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stllmnstr · 8 days ago

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sure thing – part one.

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon

part one word count: 12.9k

warnings: swearing, descriptions/depictions of physical violence, blood and minor injuries, jealousy, a bit of a love triangle I’m SORRY, blonde boxer jungwon because yes I think that does warrant a warning, I had to split this into 2 parts because post block limit got me everyone say BOOOOO TUMBLR!!!!!!

note: this is what happens when you watch the no doubt music video and then also listen to too much chase atlantic. ALSO let me duck before the sacred monsters readers start throwing tomatoes at me I PROMISE I am working on part 4 I just... had this idea and it would not leave me alone. but cheers to another fantastic enhypen release (daydream and no doubt are both on repeat for meeeeee) and to my first jungwon fic. enjoy!

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An employee in the marketing department of a large company, your days are filled with poorly worded emails, unrealistic deadlines, and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. On a particularly awful afternoon, a chance encounter with a coworker from the programming department down the hall is the first thing to make you smile in weeks.

But the more you uncover about Yang Jungwon and his mysterious injuries, flimsy excuses, and always occupied Friday nights, the more you begin to realize that you really don’t know him at all.

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The printer is jammed.

It takes a very exaggerated eye roll and an embarrassing amount of self control to refrain from kicking the damn thing. Besides, you’re pretty sure your previous wording was too kind.

Because a more accurate depiction of the situation would be:

The printer is jammed. Again.

You’re not sure which cruel deity is responsible for the creation of Monday afternoons, but you’re sure they’re laughing at you now. Dressed in business casual and praying against all odds that the clock hanging on the office wall will start ticking a little faster, you almost wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Spare you from your misery

And it’s not like a jammed printer is the end of the world. From a logical, unbiased point of view, you’re sure it’s nothing but a small, easily solvable problem.

But it’s four pm on a Monday afternoon and you’ve had back-to-back meetings since you clocked in at eight this morning. The only real break you had lasted twelve minutes. Most of which were spent dabbing coffee stains from your blouse after Terry from accounting knocked into you in the staff kitchen.

Your head is pounding and your feet are aching and your bladder is overly full and your left bra strap is starting to dig into your shoulder in a way that is entirely too overstimulating.

And you really, really just need this report to print.

After all, your boss made it very clear that you would not be clocking out for the day, no matter what hour of the evening it is, until said document is laid on his desk. Never mind the fact that you weren’t made aware of this demand until a handful of hours ago.

So yeah, the printer jamming – again – does kind of feel like the end of the world.

The screen is still flashing with an angry reminder to fix the paper jam in Tray 2. The instructions are starting to blur a little as you furiously blink away hot tears.

You won’t cry at work. You won’t.

But your exhaustion is catching up with you, and the first thing it usually takes with it is your control over your emotions.

The more you try to will them away, the more insistently they want to escape.

Bent over the printer, you’re in the middle of trying to dislodge a particularly stubborn piece of A4 when the first tear finally does escape. It falls in a thick, wet train down the length of your cheek, settling for a moment at the base of your chin before dripping, a little pathetically, right onto the stack of papers in the printer tray.

Your hands go slack on the sheet you’re warring with.

For a moment, all you can do is sigh. Hang your head and hope some higher power takes pity on you.

Stressed, burnt out, overworked. This was not how you thought you’d be spending your early twenties. But a salary is a salary, and fighting with an inanimate object on the worst day of the week keeps your lights on and your stomach full.

Hunched over, you’re suddenly glad that the printer is kept in a separate room outside of the main office space. That there are no witnesses to your slightly pathetic meltdown.

Save for a few, it’s not like you care all that much about what your coworkers think of you. But the last thing you need to add to this day is a fresh bout of humiliation.

Just one more minute, you tell yourself. One more minute of silence before you pull yourself together and finish dislodging the stupid piece of paper.

It must be at least 4:10 by now, which means you have less than an hour to go. You can do it. You can. You just need one more minute of silen–

“Everything okay?”

The sudden intrusion is so startling that your head jerks up in a subconscious reaction. Only, of course, to be met with the open printer tray you’re currently trying to troubleshoot.

The clunk that echoes through the tiny printer room as your temple comes in direct contact with hard plastic is almost as loud as it is painful.

“Ah,” you wince, hand instinctively flying to the side of your head.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, ____.” You’re not sure if your hesitation comes from embarrassment or the fact that you head is still spinning. Either way, you’re slow to move as you look up at your sudden audience.

Over your shoulder, Yang Jungwon has nothing but apologies written all over his delicate features. Brow pulling into a concerned frown, he’s quick to kneel to your level.

If anyone was going to find you like this, you suppose you’re glad it was him. A recent hire fresh out of university, Jungwon has carved out a quiet kind of reputation for himself in the office.

His presence isn’t commanding, but it is steady. The kind of person that you never see get worked up or angry or even annoyed no matter how many last minute deadlines are assigned or how many printers get jammed when he really needs to use them.

And from what you’ve gathered, he mostly keeps to himself. It’s not from a lack of effort on your coworkers’ behalf. You know firsthand that he’s been invited to multiple post work gatherings and weekend events.

His popularity doesn’t exactly surprise you. Even with his quiet demeanor, he has a striking presence. One that makes you curious, leaves you wanting to know more.

Never mind the fact that he’s absolutely gorgeous.

Still, despite their efforts, you also know that he’s politely declined each and every invitation without ever giving any real explanation.

In all honesty, you’ve always just assumed there was a girlfriend he was eager to run home to.

But even that is nothing more than a mindless assumption. After all, you’ve only had a few interactions with him, and nothing beyond the typical small talk all office workers develop a talent for.

Even now, he makes the simple button down and slacks he’s wearing look like they came right from a runway.

You’re not quite sure why, but it almost makes you want to cry harder.

At the very least, you’re pretty sure you don’t need to worry about rumors of you having a minor meltdown in the printer room spreading through the office. Jungwon might be a hot topic of office gossip, but he’s not one to spread it.

“I am so sorry,” he repeats, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His words are spilling out a bit too fast, blurring into each other around the edges. “I just saw you in here, and I couldn’t tell if you were okay or not, so I wanted to–”

“Jungwon,” you interrupt. There’s no kind way of telling him that his rambling is only making your headache worse. That it’s only making your tears fall faster. Instead, you abet his misplaced guilt. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

A bit shakily, you muster up your most convincing smile. But your smudged mascara, slightly puffy eyelids, and still visible tear track suggest otherwise.

Jungwon’s brow just pulls together a little further. “Are you sure?” He’s unconvinced. Taking a wary glance at the printer tray, he looks back to you with concern in his eyes. “That sounded like it hurt.”

“Really,” you force another weak smile. “I’m sure.”

“Can I at least take a look at it?” Guilt is still written plain as day across his face.

Assuming he’s referring to the printer, you nod before taking one big scooch to the side. Within the confines of this tiny room, it only puts you closer to him.

And it takes less than a second for you to realize your assumption was wrong. Because Jungwon doesn’t reach for that stupid piece of A4 still jammed inside Tray 2 or even the printer tray that just nearly concussed you.

No, instead, his long fingers trek a steady path towards your hand. The one that still rests against your temple. Gently, he pries it away, replacing it with his own careful touch.

You’re all but immobile as gentle fingers press lightly against the side of your face, adjusting it slightly. His fingers are cool, soothing as he turns your injury towards the overhead light.

Pliant in his hands, it’s all you can do to watch as his brow furrows in concentration, eyes scanning over your skin. Taking the skin of your bottom lip between your teeth, you pray he doesn’t notice the sudden heat in your cheeks.

From this angle, with this proximity, you can practically count his eyelashes. They’re long, you notice. Long and wispy where they frame his dark eyes.

“No broken skin,” he finally asserts. You can feel his breath against your skin. It takes nearly all your concentration to suppress the shiver that threatens to trace your spine. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it bruises. There’s a bit of swelling, too. Keep an eye on it these next few days, and let me know if it doesn’t go down on its own.”

You’re not exactly sure if Jungwon – quiet, gentle Jungwon – would be the first person you’d go to for first aid advice, but you nod anyway.

And you’re not sure where it comes from, the sudden urge to cry again. But somewhere between the pain in your head and the soft probing of his fingers against your skin, emotions are starting to bubble beneath your stoic facade.

It’s subtle, barely perceivable, but you can feel your bottom lip beginning to quiver.

Much to your unending humiliation, you’re not the only one who notices.

You’re not sure how he does, but he does.

“Hey,” Jungwon tries. His hand is still on your face. His voice is impossibly soft, and it only makes you want to cry harder. You feel like a skittish kitten he’s trying to lure in from a rainstorm.

His lips part as if he’s going to continue. They fall shut again before he can.

Something in his brow softens. Concern is replaced with empathy.

Hand falling back to his side, he suddenly changes the subject. “You’re in the marketing department, right?”

Lips still trembling, you turn your eyes towards the floor before giving him a small nod.

From this angle, the only thing you see are his shoes. Standard leather work shoes, they’re slightly scuffed where they rest against the carpet.

They still look formal, of course. Nothing that would raise any eyebrows in a professional setting. And from far away, you’re sure they appear pristine.

But from this close, you can make out all sorts of rough edges. Little marks and dents and scuffs that serve as evidence of where he’s been.

“Why don’t you head home for the day,” Jungwon suggests gently from above you. “I’ll let your team and your supervisor know that you’re not feeling well.”

You take a deep breath, do your best to make sure your voice is steady before you respond. Shaking your head, you point out, “It’s almost the end of the day anyway–”

“Exactly,” Jungown nods, kind but firm. “There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Actually,” you grimace, trying not to let the truth inspire another round of tears. “I need the report I was trying to print. I have to turn it in before I leave today.”

There’s a beat of silence. You’re worried that Jungwon will keep offering you too much kindness, so you rush to fill it. “It’s fine, though. I think the paper jam is almost fixed, and I already sent the report to the printer, so I’m sure it will come through in a minute–”

“Perfect,” Jungwon interrupts again. “I’ll take it to your boss, then. Alan, right? I’ve spoken with him before. I’ll also let him know that you went home for the day.”

“Jungwon, you don’t have to–”

“I know.” At the interruption, your eyes snap back to him. There’s an intensity in his eyes when you match his gaze. Something so sincere that it’s hard to look away. Even though you know your eyes are still shiny with tears you wish you’d hidden better. Even if the stress and exhaustion and weariness are probably written plain as day across your features.

“I know,” he repeats. “I want to. Go home and get some rest, okay?”

It’s probably stupid, to agree so easily. But something in his eyes has you believing, even if just for a moment, that everything will be just fine if you do what he suggests. That all of your concerns and worries will work themselves out and you’ll be able to come into the office tomorrow feeling refreshed for once. For the first time in a long time.

So you nod. You let him help you up off the floor and don’t bother hiding your face as you wipe the last of your unshed tears from your eyelashes. It probably only smudges your mascara further, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about that, either.

The printer is still jammed and your report isn’t turned in and you’ll have to walk past your entire team back to your desk to get your things on your way out.

But for this fleeting moment, those worries feel small. Distant. Manageable. Able to be tucked away and saved for later.

You still don’t know much about Jungwon. The only knowledge you have comes from speculation and wishful thinking. But now, more than ever, you really wish you knew something of substance.

But you have no idea how to tell him that. Don’t know if you even should. So instead, you say what you can.

“Thank you, Jungwon.”

For a moment, all he does is smile. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes. Makes them sparkle a little brighter.

His voice, like the rest of him, is gentle when he says, “Sure thing, ___.”

…..

Despite the fact that it accounts for roughly eighty percent of your job, you prefer to avoid your email inbox like the plague.

Most days, by the time you do get around to checking it, it’s already jam packed with unreasonable requests and last-minute changes and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors.

When you sit down at your desk on Tuesday morning, you’re extra reluctant. After the printer fiasco yesterday, you’re feeling particularly sensitive to all of the potential bullshit. And you have the distinct feeling that a rather nasty message about leaving the office early unannounced is surely waiting for you.

But the inevitable can only be delayed so long. With a wince and a final swig of coffee, you muster the courage to give the mail icon on your desktop a double click.

The top of your inbox is filled with the usual nonsense. A request for a meeting tomorrow morning on a project idea you’ve had finalized for months. An RSVP form for the optional, but highly encouraged, upcoming staff party. A reminder from your boss that final quarterly reports need to be submitted by Friday at the latest.

A few lines down, though, something out of the ordinary catches your eye. Checking the time stamp, you see that it was sent right as the day started.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Printer Issue Follow-Up

Contemplating for a moment, you frown. The first floor of Vesselsoft is no stranger to printer jams. They’re typical occurrences, not major problems to be resolved via email. You didn’t think there was a printer issue to follow up on.

But it’s far more intriguing than anything else on your work account. So, ignoring all of the other messages, you open the email from Jungwon.

Good morning ____,

I hope you’re doing well. I wanted to let you know that the workroom printer jam has been fixed, and your report was delivered safe and sound yesterday evening. I also wanted to check in and see how your head is feeling.

Best,

Jungwon

You reread it. Once. Twice.

It’s a simple message, all things considered. But it has you searching for subtext where there likely isn’t any. If anything, this serves as a confirmation of what you already knew about Jungwon.

He’s kind. Considerate. The type of person that would help you fix a jammed printer and check in on you the next morning. Right when he clocks in.

The type that could probably tell that your head was the least of your concerns yesterday, but still chooses to ask how you’re doing without drawing excess attention to it.

For a moment, you almost wish he would make a habit of attending after hours work events. You have the distinct feeling that sucking up to your superiors would be a little less awful if someone like him was around to do it with you.

From: You

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Printer Issue Follow-Up

Good morning Jungwon,

Thank you for resolving that printer issue! And thank you for checking in. My head is feeling much better today.

Thanks again,

____

After a final once over, you press the send button, watching as the animation shows the message flying out from your inbox.

You imagine it flying into his. It’s subconscious, the way you start to picture what his face will look like when he sees it.

You know he’s in the programming department, which is on the same floor as your office. Honestly, you’re a bit surprised you haven't seen him around more.

Will he smile, you wonder. Will he have that same, gentle fondness in his eyes he seems to carry with him everywhere?

You don’t get an answer to that particular question, but you do learn that Jungwon is an incredibly prompt communicator.

It’s barely been ten minutes before your inbox is chiming again.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Printer Issue Follow-Up

Sure thing, ___. Glad to hear it.

Jungwon

You can’t hide the small smile that threatens to turn the corners of your lips upward. It’s not like he’s done anything particularly groundbreaking. But even bits of kindness have become a bit of a rarity for you these days.

You can’t think of anyone else in the office that would insist on sending you home thirty minutes early and offer to finish up your work for you. You can’t think of anyone else who would have navigated yesterday’s fiasco with as much gentle care as he did.

You can’t remember the last time someone bothered to consider you. To lighten your load when they noticed you starting to sink under the weight of it.

So you’re smiling. Despite the fact that it’s still a Tuesday morning and you have a long week ahead of you. Despite the fact that you’re still very much locked into a job you mostly despise.

Mentally, you make a note to give some gesture of your gratitude. To do something that will brighten his day a bit, too.

But you don’t know him. Don’t know how he takes his coffee or if he has a favorite brand of ballpoint pen or if he could use an extra favor from someone in the marketing department. All the sorts of things that coworkers do to show a little bit of appreciation.

But the universe, at least in part, seems to be on your side today.

When you head into the staff kitchen for your mid-morning coffee refill, you find it already occupied.

It’s a bit ridiculous, the way you suddenly feel flustered. Have the urge to smooth your hair, fix your blouse.

He has his back turned to you, and it takes you nearly half a minute of contemplation to decide whether or not to say something. In the end, the decision is made for you.

Your phone lights up with an urgent request that you check over the second half of the report you – well, Jungwon – submitted last night.

Sighing, you turn away from the kitchen. Your second cup of coffee, and a conversation with a certain programmer, will just have to wait.

You do, however, notice one last thing before you go. Watching silently, you can’t help but smile a bit as you watch Jungwon add two sugar packets to his mug.

Sweet, you think. Just like him. And now you have at least one bit of information to work with.

After submitting the edits on your report, you decide to use your recently earned knowledge. Deciding that he’s worth the splurge, you open the delivery page of the cafe down the street, the one that’s ridiculously overpriced but undoubtedly makes the best coffee in the area.

And when you order it in his name, a hot coffee with two sugars, you ask the barista to attach a note.

Thank you again for yesterday. I hope this is how you like your coffee!

An hour later, your inbox chimes with another message.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Thank You

You’re too kind, ____. Thank you for the coffee. How did you know just how I like it?

All the best,

Jungwon

If his words make you smile a little too hard, well, you figure no one ever has to know.

The universe, however, would seem to have other plans.

Of everyone in the marketing department, you find your coworker Grace to be the most bearable. A few years older than you, she was by far the most welcoming when you joined the team.

And you have the sneaking suspicion she has just as much disdain for your supervisor as you, even if the two of you have never openly discussed it.

Unfortunately, she does have the fatal flaw of never being able to finish her work day without getting herself involved in someone else’s business. For the most part, you’re spared from her nosiness.

Mostly because your life doesn’t carry the same flair for drama that she loves most. But today, she decides to give it a shot anyway.

Standing behind your office chair, she nearly startles you out of your seat when she asks, “Who’s got you smiling like that?”

Closing the email as quickly as you can, you turn to face her.

“No one.” It’s too rushed, too evasive. She sees right through it.

“Mhmm.”

Heat rising in your cheeks, you double down. “No, really.” Scrambling for a lie, your eyes land on one of your desk photos. One that shows your childhood cat, affectionately named Mr. Snuggles by your elementary school self. “I just heard from the vet that my cat is feeling a lot better. I was worried she was really sick.”

It’s a bold faced lie. Mr. Snuggles has been dead since your third year of high school.

“Ah,” Grace says. Her features fall slightly as she realizes she won’t be getting a worthy scoop from you. Realizing that’s probably not an appropriate reaction, she forces a smile. “That’s great! I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” you nod, hoping it will mark the end of the conversation.

But Grace isn’t quite ready to let it go. “That does remind me, though. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Uh oh.

“You’re not seeing anyone, right?” You’re not sure how a sick cat would remind her of your dating life, but you suppose there are larger mysteries to be solved.

And on second consideration – oh. Is it really that obvious? “No,” the syllable drags as you attempt to tread carefully. “Why?”

Grace shrugs, but the conversation feels more calculated than nonchalant. “I was at my friend’s baby shower a couple of weeks ago, and her younger brother just moved back to the city. He’s been living abroad since high school. He’s around your age and a total catch. I didn’t talk to him much, but he reminded me of you a bit. I think the two of you would get on.”

“Oh,” is all you say. Your uncertainty must be written all over your features, because Grace is quick to continue.

“No pressure, of course. But let me know if you’d like me to pass his number along.”

Do you? It’s been ages since you went on a date. And even longer since you went on a date with someone you’d describe as a total catch.

And apparently, your single-ness is painfully visible to the people around you if Grace was able to pick up on it so easily.

Besides, it might be nice, you think. To have a conversation with someone that isn’t about quarterly reports or upcoming deadlines or jammed printers.

But then your mind wanders to the last conversation you had about a jammed printer. To a set of pretty, dark eyes and a pair of gentle hands.

To a string of email conversations that don’t really mean anything. But you almost wish they did.

It’s messy, you think. Far from ideal. JUngwon might not be in your department, but he still works just down the hall. Inter company relationships aren’t forbidden, but they do carry a certain amount of risk.

Jungwon isn’t petty. He wouldn’t make your life a living hell if things were to end badly. But you might start feeling awkward in the staff kitchen and you might have to start timing your walks to the parking lot so that they don’t coincide with his.

Small adjustments. Minor inconveniences more than anything.

Besides, it’s all conjecture.

You can count the conversations you’ve had with Jungwon on your fingers, and the majority have been channeled through your work email.

It’s hardly romantic.

But even as you try to see things from a detached, logical perspective, one thought keeps swimming back to you.

You think you could talk about jammed printers forever, as long as it was with him.

Sighing, your heart can’t decide if it wants to sink to your stomach or crawl up your throat at the realization.

Turning back to Grace, you just offer her a tight smile. “I’ll let you know.”

…..

In the coming weeks, your coincidental run-ins with Jungwon start to become more and more frequent.

First, it’s the two of you just so happening to need a coffee refill at the same time. When your path cross in the staff kitchen, you raise an eyebrow at the sugar packets he adds to his mug and he shakes his head as you take a long sip of your plain, bitter drink of choice.

Then, it’s the morning in the parking lot when the two of you just so happen to arrive at the same time, pulling into adjacent parking spots. His smile is gentle, albeit a bit sleepy, when he bids you, “Good morning.”

Your heart flutters a bit when you return the sentiment. You do your best to ignore it.

Next, you stumble across him in the staircase on an otherwise quiet afternoon. This time, however, he’s already deep in another conversation. Or, you realize at second glance, trying very hard to wiggle his way out of another conversation.

For all intents and purposes, Jenna from the legal department is a sweet girl. A bit overbearing at times and doesn’t always take well to being told no, but she’s harmless for the most part. Smart and driven and you admit a little glumly, quite pretty.

Even underneath the overhead fluorescents in the stairway, she manages to avoid looking washed out.

They’re already talking by the time you get there, and the only thing you catch is the tail end of their rather one-sided conversation.

“It’s a great place, really,” Jenna insists, smiling a little too brightly. “And the food is to die for. They’re always running really unique specials. I think you’d really like it.”

And you could just turn around and pretend not to have seen anything. You could just take the elevator instead. In fact, you probably should.

But suddenly, it’s as if your shoes have been filled with lead. Feet frozen to the earth, all you can do is watch.

“Oh,” Jungwon reaches for the back of his neck. “Thanks for thinking of me, Jenna, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.”

“Oh, really?” she pouts. “Is there another night that would work bett–”

“Jungwon!” Your voice is too loud, reverberating off the walls of the stairway in a way that has two pairs of eyes immediately darting towards you. And interrupting had seemed like a good idea a few seconds ago, but now you realize your fatal mistake.

You have no plan. No idea what to say next.

Still, you force a smile. “Just the person I was looking for.”

You don’t think you’re imagining it, the immediate wash of relief that colors Jungwon’s features.

“Hey, ___,” Jenna waves, a bit dejectedly. She doesn’t exactly look pleased to see you, and you can’t really blame her. “Could you give us a minute? I was just in the middle of–”

“Sorry, Jenna,” you shake your head. “This is kind of urgent.”

“Right,” Jungwon nods, looking at you again. “We’d better go then.”

“But I–”

“See you around, Jenna.” You’re tone is too bright as you spin around, making a beeline back towards the door. A flicker of satisfaction warms in your chest when you realize Jungwon is right on your heels.

He waits until the two of you are back in the empty hallway, closed door serving as a barrier between you and Jenna, before he speaks.

Looking at you, he quirks his head to the side. “So, what’s the urgent thing you need help with?”

Oh. Right.

Sighing, you decide honesty, or at least partial honesty, might be your best bet.

“Sorry,” your smile is sheepish, “did I read that wrong? There’s nothing urgent. I just…” you trail off, searching for the words. “It just looked like you might have needed an exit.”

For a moment, he says nothing. The silence gives your mind too much room to spin

Maybe you did read things wrong. Maybe he was enjoying a perfectly pleasant conversation with perfectly pleasant Jenna. Maybe he was looking forward to going to a nice restaurant with her and trying all sorts of unique specials and–

“Thank you.”

“What?”

Jungwon’s eyes soften. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost describe his expression as… fondness. “An exit,” he clarifies. “I did need one. So thank you.”

“Right.” Your voice is suddenly breathless, and you can’t think of a good excuse for it. Feigning a nonchalance you don’t feel, you wave off his gratitude, “Anytime.”

“Careful,” Jungwon warns, but the same hint of teasing, the same glimmer of affection, is still there. “I just might take you up on that.”

“It’s a good thing I meant it, then.”

Jungwon’s features soften into a smile. A small one, meant just for the two of you. Reaching up, he pushes a stray strand of hair from his eyes.

It’s only natural that you follow the movement. His hands are nice, you think. Long, lithe fingers, and–

You frown, eyes zeroing in on the knuckles of his right hand.

Bruises, you realize. Dark, purple bruises span the length of his knuckles. Angry and mottled and from what you can tell, recent.

And so many. You can’t imagine what he could have possibly done to earn them.

Gaze still trained on the injury, your eyes widen. “Are you okay?”

It’s Jungwon’s turn to be confused. “What?”

“Your hand,” you nod at it. “Are those bruises?”

“Oh.” He shrugs, brushes it off like it’s nothing. But his hand falls to his side, obscured from your sight, all the same. “Yeah, I just slipped the other day trying to hang a picture in my apartment. The frame caught me funny when it fell.”

“You… slipped.”

Your disbelief must be apparent, because Jungwon is quick to add, “My hand slipped, really. My phone started ringing, and it caught me off guard.”

“Ouch,” you grimace. “That sounds like it hurt.”

Again, Jungwon shrugs. But his eyes are doing that thing again. Sparkling. “It’s not so bad.”

“Still,” you insist. “You should be more careful.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. It’s just the two of you, alone in a dimly lit hallway. His gaze is trained on yours. The distance between you is respectable, appropriate. Suggests that the two of you are coworkers and nothing more. But you have the distinct feeling that he’s not entirely talking about hanging pictures when he says, “I probably should.”

…..

The next morning, Grace is the first person you see as you walk into the office. And she’s already waiting for you. As soon as you come in, she hands you a coffee with an apologetic smile.

“Uh oh.” You hang your coat, accepting the cup from her hands. It’s not unusual to receive coffee from a coworker, but it usually comes as a form of consolation. “What’s this for?”

“It’s from Alan, actually.”

Your lips flatten. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’s not that bad, really.” Grace’s smile is less than convincing. “He just wants us all to get together this Friday night after work at that bar down the street. Y’know, to network.”

You groan internally. There go your plans for a relaxing Friday at home.

“How is it networking if it’s just our team? We see each other every day.”

“That’s the other part,” Grace nods towards the cup in your hand. “Didn’t you notice he pulled out all the stops? That’s from the shop down the road. The one that charges eleven dollars for a small latte.”

“Oh god,” you groan, this time audibly. “What else does he want?”

“We’ve all been strongly encouraged to invite people from different teams around the company.”

You suppress a strong urge to roll your eyes. “Of course we have.”

Privately, you think that if Alan wants to network so bad, he should be responsible for creating the guest list himself. Outwardly, you just sigh.

As if you didn’t have enough on your plate already. Now you need to schmooze some other poor employee into wasting their Friday night talking about work.

Sitting down at your desk, you take a sip of your coffee. It is admittedly delicious. The thought only makes you want to bang your head on your keyboard even more.

The problem of finding a plus one follows you all the way through the afternoon. All the way to the workroom, where you once again stumble into a certain blonde programmer that’s beginning to feel like part of your daily routine.

This time, Jungwon is alone.

He’s frowning at the printer, brow furrowed.

“Don’t tell me it’s jammed.”

When he sees that it’s you, his features immediately soften. He smiles and something tugs at your heart. It’s enough to have you forgetting about Friday night, even if just for a moment.

“No, thankfully. My computer just doesn’t seem to want to connect to this printer.”

“Mm,” you hum. “Send it to me, and I’ll try printing from mine.”

Jungwon shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll just go up to the accounting department and try their printer.”

“Jungwon,” you level him with a look. “You are the last person to be telling me I don’t have to do you a favor. It’s really no problem. Just send it over.”

“Okay,” he finally relents.

Waiting for it to ping through on your end, an idea suddenly strikes you. You’re not sure if it’s a good one or if your judgment is starting to be warped by all of the toner cartridge fumes, but here, in a quiet workroom with nothing but Jungwon and a half-working printer to keep you company, you find a bit of your bravery.

“I know this probably isn’t your idea of a perfect evening,” you start. Your words feel too loud in this tiny space. “But the marketing team is getting together after work for drinks this Friday night. We’re also encouraged to branch outside of our department and invite other company employees, so if you’re free, we’d love to have you.” The more you say, the worse it sounds to your own ears. Why would anyone, much less Jungwon, want to come to a work event for the marketing team. Suddenly embarrassed you even brought it up, you find yourself rambling. “The bar is actually pretty nice. It’s not super fancy or anything, but it has, uh, really great chandeliers. It’s a nice ambience, and–”

“___.” Jungwon interrupts with the sound of your name.

“Yeah?” You’re trying not to sound too hopeful, but you have the distinct feeling that you fail miserably. Despite your hesitance, you realize something.

You want him to say yes.

You want him to give you a different response than he gives everyone else. A different response than he gave Jenna.

You want him to say yes, even though no one wants to go to a work event for the marketing team on a Friday night.

You want him to say yes anyway, because it’s you.

“I’d love to, really.” He reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck. “But I’m busy Friday night.”

Short. Succinct. To the point. He doesn’t spare any extra details.

You already knew it was a long shot. But it stings all the same.

You wanted to be the exception to the rule. Someone that would finally get him to say yes. Or at the very least, someone he would bother to give an actual reason for his absence to.

“Oh.” Your voice is smaller than you mean for it to be. “Of course!” And now it’s too loud, too bright. You can’t find the happy medium, can’t find your natural tone. “I’m sure whatever it is will be way more fun, anyway.”

Jungwon just gives you a small smile, not bothering to affirm or refute your assumption. Not deigning to add any more details.

It kind of makes you wish that the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

“Well, I should probably get back to my desk.” You don’t know why you’re scrambling for excuses. Jungwon clearly doesn’t feel the need to provide any. “Did everything print okay?” You nod towards the small stack of papers in his hands.

Jungwon is still looking at you. His lips part, as if he wants to say something. Brow creased, it’s as if he’s at war with himself. As if he can’t decide what to say or how to say it.

After a beat, his mouth falls shut again. He gives a minute shake of his head. You watch as his hair sways in time with the movement.

“Yeah,” he tells you. But he still hasn’t bothered to look down at the document between his fingers. “Everything printed fine.”

“Okay.” You nod again. “Good.” Your voice sounds hollow in your ears. “Well, I’ll see you around, then.”

I’ll see you around?

It takes all of your willpower not to cringe outwardly. It’s the most awkward, stilted thing you could have possibly said, but you’re not sure how else to fill the stifling silence.

“Of course,” Jungwon nods. “Have a good day, ____.” The worst part is that he looks like he genuinely means it. “And enjoy your Friday night.”

“Right.” Your smile is feeble, doesn’t reach your eyes. “You too.”

You’re so caught up in your own humiliation that you don’t notice the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes either. “Sure thing.”

…..

Changing your clothes in the last stall of the office bathroom kind of feels like a new low for you. But by the time Friday evening comes around, the last thing you want to do is attend a mandatory – scratch that, highly encouraged – work event at a bar still wearing your blazer and slacks.

The jeans and sweater you replace them with are still nice by any standard, but they’ll feel a bit less stifling after a handful of drinks.

Grace, at least, seems to have the same idea. Deciding she’s by far the most bearable person of the evening, you slide down next to her in the booth.

Of course, that thought only makes you think of another person you’d invited. Someone whose absence feels especially notable as you nurse the remnants of your first cocktail.

You don’t really want to get drunk tonight. You don’t want to be here at all.

You put in your forty hours of work this week, and the only place you want to be is at home in a pair of sweatpants.

The only person that would have made it a little more worth it made it very clear that he had better things to do. The details of which, of course, he didn’t bother to share.

The thought spurs you to take another long sip.

You don’t want to get drunk. But you don’t want to think about him either.

Besides, Grace doesn’t seem to share your reservations.

It’s barely been forty minutes when she pulls out her phone, thoroughly tipsy, and decides that you are the best person to help her sort through her list of matches on her favorite dating app.

“He’s cute, right?” She flashes her phone screen towards you.

He is. You nod and tell her as much.

His eyes might not sparkle very much. And his hair might not fall perfectly over his forehead. And he might not furrow his eyebrow in concentration whenever the printer in the workroom gives him a hard time –

No.

Tonight is not about him. He made it very clear that he had no interest in being here tonight, and the last thing you’re going to do is spend the evening fixated on him.

Grace, at least, seems willing to help on that front.

“Oh,” she suddenly interjects from your side. “That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to show you a picture of my friend’s brother. You know, the one I mentioned a couple of weeks ago?”

It’s a bad idea, probably. You’re still feeling slighted and bitter and no matter how many times you tell it not to, your mind keeps wandering to Jungwon.

Despite your reluctance, the cocktails are catching up with you. There’s a pleasant, slightly numb haze in your mind. It makes resistance feel futile.

All you do is nod, and Grace starts searching for his social media profile. It takes her a few more tries than it would sober, but she does eventually find it.

“Here,” she says, offering her phone to you. “His name is Jay. He grew up here until he left to go to an international high school. He’s been living abroad ever since, but he recently moved back. Their dad is pretty high up at a software development company. I think he came back because he landed a job there too.”

You do your best to absorb the information, to nod along with what she says, but in all honesty, you’re quite distracted.

Jay is quite distracting. His feed is well-curated without being overbearing. Covered in travel photos, unbelievably flattering candid shots, and stunning nature pictures, he immediately piques your interest.

Not to mention the fact that he’s stunning. Maybe not quite as stunning as –

No. Again, you refuse to go there.

You’re not sure if it’s the drinks or the photos or the spite that makes it suddenly feel like a good idea, but you’re telling Grace to pass your number along to Jay before you can think better of it.

And if nothing else, at least he doesn’t seem like the kind of person that will make you wonder. Or even wait for long.

You’ve barely gotten home, mind mostly clear even if it is still a bit muddled from the exhaustion of a long week, when your phone screen lights up with a notification.

It’s just a string of numbers for now, but you’re quick to create a new contact.

Hey, the message reads. This is Jay. Grace gave me your number. I hope that’s alright!

A few seconds later, another text comes through.

Jay: How do you feel about art exhibitions? There’s one opening this weekend right next to one of the best coffee spots in the city. I’d love for you to join me.

It’s simple. Straightforward. Not something you’ll search for subtext or pick apart for weeks.

And it’s easy to respond to.

You: That sounds great! I’ll look forward to it

…..

Another week at work passes with the same monotonous, sluggish flow as any other. But this time, it’s interspersed with messages you’ve started to look forward to.

You’ve just sat down with your third cup of coffee on Monday morning when the first one chimes through.

Jay: Good morning, ___. I hope your Monday is off to a better start than mine.

A second message comes through. This one is an image. One that unmistakably shows a stack of papers covered in a dark brown stain you recognize all too well.

You: Oh no!

Pausing for a moment, your teeth worry at your bottom lip. Deciding to go for it, you send your own picture in return.

The image of your full coffee cup goes through, along with another message.

You: I think it might be. My coffee is still in my cup, at least

It takes him less than a minute to respond.

Jay: Black coffee! Oh, you mean business. I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but I always have to add sugar and cream to mine.

You can’t help the smile that starts to spread over your lips. Sugar and cream. An aversion to bitterness. It reminds you of someone else that always adds a little sweetness to their –

Shaking your head, you force the comparison away. Putting the other man firmly out of mind, you decide to return Jay’s lighthearted message with one of your own.

You: Don’t tell anyone, but this is my third cup of the morning.

Jay: Third cup of straight black coffee. Whew, remind me not to get on your bad side today.

Jay: Speaking of which, do you always drink it black or could you be persuaded into something a little sweeter?

He’s talking about coffee, yes, but it feels just a little bit like flirting. Biting at your lip again, you decide there isn’t much to lose.

Besides, it’s kind of… fun. You can’t remember the last time you were well and truly flirted with.

You: Depends who’s asking

Jay: Hmm

Jay: I’ll have to work on my persuasion skills then

Jay: The place I’m taking you to on Saturday has an insanely delicious caramel latte, and I need to know what you think of it

You: Tempting

You: But I’m not sure I’m convinced

Jay: I’ll work on that, then

You can’t hide your smile this time.

A minute later, two more texts ping through.

Jay: Duty calls, unfortunately

Jay: The rest of my Monday is stacked, so if I am slow to respond to any messages, that’s why. Enjoy the rest of your day, ___

He’s straightforward. Communicative. You appreciate the notice. The fact that if you do send another message without a response, you won’t have to waste your day wondering why.

You: Ugh, don’t you hate it when you actually have to work at work?

You: I hope all goes well! Enjoy the rest of your day too, Jay

Setting your phone down, you return your gaze to your computer screen and unfortunately very full inbox.

Your focus, however, remains half-occupied by a message thread sitting dormant on your tucked away phone.

…..

Jay’s messages begin to become a highlight of your work day. Despite the fact that there’s often a large lapse in time due to both of your busy schedules, you start to anticipate every text he manages to send.

And they only serve to build more excitement around your upcoming date.

By the time Thursday comes around, you’ve all but mentally clocked out for the week. Refilling your water bottle in the staff kitchen, your mind is so occupied that you almost run right into the person coming through the door the same time you’re leaving.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was–”

“___.” The sound of your name stops you in your tracks. “Breathe,” Jungwon is smiling, but there’s a hint of concern there, too. “You’re okay.”

“Jungwon,” you exhale. Your frantic apology begins to subside, replaced by an overwhelming surge of self-consciousness as you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You haven’t spoken to him, haven’t even seen him, since he rejected your invitation last Friday.

He’s not trying to pick at old wounds, but it still stings a bit when he asks, “How was Friday?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, “It was a typical work gathering.” Then again, it occurs to you that he might not know. Since he never bothers attending any of them.

Not that it really matters. Besides, you’re lying a bit anyway. Typical work gatherings don’t usually end with you setting up a date. Not that you want Jungwon to know about that either.

You can't pinpoint exactly why, but the thought of him knowing doesn’t sit with you quite right. Besides, it’s not like he’s ever shown any interest in your personal life, anyway. He would find it weird, most likely. Annoying, if you were to divulge any details.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry again that I couldn’t come.” Just like that day in the workroom, he reaches back to scratch at his neck. You have the distinct sense that he’s the one who suddenly feels a bit awkward. “Friday nights are…” he trails off, “Friday nights are hard for me, usually. I’m always pretty free on Saturday mornings, thought, so if–”

“Don’t worry about it.” Oh god. Your intention certainly wasn’t to make him feel guilty for having a social life outside of the office. Suddenly worried that you read the situation all wrong, you’re quick to assure him, “You don’t have to come to anything that you don’t want to. And especially if you have plans already. I just asked you because my supervisor wanted us to invite people from other departments.”

If his face falls slightly, you’re too caught up in your own rambling to notice.

“And, you know,” you continue, “since you helped me that day with the printer.”

“The printer,” he echoes, voice suddenly hollow. “Right.”

“Right,” you echo. The room falls into silence again, and this time, it’s weighted with a horrible awkwardness neither of you can shake.

“Well,” you finally say, holding up your bottle. “I got my water, so I’m gonna head back to my desk.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you around?” It’s just as stilted as it was before, but you’re desperate for any way to exit this conversation.

“Yeah,” Jungwon repeats. “Sure thing, ___.”

…..

By the time Saturday morning comes, you’re a mess of anticipation and frayed nerves.

You’re early to arrive at the address of the coffee shop Jay sent you a few nights ago, but he’s already there waiting for you. And his social media might have painted an impressive picture, but one look tells you that it still doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

Jay is gorgeous.

Almost as gorgeous as –

You kill the thought as soon as it comes. This day isn’t about him, and comparisons will do you little good.

Instead, you refocus on your date.

He’s polished and put together in an effortless sort of way. The kind of person that you see once in passing and then can’t stop thinking about for the rest of the week. His features are angular, sharp. But they soften into a warm smile the second he lays eyes on you.

In the end, it doesn’t take him much convincing at all to persuade you to try the caramel latte. And he’s right. It is absolutely delicious.

It was easy to fall into a natural rhythm over text, and your face-to-face conversation flows even better.

He tells you about life abroad and all of his favorite parts of living in another country. He tells you about his family and what he missed most about this city he’s learning to call home again.

He listens, actively, while you tell him the more mundane details of your own life. His questions are well-timed and never feel like interruptions.

His kindness doesn’t feel like a facade. His interest doesn’t feel like a cheap trick to get what he wants from you and then disappear without a word.

And when it becomes painfully apparent at the art exhibition that he’s far more well-versed in the subject than you, he doesn’t make you feel stupid. Instead, he takes his time explaining each piece. Highlights the aspects that would be most interesting to someone without any kind of background in art.

He’s kind, considerate, and the day passes by in a blur of fleeting glances and shy smiles. At the end of it, he offers to drive you home and opens your car door for you. Small gestures that make you feel seen, considered. Valued.

When he says goodbye with a hug that doesn’t last nearly long enough, the smell of his cologne is something you hope will linger as long as the memories of the day do.

It’s easy, you think, as you watch his car drive away from your window. Jay is someone that’s easy to be around, to spend time with.

And when he messages you later that night, reiterating his enjoyment of the day and asking to meet again, he’s easy to say yes to.

…..

You’re not sure how, but the only person that seems even more excited than you about you and Jay is Grace.

Despite the fact that your communication as of late hasn’t involved anything scandalous, she feels the need to rehash every detail until she’s heard it one hundred times.

It doesn’t matter how many times you tell her that the last text message he sent you wasn’t anything to swoon over. In fact, it was rather short and unexciting.

Jay: Have you seen my ring by chance? I remember wearing it that day I was in your car, and I haven’t been able to find it since then.

But Grace won’t hear it. You’re not exactly sure what she heard from Jay’s sister, but she spends the rest of the coming week hounding you over the details regardless.

The staff kitchen is hardly the place for conversations about your personal life, but the setting doesn’t seem to bother her at all. Instead, she pretends to be busy washing an already clean coffee mug while she asks again, “So you went out for the first time last Saturday, right?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“And then you got dinner together Wednesday night after work?”

“Yep.” You’re pretty sure she’s already asked the same question at least six times.

“And he’s planning to take you out again this Saturday?”

“Right.”

“My god, you two are practically married.” She punctuates the absurd claim with a wistful sigh.

“We most certainly are not.”

“Okay, but you literally just met, and you’ve already seen each other twice with plans for a third.”

She does have a point there. Never mind the fact that you haven’t dated anyone in a while. It is a quick timeline, no matter how you look at it. But you’ve been itching to spend time with him ever since your first date, and Jay seems to be on the same page.

It feels fast, yes, but it doesn’t feel forced. For you, that’s what matters most.

That, along with the fact that a certain someone has been noticeably absent from your mind the more time you spend with him. For now, you’ll choose not to read too much into that.

“God,” Grace sighs again. “I miss going on dates.”

“What are you talking about? Didn’t you go on one a couple weeks ago?” You distinctly remember helping her set it up that night at the bar after work.

“Well, yeah, but I mean good dates. You know, getting properly wined and dined and all that. I guess I’ll just have to live vicariously through you.”

“We went to dinner once, and there was hardly any wine involved.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. All I’m saying is you’re lucky to be seeing someone that actually puts in effort for your dates and doesn’t just take you to the closest bar to his office and hope that buying you a handful of drinks means he’ll get lucky.” Pausing for a moment, she looks up, eyes landing somewhere just over your shoulder. “Right, Jungwon?”

Immediately, it’s as if you’ve been submerged in ice cold water. Because there’s no way she said–

“Jungwon?” Turning around, you’re put face to face with the last person you wanted to overhear this particular conversation.

“Hey, ___.” There’s a smile on his lips. Small as always, but something feels wrong about it. “Grace,” he nods at the girl over your shoulder. “Sorry,” he’s still looking at her, “were you asking me something?”

“No, we were just leaving, actua–”

Grace pays you no attention. “Just telling ___ how lucky she is that her man actually puts effort into their dates, since it feels like such a rarity these days.”

“He is not my man.” The glare you send your coworker is lost as Jungwon turns back to you, eyes wide, gaze indecipherable.

“You’re dating someone?”

“I…” The easy, most available answer is yes, but you’re having a hard time getting it out. And there are other semantics involved.

Are you dating? Not really. That usually indicates some kind of commitment, exclusivity. Going on dates might be a better way to put it. But clarifying that miniscule distinction for Jungwon feels strange for some reason.

“My friend’s brother,” Grace supplies unhelpfully from the corner. “What can I say? I’m a natural born matchmaker.” Her proud smile is lost on the both of you. You’re only looking at each other.

“Oh.” Jungwon’s voice is small, hollow. “That’s nice. I’m happy for you.”

You want to scream, just a little bit. Or maybe cry. You can’t make up your mind.

And you’re not sure where it comes from, the sudden, overwhelming surge of guilt that begins to build in your gut. You can’t even decipher who it’s directed towards. Towards Jungwon? Towards Jay? Towards yourself?

Grace, despite her self-proclaimed talent for setting up dates, is apparently incredibly inept at reading the room. With no prompting but her own, she’s pushing forward. “He lived abroad for a while and just moved back to the city, which is like, the perfect scenario for going on dates. And he’s always had a flair for romance. I remember–”

“Well,” you interrupt, desperate for an out, “we better get back to the project we were working on—“

“What project?” Grace, it would seem, is determined to be anything but helpful.

“You know,” you glare at her, “our project.”

“Right!” She looks sheepish, finally catching the hint. “That project.”

Turning back to Jungwon, you can still see the rigidity of his features. The tension that has yet to ease. “I’ll…” you’re not sure how to part ways now without making things worse. But it feels wrong to just leave without saying anything. For the third time in the span of days, you tell him, “I’ll see you around.”

And for the third time, he agrees, “Yeah.” This time, however, his eyes still flickering with annoyance, shoulders still set with residual frustration. “Sure thing, ___.”

It’s what he always says, you realize. But this time, it’s missing that easygoing, genuine lightness he usually says it with.

This time, it sounds like rejection.

Yours or his, you’re not entirely sure.

…..

You manage to avoid Jungwon for the rest of the week. It’s ironic, almost. You were so worried about pursuing a potential relationship with him because you wanted to avoid this exact scenario.

Now, a handful of dates with someone who is very much not him tucked under your belt, you still feel the need to turn and walk the other direction whenever you think you hear his voice or get a glimpse of blonde hair.

But the office is only so big, and there are only so many corners to duck into. Barely a week has passed the next time you unwittingly bump into him.

“Oh,” you startle slightly, walking into the workroom and already finding it occupied. And of course you’d run into him here, of all places. Kneeling in front of the printer, his brow is furrowed in concentration as he tries to dislodge yet another paper jam.

“Sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for exactly, but it feels warranted regardless. “I’ll just leave, and—”

“___,” he cuts you off with the sound of your name. Looking down at him, you're met with the expanse of his back. A button down shirt tucked into dark pants. Standard work attire that has no business looking this ridiculously good on anyone. “You’re fine. You don’t need to leave. Just give me a second, and the printer’s all yours.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. If the lack of a verbal response bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he busies himself with the jammed printer, muscles of his back flexing slightly underneath the fabric of his shirt as he tugs at the stubborn papers.

Cheeks heating slightly, you force your gaze elsewhere.

“There,” he says after another minute of adjustments. Standing to full height, he turns to face you. “All fixed.”

Looking up at him, you’re about to offer a quiet thanks when your eyes land on his right cheekbone. Specifically, the fresh cut that spans the length of it.

The gasp the spills from your lips is entirely without permission. But you can’t quite help it. The wound is quite superficial, surface level at most, but it mars his otherwise perfect skin in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Without your permission, your fingers start to reach towards the injury. They make it halfway before you remember yourself, before you regain your sense of reality. Your hand falls limply back to your side.

“What happened?” You breathe.

Jungwon’s brows draw together in confusion for a moment before a flicker of realization dances across his features.

“Oh.” He exhales, fingers tapping against the broken skin of his cheekbone lightly. “Nothing. I just, er, fell the other day.”

“You fell,” you echo. Like all of his other excuses, it’s vague. Flimsy at best.

“Yeah,” he confirms with a slight nod. Again, he says, “I fell.”

It’s evasive. And it feels like more than just an explanation for his injury.

It feels like confirmation of the distance between the two of you. His final assertion that you’re nothing but a coworker to him. Someone that he tells edited versions of stories to, someone that he keeps firmly planted an arm’s length away.

Fine. If he wants to give you shitty excuses for his Friday nights and his absences at work events and now his injury that very obviously did not come from a fall, that’s just fine with you.

After all, he’s nothing but a coworker to you either. The upcoming date you have planned with Jay is enough to prove it.

“Well,” you tell him, forcing a smile. The fake, disproportionately bright kind that you only ever use with your coworkers. “I hope it heals quickly.”

And then you’re brushing past him, making your way towards the printer as if he’s nothing but an obstacle in your path.

Collecting your freshly printed document, you turn and walk out the door without so much as a backward glance.

…..

Sliding into the passenger seat of Jay’s car Thursday evening, you feel the stress melting from your shoulders the second the door shuts behind you.

This is something else he makes easy: forgetting about whatever woes you managed to acquire after a long day of work. Jay just smiles as you sit down next to him, turning down the volume on the radio as he asks about your day.

Tonight, the two of you are headed to one of your favorite diners. Somewhere where you can chat and laugh and relax over a pile of french fries and obnoxiously gaudy decor.

But before you turn down the street that leads to the restaurant, Jay asks if the two of you can make a quick stop.

“I left my bag at the gym last night,” he explains apologetically. “Do you mind if I swing by and grab it real quick? It’s on our way.”

You reassure him that it’s no problem, and a handful of minutes later, the two of you are parked outside of a rather nondescript, faded building.

Frowning slightly, your eyebrow quirks up in surprise. Although he hasn’t outright disclosed anything, from what you’ve gathered so far, Jay’s family is quite well off. The kind that pays for expensive memberships at bougie gyms with saunas and swimming pools. Not the kind that frequents dark, run down gyms in the middle of a random residential area.

Pulling his key from the ignition, Jay turns to you. “You can wait here, if you want.”

“That’s okay.” You’re already unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’m tired of sitting, anyway.” You really are. Plus, you have to admit that you’re kind of curious.

You fall into step at his side as the two of you make your way towards the building. The closer you get, the more decrepit it appears. Paint is peeling from the exterior, leaving it an odd, mottled brown color riddled with rust marks.

Even the sign, Kang’s Gym, is small, faded, and only visible once you’re nearly to the entrance.

Jay steps in front of you, holding the door open for you to enter.

The inside, you realize as you step in, is in no better shape than the outside. The wall closest to you is lined with weightlifting equipment that looks as if it were pulled from past decades.

Padding is torn in places, and questionable stains cover the place, accumulated from years of use.

You’re about to ask him outright why on earth he patronizes such a run down place when your eyes land on the far wall of the gym. There, you think you find your answer.

There’s no weightlifting equipment or cardio machines. Instead, the majority of available space is filled with several sets of boxing rings. Like the rest of the gym, they’re equally faded and worn with years of use.

But the lighting in that part of the gym is noticeably better. Far brighter, more intentional. As if the rest of the gym is just for show and that is the true purpose of this building.

You’re suddenly overcome with the urge to take a second glance at your date.

He has a lean, athletic build, yes. The kind that you assumed came from some kind of regular exercise regiment and not his office job.

But boxing wasn’t exactly what you expected.

Jay turns to you. His expression gives nothing away, holds no indication that this is anything out of the ordinary for him. “I think I left it over by the locker rooms.”

Encasing your hand in his, he leads you towards the rings. Several of them are occupied, mostly by one-on-one sparring matches.

Walking past the first one, the two men inside the ring turn to look at you and Jay as you pass.

“Hey, man,” the first one offers with a nod of recognition that Jay returns. As his eyes slide over to you, they widen slightly in surprise. Gaze falling to your intertwined hands, the man just shakes his head slightly before returning to his sparring partner.

Moving past them, you shake the odd interaction from your mind.

You spare fleeting glances for the rest of the people you pass. For a moment, you try to imagine Jay in the ring instead of them. It’s an odd contradiction with what you’ve come to associate with him.

Easygoing. Considerate. Even tempered. They’re traits that feel at odds with the kind of stark physicality required in a boxing ring.

Then again, the more you consider it, the more you start to make sense of it. Jay is all of those things, yes, but there’s also an undercurrent of something else.

A quiet intensity he carries with him. Something he has control over. Something he can channel when needed.

The more you think about it, the easier it is to picture him in the ring, throwing precise, calculated punches until victory rests on his square shoulders.

You’d be lying if you said the mental image didn’t pique your interest. You’re about to ask him if he’ll let you watch next time he’s in the ring when a flash of color in the last boxing ring, the one closest to the locker rooms, catches your attention.

It’s unlikely. It feels impossible. Even more so than the thought of Jay in a boxing ring. But as you draw closer, you confirm your suspicions.

After all, you would know that shade of blonde anywhere.

It takes everything in you not to stop dead in your tracks. But even as you continue forward, hand still encased in Jay’s, your eyes are trained solely on the space between Jungwon’s broad shoulders.

It’s almost inhuman, the feline agility that he moves with. He’s smaller than his opponent, but he’s faster. Lighter on his feet.

The punches he throws are dizzyingly accurate, and his sparring partner seems to think the same. A muted thud is followed by a string of expletives that become more clear the closer you get.

“Jesus, Jungwon.” The man across from him is still a bit breathless as he recovers from having the wind knocked out of him. “Bad week at work or something?”

“C’mon, Heeseung.” It doesn’t sound anything like the Jungwon you know. Gone is the quiet friendliness you’ve always heard from him. His voice is still gentle, but it carries an unmistakable command. “Stop going easy.”

“I’m not,” the other man – Heeseung – argues. “What has gotten into you? It’s like you’ve been insane since that match last week.”

“Whatever,” Jungwon scoffs, shaking his head. “Let’s just take five.”

“Make it ten,” Heeseung goads across from him.

Jungwon sends him a warning glare, but says nothing. Instead, he reaches for his water bottle at the corner of the ring, leaning against the ropes that enclose it.

All you can do is watch, suddenly fascinated by the way sweat darkens his hair, trails down the length of his neck. Jungwon gives a quick shake of his head, sending his hair scattering over his forehead as he leans further into the ropes behind him.

Tipping his head back, his throat works against a swallow as he takes a long drink from his water bottle.

Jungwon sets his water bottle down, turning towards Heeseung like he’s about to say something else when movement catches his attention.

More specifically, your movement. His eyes fall on you, and for a moment, you’re rendered just as immobile as him. His gaze widens in recognition and then suddenly, he’s standing.

Long strides eat up the length of the boxing ring as he crosses it, every step bringing him closer to you. With a distinct sort of grace and practiced ease, he jumps over the side of the ring, landing on his feet just as you and Jay pass him.

With a hand on your shoulder, he stops you both in your tracks. His touch is gentle, but commanding. It leaves little room for argument.

“This is the guy you’ve been seeing?” Jungwon’s eyes are molten lava. If you thought that day in the staff kitchen was the most visible emotion he was capable of mustering, you were sorely mistaken. The Jungwon that stands in front of you now is simmering with it, vibrating with barely contained emotions.

At your side, Jay turns back. With your hand still enclosed in his, Jay’s gaze goes straight towards Jungwon’s hand on your shoulder.

“Jungwon,” he nods coolly.

Jungwon ignores him entirely. His gaze is still trained directly on you.

Glancing between the both of them, the tension between them is palpable. Over Jungwon’s shoulder, you can see Heeseung leaning against the edge of the boxing ring as if he can’t decide whether to intervene or not.

“Well,” you say, attempting to diffuse a bit of the rising animosity, “I guess I don’t need to introduce the two of you, then.”

This time, it’s you that Jungwon ignores. Turning to Jay, he’s all venom. “And you brought her here? What the hell are you doing?”

“Relax, man.” Jay rolls his eyes. “We’re just grabbing my bag.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you left here,” he bites. “You know better than to–”

Shaking his hand off your shoulder, annoyance makes itself visible across your features. It’s one thing for Jungwon to be pissy towards your date, but it’s another entirely for him to assume that you can’t handle something as mundane as a boxing gym.

And if you're honest, the whole overprotective act just rubs you the wrong way. Why does he think he gets to ignore you all week at work and then act like he knows what’s in your best interest?

“I think I can handle watching people throw a few punches, Jungwon.” Your voice is all ice, and it changes his demeanor immediately. The anger begins to dissipate, leaving him with wide eyes that beg for your understanding.

The frustration is still there, though. “That’s not what I meant, ___.”

“I don’t really care what you meant.” You’re not sure if it’s true, but you want it to be. For now, that’s enough. “Why don’t you go back to your friend and pretend like you never saw me. You’re good at that, right?”

It’s a low blow. And it has his features falling immediately, eyebrows slackening as if you’ve slapped him.

His voice is notably gentler when he says your name. “___…”

This time, it’s Jay that speaks. “I suggest you listen to her, man. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Jungwon wants to say more. You can see it in the way his mouth twitches, in the way his shoulders still rise with tension. Finally, he relaxes. Just a fraction of an inch, but you know it’s over. At least for now.

He doesn’t say anything, but he does take a step back. And then another.

His eyes are still on you, even as Jay keeps walking, pulling you gently along with him.

By the time he finds his bag and the two of you make your way back out, Jungwon is nowhere to be found.

You can still feel eyes on you, though.

This time, it’s Heeseung’s gaze that follows you all the way out the door.

Back in Jay’s passenger seat, you turn towards your date, a million questions swimming in your mind.

“What on earth was that all about?”

Jay just frowns, knuckles white against the steering wheel. Instead of answering, he asks a question of his own. “How do you know him?”

“What?” Too confused to protest, you answer. “We work together.” Then you repeat, “What’s going on?”

Jay sighs, leans his head back against his seat. “He’s in marketing with you?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Programming. I don’t want to ask you again.” This time, you can’t help the expletive. “What the fuck was that?”

“We…” Jay trails off, searching for an explanation. “We know each other.”

“Yeah, no shit. How?”

“We went to the same middle school, before I left for high school. He was a year behind me.”

“And what?” You ask, trying to think of what kind of feud middle schoolers could possibly have that would warrant tonight’s interaction. “He stole your lunch money and you never got over it?”

“Not quite.” His lips are tight. “Look, ___. I know you can’t help who you work with, but Jungwon… he’s not who you think he is.”

“And you are?”

Jay turns to you, hurt clearly written across his features. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” you argue, doubling down. “What’s not fair is giving me vague half truths about my coworker and expecting me to just agree blindly while you evade all of my questions.” A moment of silence passes. Jay says nothing. Finally, you tell him, “If you’re not going to be honest with me, then I think you should just take me home.”

“Wait, ___–”

“I’m serious, Jay. I’m not about to go have dinner with you and pretend that this didn't just happen. Just take me home.” Softening a bit at the obvious distress on his face, you add a quiet, “Please.”

You won’t compromise your boundaries, but you don’t have it in you to be needlessly cruel, even if his evasiveness bothers you to no end.

Jay just sighs, pulling into an empty parking lot before turning around and heading in the opposite direction. Towards your apartment.

The rest of the car ride passes in stilted silence, neither of you willing to break it.

Jay is the first one to speak, but it’s not until you’re sliding out of his passenger seat, back turned towards him.

“Good night, ___.”

For a moment, you consider just ignoring him. But it feels petty, even for these circumstances. For now, you’ll just have to trust that he needs time to find a way to tell you the truth.

“Good night,” you tell him. But you still don’t look back.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

READ PART TWO HERE

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: I AM SO ANNOYEDDDDD this was all supposed to be one long fic, not two parts, but tumblr's post block limit got me. Honestly I don't know how I avoided it this long. Anyway the second part is written and will be posted soon. In the meantime, let me know what you're thinking so far! As always, thank you for reading ♡

#jungwon fanfiction #jungwon fanfic #jungwon x you #jungwon x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #jungwon scenarios #enhypen scenarios

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whiskeyghoul · 9 months ago

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She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid X Goth!reader]

A/N: self indulgent little fic here. I have been in a writing slump for a few weeks and needed to do something just a little self indulgent. So we have this which has been on my mind for ever. I love Abby Sciuto from NCIS and thought how fun it would be to see our little nerd fall in love with the alternative lab rat of the FBI. This is not proof read or anything so it might not be the absolute best but I just wanted to put something out here again.

WC: 1737

Tags: fluff, crush, first meeting, love at first sight possibly, multiple parts, opposites attract, self indulgent fic, reader is described as female, reader is alternative

Warnings: Mention of human remains.

Read part 2 here, read part 3 here

The music coming from the lab was muffled. Even through the closed door Spencer could hear the barely legible lyrics as he got closer and closer. As he reached the door and knocked there seemed to be no answer. Certain his knocking wouldn’t be heard over the noise that he now recognized as Siouxsie and the banshees. He opened the door. As soon as the barrier between him and the music was lifted it sounded so clear. It was turned up to 11 and he wondered how anyone could even focus with music that loud.

That was until he saw you, swaying along to the music, the white coat exaggerated the movements. Swishing from side to side as you reach for a pasteur pipette while bobbing your head along to the music. You seemed absorbed in the music, focussed on your work leaning over the bench and carefully dripping a clear substance on a piece of paper while still perfectly on beat with the music. Spencer cleared his throat loudly, hoping to make himself known before he interrupted you in whatever you seemed to be doing. Though it didn’t quite reach the decibel level to alert you. “L/N” he called out your last name but once again no response. So he took a few steps closer. Once Spencer was close enough he reached out and softly tapped your shoulder. You jumped in response, whirling around in shock with the pipette in your hands raised like a weapon. Like somehow you would be able to defend yourself with the lab instrument. A yelp falling from your lips.

“Oh my god! Can’t you knock!” You accused, eyes wide as you placed your free hand on the top of your chest, taking a deep breath. “I did. I also tried to clear my throat to not scare you.” Spencer retorted, his voice raised a little louder so you could hear him over the music. You twirled around, placing the pipette in the holder. “I’m Doctor Reid, from the BAU.” He continued loudly. You turned, holding your left hand up to shush him. Your right fishing the remote from your coat pocket. It gave Spencer some time to look you over.

Your lab coat was about the only light thing you wore. The outfit underneath was black on black on black. A band tee with illegible writing that peeked over a corset, layered with a ripped fishnet top underneath. The abundance of necklaces of all different lengths, cascading down your neck like silver waterfalls. Ripped jeans he wasn’t quite sure were safe for the lab environment, but the skin of your thigh caught his attention. Something inside of him stirring. He fidgeted with his hands in front of his body.

“So… you were saying?” You spoke. Spencer’s eyes snapped back to your face. You looked up at him with big eyes, a small smile accompanying them. The music was turned down now giving him room to think. Though your eyes still made it difficult to really focus. “Oh, I am Doctor Reid, from the BAU.” He answered after swallowing for a moment. “Ah! You are here for the clothing analysis, right? Penelope mentioned one of the team would come pick it up. Normally it's her or Derek, though I think Derek has complained about hearing loss.” You whirled around while rambling on, pony tail waving behind as you turned, bounding over to a table with scattered papers. Spencer followed close behind, not focussing on the words rather just the tone of your voice, a slight intrigue towards you. He didn’t even know your first name, yet somehow your mannerisms, your unconventional style, it made him want to know more. “Right.” He said, realizing he hadn’t technically answered your questions.

Spencer looked over your shoulder as you picked up a stack of papers neatly stapled together. He thought he might be a bit too close as he could smell the subtle perfume wafting off of you. Though he also strangely enjoyed it. It was sweet but not overly so. A hint of cherry that was fitting in his eyes. The color of the fruit matching that of your lipstick. As you looked over the paper and began to talk again, “So, the substance that was on the clothes seems to be turpentine. Commonly used in oil painting. The vapors can already cause irritation to the eyes, skin, and airways if exposed to them for longer periods of time.” you rambled off the words as you read them. “There were some other things found on the clothes that coincide with the oil painting. Different pigments and paint residue.” You turned, eyes still on the paper nearly bumping into Spencer as he had been standing so close. When you looked up at him surprised he could feel a tightening in his chest. “Oops, sorry.” You apologized, a small smile on your lips.

You apologized to him while he was the one in your way. “Oh it was my fault. Shouldn’t have stood so close. Sorry.” He muttered. The words falling from his lips unceremoniously. He felt like half of his intelligence had up and left his brain as he talked to you. Not really knowing what to say at that moment. His hands fidgeted at his sides again. His left hand playing with the hem of his cardigan sleeve. He cursed himself internally for being reduced to a stumbling mess in front of you. You kept standing there though. Clearly you had turned around to go somewhere and Spencer had been in your way. Yet he was nailed in place and so, it seemed to him, were you. “Did you know they used to make oil paints with human remains?” You spoke excitedly. Like you had been waiting to tell someone, anyone, that little fact. He knew that. He knew that for a long time yet seeing you, tell him a fact with such delight, made him want to lie. “Now I do.” He answered, his smile matching yours.

“It was called mummy brown. They ground up mummies, both human and animal, and put it in the paint.” You continued. Your voice trailing off slightly after the word animal. You held up the stack of papers to him. “Everything you need is in there. If you need me to clarify something just give me a call. Or stop by whenever you want.” Spencer nods after your sentence. Taking the papers from you his hand touched yours ever so slightly. His brain short circuited for a moment before the neurons started firing accordingly again. “I eh- I don’t have your number.” he stumbled over the words.

As if you realized that in that moment you took a step aside and walked past him. Walking over to a desk and rummaging through a drawer. Spencer walked a bit closer to your desk. No longer being nailed in place by some unspeakable force. You pulled out a thin sharpie, and Spencer raised a brow ever so slightly at that. You walked back over, holding out your hand to grasp his. Spencer placed his hand in yours. His mouth felt incredibly dry for a moment. His tongue was uncomfortable in his mouth. His heartbeat raced faster. Nothing like he had ever really felt before. You could have done it on the papers, or maybe even a sticky note. Yet you decided that his hand would be the perfect place to write down your number. He thought about it for a moment, your hand was soft and warm. You twisted his hand, writing down your phone number along with your name. Once you finished you let go off his hand. Spencer looked at the black numbers, committing them to memory, and your name. God your name would be bouncing around his head for days. “Y/N.” He said, testing the name. It felt right.

“That’s me, you better put that in your phone. These markers are not nearly as permanent on skin. It’s the oils.” You went on, capping the marker as you spoke. “I will. Thank you.” Spencer said and smiled. He stayed standing in place for another moment. Trying to commit you to memory just in case his eidetic memory failed him. He realized he was staring a little and cleared his throat. “I eh… I have to go.” pointing his thumb to the door. You giggled a little, a sound that made Spencer’s cheek heat up a little. “Right, pretty boy, head on out. I need to get back to work too.” You smiled casually. Spencer’s face was only heating up more. He swallowed. The nickname the others used for him sounded so much better when it came from you. He turned around to hide his ever heating face from your sight, walking over to the door quickly. Once in the opening he quickly looked back, giving an awkward wave that you returned with a smile.

When Spencer entered the bullpen his face had calmed down a little. Not feeling nearly as hot as before. He was able to think clearly again, but when he looked at your number and name on his hand he felt giddy inside. Reaching his desk he sat down, placing the analysis file on his desk. “That took you long enough, pretty boy.” Derek called out from his desk, humor in his voice. The nickname had no effect when he said it. “Sorry, the lab tech… she was explaining some things to me.” Spencer quickly lied. “Alright, can I get the file?” Derek had his hand already out. Spencer gave him the file and Derek’s brows raised at the number scribbled on his hand. “You got her number?” He smirked. Spencer pulled his hand back covering the numbers and your name with his other hand. “If something needed more clearing up.” He retorted. Derek merely chuckled at his awkwardness, “She’s friends with Garcia, you wouldn’t have needed her phone number.” He added with a smirk. Spencer felt his face heat up a little again, embarrassed. He knew that. He knew that he had known that. But in that moment he couldn’t think.

He looked back at his hand. Your name on his skin. A little flutter in his chest kicked up when he did. Derek cleared his throat, making Spencer look up again. Derek pointed at him with his pen, before opening his mouth. “You better call her soon.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #Goth reader #self indulgent fic #fanfic writer #tumblr writer

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jakei95 · 1 year ago

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Regarding some false accusations and targeted harassment by HopelessPeaches TW: Harassment, mentions of gr**ming, d**th threats, s*icide idealization

For the past months, HopelessPeaches (also known as ThatRebelRosie on twitter) have kept harassing me and my husband Nyx with fake and exaggerated arguments. Every day she makes a post spreading rumors about how we are p*dophiles or that I hide groomers on my discord server/community which are completely false.

Even since I cutoff contact with the people from the GTC and their skype group, I tried to focus on growing up as a person and thanks to that we were able to keep our Discord server and community a safe space for people of all ages, claiming otherwise is just invalidating all the hard work people like Crystal or Pingu have done to keep our community safe.

We always tried to help our mod team and offered our support, we never forced them or exposed them to situations they didn't want to handle. None of us were prepared for the sick people we have had to confront over the years, but together we were able to take actions against them.

HopelessPeaches is obsessed with us, claiming that every action we take is to hide something or that we are trying to silence her abuse (When it's the other way around, she completely ignores the abuse I had to endure). She has gone to the extent of saying I announced Underverse 0.7 Part 2 to hide something, when I had planned to announce the animation on my birthday months ago.

She has constantly made fun of my abuse and mental health, and has stayed completely silent about all the hate messages (Including death threats) that she and her community has sent my way over her false accusations.

As I already cleared with the people on my server, I am not ignoring what I might have done in the past, and I will always live with the remorse of not being a better person from the start, I will always live with that, but I have spent years trying to become a better person and fix my mistakes to never repeat them again, both with my close circles and my followers, but having someone that I don't know, exposing my mental health problems, making fun them, accuse me of suicide baiting (Everyone that knows me knows I have struggled with this since I was a teenager), and also accusing me of a crime that I have never committed, is affecting me physically and mentally.

She is doing the same thing to me that she suffered from years ago. This has to stop. I am not asking for the world to not hate me, I am asking for people to stop harassing us for things that we have already acknowledged and owned fully in the past. People can change for the better, we are not criminals.

We have no intentions to send hate to these people, but this has gone so public and we have gotten so many threats that I had to address it personally. HopelessPeaches , I don't know what exactly you want from me, or what do you expect is going to happen, but this is the last time I will ask you to stop harassing us. I don't care if you hate me or Nyx, if you want the Undertale community dies or whatever that's going on through your head. I am just asking you to leave us alone.

#jakei says something #hopeless peaches

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otterloreart · 7 months ago

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MLP-Takara generations: a design experiment

Takara MLPs are considered generation 1 My Little Pony; the original ponies look like little horses and the takaras are obviously very different.

But the standard MLP toyline underwent a lot of changes throughout the years... so, if the takaras had been successful, what would their changes look like?

Generation 1 year 2+ takaras.

Year one MLP was only a few ponies with a single color of body + matching hair... just like the takaras. It was year 2 that they introduced unicorns. pegasus, and seaponies.

You all know I've already been concepting these so it's not surprising at all. As MLP g1 went on, they ended up doing more and more gimmicks throughout the 80s which would also be kind of fun to see the takaras do... (hint hint if you want me to draw those lmk which gimmicks are your favorites)

I also think they should bring in markings like the normal ponies but that could be part of the gimmicks. Maybe on their cheeks, or on their bellies like care bears?

In the later years og MLP also had a lot of variations on the normal pony body type, so maybe you could also see the takaras with that kind of variant, so that might be cute:

Moving on!

Generation 2

If you aren't big into early gen My Little Pony you might not know that generation 2 didn't do very well; it was a reboot of a beloved franchise, it was new, and different, and all that jazz:

Main differences between them and g1: first, you can see they have a very late G1-type body, which is why I pointed out the thinner pony in g1. Their face is less detailed and rounder, but they have a little more expression, very smiley.

Their ears have a more horse-y curled in shape, they have fur around their hooves (in g1 only the boy ponies had hoof floof), and they have a gem in their eye.

Also they had a lot more moving-leg gimmicks where you could push one part of their body and another would move (eg push tail -> bobs head)

So you may ask, how am I could to g2-ify the takaras? After all, they are already much rounder than the g1 ponies. Well, I'm not going to make them just *look like* the g2 ponies, although I'll borrow more elements.

Instead: I am going to take and exaggerate all of the differences that I listed above and see what we come up with.

So! Here is my idea for g2 takara pony. I feel like its the exact balance of very cute and something that would upset collectors familiar with the original takaras, just as g2 upset the g1 fans.

First off, she's thinner, the iconic takara nose is removed in favor of a sculpt with a smiling mouth, the legs are more horse shaped with fluff and human fingers to match the additional foot detail. a lot of people find the g2s a little "uncanny" so I feel like this works.

The sparkley eye gem and ear shape are just straight off the original g2s, just to have extra gimmick to it (also the og takaras basically had the g1 ears)

g2 came out in the late 90s so I like to imagine the pony eyes would be extra shoujo too

Finally, a ball jointed head for more flexibility. (yes the arm would be posed like that in the doll, because its a more dynamic pose, and we can also assume that the larger size allows the doll to have a joint with more flexibility)

g2 had pretty similar gimmicks to g1 but also had some light up ponies, so maybe the takaras could have some with that gimmick too

fun fact, g2 MLP was sold for a longer time in Europe and performed better there.

Generation 3

Generation 3 ponies are a pretty clear return to g1 MLP style, kinda scrapping most of the changes g2 made, other than proportionally thinning out the ponies a bit.

g3 ponies have very similar face sculpts with bigger eyes, nearly the same legs, and their heads just a bit bigger in proportion to their body

They do remind me a lot of the g1 Petite ponies, which were 1 inch sculptures that also had those proportionally bigger eyes and chunkier legs.

I have here included the g1 so you can see the slight changes better! I think the main difference would be the g3 takara would be a lot rounder, smoother, and cutesy-er. While the original has the hello-kitty simple cute look, the g3 version would definitely have like eyelashes and big eyes.

The only other thing to note about the body is some bigger ears, a generally rounder face, and round feet.

There weren't many gimmicks super /unique/ to g3 but one I wanted to highlight was the Breezies. G1 did have the flutter ponys, which were ponies with butterfly/dragonfly type wings, but the breezies are like their own little species AND they have antennae. While the flutter ponies were sort of graceful and thinner than the other ponies, the breezies are like little chibi-er ponies.

A little bit Littlest Pet Shop-core, since its the early 2000s too.

SPEAKING OF

Generation 4 Generation 3.5

Before there was gen4 there was a subset of Gen3 ponies with a different and unique style. They were basically an exaggerated version of the Breezies with even bigger feet and tinier snouts. They are also VERY littlest-pet-shop-core.

So, pretty straightforward changes

Just an even more chibi, kid-ish style pony. I think the g3.5 ponies were even meant to be kids. So this is just an even more child-friendly, littlest pet shop type horsey.

Generation 4

So, obviously generation 4 ushered in a whole new era of My Little Pony with its unique and bright artstyle, which did need to transfer over to the ponies

Personally, while I love g4 in a lot of ways im not a fan of the toys in the same way I am the other generations, their little noses have shrunk to specks, they're skinnier and more big-eyed than ever. Well, g3.5 was pretty big-eyed but at least those ones were like little kids.

This is such a drastic shift from g1/g3 and even g4, I would be unsure about the takaras.

So: eyes, bigger. Snout, so tiny and so smooth. Ears, bigger. Hooves are flatter and parts of the legs are just kinda featureless. a longer neck. They released a decent amount of ponies with plastic hair this gen, too.

I was struggling to come up with a doll for this one, but I finally realized I was doing it backwards. The thing that makes g4 stand out, I think, is the fact it was fundamentally designed opposite from g1. Lauren Faust, an animator, designed the ponies and the toys had to be designed around her art.

So the primary difference was considering what a tv show- a tv show concieved in the 2000s and airing in 2010s- and I did look into some kids properties from that time period as I was designing

I think these Strawberry shortcake dolls are really close to the concept I'd want for a early 2010s mirror of MLP g4. So basically these toys but more anthro.

I ended up making a 3D mockup so I'd be able to plan the different angles and keep them consistent.

The eyes are kind of far apart but I think thats true of the g4 pony toys as well. Again, because of the way the g4 show was stylized as animation, there was sort of cheating with the anatomy, especially on the face.

Generation 4.5

Gen 4.5 was a spinoff of gen4, just like gen3 had 3.5 where the ponies are more chibi. More big eyes with even bigger ears and a face like... a cats? instead of a horse. Hoof fluff again.

I think this nailed the style without being as much of an outright copy. The bendy arms with fingers seem so silly but also I think that matches the vibe/artstyle.

G4.5 don't look like horses to me really at all though, they're like cats with hooves. Out of all of them we've seen so far they're suffering the most from "predator eyes" where they've gone so far as to make their eyes just face forward.

Generation 5

Generation 5 premiered with a CGI movie, so the toys that would be released are fairly on model with their movie selves except for the fact their heads are smack dab in the middle of their neck which i find extremely unsettling and dislike

We've gone full "predator eyes" (no the predator eyes thing doesnt 100% biologically hold up but I find them freaky and I get to say it) AND full human eyebrows stenciled in like a makeup vlogger in the same color as the hair.

The ears are back to cup shaped (more horselike) but again the face is round with a little muzzle (more catlike). The hooves have really detailed feathering on the legs. Otherwise the body is mostly just structured like the g4 body (except a bit longer) just with more specific horse details.

These continued the trend of having a lot more articulated versions with moving legs as well. I think given that most dolls these days have articulated elbows and knees, it is reasonable to expect the takara g5 dolls would too.

Again, I made a 3D model so I could keep it consistent from various angles.

ta-daaaa heres my takara pony generations 1-5 lineup! Tell me which youuuuur favorite are. if you want.

#im sorry for how long this post is #long post #my little pony #takara pony #mlp gen 1 #mlp gen 2 #and so on #generation 1 #doll designs #sketches #i also wanted to do the clothes styles for each gen but this took so long already #and alternate gimmicks #would be fun to explore

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jade-len · 11 months ago

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i adore how mxtx sorta flipped the idea on the whole top/bottom thing with svsss, and just BL relationships in general.

making bingqiu very open to switching, not making the "bottom" super feminine and actually leaning more to the handsome side compared to the "top", how luo binghe is manipulative sensitive and cries easily, etc. one of the main themes in svsss is literally about sexuality (and possibly even about gender roles).

as a queer asian man myself, i absolutely despise the "yaoi archetype" and it was one of the reasons why i avoided consuming BL media. hell, years ago when i first saw heavens official blessing, i mentally groaned and went, "ugh, let me guess, the bottom is super feminine and innocent, while the top is masculine and experienced." of course, that's not the case now, but it's disappointing how that thought was there purely because of the god awful way fetish-y media portrays homosexual people and couples. because, believe it or not, we are not assigned male/female typical gender roles just because one likes to top/bottom (and even then, it's not even like that! some people have preferences, sure, but it's not so strictly "i'm top/bottom")

so, while i absolutely LOVE the english novel designs (especially luo binghe's cute curly hair, gongyi xiao, etc, and personally believe a lot of the takes from the western artist on the designs are an improvement), i am greatly saddened by people subconsciously assigning shen qingqiu as someone more delicate and feminine and luo binghe as someone super masculine and muscly. like, if you're going to have luo binghe depicted as the western design (i believe this stems from binghe being applied to more western ideals for men, and, admittedly, i actually really love his design), at least don't make shen qingqiu feminine and delicate? don't have his appearance play into the stupid yaoi thing?

i get that people have different takes on svsss, especially how the western version depicts it. but, people just... seem to very over exaggerate the top/bottom roles when it comes to bingqiu (again, these two are, canonically, VERY open to switching).

it's weird, it's uncomfortable, and it comes across as, "so, who wears the pants in the relationship?"

so, can we please have more canonically handsome shen qingqiu? canonically beautiful and pretty boy luo binghe (they literallly state that binghe looks EXACTLY like his mom, su xiyan! while a more handsome woman, is still very beautiful!! plus it is stated several times that binghe is slim, and that shang qinghua made him that way!) or at the very least, a BL couple who actually look like normal people (ok thats a little hard considering binghe is literally supposed to be perfect) and not just a stupid fetishized version of themselves.

and no, i'm not saying that queer men shouldn't be feminine or men who are feminine shouldn't be in a relationship with guys who are masculine, etc.

TLDR: please stop twinkifying shen qingqiu and going against what mxtx defied for us queer men (the stupid yaoi roles). and for the love of whoever you believe in, do NOT think that i hate the english design or people's personal interpretation of characters, i just hate the subconscious assigning of gender roles to bingqiu and how media portrays and fetishizes LGBTQ+ relationships in general.

edit: also i love teardrew's (check them out on twitter!) interpretation of shang qinghua. while i do really like the the eng novel design's tiny scared hamster vibes, teardrew's version just radiates "up to no good, paranoid but suspicious looking bitch" rat man and i love it so so so much. i'm not gonna repost their art bc i don't know how they feel about that but perhaps you can search up "svsss designs" on here, you'll see it pop up eventually lol.

edit 2 (1/16): i just saw someone reblog a post (that im pretty sure was referring to this one because, well, if you saw it i think it'd be a little clear kahxj) that was about how bingqiu switching and completely eschewing traditional top/bottom dynamics was a fandom idea or smth? so now i'm wondering, since i swear i remember that they were open to switching, but it's just that sqq preferred to bottom and/or was just a little too lazy to top. plus, sqq is a pretty unreliable narrator who says he doesn't want something one moment and then he does. how could he say no to bingbing? esp if he seems to wanna try bottoming too. perhaps i'm mixing things up though, idk? so if anyone can find that passage that says he only and strictly wants to bottom or whatever please show me! but i think the point of this post still stands haha (i wanted to ask about it, actually, but when i clicked on the og post's user it turned out that they blocked me ? so that was a little surprising oops. hey if ur somehow reading this, im... sorry for making you want to block me bc of this post? akdhxjj)

#JOIN THE 'STOP TWINKIFYING SQQ' GROUP #did i make sense? i have no clue i just wanted to rant about this #i really pulled a cucumber bro there huh #this also applies to GL #thinking about it more #there should be trans men and women bl and gl #and not in a fetishy way #of course luo binghe is still the big strong protag and taller than sqq but come on #i dont believe luo binghe is a twink exactly?? maybe?? but just feminine in a historical chinese male ideals way #for edit 2:#i was just saying how it made me happy that mxtx didn't follow the yaoi archetypes and how i lov her for it <3 #never said bingqiu was never done before and COMPLETELY flipped it over skdhjx #but i do believe that bingqiu did a good job providing variety and such :)#same goes for mxtx's other works as well i love her stuff sm #svsss #mxtx svsss #the scum villain's self saving system #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #luo bingge #shen yuan #luo bingmei #bingqiu #luo binghe x shen qingqiu #danmei

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thebiggerbear · 5 months ago

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"You're safe now. I'm here." - Russell Shaw Prompt Response Part 1

Summary: You've been taken hostage and Russell is part of the unit sent in to retrieve you.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

A/N: This is a prompt from @sydnee-kom-spacekru that I had to turn into a two-parter because it got way too long for just one posting. I've been working on this since May 19th when I decided to add Russell to the multi-character prompt response project I'm currently working on.

For this story, I chose Colombia as the country featured in here because I remember when we were growing up, we would ask our parents why we couldn't visit our cousins from there, and we were told it was too dangerous. As we grew older, we obviously found out why. That's the only reason I chose it for that part of the story. Obviously, I'm not making any statements, political or otherwise, about Colombia or any past/present situation happening there.

A tiny disclaimer: I do not work in the medical field so I apologize for any inconsistencies, exaggerations, or complete fallacies. I did my best to research but ultimately, I'm not trained in that industry. I also am not in the military, political, or governmental fields. I also am not the CEO of a major corporation. I utilized those parts of the story strictly for fictional purposes. So I apologize in advance again if I get anything incorrect for those fields.

All unbeta'd.

Part 2

Warnings: graphic violence; attempted sexual assault; trauma; graphic blood/injury; gun violence/gunfire; mentions of dead bodies; death; mentions of execution; kidnapping/hostage situation; PTSD; angst

Word Count: 11k+

You can also read on AO3

“You’re safe now, I’m here.”

Soldier Boy version ✨ SDV Leah version

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You slowly glanced around the room you were being held in. You winced when the pain in your head started up again from the movement. You knew you had some cuts on your face, your lip, and one near your hairline. One of the people who had taken you and your co-workers hostage had shouted at you in Spanish and worked you over a little. You understood most of what he had screamed but you had no answers for him.

You and your team had come down to visit the Bogota office upon the insistence of your father. The company his grandfather had started decades prior had expanded to become one of the top corporations in the United States, eventually branching out internationally. Growing up, you hadn’t wanted for anything. As you got older and entered high school, your father made it clear to you, being his only child, that he wanted you to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business one day. It wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of but it had been made known from the outset that whatever you might want would never matter in the scheme of things. Not when it came to the importance of legacy and carrying on the family name and the company’s brand, all while working closely with the Board. So, you had pursued your business degree in college at an Ivy League school, even going so far as to achieve your MBA and make your father proud.

You were quickly welcomed into the company and you put your nose to the grindstone, worked hard, and began to climb the corporate ladder. A lot of people knew that had to do with your last name but they also saw you working the same long hours as them, working just as much, and sacrificing any semblance of a personal life you could have had. You didn’t even have plants in your lavish city apartment because you were practically never there to water them. Weekends were a concept that ceased to exist the moment you left the university. If your co-workers worked 60-hour work weeks, you worked 80. If they worked through holidays like Memorial Day and July 4th, you worked those days, too, in addition to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. So you earned some respect, some envy, and some resentment — a healthy mix of it all as you raced to the top at your father’s constant prodding.

Only a year ago, you’d moved to Manhattan to run the New York office, a promotion that had your father beaming with pride. It was a bit of a transition, as any transition would be, but ultimately, you got to know your team, your department heads, and you’d settled in as best you could. You never truly relaxed into your role but you let your employees know up front that you were there to make things easier, not more difficult. You were interested in flooding the figurative harbor so everyone’s boats would rise, not just yours or the Board’s. Your father had not appreciated that little introductory speech you had made but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it. You had meant every word and you set out every single day to not only prove yourself but to also make that vision come true.

Which was partially what had brought you to the Bogota office. While you were responsible for New York, your father had made the valid point that you should travel to the international offices of Bogota, London, and Beijing. You should show your face and introduce yourself in person, not just on Zoom. You had been hesitant, not because you didn’t want to visit the sites and meet the crews, but because you still didn’t feel confident that you could afford to be away from your home office for that long (it would be about a two and a half week trip). Not because you didn’t trust your team to run things without you but because you had several projects in the works that required your constant participation, feedback, approval, and sometimes guidance. It felt strange to put it all at risk by choosing the most inopportune moment for you to go shake hands on the international stage and take tours of the other facilities. You didn’t want to leave your team in a lurch at a dire time such as this one. You had tried to explain all of this to your father when he grew irritated at your resistance.

“Stop with the excuses. You’re going and that’s final,” he had snapped at you before leaving your office. And that had been that.

The next morning, you and a few selected co-workers (handpicked by your father) were on a flight to Bogota, the first stop on your international tour. Thankfully, Colombia was only one hour behind New York so you’d be able to check in with your office as soon as you landed.

Things were going well with your visit, right up until the moment you and your team were leaving the building to head back to the hotel for a late lunch when you were ambushed. A black hood had been thrown over your head, you’d felt pain as something hit you from the side, and the next thing you knew, you woke up in a vehicle that you could feel and hear but not see. You had no idea what happened until you were instructed in Spanish to shut up, stay quiet and not struggle, and you wouldn’t get hurt. You knew you were in trouble when you came to but now you knew without a doubt as you listened to the conversation between the men surrounding you, you had been taken hostage.

You had no idea where they had brought you but you’d been there for what felt like a month though you couldn’t be sure. You had been held in the same room, only able to use the bathroom which they escorted you to. You were in some compound and any time you’d tried to sneak a peek out of an open window during your bathroom treks, you either got yelled at and hit or you could only make out a thick cover of trees. You and your group had been terrified every single day of your captivity that they would kill you all, or worse. You had three men in your group and four women including you. One of the kidnappers had already tried to take advantage of that fact and had thrown Meredith from Finance onto the floor, unbuckling his pants. You had begged in Spanish for her to be left alone while Pat and Suzanne had cried and screamed. Tim, Jerry, and Rob had all been taken to the bathroom beforehand (something that hadn’t happened before, they usually took the guys one at a time) so it had been just you four in the room. When the man didn’t show any signs of stopping and Meredith tearfully begged him from the floor to let her be, something switched off in your brain and you flew at him. You attempted to hit him anywhere you could but he knocked you down flat in seconds. He backhanded you a couple of times, making the women in the background scream louder, and he then decided you were going to be the one he was going to assault instead. He ripped your shirt and you tried to fight him off but he was too strong. Thankfully, another kidnapper heard all of the commotion and came running, rushing into the room and stopping the man, yelling at him that none of you were to be touched, that was part of the deal. Your would-be assailant yelled back at the man who had saved you and then got to his feet, spitting on you, as he stormed out of the room, followed by your unintentional savior.

You attempted to cover yourself with the shreds of your shirt but it was useless. You now only had a bra and little bits of cloth left from how violently he had torn the fabric. You were shaking but somehow you were able to crawl your way over to Meredith to check on her. Sobbing, she held onto you and before you knew it, Pat and Suzanne had rushed over, throwing their arms around you both, still crying themselves but also trying to speak reassurances to you both. Your body shook in their embrace as it finally hit you how close you had come to being assaulted. If that other man hadn’t interrupted when he did… You shuddered at the thought. It wasn’t long after that when Tim, Jerry, and Rob were returned to the room, their hoods removed, and one glance in your direction let them know immediately what had happened. Rob had actually removed his shirt and offered it to you, apologizing for the smell. You appreciated his selfless gesture but you were thankful when Tim instead offered up the windbreaker pullover he had been wearing the day you had been taken. You took the latter, thanking them both for their generosity and thoughtfulness. Tim at least still had his t-shirt.

Then, a couple of days later, you had been dragged from the room, thrust into a chair, and tied up. The questioning began, about the money from your company among other things, and you were worked over when they didn’t get the answers they wanted. You hadn’t noticed a man holding a smartphone while sitting in the corner, taking in every second of the torture you endured, until your interrogation ended. You had been afraid but seeing that phone…you were absolutely terrified. Were they going to kill you on video, sending it off to media outlets to share globally for your father to see? Or would they use social media?

They didn’t end up killing you, though. Instead, they brought you to a room with a single bed that you had never seen before. You did not like the fact that you had been separated from your group. You began to hyperventilate at the realization that they were isolating you for a purpose, thinking you would be attacked again, especially when you heard a loud gunshot reverberate from outside followed by yelling that you couldn’t quite make out. But instead of anyone coming to hurt you, they sent in a doctor to tend to your wounds. Once he had, you curled up into a ball and hugged your knees to your chest, waiting for the worst to happen, intent on fighting tooth and nail when the time came. But a few days later or however long it had been, they brought you back into the interrogation room again.

You expected the blows this time though they still hurt horribly. They began to cut you on your arms, near your neck, your shoulders, your torso…they never cut your face, though. While you were grateful for that small mercy, they still beat the hell out of you, the worst they ever had. While your face may have been spared the cutting, it was not spared the hits. You had even taken a couple of hard blows to the head that left you reeling. You didn’t even remember if you had screamed, cried, or begged for them to stop. Instead, you remembered some random saying in some movie you had seen stating that pain was the way you knew you were still alive. You held onto that as they continued to inflict as much damage as they could without actually killing you or making it impossible for you to speak. They had even unzipped Tim’s pullover at the beginning of the torture, leaving you in your bra, and besides the cuts they had also landed punches to your already severely bruised stomach and sides. They had even stomped on your bare feet, making you cry out as some of your toes broke from the force. They had even taken a bat to your right knee. That time you screamed the loudest you ever had in your life, sobbing so hard you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop. The pain was immense, something you hadn’t felt before, and tears poured down your face, mixing with the blood dripping from a busted lip and most likely broken nose. When they stopped to take a break, it didn’t surprise you in the least that the same man with the phone from last time was there in the same corner. It did surprise you, though, that they didn’t leave. While you figured they were just ramping up to go for a second round, something told you that you may not come out alive from this particular interrogation. You could only hope the others you had been brought here with somehow did. A small part of you wondered if the reason they were going harder on you this time, possibly about to kill you on video, is because your company didn’t pay the sum demanded in the last one. You knew your father must have done everything he could to secure your release, even if the Board for some reason hadn’t. You hadn’t prayed since you were a girl, right before your mother died, but you sent a silent one up anyway to anyone who might be listening that your father would never see this footage. It would destroy him if he did. You didn’t expect much, though. Your mom had still passed away from a terminal illness, so you were pretty sure your father wouldn’t be spared seeing your last moments like this.

But instead of starting back up again as you anticipated, the men ended up stepping outside of the room though they left the phone behind, on some sort of stand, still pointing in your direction.

So now here you were, your body exhausted yet radiating nothing but pain. You slowly swung your head around in a daze, blinking against the bright light they had turned on before leaving. You waited for them to come back, to finally do their worst and possibly end your life. You were terrified but you also knew how badly injured you were, that there was nothing you could do. Even if you could somehow get loose, how would you manage to escape? Even if you got outside, this compound was heavily patrolled by armed guards. And even if by some miracle you could get past them without being seen or an alarm being sounded when your absence was discovered, you had no idea where you were. You were in the jungle for Christ’s sake, from the brief glimpses you’d managed to catch on your bathroom runs. You had no idea where to go from here. Still, though, you heard that small voice inside your head, telling you to fight, not to give in or give up. You had to work hard, be the best, and prove yourself. Go, go, go. The voice sounded strangely like your father’s.

As you waited for your captors to come back, you glanced around the room to see if there was anything that could help you. You attempted to move your arms but gasped in pain when you did. You didn’t even try anything with your right leg. You knew your kneecap was broken; it had to be. You chanced moving your left leg, though, but it didn’t budge. You were stuck to this chair.

Suddenly, you heard the last thing you expected. Gunfire.

Not that gunfire was all that unusual around here. You had heard some happen during your captivity but it was short and never answered. You and your co-workers had no idea what went on in the rest of the compound but after hearing those rounds being fired every so often, you didn’t really want to know.

But these were extended rapid bursts of gunfire and someone was definitely shooting back. Not to mention all of the furious yelling you could hear down the hall. You idly wondered if one of your people got free and they were making a break for it. If it was, you hoped they got free and were able to go for help.

You knew you should be scared as the gunshots got closer to you, when you heard more yells and some thuds right outside your door, but you simply resigned yourself to your fate. Especially when one of the kidnappers burst into the room and held a gun to your head, yelling in Spanish at an unseen person to stay back or he would kill you. Your body began to shake uncontrollably once more, thinking this was it. You knew it; you were going to die.

Two men swept into the room, dressed in tactical-looking gear and donning black face masks with holes only for eyes and mouths, assault rifles pointed in your captor’s direction. The man on your right told him to let you go in Spanish or he would be dead before he could squeeze a round off.

The man on your left briefly glanced at you, his gaze an assessing one, before focusing back onto his target. Your captor screamed at them and pushed the gun into your temple, making you shake harder and take shallow breaths.

“You got him?” The man on the left asked, surprising you when you heard him speak English. He sounded…American.

“I got him,” the man on the right answered. Another American.

The kidnapper must have understood them because he gripped your head and pulled it back, pushing his gun now into the side of your face, making you scream out in pain. You heard a gunshot and suddenly the barrel against your cheek was gone as was the pressure around your head. A loud thud sounded as your captor’s body fell to the ground behind you and you moved your head to a position that didn’t hurt so much.

The two men were suddenly there, the one on the left laying a hand on your shoulder. “Please…don’t hurt me,” you begged in a raspy whisper. You followed it up with the same plea in Spanish, still not sure who you were exactly dealing with as your head swam.

“Hey,” the left soldier spoke softly. “Look at me.”

You did the best you could. It shocked you to see green eyes staring back at you with something that looked like kindness. Kindness…you hadn’t seen that in what felt like forever. Considering you’d only seen hatred and disgust from everyone around you since this whole ordeal started, this was something new and you held onto it with all of your might.

“We’re here to get you out. Just hold on.” He pulled out a switchblade and you immediately gasped and began to shake again. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just cutting the ropes,” he explained gently as he did it. “See?” You carefully moved your head to gaze down, seeing that he was indeed doing as he said.

Once you were free, you began to slide off of the chair, unable to sit up right due to your head still swimming. The movement caused you to cry out in pain from your injured knee being jostled when he caught you and lifted your arm around his shoulders to gently help you back into your original seated position. Your body still shaking, your brain told you that he was telling you the truth and he had just proved it, but you were still terrified and unsure of what to believe — no matter how kind his eyes were. “Shh, you’re safe now. I’m here and I’m going to get you out. I’m guessing they did a number on your legs?” He frowned down at your bloody feet.

“My knee,” you quietly sobbed, the pain still radiating throughout your right leg. “They—they broke it.”

“Shit,” he muttered, studying the leg you had glanced at.

In the background, you noticed the other man grab the smartphone and slip it into his pocket before heading back over in your direction. “What are we doing, man? Grab her and let’s go. Clock’s ticking.”

The man crouched in front of you looked up at the other one. “She can’t walk.” He inclined his head in the direction of your knee. “We’re going to have to carry her out.”

“Fucking hell,” the other one hissed. “Maybe we can get in touch with the chopper and get an evac.”

The man in front of you shook his head. “No, this is supposed to be a quick in and out. We have to get to the extraction point. They’re not coming for us.” So maybe these two were soldiers? They sounded like they might be military. Had your father somehow managed to get the government to send the US military in to rescue you?

“But, there’s no way we can—”

“No time for this, man. We’ve got to move now before reinforcements arrive.” Your rescuer turned back to you. “Alright, listen, I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell. I’m going to try my best to take it easy on you but we have to get you out of here now.”

You shook your head, causing tears to roll down your face. You wouldn’t admit it but you were as scared of the pain as you were to go out into the chaos you still heard happening outside of the room you were in.

He laid his hand on your shoulder again and locked gazes with you. “We have to do this. I told you before. I’m here to get you out and that means I’m not leaving without you.” He very gently rubbed at your shoulder in reassurance. “So, just try to relax and I’ll—” He carefully tried to slip his free hand underneath your legs and gingerly lift them but the movement caused you to scream in pain.

“Okay, okay,” your soldier soothed and backed off.

The other soldier was shaking his head. “We are so fucked.”

“Hey, we’re not.” Your guy turned to give him a sharp look. “Just give me a second with her.”

The other one let out an aggravated sigh and impatiently pointed to his watch before holding his rifle up and leaving the room.

Your soldier glanced back at you. “Okay. Time for some real talk. We’ve got about seventeen minutes to get to the extraction point which is out of this place and up the hill on the north side. Which would be, not exactly a cakewalk because it would still be tough, but if you were able to use your legs and we were running, we’d probably make it there in the next fifteen despite any resistance we might encounter. But, this is—”

“Going to slow you down,” you choked out. “I’m not going to make it.” More tears rolled down your cheeks, stinging when they came into contact with your injuries. If you had to be left behind, you knew you would die. No question about it.

“Hey,” he spoke softer than he had a moment ago. “I told you I’m not leaving here without you and I meant it. So don’t go thinking anything like that.” His eyes narrowed slightly as your head became too heavy to try to hold up. His hand was suddenly behind your neck, helping you, as he visually inspected one of the wounds at your hairline. “Dammit,” you heard him mutter. “Okay, I’m getting you out of here.”

He bent down to scoop you up but you grabbed onto his uniform, gripping a bit of the fabric in your fingers though it hurt to do so. He turned to look at you and you shook your head, whimpering. “Please,” you begged.

He reached up with a gloved hand and gently wiped under your eyes with his thumb. “I’m sorry but I have to. If I don’t…” He didn’t finish that sentence but he didn’t need to; the concern you saw in his green gaze said more than enough, and confirmed what he had already told you. “I know the pain is going to be a bitch and a half, but you’ve got to push through as best you can. I’ll carry you and get you to that chopper, I promise, but I need you to hold on. If you have to cry, scream, hell, even bite down on me, you do whatever you’ve got to do. But we’re doing this and we’re doing it now. You ready?”

“N-No.” Your voice wobbled a little bit but you heard him. You were going to try your best but you were still scared of the impending pain. “I’ll try.”

“Atta girl.” He gently positioned you as close to him as possible, zipping up the pullover that your captors had left open, and then carefully placed his free arm under your legs again. You got ready for the pain and whimpered again when he got ready to lift you. “I promise, after this, we’ll get that knee looked at, and that head injury, as soon as we get you someplace safe. Hey, look at me.” You struggled to meet his eyes but when you did, you saw the kindness from earlier staring back at you. “You’ve got this. You’ve made it this far and you’re going to make it all the way. I’m going to make sure you do.”

“Okay,” you whispered, afraid to speak any louder when the threat of the impending pain. Almost as if you spoke a half a decibel higher, you might make it hurt worse than it already was going to. It didn’t make sense but you weren’t exactly thinking straight right then.

You held onto the outer edge of his vest, wincing at the flare up of pain in your hand, as ready as you could possibly be in that moment.

He gave you another second, a brief respite from what was to come, and then a nod. “Alright, here we go.”

The man slowly lifted you and it hurt, sure, but what really hurt was when gravity did its work when he carefully got to his feet. You couldn’t help but cry out. You immediately stuck your thumb knuckle into your mouth and bit down, hoping this would all be over very soon.

The other soldier appeared in the doorway, having heard your cries. Your soldier took a few steps towards him, forcing you to bite harder into your skin and more tears to roll down your cheeks. “Let’s get moving. Call the bird and let them know we’re on our way.” The man nodded and turned, speaking to someone to let them know you were about to leave the compound and would need backup on the way.

When he turned around and gave you both a nod, your soldier held you a little closer to him. “You take point and lead us out. We’re good.” He then turned a reassuring smile on you. “Aren’t we?”

You wanted to answer him but you couldn’t. He hadn’t even started really moving yet and already the pain was agonizing. Instead, you carefully laid your head on his shoulder, feeling pure exhaustion wash over you that left an even foggier trace behind in your mind.

“Let’s do this.” Your soldier looked back towards the door and began to follow his fellow soldier out of the room. You gasped from the pain, bit into your flesh harder, and ignored the tears spilling onto your face. You weren’t going to be able to hold back the pained cries for long. You had no idea how you weren’t screaming at this point.

As you all turned down a hallway, you couldn’t help but think of the others and that provided a momentary distraction. “What about—my people?” You asked through gritted teeth.

“Already extracted,” he whispered. “Now it’s your turn, Y/N.”

You were still fighting your way through a misty fog of pain and sluggishness but that caught your attention. You released your thumb and stuttered out, “You know my name.”

“Of course I know your name. We came here for you.” He shot you a wink and then proceeded to carefully make his way down the stairs after the way forward was cleared.

You idly wondered about that as you held onto him, noting several dead bodies in your peripherals but refusing to look straight at them. You could hear him huffing and puffing next to you and you felt badly that he had to carry you because you were unable to walk. A couple of times, he had to stop and hunker down with you while the other soldier engaged the remaining kidnappers you came across. The third time, it was a struggle for you but you whispered, “Slowing you down. Not —gonna make it.”

“Shhh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got you,” he murmured back. And sure enough, once it was clear again, you were on the move. Before long, you had met up with more soldiers (the backup that must have been called for) and one of them offered to take you. You involuntarily tightened your grip on your rescuer’s vest and he shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

Eventually, you made your way out onto the terrain and you could no longer hold back your pained cries. “Almost there,” he promised. After what felt like prolonged agony, you finally reached an area where a helicopter was indeed waiting. The sight of it made something that felt like relief loosen inside your chest. You were really going to make it out of here alive. Your soldier went to hand you off to another inside when your fingers tightened reflexively around him again. “It’s just for a second to let me get in,” he reassured you.

You nodded, hoping it wouldn’t hurt as bad as that run had, and let him go. Once you were all boarded onto the helicopter, you were moved around again until you were back in your soldier’s embrace, holding tightly onto him as the aircraft lifted into the air and headed away from the compound where more gunfire erupted.

You tried to ask him something but he couldn’t hear you so he ducked his head near yours. “Where are my people?” You asked as loudly as you could, taking every little bit of strength you had left. You were still under the fog, but you still noticed your co-workers weren’t in the helicopter with you.

He turned and placed his lips near your ear. “They’re in another chopper!” You had all made it safely out. Thank God.

You nodded and laid your head against his shoulder, completely spent and feeling the throbbing of pain in your body intensify, making you acutely aware of all the rest of your injuries. The pain radiated from your knee outwardly and now you could feel it in your torso, your arms, your head… Your eyes began to close of their own accord when he shook your shoulder a little. “I’m sure all you want to do right now is sleep but I need you to stay awake. At least until the docs get a good look at you!”

You blinked dazedly up at him. “I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, not even sure he heard you. The tide of pain was washing you under.

He then did the last thing you expected. He lifted his mask and you finally saw the man underneath, the owner of those green eyes that you had been holding onto during this entire ordeal.

“Man, what the hell are you doing?” You heard yelled nearby, but your soldier kept his eyes on yours.

“I need you to stay awake, Y/N! You think you can do that for me?”

You took in his features, your fingers carefully lifting up to touch the thick beard he sported, noting the dirt and grime smears all over his face, but his eyes were what captivated you. Now without the mask in the way, you were free to get lost in those green orbs as deeply as you dared. Too bad you couldn’t seem to stay conscious.

He shook you again. “Y/N! Hey! Stay awake!”

“Sorry,” you slurred before everything went black.

The next time you jerked into consciousness, screaming out in pain, the helicopter had just landed and your soldier, once again wearing his face mask, was yelling instructions to the men around him. You couldn’t hear exactly what they were, the pain was that intense. You were lifted out into another soldier’s arms and looking past him, you saw a second helicopter not that far away. You watched as your co-workers were ushered off of it alongside other masked soldiers but something didn’t seem right. You weren’t sure what it was but something was off to you.

You were placed into someone else’s arms and you saw the eyes of your rescuer once again, softening when he saw that you were crying.

“Something’s—wrong.”

“Stay with me this time, Y/N,” he urged as he hurried you away from the helicopter. “Help is just a few feet away! Only a little bit more to go.”

You tried to stay with him, you really did, but the tide of pain started to blanket you once again. Alongside it, the feeling of something’s wrong surged throughout your body before the darkness overtook you once more.

The next time you came to, you were on a gurney and bright lights were shining down on you. Doctors and nurses surrounded you, talking quickly in Spanish and calling out a few instructions. Your body began to involuntarily tremble again. Had your rescue been a dream? Had your kidnappers brought you to another part of the compound where they had an assembled medical team waiting to somehow keep you alive after they had unleashed such brutality on you? Or were you just dead?

You felt a warm hand in yours, a thumb stroking the top of yours reassuringly. You gingerly turned your head to find your soldier, still wearing his mask, standing right there, smiling down at you. “There you are. You had me worried for a second.”

Before you could ask him if he was real, if any of it was, a nurse started yelling at him, trying to get him to leave. He replied in perfect Spanish, telling her in a very resolved tone that he wasn’t leaving until he knew you were going to be okay. She let out a frustrated huff and shot him a glare before turning away to speak to the doctors. They insisted he had to go and once again, without your permission, you tightened your grip on him, not wanting him to go anywhere.

“No,” you rasped out. “Please let him stay. Please.” He was the only thing anchoring you in this moment. You got the distinct feeling that if you lost him, you’d be lost entirely, never to resurface. He was safety for you, an end to the horrific ordeal you had been through, and you didn’t want him to leave you.

A doctor leaned over you, speaking kindly in English. “It’s okay,” he spoke with a heavy accent. “We are going to make you better but he can’t be in here.”

You shook your head and grabbed at your soldier’s forearm with your free hand though it hurt like hell.

“Doc, can you give us a second?”

The doctor gave him a look but did as he asked, moving back over to his team.

The man next to you pulled a chair from out of nowhere and positioned it next to you. He took a seat and only when he had did you release him, wincing as you dropped your right hand next to you.

He smiled reassuringly down at you. “You’re going to be okay. They’re going to fix you right up. You’ve been through a lot but you’re going to be alright.”

You knew what he was doing; he was calming you down and saying goodbye. For some reason, that made you tear up. Even though you didn’t know this man, he had been your harbor of safety in a chaotic whirlwind, a beacon of hope to cling to in a truly terrifying situation you had found yourself in. When a tear rolled down your cheek, he wiped it away with his thumb. “Will you be here when I wake up?” You choked out.

“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

That set loose more tears and he made sure to catch every single one. In the meantime, the nurse came over and injected something into your IV. When you started feeling drowsy a minute or so later, it wasn’t hard to guess what was happening. “Will I ever see you again?” You frantically intertwined your fingers with his as you struggled to stay awake.

He leaned closer, smiling in the same reassurance his green eyes were trying to convey. “I’ll find you,” he murmured, gently squeezing your hand. That made even more tears fall. It surprised you when he moved in to whisper to you, “Get some rest, sweetheart. You’ve more than earned it.”

You wanted to stay awake; you fought it, not wanting to lose sight of those green eyes fixated on you, knowing they would be gone once you closed yours. But you lost that battle as a sea of sleepiness dragged you down with it. You held onto his words as your eyes finally shut from the weight of the drug and you could no longer see him or feel his hand in yours. “I’ll find you” reverberated through your mind as you sank deeper and deeper into oblivion, falling at a rapid rate from deep green into solid black, until you were completely engulfed by it and you were gone.

You briefly closed your eyes as you felt a cool breeze gently make its way past you. You watched as two orange leaves pirouetted in the air, spinning round and round, until they landed several feet away. Silent ripples danced along the water’s surface in front of you and you could hear the sounds of people milling about near you, talking, surrounded by a symphony of nature sounds mixed in with the faroff noises of city life. You couldn’t help but smile when you heard small children giggling as they played on the grass nearby with their parents watching over them. You watched as a small group of teenage girls walked past you, laughing as they reminisced over something that had happened the past weekend. You saw an old man on another bench further down the path, an open book in his hands.

These were the small peaceful moments that you had come to appreciate since you rejoined society a couple of months ago. These were the ones you held onto when the memories of the terror and pain all became a bit too much, that reminded you that you were back home, safe.

You watched as two moms in workout gear jogged by with their strollers. A man and woman coming from the opposite direction made their way around the two women and continued their trek, drinking from to-go cups and dressed in business casual attire. Sure enough, you could hear them discussing work-related topics as they passed you by. You smiled sadly as you watched them get further and further from your sight.

That had been you not that long ago, where you didn’t have a care in the world other than pushing out new product lines and being in charge of one of the main offices of the family business. The pressure had been near soul-crushing most of the time but you had adapted for the most part and rolled with it. You worked hard, you worked long hours, and you were alright with that. You took the stress of hectic deadlines and constantly putting out fires and you rolled with the punches. It became part of your make-up and it could only help fuel you even faster towards your goal — your father’s goal. Now, after what you’d been through, your outlook on it all had changed. What had felt like life and death matters in the corporate world before no longer felt as dire as it used to. You’d been in a literal life and death situation and lived to tell the tale; whatever came your way business wise you knew you could more than handle. There was something about being tortured and having a gun held to your head, convinced you were about to die, that just put things into perspective for you.

And though you survived, you didn’t actually get to tell your tale. The minute you were reunited with your father, while he had been grateful you were alive and kissed your forehead, it was made clear to you that you and the co-workers who had been in captivity with you were to sign NDA’s. That had completely floored you. That was the Board’s main concern? That the public might find out that some of its employees had been kidnapped, terrorized, and tortured? How were they going to explain your month long absence from the job, from your lives? You knew Meredith had a fiance, Pat was a grandmother, Rob had just gotten married weeks before this happened, and Tim had a wife and kids waiting back at home for him. Suzanne was dating someone in HR and you could have sworn you heard Jerry mention at some point that he had a dog to get back to, hoping his neighbor had either checked in on it or at least notified someone to do so. How in the world did the Board plan to explain away any of it?

Your father had let out an aggravated sigh as you fired question after question at him. Who had taken you? What had they wanted besides money? Why hadn’t the Board met their demands? Why had it taken them so long to get the government involved?

“They weren’t involved.”

Your eyes had widened in shock. “What? How?”

Your father had taken your hand in between his and stared into your eyes with meaning. “I’m only going to mention this once and then we’re never going to speak of it again. We hired someone to send in a team to get you out of there.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Hired someone? As in mercenaries?”

“Private contractors for security. They handle this type of situation quite frequently but they keep it all very hush hush. So that is why the Board is insisting on NDA’s for all of you. It’s not only to protect the brand but also to protect all of you.”

“Protect this organization they hired, you mean.”

Your father nodded, not looking troubled by your accusation in the least.

“I don’t understand, Dad. You have contacts in Defense. Why wouldn’t you call them?”

“We did. They recommended these people and said they were our best option. If we hired them, they could get in quickly and get you out. If we didn’t and chose to go through more official channels, it might prolong the process and that might be time that you didn’t have.”

You could see the wisdom in that advice he’d been given. They had been right; had they gotten there even just an hour later than they did, you might not be alive right now. “But a month, Dad? Why did they wait so long?”

Your father tightened his grip on your hand and you knew you weren’t going to like what he had to say next. “At first, we didn’t know who had taken you. When they made contact…the Board wanted to try negotiating with them first.”

You huffed out a breath in disbelief. Those sons of bitches…

“I pushed for them to do something more drastic but they fought me every step of the way. It wasn’t until they received that first video message that they finally agreed that I should make the call.”

So your father had fought for you, but to a point. That fact rolled around in your brain for a moment. Had your roles been reversed, you would have told the Board to go screw themselves and immediately contacted whoever could rescue your father as soon as possible. No amount of money, litigation threats, or risk to the business would have stopped you. You, his only child, his only surviving family member, had been in mortal danger, and he hadn’t done everything he could to secure your safe return home as soon as possible? It was hard to wrap your mind around that. Then his last words finally registered. “Wait, what video message?”

His blue eyes softened with sympathy then and you could swear you could see a little bit of pain beginning to cloud them. “Where you were tortured.”

You should have known. Why else would your kidnappers have filmed it? Truthfully, you had known it back when they were hurting you. You shouldn’t be surprised, but you also didn’t want to talk about it. “You mean the pictures weren’t enough to convince them?” Before that first night, your kidnappers had forced you and your co-workers to look up at them as they snapped photos of you on their phones. You knew then that they were either using it as a scare tactic for your father and the Board or they were providing proof of life. Either way, it hadn’t mattered in the end since obviously the kidnappers had kicked it up a notch after that.

A haunted look fleeted across your father’s tired face. While you may still be struggling with the idea that he hadn’t done everything you would have done in his place, you knew this had taken a toll on him. He had been genuinely concerned for you and the relief you’d seen on his expression when he saw you for the first time since you’d been separated was palpable. “When they saw the video, they could no longer pretend that this was something they could simply deal their way out of.”

Your brows drew together as you studied him. You were sure it had been hard for them to see what had happened to you, to hear your cries, your screams, your pained whimpers. You knew it must have been even more difficult for your father to see. But somehow you got the distinct impression that’s not what he was referring to. “Dad.” He glanced up at you and sure enough, you could tell he was keeping something from you. “Tell me.”

He grasped your hand tightly once more. This was definitely not going to be good. “It was bad enough to see what they did to you…but the end of the video was what convinced them.” At your knitted brow, he elaborated, “They pulled Tim out of the room they were keeping you all in, brought him somewhere, and then killed him.”

Your eyes widened and your heart stopped. What?

“And they said if they didn’t get what they wanted in three days, you were next.”

Your heart started up again and began to pound in your chest. You felt like you were falling with no end in sight. Tim was…dead? Your breathing sped up into short pants and you could hear beeping from a machine you were connected to but it sounded so far away.

You had blocked out some of that experience, your brain subconsciously trying to protect you perhaps, you weren’t sure. And whatever memories stayed, each time they started to flash in your mind, you would close your eyes and grab hold of your safe harbor in those turbulent waves of trauma that tried to overtake you. You would think of green and while the images didn’t exactly disappear, it kept them at a safe distance. Well, while you were awake at least. The nightmares you experienced were something else entirely.

But this…nothing could protect you from this. You suddenly remembered being locked in that bedroom, hearing the yelling, the gunshot—oh God, the gunshot. You had heard the moment they— Your father urged you to calm down, rubbing your hand comfortingly, but you couldn’t hear him or even when a nurse rushed into the room to ask what was going on. Because at that precise moment, a memory came back to you, ripping your tight grip on your green harbor and tossing you back into the dark ocean of trauma and pain to drown in.

It had been right before you’d passed out the second time. While your soldier had gotten out of the helicopter, you had glanced over to see the other helicopter that your people were disembarking from. At the time, you had been so out of it due to the pain and disorientation you had been feeling that you didn’t realize the number of people you should have been seeing was one short. You didn’t even seem to process the black bag two soldiers removed from the aircraft and carried off the tarmac together. You just knew something was wrong, something you had tried to tell your soldier before you passed out again. But now you knew exactly what you had seen.

Tim. Tim had been with you since you started in the New York office; he preceded you actually. Even though your father had chosen him to accompany you and the others, all you could remember was the nice man who had smiled and said hello as he walked into the office; the man who was quiet and reserved but also a hard worker; who had offered you his jacket to cover up with; the man who had begged the kidnappers for the photos of his kids from his wallet that they had taken and then denied him; the man who talked about his family and proudly told you all about his children. His daughter, Riley, was eight and she had recently taken up soccer. Before you’d left for Bogota, she had told him that her coach wanted her to try the goalie position but she was scared; she didn’t want balls flying at her head. You couldn’t blame her on that one and had said as much. You remembered all too well the sports you had been made to join growing up and it had never really been your thing, but it made your father happy so you did it each time he urged you to sign up or try out. Tim’s son, David, was nearly six and he had just graduated kindergarten. And the baby, Olivia, could be quite the handful since she was a very rambunctious toddler who never seemed to run out of energy, but his wife, Angela, lived up to her name and couldn’t be happier with their current family setup. And now… Now, he would never get to see any of them ever again.

The pained wail that met your ears caught you off guard until you realized it was coming from you. Tim was a good man and he had managed to make a life outside of work. He had something you had never let yourself dream about having since it would inevitably get in the way of your successful climbing of the corporate ladder. Now, he would never get to see his kids grow up, go to any more of Riley’s soccer games to encourage her, go on any more date nights with his wife — none of it. You had the horrible thought for a moment that it should have been you in that bag instead. It nearly had been you.

Your father held onto you as you wept, as the nurse rubbed your back from the opposite side of the bed, crooning soft reassurances to you and urging you to try to calm down. But nothing could reassure you; you were here and Tim was not. A cold hard fact that you could do nothing to change. Even worse, you had missed his funeral since you were stuck in the hospital you had been transferred to once you were flown from the one you had briefly ended up in down in Colombia. You hadn’t even known about his death until this moment, your suddenly resurfaced traumatic memories aside.

Since that day, the memory of that single gunshot had tormented you. Had Tim known it was coming? Did he think about Angela and the kids right then? Had he prayed they would be okay without him? How terrified must he have been? You knew how scared you were in that bedroom, how fearful you had been during your second round of torture, sensing that this wasn’t going to end with the doctor treating you as it had the last time (which had now been confirmed that your instinct had been spot on). You could only imagine how he must have felt in that final moment.

The nightmares proceeded to get even worse and you were afraid to be left alone in your hospital room. Though your father and the medical staff had assured you that you were safe, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t, no matter how irrational you knew you were being. Eventually, your assistant Luna started working remotely from your room to keep you company and your father had hired two full-time bodyguards to watch over you: Owen during the day and Simon at night. When the nightmares became practically unbearable, that rotation switched. For some reason, you felt safer with Owen there. Perhaps it had to do with his look, specifically his salt and pepper beard…you briefly remembered the feeling of a beard underneath your bloody fingertips though you couldn’t place the face it belonged to. You had a feeling it was connected to the green you remembered, that you clung to in the tumultuous sea of mayhem that was the night you were marked to die — the green that you associated with your rescuer. Why you couldn’t recall his face, you had no idea, but you chalked it up to your brain once again trying to make sense of the chaos that reigned inside your head.

Green continued to symbolize safety and reassurance for you. So much so that when Luna brought a bag of clothes for you to change into for your beginning rehab sessions, you immediately picked out an olive green hoodie she had selected from your closet and set it aside. You took to holding it close as you slept, letting the scent of home attached to it wash over you as you closed your eyes. When you would wake from your nightmares, sometimes gasping for air that wouldn’t come, sometimes crying, or sometimes screaming, you would see the hoodie next to you and grab it, holding it close until you could either breathe again or calm back down. It became a source of comfort for you and long remained that even after you were discharged.

Your doctor had recommended therapy in addition to the outpatient rehab you would be continuing but truth be told, you weren’t in a rush to relive anything or even unearth something that might somehow be worse than what you already remembered. Your father had also dismissed the idea of therapy, saying that focusing on regaining your ability to walk without the assistance of crutches would help, as well as getting back to concentrating on work. You didn’t agree, you knew better, but you also allowed his view to become your excuse, solidifying your refusal to deal with the trauma you had suffered. After all, you were still here, still breathing — as long as you kept reminding yourself of that, you would be fine.

So you did as your father insisted: you focused on your physical therapy and you slowly found your way back to working full-time. You had graduated from crutches to a cane. Your doctor said your knee was healing nicely and right on schedule, which made you glad that you had listened to him and not your father’s initial suggestion of a knee replacement. You still felt a twinge of discomfort and a whispery echo of pain when walking so you relied more heavily on the cane than your doctor or physical therapist might have liked. You may not have remembered everything from your ordeal, but the pain of the initial impact of the bat and afterwards as you were carried to a waiting helicopter to take you to safety was still a very recent and clear memory for you. You doubted you would ever forget it as long as you lived.

Eventually, you returned to your office and you accepted the well wishes all around. You had no idea what they had been told about your obvious injury or what had caused it but thankfully, no one questioned you. You had been in brief touch with Meredith and the others in the days after your initial surgery back in Colombia but not since then. You had been so focused on your recovery and processing the news of Tim’s death that, truthfully, you hadn’t thought of much else. Even though Luna had been working from your hospital room for a time and she kept you apprised on all developments as well as anything that required your attention, you knew your father had instructed her to keep it all to a strictly need-to-know basis until you were finally ready to fully take up the mantle again. And because you were already dealing with more than enough, you allowed it and didn’t push for more than she told you. So the guilt consumed you when you were informed that Suzanne had resigned and Pat had taken an early retirement to be able to spend more time with her kids and grandkids. Rob had taken a position at another company, though Jerry and Meredith were still there. However, Meredith worked remotely most days, something she had worked out with your father while you had been out. You wondered if it might have been a result of Meredith initially refusing to sign the NDA, a sort of compromise to get her to agree to keeping your ordeal under wraps. You made a mental note to reach out to all of them so you could at least check in to see how they were doing. Jerry was in Research; you’d stop by there later.

As tough as all of that had been to learn and stepping back into the swing of things proved to be a little more complicated than you thought it would be, the most difficult moment had been when you went up to Design. Seeing Tim’s office not being Tim’s anymore had left you reeling. Your father moved fast and had hired his replacement within days. From a professional perspective, you more than understood; the business still had to run after all and Design was one of your most crucial departments. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things. The nightmares were particularly brutal that night. You kept hearing the gunshot, kept seeing one of the kidnappers with their cell phone look over at you afterwards and give you the most terrifying smile. Even the hoodie hadn’t helped. When you looked at it, you didn’t see green anymore but red. A very bold and wet shade of dark red. You tossed it away from you and screamed, bursting into sobs as you rocked yourself back and forth in a soothing motion.

You had immediately called out sick the next morning and spent the rest of the day in bed, alternating between crying and staring blankly at the TV on the wall. Later on, when you could think clearly again, you gave yourself a stern talking to. You were here, alive, and you had hundreds of people looking to you to lead them. You refused to dishonor Tim’s memory by hiding away in your apartment for the rest of your life, no matter how appealing the option might feel. You could hear your father’s voice in your head again, pushing you, telling you to get back up and go to work, to be the best you could be.

And sure enough, you heard his voice for real the next day when he walked into your office. “What is he doing here?”

You glanced up and looked over where he was pointing to see Owen sitting in one of the chairs off to the side, watching you both. You pressed your lips together and shut the portfolio in front of you. “His name’s Owen, Dad. You know that. And he’s here because I asked him to be.”

Your father looked quite displeased with that. “I dismissed him and the other one last week. We talked about this.”

You let out a quiet sigh and sat back in your chair. “I know but—”

“It’s not a good look and it certainly isn’t good for morale. The cane you still insist on unnecessarily using is bad enough. Do you think people around here aren’t asking themselves or each other why you have this man sitting in your office, watching your every move?”

You leaned forward and lowered your voice. “Dad, I get that. I do, but I need—”

“Is this why you called out sick yesterday?” You briefly dropped your gaze to your desk. You didn’t really want to talk about that or how despondent you’d been in your bed for hours until your alarm went off, jolting you into grabbing your phone and making the call. Your father’s eyes softened though his tone didn’t. “Honey, what you need is to dismiss him, permanently, and get back to your life, to your work. Don’t forget, you’re at the helm of this ship and everyone’s looking to you to navigate it seamlessly through the waters.”

Your jaw clenched and for the first time in your life, you were about to draw a line in the sand between what he was telling you to do and what you knew you needed to do. “I’m aware of that and I can’t steer the ship unless I feel safe. Owen here,” you nodded in the man’s direction. “Makes me feel safe. With him present, I can focus and get the job done. So, Owen is staying until I say otherwise.”

Your father’s own jaw tightened. “I’m not paying for more—”

“You’re not. I am. And believe it or not, while I’m doing what’s right for me, I’m also doing what’s right for this office, to ensure our complete success. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some reports from Research to review.” You slipped your eyeglasses back on and reopened the portfolio in front of you, scanning the contents.

You glanced up when your father stepped closer to your desk, his voice lower than before though his now angry gaze burned into you. You should have known by dismissing him in that manner after standing your ground, what it would do. “I’m going to strongly suggest that you finish up with Research and take your lunch out of the office. Perhaps outside. It’s a beautiful day and a dose of fresh air might just be what you need.” He gave you a curt nod and then swiftly left the room. Once he was gone, your shoulders deflated and you slumped back into your chair. You knew your father loved you and he only wanted the best for you, for you to succeed, but sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if it ever came down to the choice of you or the business, who would he choose? He already chose. You blinked the rapidly forming tears in your eyes away at the thought that had popped into your head out of nowhere and carefully got to your feet, reaching for your cane.

“Owen,” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him immediately stand at attention. “I think we’re going to take my father’s advice. He’s right. It is a beautiful day and I would like to take full advantage of it.” He moved towards you, watching as you moved to the corner and slipped on your light coat. “I’d prefer to be anywhere that isn’t here,” you mumbled, grabbing your handbag.

You carefully made your way across your office with Owen following right behind you, ready to assist if need be while also keeping an eye out. You called out to your assistant as you passed her by, “Luna, I’m going out for lunch today. Please hold all calls until I return.”

“Of course, Ms. Y/L/N. If Research calls while you’re out, is there anything you would like me to tell them?”

You thought it over for a moment before turning towards the elevators. “Tell them I’m still working on it. Thank you.” And for the first time since you’d started in this company, you left without getting the job done. The thought didn’t sit well with you, you had always been conditioned to complete all of the tasks set out before you, no matter how late you might have to stay to complete them. But at the same time, it oddly made you smile a little.

So here you were, in Central Park on a gorgeous fall day, having taken your father’s advice to heart. You took every single one of your lunches outdoors now unless it was raining or too cold to sit outside for long. You always marveled at the fact that you had lived in New York City for close to two years and you had never once taken the time to stop and notice what surrounded you on a daily basis. You had never taken in the present moment, never taken an opportunity just to be, to sit quietly and listen. The bench you were on by the lake had quickly become one of your favorite spots. You could relax and indulge in the art of people watching, take in all of the sounds, sights, and smells around you. Truth be told, it was the best part of your day.

Owen stood sentry not too far from you, giving you enough space but also ready to intervene at any moment should he be needed. Despite sitting in a park in the middle of one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country, you felt beyond safe. Owen would never let anything happen to you and being in public, around people living their everyday lives…you felt the safest you had in a long time. A feeling you ended up trying to replicate by looking up Central Park ambience videos on YouTube and playing them while you fell asleep though it didn’t always manage to keep the nightmares away. But you expected that; trauma could be a real stubborn pain in the ass.

But right now, sitting here like this, you were okay. That is, until someone decided to sit down on the opposite side of the bench you were on. All of the times you had sat in this spot, you had been left alone, free to claim this bench as your own for the hour or so you’d spend here. Now, someone appeared not to have gotten the unofficial memo. Out of your peripherals, you saw Owen quickly approaching, most likely intending to tell the stranger to move to another bench, when the person glanced back at him, holding a hand up.

“Relax, man. I appreciate you looking out but I’m not here to hurt her, alright? I’m just here to talk.” The second you heard the voice, your gaze snapped over to the man across from you. You immediately recognized it; it was one you’d heard in your nightmares over and over, telling you to stay with him as you desperately clung to his hand until the kidnappers snatched you away. Was it even possible or were you just imagining this man had spoken to Owen with that voice?

When the man turned back to look at you, you recognized the green eyes immediately and a small lump began to form in your throat. Sure enough, he had a beard, one that looked startlingly familiar when you warily prodded at the memory, trying to recall it. A flash of his face, dirtier than it appeared now, popped into your mind. As if it had been patiently waiting all of this time for you to simply reach out and grab a hold of it. Tears began to burn in the corner of your eyes; it was him.

“It’s you,” you choked out in a whisper without really meaning to.

The smile you faintly remembered graced his face. “It’s me,” he confirmed.

You stared at him, truly dumbfounded. “How?”

“I told you I’d find you.”

You nearly started crying when the familiar words floated up from your subconscious, the phrase you had somehow forgotten in the midst of everything. But you remembered it now, as clearly and vividly as the man sitting before you who had said it. You had been about to pass out in the makeshift surgical room, crying and holding onto him tightly, afraid to let him go. “Will I ever see you again?” “I’ll find you.”

“I made you a promise and I intended on keeping it.” His green eyes softened slightly, much as they had all of those months ago as he caught every single tear that rolled down your cheeks as you succumbed to the drug beginning to course through your system. “I’ll find you.”

And find you he did.

A little preview of the next installment:

Still sensing your discomfort, Russell immediately lifted up and peeled his shirt off, revealing his bare skin to you for the first time. Immediately, you noticed a small bandage wrapped around his left arm. “What happened?” You gasped, sitting up and gingerly running your fingers below the bandage line. He shrugged and looked down at it. “Got shot on a job.” Your jaw dropped and when he glanced back up at you, he must have seen the worry that was consuming you because he immediately chuckled and affectionately cupped your chin. “I’m okay. Besides, that’s not what I wanted to show you.” He took your hand in his and moved it to his other shoulder, guiding your fingertips over skin that was jagged, puckered slightly, and silver-looking. “Shot.” He then moved your hands down his side until it reached a decent sized line that was anything but smooth. “Stabbed.” Your hands moved again to right above his abdomen. “Cut.” They moved once more and ended up on his clavicle. “Cut from an attempted stab.” You winced as he mentioned each injury he had received; they had all been the result of violent means. He moved your hands up to the upper tip of his right ear. “Bullet graze.” There was no scar there to speak of but you could see the tiniest bit of difference between his ears in that area when you looked closely. He finally brought your hand to rest over his heart, holding it there. “Sofia.” Your brows furrowed in confusion and he smirked over at you. “Cute little waitress in Costa Rica. Gave me one hell of a weekend and then left me high and dry for some young British guy who showed up at the beach and hadn’t yet run out of money.” You scoffed and yanked your hand from underneath his, making him laugh, as you crossed your arms. He moved closer to you, cupping your cheeks and staring into your eyes. “I’m kidding about that last part. The rest, I’m not. I’ve got plenty more on my back and even a few on my legs. A couple more on my arms. We all have scars. They’re just reminders of battles we’ve fought and survived. Don’t be ashamed of yours.” A tear escaped and rolled down your cheek but his thumb caught it. He pressed his forehead against yours and murmured, “You’re beautiful.” When he looked at you like this, spoke softly to you like this, you genuinely believed him.

A/N: Coming soon. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for Part 2.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

#russell shaw x reader #russell shaw x female reader #russell shaw x y/n #russell shaw fanfiction #you're safe now i'm here part 1 #thebiggerbear writes

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genshinluvr · 1 year ago

Text

Anything for the Star 2

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: After being sandwiched between Gepard and Sampo's chest due to March claiming you wanted to be sandwiched between the two men from Jarilo-VI, you fainted. You soon regained consciousness and now have to deal with the aftermath and you're also on the hunt for March around the Astral Express.

Note: I think a few people on Tumblr and AO3 wanted to see another part of this fic. Therefore since I am posting mini-fics for this week, I have decided to make a part two! Yes, this is a crack-ish fic, and mini-fics do not have a huge impact on the overall HSR isekai world :> It's almost 6 AM, and I did not sleep at all. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None that I know of

Word Count: 3.6k

Read Part 1 of Anything for the Star [HERE]!

Your ears are ringing.

“[Y/N]!”

The voices shouting out to you are muffled— almost like you’re underwater.

“Gumdrop, wake up!”

You feel like you’re floating through space. The darkness around you welcomes you with open arms while you drift into the abyss. Unaware of what is going on outside of your unconscious state. What happened? How did you end up in the void? You hear voices around you, but you’re alone in the darkness, floating through the void. Speaking of the void, not even Nanook is present with you.

“Everyone, move out of the way. Give them space.”

The voices continue to get louder and louder as the darkness around you soon fades around you. The ringing in your ears ceases, and you jolt in someone’s arms, eyelids flying open, gasping for air as if someone was holding you underwater for who knows how long. Faces peer down at you, gazing at you with worry.

You blink at them, still groggy from what happened. Seriously, what did happen? You’re cradled in Nanook’s arms, your head resting on the Aeon of Destruction’s arms. You groan and rub your eyes with the heel of your hand. Your mind is still foggy, and you’re not sure how long you’ve been knocked out.

You clear your throat. “What happened?” You croak, eyes darting around to look at every person, searching for answers.

Nanook sighs. “You fainted forty minutes ago and were unresponsive,” replies Nanook, resting his cheek on your head.

Unresponsive? That’s odd. What could be the sole factor behind your fainting and being unresponsive for forty minutes? You sit up in Nanook’s arms, rubbing your eyes again. The men are crowding around you, making sure you’re okay and not going to faint for the second time. They’re still wearing maid costumes— oh. Right. Memories from before you fainting start rushing back to you at full speed.

“You had a nosebleed, but luckily, Luocha was able to stop the bleeding,” Mr. Yang says, sitting across from you on your bed.

You nod, looking away from the older man. You can’t take him seriously when he’s wearing cat ears headbands while wearing a maid costume. The refined Mr. Yang, the strongest, the wise and intelligent Mr. Yang… wearing a cat ears headband and maid costume. What a time to be alive to witness such a sight.

Dan Heng crosses his arms over his chest, his eyebrows furrowing with worry. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Dan Heng asks softly, sitting on the other side of your bed.

Dan Heng is also wearing a maid costume. You’re not sure who did his makeup— most likely March— but he looks cute! The exaggerated blush on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose was adorable. If he was actually blushing, it would be hard to notice. Unless the blush creeps up to the tips of his ears.

You nod, smiling at Dan Heng sleepily. “Of course, I’m okay! I probably didn’t get enough sleep last night, and it’s probably the reason why I fainted,” you lie.

You wish that was the case. Being sandwiched between Gepard and Sampo’s beefy pecks is something you would love to experience again! However, you sure as hell do not want to experience it in front of other people— other people who you’re also attracted to. On another note, Sampo gives the best hugs, and so does Gepard. You snap out of your thoughts when Gepard presses a cold, wet paper napkin on your cupid’s bow. You blink and look at Gepard quizzically. Gepard pulls his hands away from your face and steps back, clearing his throat softly.

“You still had a bloodstain above your lips,” Gepard mutters softly, cheeks bright red.

You smile at Gepard, well, attempt to smile at him. The smile ends up being a grimace rather than a smile. You gesture to the men’s costume, trying to find the right words to say without looking stupid. You’re not sure how March was able to get the maid costumes in her hands so fast, but you’re thankful for it, and you sort of wish March didn’t conduct this experiment.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Are you guys not going to change out of those maid costumes?” You ask shyly.

“Oh? You want us to change out of it already?” Luka asks, his eyes widening with shock as he turns to look at the other men.

Your eyebrows furrow with confusion. What does Luka mean by that exactly? You search around the room for March, only to realize she’s not in the room, nor is Himeko. In fact, you’re alone in your room with the ten men. You press your lips into a thin line, making a mental note to pull March by her ears when you see her again.

Blade narrows his eyes at you, tilting his head to the side. “Why do you look confused? Did you forget about how you informed March that you wanted to see us wear the maid costume until it’s nine-thirty sharp?” Blade asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

You sigh and run your hands through your hair. “Blade, you know how terrible my memory is, right? I forget the simplest things,” you say, leaning back against Nanook.

Nanook’s arms snake around your waist, pulling you close. As much as you don’t mind cuddling with Nanook, you don’t think you can cuddle with Nanook in front of the other men. Especially when they’re all wearing maid costumes. Plus, you have a bone to pick with March because her experiment seems to be something else other than wanting to see if the men will comply with your wishes.

You tap on your thighs. “Does anyone know where March is, by any chance? I want to talk to her about something,” you say.

Jing Yuan searches around your room, rubbing the back of his neck. Your eyes automatically zero in on Jing Yuan’s biceps when he rubs the back of his neck. The way his biceps bulges with little movement, the way the sleeve of the maid costume raises, the way the ruffles of the skirt move when he shifts in his spot. Dear, Aeons. You look away and pretend to search for the pink-haired menace.

“Huh. I didn’t even notice her leave the room after you fainted,” Jing Yuan says, laughing to himself.

You nod slowly. It’s either you remain in your room with ten people in maid costumes or leave your room and hunt down March and give her a piece of your mind. While you are thankful for her theory and sudden announcement, you sure as hell don’t appreciate her not telling you what she has in mind for these experiments. You want at least a warning or a heads-up before she throws you into the lion's den. You slowly remove yourself from Nanook’s warm, welcoming arms and get off your bed. You straighten your clothes and turn to the rest of the audience in your room.

“I am going to search for March. You guys can tag along if you want. However, I can’t promise I’ll be civil when I see her,” you say, walking out of your room.

The men stare after you and watch you leave. They weren’t sure what you meant when you said you can’t promise to be civil when you see March. Nanook is the first one to follow you not long after you step out of your room. Soon, the other men start following Nanook, wondering what you’re going to do when you find March.

Long story short, you tried searching for March around the Astral Express, but she was nowhere to be found. You went into her room, and her bedroom was empty. You tried talking to Pom-Pom and Himeko about March’s whereabouts. Unfortunately for you, the redheaded woman and the conductor of the Astral Express did not see March at all.

“Are you sure she’s not in her room? The Astral Express is traversing through space, and there’s no way March could sneak to the Xianzhou Luofu, Jarilo-VI, and the Herta Space Station without anyone noticing,” Himeko says, crossing one leg over the other while stirring her coffee.

You sigh, running your hands through your hair. “Well, thanks for letting me know. I was hoping to find March and pull her ears when I saw her. But I guess that will be saved for next time,” you grumble, turning around and walking off.

Himeko looks at the men and presses her lips into a thin line. The men have yet to change out of their maid costumes, and Himeko can’t help but find it amusing. After receiving a text message from March with a couple of attachments, Himeko wanted to tease them for doing whatever you said. Even if you didn’t directly tell them what to do. Yes, March texted Himeko multiple pictures of you encountering the ten men in maid costumes. The photos are taken discretely and sent to Himeko.

The first picture is your initial reaction to the men walking out of your bathroom in maid costumes. The second image is of you touching Luka’s biceps— your reaction was hilarious. March made it your contact picture, but she’s not going to let you know about it until way later if you end up seeing it and want to know the context of the icon. The third picture is you getting sandwiched between Gepard and Sampo’s chests— you looked like you were about to pass out. And finally, the last image March took and sent to Himeko was you fainting with a stream of blood coming from your nose.

After taking that last picture of you, March made a run for it because she knows that once you’re conscious, you’re going to be going after her ass, and that is what you’re doing. Well, you were going after her ass because you couldn’t find the pink-headed girl, and the Astral Express is still traversing through the stars. You’re going to have to wait for March to reappear because you sure as hell do not want to search around the Astral Express for the umpteenth time.

You end up forgetting about your hunt for March because now you find yourself sitting in the Parlor Car of the Astral Express, trying to convince the men to change back into their clothes. As much as you love to see the men wearing maid costumes and cat ears headbands, you don’t know how much longer you can deal with it. Maybe getting a picture of them in the maid costumes doesn’t sound so bad if you were brave enough to ask for pictures.

“You know,” March pops up from out of nowhere, resting her arm on the cushion of the couch, “if you want to take a picture with your admirers in maid costumes, why not just ask them? I’m sure they’ll be okay with it as long as the person asking for photos is their precious star,” March coos, pinching your cheek.

You wince and smack her hand away from your face. “Why don’t you do it for me instead? I’m too shy to ask,” you mumble.

March smirks and rolls over the couch, and nods. “If that’s what you want, then I shall ask on your behalf then!” March fixes her clothes before strutting over to the group of men standing in the center of the Parlor Car, quietly conversing with one another.

March taps on Mr. Yang’s shoulders and begins talking to the older man. Mr. Yang looks confused while the other men around him burst out laughing, except for Blade. They all look at you from where they’re standing, and seeing the look on their faces, you’re starting to regret telling March to ask them for you.

Before you know it, the men walk in your direction, with March trailing after them from a safe distance. March is most likely to make a run for it in case you faint again. March gestures for you to stand up, making you assume you are going to take a picture with the men. However, when Blade steps forward, you look at him with confusion.

“Your request is ridiculous. However, I will not deny you of your request since you asked so nicely,” Blade says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your eyebrows knit together as you stare at him quizzically. “Huh? How is my request ridiculous? What did March tell you exactly?” You ask, leaning over in your spot to look at March.

March looks away, swaying side to side while whistling. You poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue and glare at March from afar before looking at the men, who are quietly snickering. Really, what is March up to, and why are the men giggling like children? A picture request shouldn’t be making them giggle like this. Unless March said something else about the pictures?

Blade takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before looking you in the eyes. “Uwu,” Blade deadpans.

Your brain short circuits. What did Blade just say? You slowly look at March, who’s covering up her laughter with her hands. The men around you and Blade burst out laughing, doubling over one another while howling with laughter. That wasn’t your request, but you’re not complaining. Seeing and hearing Blade say ‘uwu’ with the most serious expression will forever be engraved in your memory.

“Why do you look confused? Is this not your request?” Luocha asks, stifling his laughter behind his hand.

You press your lips into a thin line. It’s not what you requested, but since it’s comical and also cute, you’ll let March off the hook for this. Just this one time, of course. You have yet to forgive her for the stunt she pulled in your bedroom. She could at least let you be aware of what she’s up to, you know? Especially if it involves you.

You clear your throat. “Yes, but I did not expect Blade to follow through with it,” you say, scratching the back of your head.

March snickers. “Yeah, me neither,” March mutters under her breath. “Anyway! Gentlemen, please gather around for the picture [Y/N] has been anticipating!” March claps her hands and gestures for the men to stand in a line.

The men get in a line, making sure the tallest are in the back row while the shortest is in the front. They made sure to leave a space in the front for you to stand. You reluctantly hand March your phone and walk to the group as Luka and Sampo gesture for you to come forward. You stand between Dan Heng and Caelus, mentally preparing yourself for the picture. March holds your phone up but pauses, staring at you intently. You stare at March, worried about what she’s up to after seeing a sly smirk appearing on her face. A sense of dread falls over you as March sighs dramatically and props her hands on her hips.

“This picture would look cuter if [Y/N] matched with the rest of you,” March sighs, feigning sadness.

You stare at the pink-haired girl owlishly. You? Matching with the rest of the men behind you? You shake your head at March, giving her a look. March continues to sigh and plops on the couch dramatically, draping her arm over her eyes. March actually didn’t get you a maid costume— that would go over her budget, and she wants to see how the others react if she suggested you wear a maid costume with cat ears to match with the men.

“It would be cute if you matched the others! Plus, I bought you a maid costume too! You wouldn’t want it to go to waste, now, do you?” March asks, peeking from her arms and batting her eyelashes at you.

You narrow your eyes at March as she continues to give you puppy dog eyes. If March wants to test her theory out, you might as well put it to the test yourself. So, you put on a mask and try not to cringe.

You turn to the others, pouting and batting your eyelashes at them while giving them the puppy dog eyes yourself. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with wearing a maid costume. The costumes look cute, but I don’t think it’ll look good on me,” you sigh, rubbing your arm and looking away dramatically.

Oh, ew. You feel a small part of yourself die a little on the inside. The act your pull reminds you of those pick-me’s you see on the internet. Dear, Aeons. You have the urge to skin yourself alive after pulling that stunt. You refrain from showing visible disgust and continue to uphold the act.

Mr. Yang hums, nodding. “If you’re not comfortable with wearing it, you don’t have to. We don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, nor do we want you to feel like you have to wear a maid costume,” says Mr. Yang.

“Yeah! Even though we know you’ll look cute in a maid costume, we don’t want you to feel pressured. Dress however you want,” Luka says, ruffling your hair.

The others murmur in agreement, nodding their heads. You turn to March and stick your tongue out at March. March huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, getting off the couch while muttering under her breath. You smile with satisfaction and get in your spot for the pictures you were promised.

You fix your hair and make sure you look decent— since you did faint not long ago and had a nosebleed before fainting. March sighs and holds your phone up, waiting for everyone to get situated before taking multiple pictures of you with the men in maid costumes. After a few minutes of taking pictures with the men in maid costumes, March finally hands you your phone back.

You pull March to the side. “Did you really tell them that I wanted them to wear the maid costumes until it’s nine-thirty?” you ask.

March giggles and nods. “I know it’s a very specific time, but I had to say something! I can’t space out, or else they’ll know what I’m up to!” March says, shrugging her shoulders. “Besides, this experiment went swimmingly.”

March wasn’t wrong about that. The experiment for her theory turned out how she expected it to go. As curious as you are regarding how far this experiment could go, you don’t have the heart or the energy to test it out. The eventful day was draining, and all you want to do right now is to take a nap.

“I think we should cut the experiment short. I want to take a nap,” you say, tucking your phone into your pocket and stretching your arms in the air with a yawn.

March stares at you. “Why do you take so many naps?” March questions, propping her hands on her hips.

You shrug. “Don’t ask me. I don’t have the answer to your question— aside from my awful sleep schedule,” you reply. “Now, before I go to bed, I will test out one last thing.”

You yawn and plop on the couch, sprawling across the red couch in the Parlor Car with a groan. The others look at you curiously, wondering what you’re doing and why you’re sprawled out on the couch.

“Gumdrop! What are you doing, sweet thang?” Sampo asks, sitting at the edge of the couch.

You mumble and rub your eyes. “I’m exhausted, and I want to take a nap, but I don’t think I can make it to my room,” you mumble, closing your eyes and curling into a ball.

“If you want, I can carry you to your bedroom,” Caelus offers, holding his hand in the air.

You sigh. “But I also want someone to cuddle with me while I nap. Or at least get me a plushie to hug,” you say, cracking one eye open.

Jing Yuan strokes his chin, tilting his head to the side. “I’m not sure if I can cuddle with you in a dress. The fabric is scratchy, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable cuddling with someone wearing scratchy fabric,” Jing Yuan says, rubbing the fabric of the skirt with his thumb and index finger.

March deadpans, smacking her forehead with an infuriated sigh. These men seem to be stalling, but it’s sort of understandable because of the murderous look Nanook is giving to each man who offers to carry you to your room and cuddle with you as you’re napping.

“Do you want to sleep on the couch then? I can get your pillow and blanket for you,” Dan Heng offers.

You shake your head. “Thank you, Dan Heng, but no thank you. I don’t like sleeping in places like the Parlor Car. I’m more comfortable sleeping in my bedroom,” you reply.

“I’ll carry you to your room,” Gepard offers, walking toward you, only for the Aeon of Destruction to block his path.

Nanook shakes his head. “No. I will be the one to carry them to their room and cuddle with them while they sleep,” Nanook says.

March throws her hands in the air with frustration and sighs. March knows Nanook is attached to you, but seeing Nanook preventing the other men from getting their chances of becoming close to you is driving March insane. Aside from Nanook being a cockblock, March finds it amusing (but also adorable) how these men are willing to do things you ask them to do. Even if you weren’t the one requesting certain tasks to be fulfilled.

Note: So, Blade saying uwu is "inspired" by this video my dear friend and moderator sent to me on Discord. It was a video of Blade's voice actor saying uwu in Blade's voice, and I had to include it in this part because I forgot to do that for the first part 😭 I have this one idea in mind for this upcoming week's update, but I'm not sure how I will execute it. I'm just hoping it turns out fine, but at the same time, I'm not sure if it'll turn out how I wanted it to. To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for the HSR one-shot series: @ashwasherelol, @mompt2, @elegantnightblaze, @lunavixia, @jadedist, @reversearrowhead, @pinksaiyans, @ixchelhernandez4, @kukiiyo, @n8mareee, @aurelia-xyt, @lilliansstuff, @ssunset0, @starrry-angel, @kaoyamamegami, @rnnmg, @kodzuvk, @aponia-yue, @for3very0urs, @a-cosmicdawn, @g3n0dtt, @theblades, @wntrsblvd, @raaawwwr, @immahuman, @irisxiel, @siaracarroll, @crazydreamcat, @sen-nes, @sagekun, @orichalcumthief, @dyingsweetmackerel, @rosiesareblue, @sociallyakwardpanda, @ichikanu, @undecidingfate, @dearest-yeosang, @phngix, @c00kie-cat, @asoulsreverie, @angelmican, @rururinn, @Osiritheous, @misdollface, @4-34-am, @nightmarebeaxst, @sxftiebee, @hispasian-otaku, @cloise, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @shizunxie, @inapileofbooke, @thedarkwinterrose, @soobinsgirlfriend

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

#Honkai Star Rail x reader #Honkai Star Rail imagine #Honkai Star rail fanfiction #Honkai Star Rail fanfic #HSR x reader #HSR imagine #HSR fanfiction #HSR fanfic #Dan Heng x reader #Gepard Landau x reader #Sampo Koski x reader #Welt Yang x reader #Blade x reader #Jing Yuan x reader #Luocha x reader #Caelus x reader #Nanook x reader #Luka x reader #genshinluvr

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magicalwitchbread · 3 months ago

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There is no way non-homophobic Nagireo deniers are real.

If you don't think Nagi and Reo are a thing, either you are homophobic and hate to see boys happy together or the reading comprehension devil has gotten to you.

I am going to pull panels directly from the manga (both the Blue lock manga and Episode Nagi manga) and I am going to escalate the gayness as I go.

1. Here, we have Reo realizing his feelings for Nagi and being vocal and completely clear about it.

2. Then, we have Reo calling Nagi his treasure and also being ridiculously possessive for no reason.

And also him openly admiting that he only has eyes for Nagi.

3. Then we have Chigiri and his choice of words when talking about the relationship between Nagi and Reo (and also Reos reaction to them). Mind you, he has seen them together for just 90' and some spare moments here and there in the startum if we are being generous.

4. Just Nagi openly admitting that him and Reo are partners. (Also, this happened twice, but there is a limit on pictures in a single post, so I am not putting it here.)

5. We also have Reo thinking about how football was what got him and Nagi together. And since if it weren't for it, they wouldn't be a thing, he concludes that they should live together ( just the logical next step, you know). And they were roommates

6. Then there is Reo straight up proposing to Nagi. Not even an exaggeration, he fell on one knee and held out his candy apple.

Bonus:

Reo's face when Nagi and he were being separated in the second stage.

And Reo's face when him and Nagi were just together in his room. This boy has nothing but love in his eyes. Find you someone who looks at you the way Reo looks at Nagi.

#the eyes chico they never lie #blue lock #bllk #episode nagi #nagi seishiro #seishiro nagi #reo mikage #mikage reo #nagireo #reonagi

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jq37 · 7 months ago

Note

I think the wildest part about the Porter isn't that he's evil. As you've said, Brennan's been hinting at Porter being evil this season for a while now, so while it's still shocking, it's not surprising, if you get what I'm saying.

No, it's the fact that this has always been the plan and not something that was reconned in this season. Like, we all thought this was just Brennan taking the bit to its logical conclusion, but no, this has been a reveal five years in the making...

And Emily figured it out Day fucking One by sheer accident!

Yeah for me the thing that floored me wasn't the reveal because that's been on the table for a while now. It was when Brennan said he'd been holding on to it for five years.

Because I even an amazing DM like Brennan can't plan EVERYTHING in advance. Like, the Night Yorb was obviously an addition purely based on the fact that Murph anagrammed Garthy of Brian looking for clues. And I can't imagine Gilear was ever meant to be anything other than a 4 HP divorcee. The Night Yorb fight and Gilear's curse are both pretty clear instances of Brennan running with a bit and working it into the story. But he said he's been sitting on this for FIVE YEARS. Since Freshman year!

I would even be less shocked if he said since Sophmore Year because there is that weird conversation with him, Jace, and Arianwen that finally came up this ep that was never resolved. But since Freshman year? That's nuts!

Second Edit: I am untethered to the passage of time and did my math to figure out when 5 years ago was incorrectly lol. Still impressed Brennan sat on this for so long but 5 years means since Soph Year not Freshman Year. See the replies for me realizing I did my math wrong last night.

If he's not exaggerating then, imo, it's pretty incredible to have this much lore in the back pocket with regard to NPCs that aren't even necessarily factoring into your main story that much. I wonder if this is akin to Mr. Gibbons (dude Aguefort killed to rez Gorgug in ep 2) just being evil and it never being explored but Brennan having had it in his notes. Does he just have a list of 3-5 other evil plots simultaneously happening in the background ready to be stumbled onto or just the general vibes of which teachers are shady?

And, as a sometimes DM, the last time I ran a full length campaign, literally before the game even started--like during Session Zero--I had my BBEG guessed offhandedly by a player just based on her name which wasn't any different from the other names I listed as part of background info and I just went through all the stages of grief internally and then pressed on without changing anything because of Story Integrity. Anyway my point is that it happens and as a DM it is WILD when it does.

Anyway, I am SO excited for the AP tomorrow. Brennan, you better not hold anything back I am SO curious about your DM machinations!

(Edit: Equally excited for Emily's reaction. Adaine is the diviner of the party and, evidently, Emily is the diviner of the table. WILD.)

(Second Edit:

#brwolf1995 #asks #fantasy high #dimension 20 #d20 #spoilers #fantasy high spoilers #dimension 20 spoilers #d20 spoilers

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thewickedjazzy · 3 months ago

Text

⌞𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰⌝

Part III : 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙈𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚

Pairings: Chuuya x fem!reader x Dazai (platonic)

Warnings: NSFW mdni, angst, super fluff, mention of abuse, mention of other dimensions (could trigger DP/DR), minor dni, let me know if I forgot any Xx.

Author's note: Missed you all *kisses* buckle up cause this is probably the longest part I've written, I spent a whole week writing it and had to drink countless cups of coffee to keep going :D. So prepare your favourite drink, snacks or whatever, get in a comfy position and enjoy it Xx.

Word count: 12.5k

↠Part 1

↠Part 2

❝Maybe I simply discovered you in the wrong universe. This, as some would say, is the darkest timeline. But in another, we might be together, as we were always meant to be.❞

Y/N’s mind raced, trying to make sense of the impossible situation. This was Chuuya, but something was wrong—everything was wrong. He wasn’t the mafia boss here, and the way he looked at her wasn’t the same as before. There was recognition, but it wasn’t the deep, soulful connection she was used to. It was almost as if…he saw someone else when he looked at her.

Chuuya took a step forward, his brows furrowing. "Why did you call me boss?" His voice was tinged with confusion, the confident authority of a mafia leader tempered by an undercurrent of unease. "You’re the boss. You…you died. I had to take over after—" His voice cracked, the words choking off as if he couldn’t bear to speak them.

Y/N's eyes widened in shock. She was the boss in this world? And she died? Her heart clenched as she realized the implications—this Chuuya had loved her, a version of her, just as she had loved him. But they weren’t the same people anymore. The loss, the love, it was all tangled up in a web of timelines and realities that made no sense.

Before she could speak, before either of them could make sense of the emotions that churned between them, a voice cut through the clearing, dripping with sarcasm and a familiar, biting wit.

"Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Chuuya Nakahara, keeping me waiting for a good fifteen minutes. What were you doing, having a fashion crisis? And who’s this—" The voice faltered as its owner stepped into view, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

Dazai.

But it wasn’t the Dazai she remembered. He was still tall, still infuriatingly smug, but he looked different—lighter, somehow. The black trench coat was gone, replaced by a beige one that seemed to almost glow in the moonlight. His hair was less disheveled, and—was that a smile that didn’t seem entirely sarcastic? And his eyes—his eyes were both visible, no longer hidden by the bandages she’d grown so used to seeing.

Dazai’s gaze landed on Y/N, and for a split second, all the sarcasm and playfulness drained from his face. His eyes widened, genuine shock washing over his features. “Y/N…?” His voice was a whisper, filled with a vulnerability she hadn’t heard in so long—not since before he became the boss in her world.

“Dazai…?” she breathed, her voice trembling. She couldn’t believe it. Dazai was alive. He was standing right there in front of her. But how? In her world, he was dead—Chuuya had taken over after his death.

Dazai blinked, regaining some of his composure, though the surprise hadn’t entirely faded from his expression. He smirked, though it lacked his usual edge. “Oh, this is rich. Two Chuuya’s, two Y/N’s, and somehow I’m the one caught in the middle of this multiversal drama.” He sighed, scratching his head in exaggerated frustration. “Why am I always the one cleaning up everyone else’s mess?”

Y/N took a step forward, her legs feeling like they might give out beneath her. “Dazai…you’re alive. How…?”

Dazai’s smile softened, a rare look of genuine warmth crossing his features. “ I could say the same." He sighed his gaze softening. "I'm alive in this universe, yes. And it seems you’ve come from a place where I’m not.” He paused, his gaze drifting between Y/N and Chuuya, as if trying to piece together the puzzle himself. “Which means…you’re not the Y/N we lost.”

Chuuya’s breath hitched at that. “You mean…she’s from another dimension?”

Dazai nodded, his eyes dark with thought. “Wasn’t that obvious?" He tsked shaking his head lightly. "The question is, how did you get here, and why? This kind of thing doesn’t just happen on its own.”

Y/N shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t know. One moment I was…he was…dead.” Her voice broke. “And then there was a rift, and I just…I walked through it, and now I’m here. But nothing makes sense. You both are alive...and different.”

Chuuya stepped closer to her, his hand hovering near her arm as if he wanted to reach out but was too afraid to touch her, as if she might disappear if he did. “Y/N…in this world, you were the boss. We were close. More than close. And then…” His voice trembled. “Then I lost you.”

The pain in his voice mirrored her own, and Y/N felt her heart breaking all over again, not just for the Chuuya she’d lost, but for this one too—the one who’d lost his version of her.

Dazai cleared his throat, stepping forward with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “We need to figure this out. If there’s a rift between dimensions, it could mean trouble—not just for us, but for every dimension. And you,” he pointed at her, “I have a hunch that you might be the key to solve it.”

Y/N stared at Dazai, her mind spinning with the enormity of what he had just said. She was the key to solving this? But how? None of it made sense. She had been thrown into a reality where the people she knew were different versions of themselves, and she was expected to fix it?

She shook her head, trying to grasp the situation. “How am I the key? What’s happening? This doesn’t seem real—it’s like a nightmare I can’t wake up from. Alternate universes? I’ve never even considered that something like this could exist. Who’s behind all of this?”

Dazai's gaze softened, and he took a deep breath before responding. “I know it’s overwhelming. But the fact that you’re here, that you crossed the rift… it can’t be a coincidence. There’s something about your presence that’s destabilizing the boundaries set between these realities. The fact that you survived crossing over without… any obvious consequences suggests that you’re more connected to this than anyone else.”

She felt a wave of panic rising in her chest. “But I don’t know how! I don’t even understand what’s happening. How am I supposed to fi—”

Before she could finish her sentence, a deafening roar echoed through the forest, shaking the ground beneath their feet. The sound was unmistakable—a deep, guttural noise that sent chills down her spine. She knew that roar all too well. It was the same beast she and Chuuya had fought in her world—a dragon born of twisted abilities, a monstrous entity that was as ancient as it was powerful.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Fuck!… it can’t be,” she whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Chuuya and Dazai both tensed, immediately recognizing the danger in the sound. Dazai’s eyes narrowed, his usual aloofness replaced by a sharp, calculating look. “I guess it didn’t take long for the mess to find us,” he muttered, glancing at Y/N. “This dragon—is it something from your world?”

She nodded, holding her gaze forward with a stoic expersion on her face as she forced herself to stay calm. “Yes. It’s an amalgamation of abilities, a dragon created by the combined powers of several gifted individuals. We barely managed to defeat it in my world, and that was with Chuuya’s help. How did it get here?”

Chuuya’s gaze hardened, and he stepped closer to her, his fists clenching at his sides. “Doesn’t matter how. We need to stop it before it destroys everything. We’ve done it before in your universe, I'm sure we can do it again.”

She nodded, somehow drawing strength from Chuuya’s determination, but she couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at her. How did the dragon cross over into this world? And if it could, what else might have followed?

As the ground continued to tremble beneath them, Dazai’s voice cut through the tension, clear and authoritative. “We don’t have time to figure out the details right now. We need to move. Y/N, you know this creature. You’ll have to guide us through this fight.”

She smirked, her confidence returning as she recalled the dragon's weak point. But as she prepared to activate her ability, something unexpected surged through her—an overwhelming rush of energy that made her gasp. It was as if her power had been doubled, intensified beyond anything she’d ever experienced. The raw force coursing through her veins was exhilarating, but it also set off alarm bells in her mind. This wasn’t normal.

She glanced at Chuuya and Dazai, both of whom were already preparing for the fight. They hadn’t noticed the change in her, but she could feel it in every fiber of her being. This new power—it was dangerous, unpredictable. And in the middle of a battle, it was too risky to test.

“We need to act now!” Dazai’s voice cut through the chaos, his usually playful demeanor replaced by a focused urgency. “Y/N, what’s your plan?”

“I need to test something first,” Y/N said, her voice steady despite the chaos. “I know how to fight the dragon, but I need to do it alone.”

Chuuya and Dazai exchanged worried glances, their concern for her evident. “No, that’s too risky,” Chuuya said, his voice filled with anxiety. “We’re stronger together. You don’t have to—”

“I’m the only one who knows how to fight it effectively,” She interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. “Trust me. Please.”

Chuuya's voice cut through the tension, his concern laced with an edge of desperation. “Last time I trusted you to handle things alone, you ended up dying on me. I will never let history repeat itself.”

Her heart ached at his words, a poignant reminder of the tragic parallel between their worlds. In her universe, she had trusted Chuuya with her life, only for him to die in her arms. The weight of that memory threatened to pull her under, but she couldn't let it. She knew the stakes, and she had to act now.

Without a response, she turned and sprinted toward the source of the roar. The forest was alive with the thrum of the dragon's power, the ground shaking with every step it took. Her mind was focused, her determination unshaken despite the pounding of her heart.

As she closed in on the dragon, she could feel the energy within her intensify, a volatile surge of power that had her senses on high alert. She needed to act quickly and decisively. With a deep breath, she activated her ability. Her eyes glowed blood-red, a sign of her heightened control over her Malevolent Marionette.

"How is that possible?" She muttered to herself unable to comperhend how she could easily float like this and be in complete control of her ability.

From her outstretched hands, a massive, shimmering axial fiber erupted. This was no ordinary string; it was a time-proof cable, its interior packed with countless connected vacuum capsules. Inside each capsule were gluons, particles designed to tunnel and bind. The cable snaked through the air, wrapping around the dragon with an almost mesmerizing precision.

The dragon roared in fury as the fiber made contact, but her control was absolute. The cable tightened around the beast, its structure akin to a tube filled with these tunneling particles, clinging to the dragon’s entire body. The creature writhed and struggled, but the cable held firm, rendering it immobile. The dragon was ensnared, its massive form unable to move a muscle, like a puppet under her control.

She felt the intense pressure of the situation bearing down on her. The dragon's enraged roars reverberated through the forest, each one a chilling reminder of the chaos it could unleash. As she maintained her focus on controlling the dragon with her time-proof cable, a blinding flash of heat and light erupted from the creature’s mouth—a massive fireball hurtling directly toward her.

Instinctively, she braced herself for the impact, but a familiar gravitational force yanked her to the side. She stumbled as she was pulled away from the dragon’s fiery attack, her heart racing. She landed with a thud on a nearby floating rock, quickly regaining her balance.

Turning, Y/N saw Chuuya floating a few feet beside her on a massive rock, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. His eyes were narrowed, and his posture radiated annoyance.

“Tsk, still as stubborn as ever,” Chuuya said, his voice carrying a familiar edge of exasperation. “Can’t believe you’re still getting yourself into trouble like this.”

She managed a strained smile, her emotions a whirlwind of relief and frustration. “I could've managed it by myself alone.”

Chuuya let out a frustrated groan, shaking his head in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Chuuya, I—” Y/N started, but the roar of the dragon and the blinding heat of its attack cut her off. She tried to refocus on controlling the dragon, her heart pounding as she tightened the time-proof cable around the beast. It was a struggle to maintain control with the sheer force of its thrashing.

As Chuuya hovered beside her, his eyes blazing with determination, they both heard Dazai’s voice cutting through the chaos from below. “Chuuya, you know the drill. Get into position.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as she saw Chuuya’s expression change. He closed his eyes, a look of intense concentration crossing his features. “No!” she screamed, her voice breaking as she realized what was happening.

Chuuya took of his gloves, began reciting the incantations, a process she knew all too well. His body started to shift, his form contorting as the dark, ominous power of Arahabaki began to envelop him. The familiar sight of his corruption mode made her heart clench in her chest.

But before she could act, Dazai’s voice rang out, calm and reassuring, despite the chaos. “Y/N, focus on holding the dragon. I’ll handle Chuuya’s corruption. We need you to keep that beast under control.”

She glanced at Dazai, a profound sense of relief washing over her. In this universe, he was here to help, to manage the risk of Chuuya’s corruption. The weight of responsibility that had felt so crushing was now shared, and for the first time, she felt a glimmer of hope. The knowledge that she wasn't alone, that there were allies ready to support her, was a comfort she had nearly forgotten.

Focusing on the dragon, she tightened her grip on the time-proof cable. The dragon’s roars were deafening, its immense power straining against her control. With every ounce of her concentration, she held the beast captive, despite its furious attempts to break free. The strain was immense, but the steady rhythm of her breath kept her grounded.

Chuuya, floating beside her, unleashed jet-black void orbs towards the dragon, his eyes blazing with fierce anger. The orbs struck the dragon with explosive force, causing the beast to roar in agony. The ground shook violently, and a brilliant explosion erupted from the dragon’s core, sending shockwaves that threw both Y/N and Chuuya downward.

As the explosion rippled through the forest, Y/N crashed to the ground, her body slamming against the earth with a jarring impact. Pain radiated through her as she lay there, disoriented. The time-proof cable had snapped under the force of the blast, and she could feel the remnants of her power dissipating.

Struggling to regain her bearings, she looked around in a daze. Panic surged through her as she scrambled to her feet, calling out for him. “Chuuya!” Her voice trembled with fear, her eyes scanning the wreckage.

Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Dazai kneeling beside Chuuya, holding his wrist firmly. The sight of Chuuya’s body, still and vulnerable, made her breath catch in her throat. Dazai’s expression was one of intense concentration as he used his ability to nullify Arahabaki’s power. The dark red aura surrounding Chuuya slowly faded, replaced by a calming normalcy.

Seeing Chuuya’s familiar, uncorrupted form brought a rush of relief to her. She staggered over to them, her legs weak and trembling. “Is he—?”

Dazai looked up, his usual smirk replaced by a rare, reassuring smile. “He’s fine.”

Chuuya’s eyes fluttered open, and he blinked up at her, confusion and relief evident in his gaze. “Y/N…” he murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with genuine warmth. "I hate your stubborn ass"

She couldn't help but chuckle at his response watching him drift in sleep.

Dazai looked at her with a satisfied nod, brushing off his hands. “Well, we’ve managed to subdue the dragon. Now we just need to figure out the cause of these interdimensional rifts and how to fix them. Also—”

Before he could finish, Y/N’s eyes welled up with tears of gratitude. Without a second thought, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice quivering with emotion. “I never thought I’d see you again, let alone have you save Chuuya.”

Dazai was taken aback, his usual nonchalance replaced by genuine surprise. He hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around her, holding her gently. This was the first time he’d seen Y/N so vulnerable and so genuinely happy. His own feelings were a tangled mess, but seeing her like this, with a rare smile that spoke volumes, made him feel a deep, unexpected warmth.

As they held each other, Chuuya's snores beside them only made both of them chuckle. With Dazai’s help, they carefully moved Chuuya’s unconscious body toward the well-known mafia headquarters. The journey back was a blur of exhaustion and relief, but her heart lightened with each step closer to familiar territory.

Upon arrival, the sight that greeted Y/N was both heartwarming and surreal. Her subordinates, who had thought her lost forever, were in shock. The once-intimidating headquarters seemed to take on a different aura—one of disbelief and awe.

Akutagawa was the first to react. He knelt before her, his expression a mix of reverence and astonishment. “Boss?” he uttered, his voice filled with an emotion Y/N had never heard from him before. In her own universe, Akutagawa had been a member of the Armed Detective Agency, not the Port Mafia. Seeing him like this, so dedicated and loyal, was both strange and comforting.

As she looked around, she saw familiar faces—Hirotsu and the rest of the Black Lizard, all of whom were still alive. A joyous, disbelieving giggle escaped her as she took in their shocked but hopeful expressions. Without hesitation, she rushed forward, embracing each of them in turn.

Her tears of joy and the genuine smiles on her face were a stark contrast to the stern, reserved boss they were used to. This display of affection was a new experience for them, and they embraced it wholeheartedly, their own faces reflecting the warmth of their boss’s rare display of emotion.

After a while, Dazai and Y/N carefully carried Chuuya to his grand quarters, laying him gently on the bed. His breathing was steady, and the signs of the recent battle had left him exhausted but unharmed.

Once they were sure Chuuya was settled and resting comfortably, Dazai led Y/N to a nearby balcony. The cool night air was a welcome relief after the intensity of the fight. The city below was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, and the distant sounds of the bustling metropolis created a sense of normalcy amidst the surreal circumstances.

She leaned against the railing, her face still holding that familiar stoic expression. She took out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick of her lighter. The thin stream of smoke curled upward as she took a long drag, her gaze fixed on the cityscape.

Dazai observed her with a soft, almost incredulous gaze, still grappling with the fact that she was alive. His mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of their conversation. “So,” he began, attempting to fill the silence, “it looks like our worlds have their share of differences, but also some striking similarities.”

She exhaled slowly, letting the smoke disperse in the gentle breeze. “Yes. In my world, Chuuya took over as the mafia boss after you died. He’s been in charge ever since, but…” She turned to Dazai, her expression softening. “I never thought I’d find you alive in this alternate universe. It’s… alot to process.”

Dazai rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s fascinating, really. Two universes, with their own set of rules and relationships. And yet, here we are, dealing with the same threats.” He looked at her, his expression serious. “But if you’re here, there must be a reason. We need to understand what caused the rift and how to fix it.”

She took another drag from her cigarette, her eyes meeting Dazai’s with a steady gaze. “I agree."

Dazai leaned against the railing beside her, his eyes fixed on the cityscape below. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I couldn’t help but notice something. You’re significantly more powerful here than the Y/N I knew from my world. The way you controlled that dragon—it was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

Her gaze softened as she flicked the ash from her cigarette. "It’s complicated. When I first came to this universe, I felt an unexpected surge of power—something beyond what I had in my own world. At first, I was overwhelmed, unsure of how to control it. It wasn’t always this way. My ability evolved, and with it came this increased intensity."

Dazai’s eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. "And you haven’t figured out the source of this surge?"

She shook her head slowly. "Not entirely. The power seems to amplify itself unpredictably. I’ve been trying to understand it, but it’s like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands. The surge I felt today was more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m afraid of what might happen if I can’t get a handle on it."

Before Dazai could respond, his phone rang, interrupting their conversation. He glanced at the screen, a frown creasing his brow. "Ranpo," he muttered, answering the call.

Ranpo’s voice crackled through the receiver, urgent and strained. "Dazai, we’ve got a serious problem. Someone has taken hold of a page from the reality book and is reshaping the universe according to their will. It’s causing different universes to merge with each other, and their goal is to eliminate all ability users across these universes."

Dazai’s expression darkened, his earlier curiosity replaced by a grave concern. "How many universes have been affected?"

"Several, so far," Ranpo replied. "The rifts are spreading, and it’s becoming harder to contain the chaos. You need to act quickly. We’re dealing with a dangerous adversary who’s manipulating reality itself."

Dazai hung up the phone, his face reflecting the weight of the news. "Looks like we finally knew what's happening."

Her expression hardened as she listened to the news. Her heart pounded with the gravity of the situation. "Reality manipulation," she muttered, her voice cold and determined. "That's beyond dangerous. If someone is messing with the fabric of reality itself, the consequences could be catastrophic."

Dazai nodded grimly. "It’s exactly what we feared. We need to find this person and stop them before it’s too late."

As the conversation ended, Chuuya stirred in his quarters. His eyes fluttered open, and he slowly sat up, groggy but alert. Seeing Y/N and Dazai in the balcony, he rubbed his eyes and made his way over to them.

Dazai glanced at Chuuya and then at Y/N, understanding that this was a delicate moment. “We’ve got a major problem,” he said. “Someone’s tampering with reality itself, merging universes and targeting ability users. It’s causing chaos everywhere and that's exactly what brought Y/N to our universe.” he sighs, "We need to act quickly to prevent further disaster.”

Chuuya's eyes widened with realization. “And what do we do about it?”

Dazai took a deep breath, his expression softening as he prepared to give Chuuya and Y/N some space. “We need to strategize. I’ll start gathering more information and see if we can pinpoint the source of these rifts. I suggest you both get some rest and prepare. We’ll need every bit of strength and focus we can muster.”

With that, Dazai gave them a reassuring nod and turned to leave, giving them the space they needed to discuss their next steps.

They both stood in silence, the weight of their shared situation pressing heavily upon them. The night air was thick with unspoken thoughts and feelings, a reminder of how different yet fundamentally similar their lives had become in this alternate universe. They both felt the loss of their own versions deeply, knowing that the path forward would be fraught with challenges.

Finally, Chuuya broke the silence, his voice steady but laced with determination. "We need to get hold of the page from the reality book," he said. "That’s the only way we can start to reshape our universes to what they were before all this chaos began."

She turned to him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and resolve. "You’re right. If we can retrieve that page, we might be able to fix everything."

Chuuya nodded, his gaze darkening with a grim determination. "We need to act quickly. If this person has control over one of the reality book's page, they could erase any chance of fixing things if we wait too long. Our own versions—our friends, our lives—they’re all at stake. We have to do whatever it takes to bring them back."

A heavy silence followed for a while heavy with the weight of their shared mission and the memories of their own worlds.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence, her voice tinged with curiosity and a touch of melancholy. "Chuuya, can I ask you something? How was the other version of me—my counterpart in your world—so different from me?"

Chuuya looked at her, his gaze thoughtful. “The other version of you… well, she was similar in many ways, but also quite different. She was much more detached, more reserved. I suppose, in a way, she had to be, given the circumstances she faced. But she was still a formidable force, one who commanded respect.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, considering his words. “I see. And how was she… with you? Was there something different in how you two interacted?”

Chuuya sighed, looking out over the city. “Yes, there was a difference. In this world, our relationship was more professional, more about duty and respect. I could sense there was something deeper, but it was never fully expressed. I suppose we both held back because of the circumstances, the constant pressure of leadership and the danger that surrounded us.”

She took a deep breath, her gaze following Chuuya’s as they both looked out over the city. "In my universe, I was similar to the other version of me you described. I kept my emotions well-hidden, especially in my role as your right-hand. It was a necessity; showing vulnerability could be seen as a weakness, and I had to maintain a certain image of strength and control."

She paused, her expression softening as she glanced at Chuuya. "But with you, it was different. I let my guard down. Around you, I could afford to be myself—well, a bit more of myself. Our moments together, away from the pressures of the job, were the rare times when I didn’t have to constantly be on guard."

Chuuya looked at her, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "I had no idea you felt that way. I always thought you were simply more private, more reserved. It’s strange to hear that, in your own world, you had a different way of managing your emotions, but still allowed yourself some form of release when you were with me."

Y/N nodded. "Yes, it was a form of balance for me. I needed that space to be honest with myself, and you were the only one I felt I could truly be open with, even if it was just a glimpse of the real me. The others saw the facade, but you saw a part of me that was usually hidden."

Chuuya’s gaze grew more thoughtful. "Oh.. well the Y/N I knew was more of a wall, even when we were together. It’s clear now that it was a part of the role she had to play. It makes me wonder how different our relationship could have been if she had been more like you."

Her lips curled into a small, tender smile. "Maybe the differences in our versions were shaped by their circumstances, but I can’t help but feel grateful for the connection we had, even if it was fleeting. In my world, those moments with you were the few times I felt truly at ease."

Chuuya tilted his head to face her, his gaze lingering on the familiar features he had always admired. "I always admired your strength and composure, but hearing that you felt you could be yourself with me means more than I can put into words."

Her heart raced as she absorbed the weight of Chuuya’s words. Driven by an impulse she couldn’t quite control, she reached out and pressed her lips to his with sudden, tender urgency. Chuuya’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a brief, electrifying moment, he returned the kiss, his emotions crashing through him like a tidal wave.

But then, he pulled back abruptly, his face a mix of conflict and regret. “I… I can’t do this,” he said, his voice strained.

Her breath hitched in her throat. “Why?"

Chuuya remained silent, his eyes fixed on her with a gaze that was both judging and pained. The intensity of his stare seemed to weigh heavily on Y/N, as if he was trying to reconcile the reality before him with the memory of the person he had lost.

"What do you mean you can't? Don't you want to pull me into your arms and lose yourself in me?” Her voice was cracking as she moved closer to him.

He looked away, a pained expression on his face. “Stop it,” he said, his voice rough.

But she wouldn’t relent. “Why, Chuuya? Why when I finally kiss you, you pull away like this? Even though I know you’ve dreamed of this moment, why can’t you let yourself have it?”

Chuuya’s gaze hardened, and he cut her off before she could continue. “You're not her.. I can’t do this with you.”

Her eyes widened, her voice trembling. “But I’m still me, Chuuya. I may be different, but I’m still the person you knew. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“No,” he said, his voice harsh with denial. “It’s not you. It’s not the same. I can’t— I can’t accept this. The version of you I knew is gone. I owe my loyalty to her.”

Y/N felt a sting of hurt at his words, but she nodded, understanding the weight of his struggle.

Chuuya’s gaze softened as he took in every detail of her—her features, her figure, her voice, and her scent. Regret surged within him, realizing that while she wasn’t the exact person he had known, she was still her in so many ways. His voice cracked as he spoke, “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She looked away, silently refusing his apology. After a few moments of painful silence, Chuuya realized the truth: she was indeed her, in essence.

Unable to resist any longer, he moved closer, gently caressing her cheeks and compelling her to meet his gaze. Then, he kissed her with a fervor that spoke of all his conflicted emotions, tasting the softness of her lips and feeling a surge of desire.

'So this is how she tastes like' He thought to himself. His hands roamed over her waist, pulling her closer into his embrace, savoring the sweetness on his lips. His tongue traced her lower lip, drawing a gasp from her as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth to intertwine with hers. Tilting her head to gain better access, he explored every inch of her mouth, tasting her fully and passionately.

After a few intense moments, he pulled back, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, “It’s okay. I get it.”

With that, her hands cupped his face, pulling him into a desperate kiss, as Chuuya’s hands explored her waist, pulling them closer until there was no space left between them.

They could feel the heat radiating off each other, the world outside fading away as they surrendered to the moment. With a swift motion, Chuuya lifted her, wrapping her legs around him as he carried her to his vast bed.

He laid her gently on the bed, eyes dark with longing. “We can stop if you want.” he whispered.

She tugged at his bolo tie, pulling him closer as she whispered back, "I've always wanted this." That simple admission sent a thrill down his spine, awakening a primal need within him.

He took a moment to admire the way she looked—so perfectly inviting, like a work of art waiting to be unveiled. He climbed over her, "S'pretty, s'utterly beautiful " he says with a hoarse voice, his hands exploring the soft curves of her body through the fabric of her clothes, tracing the lines that had driven him wild since forever.

Before she could say a word, she was breathing heavily through her nose as they exchanged deep, open-mouthed kisses. The kiss was intense and ravenous, and soon her coat was on the floor, quickly followed by her shirt.

"Mmph," she murmured against his lips, her fingers sliding to his chest before clutching his white dress shirt and giving it a firm tug. "Take this off."

"Who are you to order me around hmm?" Chuuya snarled rolling his eyes.

"Your boss?" She chuckled lightly her fingers unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt before he pulled his dress shirt up not letting her unbutton the rest.

"Last time I checked I was 'your' boss" he scoffed but didn't waste time pulling her pants down and tossing them aside on the ground.

"Stop testing my limits." She said as her fingers brushed against the muscles of his lean torso gaining a breathless gasp from him.

"Stop talking too much" He leaned closer pressing her against the cool silk sheets beneath her, his mouth travelled across her neck leaving a trail of hot open-mouthed kisses.

Hearing her soft moans and whimpers, he pressed his crotch against her now damp panties.

She gasped feeling his deliciously huge size through his pants rubbing against her. She tugged on his belt trying to unbuckle it.

"Impatient, are we?" He tilted his head slightly to get a better look at her flushed face.

"Shut your mouth a—" He smashed his lips against hers silencing her with his soft lips. He tugged on her hair causing her to whimper into the kiss.

"If you want me to fuck you that much, then stop being such a brat" Hearing him commanding her that much only made the desire in her stomach to grow more.

She bit her lower lip, nodding reluctantly. His breath caught at the sight of her obedience—something he rarely witnessed. He unbuckled his belt and removed his pants swiftly along with his boxers, his eyes never leaving hers.

Her eyes widened seeing his now-freed cock, his length was certainly impressive, but his girth? It was almost unimaginable.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared, captivated by his size. Slowly, she looked up at him, voice trembling with desire. "H-how many inches...?" she asked, her words barely a whisper, her heart racing.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned in closer, his voice low and confident. "Eight," he replied, eyes locking with hers. "Why? Curious about what that feels like?" His tone was teasing, yet there was a heat behind his words that made her pulse quicken even more.

"Fuck—" She cursed softly under her breath, barely able to process anything before his hand moved with practiced ease. In one swift motion, he unclasped her bra, letting it fall away. The cool air against her bare skin sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn't help but gasp, the intensity of the moment overwhelming her senses.

He took in her bare form with a gaze full of admiration, his eyes lingering on her perfectly sized breasts, her flawless stomach, and the curve of her waist. His hands roamed along her body with reverence, eventually resting on the waistband of her panties. The touch was gentle yet deliberate, as if he were savoring every inch of her skin.

She whined softly as his skilled fingers rubbed against her wet folds through the fabric of her panties. The touch was electrifying, making her body shiver and her breath hitch. She struggled to maintain her composure as the sensations intensified, her hips instinctively moving closer to his hand.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, “I can feel how much you want this.” His fingers continued to tease her, applying just enough pressure to heighten her sensitivity. His touch was deliberate, alternating between slow, gentle strokes and firmer pressure. He watched her reactions intently, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on her, his voice dripping with teasing satisfaction. “feels good, mm?” he murmured, his hand never letting up.

She instinctively closed her thighs around his hand, trying to create more friction. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly and pushed her legs open again. “Such a needy whore.” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You'll have to wait until I decide you're ready." His ring and middle finger pushed aside her panties before slipping into her aching cunt, amplifying her need for release.

He moaned with pleasure, his voice laced with praise. “You feel s'good tightening around my fingers,” he murmured, his breath catching as he increased the pace. His fingers moved swiftly, thrusting in and out, each motion drawing soft gasps from her lips. He watched her closely, clearly enjoying every moment of her response to his touch.

She cursed under her breath, frustration evident in her voice. “Damn you for teasing me so much,” she muttered, her body trembling with need. Despite her words, her voice softened, turning into a desperate plea. “Please… just fuck me already,” she begged, her tone laced with urgency and longing.

Chuuya tsked, shaking his head slightly. “Where are your manners?” he chided, his tone dripping with mock disappointment. His fingers stilled inside her for a moment, making her ache with need. “You can do better than that,” he added, his voice low and commanding, clearly enjoying making her beg.

She swallowed her pride, her voice softening as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Is that what you want to hear?” she asked sweetly, her tone dripping with a mixture of desperation and desire. “Please, Chuuya… I need you.” She bit her lip, her body trembling as she tried to give him exactly what he wanted, hoping it would finally push him to give her what she craved.

Chuuya chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. “Look at you, catching on so fast,” he teased, his tone light but full of admiration. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of her panties, sliding them down and tossing them aside. Without hesitation, he positioned himself against her dripping cunt, the anticipation between them palpable. “Let’s see if you’re really as desperate as you sound.” he whispered, his voice thick with anticipation as he pressed teasingly against her.

Chuuya pinned her wrists to the bed with one hand, his grip firm against the sheets. His other hand guided his cock, sliding it teasingly along her wet folds. He watched her squirm beneath him, enjoying the way her body reacted to his touch. With a slow, deliberate motion, he brushed his tip inside her, just enough to make her gasp, before pulling back slightly, teasing her with the promise of more. “You’re so eager,” he murmured, his voice a mix of amusement and control.

" Fuck you—" She cursed under her breath, frustration evident in her voice. Before she could say more, Chuuya leaned down, capturing her lips with his. His teeth caught her lower lip, biting down just hard enough to send a jolt through her body, a silent warning for her defiance. As he pulled back, he met her gaze with a smirk. “Watch that mouth of yours,” he warned playfully, his voice low and commanding.

Despite his rough actions, Chuuya pushed into her slowly, allowing her to adjust to his size. A lewd moan escaped his lips, overwhelmed by the sensation of her walls clenching around him so deliciously. He paused, his voice low. “Is it too much?” he asked, his tone carrying a mix of concern and control. “you alright?” His movements were deliberate, giving her space to respond. She could only nod, gasping as she adjusted, her body still reeling from the intense sensations.

Chuuya began to thrust into her, lewd moans escaping his lips with each movement. His rhythm was steady yet intense, driving her wild with pleasure. As he continued, he pressed soft kisses on her chest and down her breasts, his touch gentle despite the fervor of his actions. Wrapping his arms around her, he whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his voice a soothing contrast to the heated passion of their embrace.

As he quickened his pace, his thrusts grew more rapid, and the rhythmic slap of their skin against each other resonated through the room—plap plap plap. His breath came in ragged gasps with each thrust “You feel so good around me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you so much.” He pressed closer, his words blending with the rhythm of his movements, each thrust underscoring his longing for her.

Her nails dug into his back, leaving marks as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Overwhelmed by pleasure, she became a moaning mess beneath him. Her voice was muffled but filled with longing as she whispered against his skin, “I miss you too… you’re stretching me so perfectly… filling me so good.” Each word was punctuated by gasps and moans, her body trembling with the intensity of their connection.

He shivered at her words, a deep growl rumbling from his chest as he felt her nails rake his back. Her moans and gasps, muffled but clear in their intensity, only spurred him on. Each whisper of her longing voice sent waves of heat through him, driving him to move even deeper and faster.

His grip tightened around her as he adjusted his angle to hit her most sweet spot. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin "Don't you ever leave me again," he growled, his voice thick with an obsessive desire.

As they neared their release, the knot in her stomach grew tighter, begging for relief. Chuuya whispered in her ear, his voice came in ragged gasps, “You’re clenching around me s'perfectly. you close, baby, hmm?” She nodded, biting her lip hard, her head thrown back as she moaned his name repeatedly, each cry a testament to the mounting pleasure. Her body writhed beneath him, caught in the crescendo of their shared climax.

Chuuya gazed down, watching the white ring forming around the base of his cock as he thrust faster. The feeling of her walls clenching around him pushed him over the edge as his moans grew louder, each cry of her name a desperate release. Their combined juices coated his cock, dripping onto the silk sheets beneath them. As they both reached the peak, she felt the warm, pulsing strings of cum filling her, the intense sensation making them shudder as they both unraveled together.

As their breathing gradually slowed, Chuuya gently pulled out, his body still trembling from the intensity. He carefully moved to her side, his hand softly brushing her hair away from her face. They lay together, the heat of their earlier passion now giving way to a more tender, quiet moment. Chuuya's fingers traced soothing patterns on her skin as he whispered, “It was better than I've ever imagined.” His voice was softer now, filled with genuine affection and gratitude.

As they lay entwined, catching their breath and enjoying the tender aftermath of their passion, the quiet of the room was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. Chuuya’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly shifted to cover them, trying to regain his composure.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, glancing at her softly.

Another knock followed, louder this time. Chuuya got up, pulling on his clothes with hurried movements. “Stay here,” he instructed, his voice still soft.

He made his way to the door, his mind racing as he prepared to face whoever was on the other side. When he opened it, Dazai stood there, a curious and slightly amused expression on his face.

Dazai’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he took in the disheveled state of Chuuya. “Ah, Chuuya, looks like I’m interrupting something,” Dazai teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

Chuuya’s face flushed with irritation. “It’s none of your business,” he snapped, trying to regain his composure.

Dazai’s smirk widened as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “Oh, come on. I see you’ve finally landed the hot chick you’ve always been so obsessed with,” he teased, his tone light but edged with a hint of playful mockery. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Chuuya sighed, his frustration evident. “Please, I'm not in the mood for this.”

Dazai's smirk grew as he continued to lean against the doorframe, clearly enjoying Chuuya’s discomfort. “You know,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “if you need any advice on how to handle a situation like this, I’m more than happy to help.”

Chuuya's eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. He growled, “I think I know what I’m doing just fine, Dazai. I don’t need your advice.”

"Fine!! You're boring" He pouts playfully, his eyes still twinkling with amusement.

Chuuya took a deep breath, trying to keep his frustration in check. “What do you actually want, Dazai?” he asked, his tone edged with annoyance.

Dazai’s chuckle was light and almost too casual. “Oh, nothing too pressing,” he said, his eyes glinting with intrigue. “I just came to share some new information I found about the page of the reality book. Thought you might want to know.”

Chuuya’s interest was piqued despite himself. “What about it?” he demanded, trying to push aside his irritation.

Dazai’s expression grew more serious as he began explaining. “The one holding the page of the reality book is Y/N’s stepfather from another universe. It seems he’s involved in something much bigger than we initially thought.”

Chuuya’s face darkened with a mix of frustration and concern. “Why didn’t you say this sooner?” he snapped, his irritation evident.

At that moment, Y/N emerged, wrapping a white silk blanket around her. The soft fabric accentuated her form, and Dazai’s eyes widened slightly, his composure momentarily faltering before he regained his usual aloof demeanor. Chuuya scowled, clearly annoyed by Dazai’s flustered reaction.

Her voice broke the tension as she addressed Dazai directly. “Do you know where my stepfather is?” she asked, her tone steady but edged with urgency.

Dazai met her gaze, masking his surprise with a neutral expression. “I have some leads,” he replied, “but I’ll need to dig deeper to get a precise location. I’ll let you know once I have more information.”

She nodded, her expression resolute. “I need to find him before he can do more damage, in my universe he was a pain in the ass.”

Chuuya let out a weary sigh, his frustration palpable. “In this universe, he’s been a pain in the ass as well. He’s actually the reason why my version of you died.” His voice hardened with determination. “I won’t let him get away with it again.”

Her eyes widened at the gravity of his words, but her resolve remained firm. Chuuya turned to Dazai, his expression grim. “Get me the information as soon as you can,” he demanded. “We need to end this before it’s too late.”

Dazai nodded smirking. “Roger that."

Chuuya couldn't help but roll his eyes at his carefree attitude.

As Dazai left, the door closing softly behind him, she quickly moved to put on her clothes. She dressed quickly, her movements focused as she prepared for the upcoming confrontation.

Chuuya watched her, then spoke up, his tone curious but serious. “You never mentioned much about your relationship with your stepfather in this universe. What’s the history there?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes clouding with a shadow of painful memories. “Not sure if it's the same but...after my mother died,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “he turned his rage on us. He used to torture me and my younger sister. I tried to protect her by hiding her away, but once he found out, he focused all his anger on me.”

As she spoke, her gaze seemed to drift into a distant, agonizing past. The room around her faded, replaced by a grim flashback.

She was twelve years old, her small frame barely visible in the dim light of an underground station. The air was cold and damp, carrying the faint echo of dripping water. Her stepfather loomed over her, his purple eyes cold and relentless.

Metallic rods were driven through her wrists, pinning her to a makeshift table. The pain was excruciating, sending waves of agony through her young body. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood that dripped from the wounds. Her stepfather’s face was a mask of cruel determination as he looked at her with a twisted satisfaction.

“Where’s your sister?” he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper. “Tell me, or the pain will only get worse.”

Her screams echoed through the station, her voice hoarse from the relentless torment. The rods were pierced deeper, and her stepfather showed no mercy. She tried to use her powers to escape, but her stepfather’s ability nullified hers—his power allowed him to subsume any ability, making her helpless. Her attempts were futile; she could only endure the torturous process as he taunted her.

Each new rod was driven into her flesh with sadistic precision, causing fresh waves of unbearable pain. Her vision blurred with tears, and she screamed until her voice was raw and her strength was nearly spent. Her stepfather’s questions continued, interspersed with cruel laughter as he revelled in her suffering.

The flashback ended abruptly, pulling Y/N back to the present. Her face was pale, her eyes haunted by the lingering pain of those memories. She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself.

“That’s why,” she said, her voice cracking slightly, “I need to stop him. I can’t let him do to others what he did to me.”

Chuuya’s expression softened with understanding and resolve. “We’ll put an end to it. I promise.”

Chuuya moved closer, his gaze softening with empathy. He gently cupped her cheeks with his hands, his touch tender and reassuring. His fingers traced a soothing path along her skin as he leaned in, placing soft, lingering kisses on her lips. Each kiss was meant to comfort and console her, to offer a sense of safety and solidarity in the midst of the pain she had shared.

“I’m here,” he whispered against her lips, his voice low and reassuring. “We’ll get through this. But this time together, I cant let you do it alone again... I can't afford to lose you again.”

"I know" her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the warmth of his touch providing a much-needed solace.

Chuuya pulled back gently, his gaze still warm and determined. He adjusted his clothes with swift, practiced movements, ensuring he was ready for the confrontation ahead.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, placing a last kiss on her forehead.

They both left the headquarters, making their way to the abandoned airport that Dazai had instructed them to. The massive, desolate space was eerily quiet, the air thick with dust and the remnants of a once-bustling location now left to decay. Her confusion was evident as she scanned the surroundings, wondering what had prompted this location.

As they arrived, Dazai was already waiting for them, leaning casually against a crumbling wall. His expression was serious unlike usual.

“Glad you made it on time.” Dazai said, his tone shifting to one of urgency. “Ranpo has come to a conclusion that’s beyond comprehension, and I need you to be ready for what I'm about to explain.”

She took a seat on a nearby bench, her curiosity piqued. Chuuya stood beside her, his gaze fixed on Dazai as he spoke

Dazai continued, his tone steady. “Ranpo’s investigation led him to the realization that you are the key to opening a rift to another universe. Your stepfather has escaped to a different dimension, and we need to access it to find him.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Me opening a rift to another universe? How is that even possible?”

Dazai met her gaze with a reassuring nod. “It’s possible because of your Malevolent Marionette ability. You see, the power you possess allows you to replicate and control entities. And since it got amplified when you stepped foot into this universe so by extending that ability to manipulate the fabric of reality itself, you can create a rift.”

He gestured to the air around them, trying to clarify. “Think of it like this: your ability can create a copy of an entity and control it. We can use that principle to create a ‘copy’ of this universe and transition to another. Essentially, you’ll be using your power to bridge the gap between dimensions.”

listened intently, her eyes narrowing as she processed the explanation. “So, by manipulating reality in a way similar to how I control my copies, I can open a rift to another universe?”

Dazai nodded. “Exactly. It’s a complex process, but we believe it’s within your capabilities. Once the rift is open, we’ll be able to track and confront your stepfather.”

Chuuya knelt before her, taking her hands in his own. His gaze was filled with concern and support. “If this becomes too much for you, we can find another way. We’ll figure out an alternative, no matter what.”

Her met his eyes, her expression resolute. “I appreciate that, Chuuya, but I’m ready to do this. I need to stop him, and this is the only way.”

Chuuya nodded, his grip on her hands tightening reassuringly before he released them. She then turned to Dazai, her curiosity piqued. “Why did you specifically choose this airport for the rift?”

Dazai looked around the abandoned space, his gaze thoughtful. “This location was chosen because it’s isolated and open, making it easier to stabilize the rift without drawing unwanted attention. The large, empty area gives us the space we need to safely create and control the rift.”

He continued, “Additionally, the old infrastructure here has a unique resonance that might actually aid in the process. It’s not a perfect science, but it should help in anchoring the rift and ensuring it stays stable.”

She nodded, understanding the rationale behind the choice. “Alright. Let’s get started then.”

She gets up approaching the designated area of the abandoned airport, her focus sharpening as she prepared to use her ability. The old infrastructure loomed around her, its faded and crumbling form adding an air of eerie significance to the task ahead.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the familiar rush of power surge through her veins. The amplification of her Malevolent Marionette ability in this universe made her sense of control both exhilarating and intense. She drew upon this heightened power, channeling it into the task of creating a rift.

Taking a deep breath, she began to concentrate, visualizing the concept of a ‘copy’ of the universe. She extended her senses to the fabric of reality, focusing on the connection between dimensions. Her power, always a tangible force, now felt even more potent and responsive.

As she concentrated, she began to generate an ethereal thread of energy, weaving it through the air. This thread represented the bridge she needed to create. Her eyes glowed a deep, bloody red as she manipulated the reality around her, the air vibrating with the intensity of her power.

The process was complex; she had to maintain a precise balance to ensure the rift remained stable. She imagined the rift as a shimmering doorway between dimensions, her ability acting as the key to unlock it. The space around her seemed to warp and distort as the rift began to form, its edges crackling with energy.

After several moments of intense focus, the rift stabilized, a pulsating portal of shifting colors and swirling energy hovering before them. It was a tangible gateway to the other universe.

She opened her eyes, her breath slightly labored but her expression resolute. “It’s done. The rift is open. We can now move through it.”

Chuuya’s gaze softened as he stepped closer to her. He placed a gentle kiss on her temple, his voice a low murmur. “You did well, baby.”

Dazai stood there observing with a hint of exasperation, rolling his eyes. “Give me a break, Chuuya. It’s not exactly the time for showing affection. We have a mission to focus on.”

With a scoff and a quick shake of his head, Dazai turned toward the rift. “Let’s get moving.”

The three of them stepped through the rift, leaving behind the desolate abandoned airport. They emerged into another universe, finding themselves back at an airport that was bustling with activity. The once-derelict surroundings had transformed into a vibrant scene, with people moving about, shops open, and the hum of life filling the air.

Chuuya remained close to her. “We’ll stick together and cover as much ground as we can. If he’s here, we’ll find him.”

Dazai on the other hand immediately began taking notes, his sharp gaze scanning the lively environment with practiced efficiency. He moved with purpose, quickly piecing together the clues from the vibrant surroundings.

After a few moments of observation and note-taking, Dazai’s expression shifted to one of realization. “I’ve figured it out. He is among these people. We need to be strategic about this.”

Chuuya nodded, his jaw set with determination. “So, what’s the plan?”

Dazai thought for a moment before responding. “We need to lure him away from the crowd and into a controlled space where we can handle him more effectively. We can’t afford to touch him directly, given his ability. Instead, we’ll need to use a combination of strategy and traps to get him through the rift.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed with concern. “How do we get him to follow us through the rift without touching him, idiot?”

Y/N stood there, her mind racing, suddenly had an idea. “I can create a replica of my mother. If we make it convincing enough, it might lure him through the rift. He’d be drawn to her, and we can get him into our trap.”

Chuuya frowned, clearly uneasy. “How do you propose we do that? He’s not going to be easily fooled.”

Dazai’s lips curled into a smirk. “Actually, he might be more susceptible than you think. Y/N’s ability has been amplified since arriving in our universe. She can create a replica of her dead mother to lure him through the rift. He wouldn’t know that it’s just her ability at work.”

Chuuya looked skeptical. “Are you sure he wouldn’t figure it out? He’s not exactly a fool.”

Dazai shook his head, his smirk widening. “On the contrary, he’s not aware of the full extent of her ability. The amplification in our universe has changed things. He won’t expect that this is a trick.”

Y/N took a deep breath, preparing herself for the task ahead. “If this is the best way to get him through the rift, I’ll do it.”

With the plan in place, she concentrated, focusing on creating a replica of her mother. Her ability, now amplified, took on a new level of intensity. She visualized her mother’s likeness with painstaking detail, drawing on her memories to create a convincing illusion.

The replica stood before them, a ghostly yet strikingly real vision of her mother. It moved with the grace and familiarity that she remembered, a poignant reminder of the love she had lost. She felt a pang of sorrow, but she steeled herself, knowing that this illusion was crucial for their plan.

As the replica became fully formed. Dazai gave her a soft smile. “You’ve done well. Now, let’s get into position.”

They all hid behind a nearby wall, their eyes trained on the bustling crowd. Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her resolve as she guided the replica of her mother into view. The replica moved gracefully, mimicking the familiar motions and demeanor of her deceased mother.

Through the maze of people, Y/N spotted her stepfather. His presence was unmistakable with his black, long hair and the distinctive ushanka hat he always wore. Her heart tightened at the sight of him, his imposing figure cutting through the crowd with an unsettling familiarity. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the area.

When he caught sight of the replica, his expression shifted from curiosity to shock. His eyes widened, and he squinted as if trying to confirm what he was seeing. He pushed through the crowd, his movements quick and purposeful as he followed the illusion. The replica of Y/N’s mother seemed to captivate him, drawing him closer.

Chuuya’s voice was a low murmur beside her. “Keep him moving. Once he’s close enough to the rift, we’ll make our move.”

She nodded, her focus unyielding. She maneuvered the replica with precise control, ensuring it led her stepfather directly to the edge of the rift. The stepfather’s fixation on the replica made him oblivious to his surroundings, allowing them to prepare for the final step.

As the stepfather reached the rift’s edge, they began to close in on him, ready to trigger the trap. The rift shimmered ominously, its pulsating energy reflecting the tension of the moment.

The stepfather, now fully engrossed in the illusion, took a step closer to the rift. His gaze was locked onto the replica, and he seemed on the verge of stepping through. The plan was working—he was being drawn toward the gateway between dimensions.

As the he neared the rift, Chuuya’s eyes narrowed with determination. He focused on his ability, manipulating gravity with precise control. Without physically touching him, Chuuya directed a powerful gravitational force that propelled the stepfather through the rift. He startled expression shifted to a sneer as he was pulled into the swirling vortex.

With their target through, they followed closely behind, stepping through the rift one after the other. They emerged into the same old airport immediately facing the stepfather who had already adjusted to the new environment.

The rift behind them flickered and closed, sealing them in their dimension. He turned slowly, a mocking smile playing on his lips. His gaze settled on Y/N, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Ah, finally,” he chuckled, his voice dripping with disdain. “I see you’ve managed to use the full extent of your power. How delightful.”

Her jaw tightened, but she maintained her composure. “Fyodor.”

Fyodor’s smirk widened as he looked at her, clearly reveling in the moment. “You’re still as predictable as ever,” he taunted. “I’ve heard whispers of your growing power, but seeing it in action is truly something else. I must admit, I’m impressed.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “This isn’t a game, Fyodor. You’re here because we need to settle things once and for all.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze sweeping over the group. “Oh, I’m well aware. But before we get into that, let’s not forget the real reason you’re here. I’m curious—how does it feel to be free from the constraints of your Malevolent Marionette?”

Chuuya stepped in, his voice edged with authority. “Enough games, Fyodor. You’ve been a thorn in our side for far too long. We’re not here to entertain you.”

Fyodor’s gaze shifted to Chuuya, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Ah, Chuuya. Still the ever-loyal protector. How touching.”

As the tension in the air thickened, Fyodor’s demeanor became more serious. “But enough chit-chat. Let’s see if you can handle what I have in store. After all, this little reunion is about to become much more interesting.”

With a snap of his fingers, Fyodor's eyes gleamed with a new, sinister energy. The air around him crackled and shimmered as he unleashed his latest ability. A dark, swirling vortex of energy formed at his feet, gradually expanding into a series of ethereal, shadowy tendrils that writhed and twisted with an eerie life of their own.

The tendrils snaked outwards, each one pulsating with a dark, unnatural light. As they extended, they seemed to distort the very fabric of reality around them, creating ripples in the air that caused everything nearby to quiver. The power emanating from Fyodor was palpable, a chilling force that seemed to bend and warp the space it touched.

Before Chuuya could react, one of the tendrils shot towards him with alarming speed. It moved with a fluid, almost serpentine grace, aiming directly at his torso. The dark energy crackled with an almost sentient malice, leaving trails of distorted air in its wake.

Chuuya's instincts kicked in as he deflected the attack using his gravity manipulation. He tried to push the tendril away, but the force it carried was unexpectedly strong. The tendril slithered around his defenses, grazing his side and sending a jolt of freezing energy through him. It felt like a cold, piercing void trying to sap his strength.

Fyodor watched with a satisfied smirk. “You see,” Fyodor taunted, “this ability is something I’ve acquired recently. It allows me to manipulate shadows and dark energy, turning them into tangible, destructive forces. It’s quite effective for dealing with troublesome opponents.”

As Chuuya struggled against the tendrils, Dazai moved swiftly and decisively. His sharp eyes tracked the swirling shadows, and with practiced precision, he darted towards one of the tendrils. In a quick, fluid motion, Dazai placed his hand on the dark energy. The tendril quivered and then abruptly solidified into an immobile state. The shadowy force dissipated, leaving the dark energy inert and harmless.

Before Fyodor could fully react, Y/N stepped forward with a steely resolve. Her eyes glowed a deep, bloody red as she summoned her enhanced Malevolent Marionette ability. With a practiced flick of her hand, she unleashed the time-proof strigles—an immense axial fiber that shimmered with a powerful, otherworldly energy.

The strigles coiled around Fyodor, the time-proof cable wrapping around him with a near-physical force. The cables constricted with a precise, suffocating grip, holding Fyodor captive and rendering him immobile. The energy from the strigles warped and distorted the space around him, making it nearly impossible for him to escape or counteract.

Fyodor’s eyes danced with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. He chuckled, his voice carrying a taunting edge. “Is that all you’ve got?” he said, his gaze meeting hers with a challenging gleam. “You may have temporarily subdued me, but this is far from over. My new ability is not so easily contained.”

As she held Fyodor captive with the time-proof strigles, her senses suddenly picked up a familiar, unsettling sound—a chittering that tugged at her memory. Her eyes widened as she scanned the surroundings, searching for the source of the sound. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a small, familiar raccoon darting towards them with an unexpected urgency.

the raccoon, Karl, was clutching a book that emanated a brilliant yellow aura. Without hesitation, Karl threw open the book, its pages glowing with an intense, radiant energy. The light expanded outward, forming an ethereal, shimmering barrier that enveloped Fyodor. The book's aura pulsed with a force that pulled Fyodor into its pages, trapping him within.

Fyodor’s mocking expression turned to one of shock and frustration as he realized he was being drawn into the book’s confines. He struggled against the glowing energy, but it was no use. The barrier solidified, and with a final burst of light, Fyodor was sealed inside, his form barely visible through the pages of the book.

As the light from the book began to fade, Karl gave a satisfied thumbs-up. From above a nearby corridor, the familiar voice of Poe echoed through the airport. “Good job, Karl!” Poe called out, his eyes filled with starry hearts. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Y/N’s eyes softened in relief and recognition as she saw Poe standing above, a warm smile on his face. She nodded gratefully at Karl and Poe, silently thanking them for their unexpected intervention.

Chuuya's eyes narrowed, and he shot Dazai a sharp look. “You knew about this all along, didn’t you?” he demanded, his tone a mix of frustration and disbelief.

Dazai chuckled, his expression one of innocent amusement. “Well, I had a pretty good idea that Karl and Poe might show up. They do have a knack for timing, after all.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her expression mirroring Chuuya’s irritation. “You should have told us about the full plan. It would have saved us a lot of unnecessary worry.”

Dazai's smirk widened, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that? Sometimes a little surprise adds to the excitement.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in realization, her face turning pale. “The paper! We didn’t get the paper from the reality book!” Her panic was palpable as she rushed over to the trapped Fyodor, her mind racing with the implications of leaving such a crucial element in his possession.

Before she goes onto a full panic attack mode, Karl scampered up onto her shoulder, carefully placing a folded piece of paper into her hand. She stared at it in disbelief, recognizing the paper as the one they had desperately needed.

Poe, descending gracefully from above, added with a reassuring tone, “Karl managed to snatch it from Fyodor’s pocket before he was sealed away. It’s crucial for ensuring the book’s containment.”

“Thank you, both,” She sighs with relief.

Poe gave her a reassuring smile. “No problem. I will rewrite it making sure that everything is back to normal.”

Karl continues to play with Y/N hair as she giggled at him.

Poe’s eyes softened with a knowing smile as he moved closer. “I’ll make sure to bring back both your version of Chuuya in your world and Chuuya’s version of you here.”

She looked at Poe with a thoughtful expression, her eyes shifting to Chuuya. He met her gaze with a nod of agreement. She then smiled warmly at Poe and shook her head. “Thank you, Poe, but we don’t need that anymore.”

Poe raised an eyebrow, slightly puzzled. “Are you sure?”

Chuuya stepped forward, his voice firm yet gentle. “We’ve grown fond of this version of each other. We’ve adapted to the reality we’re in now.”

Poe’s expression brightened with understanding. “Very well then. If that’s what you both want, I’ll respect your choice.”

Karl patted Y/N’s shoulder affectionately, as if to confirm the decision. Poe gave a final nod, his eyes reflecting a mix of satisfaction and warmth. “I’ll see to it that everything is sorted out here. If you need anything else, let me know.”

With a wave of his hand, Poe and Karl began to fade from view, their task complete. The airport, once filled with tension and chaos, now felt more settled as the group took a moment to reflect on the events that had transpired.

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, life in Yokohama settled into a new rhythm. Y/N had firmly decided to step back from the role of the mafia boss, finding more comfort and purpose under Chuuya's leadership. She preferred the freedom it allowed, enabling her to focus on what truly mattered—both in their missions and in her personal life.

Dazai, ever the observer, continued to make occasional visits to check on Y/N. Their friendship remained strong, but Dazai harbored unspoken feelings for her. Nevertheless, he found himself feeling more content knowing she was happy with that 'slug' as he calls him, despite his own lingering emotions. He chose to keep his distance, admiring her from afar while supporting their relationship in his own quiet way.

A year later, Y/N and Chuuya's love had blossomed into a committed partnership. They celebrated their engagement with joy and anticipation. On a usual Saturday night, they were enjoying a quiet evening together, sharing drinks and reminiscing about their past lives.

Chuuya's phone rang, interrupting their moment. He glanced at the screen and saw Akutagawa's name. After a brief conversation, he informed Y/N of the situation. “Akutagawa says there’s a nuisance ability user causing trouble in Yokohama. It looks like we've got to take care of this.”

Her eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “Trouble never seems to end, does it?”

Chuuya smiled, his gaze filled with affection. “It doesn’t, but as long as we’re together, nothing in the world is too hard to beat.”

She returned his smile, a mix of excitement and determination in her gaze. She stood up, reaching for her usual black leather long coat. With a quick motion, she cracked her neck, readying herself for whatever lay ahead. Chuuya adjusted his hat with practiced ease, his eyes shining with confidence.

Together, they stepped out, side by side, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them in Yokohama. With their combined strength and unwavering bond, they knew that no obstacle would be too great to overcome.

A/N: I know I know don't hate me, I had to change ma sweet babe Fedya's ability for the plot 😭. Oh how I hated not mischaracterising him into a sweet alooffff. Also, I know the fight scene was rushed, but I felt the plot was stretching too much. Also, Karl's part was UwU. Yet I feel bad for Daz for watching Y/N from afar :(. Anyways!! Hope y'all enjoyed it, I know the plot was quite perplexing, but i just got back to writing after a huge pause that reached 2 years.

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