excuse of a cock inside her, as she twisted helplessly beneath him.

His jaw ticked.

His fist connected with his target’s jaw in a blur of silver and crimson, sending him flying against the nearest wall with a sickening thud. The orders were to restrain himself while training. Her cell wasn’t meant as a place to train.

The asset groaned, attempting to push himself upright, but Soldat was already on him. In two long strides, he closed the distance, seizing the man’s throat with a crushing grip, lifting him up as if he weighed nothing. The asset’s eyes widened in panic as his legs kicked futilely against the air.

“Soldat!” a voice crackled through the speaker overhead. The handler’s voice.

He froze momentarily, loosening his grip just enough for the asset to suck in a ragged breath.

“Stand down,” the voice ordered, laced with the unmistakable threat of consequences.

His gaze flickered toward the camera in the corner of the room. He knew they were watching, assessing every move. But as he looked back at the asset, his grip tightened again.

She was still there, trembling against the stretcher, her wide, teary eyes locked on him. Her lip was split, and her arms were wrapped tightly around herself as though trying to hold her shattered pieces together.

A flicker of something broke through the red haze in his mind.

“Soldat,” the handler barked again, sharper this time. “Release him. Now.”

His hand twitched, and the hum of his arm vibrated faintly as if resisting the command. Slowly, deliberately, he dropped the man to the ground. The asset crumpled in a heap, coughing and clutching his throat.**

He walked toward the stretcher where she sat, frozen in place. Without a word, he leaned on the edge, reaching for the clasps of his upper vest and unfastening efficiently. The vest came off, revealing his beaten torso. His skin was mottled with bruises, and a sickly shade of purple spread across his ribs, the uneven swelling at the zone was a clear indication of fractures.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the faint static from the intercom and the asset’s wheezing on the floor.

He turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze in a silent request. Her hands shook as she reached for him, steading when they met his skin.

“Soldat,” the handler’s voice snapped through the intercom. “Report back to the training room.”

He didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on her, unwavering, unyielding. His hand twitched again, resting lightly on his thigh as though restraining himself from reaching out.

“I said, report back.”

******

“-cky… Bucky…” her voice broke the trance, bringing him back to the present.

He blinked, as his focus returned to the present. He saw her now, not trembling inside a depressing cell but sitting across from him in her living room, looking at him with concern.

“Sorry,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. The words felt inadequate, but they were all he could manage at the moment.

She sighed, leaning back in her seat. “It seems we still have a lot of shit to unpack,” she finally said. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her shirt as she continued, flicking her gaze back to him. “For some reason, you feel responsible for my captivity, and on the other hand, I feel responsible for prolonging your torment.” Her lips quirked into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Maybe we need to do some couple’s counseling.”

The joke was light, silly, considering what they’ve been through. Still, Bucky’s lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile.

Grabbing onto that tiny smile like a lifeline, she seized the opportunity to steer the conversation toward something more pleasant. “So, what’s in the mystery bag you brought?”

His gaze flicked to the paper-wrapped goodies on the coffee table. “Some... pastries,” he admitted, almost self-conscious. “Figured you might invite me for some coffee.” He quirked a brow, the faint hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It was my intention, yes,” she replied, leaning back in her seat, “Also, I might or might not have baked enough cookies to feed an army to go with it.”

“That so?” His smirk deepened slightly.

“Well, for starters I know your metabolism screams at you to inhale calories even in your sleep, and... I was kind of nervous before our meeting,” she confessed, almost murmuring toward the end.

He blinked, caught off guard by her honesty. “Nervous?” he echoed.

She shrugged, brushing an imaginary lint off her pants. “Yeah, nervous. I mean, it’s not every day you have a sit-down heart-to-heart with someone you...” She paused, searching for the right words. “...went through hell with.”

He didn’t respond immediately, fixing his gaze on her. Finally, he nodded, “I get it.”

For a moment, they sat in a silence that felt lighter than before, and then she clapped her hands lightly and rose from her seat.

“Well,” she said, “How about we see what kind of pastries you picked, and I’ll grab the cookies and make the coffee?

“Seems like a plan.” He agreed, standing and following her into the kitchen.

She grabbed a tray and began arranging the pastries he’d brought, their golden crusts promising a delicious treat. Beside them, she added a generous pile of cookies she’d baked earlier. The hum of the kettle heating the water filled the small space.

Bucky’s eyes drifted to the counter as she prepped. He hummed in appreciation when he realized she was setting up for brewed coffee, and the familiar sight of a pour-over filter caught his attention.

“Don’t like coffee makers,” she remarked, noticing his gaze. “Tastes like dirty water to me.”

He smirked faintly. “I couldn’t have expressed it better. There’s a machine for almost everything now, but some things...”

“...are better the old-fashioned way,” she finished, flashing him a small smile.

Bucky nodded toward the tray. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” she said, motioning to the cookies.

He reached for one, and before he realized it, his hand kept returning to the tray. They were warm, buttery, and just the right amount of sweet, a huge contrast to the food he’d grown accustomed to over the years.

“You bake like this often?” he asked between bites, in an almost casual tone.

“Not really,” she admitted with a chuckle, leaning against the counter. “I had a lot of nervous energy before today. Figured I might as well channel it into something productive.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “They’re good.”

She grinned. “Glad you approve.”

By the time the coffee was ready, most of the cookies were gone. She blinked at the near-empty tray and arched a brow at him.

“Seriously?” she teased, pouring two mugs of coffee. “I don’t think the cookies were supposed to be dinner.”

Bucky shrugged unapologetically, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Couldn’t stop. They’re better than anything I’ve had in a while.”

“Well, I’m taking that as a compliment,” she said, handing him a mug.

He took it, warming his hand with the cup. “It was.”

They settled at the small kitchen table, with the tray of pastries and the few remaining cookies between them. The conversation flowed easily, and their laughter mixed with the freshly brewed coffee aroma.

At some point, Bucky’s fingers tightened around his mug, lowering his gaze to its content. He hesitated for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line before he spoke. “When you asked me about the dating app the other day... how long... when did you feel you were ready to, you know…”

He trailed off, cursing himself inwardly for the clumsy phrasing and lack of subtlety.

She tilted her head, “Well, you mentioned it as a joke, and then I took the opportunity to ask since, you know, I was curious about them.” She chuckled lightly. “Not that my attempts at normal dating have been anything to brag about. As you heard on the plane... pretty pathetic.”

Bucky’s lips quirked briefly, but his eyes stayed on the coffee, waiting.

She shifted slightly in her chair, toying with the edge of her mug with her fingers. “As for being ready... I don’t know. It’s been a couple of years since I started feeling the... the need to have someone. Someone who’s more than just a friend.” She paused, and her gaze drifted somewhere far away, before returning to him. “But, honestly, the world changed so much. Dating now is... different. Messy.” She offered a faint smile, “Well if it feels like that for me, I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you. You probably grew up around my daddy’s time.”

Bucky’s head shot up, quirking his brow in mock indignation. “Your dad’s time?”

She grinned, catching the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You were probably handing out love letters, not even using a phone.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Hey, we weren’t that old-fashioned.” He paused, “But... yeah. It was different.”

“Guess that’s one thing we have in common,” she said softly. “Figuring out where we fit in a world that’s... moved on without us.”

He looked at her then, somehow the weight of her words made him feel less alone in his own struggle.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I guess we do.”

Gathering her courage, she nodded toward his vibranium hand, “Can I see it? Properly, I mean.”

His body tensed for a fraction of a second, but he saw genuine interest in her eyes. Slowly, he lifted his arm, extending the sleek prosthetic toward her.

She reached for it with both hands, brushing her fingers trough the cool, polished surface. His gaze widened slightly as she turned it gently in her grasp.

“Wow,” she murmured, running her fingertips along the ridges and smooth joints. “The fingers are less edgy than the old one.” She traced a line along his palm. “How’s the sensory feedback?”

Her question startled him out of his momentary daze, and he cleared his throat. Her touch was making harder to stay composed than he wanted to admit. “neuro-connections are more advanced,” he began, in an almost clinical tone. “So I have better control over it. I can feel pressure and temperature more accurately. But that’s... all.”

Her thumbs brushed over the pads of his fingers, “That’s a lot, though,” she said quietly. “It’s incredible. Do you ever... forget it’s not flesh and bone?”

His lips twitched faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Until I catch someone staring at it. Or...” His gaze dropped to her hands, still cradling his. “Until someone touches it. And I remember it’s not real.”

Her grip tightened slightly, an unconscious response. “It is real, Bucky,” she said firmly, lifting her eyes to his. “It’s you.”

“Thanks,” he said after a long pause.

Noticing that she still hadn’t released his hand, she let go quickly, feeling her cheeks warming under his stare. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

He shook his head lightly. “It’s fine,” he muttered.

She grabbed a pastry from the tray and took a bite to occupy herself. The silence lingered before she worked up the courage to ask, tentative but curious. “So... when did you feel ready to date and try the apps and stuff?”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“You asked me,” she deadpanned as she gestured toward him with a half-eaten bun. “Fair if I get to ask you the same.”

He sighed, brushing his fingers over his temple as he scratched it absently. “I don’t think...” He trailed off, then started again. “Last year, my therapist suggested I start stepping out of my comfort zone. Told me it’d help with... things. So... I tried.”

“And?” she prompted, leaning slightly forward, encouraging but not pushing.

His gaze dropped to the table. “I’d be lying if I said it’s been great.”

She remained silent, giving him space to continue.

“It’s just...” He hesitated, his hand curling into a loose fist on the table. “Meeting new people it’s hard. Small talk feels fake, like I’m watching it happen instead of being part of it. There’s this constant voice in my head, reminding me of all the things I can’t tell them. All the stuff I can’t explain. I look at someone across a table, and they’re smiling, talking about their favorite movies or where they want to go on vacation. And all I can think about is how much they don’t know. How much they can’t know.” He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “That I’ve done things... that I’ve had things done to me. And if they ever found out, they’d run away.”

She set her pastry down quietly, folding her hands in her lap as she listened, letting him talk, suspecting he probably hadn’t spoken this much in years.

“And then there’s the other stuff,” he continued, lower now. “The touch. Sometimes, even a handshake feels wrong. Too close, too much. I can’t control how my brain reacts. Sometimes I flinch, or freeze. And how do you explain that to someone on a second date?”

“Yeah. Touching can be... hard if you’re not familiar enough with the person,” she murmured, dropping her gaze to the table.

They both understood why.

The silence stretched. He didn’t need to ask what she meant, and she didn’t need to elaborate. Hydra had ensured they both carried scars that made even the simplest gestures of connection fraught with hesitation.

She straightened in her seat, trying to shake off the heavy mood. “You know,” she said, with a faint edge of humor creeping into her tone, “for a conversation about dating, this has turned into a pretty depressing therapy session.”

He seemed to hesitate, curling his fingers slightly around his mug before he spoke. “It’s not like that with you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Uh?”

“Touching,” he clarified, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were confessing something. “Those days in Poland... I noticed.”

“Oh,” she said softly, as her fingers brushed the edge of her cup while her gaze flickered to him.

He looked down at his hands, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “I’ve been... thinking about it. And the only reason I can come up with is... because you were the only ‘good’ thing in that hellhole.”

She stared at him, unsure how to respond. Then she shook her head slowly. “After everything Hydra made me do to you, how can you feel-”

His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and unyielding. “I don’t blame you,” he cut her firmly. “I’ve told you that.”

She bit her lip, afraid to ask. “But... how much do you remember about-”

“Everything,” he said quietly.

She inhaled sharply, tightening her fingers around the mug and locked her eyes onto his. “E-even...”

“Everything, doll,” he said again, softer now.

She swallowed hard. “I see. And still...”

“Don’t blame you,” he repeated, resolute, as though daring her to argue.

******

It had been two days since they’d injected him with that burning substance, two days of his body rebelling against him in the most excruciating way. The unrelenting ache of the forced erection was a constant, painful thrum, and despite his silence, the slight tremor in his movements betrayed the toll it was taking.

At first, the staff had dismissed it as a side effect of the experiment. But as the hours stretched into days, and Soldat’s body refused to yield, it became clear that something had to be done.

The traditional methods failed. They’d barked orders for him to “take care of it himself,” but he stood motionless and unresponsive. They had thrown him into freezing water, and his body had trembled violently, but the condition persisted. Even a brutal beating did nothing to break the cycle.

Finally, they summoned her.

She’d entered the sterile room, and her stomach churned. He was shirtless, his skin flushed an unnatural shade, and though his expression remained stoic, she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled slightly at his sides.

“You,” the handler barked, gesturing toward him. “Fix the inconvenience.”

Her heart sank. She swallowed thickly, forcing herself to remain composed. “But... he’s not injured, sir. I don’t-”

The sharp crack of a slap cut her off, her head snapping to the side as pain bloomed across her cheek.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, pet,” the handler sneered, his voice dripping with venom.

She bit down on her lip, as she nodded numbly. “Yes, sir.”

Approaching him hesitantly, she reached out and hovered her trembling hand over his overheated skin. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move, just stared ahead, his blue gaze void of anything human.

Tentatively, she placed her hand against his chest, and noticed the heat radiating off his body was almost unbearable. Closing her eyes, she tried to infuse him with her healing surge, willing it to work, to cool the fire that was consuming him.

Nothing.

She retracted her hand, “It’s no use, sir,” she excused herself in a whisper.

“Try harder,” he snarled, sharply.

Before she could react, he grabbed her trembling hand and shoved it between Soldat’s legs. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. He remained still, his lifeless gaze kept fixed on the far wall, as though none of this was happening.

Slowly, reluctantly, she wrapped her hand around him -or tried to-, her fingers barely circling his length. Her heart pounded in her ears as she forced herself to send another wave of her healing surge through her palm.

Nothing.

“S-sir, it’s not...” she stammered, withdrawing slightly.

“Try a different approach,” the handler barked, his patience wearing thin.

Her stomach twisted painfully. “B-but...”

“Don’t act like you’ve never seen a cock in your entire life, slut,” the handler spat with malice. “We both know very well that’s not the case.”

Shame and rage bloomed inside her chest, but she didn’t dare meet his eyes.

The handler’s cruel smile widened, and his next words were laced with venom. “Jerk him off.”

Her body froze. She stared down at her hand, still trembling against the Soldat’s unmoving form.

When she didn’t move, the man stepped closer. “Do you prefer if I order him to fuck your brains out?” he sneered. “I’m pretty sure he’d gladly comply. His fried brain probably can’t even remember the last time he did it.”

The Soldat’s jaw ticked imperceptibly at the words, a flicker of something passing through his otherwise blank expression. A muscle in his temple twitched, so slightly it was almost imperceptible, but she noticed.

“Do it,” the handler barked, his tone icy. “Now.”

Slowly, she shifted her gaze to the side, staring at the far wall to avoid looking at him, at either of them. Her hand trembled as she reached out, brushing against the overheated skin of his abdomen before curling around him again.

The Soldat kept being unresponsive.

Her fingers tightened slightly around him, and she began to move her hand in a clinical and detached way, trying to retreat her mind to a faraway place.

The handler leaned against the counter, and his smug smile made her sick. “See? Was that so hard, pet?”

She didn’t respond, focusing instead on keeping her breathing steady. Soldat remained as a statue, with his gaze fixed straight ahead. But she saw it again, the faintest twitch of his fingers, a subtle clenching of his jaw.

Was it anger? Pleasure? She didn’t know, and she couldn’t afford to dwell on it. She tried to focus on the rhythm of her movements, the hum of the fluorescent lights above, anything to drown out the humiliation.

“Good girl,” the man praised her mockingly.

At some point, the Soldat’s breath hitched slightly, a small, involuntary response. She froze for a fraction of a second, before forcing herself to continue.

The handler’s gaze was fixed on her with sadistic amusement. “See? The horny dog is starting to stir,” he sneered, chuckling darkly. “Keep going, pet. Put some effort into it.”

She kept going, trying to block out the handler’s taunts and the oppressive heat radiating from Soldat’s body.

“I can’t wait to see how this ends,” He stepped closer, and his boots clicked against the sterile floor as his shadow loomed over her. She could feel his cruel satisfaction like a physical weight pressing down on her.

He smirked, tilting his head as if studying a piece of art. “It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? The indomitable Winter Soldier reduced to this.” He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “And you, pet... always so eager to fix him.

Her hand faltered for the briefest moment, and the handler’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t stop,” he hissed, sharply.

Her fingers resumed their mechanical rhythm, trembling slightly as they moved over the heated skin.

Soldat’s body betrayed him, starting to respond to her ministrations. His chest rose and fell slightly faster, and the faintest sheen of sweat formed along his collarbone. A muscle in his jaw ticked again, and his metal hand twitched at his side, the slightest flex of his fingers betraying the struggle beneath the surface.

She noticed every subtle reaction, every unwilling signal his body sent. It felt like a cruel mockery, this was not a man choosing to respond, but a body manipulated and prodded to betray its instincts.

The handler’s smirk widened as he circled them, amused. “See? The body don’t lie, pet. No matter how much you both fight it, nature always wins.”

Soldat’s breaths were growing more uneven, and his nostrils flared as his chest rose and fell with increasing urgency. For a moment, his steel-blue gaze flicked down to her hand, a fleeting acknowledgment before snapping forward again, returning to the blank void.

The handler leaned against the counter again, crossing his arms, watching with sick satisfaction. “He’s close, isn’t he? Just look at him.”

Soldat’s fingers twitched again, curling slightly into a loose fist. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, a small, involuntary moan escaping his lips. Barely audible but deafening in the oppressive silence of the room.

The handler laughed, cruelly. “There it is,” he sneered, clapping his hands mockingly. “Hydra’s fist reduced to nothing more than a desperate animal. Guess even the strongest aren’t immune to a good touch. Keep going, pet,” he ordered. “We’re almost there.”

Soldat’s gaze flicked down to her hand again, and the faintest flicker of something passed through his otherwise blank expression. Another quiet moan slipped out, broken and involuntary, while his body tensed beneath her touch, and the muscles in his abdomen started to tighten,

The handler licked his lips as his gaze kept glued to the scene before him. “Almost there, loyal pet. Finish it.”

Soldat’s breaths hitched again, and his body betrayed him further as his head tilted back slightly, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. The faint sheen of sweat on his skin glinted under the sterile light, and every detail etched into her mind despite her desperate attempts to detach herself.

And then it happened.

His body went rigid, his metal hand clenched into a fist, so tight it trembled at his side. His breath hitched, and a low, guttural sound tore from his throat, a mixture of release and anguish that echoed in the sterile room.

She froze, retreating her hand almost immediately as though burned. Her chest heaved with shallow, shaky breaths as she stumbled back a step.

Soldat’s body sagged slightly, and his head dropped forward, while his breathing started to slow down, bleeding the tension out of his system. He didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge the handler either, his gaze fixed again somewhere distant,  unreachable.

The handler clapped, grinning wide and cruelly again. “There you go, pet. Good job. I knew you had it in you.”

Her hands clutched at her sides, biting her nails into her palms as she forced herself to stand still, to remain composed even as her world felt like it was shattering.

Sensing her discomfort, he kept his smirk firmly in place. “Now clean yourself up” he said coldly. “You look like cheap whore.”

Then he turned around. “You, take him to cryo,” he lazily ordered to the guards who had been standing silently by the door. “He’s done for now.”

******

“I know what it’s like to not have a choice,” he said simply, “I know what it’s like to be used, controlled, forced into something you’d never choose for yourself.”

Her gaze dropped to the table.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’m no saint. I’ve hated a lot of people, doll. Hated myself more than I can say. But you? Not once. You were there, real and raw. And, maybe, is because of that that I trust you.”

She stared at him, and her hands twitched on the table, wanting to reach out, to bridge the gap between them. But instead, she sat there with her heart pounding.

“Bucky, I-”  her voice faltered. The weight of his admission was almost too much for her to bear.

The way he looked at her then, open and bare, broke whatever restrain was keeping her still.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She stood abruptly, scraping the chair against the floor, and rounded the small table.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He didn’t flinch. Slowly, his arms came up to encircle her waist cautiously, as though afraid he might break her. She pressed her cheek against the crown of his head and put her hands around his broad shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his hair.

She felt him shift slightly, dipping his head lower until his forehead rested lightly against her shoulder. His breath was warm against the side of her neck, and the subtle weight of his body leaning into her made her heart ache.

“For what?” he murmured.

“For not hating me.”

Next chapter

Taglist: @sunshinedayz19 @star-maker-rain-dancer @tumdlrnewb84 @mgchaser @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger @gotminho @kaitlin013106 @startorrent @idontknowhowtonormal @mattmurdock42 @hnnhbananananana @aeriss-at-heart45 @jainaeatsstars @airixaram @seventeen-x @jaxz21 @zizzlekwum @hi172826 @valckenaux

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[sunny-knight]

Dear My Dear -

an @forgettable-au fan-slideshow

At the end of their journey, Sans has remembered everything. And theres only one question on his mind now…

*now what?

Its lore time. omg theres so much-

The way ill organize this…lIll start with the GENERAL thing, before getting more spesific, and explain each slide in way too much detail.

THE BIGGER PICTURE

This is the hypothetical end to their journey. Sans and Papyrus remember what happened, and this is how Sans is handling it. A letter to Wingdings.

I was hesitant to make this at first for obvious reasons- we dont know how its gonna end!!! But I took this more as a “what if ?” scenario. IF they ever remember anything, how would Sans specifically, react? I mean thats gotta be tough.

Because of that though, lot of what happened to lead up to this is kept vague.

ill explain in way more detail how Sans got to the point of writing this letter, and how he feels in the end when I explain each slide individually. But the reason why, the MAIN ISSUE is…

Over the years, hes put so much effort into enjoying what he has. And- nothings even changed!!! So why does he feel so much has? Now that he remembers what he lost…WHO he lost. He cant help but have this voice in the back of his head that says “would it have been better if that never happened? if Papyrus never existed?” and of course he absolutely hates to think that! but the voice gets louder. Writing this letter, is an act of closure. Of laying to rest someone he never got to. Someone he never even really got to do much with.

(Excuse the shitty quality of the images- I promise they’re better. WATCH THE VIDEO)

my dear wingdings,)

Sans says “wingdings” here instead of “brother”. that’s important. Also its on a white void, showing a sorta “heavenly imagery” with the mention of Wingdings. Also Gaster is in a BLACK void, but hes talking about WD here, so, contradictions.

you never came back, and now…after remembering everything everything clearly i understand why.)

Sans and Papyrus are sitting by a fire at night. They are both sorta lost in their own worlds at the moment, but are more or less leaning on one another for comfort and support. They both need each other right now despite each other being the whole reason why they feel the way they do right now-

Papyrus is notably no longer wearing the white coat that somewhat resembles a lab coat. Symbolism! Growth!

(art note: I drew Sans as a lefty in this- cherish it. It was so hard to draw these hands at these angles- CHERISH IT.)

i don’t imagine you’ll receive this letter, but i, nonetheless, must send it. wingdings….oh ‘dings…)

the first part is somewhat of a self aware/sarcastic joke. Sans is writing this letter for himself- he doesn’t imagine Wingdings, the dead man, will ever see it. Nor would Gaster care to read it. Thats another important thing, this is NOT a letter for Gaster. This is a letter for Wingdings. which is for Sans

The star in the sky symbolizes a few different things- the main one being Wingdings ofc. But also Papyrus’ expectations of himself- which mainly come from who he was. He’s looking at it, reflecting, thinking of what Wingdings did, and what Papyrus has done. Who he is NOW, and if he ever was Wingdings.

Or if Wingdings just became him.

A square is a rectangle, but a rectangle isn’t a square type thing.

i was just starting to dream the silliest- the softest of dreams. i miss you. and i will always miss you.)

2 contradictions, what Sans used to think, vs what he knows now. The memories were fuzzy- he couldn’t remember The Royal Scientist, he just feels like he remembers some nice times. Before now knowing everything clearly. And he still misses it- slightly.

The reflections are blacked out at first, before showing their future selves. Before, there was no connection to the present because it wasnt true. It felt like/was 2 completely different things

but i cannot live like that.)

Sans can still tell, even without the rose tinted glasses view he used to have, he cant live missing the past and not living in the present. He always knew that, but repeating it here makes him feel better.

Pictured is Sans and Papyrus hiking up the mountain next to the city as the sun sets. Papyrus is in full view of the light, but is facing away in order to help Sans see it too. Symbolism!

and it seems you cannot live any other way.)

another reference to the fact that Wingdings cant live… at all now. But also an awareness that part of him lives on in Gaster. The thing that killed him.

I doubt hes going to change in any way by the end of the comics, he’s far to obsessive about angels and the player for childish stuff like “growth” and “changing for the better as a human being”

when i was with you, the world made sense. but now that we are apart, i see clearly that your world is not a world from which one can escape.)

When they were together, they knew what they wanted to be. They wanted to be scientists. But after being apart so long and experiencing so much uncertainty, Sans finds that mindset is unhealthy. Again, a lot of this is stuff he already knew, but is repeating to himself because after remembering everything, he feels as if hes back at square one.

As kids they would test echo flowers, for science purposes! We don’t know yet if WDs voice comes through on them, but I imagine not… maybe. But for this we’re gonna say no. Their speech bubbles are trying so hard to be circles- the scribbles also somewhat resemble stars because I thought that’d be fun.

But the last slide has it shown that he dug them out, also for science purposes!

He took the echo flowers from their roots, much later on in his lab career. That in itself isnt that bad, but it symbolizes that he doesn’t care much for taking things slow. He wants to test with echo flowers? **TAKES EVERY SINGLE ONE WITHIN A 100 MILE RADIUS**

Also the empty holes reflects sort of what happened after he died. All of the underground was left with holes to fill. Sans, a childhood/brother. Alphys, the royal scientist. Those are the main ones but he was THE ROYAL SCIENTIST im sure there were more (smaller) holes that may or may not have been filled.

Ok and the last thing the flowers being taken out represent- he took the ones specifically from when they were kids, and abandoned what was left for the grass to grow tall and the entire area to be, in general, a lot flatter. In his quest to basically never grow up and continue being the thing he KNEW he wanted to be since kindergarten- he’s taken everything and left the rest in the dust. He’s The Royal Scientist now, he “doesn’t need anything else.”

i’m so sorry. for everything. for everything long ago, and for starting up that machine again.

Sans knows he could have been better. He could have done things differently, and that thought messes with him, even before he remembered.

The 2nd image is Sans at Grillbys after another failed attempt to get Wingdings outside. Despite the fact that he could have done things differently, theres no real reason to be “sorry” But still, he cant help but feel like he should be. He could have done things differently- could have tried harder, and gotten Wingdings out more often- or at all.

Im not sure where the machine in Sans’ lab comes into play in this AU, but it worked for the purposes of this audio.

theres a good man within you, wingdings. but he is wrestling with a giant. and the giant WINS time and again.)

Before everything, there was still a good man inside Wingdings that Sans saw. But now that he’s Gaster he just cant see him ever changing... and yknow what hes probably right. Like Papyrus says! Anyone can be a good person if they just try!…Gaster just isnt trying

“Wins” being emphasized here, I enjoy, since its sorta a video gamey term. The giant hes wrestling is that/the player, after all. Also probably his ego

I also had fun with kid Wingdings and what he’s drawing. Ofc its all him and Sans plus silly little stars, but him being finished drawing Sans, but not yet finished drawing himself, symbolizes the fact that at that age he still didn’t really know what he wanted to be, I feel like Wingdings kinda remembers the past wrong. Sure he definitely had science on the mind, but younger kids are often filled with questions, he questions if thats truly where he’d be the happiest.

Thats the good man within him

you’ve broken my soul again, and i fear i have broken yours. and for that i will never forgive myself, but i need to let you go now.)

the star represents, again, Wingdings. And the moon represents Sans, which shines only under the Suns (Papyrus’) light.

The sun is beginning to rise, and Sans and Papyrus are beginning to leave. Sans puts out the fire, closing this chapter of his life.

Because of every reason he needed to relearn/re-reflect on listed here, hes ready to let Wingdings go now. Sans is the one to put out the fire here, and not Papyrus, cause this is from the perspective of how SANS handles putting this issue to rest. Papyrus can have his own fire to put out later

Another thing about putting out the fire, thats just kinda common knowledge to do especially at a public camping spot. Yknow what else is common knowledge to do so you dont disrupt the community?? NOT REPLANTING FLOWERS-

Its not that deep…but still-

i send you the radio you made many years ago when we were kids. not because i dont want it, but… because i care for it far too much and it reminds me too much of you.)

CALL BACK!!!!!!

Sans leaves this last memento to Wingdings, the last thing they have that has nothing to do with Papyrus. Because at this point theres no reason to keep it, in Sans’ mind at least. There’s also no reason to destroy it- Like he says, hes not leaving it out of malice, theres just no good that will come from keeping it and holding onto the past.

As the sun rises, here we see the brothers leaving. in contrast to before, Sans is helping Papyrus down. Helping him down from the spotlight, the expectations he’s set upon himself. Another kick that Papyrus still has much more to reflect on and think about, he’s still looking back at that light, at a shooting star, at everything he thought he wanted to be.

i hope one day you will find some kind people who with appreciate you. for it kept me thinking of you all these years.)

GASTER FOLLOWERS!!!

Despite everything, Sans still wants whats left of Wingdings, Gaster, to be happy and find something, anyone, that will give him true happiness. It’s left ambiguous however if they truly do, do that for him. If it’s at all healthy.

cause frankly i have no idea how theyll be included. but just like everything- i cant wait to find out

EDIT: something important (and really wordy-) I just remembered and forgot to mention: the wording change “i hope you will find some kind people who will appreciate you”. I chose this because I think it’s the thing Wingdings and Papyrus just want the most. To be appreciated- to be loved for who they are. Sans is/has been so happy that Papyrus has found those people in Undyne, Toriel, Asgore, and…hopefullllyyy Alphys? And now that Sans remembers Wingdings, and remembers how badly he wanted that, and how he never did. Sans cant help but feel horrible for him, and in turn, Gaster. Sans forgives Wingdings, and loves Papyrus…and….he just wants the best for Gaster. He hopes he can find true happiness in that twisted mind of his…

and i hope by returning it to you, i can finally be free. goodbye.

- your brother

As the sun rises, the star gets smaller and smaller and eventually the sun replaces it. Remember when I said Papyrus represents the sun? SYMBOLISM!!!

Also about that, the star shines brighter than anything, but the Sun is among a lot of clouds, depicting how isolated Wingdings is/was despite shining the brightest, vs Papyrus who also does indeed shine! but isn’t isolated whatsoever.

Now, remember when I said Sans saying “my dear wingdings” instead of “my dear brother” was important? well, he acknowledges that he is still Wingdings’ brother, despite everything. So he signs off as “your brother” but… He’ll always try to remember Wingdings fondly…but…he’s unsure if he considers Wingdings his brother anymore- just because of how much they’ve changed. Thats why the whole thing is called Dear My Dear.

the radio + letter remains there in the end. I briefly played with the idea of having them disappear as the sun came out, implying that Gaster took the radio and reas the letter, but that was before I realized it was much better for this to be for Wingdings specifically, not Gaster/Wingdings/whatever.

FINALE!!! PLUS SOME BEHIND THE SCENES INFO!!!

weeps pitifully this was probably the most fun i’ve had with a project/the most happy i’ve come out of one. Learned lots about my process’ and what works! so thats awesome It took a while to make, so theres a lot of stuff I changed or ideas I scrapped that I find interesting, so im gonna show some of that on my side/shitpost account, @o-sunny-day

also isnt this so awesome???? I got a computer so I got to post more images than just 10, THIS IS SO AWESOME!!!

Have a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year! Heres to being a bigger, better, and different person this year! except not really because despite everything its still you.

un-unless you…got shattered across time and space…. then you’re-

well I mean that-….. hm…

does that…? hmm, well….

[sunnypopoki]

━ 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 : P.5

(𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: 𝘒𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺. 𝘒𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘥𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘏𝘢! 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨?

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

Р.4 / Р.6

A bell chimed the moment you walked through the doors of the restaurant. Warmth rolled down your back and you shivered, rubbing the cold out of your arms. Kieran followed suit behind you and whispered into your ear.

"Do you want my jacket from the back of the car?"

"I'm okay," you smiled up at him, "Inside is warmer than I expected it to be. I'll be fine."

The inside was just as grand as the outside. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling and soft music played over the speakers that were built into the building. You glanced around at the customers, chattering softly in low voices, reminding you of the mumbles your mother always made with her friends every time you got home from school.

A waitress walked up to you and smiled. Her lips were painted red, her skin smooth, and her brown hair pulled into a tight bun. She looked far more elegant than whatever you were wearing. You crossed your arms and smiled back.

"Welcome to Papillon. Seats for two? Romantic seating?"

"Oh no, uh, we are meeting someone here. His last name is Evergrown?"

The waitress perked when his name was mentioned. Her nails clacked against the clipboard she was holding. Something was unsettling about the gleam in her eye, almost greedy, as if she was viewing you and Kieran like bags of cash. "Oh yes, you must be Mr. Evergrown's guests. Follow me and I will take you to him now."

You blinked rapidly. He had to be a regular if she acted like that at the mention of his name. Glancing at Kieran from the corner of your eye, he slid his hand behind you to the small of your back, walking with you. He didn't seem that curious. He kept glancing at the people in the restaurant and the doors.

His head was obviously stuck somewhere else.

The hostess led you to a more private part of the restaurant where there were less people and fewer windows. The warm lighting cast shadows against the walls, showing off the numerous expensive paintings. The whole place gave off the vibe that they were trying to be cozy, but only ended up being more uncomfortable. One of those paintings had to cost more than your entire house.

Turning your head, you whispered to Kieran. "I thought this restaurant wasn't this fancy... Do you think we have enough money?"

His green eyes melted into liquid emerald. His cheeks dimpled ever so slightly when he grinned. "Yes, Котик. We have enough."

"Are you sure? What if we don't and—"

He drummed his fingers against your back, making you jump slightly. He chuckled, mumbling. "I assure you, we do. Pinky promise."

You bit your lip. Before you had a chance to make sure for a third time, a familiar face caught your attention from the corner of your eye. You almost stopped dead in your tracks.

You barely recognized Danny. The slicked-back kid you knew in high school was gone and replaced with a charming, handsome man with a dazzling smile. His brown hair was neatly cut, his face clean-shaven, and his hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. He wore a suit. A fancy suit that reminded you of your father; maybe because of the blue tie. His shoes peeked out from under the table and you noticed how glossy they were. He stood up when he noticed the two of you, jutting out his hand with a grin. He was a couple of inches shorter than Kieran.

The hostess stood by with a plastic smile. You didn't like how she was treating him like her boss. You didn't think he owned the building, after all.

"(Y/N), it's so nice to see you again," he took your hand and placed a chaste kiss on it, glancing at Kieran when he leaned back up, "and you too, Kieran. I see you're still following her like a dog."

"Well, she is my wife so it's expected."

So much for being on good behavior. You didn't miss the small snark to Kieran's tone or the way his hand curled around your waist and pulled you ever so slightly closer to him. He smiled back at Danny cheerfully. Oh, how could you forget? He was joking with Danny again. The two of them were like that in high school (only Kieran was a lot more rude back then).

Danny's eyes widened in shock at the new information. "You two got married?"

"Did you think I would follow her around like this if I wasn't?"

He looked confused. Glancing between the two of you, his lips quirked up into a smile, albeit a little forced, and he motioned towards the table for you two to sit. "Oh my, well, apologies. You always followed her around like this in school when you were dating so I thought it was the same. Congratulations on your marriage."

This wasn't Danny. Well, it was him, but it wasn't the young man you thought you knew. Time changed everyone but you never expected him to change this much. This version of him was far too charismatic, charming, and snooty. His gaze felt daring and judging towards everyone in his line of sight—and in that moment, it was Kieran and you.

You said nothing and sat down.

"Thank you. We've only been married six months so it hasn't been long."

Danny took the menus from the hostess before speaking. He watched her scurry away. With a clear throat, he asked, "And you're happy?"

Your eye twitched. Who was he to ask that? Maybe the years whittled down his polite nature because you were too shocked to respond right away. Irritation flooded your senses and Danny glanced up. The words finally found your lips.

"Of course we are. I didn't know that you lost your manners over the years," you deadpanned. It sounded a little harsh, but you didn't care all that much. "Unless it's now polite to ask that to newlyweds?"

Danny blinked and he chuckled embarrassingly. "Oh, I—I'm sorry. I wanted to ask since we've been friends for so long... I meant no offense. I just want the two of you to be happy together."

Kieran shifted through the menu and said nothing, however, you noticed him glancing up at Danny with an unreadable expression every now and again. Well, great, now you felt like the bad guy. Your lips zipped shut. You blamed it on the restaurant, it was leaving you on edge. The fancy decor reminded you of your childhood home and the table you were sitting at was uncomfortable.

You opened your mouth to find something to say in response to that. "Oh, I see—uhm..."

"Thank you for the concern, but I don't believe our marriage is any of your business," Kieran butted in. "Friends or not, some things aren't meant to be asked in a public setting, much less over a meetup like this. We haven't seen you in a while and we have no obligations to share our marriage details with you."

Danny's cheeks reddened. You could only silently agree with Kieran, watching as your old friend sunk back in his seat and bounced his leg up and down. "Ah. You're correct, I apologize. It seems I stepped over a line."

Kieran was always better at words compared to you. Even if you were going to study psychology in school, you weren't the greatest at controlling your own life, much less your words. You shuffled uncomfortably in your seat and said nothing when a waitress came over to take your orders.

"Red wine and baked spaghetti for me," Danny said.

"I'd like water, no food, and my wife wants..."

"Uh, I'll just take a black coffee."

You didn't think you could stomach anything else other than that. Your nerves were rattling your bones like drums. Plus if Keiran wasn't getting food, you didn't want food. You didn't want to think about how much a full meal would cost anyway. The waitress said nothing after she wrote down her orders and walked away. When her heels were out of hearing range, Danny cleared his throat.

"So, how has life been treating you two?"

You straightened up. "It's been well. I'm going to school and Kieran is working full time. There isn't much excitement going on in our lives as of right now."

Danny looked at Kieran. "Full time? You? You always hated working when we were in high school, always running off to skip class or break some type of rule. What are you doing now? How do you do it when you've always been so wild?"

Kieran shuffled to get comfortable, laughing softly at the jabs towards his younger self. "Ah, well, you could say I am no longer a fifteen-year-old boy, that's how. But to answer your question, I'm an editor and freelance writer."

You nudged Kieran's side softly. Just because Danny missed the way he was mocking him, didn't mean you did. The mocking went right over Danny's head and he beamed, turning to look at you now.

"Oh, that's amazing! What about you, (Y/N)?"

"I'm going into schooling for psychology," you scratched at your neck sheepishly. "Not as creative as what Kieran is doing, but I try. I've always enjoyed the thought of helping people."

Danny's eyes sparkled and he leaned forward at the table. His hazel eyes softened and a glimmer of the old Danny shone through for a second. "Yeah, you've always been like that. Empathy has always been one of your strong suits. I remember thinking you had too much of it at times, especially when you started placing yourself in the shoes of people who didn't deserve it."

You tilted your head. He was rubbing you the wrong way. "People who didn't deserve it?”

"Yeah, like scumbags."

"Everyone deserves to be understood, Danny. We are all human. I would be a shitty therapist if I played Judge every session and decided which people deserved help or not."

Maybe you were just being sensitive? Or taking things too personally without reason? Ever since you saw Danny, your irritation kept bubbling up and up. It wasn't like he was doing anything specific to irk you, but he just was, and you couldn't place it. Maybe it was the way he was smiling, the way he kept looking at you, or how he barely glanced at Kieran at all.

Danny raised an eyebrow. He didn't pick up on your uncomfortable tone, so he carried on. "So if you met a serial killer, you think they'd deserve someone stepping in their shoes to understand them?"

"Of course! Yes."

"Even after they killed three people?"

"What type of question is that? Yes—"

Your jaw clamped shut when the waitress came back with the food and drinks. Your coffee was placed in front of you and Danny thanked her before taking his spaghetti. You didn't even notice when Kieran took a sip of your coffee, grimaced, and then gulped his water.

Danny had to be doing this on purpose to annoy you! What type of medical professional studying the human brain, to help people, would turn away someone acting on homicidal thoughts? Of course, you'd turn them over to the police, but if they required therapy and you were assigned, you wouldn't turn them away.

They did monstrous acts, but those monstrous acts were most likely developed through mental or sometimes physical trauma. It was up to psychologists and therapists to figure those things out! The more a professional learns, the more they can prevent things like that from happening in the future. Damn, all of this was making you think of the conversation you had with Kieran earlier in the car.

You watched as Danny took a bite of his food and hummed in delight. Your jaw clenched and unclenched.

"Danny, how have you been?" Kieran asked for you, deciding to move the conversation on for you. "You look happy and put together. Did you take up your family's line of being a surgeon?"

"Oh no, no! I could never. I started working for a bigger business and it pays well. I actually had the idea to reach out because something happened."

Kieran learned further and placed his elbows on the table. "Hm?"

"Yeah. (Y/N), your father called me recently. It made me think about high school and then out of the blue, I saw your social media. I knew I had to reach out and say hello."

The saliva in your mouth dried up within seconds. The world shifted and specks of color swirled in your peripherals, the edge of your toes running numb while itchiness spread across your body in rolling waves. Your nails bit into your palms. Maybe you heard him wrong. No way he just said your father, because no way would your father reach out to Danny. He knew very well you and Danny used to be friends, so he wouldn't have any reason to do so.

Kieran's hand slid over and squeezed your thigh. Unlike you, his face was unreadable, while the reflection inside your coffee mug stared back in apprehension.

"I—what? My father?"

Danny nodded. "Yes! It was a surprising call if I have to be honest. I didn't know how he got my number, he must have found it online somewhere. I doubt any of my coworkers gave it to him."

You were stunned. "...Well, uhm, I apologize that you had to deal with him."

"Ah no, it actually wasn't that bad. He was polite and started asking about what I was doing, and how my life was, and then started talking about you when the call ended. When I first got the call, I was expecting him to ask about my parents. I know that he enjoyed them when we were younger, but it turned out he didn't want to talk about them at all."

You were going to vomit. The world spun around and around, and suddenly, you were even more grateful that you didn't order any food. Kieran tenderly massaged your thigh. He didn't mind your shaking hands or the ways your nails raked over his skin, scraping at the scabs on his hands already. His soothing touch felt worlds apart from your experience.

You didn't get it. Why was your father calling Danny? Why did he mention you? Why was he even interested in Danny? Your family cut contact with you after your marriage and when you were friends with Danny in high school, they never talked to him then, so there was no reason to talk to him now. There was no reason for your father to be interested in your life when he made it pretty clear that he didn't want to be a part of it.

Fuck, you didn't want him to.

"And what was he saying?" Kieran asked the questions you couldn't.

Danny took a sip of his wine and glanced between Kieran and you. He said nothing on the matter, saying, "Something about the (L/N) business and (Y/N) as the successor. At one point he did start asking about your life. Though he never informed me that you were married, he said something about an arranged marriage, so I assumed you and Kieran broke up. That's why I was shocked to see Kieran here."

You opened your mouth but nothing came out. You preoccupied yourself with a greedy gulp of coffee, watching Danny waving his fork around.

"He didn't mention anything more about the arranged marriage when I asked. Instead, he kept blabbering about one of your cousins. Dominic? Or something? A fancy name, someone I've never met."

Dominic.

Suddenly, you didn't want to be here. You wanted to be home, in your bed, on your phone scrolling through social media to distract you from whatever was going on here. Kieran twisted his fingers into yours and pulled your hand away from your thigh; you were scratching at your leg without even realizing it, causing the skin to go red underneath.

"He said Dominic? Are you sure you heard him correctly?" you asked.

Danny tilted his head. "Yes, he said it plain as day."

What could you say in response to all that? Dominic, your older cousin's nickname, was someone who always helped your father around the house. When you were little, your main memory was your father shouting from his office and the following comes from Dominic calming him down. You viewed your father as the mad villain; Dominic was the sidekick, the butler, the one who pulled the strings. If they were talking about successors and mentioned your name, that meant they wanted you back in the family.

You? In the family again? The (L/N) family again?

You could recall how grand the house you grew up in was, and just how many patterns you could count on the ceiling every night. Muffled arguments, shady deals, and the constant flow of guests in and out of the house who leered at you like vultures. Your father never had normal "friends" and he made it quite clear that he did business with anyone who could meet his pay and requirements. Sometimes he threatened to sell you to them when you misbehaved. Even now, you couldn't tell if it was a real threat or not.

If he wanted you as his successor to his business, he'd do anything to get it. He wasn't the type of man who listened to the word "no". Denying him was something he always took extremely personally. Your mother knew that very well.

She didn't want children, but it wasn't like he listened. It made sense why she hated your guts. Each time she looked at you, she saw a little girl whom she was forced to birth to because her husband wasn't considerate enough of her feelings and autonomy. You supposed you couldn't blame her, but it didn't make it hurt less.

But if all of this was true, why hasn't he called you yet?

Sure, you blocked him a while ago, but that never stopped him in the past. He'd change his phone number, get other people to call, or find some other way around being ignored. He always found a way.

Danny sipped on his wine and watched you with a perplexed expression. He knew about your relationship with your family, but he didn't know they disowned you the day you got married to Kieran. He had no idea that mentioning them caused extreme anxiety, enough anxiety to make your skin itch all over your vision blur. Fight or flight was telling you to run for the hills.

Kieran leaned close to you and whispered, covering his mouth with his hand so Danny couldn't make out what he was saying. "Do you want to go home, Котик?"

Yes, you did. But leaving so abruptly in the middle of a meal with an old friend was rude and it wasn't like Danny purposely wanted to freak you out. You sucked in a sharp breath and tried to regain your senses. Kieran took your response as a no and frowned, but said nothing and leaned back. When you wanted to go home, you'd tell him, he trusted you.

"I see... thank you for telling me, Danny."

Danny grinned ear to ear. Whether or not he was disturbed by your obvious discomfort, he said nothing and took a bite of his food before swallowing. "Talking to your father gave me an idea, (Y/N). Of course, you don't have to agree with me or anything, but I wanted to share what I thought with you."

You didn't have to be a genius to understand what you were feeling was dissociation. The more correct term, if you had to pull it from your medical textbooks, would be derealization. It felt as if your brain was outside your body and you were watching him blabber to someone who wasn't you. Like a fucked up fever dream.

You knew you weren't outside your body from a second point of view, but it felt like it. You rapidly blinked and took deep breaths to ground yourself. It wasn't helping that much.

"I've been looking for someone to fill in a missing spot on my team. Where I work is a very important place, so it is not something I can just let random people apply for. But you're not a random nobody! I trust you more than anyone I've interviewed, and we have been searching for more empathetic and ambitious workers."

Wait, wait, wait.

One moment he was talking about how your father tried to get information out of him, but now he was saying something about a job opportunity. You refrained from rubbing your temples. Danny didn't notice your mood and kept chattering, his smile switching to that familiar 'business' smile that your father always had. He wasn't giving you any time to think.

"I wanted to—"

"Daniel," Kieran hummed, his voice heavier than normal. It sounded foreign to your ears. "Be considerate and stop talking so fast."

Danny flinched when he heard his real name. In a mere second, droplets of sweat built on his brow and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Kieran stared at him with an unreadable expression. He couldn't tell if it was threatening or not, friendly or not. His bones lurched back in his seat when Kieran shifted.

When they were younger, Danny always felt inferior compared to Kieran. Grades and smarts didn't mean everything and when he lost you to him, that was the biggest blow he ever felt. Because yes, it was true that Danny had a crush on you back then, you were just too oblivious and dumb to see it. One of the many reasons he felt inferior was because Kieran never hesitated to throw a punch when need be—and that was terrifying.

He had a feeling that if he said the wrong thing at this table, he might become black and blue just like those kids used to be back in high school. His teeth gnawed on his bottom lip and he took a sip of his wine.

"Ah. Sorry."

Kieran just raised an eyebrow and nodded in return. He was scarier now than he was back then, especially with the width of his shoulders and the framing of his arms. He looked like he could crack his head open against the table.

You ran your hands over your hair and pushed it all back from your face, not paying attention enough to hear or see what was going on between them. Gather your thoughts, take a breath, and pull yourself together.

Even if your family was planning to drag you into the business, it wasn't like they could do anything. You were married to Kieran and you were a grown-ass adult. You had people to back you up if something wrong happened. Plus, it wasn't like your family was in the restaurant with you. You'd know if they were!

Danny cleared his throat and dragged you from your thoughts. "(Y/N)?"

"Oh, I'm sorry! I was just a little shocked," which was a plain lie but you said it with your chest, so that was all that mattered. "Uhm—go ahead. What were you saying about work? You mentioned a team of some sort?"

He was glad to move on as well. A grin fixed its way up on his face and you shivered slightly.

"What I was saying was that your father gave me an idea for work. I need someone to fill in a spot and when he mentioned you, I realized I trust you a whole lot more than any person I have interviewed. You'd be paid, of course, and the business I work for might even be willing to help with school payments if your work is impressive enough."

This definitely felt like a fever dream. The depth of the table felt so far away and the coloring of the lighting felt dim and soulless. The conversation being held was being jumped through hoops and hoops of new information without any lead-up or warning.

You rubbed your brow. Wasn't he just using you? At this point, you were aware that this was just a business proposition, not a meeting with an old friend. If you had to sum up this whole meeting, you've talked more about his work than anything else. Your anxiety fizzled into anger and your teeth clenched together.

"Did my father put you up to this?"

You had to ask it. You didn't put it below or above your father to ask Danny to do something for him, and if you had to be honest, you didn't trust Danny enough to turn down your father. Not when he wasn't his old self anymore. If this was the old Danny, you would have trusted him. Not this one.

Danny's mouth formed an 'o' shape and he shook his head. "No, no! This was totally my idea. Back when we were in school together, I knew how bad your family treated you. I wouldn't listen to anything he said anyway. He sparked an idea, it wasn't his own though."

Kieran was saying nothing. He was staring at you from the corner of his eye. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn't voicing it. You were glad that he wasn't arguing or saying anything. You were already dissociating enough as it was, so you were grateful for his quietness and soothing thumb that kept rubbing fingers on your hand. It was his way of trying to ground you.

"So you're saying my father didn't give you this idea or plan this in your head? Or tried to persuade you of anything?"

"No! I promise!"

You weren't sure you believed him. There was this sneaking suspicion that he worked for your father. Maybe he didn't, but you were paranoid now. Especially since Danny mentioned Dominic and the next possible successor of the (Y/N) business, which so happened to be you.

"Okay, okay..."

Kieran cleared his throat. "And what business do you work for? You haven't told us yet, and believe it or not, I find that rather important when being offered a job deal."

He blinked and his eyes lit up with stars. He sat up in his seat and took his elbows off the table, his legs bouncing up and down under the table. It was as if his personality changed. One moment he was anxious, the next moment he was levitating off his seat in pure pride.

"Leovana. I work with Leovana Co."

LINKS :

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[ Read P.6 Here ]

[wildestdreamsblog]

The Story of Us

Pairing: Mahwa Character!Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You wake up in the body of the second female lead in a manhwa, determined to rewrite your fate. No longer willing to be trapped in unrequited love for the elusive main lead, Min Yoongi, you set out to change the ending of the story. But leaving him behind isn’t as simple as you thought. As the lines between fiction and reality blur, the narrative begins to shift in unexpected ways—Yoongi, who was once only devoted to the main female lead, starts to see you in a new light. Can you escape the cycle of heartbreak, or will you find yourself entangled in a love story you never asked for?

or in which Yoongi found out you aren't from that world and refuses to let you leave.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Mention of death, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: Happy 6k to me!!! It's finally here. Those who already read the unedited fic know the scenes I added here... I went crazy again and wrote additional 3kish words. I hope you enjoy!

“Does self-love mean nothing for you?”

You commented lightly at the second female lead as you flipped the page. In your hand was the manhwa your friends were gushing about. They went on and on about how dreamy the main lead was for weeks and how annoying the second female lead was until you finally gave in and went to a bookstore one late night. The cover was unassuming, a mere illustration of a man with dark hair and a milky white skin. Despite the chatters of the few customers, it was like it all went silent when you held the manhwa in your hand. You had no rationale as to why you were staring so hard at the main lead, nor why you felt a jolt of electricity when you traced your finger on his face.

The sudden and inexplainable zap of electricity was enough for you to put the manhwa back to its shelf where it belonged. You had enough for today, you thought. It must be your late nights that finally got to you. You turned and started to walk away when you heard someone called your name.

“Are you not going to buy that?”

You blinked owlishly, turning to look your surroundings before realizing that the voice had come from behind you where an old woman with a pleasant smile on her face stood. You didn’t hear her walk, sure that it was only you in that section of the bookstore.

“Excuse me?” you asked in confusion with her sudden question.

She offered you a smile before reaching for the manhwa you were touching moments ago. “This. Are you not going to buy this?”

You glanced at the book in her hands, the cover innocuous enough—a pale-faced man with dark eyes, his expression unreadable, a haunting sort of beauty that seemed to shimmer under the dim light of the store. The same man whose face had burned into your mind the moment you’d traced your finger over it.

"Huh?" you muttered, not entirely sure what to say. "Oh, no... I—" You fumbled with your words, caught between politeness and that unsettling pull you couldn’t deny. “I’m just looking.”

She tilted her head slightly, her smile never wavering, but there was something deeper there now—an unreadable warmth and perhaps... a warning? "Such a shame. This is the last piece," she continued, her fingers running over the cover with a tenderness that made your heart race. "Are you sure you don’t want to enter his universe?"

You stared at her, perplexed. The bookstore was quiet again, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of other customers. But it felt like there was something else in the air now—something heavier. More alive.

As if on cue, your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking the strange tension that had settled between you and the clerk. You fumbled it out, your heart still racing. It was a text from one of your friends: "Did you finally get the manhwa? He's sooooo hot, right?!?"

You looked from your phone to the manhwa and there it was again. It was like something was calling you to touch the book. On the other hand, your flight or fight instinct had never been this high, urging you to walk away as soon as possible. The old woman’s gaze never left you, her expression still serene, as if she knew exactly what you were thinking. The tension between you felt palpable, like a tether was drawing you back to the book, back to the man on the cover.

"You know what, dear," she continued, her voice now almost conspiratorial, "since we're almost closing, it’s on the house. Let me wrap it up for you."

When you asked her why, it was a line you should have taken in face value.

She said that reading this will change your life.

All that was how you found yourself on your bed with the manhwa and feeling bad for the second female lead. Okay fine, she was not exactly kind. She was a bit bitchy and the typical rich kid who fell for her childhood friend who of course, fell for another woman below their stature. She devised devious ways to get the main female lead out of their lives which only managed to push Min Yoongi, the male lead character, away from her. She wanted him so badly, and she had nothing else to cling to. In the end, he left her alone when all she had was him.

She was left alone, Yoongi gone from her life, and all she had left were her schemes and bitterness. You couldn’t help but wonder what she could have been if she had just let go. If she had let him go, instead of holding on so tightly that she suffocated herself.

She wasn’t a villain, you told yourself, though you knew she was far from a saint.

It wasn’t that you were defending what she did. It was just that you felt for her, strangely. You had no family of your own too, and maybe that was why you held on to your friends. You thought that if you were as pretty and as wealthy as her, then you wouldn’t spend all your time and energy pining after Yoongi. You thought about her—so pretty, so polished—and you wondered, If I were her, would I have acted the same way? If you had that beauty, that wealth, that presence, would you still feel this same deep ache for someone who couldn’t love you back? Sure, he was all that. He was handsome, smart, and so manly. For a while, it was just the two of them in their little world until he met the female lead. But then again, if you were her, you would let them be and look for someone who would love you as you were. Surely, there was someone out there for her. You wondered if it would be easy to just walk away, you thought. But then, you didn’t know what it was like to have everything and still lose the one thing that mattered most. To feel like there was no one left who could make you feel whole.

The story was so intriguing with the right amount of suspense that kept you up all night. Despite you being a non-mahwa reader, you could not bring yourself to stop reading until you reached the ending.

The words of the final chapters echoed in your mind as you read through them. Yoongi’s happiness came at her expense, and as you turned the page, you saw the final blow: She died. She died because Yoongi decided to save the main female lead from drowning instead of his childhood friend. Just like that. No grand redemption, no change of heart. She was gone. “Of course, she dies,” you murmured in annoyance as you flipped the page. “Was that really necessary for this Yoongi to get his happy ending?”

You put the manhwa down on your chest and looked up at your bedroom ceiling. You felt tears forming in your eyes and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks and onto the manhwa. “Poor you. You deserved better,” you whispered as sleep took you away.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next time you opened your eyes, it felt like you were in a dream. More precisely, you woke up to a familiar room. You just couldn’t place it yet where you saw this room before. You sat up from the most comfortable bed you had ever been on, your eyes roaming over the whole room. Where were you?

You looked down and noticed that you were wearing a silk sleepwear…You didn’t own this. In fact, you never liked it because you couldn’t afford it. Did someone dress you in this? Were you kidnapped?

Panic surged through you like a wave, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. The thought alone pushed you to stand up quickly, your head turning rapidly to every corner of the room when a mirror across the room caught your eye. You walked over, unsure of what you were even looking for, but the reflection that met you made your heart stop.

Holy shit.

You froze in front of the mirror, your breath caught somewhere between disbelief and panic. The face staring back at you was undeniably familiar but was definitely not yours. It was her—the woman from the manhwa.

Your hand lifted slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, and touched your cheek, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw. The reflection mimicked your every move, except there was no mistake: it wasn’t you. This version of you was flawless—her skin porcelain smooth, her lips full and painted in a soft, understated pink. You blinked hard, willing the image to change, but it remained the same, impossibly perfect.

And then it hit you, harder than any realization should have: You were in her world. You were in her body. You were the second female lead.

What the fuck was this dream?!

You pinched yourself, willing yourself to wake up from this peculiar dream where you were not you, and instead, you were someone of a fictional character. All that it did was reddened her fair skin. You truly tried not to panic, but no one and nothing could have ever prepared you from waking up in someone else’s body! More so of a fictional one. Similarly, you knew this could not be possible. You must have been dreaming.

You were just dreaming…right?

The knock on the door snapped you out of your stupor, your mind reeling as the panic tightened its grip.

“Miss? Sir Yoongi is here to see you,” the voice outside the door called, timid, hesitant.

You blinked, the words barely registering at first. Yoongi? No. No, no, no. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and the world around you seemed to tilt at an impossible angle. You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a shaky, disbelieving breath.

"Y-yoongi?" Your voice sounded strange, foreign in this body, yet with an edge of authority, the voice of someone accustomed to being looked at, obeyed.

“N-no. Why?”

“T-to visit you, Miss. He went straight here from the airport after his three-month work in New York,” she explained with a terrified tone in her voice as though one wrong word would upset you. It did upset you upon horrifying realization that you were in the first chapter of the manhwa. He was coming to see the second female lead, the one who would only ever be a part of his life for the briefest, most painful moments. The one who would disappear when the main female lead entered the picture, leaving behind nothing but heartache and regret.

This was the moment—the beginning of her unraveling. The beginning of your unraveling.

You stumbled back from the mirror, almost tripping over the hem of the silk nightgown that clung to your skin. It felt wrong. This wasn’t your body. This wasn’t you. You couldn’t be her. You couldn't.

But there you were—she was—standing in front of a mirror, and it was your face that stared back, the same face that would soon be abandoned in favor of the main lead. The face that would die tragically, just as Yoongi chose someone else.

A cold sweat broke out on your skin as you pressed your hand to your chest, feeling your heart race, the pulse throbbing in your throat. The maid outside the door was waiting. She was waiting. Yoongi was waiting.

“Miss? Are you coming?” The maid asked again, sounding more nervous now. “Sir Yoongi is waiting.”

You felt your legs walked to where the door was as though they had a mind of their own, as though they were simply following the plot where you had to face her childhood bestfriend, as though you had no choice in this. The door creaked as it slowly opened, and the maid stepped back with a small, nervous bow. “Miss,” she murmured softly, her eyes flicking between you and the hallway.

There he was. Yoongi. Standing in the hallway, waiting for you.

His broad back was turned to you, his focus was on the huge window overlooking the garden below. His hands were in his pockets. You couldn’t help but notice the bags of designer clothes and jewelries beside him. It was always like this. Yoongi would spoil her with everything, his love a quiet promise wrapped in material things. His affection was given in expensive packages, just because he missed her. It was a thing the main lead, Yoongi, and her had for the longest times. He spoiled her rotten, and in turn, she loved him unconditionally until he realized that it wasn’t her love that he wanted. It was someone else’s.

You felt your chest tighten as you stepped forward, closer to him. And then, slowly, he turned around, his gaze landing on you, his eyes sharp and calculating, as though he was seeing you for the first time. He was just as handsome as you'd imagined, his sharp features bathed in the soft light of the chandelier overhead. His expression, however, was unreadable—his usual aloofness on full display. He had on a simple black jacket, the sleeves rolled up slightly, revealing his forearms.

He was standing there, just as he had been in the manhwa—distant, untouchable, and perfect. The kind of person who seemed to have everything. Everything except the one thing that would make him whole. His lips curved into a faint smirk, the usual aloofness settling over him like a second skin. Yoongi. So damn confident. So certain of himself. Yet there was something flickering beneath that exterior, something you couldn't place.

He took a step toward you, his gaze unwavering, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy, too real. The space between you both seemed like an eternity, but somehow you couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

He raised his brows when you remained motionless – so dissimilar to how the second female lead threw herself in his arms in the first chapter. “What?” he said, his voice a quiet challenge. “Didn’t you miss me?”

His words hit you like a cold wave. Didn’t you miss me?

The phrase was so familiar, but it made you flinch. It was the same thing he had said to her. The second female lead. Her. The woman you had now become. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his gaze leaving you paralyzed. How were you supposed to feel? What was the right answer?

Yoongi’s smirk deepened as he took another step closer, his presence commanding the space between you both. He wasn’t giving up.

“Aigoo,” he muttered, as though your silence had amused him. “Is my princess mad at me?” He reached out, cupping your cheeks in his hands and squishing them gently, his thumb brushing across your skin in a familiar, playful gesture. “I promise I won’t be away for that long again, okay?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. My princess. Mad at me? It was just like the manhwa. Just like how the second female lead had fallen for him—how she’d craved his affection, how she had convinced herself that he was the only one who could make her whole.

How could she not fall for him? How could she not love him when he was this—this?

See, who wouldn’t fall for that? You understood the second female lead for falling in love with him, or why she did all those terrible things when he suddenly withdrew all his affections from her. But maybe…you could change the ending. Maybe you could find a happy ending of your own away from him. You could choose differently. You could walk away. You could find your own path, away from him, away from this tragic loop. Maybe—just maybe—there was a way for you to have a happy ending. Not the one written in the manhwa, but one you could choose. One where you didn’t lose yourself in the love of a man who could never return it.

What if you and him could all have your separate happy endings?

But also, what if this was just a dream where you’d wake up later and be in your own bed?

It was almost a week later when you realized that this wasn’t a dream. Despite repeatedly pinching yourself, you still couldn’t wake up from this nightmare. You hadn’t gone out of your room since Yoongi visited, and all messages and calls from him were promptly ignored.

You couldn’t even rule out that you were actively going insane because there was no way that this was now your reality. Something inside you was telling you to do something. It was urging you to fight, to survive, not matter how difficult it would be. It was proven when he visited you and you had no control over what happened. However, you also noted that you could do things somehow differently like not hugging him when he visited, or not being affectionate to him.

There were canon events, yes. There were things that should happen as were already dictated by the manhwa. But you also had a will in this story. And if there was a chance that this was your new reality, then you would do absolutely everything to make sure that you end up living.

You had to be smart. You had an edge, you surmised. You read the entire manhwa and you knew what was going to happen. You knew what to anticipate. And the next scene? The next scene was where Yoongi met the female lead and it would be in a charity ball you and him were attending.

You were dressed to the nines, your makeup was impeccable. Around your neck was one of the second female lead’s extravagant necklaces. The dress that she chose was immaculate, a light-colored floor-length gown that would later on be ruined by the female lead’s accident in the ball. You looked down from the unfamiliar eyes staring back at you in the mirror as your maid informed you that the car was waiting downstairs. You got this.

You weren’t used to her life of extravagance and you could feel a shot of anxiety pumping in your veins as the car neared the event. You could see reporters and cameramen lining up to capture the entrance of the wealthiest of the wealthiest. Nothing in your life could have prepared you for this. You were not a confident person…but she was. You only needed to get through this night and then slowly let the events happened. You would let the two of them fall in love with each other like it needed to be.

“We’re here, miss,” your driver announced, meeting your eyes from the rearview mirror. You took a deep breath and counted to three.

1…2…3-

The door opened and just when you opened your eyes, there he was.

Camera flashes illuminated the scene from his back, yet his focus was on you. His hand was outstretched, waiting for you to reach for it. But damn it, Min Yoongi was impeccable. Just like you, he was dressed to the nines with his tailored dark suit and his brushed up dark hair. He was the epitome of what a main lead should look like. Still, you couldn’t fault both the main and second female lead for falling in love with that face. If only you weren’t trying to stay alive, then you would most probably fall for that face, too.

Too bad you were trying to stay alive.

The weight of the moment settled heavily on your chest as you stared at his outstretched hand. The flashes of the cameras were relentless, their bursts creating a kaleidoscope of light and shadow that painted Yoongi's face with an almost ethereal glow. His dark eyes bored into yours, and for a split second, the world seemed to pause.

You hesitated, your hand hovering just out of reach. This was one of those moments, wasn't it? One of the canon events you couldn’t avoid. Taking his hand was expected, a necessary step to ensure the night unfolded as the manhwa demanded. Yet, the knowledge didn’t make it any easier.

“I don’t think you can hide from me now, princess,” Yoongi’s voice was soft but firm. In fact, there was no annoyance in his tone, only a quiet patience as though you didn’t spend the past days dodging him in every turn.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to push past the whirlwind of nerves. You had to remember who you were now—or at least who you were pretending to be. She wouldn’t falter, wouldn’t hesitate. She was poised, confident, the kind of woman who could command a room with a single glance. She was a woman who knew the power she had over society.

Plastering on a polite smile, you placed your hand in his. His fingers were warm, steady, and for a moment, the contact felt grounding. You couldn’t help but notice how his hand completely engulfed yours, how he made your hands seemed dainty in comparison to his. He helped you out of the car with a practiced grace, his touch lingering for a fraction longer than necessary. You didn’t want to dwell on the fact that you felt the same electricity that you did when you first touched the manhwa.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You knew you had no choice as he guided you up the grand entrance. This was a canon event. The canon event leading up to their meeting. You had to play your part if you wanted to not experience dying in her body.

The flashes of cameras almost blinded you had it not been for Yoongi’s broad back that shielded you from them. The two of you stopped in the middle to smile for the camera, a PR thing Yoongi had to do for his company. His hand rested on the small of your back, gently pushing you closer to him. You knew what would happen like the back of your hand, and just as written, one of the reporters asked him to define his relationship status with you.

She’s the most important woman in my life.

“She’s the most important woman in my life,” Yoongi declared with unwavering sincerity, his deep voice resonating through the flashes and murmurs of the crowd. As he looked down at you, his lips curved into that signature, disarming smile—the kind that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

The ball was just as grand as you imagined. It was apparent that the rich spared no expense in this and you couldn’t imagine that you would experience this in your life. Yoongi’s gaze lingered on you, an unreadable expression flickering in his eyes as he watched you take it all in. There was something almost amused about the way he observed you, though he said nothing. It was almost comical to him how you were impressed with this when the friend he knew practically grew up in this extravagance. You were in awe at the intricate details, the food and drink being served, and the expensive jewelries that would be auctioned tonight.

“What do you want me to bid for?” Yoongi asked, his voice low and smooth as he tipped his wineglass to his lips, his dark eyes not straying from you.

You let out a short chuckle, already knowing what to say. “I want that old ring the Queen once owned,” you answered monotonously. It was the most expensive item in the auction, and exactly the kind of thing the second female lead would desire. You, on the other hand, felt that it was ridiculous to desire something that was given by someone who dearly loved the Queen. Yoongi merely lifted his dark brow before nodding his head.

As always, her will was always his command– until it wasn’t.

The bidding war for the final piece, the ring, didn’t take that long as Yoongi continuously bidded ridiculously high amounts that the businessmen could not keep up with the younger man. Yoongi didn’t even flinch as the bids shot up. He stood there, effortlessly cool, his back straight and shoulders squared, his eyes locked on the auctioneer like a predator stalking its prey. The others tried to keep pace, their offers becoming desperate, their faces flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation as Yoongi continued to raise the stakes, his voice cold and assured as he increased his offer without hesitation.

In the end, Yoongi won. And it showed with the way he turned back to you, that same smirk still dancing at corner of his lips.

This was it.

This was the moment.

Yoongi was walking to you, his expression still that of a triumphant victor as he made his way to you. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes to him. The way his dark eyes were trained on you was captivating and you were captivated. It was as though you were the only one in this room to him, like all other people could disappear and he wouldn’t even blink. In fact, you were too captivated that you almost forgot what the next scene was.

But just as was written by the author, a waitress tripped, your light-colored dress now splashed with red wine, a stark contrast. The sound of glass breaking, the accident itself, was enough to silence the whole ballroom. Your mouth hanged agape as you looked down at your dress, and then slowly, you lift your eyes to the waitress.

Your eyes met the female lead’s. Hers was comically wide as she continuously apologized to you, her expression that of panic as her manager and more people flocked to where you were.

“What happened?” Yoongi’s voice was sharp, his usual calm replaced by a low, controlled edge. His hands clasped your arms with a firm but steady grip, his gaze darting between your face and the ruined fabric of your gown. The pristine, light-colored dress was now stained with crimson, the deep red wine soaking into the fabric and spreading like an ominous bloom.

Your eyes flicked back to the waitress—her—the female lead. Just as the manhwa dictated, there she was, the unassuming heroine, standing in front of you with wide, tear-filled eyes. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she stammered apology after apology, her hands trembling as she bent down to pick up the shards of broken glass at her feet. You saw her flinched.

“I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Please forgive me, Miss!” she pleaded, her voice shaky and sincere. The panic on her face was painfully familiar. You’d read this scene before. You knew every word, every gesture.

And yet, being in it now, living it—felt different.

Your dress was ruined, yes, but more importantly, this was the moment. The one where Yoongi, the ever-distant, untouchable main lead, would first notice her. Where his protective instincts would be stirred, his curiosity piqued by her clumsy, honest nature. This was where it all began—their love story.

Except right now, he wasn’t looking at her. He was still looking at you

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, his brows furrowed as his thumb lightly grazed your arm, checking for any sign of injury. There was no recognition in his gaze for the woman kneeling at your feet, no acknowledgment of her presence.

You blinked, caught off guard. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. By now, he should have been helping her, offering her a reassuring smile, gently lifting her to her feet. That was what the script demanded

But here he was, his focus entirely on you.

“I…” Your voice faltered as your mind raced to adjust. You needed to steer this back on track. The story needed to progress, or everything could spiral out of control. “I’m fine. It’s just the dress,” you said, forcing your tone to be light, dismissive, as though the ruined gown didn’t matter.

Yoongi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening. “It’s not fine,” he said, his voice firm. He turned, his sharp eyes landing on the waitress. The poor girl visibly flinched under his scrutiny, her hands freezing mid-motion as she tried to gather the broken pieces.

“It was an accident,” you said quickly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “Yoongi, it’s fine.” Your words were deliberate, almost desperate. You needed him to look at her, to notice her, to play his part in the story.

He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but at last, his gaze shifted to the waitress. There it was—that flicker of recognition. The moment his eyes softened, his expression melting into something less severe.

“Are you hurt?” he asked her, his tone still carrying a note of authority, but the sharp edges were gone. This was it—the moment you’d been waiting for.

The girl shook her head quickly, her cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. “N-no, sir! I’m fine. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Enough,” Yoongi interrupted gently but firmly. He crouched down, his movements slow, deliberate, as he began picking up the shards of glass alongside her. The room seemed to collectively hold its breath, all eyes on the enigmatic businessman lowering himself to help a clumsy waitress. “Be careful. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said with a much softer voice. His gaze lingered on her face, and it was apparent that you were now forgotten.

And there it was—their first connection. The moment the story truly began.

You exhaled slowly, stepping back as the crowd around you began to disperse, the murmurs of the guests returning to their usual buzz. This was how it had to be. You just had to step back now and let their love story grow.

You reached the balcony and you thanked heavens that you were alone. You breathed a sigh of relief, both for the gratitude that you were alone and for surviving that scene. You were looking up at the stars when you felt a suit jacket landed on your shoulders, safely engulfing you with warmth and against the cold night.

You turned, not knowing who to expect but he was definitely not it. You didn’t even know who he was.

The handsome man met your eyes before flashing you a charming smile of his own that was enough to disarm you. “What a shame…”

You blinked, confused by his sudden appearance, your heart still racing from the scene inside. "What is?" you asked, voice quieter than you'd intended, as your eyes darted back toward the ballroom doors.

"That your dress was ruined," he said smoothly, his tone playful, though his eyes seemed to hold something more—curiosity, maybe, or perhaps something deeper. "You were the most beautiful girl there. You managed to catch everyone’s attention when you entered the room– including mine."

Sputtering at his confidence, you felt your cheeks heated up from his statement. “Were?”

The side of his eyes crinkled as he looked at you. He couldn’t believe that the elusive and untouchable you were giving him the time of the day. You were always in Yoongi’s orbit, and everyone knew how powerful his family was. It was always the two of you in your own little world, and Yoongi was seldom far from you. It was the reason why suitors couldn’t reach you. No one needed the Min Yoongi for an enemy.

It was safe to say that the relationship between the two of you were always a question mark to the onlookers. In the world of the rich, the two of you should have been long engaged if that was the case. And a chance that Yoongi was far from you was not to be wasted. And so, he took the chance.

“You still are,” he breathed honestly. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were so magnificent and he understood why Yoongi was similar to a guard dog when it came to you. He extended his hand to you. “I’m Kim Taehyung.”

You only had to wait, but the waiting got boring. When you’d read the manhwa, the pacing had felt seamless, the love story unfolding with a rhythm that kept you turning the pages. Here, however, their love story took time.

It turned out that not only were you bored, but you were also extremely wealthy in this life. You rationalized that it would be okay to enjoy her life just a little.

Leaning on the balcony railing, you released your fifteenth sigh of the day, staring blankly at the sprawling estate below. Behind you, the ever-dutiful maid hovered, hands clasped nervously in front of her. Her expression flickered between concern and trepidation, as though bracing for one of the infamous tantrums her mistress was known for. Lately, though, you’d given her nothing of the sort—no sharp words, no impatient outbursts. That, in itself, seemed to unsettle her.

However, another sigh from you finally prompted her to ask you what was wrong.

Her eyes widened, startled by the question. “I… I suppose I’d pay off my family’s debts,” she admitted, voice small. “It’s been weighing on us for years.”

“How much?” you asked, your tone casual, as though inquiring about the weather.

“Three million,” she murmured, her cheeks coloring as though the very amount embarrassed her. “But I couldn’t possibly—”

“Consider it done,” you interrupted breezily, waving off her protests. “Next?”

“Maybe…I’d go to Paris?”

You nodded, your eyes gleamed as the spark of inspiration ignited within you. A brilliant, slightly impulsive idea. “That’s perfect. Grab your passport.”

It turned out that Paris was also someone’s favorite place.

You were sitting in a café one late afternoon, willing the time to pass by quickly so you could return to your life as evidenced by your poor attempt at reading a book when the chair in front of you was suddenly occupied. With your peace suddenly gone, you looked up and met his eyes. He was smiling at you, his dark hair brushed away from his face, so dissimilar to how formal he looked when you met him.

“We must stop meeting like this.”

He chuckled at your expression before he leaned in on the table. “In Paris, of all places. I have to say, this is starting to look like fate.”

Who was he exactly?

You tried to rack your brain of his scenes in the manhwa, and you had been ever since you met him in that ball. He wasn’t supposed to be in the scene…or was it possible that that happened behind the scene when the focus wasn’t on you, but on Yoongi and the female lead?

“Do you believe in fate, Mr. Kim?” you titled you head in curiosity, looking at him intently for any sort of familiarity that may come your way.

“I do and I don’t. I think that fate is an abstract concept that no man can ever define. There are some things that we are just too powerless to stop; and there are some things that we are too powerful to accept,” he stated with a smile on his face. “You’re here because of fate, Y/N. Don’t you think so?”

“What?”

Taehyung chuckled and patiently waited as the waiter placed his cup of hot chocolate on the table. “I think that you’re fated to be here at this exact moment.”

“What are you saying, Taehyung?”

“I’m saying, have dinner with me tonight.”

It was your second week in Paris when curiosity finally got the better of you. On the other hand, you could say that the past few days were one of the most interesting days of your life. You never knew that that little dinner with Taehyung could result to you gaining a true friend here. He was interesting, quirky, wise, and full of life. You also learned that he went to the same school as the original second female lead and Yoongi attended, and that he could never befriended you before because Yoongi was always with you. He offhandedly noted that it was so rare for him not to be with you when before, wherever you went, he would follow. Speaking of the character that you assumed, her phone—your phone now—sat untouched on the marble nightstand of your hotel suite. You’d avoided it so far, reasoning that it felt like rifling through a stranger’s diary. But tonight, as the soft glow of the Eiffel Tower illuminated the room, you gave in.

Plugging it in, the device vibrated to life, and a flood of notifications lit up the screen. Your jaw dropped slightly as you skimmed through the endless stream of missed calls and messages. Most of them were from Yoongi.

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, scrolling through the list. There were texts, voicemails, and even some emails from him, all timestamped over the last two weeks.

His messages started casual enough, asking you where you were and if you were still avoiding him. He even stopped by the mansion only to find out that you weren’t there, let alone in the country. Not one in your mansion could tell him where you were despite his endless threats. As days passed by, however, his tone shifted to frustration.

I’m not kidding anymore. If I don’t hear from you, I’m coming to find you.

I am hiring a team to find you, princess.

His final message was dated today.

I do hope you remember that it is my birthday today. We always celebrate it together. We’re not gonna stop now just because you’re hiding from me.

You stared at the phone for a moment longer, the screen dark now but somehow still demanding your attention. Should you respond? What would you even say?

The phone vibrated in your hand, the screen lighting up with his name. Your stomach did a little flip, but you shook your head firmly. No. You weren’t going to answer. It was better this way—for him, for you, for the storyline. Yoongi belonged with the female lead, and the longer you stayed out of their orbit, the better. If you wanted to live, you had to do the opposite of what the second female lead did.

Instead, you grabbed your jacket, ready to explore the city some more with Taehyung. Paris was too beautiful to waste time fretting over a fictional man’s messages. Let Yoongi wait.

But just as you opened your hotel room, there he was with his signature stoic face, his dark brow raised. He pointedly looked at your phone, his name on the screen. He had his phone on his ear, while you had yours in your hand. You were literally caught red-handed ignoring his calls.

He ended the call with a deliberate tap and tucked his phone into his pocket, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Going somewhere?”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, shocked at his sudden appearance. He was supposed to be with her. The story said that he was supposed to be with her, celebrating with her, saving her from any other accidents or situations she found herself in. You did your part by staying the hell away from them….so why was he here?

Yoongi tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” His tone was calm, but the edge was unmistakable. He stepped inside as though he owned the place. He didn’t ask for permission, didn’t wait for an invitation. He was just… there, filling the room with his presence like he always did. “And Paris, of all places? You’re more predictable than you think, princess.”

“I-I mean, I didn’t think you’d notice,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, already regretting how ridiculous it sounded.

“What? How could I not? You literally disappeared on the face of the earth. You think I wouldn’t notice when you disappeared? When you’re not there?”

The intensity in his gaze left you momentarily stunned, your thoughts scrambling for coherence. “Y-you’re not supposed to be here…” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your disbelief bled into your words, your mind struggling to reconcile his presence with what you knew—or thought you knew. “The story says you’re supposed to be with her. This isn’t—this isn’t how it goes.”

“What story?”

You blinked owlishly, realizing what you’d said. “Huh? Nothing!” you exclaimed a little too quickly, waving your hands as if to physically push the moment away. “Anyway! Happy birthday!” you added, your voice unnaturally bright, hoping to distract him.

His squint deepened, a mix of curiosity and frustration flickering in his eyes. He clearly didn’t buy your deflection, but he let it slide—for now. Without a word, he crossed the room to the small bar cart in the corner, casually pouring himself a glass of whisky.

The tension in the air was thick as he swirled the amber liquid in the glass, his movements deliberate. He raised the glass to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours. You could practically see the wheels turning in that intelligent brain of his as he sized you up. After taking a slow sip, he finally spoke, his voice low, “Glad you remember my birthday, princess.”

Okay, fine. You were at loss. How were you supposed to know what you should say? This was not in the manhwa! Yoongi was basically going off-script!

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you turned your gaze to the door, silently willing him to leave. But Yoongi didn’t move. If anything, he seemed more determined, his presence as unyielding as ever.

“Fine,” he said after a long moment, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. “If you won’t come back, then I’ll stay. Paris is nice this time of year, isn’t it?”

He stuck by you like a shadow and he all but bought the entire hotel floor. He was adamant on spending every moment with you. The most baffling part? He still kept in touch with her. He called, he texted, he checked in on the female lead—but here he was, right beside you, refusing to leave. It made no sense. To add confusion to the mix, Yoongi kept on shooting dark glares at your phone whenever it chimed from Taehyung’s messages and he felt himself getting irritated. He wondered who was brave enough to message you when no one used to before except him.

You had been away for him for just a short time and yet, he felt like you were so far away already, like something shifted, like your entirety changed. It was like you were not the best friend he used to have.

You looked down at your phone as soon as it chimed again and you couldn’t help but chuckled at the silly selfie he took with a duck. You were too engrossed in your phone that you missed the way Yoongi gripped his utensils. You and him hadn’t spent time together since you were so busy evading him and now that he finally caught up with you, your attention was somewhere else.

Why were your attention not on him?

Who was stealing your attention away from him?!

Was this how you punished him because of his current fling?

The sound of Yoongi’s sharp exhale pierced the air, and you glanced up just in time to see his fingers grip the edge of his glass with more force than was necessary. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed—not at the phone in your hand, but at you. He didn’t say anything, but the silence between you both was thick with something unspoken, a tension you had been drowning in since he followed you here.

It wasn’t that you wanted to ignore him, but the truth was... you didn’t know how to deal with this version of Yoongi. The one who wasn’t following the script. The one who was here in Paris, beside you, watching you laugh at Taehyung's ridiculous duck selfie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“What’s so funny?” Yoongi’s voice was quiet, but it was sharp. He didn’t bother to look at your phone. Instead, his gaze stayed locked on your face, his eyes a shade darker, deeper than you remembered them being.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in his mood. “Oh, nothing, just a ridiculous selfie from my friend,” you said, still chuckling to yourself. “He’s with a duck.”

“He?” His voice held a dry amusement, but there was an edge to it that made you uncomfortable.

You could feel the subtle tension thickening in the air, like the weight of a storm about to break. Yoongi's question hung between you like a spark in dry tinder. You shrugged, pretending to be casual, though the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. "Yes, he. My friend Taehyung," you said, not looking up from your phone.

But you could feel Yoongi’s eyes boring into you, every syllable of his next words like a tightening coil. “Taehyung,” he repeated, his voice cold and deliberate, as though testing the name on his tongue. His grip on his glass had tightened to the point where his knuckles were white, but it didn’t stop the slow, calculated sip he took, his gaze never leaving you.

The way he said his name made it seemed like your friendship with him was a mistake, a simple blunder on your end that shouldn’t have happened. It did feel like you stepped on a live mine, and you wondered why you were feeling like this when from what you knew about his character in the manhwa, Yoongi was a pure person. However, right now he felt like a dangerous one.

What were you supposed to do?

“You’re thirty now,” you said instead, steering the conversation away from an unfamiliar territory as you placed the phone facedown. The two of you were having brunch in a famous restaurant and you were thoroughly enjoying the croissant moments before the conversation turned sour.

He regarded you for a moment, fully aware of how you this was your sad attempt at changing the subject until he decided to put you out of misery. He nodded, waiting for you to make your point.

“You’re not getting any younger-”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “What’s the point of this conversation, princess? You’re starting to sound like my grandma." He paused, as if savoring the thought. "By the way, she keeps asking for you. Says, and I quote, ‘her favorite grandchild never comes to visit anymore.’ Not even a phone call. Meanwhile, I’m still here, the actual grandchild, and I get nothing."

His glare was sharp, but there was no real venom behind it—just the familiar teasing edge that made you both roll your eyes and laugh, despite yourself.

“W-well! I’m just concerned that you won’t have a wife and any children of your own and that you’d grow old alone! I’m just a friend expressing concern over her best and oldest friend…” you rationalized. Fine, you were having fun teasing him while nudging him in the right direction. Yoongi was fun to mess with, you thought, if he was being himself and not the confusing and quite off-putting mood he was in a while ago.

You thought that he would react the way you anticipated him to, that he would get defensive and after which, hopefully, that he’d go back to their love story.

He did none of those things.

Instead, Yoongi leaned in, his manly scent permeating. He tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, all while looking at you. “Why are you saying that I’ll be alone when I have you?”

You blinked, trying to process what Yoongi had just said. His voice, low and warm, carried a weight that wasn’t there a moment ago. You wanted to laugh, to brush it off like the teasing banter you two always shared, but the way his dark eyes held yours made it impossible. “I have you for always, right, princess? You’re not going to leave me for someone…beneath us, right?”

What?

His words seemed like he was pointing to another thing, like what he was asking you was a promise to be set in stone and not a mere assurance on his part. What was the real second female lead to say in situation like this?

“O-of course! We’re best friends! N-now let’s get out of here. I saw this beautiful necklace in that shop. It’s going to look beautiful on her. Maybe if you buy her that, then she’d forgive you for spending your birthday away from her,” you joked to deflect him, standing up and gathering your purse to escape the situation you found yourself in before he could even blink.

Think, Y/N. Think.

You gripped the stem of your wine glass, staring blankly at the flickering candle in the center of the table. The plot was veering off course, drifting further from the original narrative you knew by heart. Yoongi wasn’t supposed to be here with you, his steady presence upending the delicate balance of the story.

The main lead wasn’t supposed to stay by your side like this

Across the room, Yoongi was speaking with one of his father’s acquaintances, his posture relaxed but exuding the quiet authority that came so naturally to him. It gave you a few precious moments to breathe—and to think.

Ever since Paris, Yoongi almost never let you out of his sight. He would spend every free time of his with you. You couldn’t even refuse because he would get so suspicious. His best friend never said no to him, he knew that. Your previous actions of distancing yourself from him resulted in him latching on to you. What could you do to push him in the right direction which was to be with her?

What was the next canon event?

And then it hit you.

The company gala. The turning point. That was when he would bring her, the female lead, into the lion’s den. His family’s icy disapproval, their sharp-edged words of disdain, and their outright rejection of his choice would culminate in a dramatic declaration. Yoongi would stand by her side, rebel against his family, and announce that she was the one he wanted to marry.

It was a pivotal scene. A non-negotiable in the grand arc of his story.

You exhaled shakily. If you could just steer him toward that event, everything will fall back into place. You just needed to figure out when it was happening now that the timeline was unraveling in ways you couldn’t predict.

You just had another problem, though. The man that was now walking back to you was acting like someone who had his heart set on another, so unlike the Min Yoongi from the manhwa who only had eyes for her. His attention was unwavering, but it should not have been pointed to you but to her. The way his gaze softened whenever he looked at you, his refusal to leave your side—it was all wrong. None of it fit.

“Sorry about that,” Yoongi’s voice broke through your thoughts as he returned to the table. He slid back into his seat, his sharp eyes scanning your face. “You okay? You look… distracted.”

You forced a smile, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Just lost in thought.”

“About what?” He tilted his head, genuinely curious, and the warmth in his gaze made your stomach twist. He did hope that your attention was not being diverted by someone he didn’t even want to mention. He couldn’t even understand why the thought of you with someone else didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t understand why he had this urge to remove the pest away from you.

“Doesn’t you company have an annual gala? I was thinking of what to wear. When is it again?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink to hide your nerves.

He was looking at you as though deep in thought, as though you were forgetting something. He tilted his head to the side, “You know it’s always in December. You always choose your dress a year in advance, princess,” Yoongi said, his voice laced with mild curiosity. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied you. “Why? You’ve never been one to care much about those kinds of things before.”

Your breath caught at his words. You always choose your dress a year in advance, princess. The familiarity, the ease with which he said it, threw you off. That line—it didn’t belong here. Not in this timeline. Not in this version of the story where your role was supposed to be temporary, a placeholder in the grand narrative between him and her.

“Right,” you said, forcing a light laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Guess I forgot for a moment. Been busy, you know.”

Yoongi didn’t buy it. His gaze sharpened, a hint of amusement mingled with curiosity. “You? Forget? That’s not like you.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture relaxed but his eyes piercing. “What’s really going on?”

The intensity in his gaze made your stomach twist again. Stay calm. Don’t let him see.

“Nothing’s going on,” you said, a touch too quickly. You took another sip of your drink, using the motion to avoid his eyes.

“Anyway, December’s coming up fast, and I’m guessing you’re planning to bring her, right?” You kept your tone light, as if the question didn’t weigh heavily on your chest.

Yoongi’s expression shifted, the smirk fading as his brows furrowed slightly. “Her?”

You swallowed hard. “You know… the one you’ve been calling and texting all the time.” You gestured vaguely, hoping to seem indifferent. “The woman you’ve been—well, I thought you were planning to introduce her to your family at the gala.”

Yoongi smiled again, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Let’s see, princess.”

“Admit that you had fun,” Taehyung teased you as he drove you home.

You couldn’t help the smile that crept across your lips. Against all odds, you’d genuinely enjoyed yourself. You did have fun. You always thought that movie dates were boring and full of cliché, but not with him. With Taehyung, everything felt effortless—light and uncomplicated, like breathing.

“Fine,” you conceded with mock reluctance, your tone carrying the weight of faux irritation. “It was a fun…”

“Date,” he finished smoothly, his eyes glinting with amusement as your voice trailed off.

Your cheeks burned at his audacity, the straightforwardness of the word stealing your ability to respond for a moment. A "date"? Could you even call it that? The way your heart fluttered betrayed any argument you might have tried to form.

You glanced away, fidgeting with the strap of your bag as thoughts tangled in your mind. Was it okay to feel this way? To bask in fleeting moments of happiness when the life you were living wasn’t truly yours? When you were still determined to set things right, to restore the balance of a narrative that had gone astray?

So caught up in your musings, you barely noticed the car slowing to a stop in the estate’s driveway. The towering grand doors loomed ahead, a stark reminder of the world you’d return to the moment you stepped out.

“Thank you,” Taehyung’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. It was quiet, genuine, and when you turned to look at him, his face was softer than you’d ever seen it.

“For what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“For being here,” he replied simply, his gaze holding yours.

The weight of his sincerity pressed against your chest, making it harder to breathe. Before you could respond, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. The world seemed to slow as his hand moved to cup your face, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your heart stutter.

Your breaths mingled, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips hovered so close to yours it was almost unbearable. You could feel the moment hanging on a fragile thread, teetering on the edge of something irreversible.

The room’s golden hues seemed to dim as the sound of the car horn echoed through the driveway, shattering the fragile intimacy between you and Taehyung. You jolted back, your heart pounding in your chest as if caught in an act of betrayal—though you hadn’t technically done anything wrong. Yet.

Taehyung sighed, his expression softening as he glanced toward the car behind him. “Looks like your knight in shining armor doesn’t know how to wait,” he said lightly, though there was a hint of tension in his voice.

You managed a shaky laugh, your hand gripping the strap of your bag tightly. “He’s just… overprotective.”

“Right,” Taehyung said, leaning back in his seat. His eyes met yours, warm and understanding, but with a flicker of something else—something that made your chest tighten. “Still, I meant what I said. Thanks for tonight.”

Before you could respond, the honk came again, sharper this time, as if Yoongi were making a point. You turned to glance at his car, the sleek black exterior glinting under the estate’s lights. Even from this distance, you could feel his piercing gaze locked on you.

“Goodnight, Taehyung,” you said hurriedly, fumbling with the door handle.

Taehyung smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You stepped out of the car and started toward the grand door, the cold evening air biting at your skin. Yoongi’s car door slammed shut behind you, and the sound of his footsteps was a quiet storm approaching. You didn’t dare look back, your heart a riot of guilt, frustration, and confusion.

“Princess,” Yoongi’s voice cut through the quiet, smooth and controlled, but laced with an edge you couldn’t ignore.

You stopped in your tracks, turning slowly to face him. He was already close, his dark eyes scanning your face like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. His suit was immaculate, as always, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his posture—shoulders just a little too stiff, jaw a little too tight.

“You’re back late,” he said, his tone deceptively casual.

“I went to see a movie with Taehyung,” you replied, keeping your voice neutral.

At the mention of Taehyung, Yoongi’s gaze flicked past you to the car that was now idling at the end of the driveway. You followed his line of sight and felt a pang of unease as his expression shifted. His brows raised slightly as he studied Taehyung through the window, his head tilting just enough to convey an air of quiet disdain.

And then he smirked—a slow, deliberate curl of his lips that sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the Yoongi you were used to seeing. In that moment, he was something else entirely: sharp, commanding, almost cruel. The kind of presence that demanded submission without a word.

“What did you say his last name was, princess?” he asked, still watching Taehyung with that same unsettling smirk. His tone was light, but there was something in it—something dark—that made your heart beat faster.

“Kim?” you replied thoughtlessly, your mind too preoccupied with wanting to escape the tension. “Why did you ask?”

Finally, he turned his attention back to you, his gaze softening just enough to make the moment feel surreal. The shift was so subtle, so practiced, that it left you second-guessing the sharpness you’d just seen. He reached out, his arm sliding around your shoulders with an ease that felt both natural and calculated.

“No reason, princess,” he said smoothly, steering you toward the grand doors of the estate. “Just… curious.”

The warmth of his arm contrasted sharply with the coldness that lingered in the air. It was disarming, the way he could shift so easily between roles—between the man you knew and the one you weren’t sure you ever wanted to meet again.

As he guided you inside, you cast one last glance over your shoulder. Taehyung’s car hadn’t moved, the figure inside still watching. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined the tension mirrored your own.

When the doors shut behind you, the weight of Yoongi’s presence beside you grew heavier. His hand rested lightly against your shoulder, his touch far gentler than the unease simmering just beneath the surface.

"Don’t you have better things to do than come to my dress fitting? Like, I don’t know, actually run your empire or something?" you asked, stepping out of the fitting room with a huff.

Yoongi sat sprawled on the plush sofa, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, a glass of champagne balanced effortlessly in his other hand. He looked utterly at ease, as if this boutique was his second home and not a place he had followed you to.

He shrugged, “Well, we can’t have you running away from me again, can we?”

“For the last time, I didn’t run away! I was in Paris because croissant sounded nice that day-”

“Sure, princess,” he agreed condescendingly. Yoongi’s gaze swept over you, lingering a moment longer than you expected. “On the other hand, you look immaculate in that dress,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You’re going to make the rest of the gala feel underdressed.”

Heat crept up your neck at his words, but you quickly masked it with a scoff. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Yoongi. Save it for the boardroom or—better yet—for her.”

He raised an eyebrow, swirling the champagne in his glass as if you hadn’t just tried to divert the conversation. “Her?” he echoed, tilting his head with mock curiosity.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yes, her. The one you met in the previous ball? The waitress? The one you’ll be introducing to your family at the gala, remember? Does she ring a bell?”

“We’re still talking about that?” Yoongi asked, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned back into the plush sofa. The glass of champagne in his hand tilted slightly, catching the light as he swirled the golden liquid. “Why are you so invested in my relationship with her?”

“I’m just concerned and curious as a friend.”

He chuckled softly, setting his glass down on the table beside him. “Curious, huh? And here I thought you were just jealous.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Jealous?”

Yoongi leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving yours. “You keep bringing her up. You’re obsessed with the idea of me introducing her to my family, of me texting her. You sure this isn’t just about you not wanting to share me?”

Your face burned, and you turned away, pretending to adjust the dress in the mirror. “You’re ridiculous and I refuse to discuss this further,” you muttered. “I’m going to buy this!” You announced before stalking back to the fitting room to avoid wondering about why your heart was skipping a beat and why you shouldn’t venture into that.

You were huffing as you tried to reach for the zipper behind you when the curtain suddenly opened and Yoongi stepped in, making the room felt impossibly small. You instinctively turned your back to him, clutching at the unzipped dress as though a protection against whatever this was.

“What are you doing here?!”

Yoongi leaned casually against the side of the fitting room, his smirk firmly in place. “Helping you, obviously,” he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I don’t need your help!” you snapped, tugging at the zipper yourself but struggling to reach it.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said smoothly, taking a step closer. His fingers brushed against yours as he gently moved your hand away. “Relax, princess. I’ll take care of it.”

You froze, your heart pounding as his hands moved to the zipper. His touch was surprisingly delicate, his fingers grazing your back as he carefully pulled the zipper up. The sound of the zipper seemed deafening in the silence.

“There,” he said softly, his voice low and close to your ear. “All done.”

You were about to turn around when he stopped you. You met his dark eyes through the mirror, and the intensity in his gaze held you captive. His hands lingered lightly on your shoulders, warm against the smooth fabric of the dress. There was something unreadable in his expression—a mix of curiosity, amusement, and something far deeper that you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re very beautiful, princess. Do you know that?” he whispered, resting his chin on your delicate shoulder.

“Yoongi, what are you doing?”

He was quiet for a moment as though in contemplation whether to say what he wanted to say. Like in the manhwa, Yoongi was calculating. He never did anything without a reason, one of which would benefit him. “I had a nightmare the night after the ball,” he finally confessed, his voice low and almost distant, as if recalling something that lingered in his mind. “We were on the yacht. I think it was a party. You were there… She was there. I was there. And the yacht… it slammed into a rock. The two of you were thrown off.”

If he felt your body went rigid, he didn’t mention. He never broke eye contact, his arms around your waist as he told you of his dream. The one exactly what happened in the manhwa– the one where the main lead chose to save the main female lead first, only to find out the it was already late for the second female lead.

His body was so close that you could feel the slight tremble in his arms as he spoke, his fingers grazing your waist with the same careful intensity.

You met his gaze in the mirror again, and something twisted in your stomach. There was an almost predatory look in his eyes, but there was something else too—something far more vulnerable, raw. He didn’t break eye contact, and his grip on you tightened just slightly, as though he wanted to hold on, as though he was afraid you’d slip away.

“In my dream,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “I saw you die because I saved her first. It felt so real, like I was remembering something that already happened.” He paused, and you felt the weight of his words sink in. “Why would I save her first when I know I can’t lose you?”

 “It’s just a dream…” you tried to console him. How could he remember something that happened in the ending? Was the barrier between the characters and the plot weakening? What was changing? And how could you go back to your own world when he was holding onto you so tight as though if he looked away, you’d disappear?

“It is, right? It’s not going to happen... I’ll make sure of it.”

December came.

It was the month you were both dreading and anticipating. You were almost at the end of the story, and so far, you did your absolute best to let their love story unfold without a second female lead antagonizing it. You did your part by staying away from them. One problem though, the male lead was not acting like he was written in the manhwa. He was not acting like a man in love should be to her. Instead, he was out there sticking to you like

It was safe to say that Min Yoongi went rouge.

You did not know what to expect in the annual gala. You no longer have the upper hand. You were in the blind as though you were a real character and no longer a reader. You feared that the longer you stayed in this fictional world, the more likely that you’d be incorporated in the story and no longer as a second female lead that could just easily disappear.

You needed answers on how to escape from this fictional world. Answers eluded you. Worse still, so did the only person who seemed to see you for who you were. Taehyung. Since that night, not once did Taehyung answer you calls nor respond to your numerous messages. You tried asking your trusted staff about him, but even they were mummed. It was only your closest maid who whispered to you what transpired and how Taehyung’s budding business empire had crumbled overnight, crushed under the weight of lawsuits—tax evasion, fraud, and other accusations you couldn’t fathom. The news left you hollow. You hadn’t seen this coming. The man who had been your one source of normalcy, the one who made you feel like a real person instead of a pawn in someone else’s story, had disappeared into the shadows of scandal. You thought to yourself that maybe you really didn’t know him at all and that it was best to just focus on how to once and for all, leave this universe.

But who could you ask?

You continued anxiously tapping your heels on the marbled flooring, observing the guests. You were in the corner, trying to hide in the shadows so you could freely look for her. He would be bringing her, right?

Where is she?

Your eyes scanned the room again, trying to keep your presence hidden in the shadows. The guests were mingling, lost in the glitter of conversation and champagne. Laughter bubbled up in the air, but none of it felt real. Not like it should have. None of this was real, in fact. This was a fictional world where you were stuck in.

You wondered what would happen if you stopped playing her role. But before you could dwell on that thought, the door opened again, and you stiffened. You were expecting to see the main female lead, yet instead, it was Yoongi. The man of the hour. He entered the room and all the guests he passed greeted and congratulated him for setting another record in his empire, yet his eyes always returned to you. Where was she? This was not supposed to be like this. Yet, you knew in the back of your mind that something integral changed. You were in denial about how you no longer had control over this, that you might as well be truly in the story now, no longer an observer, no longer able to hide behind the pages of the manhwa.

You stepped back involuntarily, no longer feeling the courage you had faked for so long. You lost control. You had to find a way out. However, when you slipped away and turned the corner, you bumped into an old, yet dignified woman. You bowed in apologies when it dawned upon you.

You have seen her before.

Slowly, your eyes lifted to hers. You knew her. She was the woman who gave you the manhwa… How was she in this world?!

Your mouth hanged agape as the corner of her lips lifted, her eyes crinkling when she saw the dawn of recognition on her face. “I told you reading it will change your mind.”

“It’s you,” you whispered, taking an unsteady step back. Your eyes darted over her, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t belong in this world. “H-how… How are you here? What’s going on? Y-you have to help me. Why am I here? How can I leave?!”

She studied you for a moment, her gaze steady, unreadable. “You’re here because someone wants you here, dear.”

“I don’t want to be here! I want to go back.”

Her head tilted slightly, her calm demeanor unwavering. “But why? What do you have in your old life that you so desperately want to return to? Aren’t you alone there? Didn’t you have no one to love you?”

“That’s not the point!” you shot back, a tremor running through your voice. “And it’s not different here. No one loves me—no one even knows the real me.”

Her smile deepened, a glint of something—mischief, perhaps?—in her eyes. “Ah, but who do you think was desperate enough, filled with enough sorrow, to pull you into this universe?”

Your breath caught, confusion clouding your mind. “I… I don’t understand.”

“When she died,” the woman began, her voice lowering, as if unveiling a truth long buried, “the manhwa ended. But did you think the characters would simply cease to exist? No, dear. They continued, burdened by the pain of their story. Yoongi was devastated. He regretted everything—every word, every choice, every moment that led to her death. He mourned her. His sorrow was so great, it transcended the story’s limits and reached you.”

Your head spun. “Me?” you repeated weakly, disbelief dripping from your voice.

“Dear, you are her. Just in a different universe. It’s the reason why you sided with her, why you felt for her, why her character called on you, why her pain felt like your own. You are her.”

“I don’t want to be her,” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t choose this. Please—just send me back to my own universe.”

The woman sighed, her expression softening, though her eyes retained their strange, knowing glimmer. “The only way out,” she said slowly, “is through. The manhwa will only release you when its story ends. And you know how it ends, don’t you?”

A cold realization began to settle in your chest. “When he marries the female lead,” you murmured, dread weaving through every syllable. Your words hung in the air, heavy and final.

The sharp sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, breaking your trance. You barely had time to gather your thoughts before a familiar voice cut through the suffocating stillness.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you. What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s low, commanding tone sent a jolt through you, but it was his grip—firm but not harsh—as his hand closed around your arm that made your breath hitch.

You turned to face him, his dark eyes locking onto yours. They were intense, holding a darkness that made your stomach churn. Something simmered beneath his composed exterior, something unsettling.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, your voice unsteady.

His lips quirked into a small, unreadable smile. “I just arrived, princess,” he said, the pet name rolling off his tongue like silk. “What are you doing here? Alone?”

“I…” You hesitated, your mind racing for an excuse. “I was just talking to—”

When you turned back, the old woman was gone.

Your heart sank, panic surging through you. The corridor where she had stood moments ago was now empty, as though she had vanished into thin air.

Yoongi frowned, his grip on your arm tightening slightly. “Talking to who?” he pressed, his voice dropping.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but the weight of it was crushing. “No one,” you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “She must’ve left before you got here.”

Yoongi looked down at you, his expression calm, his gaze steady. Yet, something about the way he held himself—the deliberate gentleness, the faint curve of his lips—made unease coil tightly in your chest. A part of you whispered that this tenderness was a mask, that he wasn’t as naïve or benign as he seemed.

But then he smiled.

It was a tender smile, soft around the edges, and for a fleeting moment, your doubts dissolved like mist under the morning sun.

“Let’s get back to the party, princess,” he said, his voice a soothing balm against the tension humming in your veins. “Your parents arrived.”

Your steps faltered. “My parents?”

The mention of them sent a jolt through you. They were a peripheral presence in the story, barely more than a footnote in the manhwa’s narrative. They were always overseas, managing their company, distant figures who left their daughter to fend for herself. Their absence was a plot device, a catalyst for your dependence on Yoongi.

But now, they were here.

“W-why are they here?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your effort to steady it.

Yoongi stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His expression didn’t change, but there was something unsettling in the way his eyes softened, like he was trying to calm a skittish animal. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone quiet yet resolute.

The words only made your pulse quicken. He offered his arm to you, his demeanor so effortless, so composed, as though he hadn’t just upended everything you thought you knew about the storyline. “Shall we?”

Were you imagining things, or were the guests’ gazes lingering just a little too long as you and Yoongi re-entered the ballroom? Conversations paused, eyes flickering in your direction, a murmur of whispers spreading like ripples across the sea of elegantly dressed attendees.

Yoongi, as always, was composed. His hand rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd with an ease that belied the tension curling in your chest. You tried to focus on the glittering chandeliers, the music, the familiar opulence of the space, but the weight of the stares made it impossible.

“There’s our little girl!”

The warm, dignified voice cut through the hum of the crowd, pulling your attention to its source. Your mother stood near the edge of the room, resplendent in a gown that rivaled the grandeur of the occasion. Her face lit up with delight as she strode toward you, arms outstretched.

“Y-you’re here…” you stammered, shock rendering you momentarily immobile as she pulled you into an embrace. Her movements were graceful yet firm, as though she’d been waiting for this moment.

“Of course, we’re here,” she said, stepping back to study your face, her smile warm but tinged with something calculating. “Why wouldn’t we be? It’s not every day that our dear daughter gets engaged.”

Your heart raced, panic rising as you tried to process what was happening. “I… I don’t understand,” you managed, your voice trembling as you looked between your parents and Yoongi.

Yoongi stepped closer, the warmth of his hand on your back turning into a subtle yet firm pressure. His voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for your ears, as his sharp eyes held yours in an unrelenting gaze.

“It’s all been arranged, princess,” he said softly, his words almost tender but laced with steel. “Your parents and mine have been discussing this for some time. They thought tonight was the perfect opportunity to make it official.”

Your heart pounded in protest, the world around you narrowing to just him and the enormity of what he was saying. “I didn’t agree to this,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “This is wrong! You don’t want this, Yoongi. You have her. And I—”

“You what?” he interrupted sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You have Taehyung?”

“No!” you snapped, shaking your head. “This isn’t about him. This is about them deciding for us. This is about tying your life to mine when you don’t even want to!”

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning but without any real humor. “Who says I don’t want to?”

“Yoongi—”

“Look, princess,” he cut you off, his voice soft but commanding. “We just have to act like we’re going along with this. Just pretend. Can you do that for me?”

Your breath caught, and you searched his face for some hint of his true feelings. But all you found was a calm determination that left you more uncertain than ever.

The murmur of the crowd reached you, the polite applause growing louder as you turned toward the center of the room. Yoongi extended his hand, his posture exuding confidence and charm as he guided you toward the raised platform where your parents and his waited.

The spotlight followed the two of you as you ascended albeit reluctantly, every step feeling heavier than the last. The room seemed to hush, the weight of their expectations bearing down on you.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Yoongi began smoothly, raising his glass in a toast. His voice carried easily, commanding the attention of the entire ballroom. “Tonight is a special night, not just for our families, but for me. I’m honored to announce my engagement to this incredible woman beside me, my childhood best friend, the only woman who have never left my side. I cannot live without her, and soon, I’ll never have to.”

The applause erupted, deafening and overwhelming. You felt trapped, the walls closing in as Yoongi turned to you, his smile perfectly composed for the crowd.

“Shall we make it convincing, princess?” Yoongi murmured, his voice low and unreadable, carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place. 

Before you could respond, he cupped your face with a gentleness that felt at odds with the deliberate precision in his movements. His touch was warm, grounding, yet it sent a jolt through you—a mix of dread and something far more dangerous. 

Your breath hitched. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you think Min Yoongi—the composed, untouchable Min Yoongi—would lower his head to capture your lips. Even more unthinkable was the way his kiss shattered every expectation, unraveling something deep within you. 

Yoongi kissed like a man starved. His lips moved against yours with a consuming intensity, a hunger that left no room for hesitation. It wasn’t gentle or tentative; it was deliberate, almost punishing. He took and took, claiming you with every movement of his mouth. His tongue brushed against yours, coaxing and demanding at the same time, leaving you breathless. 

His free hand cradled your face, tilting it to him as if to ensure you couldn’t escape—not that your body seemed capable of responding. Your knees felt weak, your heart thundered in your chest, and the noise of the crowd faded into an inconsequential blur. 

For a moment, there was only him. 

The crowd erupted into applause, the sound jolting you back to reality. The cheers and whistles surrounded you, the noise pressing in like a tidal wave. You blinked, realizing that your hands had gripped the fabric of his jacket, as though anchoring yourself to him. 

Yoongi pulled back slowly, his gaze locking with yours. His eyes were dark, burning with something you couldn’t decipher. His lips curled into a faint, triumphant smile, as if he knew exactly what effect he’d had on you. 

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he took your hand in his. The velvet box you hadn’t even noticed being opened now sat empty in his other hand. And then, before you could process what was happening, there it was—a massive diamond glinting on your finger, its size almost blinding under the ballroom lights. It was familiar. How could it not when it was the same ring he won in the auction?

Why did he have this now? When was this entire fiasco prepared?

Your chest tightened as you stared at the ring, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should have. 

Yoongi raised your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. To the crowd, it was the perfect picture of a devoted fiancé. But to you, it was something far more unnerving. 

“You wear it well,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. 

The applause swelled around you again, the sound nearly deafening as you tried to steady your racing thoughts. 

This wasn’t part of the story. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

But Yoongi, ever the master of control, seemed to have rewritten the script entirely. And you were left standing in the middle of his narrative, unable to tell where the performance ended and the truth began.

The evening air outside was cool and calm, a sharp contrast to the warmth and chatter of the grand party you had just left behind. As the crowd dwindled and the night settled, Yoongi offered you his arm, escorting you toward his sleek black car. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and his dark eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual.

The night seemed to be endless. You were never left alone even for a moment. You wanted nothing more than to lie down and plan your next step. You had to, or else you were stuck here.

“I’m sorry I missed your speech,” you said as the car pulled away from the glowing mansion. “I’m sure it was great.”

He glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s fine. You’ll always be here to hear my next speech anyway.”

You returned his smile, but it was brittle, not quite reaching your eyes. Had your plan succeeded, this would be one of your last moments with him. You’d return to your world, leaving this Yoongi—and this universe—behind. The thought tightened something in your chest, but you pushed it aside.

“I’m sorry about the sudden engagement, princess.” His voice was soft, laced with what sounded like regret, but his eyes told a different story. “My hands were tied. Our families went behind our backs, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Lies. All of it.

What you didn’t know was that Yoongi had orchestrated everything. He had whispered into the right ears, pulled strings behind the scenes, and crafted a perfect storm to ensure this engagement would bind you to him. He didn’t care what the truth was, whether or not you were from this world. He cared about one thing only—keeping you by his side.

Something in him had shifted the moment he realized how easily you could slip away. The very idea of losing you—to this world, to Taehyung, to anything—was unbearable. It drove him to actions he never thought himself capable of, cruel and unapologetic. Taehyung was out of the picture now, his budding empire crushed under the weight of scandal. Yoongi had ensured that, and he felt no remorse.

What mattered was you.

You offered him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes because if what you were planning was successful, you’d return to your own world and he’d be left in this universe. Yoongi quietly offered you a champagne as the driver smoothly drove back to the mansion.

“Are we celebrating something?” you asked, eyeing the sparkling liquid.

“Just…for always, princess,” he said softly, the words carrying an undertone you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated, but took the glass, sipping the sparkling liquid. The conversation flowed effortlessly, a dance of shared humor, mutual interests, and a surprising depth of understanding. With each exchange, you were reminded of why you had felt drawn to Yoongi in the first place. For all his intensity and mystery, he was undeniably charming, and being with him felt easy in a way you hadn’t expected.

The spirit of alcohol definitely made you forget about the ruckus that happened tonight. If he said that he didn’t have anything to do with it, who were you to question him when he was characterized in the manhwa as someone who was good?

Your conversation with him was fun. It was grounding.

Until the world began to tilt.

Dizziness crept over you, subtle at first but quickly overpowering. Your fingers loosened around the champagne flute as your head grew heavier, and before you knew it, your cheek was pressed against his shoulder.

“Yoongi…” you murmured, your voice weak as you leaned against him.

He steadied you, his hand moving to cradle your head as you slumped against his shoulder. “It’s alright,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of finality.You tried to sit up, to stay awake, but your body refused to cooperate. Everything blurred together, and then, there was nothing.

Yoongi’s hand moved to steady you, his touch gentle as he adjusted your position so you rested more comfortably against him. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable, before shifting his gaze toward the driver.

“To the airport,” he instructed, his voice calm but firm.

The driver nodded without hesitation, changing course.

Yoongi turned his attention back to you, his jaw tightening as he studied your sleeping face. He’d heard everything earlier—the old woman’s cryptic words, your desperate plea to leave, and your determination to escape this world.

It all made sense. The nightmare that brought terrors in his heart really happened. You died because of his foolishness, because he chose someone else over you when he knew he couldn’t survive a world without you. It had been like living his worst nightmare all over again, the fear of losing someone he wasn’t ready to let go. But this time, he refused to let it happen.

He wasn’t a religious man, but your presence in this universe felt like a miracle—a second chance, no matter how strange or impossible. Whether you were the original her or not didn’t matter. You were here. You were his.

And he wouldn’t let you leave.

His gaze darkened, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.

“You’re not going anywhere, princess,” he murmured softly, more to himself than to you.

The first female lead was no longer his focus. She was gone.

Now, it was you.

And Yoongi would do whatever it took to keep you by his side—even if it meant tying you to him so tightly you could never untangle the threads.