#a tumultuous state of mind

[the-travelling-witch]

also uhm without wanting to fish for interactions here, if you do have thoughts on the new theme, i’d love to hear them, i kinda put a lot of time into it ^^;

[the-muppet-joker]

I once drank three of these in one go and was not able to use the John for over ten days. Perhaps in moderation, Four could resolve their liquid bowel movement issue with an Olipop's Grape Soda, a New Kind of Soda that Supports Digestive Health.

[solecize]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎��𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you welcome your boyfriend back to the country with a surprise party, just as the clock is ticking to say goodbye again. the big day is almost here and enlistment brings couples either one of two things: a ring or a breakup.  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), infidelity, foul language, substance use, underage drinking, mentions of the covid-19 pandemic, sexually suggestive content  𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of real-life events. the series is told in non-chronological order. note that the main character is a member of a fictional idol group. more warnings may be added as the story is written. join the taglist here! ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤm.list | next

you say, "i don't understand, " and i say, "i know you don't" we thought a cure would come through in time, now i fear it won't

TODAY’S TOP HEADLINE: bts’ rm, jimin, taehyung and jungkook set to enlist in the coming weeks! ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤautumn 2023

the confrontation   when it rained, it poured and you felt like you haven't seen even a glimpse of the sun in ages. there was a nagging feeling in your gut that it was too far gone, but like everything else for the past ten years, you swallowed it down and swept it under the rug. bad feelings didn’t exist in your relationship. that was the unspoken rule. yet, it was growing more and more difficult to mask the disappointment in your eyes or the frown fighting your lips. today marked the worst of your attempts.

  seoul was unusually calm tonight and it scared you. when you moved to the city ages ago to begin your journey as an idol trainee, it was nothing but intimidating for your meek, pre-teen self. eventually, over time, your love for the city bloomed and it was truthfully because of jungkook. once young teenagers that arrived to seoul alone, you found solace in each other and embraced the change as one. he made you fall in love with seoul the same way he made you fall in love with him. dates, nightclubs, late night adventures, and years worth of moments within the city limits. 

  however, the streets were as hushed as you were, as you gripped your steering wheel like a robot. 

  the decision had been long made and you knew it was going to come around at some point, so there was no use in fighting it. after going without seeing your boyfriend for months, it should have been nothing but pure excitement.

  “you’re awfully quiet,” murmured jungkook, glancing over at you from the passenger seat.

  you were already annoyed to begin with, when he mentioned that he was going to have a driver pick him up from the airport, instead of asking for you. it felt like he didn’t even expect to have you waiting for him, considering the two of you had been apart due to his time working in the united states. you thought he’d be insisting for you to be the first person he saw once he came back. these frustrations were on top of several other things, which you’d been dreading to confront for even longer of a time.

  and then, there was also the velvet box you spotted in the background of one of your facetime calls. you didn’t bring it up, but it was living in your mind everyday since. with jungkook’s big day fast approaching, there were a lot of conflicting ideas in your head.

  you shrugged. “i’ve been filming long hours. not getting that much sleep.”

  the look jungkook gave you read that he knew that you weren’t being a hundred percent honest, but he didn’t say anything. his eyes returned to being fixated on his phone.

  after over ten years of knowing each other, you and jungkook could see through each other like glass. the only problem was that nobody ever wanted to speak up. you feared the glaring possibility of other buried conflict dating further back into the relationship because of this dynamic.

  you didn’t think you deserved the blame for the tension in the air. there were several things in your mind, but jungkook wasn’t exactly a person who could easily mask their emotions. something was off with him, too, and you needed to figure out what it was. you could only hope for the best case scenario because otherwise, it was going to be your worst nightmare. there was no situation you could fathom where his behaviour was a result of an in between. 

  keeping your voice casual, you asked, “who are you texting?”

  “my mom.”

  you held back a sigh - jungkook was never particularly keen on involving you with his family. though you’d been together since he was sixteen, you always felt like he kept you an arm’s reach away from that part of your life and you never understood why.

  “oh. tell her i say hi,” you said and he hummed in response. 

  whilst you weren’t in a talkative mood, it wasn’t like jungkook was doing anything to keep the conversation flowing either. you guys obviously texted and called during his time away, but the present atmosphere was awkward, like there was nothing to talk about after his grand return. you hugged and kissed at the airport, asked how his flight was, and that was that. driving him felt like a business endeavour, rather than welcoming your long-term partner back to the country.

  after a few minutes, jungkook finally looked up from his phone. upon peering out the window, he grew confused and turned to you.

  he questioned, “where are we going? the apartment is in the other direction.”

  “just wait,” you assured, forcing a small smile. “take off your hoodie and put on what i have for you in the backseat.”

  there was a shopping bag sitting behind jungkook’s seat and he reluctantly reached over, revealing a silk ysl shirt that you picked up that very afternoon. sighing, he did as you asked and made the change. you didn’t care to look over at your boyfriend’s shirtless body, too irritated at the curtness of the conversation.

  you just wanted to get to the destination, the heavy silence becoming too much for you. there wasn’t even music on. you found yourself focusing too much on it, as you finally pulled up to the infamous hotel azure. somehow tucked away in the busy songpa district, it is unassuming to the civilian eye, but a well-known name amongst the circles of south korea’s entertainment industry. you didn’t “make it” in entertainment until you attended a party at hotel azure.

  jungkook shifted in his seat. “what is this?” his tone was demanding, which immediately put you off. “the plan was to go home.”

  to be fair, the last time that the two of you were at the azure hotel, jungkook wound up with a bloody nose after getting into it with an not-to-be-named yg idol at one of jackson wang’s wild parties. you weren’t even sure what happened yourself, bleary eyed for the majority of the night with several substances in your body. hotel azure was for idols at the top of the world with everything to lose, a favourite place of yours around 2018. it was now a place that you actively tried to avoid, but made an exception for the special occasion.

  “calm down,” you shot back, not letting him get away with the voice he used. “just wait, i said.”

  “i’m tired, y/n,” jungkook pleaded, as you stopped the car for the valet to take. 

  you ignored him - it wasn’t like it was up to you - and unbuckled your seatbelt, not waiting a second for jungkook. 

  not only did you pick up your boyfriend from the airport, you also spent hours meticulously preparing your appearance for the night. it didn’t seem like jungkook noticed, other than at the airport, when he questioned why you were wearing high heels. 

  you never wore heels unless you were working, but that changed when you met jungkook. he loved it when you wore heels and by the time your respective trainee debts were paid, made it a point. you bought platforms with the anticipation of how your boyfriend would go crazy over them. jungkook gifted you designer jimmy choos and pradas whenever you guys got into a fight. it made you feel your prettiest and he showered you with compliments every time.

  now, he looked at you oddly for it, like you were doing too much.

  jungkook eventually gave up and followed you in without a word, watching you take off your trench coat to reveal a stunning baby pink two-piece dress. the colour glittered under the low lighting of the hotel lobby and the corset accentuated your curves in all the right aways. except, he still did not say a word. this made you frown.

  you handed off your coat to an employee and jungkook did the same. the lobby was empty, but you and jungkook knew exactly where to go, making a beeline for the elevator and pressing the button to move up to the penthouse suite. 

  “why didn’t you warn me about this?” he grumbled under his breath, adjusting his shirt in the mirror.

  because that’s how surprise parties work, you wanted to reply. unfortunately, this was not a surprise party that you wanted to celebrate, so you didn’t even try to keep jungkook excited. you were both quiet, irritable, and only wanted to go home. 

  you said, “this is the part where i cover your eyes and lead you out.”

  jungkook complied and you placed your perfectly manicured hands over his line of vision. other than sharing a hug and kiss earlier, this was the closest you’d physically gotten to your boyfriend in months. your hands were cold and you were close enough that he could hear your breathing - all too uncomfortable. 

  the elevator dinged and you nudged jungkook to step forward. the penthouse’s lights were off, but you could make out the shuffling of feet from behind the kitchen counter. it looked like everything was set up and pristine. then, in just a beat, the entire room lit up and you removed your hands from jungkook’s eyes.

  “SURPRISE!”

  the floor rumbled, voices roaring and bodies popping out from different places - behind pillars, couches and the bar. jungkook’s eyes brightened in a way that you had yet to see since reuniting with him earlier and it made your heart sink. you hadn’t realized how dull his demeanour was around you until something else actually made him smile.

  his closest friends and family gathered in the penthouse and there was a large, golden banner that hung from the walls that said “welcome back jungkook!” the other wall was decorated with another banner, but this one said “good luck rm, v, jimin and jungkook!” 

  jungkook’s older brother was the first one that enveloped him into a bear hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him, then his mom. this was followed by the remainder of his band mates that managed to make the party. you awkwardly stood off to the side, a wide smile plastered on your face to mask your despondence. it seemed like jungkook’s exhaustion only existed when he was sitting in a car with you, as his laughter echoed throughout the room.

  you caught jungkook’s eye and he already knew how you were feeling. while he exchanged words with other friends, it was namjoon who pulled you to the side.

  “hey. you guys did a really great job with the party,” you started, looking around.

  the penthouse of the azure hotel was a thing of beauty, with ceiling high windows that looked over the lights of seoul. everything shone and glimmered - the city skyline, the perfect marble floors, the expensive liquor bottles, and hell, even the perfect teeth of the myriad of a-list south korean celebrities gracing this exclusive party. there wasn’t a wrong way to ever throw a party there, but the group made an extra effort to make jungkook’s homecoming a special one. 

  jungkook was swarmed by several people, all asking about his time in america and how exciting it was. those were the words you used to describe it for him, too, when you sent him off months ago. you watched him take shots with mingyu and eunwoo. 

  namjoon shook his head, “no, no. this wouldn’t be possible without you,” he said and then glanced at jungkook, “and i’m sure he knows it, too.”

  the boys, despite it also serving as a goodbye party before their enlistments, had been helping you plan the surprise for weeks leading up to jungkook’s arrival. it was one of the longest times jungkook had been apart from them and from the country in general, so they wanted to make it extra special. though you were the main mastermind behind the gathering, you initially didn’t want to do it at all. 

  “yeah, i hope so,” you replied, as you poured yourself a glass of white wine. “you guys all deserve it.”

  over the years, jungkook’s band mates slowly became some of your friends, as well. it was somber goodbye for you in all kinds of ways. everyone was preparing to send them off with good luck and high spirits. 

  the boys were also preparing in their own way. you noticed that taehyung and jimin’s girlfriends were missing from the party, which only confirmed your speculations. 

  “it was just bound to happen,” said a voice.

  it was taehyung who joined you and namjoon in a quiet circle at the corner of the living room. all of the boys looked a little bit sad, despite the celebratory atmosphere, but you read a different kind of story in taehyung’s eyes. 

  he smiled with a hint of gloom. “you’re looking around for her, right?”

  as a fellow idol and also a girlfriend to a member of one of the biggest groups in the world, taehyung’s girlfriend grew to become one of your close confidants in the past few years. you guys were polite before, but this connection created a specific bond that couldn’t be understood by anyone else. however, you hadn’t heard from her in a few days and with her absence at taehyung’s goodbye party, you put two and two together. 

  to his side, namjoon clapped a hand on his friend’s back. “sorry, man.”

  “i hope it was cordial,” you mustered up, ignoring the growing heaviness at the pit of your stomach. you could only hope you weren’t next.

  taehyung replied. “she understood, but she wasn’t happy. regardless,” he sighed, “we’re still so young. her career is just blowing up even more, i feel like i’d only be holding her back.” 

  that was the way it went. when enlistment rolled around for most couples, it was either breaking up or a ring. you looked at your feet, not knowing what to say. 

  “jimin also told me that he broke things off with - “

  a loud yelp squeaked from taehyung, who was abruptly jabbed in the side with namjoon’s elbow. the latter cleared his throat and you recognized that look. namjoon only made that face when he pulled the leader card and needed to put someone in their place. you figured that your worries were transparent to those around you.

  namjoon cleared his throat. “not in a chatty mood?”

  while you greeted people during the set-up of the party, you realized that you had yet to actually try socializing. things were awkward with jungkook’s parents, who you long suspected didn’t approve of you for various reasons. in general, most people were interested in chatting with the boys, which you didn’t mind. it was a gathering to send them off, after all.

  “not really. you guys should go mingle with your friends,” you said, taking another sip of your wine. “it’s your party.”

  “i hope i’m not overstepping, but did you and jungkook get in a fight?” taehyung asked.

  you blinked slowly. “no. does it seem like it?”

  “just seems like he’s nervous about something,” he commented and you noticed namjoon glare at him once more, as if to shut up.

  for the first time that night, you felt a glimmer of mixed feelings that left you wondering. why would he be nervous? the big visual forming in your mind was a diamond ring. you and jungkook had contemplated marriage in the past year, but it was also the source of many arguments. you weren’t even sure you wanted to get married now, but your mother had been getting into your ear about you getting older. then, there were your respective companies who lost their shit at the idea. but, what really mattered, was jungkook’s opinion. he seemed to wave it off or change the topic at every opportunity, so your hopes for a ring lived in the back of your mind. 

  despite this, taehyung was right. jungkook looked nervous. he’d been irritated at being dragged to his surprise party - you wondered if it was delusional enough to believe that he had plans for the two of you, instead. 

  for the rest of the night, you continued to keep to yourself. you weren’t lying when you told jungkook you were tired, but you were determined to stay as long as you could and pretend that you and jungkook weren’t stealing mysterious glances at each other for the entire evening. it was obvious and only made you anxious. 

  a few hours later and the party only grew in numbers and in noise. you thought you lost him in the crowd, until you left to refill your nth drink and found him talking to his cousin.

  the two were smiling and laughing, as his cousin appeared to be showing jungkook pictures on his phone. you assumed it was her newborn daughter - she gave birth just two months before her fiance was to be discharged and now that he was back, the wedding was just around the corner. you remembered jungkook telling you that she was proposed to on the day of his enlistment. 

  jungkook caught your eye and he immediately looked away - what the hell was that? he even turned slightly and you couldn’t read his lips. something was going on. you watched him shove his hands in his pockets and you swore you saw the shape of a small square inside.

  eventually, you grew tired of the tension in the air and the music began to make your head pound. the longer you thought about your partner, the greater your anxieties grew. there was a chance you even just although it was late in the year and a fresh sheet of snow adorned the streets of seoul, you decided it was best to step out into the balcony to take some time to breathe. 

  nobody else was there, thankfully, and you let out a shiver when you stepped out. the peppermint air dispelled the haze in your head and in your heart, as taking a deep breath was the greatest relief you felt all night. though your muscles remained tense and you knew you wouldn’t last out in the cold, the balcony was a welcome change.

  you weren’t sure how long you were outside when the door creaked open and just by the footsteps alone, you knew who it was.

  “your guests will miss you,” you said, not even looking behind you.

  at this point, you were hugging yourself to stop shivering. a rustle later and you felt a thick blanket drape over your shoulders, the wool of its make completely enveloping you with much needed warmth. you relaxed your shoulders, but couldn’t look jungkook in the eyes.

  “something’s wrong. tell me.”

  jungkook’s wine stained lips were pulled into a frown and although he hid it well when he was chatting away with his friends and family, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. he sniffled a few times and you knew why, but you decided to bite your tongue. it was his party and he was an adult who could celebrate whatever way he wanted. it was also clear that neither of you had the energy to argue. instead, to his surprise, you raised an arm and gestured for him to come closer.

  he sidestepped towards you and although you were shorter, let you wrap some of the blanket around him. his cold arm snaked around your waist and you tensed up again at his touch.

  you continued to look out into the skyline. “i was going to say the same for you.”

  “i’m really thankful for the party, love,” he ignored your question and pressed a kiss against your temple.

  you mumbled under your breath, “it wasn’t easy." this was the first time all night that you were comfortable enough to physically touch jungkook and you suspected alcohol played a role in relieving the tension between you two, but it was always going to be easy to fall right back into routine.

  and just like that, you felt a stinging sensation in your eyes. tears welled up and blurred your vision, which only made you turn your head away further from your boyfriend. he caught this immediately, his instincts nothing but natural when it came to you, and pulled you right into his chest. 

  the sound that came out of your mouth sounded nothing like you. the sob was desperate and helpless. it was akin to a toddler who couldn’t do anything by themselves. your voice cracked with each body-shaking sob and you didn’t have the guts to conceal it. your head was buried into jungkook’s new shirt, ruining it, but he only stroked your hair and wrapped the blanket tighter around the two of you.

  “it’s okay. . .” jungkook cooed and for what seemed like the first time in a while, he sounded like himself. 

  it wasn’t like jungkook had undergone a drastic change from his time in america, but it was a gradual shift that you felt over a longer period of time. you attributed to the fact that you were no longer teenagers and things weren’t going to be the same as it did ten, even five years ago. that was what you told yourself, but you weren’t sure why you still held on to the old jungkook you knew.

  in that moment, he sounded like the fifteen year old boy you met in a convenience store again. he sounded like the jungkook who wrote you disgusting love songs that were horrible, but you adored anyway. he sounded like the man who you talked about children and a big house and an annoying dog with. 

  as you found the bravery to finally pull away from jungkook’s comforting embrace, you looked up and saw that future in his eyes. his features softened, but he looked sad. your heart sank once again.

  “you’re not just crying because i’m enlisting, are you?” he finally spoke, just above a whisper. his tone was certain, barely a question - after ten years together, jungkook knew you better than you knew yourself.

  you froze. there was nothing else you could do but shut your eyes tight, pretending that this wasn’t really happening.

  after a beat, you found your voice. “listen. . .we both know what happens after a man enlists. look at taehyung and jimin. look at your cousin.” 

  over the years, you and jungkook had gone through hell and back. you thought the worst day of your life was when dispatch leaked the news that you were dating five years ago, but you were able to recover. you thought it was the worst day of your life when your breakup was witnessed by the entire world, but you were able to recover. you even thought the worst day of your life was when word got out that you and jungkook got back together, effectively proving that you were weak and were the type of girl to crawl back to her ex. you recovered then, as well.

  at the second part of your sentence, you felt jungkook physically tense up.

  “is that why you’ve been acting weird lately?” he replied.

  you don’t know where it came from, but something triggered a spark of anger in you. still, with a tear stained face and a runny nose, you opened your eyes and met his. this was not something you would be able to recover from.

  you said, “it hasn’t just been lately, jungkook. you know exactly what’s on my mind, we’ve been talking - “

  “ - and you know what my answer has been, baby. you know what kind of position i’m in,” he interrupted, breaking apart from your hold and the blanket he brought for you.

  he wasn’t wrong. you did know what kind of position he was in. one of the biggest stars in the world and he had everything to lose, especially with the anxieties looming in the air for him and the rest of his group. every one of them were on their toes as soon as their enlistment dates were finalized, fearing their fade from the spotlight. you and the rest of the world knew that it was bullshit, that the bts was going to be forgotten just because they were going into the military for a few years. 

  marriage would surely ruin that further, right?

  you said, “and you know what position i’m in.”

  the careless joys of your early twenties had come and gone, which left you at the mercy of your mother’s constant talks about marriage. not just her, but other family members and even some of your friends. after all, you and jungkook had been together for ten years and you were pushing thirty sooner or later. 

  you also had your own fears in regard to your career. jungkook once laughed when you expressed your worries about the public no longer finding you young and pretty, but it was a real fear. most girl groups didn’t last more than a few years. many of your contemporaries had long said goodbye to their idol persona and went their separate ways from their band for a new life. you were considered a lucky one to remain with your group and maintain relevance, but for how long? was it time for you to finally settle down? you weren’t granted the same longevity as jungkook’s renowned group and you weren’t bitter about it, but nervous.

  snowflakes began to fall once again and as one fell on your eyelashes, you noticed jungkook’s jaw clench. 

  “we’ve talked about this,” he said and you knew your wandering thoughts about a potential proposal were too good to be true.

  you began, “look, i know that things are different for people like us. . “ but, things were changing. in recent years, you watched several of your peers get married and have children without losing their spot in the limelight. 

  “y/n. . .what made you think i changed my mind?” jungkook sighed, pacing back and forth to calm himself down.

  “i just thought. . .”

  “i’m sorry, but i wasn’t going to propose before my enlistment.” this time, jungkook’s frustrations melted away and there was genuine sadness in his voice. 

  he stepped closer to you and put his hands on your waist. you didn’t know what to say. you really had been pretending that his strange behaviour was because of a hope that seemed impossible now. 

  you took a deep breath. “you never said no. you made it seem like you were considering it.”

  that was what silenced jungkook. it was true, there was never an outright refusal from jungkook. he would say things that implied he would talk to his company again or “with time” it would come. he gave you just enough reassurance, but never confirmation. 

  continuing, you said, “and you even indulged in keeping the fantasy alive with me. you’re sick for talking about honeymoon destinations with me and suggesting songs we could dance to.”

  “hey. i’ve said time ands time again that there is no future where you aren’t by my side,” jungkook tried getting you to look at him, but every time he moved, you turned away. 

  there was no reason for you to make eye contact. you felt like a fool and if you met his eyes, you knew you would just burst into tears again. then, you thought about your conversation earlier with your friends and your vision became wet again.

  “were you planning to break up with me before you enlisted?”

  “what? no,” he responded, but you weren’t convinced. 

  you responded, “it was going to be inevitable, wasn’t it? like jimin and taehyung. you were going to be done with me.”

  this time, jungkook forced you to look at him by the chin and your shoulders dropped. there was a crease in between his eyebrows that you don’t remember seeing even just a year ago. he looked more tired than he did as a rookie with barely survivable living standards. 

  “time really goes by, huh?” you murmured, fighting to keep your voice stable.

  “we were never going to break up, love,” jungkook maintained.

  still, his words didn’t penetrate further than surface level. you were left numb and the chill of winter in seoul had nothing to do with it. you wished that someone would just call jungkook away, but the party inside continued on without him. 

  “you bought a ring. i saw it when we video called.”

  jungkook’s lips parted. you knew it. you knew you weren’t losing your mind. over the last ten years, you made some crazy accusations for all kinds of reasons. this time was different and you saw it on his face.

  even after what seemed like forever, jungkook couldn’t find words to say. the longer he waited to speak, the faster your heart began to race. 

  he rubbed his temples and finally, he spoke. jungkook spoke and you immediately dropped the blanket he brought for you, dashing right back inside. you walked past every single attendee and ignored the few that cried out your name. you didn’t care what it looked like. you just knew you had to get out of there.

  jungkook said there was a ring. he began to open his mouth and explain further, especially when he read the horrified expression on your face, but you wanted no part in it. there was no room for you to think about what that meant. you only saw red.

  you weren’t sure why you wanted a proposal so badly. you knew you didn’t care that much about what your mother wanted and getting married was no solution to the prospects of a dying career. you were second guessing if your wishes for a wedding were even genuine. 

  on the other hand, maybe you intended for the wedding to be a solution to a dying relationship. 

LATEST NEWS: hybe dismisses reports that bts’ jungkook and S.IREN’s nova are engaged, seeking legal action against gossip website that went viral for spreading the false rumour

@butnotmontana @rinkud @kookiescutie @nlr1606 @claireshelby @xtrataerrestrial @whoa-jo @tinyxrose @lavendersugarplum @bangtans-momma @firelcrds @sstrongstyle

[r3starttt]

what if Abby’s gf was like, not very smart, and Abby would like be reading a book out loud to her and she doesn’t understand like 70% of the words she’s saying and she’s just sitting there like ☹️ but she just enjoys listening to abby so she lets her keep goinggg :(

BOOKWORM! ABBY

an: this is the cutest request ever ughhhhhh she's so pretty | taglist

You had spent the entire day absorbed in productivity, your mind and body tirelessly engaged in tasks, and visibly worn out. the strain evident in your fatigued and tired, red eyes, a reflection of the excessive hours of screen time and minimal sleep.

The house glowed warmly, bathed in hues of orange and yellowish light that softened every corner you passed through. Each step on the wooden floor echoed faintly, the sound mingling with the comforting ambiance.

"Abby?" you called out softly as you entered the kitchen, receiving a muffled "here" from the living room.

Hurrying over, you found Abby seated cross-legged on the well-worn couch, nestled comfortably under a thin blanket. Her glasses perched on her nose, the light reflecting on them covering her eyes very slightly as she glanced up at you with a sheepish smile.

First thing you noticed once you stepped closer was a novel in hand with its pages yellowed with age.

She adjusted the blanket, making room for you beside her. Nestling close, your back rested against her stomach while her hands pulled the blanket around both of you.

Abby planted a gentle kiss on your head near your forehead, and the room settled into a quiet peace, broken only by the rhythmic turning of pages and the soothing cadence of Abby's voice "...and he, in a state of somnolent contemplation, pondered the ephemeral nature of existence..." Her voice flowed smoothly, entrancing despite your struggle to comprehend.

You snuggled closer, finding solace in Abby's voice as she continued, "...before him lay such an ethereal landscape, undulating hills and verdant foliage stretching infinitely under the cerulean sky." you closed your eyes momentarily, allowing Abby's voice to wash over you, cherishing the moment.

You listened intently, occasionally furrowing your brow at unfamiliar words like "sepulchral," "tumultuous," and "effulgent". Abby, however, read with unwavering confidence, pronouncing each word accurately without pause or hesitation.

"What do you think that means?" you whispered, as Abby's finger hovered over the corner of the current page, preparing to turn to the next.

She hummed a few seconds, contemplating how to explain it. She understood it well herself, but she knew it might be challenging for you.

"Well," Abby began softly, "when it says 'in a state of somnolent contemplation,' it means the character was deep in thought, almost like they were half-asleep or... lost in their thoughts. And 'pondered the ephemeral nature of existence' means they were thinking about how life is temporary, like how things don't last forever."

She moved to the next page, but no words came out. A thought crossed her mind. She knew you well enough to sense when you weren't fully grasping something, even if you didn't explicitly admit it. So, she decided to summarize everything she'd read on herself and to you so far.

Feeling more at ease, you settled back into Abby's embrace, ready to continue listening to her soothing voice weave through every complex paragraph from the novel.

The room remained steeped in a peaceful silence, the serene warmth enveloping you both. Abby's voice, smooth and resonant, filled the space as she continued to read.

You listened intently, absorbing the richness of the language. Though some of the words made you innerly pause to reflect. "Then again, his existential quandary was exacerbated by the labyrinthine corridors of his subconscious..." They were beautiful words, but their meanings confused you.

Abby, however, read accurately without much pause or hesitation.

"You know," she said, setting the book aside for a moment, "you don't have to understand every word. I just love sharing this time with you."

A smile spread across your face, and you gently took one of her hands, pressing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "Yeah, I know. I love it too," you nodded, meeting her gaze before returning your attention to the book. "Plus, it's hot to see how smart you are."

Abby chuckled softly, a hint of playful disbelief in her voice. "Yeah?"

Your eyelids grew heavy, and Abby's hands grew numb from holding the book. You drifted off to sleep first, and Abby followed shortly after, pressing a gentle kiss on your scalp before finally closing her eyes.

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART ONE !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 5.7k.

content warnings :: mdni!! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, noncon touching, drugging, kidnapping, ptsd, violence, explosions, weapons, death, mild sexual themes, sexual harassment (done by some random npc), car crash, hospitals, reader breaks their arm.

──── Rain.

It's the first thing you are able to scrutinize once you come out of your state of comatose. You listen to the tumultuous melody as the droplets batter against the roof of the car. Even with your eyes locked tight, you are able to figure out where you are just by the rumble of the car engine, jostling you around when the tires hit a crevice in the road. A fuzzy, knitted blanket is adorned around your body. Your headphones are set on top of your head, a playlist of your favorite songs playing on a low volume. The sounds come out distorted, somehow, as if the lyrics were tripping over themselves and the tunes were awkwardly dancing with one another. It's almost as if you had been drugged.

The right side of your face is squished against something, which you now perceive as somebody's neck. The surface pushes your headphones uncomfortably into the side of your head. In a fruitless attempt to take them off, you realize you are paralyzed from head to toe. An arm is draped around your shoulder, the other firmly around your legs which are draped among their lap. Whomever this stranger is, they are quite brawny as they tighten their thick arms around you. They press gentle kisses to your forehead, the stubble of their beard tickling your skin. A deep voice whispers sugary affirmations against your temple, but you are unable to dissect them through the warped music and white noise. Have I been kidnapped? Who the fuck is this person?

With what little strength you have left in your body, you are able to peel your eyes open just a crack. You find yourself in the middle of the backseat (the safest spot in the car, which was certainly done on purpose). You find the arms draped around you are tan, adorned in heaps of black hair. Casting your gaze forward, you look to the driver. You see a woman with short, dirty-blonde hair whose slender fingers grasp hold of the steering wheel. The identity of these two people remains unknown to you. Looking at the windows, the rain cascading down the glass prevents you from pinpointing any potential landmarks. The only thing you can do is slump against this stranger and let yourself be driven far, far away.

You rewind into the past to collect any memories that would help decipher the current events. All you are able to garner is a crisp October evening, where you snuggled beneath a blanket in the safe expanse of your bedroom. You remember wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and strolling into the kitchen, where you would then make yourself a hot cup of tea. This was your normal night routine, you recall in defeat. The last memory you had would be of no use, considering the large gap in your mind once you drank the first sip of tea. So, you rewind even further to see if anything abnormal had occurred during the day.

You remember how you had spent your morning journaling in the garden, analyzing the faces of other patients and doctors wandering through your memory. Nothing stuck out, however, so you abandoned your reminiscing of this past morning. You then think back to group therapy at noon, where others would express their traumas from Raccoon City six years prior. You would tell your own story of the agony you endured and how you met several people who had protected you with their lives. Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong, Jill Valentine, and Carlos Oliveira — four names you would never forget.

Then, you would express the grief you felt when you were told none of them had survived the night. You had never felt so alone after. But, fortunately, you were then taken under the wing of this sanctuary built just for survivors. You have stayed in their habitation since.

The faces of those listening to your story were people you have seen every day; none of their features matched the physicality of the people in this car. With that, you fast forward further into the afternoon to find anything that sticks out. The heightened security that seemed to be reserved for you made you furrow your brow. However, it was nothing explicit enough to explain your current circumstances. Several guards stood outside your room as you lost yourself in the book you checked out from the sanctuary's library. The headphones you wore blared your favorite music and tuned out any and all outside noise. Even the hushed noises straight from your kitchen.

The hours of the afternoon faded away while you read through your book. It wasn't until a friend had come to your door to remind you of your plans to go stargazing did you realize the sun had begun to set. As they left, you decided to brew yourself some tea before you would join the others outside. You remember sitting at your frail kitchen table, blanket adorning your shoulders like a cape as you watched the tea kettle on the stove. Silence pervades and you can't help letting your mind wander. It has been six full years since the incident in Raccoon City. Still, your brain always seems to saunter back to the memories of that night.

You think of Leon Kennedy that night. You remember those pale blue eyes, freckled innocence, puppy-soft hair; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Working at the Mizoil Gas Station, sitting right on the outskirts of the city, you're bound to face your fair share of weird regulars. And Leon Kennedy, by far, was the weirdest. A week before the night that sent your life into a tornado, you had met the new rookie who just arrived in town. And for seven days, you would always spot that familiar green jeep outside your workplace. His relentless appearances made you worry he had a hole in his gas tank or something. However, his visits weren't to grab gas or a quick snack for the road, it was to awkwardly lean against the counter and pathetically try to win your heart.

"Oh, hey Y/N! Funny running into you here..." The twelve visits a day spoil his attempts at being suave. "Yeah. I work here, Leon." His name sounds like nectar on your tongue, to a point where he is on the verge of outright begging you to say it. Even once more.

You then think of how during your closing shift, a coworker had become something ghastly, something monstrous. It all just happened so fast. You think of how you shielded yourself in your cramped work locker, limbs jutting out against the uncomfortable metal walls. To this day, you can still feel the suffocating tightness in your chest from holding back your sobs. All while you helplessly listened to the horrific sounds of your coworkers and customers being torn apart. You're entirely shaken with trauma, but with your brain in survival mode, you know this was no time to rest. Who knows how many more of those things will arrive? Now was your only shot at escaping this hellhole. So, you begrudgingly peel open the locker door and carefully inspect your surroundings. You grab a six-pack of beer on the desk beside you and take one of the bottles out. It was your only available weapon against your zombified coworkers, after all.

Blood paints your sneakers red and cheap beer stains your uniform as you fight your way out of the station. The sight of the entrance feels like a light at the end of the tunnel. Your lungs tighten with exhaustion as you continue to run towards it. That is until a firm grasp on your wrist halts your intentions. Swinging the bottle towards the assailant, they block it with ease and disarm you. It wasn't until a stuttering, concerned voice gasps your name do you realize that you almost just stabbed Leon Kennedy in the face. But God, you never thought you would be so happy for the persistent neediness of this cop.

You don't even know what had overcome you, but the sight of something human fills you with so much relief, you engulf the man into a hug. It lasted a mere second, but it was more than enough to get Leon's heart thumping in his chest. Even in the face of death, a smile tugs at his lips with any crumb of affection he can extrapolate from you. Muttering an apology to him, Leon disregards it entirely and stares at you with that dumb, love-struck expression. Your drop-dead gorgeous self; your witty comebacks that have his ribs tough with laughter… You, of all people, initiated affection with him, you actually wanted to touch him!

The roar of something inhuman cuts Leon off, to where he then bends down and scoops you into his arms. Without a second to resist, Leon (who is far too elated for comfort) sprints through the door with you and books it to his jeep. You're too busy staring at the store in trepidation to stop Leon from opening the car door for you, placing you in the passenger seat, and fastening your seatbelt for you. Almost as if you were a child, incapable of using your own hands.

The car ride to the Raccoon Police Department is quiet. Other than a few hushed reassurances of comfort from Leon, a heavy silence sits between the two of you. It's so bewildering that the people you had spent every day with are all dead. Not even dead, but zombie-fied creatures groaning to tear your flesh asunder. Your brain drifts to one coworker, in particular. One who was a master at getting under your skin. Manipulating your time alone to ask you out to dinner for the umpteenth time while tracing his hands over your skin. You never agreed, but with every attempt to bring this problem to your manager, it was always swept under the rug. And at last, you would have to endure the eerie smile and roaming hands of this middle-aged creep.

But now, things are different. You think about how he is now dead and can never touch you again; you think of how sickeningly good it felt to drive the rear end of a half-shattered bottle into his skull. Looking at your hands, you find your palms caked with his blood. Leon takes notice of this, taking one hand off the wheel and using it to grasp your hand into his. Electricity tickles through him from the contact. "You didn't have a choice" he assures in that soft tone reserved for you, but he is wrong. You did have a choice, and in the end, you wanted to hurt him.

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him." Your gaze is locked on your red hands as you confess; Leon's gaze is fixated on you. "I just couldn't put up with him anymore. I finally got to fucking get back at him for once, to take advantage of him while he was weak." You don't even notice the tears streaming down your emotionally-drained expression.

You especially don't notice the sheer affect your words have on Leon. Tense jaw, flared nostrils, chest rising up and down with short breaths. What the fuck did he do to you? What had he done to push you, the angel of Leon's life, to such violent measures? He imagines his disgusting hands, dirtying your heavenly form; he imagines your face scrunched up with dismay, tears brimming in your eyes. And it absolutely destroys him. His heavy stare remains locked on you, entirely oblivious to any outside sources. No zombies, no eight-foot-tall tyrants — all that mattered was the audacity this dead man had to put his hands on you. And god, it makes him red with rage.

"Leon- LEON-!!" You shout out to warn him before the jeep then collides into a car wreck. It is pure mayhem as you shield your head with your hands and prepare for your demise. Leon’s arm stretches out over you in a desperate attempt to protect you. How ironic that in the face of a zombie apocalypse, you would die because of someone's poor driving skills.

You reluctantly open your eyes; you're alive. With your ears ringing out and your vision fuzzy, you manage to wrestle your way out of the jeep that had been flipped upside down. A grunt escapes from your chest as you make contact with the pavement. Something wet trickles down your head and from your nose, which doesn't take much for you to perceive as blood. You are so disoriented, you entirely forget about the man who was driving you just moments before. So disoriented, in fact, you don't hear the weak whimpers of your name from Leon as he watches you stumble further and further and further away from him.

You think of Ada Wong that night. You remember the click of her heels, her expensive perfume, her manicured nails; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Somehow in your bewildered state, you had found yourself in one of the holding cells of RPD. You had collapsed against a metal bench, catching sight of a blood-stained first aid kit just within reach. You then tend to your wounds with feeble efforts. Soon, your senses clear, to where horrifying screams of agony echo through the large expanse. An unseen force rattles the room, and chunks of wall soar through the air from the cell beside you. There's a pop! before a deafening silence settles in the room.

All that is left in the air is your rapid breathing, waiting for your inescapable demise to embrace you. But, there is simply nothing to greet you but you and your thoughts. The gentle tap of quiet footsteps fills the permeating quiet. A woman then enters your train of vision, dressed in a trench coat, sunglasses, and stiletto heels. She stops in her tracks upon seeing you, seemingly inspecting you from behind her eyewear. With a tilt of her head, the woman steps through the threshold of your cell, where you then bundle yourself in the corner of the room. And you are just so adorable how you cave into yourself, almost like a bunny. So frail and terrified; too damn cute.

The way she walks to you is as if she were on a catwalk. Your trauma-ridden body trembles in fear with every step she takes closer. When she is just within reach, you act on instinct and push her away from you, racing past her and out of the cell. She barely stumbles from your attempt at an attack, an amused chuckle vibrating from her chest. You get a good several steps away before you finally discover what had made such a booming noise before. A man lies dead on the ground in the locked cell beside yours with a punctured hole in the wall. His dry mouth is hung agape and his body sits lifeless. Both eyes have been popped out of their sockets, blood seeping down his face and to the ground below. The woman follows you in your footsteps as you stare in horror. She merely tuts at the sight, a sigh of disappointment filling the empty air. How in the world is she not as terrified as you are?

"Come with me." Her voice is feminine, oozing with sultry confidence. It's soothing to listen to.

"Why?" Meanwhile, your voice is nothing like hers. Your speech comes out shaky and quiet, adorned in the fear this woman was apparently immune to.

"Well, you wouldn't want to end up like Ben, would you?" Your silence serves as your unspoken agreement. "Come now." In addition to her poised nature, her voice is also flat with demanding dominance. You find yourself blindly following her as she struts away.

Accompanying this woman as she walks through the police department as if she were the headline of a fashion show, you soon make it to the grimy streets of the city. During that time, she had introduced herself to you as Ada Wong, a spy working to retrieve the G-Virus. Why is she telling you the whole truth about herself, she doesn't know. Why did she make you follow her when she knows she works better alone, she doesn't know, either. There's just something about the way you cower into her when a zombie growls and the way your eyes glimmer with gratitude when she annihilates the monsters in your path. It makes her feel worthy, for something other than violence or money. As if she were the big, bad wolf who had fallen for the helpless bunny rabbit.

Now standing at the end of the street before the sewer entrance, you stare below in apprehension for what you have now learned lies within. This whole time, all the secrets Umbrella have were hidden right beneath your nose. Or better yet, right beneath your feet. A tank truck lies on its side several feet away from you and behind it, a trail of fire travels closer and closer. The flames and oil mending together then causes an explosion to erupt. Before you even had a chance to process anything, you're in the air, where you land in a patch of grass with a loud crack. Permeating pain courses through your right arm. From the time you had broken your wrist in 5th grade from attempting to climb a tree, you can tell your arm has suffered the same fate.

A leather-gloved hand then places itself onto your cheek. You look to see Ada, now with no glasses, tousled hair, and her coat discolored from grass stains. A dandelion had managed to wrangle itself with one of the dark-colored strands on her head. Playfully, you pluck the dandelion from her hair and gift it to her. Then, you make some joking remark about how it's a "thanks for the save earlier" with a weak chuckle. Your hand touches hers and something flutters within Ada's stomach — something grand, something scary. Something... warm. It stuns her into silence and catches her entirely off guard.

Her gaze shifts to your lips. Despite how chapped and dry they are, your bottom lip seeping with blood after the tough fall, they couldn't look any more appetizing to Ada. The mere idea of pressing her lips to yours causes her to relentlessly fall further and further into this unfamiliar, twitter-pated oblivion. You are just so benevolent, softhearted, and so, so bright. Ada's head is so fogged up with all sorts of devoted insanity, she doesn't take notice of the mass of zombies treading closer. While Ada is crouching beside you, she is then tackled to the ground. A pandemonium of zombies roaring ensues, and you're attacked by the undead, as well. With a hard kick to the skull of your assailant, you're able to wrangle yourself out of their grip on your leg. You stand to your feet and search for Ada to no avail, the heaps of zombies restraining you from any clarity.

With that, you turn tail and slam open the doors of the closest shelter you could find: Gun Shop Kendo.

You think of Jill Valentine that night. You remember her calloused hands, her rough-edged attitude, her scent of gunpowder; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. When you enter the gun shop, you're met with a man and a woman, both disheveled with dirt and blood. They point their guns at you upon your rushed entrance and in response, you raise your hands to surrender. The pummeling on the doors then has you all racing to barricade the entrance, using abandoned shelves and boxes as impromptu defenses. With heavy panting and a hefty barrier, the three of you stand, exasperated, trying to catch your breath. You sink to the floor and hold your arm, flashes of agony pumping through the broken limb.

Despite the danger just outside and your arm overcome with pain, this is the best you'll get in your current state. Shelter and weapons. You'll just have to endure how the shop owner shoved the barrel of his gun in your face and how the cop beside him sees you as gum beneath her shoe. Jill treats you like she does everyone else: ice-cold and blunt. She doesn't say a word to you; she barely acknowledges your presence. For that, you assume she hates your guts. Considering the circumstances, however, you don't take it to heart. Instead, you thank the two for allowing you to stay in the shop while the storm of zombies outside dies down.

However, things are quite different on Jill's end. The simple way you exist — it stuns her. Throughout her entire life, this dull ache has resided in her chest. She feels nothing. She would try and garner any feeling whatsoever; she'd do something adrenaline-inducing to feel fear, she'd do something ignorant to feel guilt. She would do everything to fill this hollow void within her. But, her incessant efforts were all brought to no avail.

That is until you came along.

Even though you're just some helpless civilian with no other desires than temporary protection, something foreign pervades her brain. Jill has come to realize you are far more than just the pretty face on the surface (although the idea of others witnessing your beauty causes her stomach to churn). She then tends to your broken arm, acting as if her heart wasn't running a mile a minute from the close contact. Meanwhile, lust-driven fantasies that would make even a harlot blush muddle her brain. To have you beneath her, staring up at her like that. You can't expect her to not swoon at the mere thought of how you'd taste, how you'd sound, how you'd tremble from her touch. Her mouth waters at the mental image alone.

Without thinking, Jill leans in to kiss you, fully ready to take you here on the floor of this filthy gun shop. The cock of Kendo's gun brings her out of her haze. You, on the other hand, assume this woman views you as nothing but a burden despite the clear display of infatuation in front of you. She informs you with a flat tone how survivors would be taken to the subway station, where they would then be transported out of the city. You thank her again for her hospitality, but mostly out of culpability. With your arm now covered with swiftly-made bandages, you reach with the other for an abandoned gun. Now that you've accepted the assumption this woman doesn't want a thing to do with you, the only way you'll get out of Raccoon City is by yourself. However, she blocks your attempt with a gentle grasp of your wrist.

"No need." Her voice is rough, but beneath the facade, it is timid and fearful.

"Why not?"

"You have me. I won't let anything happen to you." You stare at her, completely flabbergasted at the sudden alter in attitude.

The journey to the subway station was a breeze, to say the least. With your new bodyguard there to obliterate any danger in your path, it was practically a stroll in the park. She tells you her name and you tell her yours. Y/N Valentine has kind of a ring to it, Jill thinks. But with only just a few blocks to cross, something large, something beastly, something entirely inhuman stops you in your tracks. Incredibly massive with its large teeth protruding from its mouth, it groans a deep "S.T.A.R.S" before it begins to stomp towards you. Terror submerges your senses and immobilizes you. A red laser points from the rocket launcher in its hands, the dot sitting right by your feet. Jill then grabs hold of your hand and tries to run off with you, but her futile attempts were too late. A rocket then strikes the pavement and its force sends the two of you into the air. Your bandaged arm lands first against the unforgiving ground, anguish permeating your entire body.

You think of Carlos Oliveira that night. You remember his gruff voice, his kind heart, his dirt-caked skin; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. The pain in your arm is so blinding, there is nothing else you can think about. Not Jill, not Ada, not Leon, not the myriad of monstrous creatures on your tail. The only thing that exists right now is the torturous misery coursing through you. You're writhing on the cold pavement as you cling to your arm, cries of distress and exhaustion trembling from your chest. God, when will this nightmare fucking end?

The gut-wrenching entrance you're in is broken when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You expect to find Jill and her stone-cold, yet concerned expression, only to turn over your shoulder and see a complete stranger. He has a head full of messy, dark hair, with loose strands shielding his face; a strong body, with his military vest filled with heavy weaponry. His expression, however, was the most memorable. God, he looks at you as if you've hung the moon. His appearance is unkempt and dirty, but still overwhelmed with cheesy rom-com levels of infatuation. Why is this stranger looking at you as if you were walking down the aisle on your wedding day? You don't know. Besides, there are far more important matters to concern yourself with.

The heavy slam of Jill's boots reverberates as she sprints over to you. She helps you to your feet, not without a quick glare at the man beside you that reads "don't you fucking touch them." Jill puts your intact arm around her and leads you into Moon's Donuts, all while the deafening sounds of gunfire and grisly roars echo from behind. You don't dare turn around; you couldn't bear to look at that abomination once more. The quiet hum of heavy rock welcomes you as you enter the deserted donut shop. You practically collapse into one of the booths, Jill following behind and sitting across from you. With an exhale of relief, you relax into the seat and hold your arm in an attempt for temporary comfort. The man from before enters shortly, as well, then barricades the entrance with ease.

Your bandages are now torn and peeling. In an effort to fix it yourself, that same agonizing pain satiates through your arm instead. You hiss in response, alerting the two others. The man leans down before you, introducing himself as Carlos Oliveira, then eagerly asking you to inform him of your name. You oblige and he visibly shivers when your skin makes contact with his, an expressed concoction of nerves and irrepressible obsession. Upon gingerly grasping hold of your arm, he uses medical equipment from the various pockets around his chest and tends to you. His touch is careful, delicate — as if you would drift away if he applied any pressure. With every whimper and groan of pain from you, shocks are sent straight to his heart. Carlos had just met you moments ago yet still, he can't fathom the idea of you in pain. He assumes it's merely empathy, but when he feels tears brim in his eyes at the sight of you suffering, he knows this isn't normal.

With Jill's hand on your shoulder, consoling you through the pain, Carlos finishes swiftly before reluctantly breaking physical contact with you. He then gives you his canteen bottle, allowing you some water after your exhausting efforts to survive. You down the water like you've been parched for years. In the process, you are entirely oblivious to the heavy breathing from Carlos, who is left stunned at the prospect of an indirect kiss. Your lips against his — he feels his cheeks heat up from the idea alone. He doesn't realize how totally deranged he looks in his lovesick hysteria before the sharp snap of Jill's fingers brings him back to reality. Her possessive stare, her physical affection with you. Carlos feels his world crumble at the revelation that falls: you belong to Jill. The partner of his dreams is sitting right in front of him, but at the same time, is entirely out of reach. And it shatters him.

With that being said, Carlos isn't always the most articulate with his attempts at garnering information, hence why he stuck to the guns. So, as Jill and Carlos guard you like feral dogs with a bone while you travel back to the subway, he lets his facade slip.

"So... Are you two-like... Are you guys-um? Like, together?" Smooth as silk, Carlos. Smooth as silk.

Jill rolls her eyes in response. Mostly due to how annoying she thought him to be, but especially due to the fact that you aren't actually hers. Meanwhile, you tilt your head in confusion like a lost puppy (and you miss the way they visibly melt from the sight). After another fit of relentless stammering from Carlos, Jill finally clears the air.

"No, we're not dating." It hurts her to say it, evident in the way she clenches her jaw in an attempt to suppress her protruding emotions. Meanwhile, Carlos is sent to cloud nine.

Despite the blood, death, and gore he had witnessed in a single night, he had never felt so elated in all his years alive. Jill scoffs at his thinly-veiled euphoria, before grasping your hand and treading forward. Through trial and error (and more zombies than you could count), the three of you finally make it back to the subway station. You could cry, it's almost over. However, you can't help but notice how Jill and Carlos are perceptibly devastated by the idea of letting you go.

You hug Jill. It was nothing intimate, merely a thanks for the help she had provided you. Still, her body goes rigid and her heart flourishes with every kind of emotion she has never felt before. Through all the revelations that have taken place in this hellhole of a night, none of it compared to the earth-shattering emotions you have given her. Fear, lust, jealousy, devotion — it's all so overwhelming and she loves it.

You hug Carlos next. Again, nothing intimate or ulterior about the act of affection. But just like Jill, his heart practically detonates from the close contact. If only you could see his love-struck face; his expression is practically straight out of a cartoon. Cupid's bow through his chest, bluebirds swarming around his head and all. When the friendly hug soon started to turn into a romantic embrace, you push yourself off of Carlos, excusing his actions as nothing short of post-traumatic nerves.

With that, you join the other civilians on the train. The subway doors close behind you as you look at the survivors around you. All of them are riddled with trauma, shaken and silently weeping from the sights they have witnessed. Despite the harrowing circumstances, you're alive. That is all that matters and you could not be more grateful. Sitting on an empty seat, an exhale of relief escapes your chest. The train whirs as it begins to move. You turn your shoulder and look through the filth-stained windows to find Jill and Carlos, eyes blown wide with emotion as they watch you leave them. They stand in the same place you had left them, gazing wistfully at the love of their life. Picking up speed, you are soon out of their sight and they are now without the one they love most. And the sheer affect it has on them is gut-wrenching.

Fortunately for you, the ride out of the city is plain sailing. And with no S.T.A.R.S. members on the train, there is no 8-foot-tall creature there to set everything ablaze. You have now become one of the very few people who can say they made it out of Raccoon City alive.

You think of Raccoon City the morning after and the consequences that came from surviving. You think about what Carlos had said to you in the midst of danger. "I'm not gonna die on you and leave you in a cold, cruel, Carlos-less world." Liar.

Upon escaping the city safely, you and the other survivors were sent to a local hospital. From thereon, you would spend the next several days there (and finally receive proper treatment for your broken arm). After several days of anxiously anticipating the well-being of your friends and the entirety of Raccoon City, a doctor you had never seen before enters your room in the dead of night. Introducing himself as Dr. Matt Gorkis, he then reveals the news of the missile strike sent to the city and how there were no other survivors. A wave of devastation and helplessness washes over you. Weeping softly, the doctor bluntly provides details of the matter.

He then informs you of a sanctuary being built just for survivors of the incident. There will be provided shelter, basic necessities, and all sorts of therapeutic activities that will help you during your healing journey. And with your job, your home, and all of your friends eradicated to dust, you know you have no other choice. With another month of being tested for infections and going through physical therapy, you are released from the hospital and sent away with the doctor. For the past six years, this sanctuary is what you have learned to call home.

The hissing of the tea kettle makes you jump, bringing an abrupt halt to your road trip down memory lane. And while you pour yourself a cup of tea, you realize that your memories will be of no use for your current circumstances. For now, you'll have to let yourself be lulled to sleep in the back of this stranger's vehicle, driven far away to god-knows-where. But, the embrace the person has on you is so warm, so inviting. Your body can’t help but succumb to the relaxation this stranger provides.

You just hope that when you wake up, whatever welcomes you isn't anything reminiscent of the nightmare you faced six years ago.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 ۫ you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MY LOVE, MY DARLING

I'VE HUNGERED FOR YOUR TOUCH . . . ❞

not a single person had asked for this, but it has been all my brain has been able to think about. i hope u all can appreciate some breadcrumbs from the ramblings of my heart hehe.

[deliciousangelfestival]

I Hate It When You're Drunk - 2

Character: bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Summary: A forbidden love between a princess and her bodyguard. They love each other deeply, but their relationship is threatened by the tyrant king's oppressive rule and their differing social statuses.

I Hate It When You're Drunk Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Good morning, Your Highness." One of your servants opened the heavy curtains of your bedroom.

"Morning." You groggily rubbed your eyes, slowly sitting up in bed. Your head pounded from the remnants of last night's alcohol. "What's my schedule today?" you asked, wincing as the bright light from the open curtains hit your eyes. Every movement felt like a struggle, your limbs heavy and your mind foggy from the overindulgence.

"We've made sure to clear it until noon because you're not in the best condition." Even the servants were used to your drunken state.

"Perfect." You sighed. With some effort, you got out of bed and started getting ready.

Your head still felt dizzy from last night's drinking. You shouldn't have drunk so much. What had triggered you to drink until blackout was seeing another of your friends getting married. You felt happy for her, but deep down, you were jealous because they could marry without any objections.

But your father is the king. And to make it worse, he's a tyrant king. He controls every aspect of your life, dictating whom you can and cannot love.

As you finished dressing and stepped out of your room, Bucky was waiting for you, as always. His eyes softened with concern as he saw you.

"Headache?" Bucky asked, his voice gentle.

"A little bit." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I went overboard again last night, didn't I? I'm sorry." You leaned your head against his chest, seeking comfort.

His fingers gently brushed your hair, soothing you. "Don't drink like that anymore," he said, his voice filled with a quiet pain. He hated seeing you hurt yourself like this.

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. Then, you took his hands in yours. "Let's go. We can't waste more time."

Bucky followed you, his grip firm yet tender. Walking hand in hand through the hallway was the longest moment you could be together like a real couple. This short walk was your favorite part of the day, a fleeting taste of the life you both wished you could have.

As you moved through the palace, the sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows on the marble floors. The silence between you was filled with unspoken words and shared glances. Bucky's presence was a steady anchor in your tumultuous life, and these stolen moments were your refuge from the storm of royal duties and impossible expectations.

You squeezed his hand a little tighter, silently promising each other that, no matter what, you would always find a way to be together, even if only in these brief, precious moments.

But the moment ended when you entered the dining room. Bucky couldn’t join you; only royalty or invited guests were allowed. He had to stand outside. It was always difficult to let go of his hand.

"You need to eat," Bucky reminded you gently.

"Can’t we eat together?" you whined, a pout forming on your lips.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness." He chuckled lightly.

You rolled your eyes, sighing in defeat. "Fine."

Suddenly, one of the guards interrupted, causing you to release Bucky’s hand. The guard greeted you and announced, "The king has returned."

"Okay," you replied. Then you realized the gravity of the situation and looked at Bucky, "Fuck. Wasn't he supposed to come back next week?"

Bucky immediately switched into professional mode. He spoke through his earpiece, issuing commands, "Prepare for the entrance."

The king had been on a world tour for conferences and the Olympics. While he was away, you had used the opportunity to be close to Bucky. But now, that had to end since your father was back.

After two hours, the entourage and the king arrived. As the princess, you had to welcome him at the grand entrance along with the ministers. While waiting, you kept glancing at Bucky, who stood far to your left. He looked strong and imposing, like a knight straight out of a storybook, his posture radiating vigilance and strength.

The horns blew, signaling the king's arrival.

"King Leonard Damon II has arrived!"

When the announcement was made, everyone bowed. The large doors opened, and the most important figure in the country stepped into the castle.

King Leonard Damon II was a man in his 50s. He looked dignified and confident, his presence commanding respect. His eyes, however, seemed lifeless, devoid of any warmth or feeling. It was understandable; he was known as the tyrant king.

Leonard acknowledged everyone with a curt nod, but his gaze lingered on Bucky for a brief moment before returning to you. It made your heart race.

"Continue with today's agenda," the king commanded as he walked, not pausing for rest despite just arriving.

You felt a sense of foreboding. Glancing at Bucky, you saw your worry reflected in his eyes.

As the king walked past, you couldn't help but feel the tension in the air. His return meant a return to strict protocols and the end of the small freedoms you had enjoyed. Your mind raced with possibilities, wondering what his sudden return would bring.

Bucky stood tall, his eyes following the king while staying alert to potential threats. His presence was a silent reassurance, yet you couldn't shake the unease in your chest. The king's glance at Bucky had been brief, but it carried a weight that made you anxious.

You straightened your posture, preparing to follow the day's agenda, but your thoughts were still with Bucky. You managed a small, reassuring smile in his direction before turning to follow your father.

👑👑👑👑

The meeting primarily involved discussing the results of the king’s world tour. The Veridian Economic Minister, Hugo, who had accompanied the king on the journey, excitedly explained, "Many foreign investors are interested in investing in our beloved country. It will boost the economy significantly."

"They won’t be taxed?" you interjected.

"Ahem, that’s right, Your Highness." Hugo was always startled whenever you spoke up. He glanced nervously at King Leonard, but the king didn't seem to mind his daughter interrupting the presentation.

"That's great," you continued. "But I hope that as Veridian's GDP rises, we will also support the younger generation who want to start their own businesses. We should offer small loans and assistance because they are the future pillars of our country."

As you spoke, everyone listened intently.

"I agree, Your Highness. I see that you've met with young entrepreneurs during our absence," Hugo remarked.

"It's good to see you engaging with them," King Leonard added.

Everyone nodded in agreement. "She’s perfect as the next ruler," Hugo commented.

"She only needs one thing: a spouse," someone interjected. The room filled with murmurs of agreement, but you flinched at the mention.

"I already have candidates in mind," King Leonard announced.

After his declaration, the room fell silent, followed by applause. "That’s wonderful. If it's King Leonard's choice, the person must be the best," the ministers echoed their support.

You sat there, your nails digging into your thighs, looking at your father with a mixture of anger and frustration, your eyes burning with unshed tears.

👑👑👑👑

Everyone left after the meeting was over except you and the king.

You fixed your gaze on Leonard, who appeared unruffled, as he always did in moments of confrontation. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, as he lounged back in his ornate chair, fingers steepled in front of him.

His eyes, cold and calculating, never wavered from your face as if he could read every thought passing through your mind.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a knife.

You swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of his gaze bearing down on you. Slowly, deliberately, you spoke, your voice steady despite the turmoil. "I already said that I won’t get married unless it’s Bucky."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Leonard's face, gone as quickly as it appeared. His lips curled into a half-smile, devoid of warmth or amusement. "Over my dead body," he replied coolly, the threat underlying his words unmistakable.

"Should I take your life first so I can be with the man I love?" you retorted, your voice shaking with emotion.

"My child," he said, leaning back in his chair with a casual air, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He studied you with a cold, almost amused detachment, his fingers lightly drumming on the armrest.

"You’re not a killer like me," he continued, his voice smooth and unyielding.

The word 'killer' sent a shiver down your spine. Because it was true, you were different from him. The reason why King Leonard Damon II was called the tyrant king was because he was a cold-blooded killer.

Leonard had killed his own siblings to secure the throne. He felt no remorse after taking their lives. Not just relatives, but also anyone who objected to him being king. This included the family of the queen, his own wife, your mother.

"Do you hate Bucky because of what happened to my mother?" you asked, your voice trembling.

Leonard fell silent, then hurled his glass of wine across the room. "Never mention that woman."

"There’s no evidence that she ran away with her bodyguard," you insisted. This was the kingdom's biggest secret. Outside the castle walls, everyone believed the queen had died of illness. But the truth was, she was missing. You didn’t know if your mother was alive or dead.

You understood why your mother might have run away from your father. He never acted violently towards her, but his actions against her family made her hate him. She had never wanted to be a queen. One day, she vanished, and her guard also went missing a few days later.

Leonard became obsessed with finding his wife. He spared no expense, sending out the kingdom’s most skilled trackers and investigators to scour the land. Despite their efforts, every lead turned cold, and every trail went nowhere.

You rubbed your forehead, feeling the weight of your family's complex dynamics. "If I’m not married, will you still pass the throne to me?"

The lack of an immediate answer gnawed at you, amplifying the uncertainty of your future. You knew your father’s mind was a labyrinth of ambitions and schemes, where even the most straightforward question could hide layers of strategy. His silence spoke volumes, a testament to his unwillingness to relinquish control or reveal his true intentions.

"Father?" you prompted.

Finally, Leonard spoke, his voice measured and devoid of warmth. "Maybe. Perhaps after 10, 15 years," he said, his tone betraying no hint of reassurance.

You hadn’t expected this. "I should’ve known. You never planned to make me a queen," you said, feeling a surge of despair. Without becoming queen, you couldn’t marry the man you loved.

Leonard's face remained expressionless, his eyes cold and unyielding. The tension in the room was palpable, and you felt a mix of anger and hopelessness. Your dreams of a future with Bucky seemed to slip further away with each passing second.

Your father’s silence spoke volumes. He had always been calculating and ruthless, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone for his own power. The realization that he never intended for you to rule cut deep.

You clenched your fists, trying to steady your breathing. "So, my fate is to remain a pawn in your game?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leonard stood up, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. "You will do as you are told, for the good of the kingdom," he declared, turning to leave.

As he walked away, you felt a tear slip down your cheek. You were trapped in a gilded cage with no way out. Your love for Bucky seemed destined to remain unfulfilled, crushed under the weight of your father's tyranny.

When Leonard reached the door, he paused and looked back at Bucky, who had been waiting outside. "Remember your place," he said coldly before exiting the room, leaving you alone with your tumultuous thoughts and fears.

Bucky’s grip tightened as he watched the king leave. Once Leonard was out of sight, he rushed to your side. As he entered, his eyes immediately found you already on the ground, knees pressed against the cold stone.

Shock mingled with concern in his eyes as he took in your tear-streaked face, your eyes red and puffy from crying. Seeing you in such distress tore at his soul. He wished he could shield you from the pain, protect you from the harsh realities that surrounded your life.

"Hey," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm amidst the chaos. "I'm here." His words were simple but carried a world of comfort and unwavering support. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender and gentle.

Seeing your pain, Bucky's heart ached. What had the king said to you?

Without a word, you collapsed into his arms, your body trembling. He held you close, his strong arms enveloping you in a protective embrace. You buried your face in his shoulder, your sobs muffled against his uniform.

"Oh, Bucky, what should I do?" you cried, your voice breaking.

Bucky gently stroked your hair, his hand moving in soothing circles. "Shh, it's going to be alright," he whispered, though he knew the words felt hollow. His own heart was heavy with the knowledge of the king's cruelty.

A/N: Did you enjoy Chapter 2? What would you like to see in the next chapter?

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[fairene]

beneath the moonlight / ln4 sneak peek

lando norris x maxf!sister(afab)

warning ⋯ language, 18++ mentioning, minors dni.

a/n ⋯ requests still open, but are closing soon. i will be wanting to clear out my ask box as soon as possible. beneath the moonlight is a concept created by one of you!!! and i am excited to share it once it is done. it is currently sitting at 5.2k words, but i hope to double it by next week to post this for you all. the overwhelming support and comments truly makes my day, and i want everyone to know that i cherish the absolute fuck out of you. stay shining, lovelies, and i hope you enjoy this sneak peek.

reader is max fewtrell's younger sister. childhood yearning. oblivious young lando, turned grown man. smut coming with full fic (18++ only), wc: 701 (just for the sneak peek obvs. unedited as well.)

you said nothing but began to walk, trailing forward through the grandeur villa. you were ample with your pace and heard him moving behind you. with a push of your hand, you opened the door to the grand balcony, leaving it ajar for lando to sneak out from. 

he did. 

there was a patio set there, waiting, and you let your handbag drop onto the coffee table. you sauntered over to the cobblestone walls, the balustrade meeting post to post for about thirty feet. you leaned against the stone. it was cold against your bare back. 

lando seated himself in one of the chairs, his legs spreading wide. he watched you lean forward, then spin to face him. your back was illuminated by the halo of the moonlight, drenching you in a pale visage of beauty. 

“you wanna know something?” you asked. lando perked up, humming with curiosity. he was too busy admiring your figure, having to pull himself back from such tumultuous thoughts. “i had a crush on you when i was a kid.”

that stifled a laugh from the british driver. “you did not.” 

you shook your head. “sure did.” you didn’t know why you were telling him this all of a sudden, but it was weighing heavy on your mind. “max was pissed. knew i only came around when he told me you’d be there.” 

the pieces began melding together in lando’s mind. he had been such an idiot boy that he couldn’t see what a prized beauty you were. there was a trace of second hand guilt. a pattern of ‘what-ifs’ trifling through his mind. 

“‘was just a stupid girl. tried so hard for you to notice me.” your hands covered your face for a brief moment. 

“you always wore skirts,” he recalled, looking at his hands in his lap. he looked up at you, smirk building. “that why?” 

you were shameless when you nodded your head. 

“so embarrassing, i know–” 

“what about now?” he cut you off, clearly wanting to ask this question the moment it left your lips. 

“what do you mean?” your mouth went dry, your hands clasping at the balustrade as if you were going to faint. your heart pounded in your chest. 

“what do you feel for me now?” 

you couldn’t meet his eye. you looked anywhere else but him, in fact, and opted to over your shoulder to admire the view of the ocean beneath the starlight. the ocean wouldn’t judge you. it would wash away your problems, in fact, and not stare you down. 

there was a deep intake of breath that had your head settling from its dizzy state. you looked back to lando and he sat there, cocky, upright. but there was a genteel nature about him that didn’t have you as afraid as you thought you’d be. 

he raised his arm, outstretching his hand for you. 

you swallowed, pushing yourself off from the balustrade. you sauntered towards him, earnest in your steps, before letting your palm rest on his. 

he pulled you close, fingers wrapping against your wrist. he was warm to the touch and he could feel your erratic heartbeat in your veins. 

lando’s legs spread for you to settle between. you stood above him, looking down at his brunette curls, his stubble, his cheekbones. his own hands were experimental against the planes of your body, touching sweetly against your hips. 

“you didn’t answer me.” he repeated.

you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“some dreams just remain dreams.” 

he waited a beat. you felt his chest rise and fall. 

“do you want to dream forever?” 

no. no. you didn’t. you wanted your fantasies to become reality. being with him. being loved by him has always been what you wanted. 

you lowered yourself on his lap, straddling his waist. you felt his cock thrum beneath the guard of his pants. did he want you the same? 

his forehead collided with yours. his nose brushing against your bridge. you shook your head, closing your eyes. 

“wake me up,” you mewled quietly, voice deep within your throat. it was a desperate plea, one that you thought he may not understand until he caught the glint in your eye. the wanting. the years of pining from a distance. how he was so wrapped up in his boyhood that he couldn’t appreciate a woman at his side. “please.” 

he didn’t wait any longer to meet your lips with his own. 

[romanoffsbish]

The One That (Almost) Got Away

Natasha Romanoff (Intersex) x ChubbyMilf!R

GN!OC (Ryan) x Fem!R (Freshly divorced)

Natasha’s not the step-dad, she’s merely the dad that stepped up | WC: 9,218

Warnings: Ryan is dickhead coded | R Ghosted Nat so she is too | Confusing Feelings | Insecurities all Around (Body / Worth) | Everyone’s Horny | Happiest of Endings Though 🥰

Smut: Natasha has a penis | Oral - Both | Multiple Positions (Wall / Doggy / Guided Dick-Riding) | Praising / Degrading | Dirty Talk | Face Slap (R) | Heavy on Breeding | KO (R) | Needy R -> Cockwarming | Switch Energy but R basically Bottoms

——

Natasha watched you intently, just like she always did, and just like every time before now she wasn't left disappointed. Well, besides that time when you married Ryan, you looked gorgeous stood up at that altar, but you were painfully mismatched. They were the first person you had ever dated, but you never truly loved them. You loved Natasha though, she knew that deep within her yearning soul, felt it deep in her bones, but alas you chose the stable familiarity over love.

Natasha told you every time you two had made love that she wanted the whole thing, but you were in a committed (open) relationship. You had a child with another, and you decided she (deserved better) wasn't ready for that sort of responsibility. So, for the both of your sakes you had stopped coming over a year ago, without a word of goodbye—like a coward.

It broke you just the same, but at least you had a distraction with your infant around. All Natasha had was the haunting memories of a genuine love and, dangerous missions, a nearly lethal combination. It was only last month that the redhead stopped being reckless, which coincidentally, is exactly when she had heard of your unexpected divorce proceedings.

Tony had very loudly, intent obvious, offered a sobbing you a spacious, well-equipped place to stay since Ryan decided to kick you out, of your house. He also got you a better divorce lawyer. When she pestered him for a why though he had refused, stating 'you'll know soon enough' in the most ominous, almost threatening, way.

The reactions to your tumultuous entanglement around the compound were mixed. Most thought you two were a great match, those who met Ryan felt this way, others felt Natasha could do better than the girl who left her hanging. Then there was Tony, who alone believed the both of you to be aloof little cowards.

Ergo his childish response. Yet here you were, at the compound she still lived in, and she still hadn't been informed... It was driving her crazy, but she kept her cool, or at least she tried to, but you made it hard.

So damn hard not to run over and yell at you, just to then kiss you breathless, then she figured she would yell at you some more; but with less clothes, and in a passionate reunification of two desperate souls.

But she stood stuck to her spot, wishing desperately that she had Wanda's handy ability to read minds...

You stood across the field in a moment of uneasy silence. Pepper had to leave in a hurry, Tony excused himself with a promise to return. So now, without distraction, you were left lost in tumultuous thought.

Ryan and you had called it quits just six months ago after you gave birth to your sweet little girl, Delilah. To the outside world they looked like a bad guy, but with one peak into the carseat hood that currently shielded your daughter from the sun, everyone would know.

Know that maybe everyone was a bit wrong here...

There was only one rule the both of you set, don't let anyone else create life with you, and with Natasha's enigmatic charm you broke it easily. Ryan was still somewhat involved with Carter, but they denounced you and Delilah instantaneously. You knew better to expect anything else, but you were too petrified of being alone with two littles to see it all clearly.

Fortunately though, Tony adored you and had set the three of you up in a cushy upscale home just outside of the bustling city. There was a park on the corner, it was your only safe haven as you waited for the divorce to finalize, it was where you processed your grief over the entire situation, and realized this was always the way life would work out. One day the redhead would be there with you, scooting down the wide, curvy red slide with Carter, and Delilah giggling in her lap.

It was an inevitability of the rawest proportions.

You couldn't stop loving Natasha if you tried, which you halfheartedly did, and she loved you without the intent to stop—fate finally felt the need to intervene.

You felt her burdened gaze the moment you entered the party, and you were burning under the weight of it. There was a blip of fear that she would never forgive you for keeping her daughter from her, but you also figured she'd understand. If you were going to work as a couple, it had to be without Ryan's interference, and they were hellbent on making sure you weren't happy even though they were with Rochelle, the supermodel.

If you so much as contacted Natasha they were ready to claim this was always your plan. Not that they'd have much of a leg to stand on, but you weren't risking them winning so much as partial custody, simply because it was just to spite you. Ryan never wanted to be hands on, it seemed they more so liked the title of being a parent and spouse, but never the actual role. If they had won you know your son would only suffer.

Disappointed was an understatement, but you didn't hold pity for yourself because everyone warned you of their immaturity from the jump. Natasha warned you everyday leading up to the wedding, she pleaded with a hurt that broke your heart wide open, yet you were stubborn, and now you are right where you deserve.

The fear of a harsh reaction held you back from approaching her, hearing an 'I told you so' or a 'what did you expect to happen?' wasn't exactly something you could handle. Even if it was what you deserved, so, you decided to leave it to her. You wanted to give her the chance to take the first step in case she was only seeking to scream at you for breaking her heart and never returning any of her calls or texts, and oh yeah, for the icing on the fucked up cake you'd baked you would have to add keeping her child from her.

Natasha couldn't focus on anything but you since you had arrived though, she actively willed you to look up at her, but she soon realized you were purposefully ignoring meeting her gaze. The ill advised thought that even when single that you wouldn't want her around broke her spirit down into nothingness.

Was she really not good enough for you?

Who was she kidding? Of course she wasn't... You were clean of a harsh origin, with a compassionate aura that bled right into your ability to be an amazing mother. Natasha wanted kids, yours specifically, but with her cold upbringing she feared she would never be what they would need, and in turn she would let you down.

Natasha didn't get to linger in her sadness for long before Maria was nudging her shoulder. "For fucks sake Romanoff, could you at least pretend to be interested in my plights?" She was reminded of the riveting conversation she'd been engaged in moments prior with a raging Maria and an instigating Wanda. Her silly relationship problems with Danvers no longer interested her when she was faced with her very own problems rooted in an extended period of longing.

Natasha rolled her eyes, and adjusted her pants to better conceal the hard on she was suddenly sporting. You just looked too good, motherhood had only ever enhanced your beauty, her purest desires for you only surplussed after your son's birth. It pained her so that you'd lived like your beauty was lost due to a miracle, and it was that night that she showed you otherwise.

The night she gave actual life to her love...

Ryan had made the first distasteful comment, it was why you were at the compound that day after all. Using the free gym six months out from your son's birth, which was fine, but you were indeed overdoing it since you had a bad back, and it was Nat who stopped you.

"Y/N, you need to take it easy, you like just had a baby," she'd tried to help, but you glared at her with angry tears in your eyes. "It's fine Nat, I need to do this. I am literally in terrible shape, I am so ug—," you'd muttered in obvious frustration, but she didn't dare let you finish your sentence. She took you right there on the mat, then again in the showers, and finally she took you to her bed and gave you all of her love.

That wasn't the start of your sinful relations, but it was the beginning of the deep lines officially blurring. Where the love the two of you felt for the other was finally released through breathy moans, soft kisses and the heat of the moment filling of your barren womb.

Every time you didn't see the beauty in your body she did, and she reminded you so well... It was not a shock to you when you saw the test; more like a total relief.

Natasha obviously knew something happened, it changed everything for her, because you and her best friend, Carter, were no longer coming around. The redhead actually sobbed on his first birthday, and she still has all the gifts she bought for him in her closet.

Wanda followed her best friend's gaze to you, and she smiled sadly. The witch was the first person you came crying to over the news, and it hurt her heart to keep this secret from Nat, but she knew that today was the day it all changed. You were going to make it all right.

Your divorce was finalized after Tony's lawyer put Ryan in their place. The open marriage was their choice, you had proof that they pushed you into agreeing, so the judge deemed your daughter's paternity a natural consequence. Now that they lost, they moved outside of city limits with their younger lover, and you contently remained in the upper-scale house, the one that didn't burden you with memories.

"Go talk to her Nat," Wanda encouraged, "Take the chance, I promise you it'll at least be cathartic."

Natasha sighed, "She's better off without me."

The redhead kicked up a cloud of dust as she sent one last longing glance your way. Her heart stuttered at the sight. You'd moved, this time her eyes found you leaning back against a table. A soft look in your eye as you watched your giggling son, Carter, clumsily chase Morgan around the field. It'd been awhile since you've been back here so you were involved in a conversation.

The grey sundress you wore was perfectly hugging your curves, and the skirt of it was flowing with the light breeze, giving her a glimpse of the silky skin of your legs beneath. It was tastefully cut, but it still allowed her to see the curve of your swollen, sagging breasts.

Natasha's eyes were focused in on the way you sucked on your popsicle though. Her cock twitched in her boxers as she saw you hollow out your cheeks, her dick longing for the oh so familiar feeling of the gesture. You mindlessly wiped away the sticky mess of artificial juices with your fingers, and her eyes were locked on them, you lifted them to your lips to suck off the sticky mess and it reminded her of that time she'd shoved hers, covered in your shared arousals, down your throat. It was the most intimate moment she'd ever shared with another, and that made her resolve fall.

The redhead couldn't stand any of it anymore, not the ache in her chest, nor her boxers, so she rushed inside the compound, ignoring the awkward stares. The door that slammed afterwards caught your attention.

Tony shoved your arm. "Go after her Y/N!"

You stared down at the stroller, admiring the peace your daughters sleeping face brought as your nervous fingers fidgeted with the strap of the diaper bag. You felt nothing but guilt after a moment though when her little eyes fluttered open to reveal a sea of familiar green. You began to wonder if Natasha would be better off without you since all you seem capable of is hurting her. All she's ever done is pour her love into you, and you actually ghosted her—the perfect woman. The longer you thought it over, the sillier your reasons felt.

Tony invited you over for this barbecue to celebrate his retirement, but you weren't dumb enough to not know why he wanted you to come. Steve, and Natasha were also retiring, the notion that the redhead was giving up this life regardless of you made your skin crawl.

Was she retiring for you? Did she know you are divorced? You knew Tony blabbed a lot, so it wouldn't surprise you if that's how she had found out.

Or was it for herself? She'd earned the right and it was a bit narcissistic to think you played any part here.

Did she have plans to find the life she wanted with someone else since you were a coward? It would only serve you right, you knew you didn't deserve her.

Tony saw the turmoil in your eyes as you picked at the foam, he gently pulled your hands from the stroller, and nodded to the door with a stern expression. "No..."

"Y/N," he sighed, ready to fight you for being a coward, but then his face fell in offense as you spoke, "You are not exactly baby proof Stark." The man scoffed, "You can't be serious, I am a perfectly functional dad!"

You deadpanned, "You are the fun dad to Pep's productive. You have her while Pepper is at a meeting and Morgan's shirt is now on inside out, she's ate off everyone's plate and if my eyes aren't deceiving me, she has a contraption from your lab. My son better..."

Tony immediately took off and you giggled, enjoying the moment of peace just before your daughter began to cry. If only Nat would have waited a minute she'd have seen you pull the tiny redhead from the stroller. It was uncanny how similar to Natasha she was.

Infuriating was more like it really, you carried her for ten excruciatingly long months, and all she got was your hair texture, lip shape, and unfortunately—temper. Everything else was Nat, aside from the blend of her skin tone, it was a beautiful mix of you both.

"What's the matter lyubov'?" You coo'd and pulled the sniffling baby girl to your chest. Unaware of the presence of your former teammates behind you. Wanda beamed at the knowledge of you learning Russian for your daughters sake, she knew Nat would likely cry at the notion too, but Maria merely gasped.

"Oh my gosh, is that Romanoff's?!" Wanda elbowed the nosy woman, at this point she wondered if Maria being the second in command for Shield was a good idea with the way she loved to gossip and tease. "Mhm..."

Wanda's hand fell on your shoulder, you were never much for staying silent, so you simply humming gave way to your obvious anxiety. "She's only crying my dear, because she knows you have unfinished business to tend to." You turned to her with a teary gaze of your own and she used the pad of her thumb to wipe them away in comforting strokes. "Hand me my niece, and go fix things with Natasha dorogoy, it'll be okay."

Delilah instantly stopped crying, her wobbly head turned slightly as she recognized Wanda's voice. The two shared excited smiles, one adorable and gummy, and the other accompanied by the faintest of wrinkles to show a long life lived. Wanda's nose was scrunched as she regarded your daughter with pure elation, and you had no qualms leaving her behind with Wanda.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as you passed her off, and Wanda wrapped her arm around your waist to offer you a comforting embrace. "All is forgiven as long as you don't fumble this time. Tell her how you feel, and let her feel it all too, she'll understand and forgive."

You nodded, offering a nervous smile then left in a hurry to get to the woman you wanted to be with for an eternity, hopeful that she still wanted the same as you.

The way to Natasha's room was quick, your muscles remembering the route without any need for a refresher. The path now forever engrained into your heart as the safest one. You pondered knocking, but then you heard the most gut wrenching sobs and felt the urgent need to push the door right open. As you opened the door though you were met with a far different sight than you had anticipated.

The sobs were ones of pure sexual frustration.

"Oh fuck!" You'd gasped at the sound of her raspy voice, the gorgeous redhead was leaning her head against the glass of her vanity as she jerked herself off with a pair of red lace panties that you'd left behind.

Natasha watched you in terror, her stomach tied in a more dreadful knot now that overpowered the arousal she needed to release. Once the shock wore off you stepped in, expression neutral as you shut her door with your foot, then used your powers to lock it.

"Y-Y/N, I can explain," she stuttered as you were silently approaching her. "How about you just let me take over instead, yeah?" Natasha nodded, her mind in a trance of sorts as she allowed you to remove her hand and use your own. The strokes you gave were feather light, but just because it was you she was on edge.

Pre-cum dribbled onto your thumb, and you used it to lube up her cock, and make your hand have a slicker surface to increase speed. You felt your panties dampen the longer you stroked her pulsing shaft, eyes locked in on the way her mouth was hung open, and her moans were raspy, melodious gifts for your ears.

"Y/N," she gritted out your name as her cock twitched with an increased warning, but you abruptly let her shaft go instead, and she sobbed without shame.

Natasha was frustrated with you on so many levels, but this had her feeling embarrassed. The way that she hasn't been able to get off without a piece of you in over a year shameful. Then when she was finally about to climax, with the real thing, you took it from her...

Again—you just kept taking, and taking from her, and now she was unsure if she had anything left to give.

"We need to talk," she rasped angrily and you nodded, but then you dropped to your knees with a wink. "We do need to talk Natasha," you purred her sentiments against the sticky red tip of her cock, reworking her mind into a haze as you prepared to give her head.

"Shall we do it now then?" You asked teasingly, but with your mouth inches from her throbbing member she could only frantically shake her head. "Later," you hotly voiced for her, you kissed her tip then licked her essence up with a soft flick through the sensitive slit.

All Natasha offered was a delayed, husky, "Mmm," too engrossed by the exhilarating sensation of your warm tongue swirling around her shaft as you slowly lowered your head until the tip of your nose brushed against her fuzzy abdomen to say much of anything else.

This was exactly what she needed. You knew it was only a matter of time before you two would have to face the reality. But, for this brief moment in time, you wanted to use your mouth to pleasure her, to soften the blow if you will, as you gave a physical apology.

After proving to yourself that you could still take all of her you pulled back and let her slick dick go with a pop so that you could admire it. While keeping your eyes locked on hers you lowered so you could lick a slow stripe up from her balls, over the underside of her shaft, flicking over the pulsing veins; building her excitement way up until your lips finally wrapped back around her head to give her some overdo pleasure.

"Oh fuck, I've missed your perfect mouth," she cried out, her hand suddenly fell atop of your head and she used all of her strength to still your bobbing so that she could fuck her cock deep down your throat instead. It was never not uncomfortable to be gagged for you, but your dampening panties gave way to the enjoyment.

Natasha felt even hotter as your excess drool pooled at the base of her shaft and slowly dribbled onto her balls. It was like every one of her senses was heightening as she felt as her auburn pubes became matted and clung to her balls. You felt it too, as they swung with each deep thrust and slapped into your sweaty skin.

There was no way the moment could improve, or so she thought, because with a firm tug on her sack, and the hollowing of your cheeks as your throat contracted around her tip she was no longer in control, her release torn from her with a throaty scream that made your arousal increase tenfold, and stain the black carpet.

The familiar taste of her was enough to bring you to the edge of glory, coupled with the way she continued to fuck your throat without so much as a thought to your needs arousing and you found yourself painfully ready to bust. Her cum was inched down your throat with every continued thrust, and you moaned along happily as you continued to suck her dry, all the way up until her member fell flaccid in your mouth.

You were nearly there, your thighs rubbed together just right, but the redhead would be damned if you were to waste your cum on her carpet instead of her readied tongue. "There's no going back after this Y/N," she rasped against the shell of your ear as she pulled you to your feet while tucking her cock back into her briefs. "If I kiss you now, then you are mine for the claiming. Understood?" You hated so much that her glossed eyes shone with immense fear and hurt.

"Do it," you pleaded, a part of you hoping that what you are going to say later doesn't change her promise; you desperately wanted to be hers for good. "Please!"

Natasha gripped you by your hips and pushed you back onto the bed as her lips met yours. Her skilled hands unclasped your bra while her tongue slowly swirled around yours, tasting herself and silently vowing to never let you go a day without being filled by her in someway. All she wanted was to be yours, and make you hers in every sense, and that included breeding you, but not before she gave you the sloppiest head.

"God, you're so hot Y/N!" She practically screamed, the need for emphasis obvious. The way she stared down at your forever changed body with admiration made you want to cry. You gulped as her eyes trailed up to yours, she offered you a loving smile but her heart broke at the sight of your petrification. "Don't lie..."

Natasha was going to kill your ex. One final mark...

"Oh my beautiful girl," she sighed, her hot breath brushed over your slick mound and she admired how your body twitched and arched at the pleasure just a breeze gives to your cunt. She placed a gentle kiss to your clit, but kept moving up instead so she could kiss the stripes that adorned the plush skin of your belly.

"You are the hottest woman around detka," she admitted without any waver in her voice, her nose nudged against the soft skin of your stomach as she wordlessly continued to admire your body and the sacrifice you have made twice now. "I can't wait to etch more of these lines, to stake my claim to your womb."

You whimpered, but something about the sound wasn't rooted in pleasure, so she came back up to hover your face. "What's wrong detka, am I moving too fast?"

You smiled sadly, and shook your head, "No, it's just.. I-I," you couldn't help but to stutter now, "The claim is already yours Natasha, and it always should've been."

You don't regret Carter, how could you? In spite of all the turmoil surrounding him, he was a lovely toddler. With a natural curiosity to keep him fun, but a cautious approach that kept him safe from the lingering dangers of the world. Your son was the definition of perfect, and was never regretted, you merely rebuke Ryan.

"How so?" Natasha challenged, and you gulped, "We divorced because Delilah is yours Nat, our daughter."

"Yeah," she sighed with a sad smile, "But this time I'll be around to help as your body changes, to take care of you as you deserve while carrying my love around."

It stunned you to see nothing but love and solace behind her eyes, she wasn't angry, she was visibly relieved. Which meant this wasn't exactly news to her.

"You knew?" She nodded, and you felt your throat go dry; of course she did, Natasha wasn't regarded as a top tier spy for nothing. You frantically moved to defend your decisions, "I-I wanted to tell you Natty, but I was so scared." Natasha kissed your trembling lips tenderly in an attempt to cut off your anxiety, and for a perfect moment there was nothing but peace.

"I understand," she eventually whispered as she parted from the kiss, "You couldn't be sure of your feelings, you were only six months postpartum when we made her." Her, Delilah, Natasha's precious mini me that she'd yet to meet and the product of a destined love.

"No," you insisted, "Please do understand that I was never confused about my love for you. Every time we made love that ring would burn on my finger like the devil himself possessed it, because the greatest sin I've ever lived was pretending not to be in love with you."

You watched her eyes narrow in confusion and sighed resignedly. "You deserved someone better, I knew I wasn't enough for you. You're a model with a heart of gold, and I'm just a—." You were both momentarily stunned as her hand made contact with your cheek. The both of you blinked back your shock, and after she saw you were okay her eyes completely darkened. "I'm going to kill them Y/N, they deserve despair for ever making you question even an ounce of your beauty."

"Natty no," you pleaded for Carter's sake, "I mean yeah, Ryan wasn't good, but they were a bad I deserved," you saw the way her eyes narrowed and your speech flinched, "I-I am trying to say that you were too good."

"Me?" She scoffed with a twist of pure disgust, "How could I ever be too good for you?! Y/N, you are —."

"You're so beautiful Natasha," you sighed, cutting her off, "I don't even mean your looks, I am appreciative for them, sure, but it's your heart that I adore."

You couldn't fight the smile that took over your face, the veins of her cock pulsed through the thin material of her boxers, felt pulsing against your thigh along to the beat of her racing heart and you knew you'd said the right thing. Natasha's eyes were welling with tears as she leaned in to kiss you, it was tender and not at all foreign, but it was a feeling you'd nonetheless missed.

She always regarded your body with love, even in the more rougher moments, when she'd abuse your body like you'd beg her to, she would whisper her hearts reassuring thoughts. Deep down she always knew you asked for what you thought you deserved, so she gave you it, but not without what she knew you needed too.

"You're so good Y/N," she practically pleaded, her eyes shed hopeful tears that dripped down your temples, "I'm blessed to be in this position with you right now, the mother of my kids," she proudly said, her subtle claim to your son made you sniffle. "You deserve to be loved just like you love everyone else; without limit."

"Natasha," you whimpered, and she pecked your lips. "You're my wildest dream come true; a sight for sore eyes, an absolutely amazing mother, with the physique of a goddess. You are a blessing worthy of worshipping, I can swear to you that there's no one more perfect for me than you detka, you are the love of my life."

"Fuck," you scoffed over a sob, "So damn cheesy..."

Natasha hummed softly, "Can you feel it?" and offered you an amused smile. You blinked up in a daze as she brushed your knuckles over her lips, and you felt her dick twitch against your skin as she husked, "My love."

Your body took her words as a sign to start working towards pleasing her, you were desperate to feel it wholly. Natasha threw an arm around your waist as her back arched, securing you to her as she thrusted up involuntarily and reached a prime point of pleasure that made you both scream, yours shrill and hers a rasp. The way her throbbing tip was rubbed raw as her briefs smeared your arousal around your clit had you both already breathless, it took everything in her not to enter you then. If not for her desperation to taste what she'd been missing she would've given in instantly.

"Natty please," you tried, but ultimately failed, her raspy voice denied your pleasure, "Not yet, I need to return the favor first, I miss having your taste on my tongue and smelling you on my lips hours later."

It infuriated your cunt, who's hollowed walls clenched with need, but in the same breath her tone turned you on beyond belief, to not only feel, but to hear just how affected she was by her lusty desires centered around eating you out alone had your legs naturally spreading.

"There's my good girl," she praised against the plushness of your thigh, her tongue laid flat as she slowly licked up the essence coating your skin on a scandalous route to the grand prize, your oozing core.

Or better known to her as paradise.

After teasing you enough, with abrasive nibbles and her tongues follow up soothing caresses she felt it was about time to give you exactly what you both needed. Her lips twitched as she purposefully breathed your arousal in, and you choked in contrast when she lunged forward and began to eat your puffy pussy out.

There was no more gentle, loving Natasha; her eyes blackened, the carnality shown she was nothing short of feral, the filthy moans vibrating you into an orgasm as her tongue lapped at your core proof enough. But, for the sake of imagination, picture as if she was actually outside right now. Forced to participate in the watermelon eating contest, her hands tied behind her back and her face hovered over the three thick pieces on her plate; she'd beat both Sam and Bucky in record time, twelve seconds—four per slice, and still have enough time to make you scream around the corner, pinned to a wall while the boys struggled to focus.

The Falcon's wings would dip when informed it took him thirty seconds, but not as disappointed as The Winter Soldier who took thirty five. Fortunately for the boys, Natasha was buried in a more fitting place, winning at life as the soldiers tied, but lost to Thor who did it in ten, followed by a burp and plea for more.

You also endlessly pleaded for more, then rather suddenly for less, but inevitably you went unheard as your thighs deprived Natasha of both air and the ability to hear. Yet she kept going, making you scream out her name seconds later, and cream on her tongue.

Natasha felt your thighs relax, and with a firm grip she separated them, digging her nails into the skin as she took in an exaggerated gulp of air. You mewled and threw your head back to avoid her scarily arousing gaze. The both of you knew she was trained to hold her breath for extended periods of time, but it was hot nonetheless for you to witness, and her to pretend.

Truthfully, you internally, always made her breathless, so she was simply emoting. After a moment of you both coming back to your senses Natasha groaned, her red tip brushed against the sticky fabric of her boxers and she was disappointed she came outside of you.

"You always do this Y/N," she groaned, "I can't even help but to fuck the air to the sounds of your cries."

"Sorry," you whimpered, Natasha watched with a smirk as your entire body shivered. Then her face dropped as she realized something, "It just wasted our greatest chance at making a baby Y/N! The first round is the most potent, so now I'll have to fill you twice."

"Delilah is only six months," you panted, your words of concern not matching the clear state of your arousal. "Yeah detka; that means we are, quite frankly, behind."

"Behind?" Natasha nodded as she avoided your gaze to focus down on the mess of her boxers as she took them off and flipped them inside out. "Detka, we don't waste, so finish your treat before you get answers." There was no hesitation as you sucked the cotton fabric clean of her, moaning and soaking through the pair.

"You want this, don't you?" Natasha asked, her confidence dimmed as the fear of rejection emerged. You spit out her boxers and shrieked, "of course I do!"

Natasha hummed, "Then yes my love," as she gently stroked your cheek before pecking it. "We're gravely behind, so let's just call this an efficient way to catch up. I'll overload you on my love, and swimmers."

"Okay," your voice absolutely breathless as you allowed her to pull you up off the bed, having accepted the hand she'd extended out just so she could pull you close and kiss you until your were both breathless.

When you were distracted enough she spun you around and pressed you into the tacky wall with her muscular frame, her hot breaths fanned across your skin and your clit pulsed. She drove you wild, evidence of that being the way that your slick dribbled down the sides of her length that curved beneath your cunt.

"Are you ready to be bred?" Her fingers fondly traced over the marks on your hips. "To be full of my pulsing cock as it busts? I promise I'll leave you beyond full."

"Mommy please," you whined and pushed back with all your might to curve her dick up and into you. "Oh, you know what that does to me detka; you're in for it now."

Natasha pressed her body up, and rocked her hips until she'd smeared enough of your slick onto her length. It was a precautionary measure to ensure you minimal pain as she never failed to stretch you to your limits.

"Fuck mommy, you're so big," you mewled as her tip barely pressed into you, the redhead chuckled and slammed her hips forward, swiftly bottoming out and causing your body to lurch painfully into the wall. "Mmm, mommy loves the way you feel wrapped so tightly around me detka, suffocating my dick like the filthy whore that you are." She sloppily pecked your cheek. "This is right where you belong."

"Wanna stay like this forever," you sighed contentedly as your heated cheek brushed against the chilled wall with each shallow thrust she rewarded you with.

"That can be arranged," she rasped into your ear as her hips began to move a bit more. "Nobody else will ever get to see you like this again," she added, her growl and grip possessive as she picked up a pace you never could keep up with. Enhanced as you were with powers, the strength and stamina were all more Natasha's forte; fucking you limp a cherished specialty of hers.

"Nobody has seen me since you," you cleared the air in a dizzy slur, and felt as she prematurely shot into you, but Natasha recovered her composure fast and continued to fuck you while holding back her orgasm.

"Because this pussy is mine," she grunted, her hips now swirled with each thrust as she sought out your sole pleasure. Hearing that you were celibate in her absence a major ego boost as she rammed her fat cock into your spongey sensitivity with each precise jolt of her body into yours and pulled out those glorious supporting moans of a job well done. "Say it!"

"All yours mommy," you cried out sharply as her finger rapidly swirled against your swollen bud. "Damn straight," she groaned as she twitched and spasmed against your quivering walls. "Fucking hell, I'm going to fill you to the brim," she groaned against the base of your neck as she hastily pounded your body up against the wall.

Her hands gripped the fluff of your hips and fully drove her pelvis into your backside so that she could push you over the edge. "I'm so close mommy, please." Natasha obliged your pleas with a swift plan, her tongue teasingly licked the shell of your right ear, "Go on then sweetheart," her free hand moved to grope your breasts that leaked nonstop with warm milk while the other hand continued to stimulate your needy clit. "Let go and drench my cock; make a mess of me."

"Oh, oh, oh shit," you shrieked as you felt the coil within you snap into jagged pieces of pleasure. Nicking every inch of your body—setting your nerves ablaze. Pins and needles lasted for a perceivable eternity as you swore and soon enough you moaned a chorus as she fucked you through the toe curling orgasm.

Natasha shifted your bodies with ease, her cock still driving into your needy hole as she carried you over to lay your front down on the bed, she kept shallowly thrusting, but her strained cock managed to hold out. Even though she wanted to stay true to her words, she continued to hold back her own release for you.

"Your moans are my favorite," she whispered amusedly against the skin of your shoulder before placing a gentle kiss there, and thrusting in deep, pulling sultry cries from the depths of your needy soul. Only to then suddenly pull out so that she could admire your bare backside while calming her need to breed you.

Her hands groped the skin of your sore ass, you whined as her cold fingers trailed over the already bruising skin, tempering the sting from her hips prior assaults. "Daddy please," you whimpered, and she dug her nails into the skin. "Stop being so impatient detka, we're making up for lost time here—be a good girl, and don't rush the process."

"Sorry mommy," you whimpered, and though she couldn't see you she smiled at the remembrance of your usual pout. "There you go," she praised, "Always so good for me baby, I promise that I will never tire of having you like this," she paused, lining her tip back up with your dripping entrance, "Spread wide open as your pretty, puffy cunt devours my shaft."

That was the only warning you had before she slid her thickness back inside of you and began to give you the type of strokes that made your spine shiver; slow, and deep enough that you could feel your guts shifting.

You whimpered softly, "Fuck, I'm already so close again..." Natasha chuckled, "I know, I can feel you trembling detka, fuck, your walls are squeezing me so tight." The redhead stilled for just a second, much to your bodies dismay too, you pressed your ass back and your cunt somehow sucked her in even deeper. It took everything in her not to bust, but she wanted to be truly levelheaded about this before she lost control.

Two kids under two was no easy feat, to be ready for a third required a sure mentality. It was your body after all, talk all she wanted of her possession of your body, that was only in part true. You were in charge of what she did next, whether that be to cum inside you, or to release her potent load onto your back. Either way she'd be satisfied, and all she really wanted was you to be happy with the overall outcome too.

"Want to carry my baby again detka?" Her lips gently pressed into the skin of your shoulder, the moment was far less sexually charged, she gently marked your surrounding skin up while patiently waiting for your eventual, labored response. "Please..."

"Are you sure?" Natasha doubled down, her cock twitched in anticipation for your final reply. "Yes," you were breathless, "Please, just breed me already! Wanna be full of you." Natasha hummed, then picked her pace up, she still reached your greatest depths, but this time she went much faster—leaving you to moan nonstop.

"Gonna fill you until I'm sure I've succeeded," she rasped confidently after a moment of nothing other than listening to skin slapping, and juices sloshing. "Then I'll fuck you from the back every month and feel the way your body changes for our fetus," she placed a sloppy wet kiss behind the shell of your ear and your body shuddered as your walls clamped down on her thick shaft. "Fuck, I heard that pregnancy makes you even hornier detka. Maybe I'll hit it every night. I'll destroy this pussy before the birth ever could."

"Fucking hell Natasha," you shrieked, but it faded into a low pitched moan as the tip of her spurting cock hit that glorious spot deep within that blurred your vision. It happened just as she pressed her wandering hand against the bulge pushing your stretched skin back out.

Your vision blacked out, your cheek pressed into the sheets harshly as the redhead continued to thrust against your pussy's tight resistance to prolong your orgasms and to also allow your walls to effectively milk her cock, ensuring maximum breeding efficiency.

When even she couldn't take anymore she fell into your backside a panting mess. "You did so good," she reassured you, her hands tight grip on your hips loosened so she could stroke your sides instead as you both took a moment to regulated your systems.

After a few moments Natasha became restless, her stamina bouncing back fast as she rose up and slid out of you, leaving behind a sticky mess of your arousals as she did; her clean sheets never stood a chance. It was a moment of total joy for her to watch as your pussy contracted, sensitive walls pushing the excess of her cum from you a sight worthy of marveling. The way it bubbled and popped was absolutely mesmerizing...

There was hardly a lull in her cocks erectness, she stood there still slightly out of breath, with her sticky member inches away from her rock-hard abs in a sweaty glow. Tension held her body captive as she picked her next move. "I want you to ride me detka, bounce on mommy's cock for a bit, suck me dry."

"Mommy, I..." you sighed, "I'm tired."

"I know honey," she coo'd as she sat down on the edge of the mattress, her nimble fingers wrapped around your thigh and teasingly squeezed. "I'll do all the work." With the promise of the needed assistance you slowly shuffled over to her, and threw your leg over her spread set, opening your slick lips back up and allowing her to slip herself back in. You moaned into her shoulder as you felt your mixed slicks gush as your core met the base of her cock at a new, delightful angle.

"Mommy," you called shyly, as if you weren't already in the midst of a raw fucking, your glossy eyes fell to her lips, and she shook her head in amusement as she chuckled, "Come on detka, take what you need."

The way you kissed her every single time was how she knew your feelings for her went beyond that of lust. It was always soft, and sensual with a sense of urgency. Sometimes she felt like you were out to devour her entirely, and if you were, she wouldn't even mind. To be taken out by your lips on hers sounds heavenly.

"Oh god," you whimpered, overrun by a pleasure only she could offer you, her hands on your hips guided you, but she let you control the kiss. "I need you all the time Natty," you panted harshly against her lips as you only briefly disconnected them. "I can't get off without you. Not even listening to your old voicemails work."

"You'll never need to again detka," she growled, hands possessive as they pulled your body back down by your hips to meet her desperate thrusts, "I'll fill you up every day if that's what you need—mhm, yeah; this pussy of mine will never have time to miss me."

"Please..." you begged as your lips left hers so your head could fly back in pleasure, and your hands clawed at her neck, leaving behind angry red lines. Natasha's breath stalled, the grip she had on your hips tightened, then she dropped you mid lift because of how dizzy she felt with the way that your walls squeezed her shaft every damn time it left your warmth. Your face fell to her neck, lips latching onto her pulse point, and with you working to claim her too she busted. The warmth of her seed splattered against your walls, again, the stream nudged your g-spot with a firm flow, joined by the harsh slam of her tip; it was all too much, and in some strange way it never felt like it was enough.

Arousal gushed all over the redheads skin, and slowly dripped down the oak bed frame, polishing it anew.

The way your combined releases ran down from her abdomen and saturated the skin of her balls made her body tense as she produced even more of her seed. Natasha hadn't stopped thrusting, in fact she flipped your body onto the bed, and sent you into another wave of pleasure, and your mind to another dimension.

It had been exactly fourteen months, and ten days since she last felt as her cock rearranged your insides so she wasn't ready to stop. Natasha panted against your neck as she kept fucking your unconscious body.

Eventually she fell semi-flaccid, and her breath was so erratic she had to stop her body from continuing to ram into you. Even if the urge persisted, you were more than fucked out, so she was mostly satisfied. There's no way her diet super soldier swimmers weren't going to fulfill their duty. If the redhead is lucky she'll get a two for one reward. She can't wait to be waiting on you hand and foot. There'd never be a night you went to bed hungry, or uncomfortable.

You'll carry her kids, and she'll carry the rest of the burdens that come with life. The redhead admired your still face, your eyes tracked behind your lids, and your even, cool breaths fanned across her warm face. This was what she believed bliss to be at its core.

Natasha gently slid right on out of you, but it didn't last long before she was sheathed within your velvety warmth again. After you awoke she'd kissed you tenderly, and as her tongue explored your mouth you reached down to pump your hand up and down her cock, it was loud and wet, your hand growing sticky with your mixed arousals and her body shuddered.

"Inside," you breathed in a fit against her lips, she chuckled in disbelief at your needy behavior, and happily guided her cock to your entrance and watched as your walls sucked her in and your wetness gushed all over. "Oh fucking hell detka," Natasha groaned as her fingers flexed against your hips, "Eto ray."

(this is heaven)

"Mhm," you softly hummed your agreement, your hazy eyes fluttered open a moment later as you cheekily smirked up at her. "That dick game is god tier Natty."

Natasha rolled her eyes, then chuckled against your skin as she happily burrowed her face into your neck. All of the lust had faded, for now, and all that was left was to soak in the fact that this was finally happening.

Nothing could ruin the moment, well, almost nothing.

Your phone dinged about half an hour later, and if not for being a mom you'd have ignored it. You lazily lifted it from her nightstand. A soft giggle left you as Natasha grumbled in annoyance at the shift of her cock that was still inside of you. The woman turned her head on your chest and peered at your phone suspiciously only to see that it was lit up with an innocent text from Wanda.

Shall I take the kids back to mine ? 👀♥️

"Tell her to wait," Natasha pleaded, then in a rush she jumped up, leaving you hollow and raced into the shower. You did as told, then followed behind, and the two of you tenderly, yet speedily cleaned the other off.

Wanda sat in the living area with Carter asleep on her bump, and with Delilah laying on the play mat below her, happily kicking her feet. You quietly moved to sit beside your best friend, and watched with a smile as the love of your life cautiously approached your child.

"Hello there moya malen'kaya lyubov'," she was so soft spoken as she spoke to Delilah that you almost didn't recognize her voice. Tears brimmed your lids as you watched the way that your daughter lit up at hearing the spoken Russian, of course Natasha noticed too.

(My littlest love)

"Detka," she whimpered, and looked up into your eyes "Do you speak to her in Russian?" You nodded and sent her a playful wink to cover your emotional gaze. Natasha however turned stone cold serious as she said: "YA sobirayus' sdelat' tebya svoyey zhenoy."

(I'm going to make you my wife)

Wanda giggled from beside you when you frowned and looked to your love with a pout. Natasha smirked this time and winked back, "We'll work on your Russian, then we'll return to that phrase when you understand."

"Oh," you chuckled softly, "I understood, I just expected a first date, then the fat diamond ring."

You turned away from your blushing lover, and scooped your son off of Wanda. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm not leaving you with my two gremlins when you already have two growing inside of you." Wanda went to protest but you leaned into her ear to whisper: "The walls at my place are soundproof..."

You walked away with a proud smirk as the women sat there with collective reddened cheeks. Wanda left a moment later with a kiss left on your daughter's cheek, and a rush in her wobble. Natasha shook her head and chuckled softly at your daughter, "Tvoyu mat' ne zrya prozvali 'Ubiytsey'" Delilah tilted her head, and Natasha was perturbed by Wanda's obvious influence.

(Your mother wasn't nicknamed "Killer" for nothing)

"Detka, where are we going?" She asked as she trailed behind you with a curious infant sat atop of her hip. "Home," you replied flatly then turned around with a contradicting grin. "You ready to shack up darling?"

"I don't know," Natasha teased, "that's a lot of responsibility to place upon a free flyer like me."

"Then I guess," you were cut off by a kiss that left you speechless, yet slightly humming as you grinned against her plush lips. "You've been tamed by a," she cut you off again with a peck and answer: "Beautiful, perfect in all of the ways that count, sexy ass milf."

"You're such a hopeless romantic," you teased, and she matched your grin with a suave lift of the mood. "I'm never hopeless with you Y/N, just soft, and absolutely, undeniably in love with you."

"Jeez Nat, keeping charming my pants off and we'll literally end up with a baseball team." The redhead chuckled, "A team of tiny assassins and witches," then sidled up to you, and slid her free hand into yours in perfect rhythm. "You're insane." Natasha swung your connected hands and grinned up like a devil. "I sure am crazy for you, so yeah, I'll claim it." She winked slowly and snorted when you glared, it was entirely heatless and she knew it.

Then to make the moment all the more special she leaned forward and smiled at your son. "Hi there sweet boy, I'm," she went to introduce herself but the nearly two year old interrupted her excitedly, "Mama!" Natasha was stunned and you elated to see it was a good thing, her eyes lit up with so much love, and she dropped your hand so that she could snatch Carter right from you. "Hey! You already have a baby!"

"You hush," she hissed playfully, then you saw her eyes glisten as he nuzzled right into her neck like she was safe and she emotionally whispered to him in Russian: "Moy ideal'nyy syn, ya budu lyubit' tebya bez ogranicheniy."

(My perfect son, I will love you without limits)

"Moya dragotsennaya Dalila, ya nauchu tebya vsem svoim znamenitym dvizheniyam," she placed a gentle kiss to her face. Then her gaze turned to you as you scoffed, "Not happening if she takes after me for once."

(my precious delilah, I will teach you all my famous moves)

"Don't worry, I didn't forget about you," she turned around and came to a sudden stop. Forcing you to nearly bump into her, but she took a smooth step back with a stupidly hot smirk on her face. "I could never." Natasha leaned in and kissed your lips with a precise tenderness. "I love you, and I plan to for the rest of my life," you blurted, stealing her thunder but she loved the sudden declaration of yours more than her own repeated ones. "I'm so glad you're the one who almost got away, because I'd forever be lost without you."

"My rodstvennyye dushi," she whispered as she pecked your tear tracked cheeks, "Ty byl moyey sud'boy," this time she was pressed against your lips. Then she pulled back with a smile as she continued to speak as her lips met her sleeping babies faces. "Oni nashe naslediye." Then she perfectly crouched without jostling the kids to kiss the skin of your tummy. "For good luck."

(We are soulmates / You were my destiny / Them our legacy)

——

[hereforthehitsbaby]

Watch Me | Cooper Adams/Abbott x Teacher F!Reader

Synopsis: You can’t always be Little Miss Perfect. Sometimes you need to let off some steam, and Mr. Adams knows just how.

Warnings: Age Gap (Legal,) Reader is in her mid 20’s and Cooper is 46, Implied Murder, Grinding, PiV Sex, Biting, Slapping, Hair Pulling, Use of Daddy, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Mentions of Abuse, Abusive Ex, Dom!Cooper, Infidelity,  Cheating, Spanking, Choking, ROUGH SEX (and I am not using that lightly, this is FUCKING ROUGH)

Rating: M

Word Count: 10k

Author’s Note: So I really need to stop writing Cooper in his psycho form. I want soft Cooper….BUT THE PARASITE IN ME WANTS THE PSYCHOPATHY OF COOPER. Also if this makes no sense don’t judge, I took an edible and let my mind take course.

Tagging: @rubyfruitjungle @cherryinterlude @lilly3434 @amethystblackkchaos @rosaleelovesdilfs @babygorewhore @dirtylittlefairytales @redpillbluepill @strangererotica

If you would like to be tagged for my fics, please fill this out

You love your job, absolutely adore it. There is nothing better in this world than teaching. Something about mentoring kids and creating core memories that they will look back on with gratitude, is why you started in the first place. The teachers that made a lasting impact on you are also the same ones who believed in you when you said you wanted to be someone, to create and show the world you are capable of. Tumultuous home life crushed your spirit day in and day out, leaving you feeling worthless. At least with your mentors, they made you remember how only you can control your own life. If anyone knows you well enough, they know you need control.

Teaching initially gave you that control when you were fresh out of college; Being able to see kids grow and flourish into young adults was rewarding. Leaving a lasting impact was your goal but, in the state America is in today – being a teacher isn’t ideal. Between mass murders and serial killers – you couldn’t tell which you were scared of more. At first it was a what if, but the further you got into the school year, the more threats that arose, left you on edge. You needed to have a way to blow off steam, you needed a way to put those days of fear behind you. Seeking out a second employer was not ideal, with how tight your schedule already was, it left you no time for you. Which in theory was fine, being a single woman living in Philadelphia was exactly what it seemed; Dreary and bored. You needed that oomph to make you excited again, to live in the moment versus in your head. Chester Springs is quiet, quaint, exactly what you were looking for. A city where no one knows that you are a schoolteacher, a place where they think you are something else entirely.

Entertaining was what you were good at, turning tricks got you through college in Boston. It wasn’t a shameful thing, a girl got to do what she’s got to do. Aquarius is a higher end strip club, to call it what it is. Not a typical hole in the wall joint to mask money laundering. Aquarius was more in the line of escorts – sure there were still pole dancing and private suites but, not everyone could get in. A club where married men come to cheat on their wives, where businessmen always in control let off a little steam, and where stockbrokers come to give a last hurrah before marriage. It was nice, refreshing even to have a place where you weren’t ogled like prey – no, you were respected, in control. It was your haven after a long work week; Come Friday through Sunday night – you were the Queen of them all.

Being the head dancer meant you got to say no to those creeps who snuck in, those who want to get sucked off and fucked before they touch their wives again. You got to pick what music you danced to, who you interacted with, hell you even got to choose your pricing. To be fair you busted your ass off for four years to do so, you earned every moment of your employment. It meant you could live that double life comfortably, be able to drive a Porsche and hire a housekeeper. You were comfortable, no longer struggling. You were eternally grateful.

Friday nights tend to be specialty nights – meaning any group of first responders got half price to celebrate the work they do for the state. The surrounding towns, up to sixty miles out, were invited and treated like kings. As a sign of appreciation, tonight happened to be the Philadelphia fire department’s night to be pampered; The less you knew the better. I mean, your boss never told you that your hometown was going to be the subject of tonight’s praise – just like those guys didn’t need to know you were teaching in their district. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you ran a finger under your lip to clean up your lipstick – the mauve pink color suiting your skin tone beautifully. The music was pumping, and the cheering was growing louder. Tonight was going to be a good tip night – you could feel it.

“Baby girl, you’re up in five,” Moira, your boss sang out – patting the top of your head with a motherly touch. You felt warmth spread through your body; Arousal mixed with nerves. No matter how long you danced, you always got nervous when it was your time to shine. Still, tonight was no different from the last – this was your night. “I’m in control. I have control. I am control.” You spoke to yourself in a soft voice, causing Veronica to rub your arm – praying silently for you. “Lord, please make sure she has the sexiest dance tonight. Please make sure she catches the hottest firefighter and gets a good dick down. And Lord? Make sure her tits pop like you deserve.” Ronnie spoke in a serious tone, causing you to cackle as you stand. “You know I love you, Ron Ron.” You kissed her cheek as you strutted off to her right, causing her to smack your ass in the process. “Show them titties off baby!”

Rolling your eyes, you shed your bathrobe against the coat rack near the backstage entrance, your platform heels clacking sexily against the linoleum. With Halloween only a few weeks away, the club decided to get spooky season started early with your routine. Your sound of choice was Heaven by Julia Michaels – whilst you wore a lacy red number, accentuating your body in every place you adored. The straps around your midsection, thighs, and arms made you feel badass and hot all wrapped into one. Where tonight was to honor the firefighters, you added a little yellow leather jacket to cover your upper half, and a plastic fire caps for the laughs.

Hearing the beat and bass rumbling through your feet, you heard Moira’s voice announcing your stage name. You didn’t see any faces but outlines of figures; Broad and strong. A line of sweat ran down your back from excitement, then ran cold at all eyes on you. Usually, you were never nervous to dance and found it quite relaxing. But tonight, there was a heaviness that loomed in the air. Anxiety crept up your legs, making you shake slowly as you wrapped your left leg around the pole. Doing a fireman’s slide, you spun your body gently – gliding through the air with open eyes, trying to see why you felt so uncomfortable. All the men stared at you like you were an angel from above, like you were the greatest thing on this Earth. But one set of eyes stared into yours with a predatory gleam – one that caused your core to tighten. Staring at you in the direct center of the club, was none other than Firehouse 721’s very own Fire Chief, Cooper Adams.

You had a long, extensive history with Mr. Adams, being his daughter Riley’s teacher. Riley Adams is your star pupil, the student every teacher strives to have. She isn’t an overachiever but, she loves to get those A’s and B’s. Always first to help out a classmate or stick up for her friends, she was a true hero of the seventh grade. In fact, she would often stay after school with you and keep her dad waiting – which in turn would cause Cooper to come in and have weekly progress updates on Riley. There was never animosity with Cooper but, the ways his eyes tended to wash over you, made you burn. A single father of two, working day in and day out to protect the city, he was the whole package wrapped into one. But you knew it was inappropriate to do anything with your student’s parents, you took your job too serious.

One incident happened earlier this year when Riley stuck up for a kid in class, leading for the main mean girl to put slime in Riley’s blond curls. Riley in turn socked her directly in the face, breaking her nose. It turned into Cooper getting into a spat with the mother of the girl – and you needing to mediate. Riley got in school suspension for two weeks, and Cooper was not having it. Though Riley thought her punishment was fair, Cooper thought she shouldn’t have anything against her. Your hands were tied, there was nothing you could do. At the end Cooper understood but, that gleam he is giving you now – felt the same way as that day. Like he was going to eat you whole, and spit you back out.

His ember eyes glowed against the red lights, sparkling with darkness and sex appeal. You felt yourself give out a little moan as you dropped to your knees, running your hands up and down your torso. Tossing your head back as the cap fell off, you rolled your hips against the stage – acting very demure with the song. But your eyes were low lidded, staring at Cooper, watching how his thick thighs twitched with need, his hand readjusting the crotch of his pants. Cooper Adams was staring at you like he wanted to devour you in front of the club, like he wanted to stake his claim and you’d be damned – you’d let him in a heartbeat. Nerves snaked their way across your stomach as you realized the entire firehouse was there – parents of the students you taught, who damn well might’ve known your face. You felt your palms grow clammy as you felt yourself up, your breath hitching. “Breathe. You’re almost done,” you whisper to yourself under the music, closing your eyes as you slid sideways on stage, your ass up in the air as you got your chest as low as you could go.

Cooper’s whole firehouse was watching you like a hot, tossing back and shots and smirks as they watch you. The rain of twenties and hundred-dollar bills felt like magic, knowing you were putting on the best show possible for them. But you hid your face beneath your hair on purpose; You didn’t need this to get out. Once you hit the stage you slid to your back, windmilling your legs as you clack your platform heels; The sound reverberating off the room. Everyone cheered as loud as they could, clapping as the song started to wind down to its end. Yet the entire time Cooper never moved, never took his eyes off of you, and never changed his facial expression. He looked like he was going to eat you alive, he was going to devour you and leave no crumbs. But you couldn’t tell if that glimmer in his eye was rage or admiration He probably thinks I’m a slut.

“Gentlemen give it up for our superstar!” Moira yelled over the mic, causing the whooping and cheers to ring out. Smiling like you weren’t nervous at all, you gave a bow before starting to walk back to the dressing room, your smile dropping to a mortified look – hands shaking uncontrollably as you slid behind the curtain. “Holy shit, girl! You fucking killed it!” Mackenzie called out as Veronica took the stage next, blasting Joan Jett. Macks face slid from a stellar smile to a worried glance as she evened out her lipstick, the baby pink shade complimenting her whole aesthetic so well. Placing the tube down, she came up to your front, grabbing your face between her hands. “What’s wrong? Was it the guys? I know it’s nerve wracking when it’s first responders but you did-“

“They’re from my district, my town.” You cut Mack off, sucking in a deep breath as you felt tears well in your eyes. Looking up to avoid smudging your makeup, you sniffle as you hold onto Mackenzie’s arm for anchorage. “I fucking teach their kids, Mack. Those dads fucking saw me here! No one knows I dance, for fuck’s sake. If they know, if they see…I’m fucked.” You knew one day it was going to happen, that someone, or someone’s you knew would stroll in and see you performing – see your tits or ass on display, and how you worked your way around the club. The day that happened you swore you would get up and leave – school, the club, town – move across the country and start fresh. Change your name, pretend this wasn’t your life before and have endless possibilities. Now? That wasn’t a choice.

“Slow your role there, buttercup. It’s not that big of a deal. I work in Daycare. Ronnie works as a speech therapist. Moira is the principal of a high school in town. It’s not a huge deal. We survive, you can too.” Hearing Mackenzie say that was reassuring but, still the gnawing at your gut made you want to redo your entire life from scratch. “Was it the chief that freaked you out, is that why you’re tweaking?” She must’ve been talking about Cooper – I mean who else would it be? Deep down, you hated to admit it but it was true. Having Cooper, the sexiest dad in town, see you stripped down and showing your sensual side made you feel like you were on fire. The way his eyes would watch every movement, like he was cataloging it in his head; All it would take is for him to say what you do and poof – everything you’ve worked for.

“If you’re worry about him spilling, stop. He was eye-fucking you so hard I’m surprise he didn’t cream his pants.” Mackenzie’s shrill laugh flowed through your ears, just as Ronnie was done. Barbe Girl by Aqua starting blaring through the sound system as Mackenzie perked her breasts up in her baby pink bra, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “Go talk to him, it’ll make you feel better.”

She was right, maybe if you explained to Cooper what you are doing, he’d understand. Probably pull Riley out of your class but that was okay – because at least you tried, and that’s all you could ever do. Sucking in a deep breath, Ronnie grabs the towel from beside you with a laugh – exhaling with a relieved smile. “Dude, DUDE! That fire chief wouldn’t fucking look my way. He’s all yours, baby doll.” Ronnie shook her head with a laugh as she passed by you, heading towards the locker room. It made your stomach flip that Cooper only watched you, not giving the other girls the time of day. It made you feel special, like after all this would be okay. Maybe it would, maybe this is all going to work out just fine.

“Baby doll, you got a private dance in room six. Cameras are off in there, so if you need anything just holler!” Moira shouted over Aqua, using her two fingers to motion you to the private rooms. The relieved sigh you exhaled calmed your nerves, your eyes no longer wavering at the thought of what you’d tell Cooper about your lifestyle. Maybe whoever is in six would take your mind off it – maybe you didn’t even have to see him. I mean its taboo, right? Fire department going to a strip club on the State’s dime. If blackmailing was needed, you knew Moira would stick right by your side. Swallowing down the lump that formed in your throat, you slowly started to make your way across the club to the left side.

The spiral, velvet staircase was a perfect add on to the club – making it feel sophisticated, but also retro. You loved how it felt against your hands and feet as you climbed up, rubbing against the velvet banister. It was the best way for you to ground yourself before doing a private dance. Those could go anyway you wanted – depending on the price. Tonight though? The money didn’t fucking matter – what mattered was clearing your head after the inner turmoil you laid on yourself. To say you were drained was an understatement – you haven’t been this exhausted at the club since your ex tried to kidnap you a few months back, held you at knife point behind the dumpster because you didn’t want to go with him. Never again, you promised yourself never again.

As you reached the top of the landing, you put on your game face. Giving the empty space your very best sensual look. Eyes half lidded, the sway in your hips dropping to a softer cadence, your lips puffed out to plump them a little bit. You were going big tonight; all the stops were going to be let out. They were going to get the best dance of your fucking life, and a little happy ending to top it off. Shit, maybe seeing Cooper did turn me on. You shook your head at the thought, feeling your core sopped at the mental image. Biting down on your bottom lip, you took a deep breath as you wrapped your delicate hand around the doorknob, turning it softly. Closing your eyes you make sure to push the door open and slip inside. The plush fabric on the wood made your heart calm down, putting you in your mental place before spinning around.

“Hi there, sweet-“ you began as you spun around, the smile you plastered on for show slipped – causing a look of shock to cover your face. You felt like a statue; Standing stone still, eyes widening at the realization. The black velvet couch was occupied by one man, and one man only – staring at you with such intensity your body vibrated. One arm draped over the back of the couch whilst the other rested against his thigh, fingers twitching inconsistently. Sunset colored eyes stared intently at you, creased as if contemplating what his next move would be. A plush pink tongue slipped between his lips, pulling his bottom one in between his teeth. Cooper Adams was your special dance of the night, he wanted a private dance, in the one room where cameras didn’t work – it all made sense now. Gulping down the pool of spit that coated your mouth, you stuck your hands out like a frightened animal, slowly walking sideways in the room. You knew he could pounce at any time; The unpredictability was making you weak.

“Sit.” He stated matter-of-factly, patting his muscular thigh. His lips pursed in such a way where you knew he was growing frustrated. At the sight of his jeans tightened in the crotch area, you could assume why he was crabby. “Mr. Adams-“ you began to explain yourself, trying to justify why you were here and why this doesn’t take away from your teaching abilities but Cooper wasn’t having it. Raising the hand that was draped over the couch, he let out a pessimistic laugh, sliding his tongue over his teeth as he never broke your line of sight. “I said, sit. Don’t make me say it again.” The tone in which he spoke was strict, to the point; He said what he wanted now it was your duty to obey. Or else, you knew something bad would happen.

Nodding in submission, you hung your head lower than you would’ve liked, moving graciously in your heels as you tried not to focus on Cooper’s predatory stare. Seeing him like this was new for you – every time the fire department would give the safety assemblies, he was always so happy and chipper. The best thing in his life besides Riley and Logan was making sure the community was safe. He did it with a smile, so excited and proud knowing he was making a difference. That soft Cooper you fell for, like every other teacher, dissipated and instead a greedy, dark man sat in his place. His soul always shined brightly against the backdrop of the city – now it was obsidian, tainted by rage and hunger. It was sexy, in a fucked up way.

As you reached Cooper lap, you stood tall in front of his seated self. Placing both hands on the back of the couch to box in his thick neck, slowly you crept forth to place your knees on the opposite sides of his thighs. You weren’t even allowed to straighten yourself out as Cooper grasped at your waist, pinning your hips to his impatiently. The grunt of approval that slipped passed his parted lips was sent straight to your core, the slick mess made in your panties evident to his treatment. That dark look fell away from Cooper’s face as a shiny smile fell upon him, beaming up at you like you were a pretty new toy.  “There, doesn’t that feel better?” There was a sadistic undertone to his words; He was toying with you after all.

Looking down into Cooper’s eyes, you felt your fingertips grow clammy against the plush couch, your breath hitching at his question. “Cooper, pl-” You tried to start again but were met with Cooper tsking at you, chuckling exuberantly at your annoyance. You needed to explain yourself, you needed to give yourself a chance to explain before he got the wrong idea. But every time you were trying to justify your career choices, you were shut out. You knew deep down Cooper wasn’t doing this on purpose but, it felt very fucking pointed. Sighing out in frustration, you sucked your teeth as you watched him, pursing your lips to get your point across. “My, my. Now I knew you could have a darker side but, being a stripper AND a teacher?” he tsked, grazing his eyes along your body as you kneeled still. His eyes met the line of your cleavage, using his thick fingers to rub against the straps that barricaded your breasts. The simple touch made your body ignite. Instinctively you grinded down on him, feeling his hard cock tighten under his jeans. Hissing out at the feeling, Cooper brought his freehand around to smack your ass, gripping hard at the supple flesh. “Bad, bad girl.”

“Mr. Adams, this isn’t-“ You shook your head, a headache booming behind your eyes at the maltreatment. Your vision was growing hazy on the sides as you stared dead on at Cooper, wondering why he wasn’t giving you the chance to say anything and only cutting you off. “What? Appropriate?” He laughed. It wasn’t a laugh you heard before, but one that was chaotic – unhinged to say the least. Cooper’s face contorted into a psychopathic grin, his hand snaking up the front of your body, up your torso, and finally landing on your neck. “What’s not appropriate is not staring at the client while you’re making them rock fucking hard.” He chided as he pressed his thumb and forefinger to your pulse point, causing your head to grow hazy. You couldn’t help that your eyes were rolling back into your head at the feeling of being choked by Cooper. Your life lying in the palm of his hand, he controlled your every move. “You silly little slut, did you like watching me adjust myself?”

It was a no-brained response. You couldn’t hide it any longer. “Yes,” you whispered. The rough nature of how he was grabbing at your throat caused your words to come out soft, timid and shy. The cold metal of his wedding band was delicious in contrast with the warmth of your skin. Nothing like how you were in parent teacher conferences. This time around it was different – you no longer had control of the room but were just another pretty pawn to be stepped on. Crinkling his brow, Cooper shook his head, being unsatisfied. “Uh, uh uh. Louder.” Cooper commanded you to say it again, but wanted it loud enough for him to hear. You knew this was a tactic to fuck with you, to put you right where he wanted this whole time. Being rough like this wasn’t anything new to you – after all this is what you preferred in your sex life. But the way he commanded you was unlike anything else – even how your ex was. Yet he didn’t stop when you said to – you knew Cooper would. “Yes.” It was a choked moan as you met his gaze, growling out softly as the word slipped.

“Good girl, now was that so hard to admit?” Cooper’s hand released itself from around your throat, instead rubbing circles into the column of your throat. You felt the flush take over your body as your blood started to move again. Cutting off the oxygen supply to your brain made you feel foggy, coming down from that now put everything into perspective. That dark, eerie look in Cooper’s eyes was hunger. That glint of something deeper, the restraint he was holding – snapped into a thin corded line, causing you to grovel for him. You hated admitting to yourself that you could cum just from this, right here and right now. This was all anyone in town wanted – a chance with Cooper Adams, the fire chief and married father of two.

“What’s your plan here, Cooper?” You managed to speak with a lilt in your tone, trying to gain back your composure. It was impossible for you to suppress the giggle that slipped out as you asked that, finding it quite hilarious that the one time he let you speak a full question without interruption, is when you ask what his intentions are with you. It was comedic at this point, he truly was fucking with you on such a deep level, it almost felt like a joke. But no, it was psychopathy. You never would’ve pegged Cooper Adams – wholesome girl dad – as a psychopath or having those kinds of tendencies. A rougher, darker side maybe only his wife sees. His wife. He’s married. Was it awful that that didn’t bother you? You never met Rachel and Riley never talked about her. It was always Cooper, Cooper, Cooper. “Nothing, just to enjoy my daughter’s teachers’ company.” The sickeningly sweet way Cooper said that made your blood boil, using it against you in a way. The power trip running rampant in his mind as you cowered. Chuckling out of sheer frustration, you shot back: “Are you going to tell everyone, now?”

“And expose you for being such a fucking whore? Now where is the fun in that?” Cooper pouted playfully, smirking. Your body reacted in such a way to being called a whore that it was morally frowned upon. The way your eyes rolled back as they shut, your face screwed up almost in pain, and your grip tightened now on his shoulder. You couldn’t let him have the upper hand but for fucks sake, you wanted him to. Everything in your life was always about control, why not give that up for a bit. Looking at Cooper’s entertained face, you drew up your best puppy dog eyes – showing the sheen of tears covering your irises as you slightly frowned. “Aw, what’s wrong Princess? I thought you like being degraded. After all, you’re always looking up porn with it.”

That threw you off of your game, your demeanor dropped, and your body was running cold. There was no way in hell for him to know that based on an acute observation, or even a fucking hunch. No, this went deeper. Your brain started to go over every memory you have had lately of this encounter, trying to find a possible solution for why he would know that. “How did you…?” You caught yourself midsentence as you remembered the alert you got from Safari the other night, IP tracking stating that: Your IP address has been profiled by 23 trackers in the last seven days. But how could it be 23 when you have a VPN, firewall protection and layers upon layers of password encrypted searches? It didn’t make sense; did he dabble in cybersecurity before becoming a fire chief? Or was that for fun that he learned to hack?

Cooper saw the cogs turning in your head as you pondered over each alert you received. Not wanting you to figure it out so damn quick, he perked up as he grabbed your waist, drumming his fingers against your thighs. “Let’s play a game. You guess between one and ten, and I’ll show you what you pick. Sound fun?” It was such a random change of pace that your mind instantly was drawn to what Cooper was insinuating. He didn’t give you a chance to think about the why’s when his fingers ran across your body, grazing the line of your panties. As you peered at his overtly cheery nature, you noticed something you hadn’t seen before; Eye twitching usually happened under duress but Cooper wasn’t. He was calm and calculated, composed. No, there was more to his story than he was leading on.

“One through ten. Pick.” You jolted at the commanding tone, moving your hands to push a few strands of his disheveled hair back. Seeing his face so clearly didn’t help the onslaught of questions you had – and it didn’t quell that ache in your cunt. His hands held your hips harshly, promising to leave bruises on your skin. If you even tried to grind down to get comfortable, he would halt any movements. This was his time to play, not yours. “Four.” The reluctant pick brought light back into his eyes, causing that soft smile to reappear. You swear this man was going to give you whiplash with how often he was changing his mood. There wasn’t anything more to it – Cooper scared you in a way where you wanted to be owned by him. It wasn’t a fear for your life, when it should’ve been. You felt like a sick fuck, but it made you so horny to think about.

“Four, my personal favorite!” Cooper exclaimed as he cupped your cheek, using his other hand to grab his phone out of his jeans pocket. You were growing confused as to why he made you pick, and also needed his phone. That is when the realization dawned on you that this game was going to include pictures or videos – of which you were fearful it was of you. That number’s game could relate to a video or picture he took of you tonight, or prior to tonight. It was evident this man did somewhat stalk you – but to the extent? That was lost on you. Gripping his iPhone, Cooper opened an app with a goat’s head, humming to himself as he put in his code.

Just then you heard the moaning of someone on the other side, but not in the way you were expecting. They sounded to be in pain – they were suffering, it sounded like. Oddly it sounded familiar, one you heard only once but, you couldn’t be sure. Before you could ask what was happening, Cooper spun the phone around to show you, muting your end almost quickly. At first you didn’t recognize what was happening since your eyes fell right to survey the background. It looked like a normal shed but, there was something sinister about it. The piping didn’t look like it normally would, neither did the big blue industrial drum barrels sitting next to the chair. That is when you saw it, him, in full picture. Your Ex.

“Oh my god…” you managed to let out, your heart quickening at what you were seeing. Your ex sat bloodied on a wooden chair, a mask hooked up to a tubed device over his face, and the high rising and falling of his chest. Not seeing him for so long caused you to have a visceral reaction, biting your lip so hard it bled. After everything he did to you – the scars he left on your body…you didn’t know how to react other than an animalistic growl of anger and rage. But to Cooper – it may have looked like rage against him kidnapping your ex. “You wouldn’t believe how easy it was to grab this piece of shit. My god, he doesn’t shut up though.” He sighed in contentment, looking up at you with the slightest bit of admiration in his eyes. He was adoring his own handiwork as he was you, best of both worlds right at his fingertips. “Always why? Why me? What did I do?” He mocked in your ex’s whiny voice, causing himself to chuckle. If the circumstances were different, you may have laughed as well at the impression. But not this time, pieces were clicking together in your head that you didn’t want any part of. Yet you knew, it would be easier to conform than revolt.

“Cooper…this is so fucked up.” You managed to squeak your words out as you stared at his phone, seeing the distress your ex was in. You couldn’t, wouldn’t dare to admit it out loud but seeing him in this position made you feel at peace, knowing he isn’t out there, hurting another woman. You hated that you were the last one he did anything to but, in a way you felt good knowing, thinking about that what if. That what if, is what made you realize. “Oh, far from it, baby girl. This is justice. Fucked up would be to bounce you on my cock as you watch him die.” The fact that Cooper said it so matter-of-factly confirmed the suspicion swirling around in your head. The video feed. The mask. The sneaking glances. The possession. The hot and cold moods rotate like a revolving door. It rang true, the video gave it that final nudge in your brain. You couldn’t escape the truth now. “You’re….you’re The Butcher….” The words felt unreal on your lips; You were hoping for Cooper to deny, deny, deny. But alas, Cooper revealed the truth.

“In the flesh. Out of everyone, I was hoping you caught on first.” The way he stated it so proudly shouldn’t have turned you on the way that it did – but you couldn’t shut off the valve of your feelings on Cooper, no matter how hard you tried. The parent you had been crushing on was finally giving you the time of day in the way you wanted. He stalked you. Kidnapped your ex with intent to kill and is making you straddle him while he does so. Cooper Adams is The Butcher. It all made sense now; The shifting of moods, being so calculated and precise with everything. He was a madman, killed over a dozen people – chopped them up and left their bodies in public places, pieces to only remember the victims by. Those calloused hands weren’t just the hands of a firefighter but, a serial killer. Now? You were grinding on his lap, in a strip club, while he held your ex hostage.

Now that you knew he was The Butcher – you didn’t care about your ex, but yourself. If he had you on top of him, at your mercy, what were his intentions? “W-What is your plan…with me? A-Are you going to kill me, too?” You stuttered, automatically jumping to the worst possible answer before thinking any other was an option. That is all killers are, right? They kill, they kill ones they like, even love. They kill randoms out of the blue. They kill popular people. Hard workers. Anyone really. Whoever is easy for them to get their hands on. Why would Cooper be any different? Why would you for that matter? After all, a victim is a victim. No matter how far out it is, one day it may come. Killers are unpredictable with their moods – Cooper showed that right off the bat.

“Now why would I do that?” Cooper asked, confusion and disappointment showed on his face. His eyebrows were scrunched together, his mouth slightly ajar as he stared at you. He was processing it, but not fully grasping. In his head, he thought it was a stupid question to ask. Why would he do something so horrendous to you? When he’s been pining over you for years. It wasn’t clicking in his head why you were upset and asking, until he heard another agonizing moan slip from his phone. “Oh, right. Serial killer.” He said with a nonchalant tone, pulling his lips up and nodding as he looked down. Sighing out, he locked his phone and placed it back in his pocket – looking up at you, making sure to maintain eye contact. Both of his hands came to cup your face, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear. It felt too domestic in this moment – anxiety mixed with being turned on was a weird combination. But you couldn’t, nor you wouldn’t, move your position. This is where you wanted to be, and with who you wanted to be with. Giving that up, would be a mistake deep down. “No, I am not going to kill you.”

“Then what…?” The mental gymnastics was getting to be too much, and quite frankly you were annoyed. It made no sense that Cooper was so cryptic in everything he did now that no one could see or hear him. Only you, and he was planning on keeping it that way. The cameras not working in the room? That had to be him, right? He fucked with them so he could confess without anyone knowing. It made sense, an hour away, where no one knew him that well – just that he is the fire chief. It made sense that people weren’t going to know the name Cooper Adams or think a married man of his caliber was going to frequent a strip club. He was the perfect killer – hiding in plain sight.

Leaning forward as he still holds your face, Cooper grasps at you a bit harder, smushing your cheeks a little bit as he emphasizes the rasp in his voice. “You’re going to take my cock like the good fucking girl you are, and you’re going to let me fill you up.” There was not a singular stutter as he spoke, it was all pure intention on what he was going to do. He didn’t waste a second in explaining himself because his words held enough meaning. Your body, the situation, everything finally caught up to you as you shivered against his body. Your body riddled with goosebumps at the mental image of what he wanted, what he was going to do to you. You couldn’t hide it anymore. It was fucked up how badly your body was betraying you – but the urge to fuck was heavy on your mind. With Cooper? You’d be a fool to turn it down. Your moral compass would never forgive you but, everyone is a sinner, right? “Oh, see? You’re shaking just at the idea.” He teased, leaning forth to press his lips to the column of your neck, flicking his tongue up your throat. The moan you exclaimed shook you to the core, causing your hips to shake.

“I know you’ve wanted to fuck me, because I’ve been dreaming of it since the first day I saw you.” There it was, the confirmation you needed as he bit at your neck, pulling on the flesh with his teeth. The pain hurt so good, you slotted your hands in his hair and yanked. The main was too much for both of you but stopping wouldn’t be an option. The floodgates broke, you couldn’t close them if you tried. Cooper held you down against his crotch with one hand as the other moved to cup the back of your neck, dragging you down to meet his lips in a frenzied kiss. It was electric, the world stopped spinning for a moment as he drank you down. Swirls of golds and blues swirled in your peripheral vision as he deepened the kiss, showing off the passion you longed for.

You didn’t want this to end or stop anytime soon. The one thing weighing heavy on your gut was cutting cold across your body. Pulling back, you spoke in a small tone. “You’re married. That isn’t fair to your wife.” It was true, there was a part of you that hated knowing you were a mistress to this man, who seemed like an overall family guy. Two small kids and a doting wife. Infidelity was never okay in your eyes, and it never would be okay. But there was a small parasitic side of you that couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like. Did he actually love his wife? If he did, what would possess him to cheat on her like this? There was more to it he was not letting on to, nor daring to elaborate on. You wonder if your internal statement was true; He didn’t love his wife and truly has only ever wanted you. But that’s always too good to be true, self-doubt is a fickle bitch. Pouting at your statement, he brings both of his hands down to focus on your breasts, harshly pulling down the cup to expose your pert nipples.

“You’re telling me, you don’t want to feel my wedding ring gliding across your body, hm?” He questioned as he used his thumb and first finger to tweak your nipple, causing a whimper to escape your lips. The cold of his wedding band against the side of your breast made you wet to think about, Cooper could tell hence why he started to glide it over your peaked bud, smirking at the effect it was having on you. Leaning his head down, he captured your right nipple between his lips, suckling softly on the peak. His tongue slid across your sensitive nipple, causing your back to arch. The moan he let out reverberated throughout your body. As he pulled back, you whimpered at the loss of contact but, you didn’t dare to speak. Your voice would betray you. “That you’re making a mess on a married man’s cock?”

That was the final straw for you – that simple question mixed with his opposite hand pulling at your left nipple set you on fire. You moan aloud as you reached down between the two of you, grazing his clothed cock with your hand, running it harshly against the thick outline with a growl. “Please, Cooper.” The action, mixed with your words, caused Cooper to surge forth and capture your lips with his own. The kiss was all teeth, rough and passionate all at once. It was full of want and need without any awkwardness, like this where it was supposed to be all along. This is where Cooper was meant to be. The barrier was broken, there was no turning around now. This night was going to end with him buried balls deep inside of you, and you were going to be such a happy camper about it. “Please, what?” He moaned out loud against your lips, shoving his hand down between your legs, cupping your clothed cunt. “I’m not a mind reader,” Cooper laughed as you rolled your hips against his hand, pressing your forehead to his. The assault on your neck started then, giving him perfect access to kiss the supple skin. Dragging his teeth up your jaw and to your mouth, he pulled himself back a few inches with a smirk – coaxing your response out with one look. “Please, fuck me.” You whimpered, on the nerve of tears. You were a needy mess and needed to fuck him or else you’d burn alive. The attraction, everything, it was too much.

That was exactly what Cooper wanted to hear, it’s what he needed to act upon the impulses, the desires. The genuine smile that spread across his lips as he looked up at you made your heart feel so full, and flutter uncontrollably. “Ah, see? You don’t care about my wife’s feelings.” Cooper moved his hands off of you for a moment to undo his belt buckle, pulling the clasps aside as you undid the button and zipper on his jeans. Pulling it down with a sickeningly fast pace, he soared his hand into his briefs to pull his cock out, smacking it against the front of your pussy through your panties. “No, you just care about me stuffing that pretty cunt.”

His words caused your cunt to clench, but his next actions set you on a path of destruction. Your mouth watered at the sight of his thick, rigid cock, springing out to slap against your clothed pussy. You couldn’t believe the size of him, wondering how that much man was going to fit inside of you. You’d do whatever you had to, to make it fit. That was a promise to you, and silently to Cooper. You started to move to get off Cooper from your straddling position, wanting to slip your panties off and shove them into his coat pocket, so he has a little gift when he leaves. But Coop had other ideas, and he refused to get you get off of him. The lace waistband of your panties slipped softly through his fingers, basking in the way it felt against his hands. You could see the hitch in his breath as he gripped the fabric a little tighter, wrapping it around his finger. Cooper kept twisting until he heard the small elastics in the lace snap, spreading a sinister smile across his face. Just like that, he ripped your panties clean off of your body – utilizing the gap between where his cock and your pussy to push the shredded remains off, grunting out as he sees your wetness.

He gripped the base of his cock to hold it upright, letting you anchor yourself against him to get the perfect angle. Once you hovered over the top of him, slowly you started to guide your hips down onto his, the tip of his cock crowning your entrance. The delicious stretch of his thick head breached your entrance with resistance, too big for you. But you weren’t a quitter and were needing to make him fit. Rolling your hips against the tip, slowly you felt it push further inside of you, your muscles relaxing at the intrusion. “Oh fuck, god you’re so tight.” He breathed out, holding your hips for leverage. Seeing Cooper go pliant under you was the sexiest thing you had seen, all yours for the taking. He watched you as if you were a goddess, basking in all your glory as every inch slowly was seated inside of you.

Halfway down his erect cock, you felt the tip slide directly against your g-spot, seeing stars at the renewed pressure against it. A mewling moan made itself present, eyes rolling backwards to combat the lightheadedness. “That’s it pretty girl, take it slow.” The coaxing from Cooper was only making you wetter, which in turn was making it so much easier to take him. The compliments from the man below you was too hot to handle, you thought you would perish on the spot if he sweet talked you again. Then again, you’d be putty in his hands the second he started to talk dirty. As you slid down the last few inches of Cooper’s cock, you felt the hair at his base rub against you, causing you to roll your hips forward on him, soliciting a delicious man from the depths of him. “Such a good girl,” Cooper keened. Hearing the praise slip from his mouth was causing you to forget everything that happened earlier, what he is. All you could think about was how deep he was inside of you, and how perfect it felt. You were made for him, your body fit with his so perfect. No one would ever compare.

“Shit, C-Cooper.” The words had a mind of their own as it fell out of your mouth, not thinking about anything expect the thick rigids of his cock against your walls. You started to slide back and forth on his cock, letting the pleasure envelop you. Both of your hands reached behind you to rest on his thick thighs; The rough denim burning your palms. It was so worth it though; the pain amplified the pleasure. You were losing yourself with every slide you created, hitting the exact spot you needed to each time. His cock was made for you. Leaning forward, Cooper reached his hand up to cross across your back, pulling you forward more so he could place his forehead between the valley of your breast, resting against the middle of your bra. “I know, baby. I know. It feels too fucking good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” You replied absentmindedly, letting your pussy do all the talking. Cooper started to fuck up into you, needing to feel the pleasure you were. All the teasing was driving him mad, if he didn’t move but let you do all the work – there would be no fun in it. Sure, he loved watching you take control and use him for your own pleasure but, at the end of the day – you now belonged to him. He was going to be damned if you got yourself off. No, he needed to be the one to make you cum until you saw stars. “You’re taking me so well, honey.” The sweet nature of his words set you off like the Fourth of July – lighting up your entire body. What made it even better was when he smacked that down with his roughened nature, smacking your ass hard enough to leave bruises. “I’ll be breaking in this body really good.”

That was enough for that familiar flutter to work its way into your lower belly, setting you ablaze from the inside, out. He enjoyed watching you go dumb on his cock, letting the pleasure take over enough to where you were drunk on him. The pleasure crested behind his eyes as well, just thinking about all the endless possibilities for the two of you. “Maybe I’ll even knock you up, put a baby in you, hm?” Your eyes shot wide open to stare at Cooper, his own eyes challenging you. He was provoking a reaction, using your breeding kink against you. Sly motherfucker. Your body’s reaction to the thought was involuntary, as were your words. “Fuuuck,” you manage to slip out as you leaned forth to balance yourself in his lap, feeling your body vibrate with every thrust.

The way your cunt gripped Cooper’s cock was too much for you, the pleasure spreading to every orifice on your body. You couldn’t handle it, the stars began to bloom as you thought about having his baby. How depraved you had to be to enjoy it, and how you knew he was going to make it a reality. Cooper tossed his head back as his thumb connected with your clit, rubbing the hardened nub gently with his calloused finger. The sensation only made everything more intense, he couldn’t stop, neither could you. You were a drug, and he was becoming so addicted. “Oh, you really must love that idea. Walking around with a married man’s mark in you. Naughty, naughty girl.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t. There was something about being bred by Cooper that healed something inside of you. It was also the fact that he was a husband already, a father, making him a daddy again would be a gift. Yet you knew you should feel guilty – you should stop and walk away. But where was the fun in that? After all, you’re just as sick and depraved as he is. It would be a shame to pass on the opportunity. “I’m fucking obsessed with you. You’re never leaving me, now.” Cooper was egging you on, wanting you to hit your peak soon enough. He knew if you took too long up here then Moira would come and try to find you, cutting this fun short. Now that was something he couldn’t have. He needed all of you. He hoped you knew that you were never getting away from him, he was going to find you in every life. “A-All yours. All y-yours!” It was true, you were all his now, whether you wanted to or not once the sex ended.

“That’s fucking right I am, I own you.” The primal grunts he showered the VIP room in caused your skin to prickle. The sheen of sweat on your face creating an ethereal glow under the neon lights. It felt like magic, like you were high. Every sense was amplified and putting you on edge. It was a raw nerve, masking its way as lust and love inside of you. This was fucked up, so fucked up! But you couldn’t help yourself, you needed more. “I-I’m gonna cum! Cooper, please!” You scream out, nails dragging down his covered chest; How you wish you could press yourself against his body, feeling you fully enveloped within in. Your high was cresting, ready to hits its peak. But of course you refused to cum unless Cooper gave you permission, your body officially giving up on sanity and leaning towards the crazy. “Cum then, baby. Let daddy take care of you.”

That was all you needed to hear to hit your orgasm. You couldn't handle it anymore, you couldn't begin to comprehend what you were doing anymore. The sex, the love making, it was too good for words. What was even better was the supple embrace of your orgasm - tossing you around like you were nothing. Ocean, one big body of water. The nothingness of waves crashing around you - freedom keeping you afloat. You were weightless as you reached your next high, the blissful graze of it all cresting like a wave, wanting to sweep you deeper into the depths of darkness. The spasms of your silken walls around Cooper’s velvety cock made you scream out - almost as if you were being skinned alive. The pleasure was too much, it felt too good to keep it all inside. All of the club no doubt could hear your screams of endless pleasure. He was grateful he could make you come so hard, your nails dragging along the bare expanse of his alabaster back, causing vermillion stripes to appear. “That’s a good girl. Now, daddy’s turn.”

Gripping onto your hips - Cooper started to snap his within yours. Each stroke of his cock inside of you felt like a burst of wildfire; Burning bright and beautiful, claiming you in each way he saw fit. You always heard of the phrase being cock dumb, never knowing the full intent of its meaning until you were in the position to do so. Every thrust being produced by Cooper sent you into an internal frenzy, moans slipping from your mouth like it was prayers to whatever God listened. Begging and begging for your high with every motion, Cooper became intoxicated by you - your gorgeous body on full display, pliable just for him. Knowing no one else would ever see you in this position again - he was eternally yours as you were his. While Cooper was dealing with his internal monologue, you were basking in the glory of his member. Eyes fell closed while your head pressed backwards, going with the flow of each thrust - letting those whimpers be heard through and through. “Fucking whore. Fucking take that!” Cooper laments, huffing with every thrust produced, you look up at him with doe eyes, meeting his gaze easily without hesitation. Something in Cooper’s chest burst with a blinding array of colors and swirls.

“I’m going to ruin you so good. You’re not going anywhere sweet thing, you’re staying right here.” Cooper started, trying to get the words out in between the deep seeded lust you could provide him. But it was his lips against your cheek, to your ear. Your silence coaxed him forth to finish his thought. “Yes!” Your giggle lit up Cooper’s ears, causing you both to moan wildly during the session - his cock never stopping its spears deep within you. Through your moans were moments of broken pants. Rolls of Cooper’s hips inside of you made you toss your head back once more, feeling the curly hairs at the base of his length rub soothingly against your clit - igniting that slow burn with a delicious tang. “Fuck, fuck!” I’m gonna cum inside of you. And you’re gonna take it like a good girl, right? Gonna carry this real good for me?”

In the moment everything felt like it stopped, your body seizing under the sadist touch of Cooper Adams. Hearing how Cooper wanted to breed you, so you hoped, made everything in your body shut down almost instantly. “Yes!” Screaming with the single punches of his cock to your cervix, you yelled out in unison with the thrusts; "Yes, sir!” Leaning forth you made sure to press your forehead to his, shallowing your breaths to be in time with his. Cooper felt your motions, moving a singular hand up to cup the back of your neck. Being in place meant he could watch every emotion run its course. Broken down and exposed, like a nerve to the elements - but you would not be caused any harm, this nerve was going to heal slowly but surely, being aided by your own knight. A perverted, serial killing, sick and twisted knight.

Smiles upon smiles ran for miles as you met Cooper’s expression, seeing the lust even following up in his own eyes - matching the deep seeded swirls in yours. Eruptions of butterflies flew through your stomach; A zoo released from its restraints - pounding around to aid in the overwhelming bliss. You felt safe. Cooper wrapped his arms around your torso to push you far into his chest, causing you to return the grip. There you both were; Cooper pounding into you while both bodies hugged one another.

Both of your highs were dangerously close to exploding, and there was no way you could hold on any longer. Cooper’s too-talented-for-his-own-good mouth was working like a gear to pump out all of the dirtiness you have been craving for eons. The sinful dialect you never knew he could produce slipped between parted cracked lips. Just like that, the world stopped spinning for the two of you. A wave rushed over both of your figures, jolting your souls into the stratosphere. Like a ton of bricks hitting, you with a mac truck, you felt every spurt of your high aid in Cooper’s - causing your interior walls to be painted stark white. Each clench your cunt produced milked this man for all he was worth. As the overstimulation kicked in, Cooper stopped his thrusts as you stopped your gyrations, letting you both take a well needed breather. Both of your foreheads were pressed against one another, basking in the light of the moment. The heavy stench of sex and sweat clung to the clean air. Bated breaths filled the silence of the house, not even a mouse was stirring. Cooper’s cock pulsated over and over again within your velvety walls, giving you a new paint job, one that was sating you like no tomorrow. It was the simple thought of carrying Cooper’s child that made you burst at the seams, knowing he wanted all of Philly to see the mark he left on you. You were never going to complain about it, no you were proud to be his. “Know this, sweet girl. You ever try to run away, leave, or escape me? It will be the last thing you ever do. You’re mine. Here. Now. Forever. In every life, I own you.”

[norrizzandpia]

She Doesn’t Know Who I Am (LN4)

Summary: Lando’s in New York and no one knows who he is. Especially the girl who asks for his number.

Warnings: nothing really, the vaguest inference to alcohol consumption? If that, man, but lmk if i missed any ofc

Lando was always weary of the United States. From the intrusive people to the crazed, horrific politics, he always tried to stay away. However, once a year, or season, he had an obligation to make an appearance in one of the fifty maniacal states. This year, the region in which would be graced with his chaotic presence was that of New York.

Y/n was the typical college student, ruthless and stupid as she went through her days at NYU. Crazy parties and a lack of sleep filled her days as she struggled to get through her second to last year in school. While part of her hated the way New York operated and how unsafe she felt, there was nothing like the beauty of the city. Her whole life had been spent in a small town where she felt trapped and alone, but in the big city, she felt a part of something, almost as if she was finally contributing to something. What she was contributing to, she didn’t know, but, in her mind, that didn’t really matter.

What did matter, however, was her friends dragging her out of bed and forcing her to go out with them whilst on two hours of sleep.

“I can get bagels literally any day. Please,” She put her hands in prayer as she pleaded with her best friend, “Paige, let me go back to bed.”

Paige looked back at her as if she had grown three heads, “No way. You go back to bed now, you’ll sleep all day and then be screwed up tomorrow. Then, you’ll complain about your sleep schedule being off and get mad at me for not waking you up. This is a much easier Y/n to deal with, thank you very much.”

Her response seemed to shut Y/n up as she hung her head low and trotted behind her brunette friend.

—

The walk to the bagel place had been longer than usual as they ran into George, a homeless man who lived at the end of their street and they had come to love. He had been there since the moment they moved in, coming and going as he moved to different places to sleep. After a few years of becoming friends with him, they learned he was a veteran who came back with severe PTSD, and, in turn, had to deal with tumultuous debts for his tries to stop the depressing spiral. While he had successfully gotten over the painful flashbacks, he never came back from the money he owned, the main reason why he ended up on the streets. The girls had found sympathy for the man and whenever he was there, sitting at the end of their block, they gave him fifty dollars each, whether they were struggling with their own financial burdens or not.

His smile had sent them into the rest of their breakfast with happier attitudes as Y/n’s annoyance for being conscious disappeared. However, they returned for the entire duration they spent waiting in the long line in the cramped, stuffy deli. Nonetheless, once she had scarfed down her bagel sandwich and chugged some water, she found life to be much lighter.

—

Lando, on the other hand, had been wandering around Central Park aimlessly with Max and a few other McLaren PR employees. The group had been out shooting content for both the racing company and his own company, Quadrant. Checking out different sights and throwing middle fingers up when they crossed the Trump building, the two boys found themselves having lots of fun in the country they thought so little of.

“Maybe this shit isn’t that bad?” Max chuckled as they stared at the lake that stretched across the park, a piano sounding lightly behind them from a street performer.

Lando nodded, liking the way no one was recognizing him and he could just be, “Yeah, maybe it’s just the politics that dampens the whole thing.”

—

“I’ll seriously never get over how stunning it is in here,” Y/n whispered as she and Paige strolled through a particularly secluded area of Central Park.

“Mhm, me neither.” Paige smiled as the two girls cherished the moment together.

Y/n turned her head to catch the brunette’s brown eyes, “Ever think about what would have happened if we never met?”

Paige pulled a look, “Absolutely not. That sounds like hell.”

“You’re not wrong.” Y/n laughed, “But, seriously, like, how would we even be surviving right n-”

Her abrupt stop to her sentence had Paige turning to look at the girl. With Y/n’s jaw dropped and cheeks ablaze, she followed her best friend’s eyeline, stumbling upon two boys who looked about the same age as them.

“Wow.” Y/n said aloud as she stared, mesmerized, at the man.

“Which one are you looking at?” Paige tried to decipher.

“Brown curls,” Y/n responded immediately, allowing her best friend to finally hone in on the boy of her friend’s choosing.

Paige smiled softly as she pictured Y/n with the boy standing in front of them, a cute couple they would be.

“He’s cute. Go ask for his number!” Paige said excitedly as she pushed Y/n in the direction of the particularly striking young man.

Y/n instantly paled, “What?! No way! Absolutely not!”

“Why?! Y/n, you literally haven’t dated anyone since freshman year. Come on, you’ll never even see him again if he rejects you. Please? For me, at least?” Paige pleaded, giving her best friend a look that she couldn’t turn away.

Huffing, Y/n began walking away, muttering, “The things I do for you.”

—

Y/n first caught Lando’s eye in his peripheral. The quick flash of y/h/c had him turning around to quickly glance at the newfound presence.

He almost lost his footing at the sight of her.

Black leggings and a sweatshirt never looked so good on someone as she approached him. His eyes were followed by Max, the boy laughing at a Lando who was clearly very taken by the girl coming up to them.

“If she asks to take a picture, I’m going to be so devastated,” Lando whispered as she smiled at them, the sight making him want to melt to the ground and beg her to go out with him.

It dawned on him that he didn’t even know her name yet, but that was a passing thought as she came to stop in front of him.

“Hi,” She stared up at him, clearly nervous, “My friend is forcing me to do this, so don’t think I’m doing this willingly.”

Her next few words Lando was already preparing himself for. Either her sentence could send him into a euphoric orbit or she could crush his dreams by being a fan.

She took a deep breath, Lando smiling at her cute demeanor, before she continued, “I just thought you were really cute and thought that, maybe, I could get your number? My name’s Y/n, by the way.”

Max was quick to jump infront of his lovestruck friend, not trusting the girl’s intentions.

“Sorry, he doesn’t give out his number.” He shot out, Y/n grimacing as she took in the embarrassment.

“Is he a celebrity or something?” She tried to recover with jokes, but it just made the faces of the two boys pale more.

The one that she liked, the one with the soft curls, stepped in front of his friend as he shook his head, “No, no. He’s just overprotective,” He sent his friend a threatening gaze, “I’m Lando and I would love to give you my number.”

Y/n was too caught up in the meaning behind Lando’s look to catch the way he was staring down at her, brown eyes big and round as he shot her a toothy grin. Their eyes met, and she flushed under his stare.

Tucking some hair behind her ear, she quickly got out her phone, “Oh, cool! Here you go.”

Lando’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed in his work phone number, not his personal. While he wanted to trust in her cluelessness, he couldn’t be that reckless.

Sliding her phone back to her in a way that allowed for their fingers to brush against each other, Y/n beamed triumphantly, something Lando knew he was going to grow to love.

She stood there for a few moments before nodding her head and beginning her walk back to her friend, “I’ll call you soon. We’ll figure something out.”

Lando nodded eagerly at her, a sign that he liked her just as much as she liked him. When her figure was a dot in the distance, Max turned to him and smacked him on the chest, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!? You can’t just shovel out your number like that! That was way too dangerous, Lando.”

His stern lecture had Lando rolling his eyes, “Max, two things. 1) I gave her my work phone, and 2) I’m willing to bet my seat in McLaren that she has no clue who I am.”

His best friend shifted on his feet as he looked at him, “You really think so?”

Lando nodded, “Yeah. I’ve seen fans try to play it cool, and even then, when they outwardly say they know my favorite flavor of ice cream, I can tell they’re freaking out on the inside. Her nerves seemed more to be the type of just asking a random stranger out rather than meeting her idolized driver.”

Max shook his head, “If you insist.”

—

Paige smiled proudly at her best friend as they began making their way out of the park, “So, what was his name anyway?”

Y/n thought hard for a moment before guessing, “Land? Lanyard? Something like that. I can’t remember. I was too caught up in his biceps to comprehend anything he was saying to me. I just hope he isn’t a murderer.”

NOTE: lmk if you guys want me to make a part 2 to this where they go out on a few dates and a month in or so she finds out or he tells her (something roughly like that)

[undiscovered-horizon]

Rainy Season - Morpheus x Reader

[Spoilers for Brief Lives I guess?]

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

SUMMARY: Fed up with Dream's stubborn and at times childish attitude, you leave Dreaming. But when Morpheus's sorrow makes itself known, Matthew has to fetch you before the kingdom completely floods.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.7k

It’s a tumultuous morning in the Dreaming. Even if none of the dreams and nightmares are privy to the ongoing feud, they know something is wrong. It’s as though the air in the kingdom, the marrow of their bones, turned bitter last night. Their skin is crawling but the sun is shining as it did yesterday. They birds chirp the same song they had throughout centuries. And yet, against their better judgment, something is terribly out of place.

To be honest, you don’t even remember how all of this started but the damage is already done.

A frustrated scream ripples through your chest, "The world doesn't revolve around you!" You're fuming. There's only so much patience one person can hold and recently, Morpheus had proven himself exceptional at trying to reach its limit until he, unfortunately, succeeded today. "For someone who's supposed to know every thought ever entertained, you sure can not look past the tip of your own nose."

His eyes, cold and hurt, stare at you in utter confusion. Dark eyebrows furrow. "I do not know what you're expecting of me,” he states in an angry voice. It appears that he really does not understand the reason for your outrage. "I am not human, I am unable to look at the world as you do."

Of course he says that, you think to yourself. It seems to be his favorite line of defense. Dream of the Endless is a strange, eldritch creature. He doesn’t comprehend the world like a mortal does and, or some reason, he treats this fact of nature as an excuse not to try. At first, you thought it charming - to see the universe through the eyes of a creature you can barely begin to understand. Who wouldn’t? The strange wonder of the man in front of you made you seek his company again and again. Truthfully, there’s something poetic about it: the reason you’ve come back to him so many times might be the very reason you bid him farewell. For good.

"Good news, then: you don't need a cardiovascular system to exercise empathy.” Your sarcastic tone has an effect on Morpheus. He frowns, hurt by your words, only to grow angry that he’s so affected. Dream’s pride makes him want to not be influenced by your bitterness. Alas, he cares more than he’s willing to admit. "Not everything is about you, Morpheus, and until you realize that, I don't think we've got more to talk about. Goodbye."

Even after you shut the door behind you, the word echoes through the castle. The stone walls seem to whisper it back to Morpheus, rubbing the salt in his wound. How strange it is - to be haunted by somebody still alive. To be the king of dreams and feel hopeless. It would be funny if it didn’t make him want to be unmade.

A thunder rolls. A blue lightning splits the sky in two. Despite the lovely weather in the morning, it starts to rain in the Dreaming.

The storm doesn’t stop after a few hours nor does it cease after a few days. Black clouds cover the sky as they did four days ago. The only change is in the water level: the kingdom is flooded. When everyone thought the rain is bound to stop soon, no one minded much the rising tide. However, when the situation only worsened with no evidence that it’s going to improve in the near future, worried voices started to reach Lucienne. If the storm doesn’t cease in the next day or two, some parts of the Dreaming will share the fate of Atlantis.

If Morpheus knew he was being observed, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he doesn’t feel up for another confrontation. In any event, he remains still, standing against the balcony reiling, as his friends begin plotting:

"How is he?" Matthew whispers to Lucienne. "Has he moved from there at all? Ate something? Said anything?"

"That's three 'no's, I'm afraid,” she answers slowly. The librarian lets out a heavy sigh. "He's just dramatically standing there, wallowing in pity."

Dream really is 'just standing there’. Drenched. His hair and clothes are stuck to his pasty skin. It can’t be comfortable but it would appear that matters other than cosiness are on his mind at the moment. For the past few days, ever since you left, he hasn’t moved even a quarter of an inch. Truthfully, he looks about as alive as a marble statue, if monuments could appear excruciatingly miserable.

"Should we do something?" The raven continues. What he really wants to ask is 'What should we do?’ but Lucienne seems to catch the undertone of his words nonetheless.

"You could ask her to come back but no guarantee she'll want to,” she thinks out loud. "They've fought before but this time she looked really defeated."

Morpheus, although doesn’t need to breathe, sighs loudly. As he exhales, another lightning tears the sky apart.

"Alright, I'll try to convince her to talk to him again,” Matthew states. His worried voice makes him sound determined to have the two of you reconcile. "Hopefully, we'll be back before you need a canoe."

Lucienne doesn’t respond. As much as she doesn’t want to admit to her pessimism, she knows better than to have much hope in the matter of Dream’s love life.

Repetitive tapping on the window diverts your attention from the dishes you were washing. Seeing the black bird sitting on the outside windowsill, you quickly wipe your hands against the dishrag and jog to open the window.

"Matthew?" you ask in surprise.

He wastes no time pleading his case in a plaintive tone. "You gotta go back to him. Everything's gone to shit."

You furrow your eyebrows. Leaning against the wall, you cross your arms on your chest. "What do you mean?"

The raven hops closer to you. "It's been pouring nonstop since you left. He's just standing there, soaking wet and he won't talk to anyone."

It might sound sadistic but it’s a nice thought that he’s grieving your departure so severely. For what it’s worth, it means he’s not as blase as he likes to appear. Perhaps, Morpheus cares about you more than you’re even aware of.

"How bad is it?" you ask warily.

"How bad?!" Matthew screeches. "The House of Mysteries is so flooded, Abel is fishing."

It sounds like 'bad' is nothing more than an elegant euphemism. In his heartache, Morpheus is willing to let Dreaming decay and fall into partial ruin. If your accusation had been correct and Dream of the Endless truly is unable to care about anyone but himself, such a disaster would never have happened. A selfish ruler wouldn’t let his realm turn to rubble because of a broken heart. And if you’re more important than what he calls home, then…

"I'm assuming that's not a usual feature,” you give the raven a half-hearted response. The thoughts inside your head are in a painful turmoil, trying to lift the truth out of the indications.

"Yeah," he answers sarcastically.

Matthew glares at you in anticipation. Perplexed, you rub your arm without thinking much about it. Right, it's the mature and responsible thing to do but at the same time, why do you have to be the one to cave in every time you two fall out? If Morpheus cares for you as much as his dramatic show of pain and grief would suggest, shouldn’t it be him travelling across world and realms to reach you?

The raven cocks his head. Something about the look in his eyes changes as though his frustration has faded away or grown into desperation if not powerlessness. He’s tired and out of options.

"Alright, let's go," you say with a sigh. "But no promises. I still have pride and self-respect and he's still a stubborn..." you take a deep breath, "nevermind. Let's just go."

Miserable.

That's the only word that comes to your mind as you stare at him from afar. One would think that an entity of his sort can not be or look miserable but maybe this world is even stranger than you've thought. His clothes are drenched to the point of being see-through. Dark, once-tussled hair is now stuck to his face and neck. Dream's body looks even more stringy as his head is hanging low between his shoulders.

The rain is almost deafening. Your cautious, hesitant footsteps shouldn't be audible and yet Morpheus turns around to look at you when you come closer.

"I didn't think you'd come back," he says in a low, groggy voice. Dream's eyes, once blue and cold, are now red and unsettlingly vacant. Has he been crying? "What do you want?"

You take a deep breath. It was vain to expect him to welcome you with open arms. An eldritch being with a bruised ego and a broken heart could never make for a hospitable host. Even to those whom he misses the most.

"I still stand by what I said, it's just..." you hang your voice for a moment to find the proper words. Seeing him so broken by your fight makes some part of you want to renounce everything that lead to your argument. Anything just for him to be alright again. But the more reasonable side of you knows that such an action would only hurt both of you in the long run. "I admit, I could have said it in a more civilized way. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that harshness."

His gaze falls and Morpheus looks away for a moment.

Whether he's doing it consciously or not, the rainstorm ceases. Black clouds slowly drift away to uncover a clear, blue sky. Somewhere in the West, if there are cardinal directions in Dreaming, the sun is beginning to set. Despite the significant improvement, the air remains cold. A harsh wind nips at your drenched form. In a vain attempt to shield yourself from the discomfort of the weather, you put your arms around your torso. Still, your body trembles.

"Perhaps I should have put more effort into understanding your concern. I'm..." he turns silent for a second. His lips are apart but no sound is coming out of his mouth. Dream's hurt gaze meets yours. "Sorry," he whispers finally. Despite his voice being hardly audible, the weight of his confession is almost deafening.

"There's one more thing, Morpheus."

Those sad blue eyes stare at you in anticipation. The misery on his face makes you think that he's expecting to have his heart broken again, instead of mended.

A couple of grey clouds reappear above your heads. Oh no.

"I'm tired of always being the one to reach out," you confess. His gaze is too intense and you quickly look away from him. There's much on his mind. "No matter who's right or wrong, it's me who bridges the gap between us. Even if that angers me, I still do it. Every time. And I don't know what that says about me."

Your body trembles again but this time it doesn't go unnoticed by Morpheus. He, quite literally, pulls a coat out of thin air. Dream's movements are almost fearful as he cautiously places the garment around your shoulders.

"Perhaps in certain aspects, you are better than me," he answers quietly while fixing the coat to fit you better.

You know you're pushing your luck when you look at him again and ask a not-so-innocent question:

"You mean a 'better person'?"

"I'm not-" He bites his tongue just in time. Morpheus is not a person. Both of you are perfectly aware of it. But it was the mention of this very fact that had brought such disastrous rain to Dreaming. "Yes. A better person."

There's not much conviction in his words but there is, however, a silent promise to find it.

______

Now that I’m in mourning, I thought it fitting to finish reading "Brief Lives" and the bittersweetness of it felt all the more pronounced. Reading it prompted me to rewatch the show and long story short I’m kind of back in my Sandman feels.

[tainsan]

destiny.

➾ synopsis: waking up in the past is a disorienting experience. what’s even worse is it seems like you’re the only person in the world who is experiencing it. so when all of a sudden, a distressed man shows up claiming he has also woken up in the past. you realise he may be the key to your way home, yet he also just so happens to be a member from your favourite kpop group, ateez.

➾ word count: 25k

➾ pairing: idol! San x non idol!reader, soulmate au (kinda)

➾ warnings: slight violence, mentions of death, fluff

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sitting regally in front of a beautifully adorned vanity, you are surrounded by your maids who are diligently preparing you for the grand banquet in the royal palace. You take a deep breath, the scent of incense and flowers filling the room, as your maids flit about you, attending to your every need. The dress you are to wear is a magnificent creation of delicate silk, adorned with intricate embroidery and adorned with gemstones that sparkle in the soft glow of the chamber's lanterns. The fabric is a rich shade of deep crimson, the colour reserved for the royal family.

You have always been fascinated by the process of dressing for such occasions. Your maids are skilled artisans, their fingers deft and nimble as they fasten your dress, adjust your ornate hairpins, and adorn you with exquisite jewellery. Your attire is a reflection of your station, a symbol of your lineage, and the embodiment of your role as a princess in the esteemed Joseon Dynasty. Yet, no matter how much you tell yourself, this is your life, you are just not able to get used to it.

Whilst your maids work, your thoughts turn inward. You can't help but feel a sense of unease, a mysterious foreboding that gnaws at your heart. Your life was so normal until you awoke to privilege and luxury, the weight of your responsibilities is never far from your mind. In this moment, with your heart fluttering like a caged bird, you need a respite from the constant attention and the constraints of the role you know you must get used to.

"Could I have a moment alone, please?" you ask your maids softly, your voice tinged with a sense of vulnerability.

The maids exchange glances but nod, their expressions filled with concern for their beloved princess. They step away, leaving you to collect your thoughts. You walk to the large window that overlooks the palace gardens, the night air whispering through the delicate curtains. The view is magnificent, with the moon casting a soft glow over the sprawling landscape. The sky, however, is what captures your attention.

Your eyes fixate on the heavens, your heart racing as you observe the unusual display above. The clouds seem to be moving in strange, swirling patterns, unlike anything you have ever witnessed. It's as if the heavens themselves are painting a picture of a world in turmoil. You shiver, feeling a strange connection to the celestial dance above, as if the heavens are trying to convey a message to you.

The events of the day have been shrouded in mystery and intrigue. Whispers of distant threats have reached your ears, and your ‘father’, the king, has been preoccupied with matters of the state. You've overheard hushed conversations in the palace corridors, and your intuition tells you that today holds more significance than a mere banquet.

As you continue to gaze out the window, your hand instinctively reaches for the silver pendant hanging from your neck, it was the only thing you had kept from your life before this one. It's a reminder of your true home, where you belong. Yet it also reminds you of how far away you are from it.

Your heart aches for a moment of clarity, a deeper understanding of the strange, foreboding feeling that clings to you. You know you can't linger too long; the banquet will soon begin, and your presence is required. But for now, you allow yourself this stolen moment, watching the enigmatic sky and silently praying for a way home and peace in the tumultuous times that lie ahead.

In the midst of your contemplation, you hear a soft, discreet knocking on the ornate wooden door that leads into your chambers.

You turn your head in the direction of the sound, and you call out, "Enter," in a voice just loud enough for the person outside to hear, careful not to disturb the serenity that surrounds you in this grand castle.

The door swings open, and in walks Lady Maid Jiyun, the only person who knows the true depths of your situation. Over the time you've been in this unfamiliar world, you've grown surprisingly close to her, even though she insists she's known you since you were a child. She closes the door behind her with a gentle, muted click, before turning towards you, her eyes cast downward in a gesture of respect.

“Jiyun,”

"Are you ready, your highness?" she questions, her tone respectful but impersonal, echoing the title that has begun to grate on your nerves. In your heart, you know you're not a princess, but a simple girl who owns a café.

"Jiyun, please, you need not talk to me like that when we are alone," you reply with a sigh of frustration. The misuse of your title feels like a constant reminder of the life you've been thrust into, and you long for your old existence.

"It is out of habit, I apologise," Jiyun says, her voice filled with sympathy and understanding. She moves closer, her demeanour less formal in the privacy of your chamber.

"I am not your princess, you know that, Jiyun," you say, your frustration palpable. The weight of the title and the expectations it carries weighs on you heavily.

Jiyun rushes to your side, her voice hushed as she hurriedly whispers, "Do not utter such words so loudly. You know what they will do if they suspect you."

You nod in reluctant agreement. "Yes, I know," you concede, your voice barely above a whisper. "They will call me an alien, throw me into a dungeon and kill me. I know."

The concept of aliens and monsters beyond human understanding has become increasingly popular in this era, with rumours circulating about strange, otherworldly creatures inhabiting the Earth. In a sense, you can relate to those suspicions, for you feel like an alien yourself. The bizarre circumstances that brought you here remain a bewildering enigma. You woke up one fateful day in this body, trapped in a world that feels like an intricate dream.

At first, you believed it to be a nightmare, a surreal experience that couldn't possibly be real. But as the days turned into weeks and then months, you came to the unsettling realisation that this was your life now.

To your amazement, you found yourself in the body of a Joseon Dynasty princess, bearing an exact resemblance to your own appearance in your real life. It was a miraculous twist of fate that allowed you to maintain a semblance of who you once were, but it did little to ease the overwhelming sensation of displacement and the constant yearning for your old life.

You've pondered on it countless times, searching for answers in the depths of your thoughts. Perhaps, you've considered, this is your past life, some inexplicable twist of fate that has sent you hurtling through time. Maybe you were cursed, or perhaps it's a mysterious test that you've yet to fully comprehend. The truth eludes you, shrouded in the uncertainty of your bewildering existence.

You wish more than anything to return to your simple life, the one where you spent your days managing your café, where anonymity was your closest friend, and the only thing you had to worry about was choosing the right blend of coffee for your customers. How you long to wake up in your own bed, in your familiar house, where everything was just as it should be. You yearn for the simple pleasures of life, the mundane joys that once filled your days. The desire to relax in front of your TV and lose yourself in captivating TV shows, or to watch endless fancams of your favourite singers, immersing yourself in their artistry. You long to indulge in the music you love, to turn up the volume on your headphones, letting the melodies envelop your senses and transport you to a world of pure enjoyment.

Those ordinary comforts, the sounds of the city, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and the warmth of your own home, are like a distant memory that you yearn to embrace once more.

“Which is why you must keep it quiet,” Jiyun says, her voice full of remorse for you. Jiyun is someone you are forever grateful for.

“Have you found anything to help me get back?”

“Unfortunately, I have yet to find anything of use. The library has many books, yet most of them are just theories.”

Despite the unsettling rumours and tales of aliens and monsters that have gripped the world, Jiyun has remained steadfast in her commitment to keeping you safe. She's been your guiding light, helping you navigate the complexities of this unfamiliar existence. She knows the challenges you face, and the gravity of her responsibility in ensuring your well-being to protect the princess.

Jiyun understands the enormity of your predicament, and she's tirelessly devoted herself to helping you find a way to make sense of this uncanny journey. Her support and guidance are the threads that keep you anchored in this tumultuous world, offering a glimmer of hope amid the chaos that surrounds you.

"Only ever theories. Perhaps we can discover something beyond what's written in books?" you suggest, searching for an elusive solution to your predicament.

"As much as I would love to inquire with others, your highness, you know my limitations in this matter," Jiyun responds, her voice tinged with regret.

You sigh, frustration gnawing at you. "Yes, I'm sorry. I'm just feeling desperate."

Jiyun moves closer, her gaze unwavering, and she bows to you with a warm smile. "We will find a way, your highness. We won't give up."

You offer a grateful smile to Jiyun, her unwavering support, a source of solace in your bewildering existence. She continues, her tone shifting to one of urgency, "Though we must get going. The banquet is to begin prominently."

With a nod, you gather your strength, determined to face the palace banquet and the demands of your role as the princess, even as you yearn for answers and a way back to the life you once knew.

Making your way to the grand banquet hall, you can't help but be awestruck by the opulence and grandeur that surrounds you. The palace's opulent architecture and intricate detailing are a testament to the wealth and power of the king and queen, your parents. Elaborate tapestries hang from the walls, depicting scenes from the dynasty's rich history, and the flickering torch light casts a warm, inviting glow over the intricate designs.

The double doors to the banquet hall swing open, and you step inside. The sight that meets your eyes is nothing short of breathtaking. The hall is a symphony of colours and textures, all bathed in a soft, golden light. Golden silk drapes adorn the walls, cascading like waterfalls of molten sunshine. The ceiling is an intricate masterpiece, a mosaic of gilded patterns and frescoes that tell the stories of the dynasty's heroes and legends.

The long, ornate banquet tables stretch out before you, covered in sumptuous silks and adorned with glistening china and golden cutlery. Each place setting is a work of art, meticulously crafted and sparkling under the ambient light. The scent of exotic, mouthwatering dishes wafts through the air, making your stomach rumble with anticipation.

The room is alive with a hum of activity as nobles and dignitaries from far and wide mingle, their lavish robes and headdresses sparkling with jewels and precious gems. The clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation create a melodious background to the visual spectacle before you.

In the centre of the hall, a grand dais stands proudly, and it's upon this elevated platform that the throne awaits you, its back adorned with a shimmering tapestry depicting the dynasty's emblem. The throne itself is an ornate masterpiece, a creation of carved mahogany and gilded detailing, with plush velvet cushions in rich crimson and gold.

Stepping forward, you can't help but feel like an intruder in this world. The weight of the princess's responsibilities is almost suffocating, but you have no choice but to carry them with grace and dignity. Jiyun, your loyal confidante, is at your side, her presence a reassuring anchor in this sea of uncertainty.

The banquet hall seems to stretch on endlessly, filled with revelry and celebration. The nobles and dignitaries bow respectfully as you pass, their eyes filled with awe and respect. It's a strange dichotomy, for you are not truly the princess they believe you to be, but you play the part with grace and poise.

The table settings are a masterpiece of artistry and craftsmanship. The fine china glimmers in the soft light, reflecting the golden theme of the banquet. Each plate holds a gastronomic masterpiece, a culinary journey of exotic flavours and textures, from delicate dumplings to succulent roasted meats.

The banquet hall is filled with laughter, music, and the intoxicating scent of spices and incense. The musicians play traditional melodies on intricate instruments, filling the air with their enchanting tunes. Dancers in resplendent costumes move gracefully, their motions mirroring the flowing silk of their dresses.

Taking your place on the grand throne, next to your parents, you can't help but be overwhelmed by the majesty of it all. The banquet hall is a breathtaking display of wealth and culture, a testament to the dynasty's grandeur and history. You are a stranger in this world, but for now, you must play your part as the princess, all the while longing for answers and a way back to the life you left behind.

"Why the delay, daughter?" your father inquires in a hushed tone, his curiosity evident as he awaits your arrival.

"I apologise, Father," you respond, bowing your head as a sign of respect. "It took longer than expected to prepare."

"Have no worry, my dear," your mother chimes in from beside you, her voice filled with warmth.

Over the two months that you've spent in this strange world, you've come to realise how caring and kind the queen is. Her compassion is matched by your father's unyielding strength and determination. Together, they make a formidable team that rules their kingdom with wisdom and grace. Their subjects hold them in high regard, and the feeling is reciprocated.

The bond between your parents is evident to all who know them. Their love is the bedrock of the dynasty, and it resonates in every aspect of their rule. The kingdom flourishes under their leadership, and it's clear that they not only love their people but are deeply loved by them in return.

The grand banquet commences with a flourish of activity. The banquet hall is now abuzz with life as nobles and dignitaries from all corners of the kingdom gather, their resplendent attire creating a kaleidoscope of colours that mirrors the opulence of the event. The rich, melodic sounds of traditional instruments and the rhythmic beat of drums fill the air, setting the stage for a night of revelry.

The banquet tables are a sight to behold, adorned with golden candelabras that cast a warm, flickering light over the ornate settings. The aroma of exquisite dishes wafts through the hall, a symphony of flavours and spices that tempt the senses. Guests fill their plates with delicacies, from succulent roasted meats to fragrant rice dishes, each bite a culinary delight.

You, too, are captivated by the festivities. For a moment, your worries and the strangeness of your situation melt away. You find yourself caught up in the joy of the evening, watching as people laugh, chat, and share stories, the room alive with the clinking of glasses and the gentle hum of conversation.

The dance floor is a whirlwind of vibrant colours and graceful movement. Dancers in splendid attire twirl and spin, their footsteps matching the rhythm of the music. The dancers' costumes shimmer as they move, creating a visual spectacle that enchants all who watch.

At the head of the banquet hall, your father, the king, stands engaged in conversation with a group of merchants and nobles. He listens attentively to their concerns and disputes, displaying the unwavering resolve and wisdom that have earned him the respect of his subjects. Your mother, the queen, stands beside him, offering her insights and guidance, her caring nature a comforting presence amidst the discussions.

As you watch your parents in action, it's clear how they've earned the love and admiration of their people. The way they handle disputes and settle matters demonstrates their commitment to maintaining peace and justice within the kingdom. The hall may be filled with merriment, but their responsibilities as rulers are never far from their minds.

However, amidst the festivities and the rhythmic music, a strange feeling creeps over you. It's as if an invisible force is tugging at your senses, urging you to pay attention. Your gaze is drawn to the towering double doors that lead into the banquet hall, their grandeur a stark contrast to the vibrant revelry within.

You can't quite put your finger on it, but an unease washes over you, and you sense that something significant is about to happen. It's as if the very air in the room holds its breath, waiting for the storm that's about to descend. Your heart races, and you can't shake the feeling that those two wide doors may soon reveal a momentous event that will change the course of the evening and, perhaps, your own destiny.

"Jiyun," you call out to your trusted maid, and she appears at your side with remarkable swiftness, her head respectfully bowed.

"Yes, your majesty?" she replies, her voice filled with unwavering loyalty.

"Have you sensed it too?" you inquire, a tinge of apprehension in your voice.

"Sense what, your majesty?" Jiyun asks, her eyes focused on your every word.

"The feeling that something unexpected is about to transpire," you explain, your gaze shifting toward the grand doors as if they hold the key to the looming uncertainty.

The second you utter your words to Jiyun, a sense of foreboding hangs heavy in the air, and the atmosphere in the banquet hall takes on an eerie stillness. Before you can even finish your sentence, the grand double doors, adorned with exquisite carvings, burst open with a thunderous boom, sending the revelry to an abrupt halt.

In a chaotic rush, two guards burst into the hall, struggling to restrain a shirtless man who seems to be writhing and resisting their grasp. The unexpected intrusion sends ripples of shock through the assembled nobles and dignitaries. The musicians abruptly silence their instruments, and the dancers come to a standstill, their expressions a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

The king and the queen, who had been engaged in discussions with the merchants, rose swiftly from their thrones. Their expressions shift from surprise to stern authority as they take in the unfolding scene.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" the king bellows, his voice carrying the weight of his authority. His words echo throughout the grand hall, quelling the previous merriment with an air of solemnity. The sudden silence is broken only by the shuffling of feet as the guards continue to drag the shirtless man toward the thrones, his struggles growing more frenzied. It appears as if the man has tattoos adorned all over his body and for some reason you cannot help but have an awful feeling of recognition as you peer at him.

The queen stands regally at the king's side, her countenance reflecting a mixture of concern and determination. The courtiers in attendance exchange hushed whispers, speculating on the nature of the commotion, while a palpable tension fills the room.

The shirtless man's writhing and protests become more desperate, and his incoherent mutterings are barely discernible over the hushed murmurs of the crowd. The guards eventually manage to bring him to a halt, though his wild, dishevelled appearance remains a stark contrast to the opulence of the banquet hall. Throughout all of this, his head remains bowed, nobody able to see his face.

The man is positioned before the thrones, on his knees, the king's piercing gaze fixates on him, his face an impenetrable mask of authority and curiosity. The queen, her hand resting lightly on the arm of the throne, watches with an unwavering presence. The courtiers wait with bated breath, their eyes darting between the king, the queen, and the dishevelled intruder, uncertain of what will transpire next in this unexpected turn of events.

The dishevelled intruder, who had been forcibly brought before the king, stands silent and disoriented as the guards explain their discovery.

“We found him outside the palace, lurking and behaving suspiciously, which prompted our cautious approach.” The guard's voices are tense as they speak, “this man, in his moments of distress, declared that is from a different time, claiming he does not belong here.”

The king and queen share nervous glances before peering back at the guards who are cautiously watching over the man.

“Your highnesses, I fear that he is an alien.”

The hushed shock that washes over the assembly is palpable. Whispers of fear and disbelief ripple through the room like an unsettling breeze. The nobles and courtiers exchange uneasy glances, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

The king, his brows furrowed in contemplation, leans forward on his throne, his eyes fixed on the man before him. The queen stands beside him, her poise unwavering as she assesses the unfolding situation.

The courtiers remain silent, awaiting the king's judgement.

In the midst of the whispers and speculation, the king calls upon the disoriented intruder, “lift your head boy, make your presence known.”

The man obeys, and as he raises his eyes to meet the king's gaze, a collective gasp sweeps through the room.

Your heart stops in your chest and you cannot believe your eyes.

The man who stands before you bears a striking resemblance to San from Ateez, the boy group you fervently fangirled over in your previous world. His appearance, his features, the way he holds himself, all are uncannily reminiscent of your idol.

His eyes scan the bewildering faces of the courtiers, and it's evident that he's utterly lost and bewildered in this foreign world. His expression reflects a deep sense of longing, as if he's desperately searching for a familiar face or a comforting presence.

"What is your name, young man?" the queen questions, her voice carrying a tone of cautious empathy. It's clear that she feels a sense of compassion for the disoriented intruder, even as the mystery of his presence looms.

"Choi San," he responds, his voice tinged with a mixture of fear and confusion.

The moment those two simple words leave his lips, a wave of emotion crashes over you. It's not just the sight of an idol you adore, but the realisation that he, too, has been uprooted from his world and thrust into this unfamiliar one, much like yourself. The overwhelming weight of this revelation washes over you.

“He doesn't look like an alien.” the king says, his eyes scanning San diligently.

“I’m not, I swear. I have no idea where I am. I woke up and I was in this random forest surrounded by people I have never seen before.”

"Show respect to your king and queen," the guard to Choi San's left commands, his voice stern and unyielding. With a swift motion, he strikes San's back, causing him to stumble forward and crash onto the polished floor. San's palms catch his fall just in the nick of time, and you can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. The image of his fall, the vulnerability of the idol you used to admire, stirs a mixture of emotions within you.

The desire to rush down there, to offer comfort and understanding, wells up within you. You long to convey to him that you share the same strange predicament, that you, too, have been thrust into this unfamiliar world. But you understand the delicate balance that hangs in the air, the potential for suspicion and chaos that could arise if your secret were to be revealed.

The room watches in tense silence as San struggles to regain his composure. He rises to his feet, a mixture of embarrassment and confusion etched on his face. His eyes dart around the room, searching for some semblance of familiarity, some connection to the world he once knew.

You can't help but notice the vulnerability in his eyes, a silent plea for understanding and assistance. Your heart aches for him, knowing that you share this extraordinary journey and the burden of its mysteries. But for now, you remain on your elevated throne, concealing your true identity and the emotional turmoil that brews beneath the surface, for the sake of the kingdom, the king, and the queen who have so graciously extended their protection and hospitality to you.

The air in the grand banquet hall crackles with tension, as everyone grapples with the enigma of the stranger who claims to be from a different time, a supposed alien who defies all reason and explanation. The room remains suspended in a moment of uncertainty, and the world as you know it seems to hang in the balance, poised on the brink of an extraordinary revelation.

You exchange a swift, knowing glance with Jiyun, her eyes are filled with concern, mirroring the emotions that churn within you.

“Show him to the dungeon, tomorrow he will be sent back to where he belongs.” The king bellows, his voice stern as your eyes narrow in fear.

In a fleeting moment, San's eyes lock with yours, and your heart leaps in your chest. The intensity of that brief connection sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't restrain the tears that well up in your eyes as you witness the guard seizing him and forcibly dragging him away from the grand hall.

A sense of dread envelops you, and the heaviness in your chest becomes suffocating. You share a wordless glance with Jiyun, who is already formulating a plan to aid San. Her gaze meets yours, and she nods gently, a silent assurance that she is committed to helping him. With that unspoken understanding, the weight that had burdened your heart begins to lift, replaced by a glimmer of hope that you may be able to make a difference in this unexpected turn of events.

With a deep breath, you compose yourself as the king commands the musicians to resume their melodies. The haunting, suspended atmosphere in the room gradually gives way to the spirited tunes of the instruments, infusing the space with renewed vitality. The mood in the grand banquet hall begins to shift, and the weight of the unexpected intrusion is momentarily eased by the enchanting melodies that fill the air.

The grand palace lies hushed and dark, save for the soft, flickering glow of the torches that line the hallways. It's the deep of night, the hour when even the most vigilant souls have succumbed to slumber. The world outside your window is cloaked in darkness, with only a few distant stars punctuating the sky.

In the seclusion of your chamber, you pace restlessly, the pattern of your footsteps a silent testament to your growing anxiety. The ornate furnishings and intricate tapestries seem to close in around you, their grandeur and opulence providing little comfort. You can't stop your heart from racing in your chest, its frenetic rhythm echoing the turmoil of your thoughts.

You cast occasional glances at the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the first pale light of dawn, a harbinger of the world's awakening. Your hope lies in the arrival of Jiyun, who promised to fetch something that might provide a connection between you and San, the ‘stranger’ who shares your extraordinary predicament.

Minutes stretch into hours as you wait in solitude, each moment feeling like an eternity. The silence in the palace is profound, the hush of night amplifying every creak of the floor and rustle of the curtains. You can almost hear the beating of your own heart, a relentless reminder of your desperate circumstances.

As the night wears on, you recall the mysterious events that unfolded during the banquet. The revelation of San's presence, the shared bond of otherworldly displacement, and the unspoken promise of hope—all weigh heavily on your mind. You can't help but wonder if there's a connection between the two of you that defies all logic, a connection that Jiyun might be able to unearth.

The anticipation gnaws at you, the longing for answers and a sense of purpose driving you to pace even faster. You're acutely aware of the significance of the cloth Jiyun is meant to bring, and the potential it holds to unveil the truth of your peculiar journey.

With each passing moment, your anxiety intensifies, and the minutes tick away, carrying with them the uncertainty of your fate. You can only hope that the arrival of dawn will herald the arrival of Jiyun and, perhaps, the answers you so desperately seek.

As you continue to pace around your room, the waiting becomes almost unbearable. The faintest light begins to seep through the edges of your window, heralding the impending dawn. Just when your hope is beginning to wane, a soft knock at the door breaks the silence.

You rush to the door and swing it open to reveal Jiyun, her face etched with determination. In her hands, she holds a folded piece of cloth and a small bottle containing a mysterious liquid. She steps inside your chamber, and you close the door behind her.

"The plan is ready," Jiyun says, her voice a hushed whisper. "I've brought the cloth and this," she adds, indicating the small bottle. "The liquid inside will temporarily incapacitate the guard who protects the dungeon. It should give you enough time to get the man out of there."

Relief washes over you as you take the cloth and the bottle from Jiyun. The weight of your purpose now feels tangible, as if a glimmer of hope has emerged from the depths of the night.

You listen intently as Jiyun outlines the plan, the details falling into place like pieces of a puzzle. Your heart pounds in your chest, but there is a newfound determination within you. The connection you feel with San, the shared journey you both unknowingly embarked upon, has given you a sense of purpose that propels you forward.

Jiyun hands you a bag filled with essential supplies. Her voice is steady but laced with concern as she explains the plan. "I can provide for you for three days, maybe four at most, without raising suspicion. Within that time, either you or the true princess must return."

You contemplate the necessity of your absence and inquire, "What reason will you give for my absence?"

Jiyun's eyes convey a deep sense of loyalty as she replies, "I will inform them that you've contracted a highly contagious sickness that has left you bedridden and wanting to see no one."

You nod, absorbing the gravity of the situation. Gratitude wells up within you as you look at Jiyun, her gentle smile a source of reassurance. "Thank you, Jiyun. I realise the danger you're putting yourself in for my sake. Your sacrifice does not go unnoticed, and I am profoundly grateful for your unwavering support."

“You would do the same for me, I’m sure.”

With the bag of supplies and Jiyun's invaluable guidance in mind, you make your way through the palace's labyrinthine corridors and hidden passages. The palace, under the cover of night, seems to take on a different character—a mysterious, almost haunting quality. Torches line the narrow passageways, casting long, flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls as you move stealthily through the dark.

The secrets of these passages, entrusted to you by Jiyun, are your lifeline in this mission. You navigate the intricate network with practised ease, ensuring that your movements are discreet, and your presence remains shrouded in the veil of night.

Finally, you reach the entrance to the dungeon, your heart pounding in your chest. Peeking around the corner, you spot the guard responsible for its protection, pacing up and down before the heavy wooden door. The flickering torchlight casts eerie shadows across his face, and the faint echoes of his footsteps reverberate through the corridor.

With impeccable timing, you wait for the moment when the guard turns his back to you, his attention momentarily diverted. Swiftly, you uncap the small bottle and pour its contents onto the cloth, making sure to keep your own hands clear of the liquid. The chemical scent is pungent, and you struggle to suppress a cough as you press the cloth to your mouth to avoid inhaling it.

As the guard's boots echo down the corridor away from you, you seize the opportunity. Soundlessly, you move closer to him, each step taken with the utmost care. With one hand gripping the cloth and the other steadying your movements, you approach him from behind.

When the guard looks away, his focus on the dimly lit passage beyond, you seize your chance. The cloth is pressed firmly against his mouth, and you brace for a moment of hesitation, uncertain of the outcome. The seconds stretch into eternity, but eventually, the guard's struggles wane, and his eyelids droop heavily.

He crumples to the stone floor, unconscious, his keys jangling as they hang from his belt. You offer a silent apology to the fallen guard before deftly retrieving the keys. With trembling hands, you unlock the heavy door to the dungeon, the creaking hinges echoing through the silence of the underground chamber.

The dungeon lies before you, a foreboding abyss. The uncertainty of what awaits within gnaws at you, but your determination is unwavering. The answers that may await you drive you forward as you step into the darkness of the dungeon, the flickering torchlight casting long, wavering shadows on the stone walls.

As you step into the dimly lit dungeon, you carry a candle torch to guide your way through the labyrinthine corridors. The passageway is narrow and oppressive, the cold stone walls seemingly bearing witness to the suffering of countless souls who have languished within its confines.

The cries and wails of the imprisoned echo off the damp stone, reaching your ears with haunting intensity. Desperate pleas for help, mournful laments, and the sound of hands beating against iron bars form a dissonant chorus that seems to reverberate through the very walls themselves.

Each cell you pass houses a new tragedy, a new story of despair, and it takes all your strength to press on, to bear witness to the suffering around you. As you move deeper into the dungeon, the cries of the prisoners grow louder, more heart-wrenching, and your heart aches with empathy for their plight.

But as you reach the very end of the corridor, a silence that is almost palpable falls upon you. It is a silence that is too profound, too ominous, and your heart clenches within your chest as you peer into the last cell. The flickering candlelight reveals a scene that fills you with dread.

There, in the corner of the cell, you find San, curled up in a small, trembling ball. His face is etched with exhaustion and fear, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and despair. The harsh, cold stones of the dungeon floor serve as his only comfort in this nightmarish world.

You approach the cell, your steps careful and measured, your candle torch casting eerie, flickering shadows on the walls. As you draw closer, you can see the anguish etched into San's features, his ragged clothing and unkempt appearance a testament to the trials he has endured in this unforgiving place.

Your heart goes out to him, the connection you share with this stranger deepening with each passing moment. The dungeon, with its heavy atmosphere and its occupants' mournful cries, bears witness to the suffering of many, but it is San's vulnerability and isolation that capture your attention.

"San," you whisper, your voice a soft, comforting presence in the dimly lit cell. He turns toward you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, a reflection of the pain and fear that have plagued him.

"Please don't hurt me," his trembling words break your heart, and you struggle to hold back your own tears as you witness his vulnerability.

With gentle assurance, you reply, "I'm not here to hurt you, I promise." Your words are a lifeline, a beacon of hope for the scared and confused young man before you. With the keys in hand, you unlock the cell door and step inside.

San's eyes search your face, filled with a mix of disbelief and curiosity as you offer him some food from your bag. He hesitates before accepting, his trust gradually building as he takes the sustenance you provide.

"Why are you here then? You're the princess, aren't you?" San questions, his voice quivering with uncertainty.

With a deep breath, you choose your words carefully, wanting to ease his fears. "This might sound crazy, but I think we're from the same world."

San's eyes widen in astonishment, his disbelief slowly giving way to hope as he watches you closely. He lifts himself onto his knees to be closer to your level, the shadows of the cell casting eerie patterns on the walls.

"Really? How do you know?" San asks, his voice filled with a glimmer of expectation.

You offer a reassuring smile and pose a question that will connect your two worlds. "Well, I know you're San, Choi San from Ateez, right?"

San's eyes glisten with tears of relief, his voice quivering with emotion as he confirms, "Yes, yes, yes. I am. I'm from Ateez, and it's 2023, not the 1300s." The weight that had burdened his heart is lifted, and the possibility of a return to the world he knows is within his reach. He continues, “what is happening? How did we end up here?”

“I’ll explain as we walk, we need to get out of here.”

San's confusion lingers, but the glimmer of hope in his eyes grows stronger as he stands up. With a sense of newfound determination, the two of you make your way out of the cell, leaving the door unlocked behind you. As you exit the dungeon, you can't help but glance back, knowing that you've left behind the shadows of suffering that still haunt its depths.

Together, you navigate the secret passages that brought you to the dungeon, retracing your steps with the candle torch guiding your way. The path is familiar to you now, and with San by your side, it feels like the journey is filled with a sense of purpose and unity.

The passageway eventually leads you to the royal stables, a place of shadows and echoes, where the silence of the night surrounds you. Jiyun's foresight is evident as you find a horse tethered and ready for your departure. It's a magnificent creature, a steed fit for a princess, and its presence is a testament to Jiyun's unwavering support.

You help San mount the horse, his grip on the reins steady but cautious. The animal is surprisingly calm and cooperative, as if it senses the urgency of your mission. With San in the saddle, you mount your own horse, and together, you prepare to ride into the night.

Making your way out of the royal stables, the world outside awaits you, shrouded in darkness. The streets of the ancient city are quiet, its occupants fast asleep, unaware of the extraordinary events that are unfolding within the palace walls.

The night air is cool and refreshing, and the rhythmic sound of hooves hitting the cobblestone streets resonates through the quiet city. You ride with determination, guiding your horses through the labyrinthine streets, following the route that Jiyun has carefully planned.

With each passing moment, you draw closer to the edge of the city, your breath visible in the cold night air. The feeling of freedom, of escaping the palace and its secrets, surges through you. You and San are bound by an unspoken connection, a shared journey that defies time and place.

The town's lights grow distant, you can't help but steal a glance at San, who rides beside you. His face, once etched with fear and confusion, now carries a glimmer of hope. In the silence of the night, the world holds its breath, and the weight of the unknown future rests on your shoulders.

Together, you ride toward the horizon, leaving behind the palace and the secrets that shroud your extraordinary journey. The path ahead is uncertain, but the possibilities are boundless, and in the darkness of the night, you find a shared purpose that unites your fates in this unfamiliar world.

You and San ride through the night, the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the cobblestone streets gradually fading into the distance. The ancient city of the palace is left behind, its towering walls and mysteries hidden in the darkness.

The first light of dawn tints the horizon and you continue on your journey, venturing into the unknown.

Hours pass, and you ride together, the bond of your shared experience growing stronger with each mile that falls behind you. The quietude of the countryside surrounds you, the only sounds are the rustling of leaves and the gentle song of birds in the distance. San wishes to ask questions, he has thousands on his mind, yet he stays silent as the two of you continue your journey.

Finally, on the horizon, a small town comes into view. Its quaint cottages and bustling marketplaces offer a glimpse of civilization in the midst of the open countryside. With each step you take, you hope to find reassurance and a glimmer of hope in this unfamiliar place.

You and San guide your horses toward the town, a sense of anticipation filling your hearts. The town represents a new beginning, a place where your shared journey can find some direction, where answers may await you, and where the extraordinary circumstances that have brought you together may start to make sense.

Approaching the town's outskirts, the warmth of the rising sun casts a golden glow on the streets and rooftops, and the townsfolk go about their daily routines, unaware of the two strangers who have arrived on horseback.

Among the quaint buildings, you spot a charming cottage with a wooden sign hanging above the door, which reads "The Golden Horseshoe Inn." The inviting aroma of freshly baked bread wafts through the open windows, and the cheerful hum of conversation emanates from within.

You dismount from your horses and tether them to a nearby post before entering the inn. The interior is cosy and warm, with wooden beams and rustic furnishings. A fireplace crackles in the corner, casting a gentle, flickering light that dances across the room. A friendly innkeeper stands behind the bar, wiping down mugs and chatting with a group of locals.

Approaching the innkeeper, you offer a polite smile and address them. "Good morning. My friend and I are in need of a place to stay. Do you have any rooms available?"

The innkeeper returns your smile with a warm one of their own and nods. "How long will you be staying?"

You exchange a quick glance with San before answering. "We're not entirely sure. Perhaps a few days to start with."

The innkeeper retrieves a key from a nearby rack and hands it to you. "Very well. We have a couple of rooms upstairs. You can choose the one you prefer."

You thank the innkeeper and head upstairs with San, the creaking wooden steps leading you to a hallway lined with doors. The rooms are simple but comfortable, each furnished with a bed, a small writing desk, and a window that overlooks the bustling street below.

After inspecting a couple of rooms, you settle on one with a cosy, inviting atmosphere. You take out some coins and return downstairs to pay for the room. The innkeeper accepts your payment with a friendly smile, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief at having found a safe haven in this new world.

With the key to your room in hand, you make your way back upstairs with San.

The moment you are in the room, you hand San some more comfortable clothes than the rags he is currently wearing.

“I forgot to give you these earlier, I’m sorry. Go change, I’ll wait outside.”

"Thank you…" San trails off, his voice tinged with gratitude but hesitating as he doesn't know your name.

You offer a warm smile and reply with your name. San's eyes light up as he hears your name, and he nods in appreciation. With that, you exit the room, leaving him some privacy to get ready.

While San prepares for the day, you make your way downstairs to the inn's tavern, which is located beneath the lodging area. The scent of fresh bread and brewed coffee fills the air, creating a cosy and welcoming ambiance. You take a seat at a wooden table and glance around the room, observing the locals who are starting their day with hearty breakfasts and lively conversation.

You place an order for two breakfasts, ensuring that San will have a warm meal to start the day. As you wait for the food to arrive, you reflect on the journey that has brought you to this new world and the newfound bond you share with San. The townsfolk, too, go about their daily routines, their world untouched by the extraordinary circumstances that have reshaped your lives.

Sitting at the wooden table in the cosy tavern beneath the inn, your gaze is drawn to the staircase that leads down from the upper rooms. Moments later, you watch as San descends the stairs, his steps graceful and fluid.

Even in the plain, old clothes he now wears, there's an undeniable magnetism about him. His raven-black hair framing his face, his features are striking, and his presence exudes a certain charisma that you recognize immediately. It's as if he possesses a natural star quality, a glow that transcends time and place.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you observe him. The way he moves, the confidence in his steps, and the undeniable aura that surrounds him—these are the very qualities that made him an idol in your world. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs and meets your gaze, you exchange a knowing look.

It becomes clear to you that the essence of who San is goes beyond his role as a performer. His appeal, his talent, and his undeniable charm are deeply rooted in his very being. You appreciate that there's more to him than meets the eye, and the unique connection you share in this extraordinary journey only deepens your admiration for the person who is not just an idol but also a fellow traveller in this unfamiliar world.

San takes a seat in front of you at the wooden table, his eyes filled with gratitude as he speaks quietly, "Thank you so much for the help."

"Of course," you reply with a warm smile, appreciating the opportunity to assist someone in this unfamiliar world.

Curiosity sparks in San's eyes as he leans in slightly, his interest piqued. "So how did you know it was me, from Ateez?"

You consider the question for a moment before deciding to reveal the truth. "Well, in our world..." you begin, hesitating for a brief moment.

San's eyes widen with surprise, and he leans in closer, eager to hear more. "What is it?"

You lower your voice, as if sharing a secret. "I may or may not be an Atiny, and I recognized you right away."

A smile spreads across San's face, and a sense of camaraderie fills the air as you both share this unexpected connection. In this extraordinary world and situation, your shared love for Ateez transcends time and place, and you find comfort in the bond that links you together.

"Seriously?" San's eyes widen with a mix of surprise and disbelief.

You nod, your voice earnest as you reply, "Yes, why would I lie about it?"

San chuckles softly, still trying to process the information. "I don't know, that's actually insane, though."

You can't help but smile at his reaction. "I guess so."

San's curiosity shifts to a topic that seems of utmost importance to him. "Who is your bias?"

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your face. "Is that really what's important right now?"

San's eyes widen, his tone as serious as if discussing a crucial matter. "Yes, very important."

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you respond, "It's a secret."

San grumbles and rolls his eyes, his familiar antics making you giggle. It's reassuring to see that, despite the extraordinary circumstances, he remains somewhat himself from the world you both know.

After taking a bite of his bread, San shifts the conversation, his expression curious. "What do you do? You know, in our world."

You offer a genuine smile as you share your passion. "Oh, I run a cafe in Seoul."

San's face lights up with enthusiasm. "That's so nice! Where is it?"

"It's actually really close to the KQ building, next to the flower shop."

San's eyes widen in realisation. "Wait, really? That's very close. I'll stop by there when we get out."

A bittersweet smile crosses your face as you admit, "If it's still in business."

San's concern deepens as he probes further. "What do you mean?"

You meet his gaze and explain, "Business was really slow when I was there. I've been gone for a few months now, so I doubt it'll still be open."

San's expression turns serious as he processes your words. "Wait a second... a few months?" The realisation dawns on him, and he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and understanding, as the magnitude of your situation sinks in.

“Yeah, I haven’t had the chance to get out due to being a princess,” you look up at San, your eyes grateful as you look at him, “which is why it’s so great you are here. It feels like I have a chance to get home.”

San smiles at you, sympathy and understanding in his eyes as he realises how long you've been trapped in this world. But then, a spark of curiosity ignites in his gaze.

"So, what was the last thing you remember before getting here?" San inquires, his voice filled with intrigue.

You furrow your brow, the memories of that moment still vivid. "I was working in the cafe, and all of a sudden, it just went black. When I woke up, I was in the palace."

San nods in recognition, a shared experience that links your worlds. "Me too," he admits, "I was practising for our comeback. It suddenly went black, and I heard Hongjoong yelling my name. But when I woke up, I was in the forest, wearing the same clothes I had in my 'Warriors' music video."

Your curiosity piques as you catch a detail you hadn't expected. "Wait a second. What music video?"

San's eyes widen with enthusiasm as he realises that you've been out of touch with their latest work. "Oh, you haven't seen it because you've been here!" he exclaims. "I did a dance cover, and that's why I have these tattoos."

You chuckle at his response. "I was wondering if you had gotten so many tattoos in two months."

San laughs, appreciating your humour. "It was just part of the concept. We filmed it in front of the Gyeongbokgung Palace."

San's words strike you like a bolt of lightning, and you find yourself needing to clarify the astonishing coincidence.

"What did you just say?" you inquire, your voice tinged with amazement.

San blinks, seemingly unaware of the profound revelation that's unfolding. "What?"

You lean in closer, your eyes searching his face for any sign of recognition. "Gyeongbokgung. I went there a few months ago, a week before I appeared here. How long has it been since you've been there?"

San's eyes widen in realisation as the pieces of the puzzle start to align. "Uh, well, it was filmed on Wednesday, so... a week ago. Wait."

The implications of your shared experiences weigh heavy on your minds. The timing and location seem more than just a coincidence. It's as if a bridge between two worlds has been formed, connecting the moments you both mysteriously entered this unfamiliar reality.

"You went there a week ago yesterday?" you inquire, your mind racing as the pieces of the puzzle align.

San's eyes light up with realisation as he nods eagerly. "Then it must be something related to Gyeongbokgung!"

The shared excitement between you and San is palpable as you uncover this incredible connection. Gyeongbokgung, the place where you both last remember being in your respective worlds before finding yourselves in this strange new reality, is the common link that binds your experiences.

"We should go there now," you suggest, a sense of urgency in your voice. "It should be here around this time, maybe we can find something to help us."

San nods enthusiastically, his focus now on finishing his meal as quickly as possible. He stuffs down his food, eager to expedite your departure.

Once his mouth is free of food, San inquires, "Do you have a map?"

"Ah, yes," you reply, reaching into your bag to retrieve the map that Jiyun had thoughtfully packed for your journey. Carefully, you unspread the map on the wooden table.

"Okay, so we should be here right now," you say, tracing your location with a finger, "then Gyeongbokgung will be…"

San's eyes follow your finger as he points towards the parchment, spotting the small letters displaying 'palace.' "I see it."

You calculate the distance and the remaining daylight. "If we leave now, we can make it before sundown."

San's determination matches yours as he eagerly exclaims, "Then what are we waiting for?"

With your destination set and a shared purpose driving you forward, you and San finish your meal, gather your belongings, and prepare to embark on a journey that may hold the key to unravelling the mysteries of your extraordinary situation. The tavern, once filled with chatter and the clinking of mugs, now watches you both as you stand, ready to venture into the unknown in search of answers.

You and San make your way to the stable where your horses were kept. The sun is still high in the sky, and a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the nearby trees. As you approach the stable, the familiar scent of hay and leather fills the air.

However, as you step into the stable, a sense of unease washes over you. One of the stalls is empty, and you immediately notice that your horse is missing. Panic begins to rise within you.

San senses your distress and looks around, his expression mirroring your concern. "Where's your horse?"

You hurry over to the stable keeper, who is tending to the remaining horses. "Excuse me," you say, trying to keep your voice steady, "my horse is missing. Do you know what happened?"

The stable keeper wipes his hands on a cloth and turns to face you. "I'm so sorry, miss. When I went to get their food, your horse got spooked and ran off into the woods. I tried to catch it, but it was too fast."

Your heart sinks at the news, and you exchange a worried glance with San. Losing a horse is a significant setback, and you'll need to find a solution to continue your journey.

San speaks up, "Is there any way we can track it or find it?"

The stable keeper scratches his head, deep in thought. "There are some villagers who know the woods well and might be able to help. But it could take some time."

With no other options, you share a glance with San.

“We can share mine, we have no time to look for it,” San offers and you let out a sharp exhale.

“Okay…”

The stable keeper helps you prepare the horse, ensuring that the saddle and reins are secure. It's not ideal, but you don't have much choice if you want to reach Gyeongbokgung Palace before sundown.

San climbs onto the horse, offering you a hand to help you up in front of him. Settling into the saddle, you can't help but feel the warmth of his presence close behind you. The two of you share a glance, and you notice his red cheeks.

San's concern for your comfort is evident, and he expresses it as you both share the horse. His apology for the close proximity reflects his consideration for your feelings.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I didn't expect us to be so close. I can move back a little if you want. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

You offer a reassuring smile, eager to put his worries to rest. "It's okay, San. Let's just get to the palace."

Beginning to lead the horse in the direction of Gyeongbokgung Palace, San shifts his position on the saddle, inadvertently causing him to bump forward and press his chest against your back. A rush of warmth fills your cheeks, but you do your best to stay composed.

"I'm so sorry," San says, his face turning a shade of crimson. His embarrassment is evident, and you find his reaction endearing.

You guide the horse along the path, focusing on your destination, when San inquires, "Where should I put my hands?"

Your heart flutters at the question, and you're grateful that you’re facing forward so he doesn't see your flustered expression.

"Just wrap your arms around my waist," you reply. "I don't mind, really."

San hesitates, his concern still evident. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."

You smile at his thoughtfulness but gently urge him, "San, please, just hurry up. We need to reach the palace before nightfall."

San follows your instructions and wraps his arms securely around your waist. His touch is gentle, yet you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. It causes you to momentarily lose focus, the surreal nature of the situation overwhelming your thoughts. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined being in this position with one of your favourite idols.

San's chest presses against your back, and you can sense the beating of his heart, echoing the rapid rhythm of your own. Both of you are embroiled in this unique experience, and you remain unaware of the thoughts racing through San's mind.

For San, the situation is equally unprecedented. His face is flushed with a bright shade of red, and he holds onto you with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. The proximity between the two of you, the shared adventure, and the bond that's forming in this extraordinary world are causing his heart to open up in ways he couldn't have anticipated.

With each moment that passes, your connection deepens, and you become a source of support and comfort for each other in this unfamiliar and often challenging world. It's a journey that neither of you could have predicted, but as you ride together, you find solace in the warmth of each other's presence.

Continuing your journey together, San's voice takes on a low, intimate tone. It's as if he wants to keep the conversation between the two of you, sharing this moment in the midst of your unusual adventure. His breath tickles your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

"Tell me about yourself," he asks, his voice gentle and curious.

You find his proximity comforting and decide to share a piece of your past with him. "What do you want to know?"

San listens attentively, his breath soft against your ear. "What was your favourite part of running the cafe?"

You smile at the memory, feeling a sense of nostalgia for your old life. "I think my favourite part was seeing people come in, enjoying their coffee or a meal, and leaving with a smile. It was like creating a little oasis where people could take a break from their busy lives."

“That’s nice.” San's warm presence and the intimate conversation create a sense of connection that transcends the boundaries of time and place. You find yourself opening up to him, sharing stories from your past and learning more about his own experiences.

"I have an important question," San suddenly says, his tone becoming playful as he awaits your response.

You raise an eyebrow, mirroring his playful tone, "And what would that be, San?"

A mischievous glint dances in San's eyes as he asks, "What's your favourite Ateez song?"

You chuckle gently at his question. "I'm being serious!"

San's playful demeanour and the imagined pout in his voice make you smile. You can almost picture the look he's giving you, having seen countless videos of him making that expression.

"Okay, okay," you reply, "that's a tough question. I tend to like the b-sides more, to be honest."

San encourages you to share more, his curiosity piqued. You reflect for a moment before answering, "Turbulence and Mist have a special place in my heart."

"Really?" San's voice carries a warm and intriguing tone. "Why is that?"

You pause, considering your response. "Well, I was going through a really tough time a while ago. I don't know, these songs just feel like a warm hug. Like someone is there for me."

San listens intently to your words, his heart swelling with compassion and understanding. "I'm glad we could be there for you during that difficult time."

“Thank you,”

San's eyes soften, and his voice takes on a soothing tone as he responds, "You don't have to thank us. Music has a way of reaching people when they need it most, and it's an honour to know that our songs could be there for you during those difficult times."

Tears well up in your eyes as you remember the moments when you turned to music as your solace. You've found comfort and strength in the melodies and lyrics that resonated with your emotions. It's a powerful connection that transcends time and place, and it's something you and San now share.

Drawing closer to your destination, the palace towers in the distance become more prominent, the air is filled with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity. The scenery around you is both breathtaking and mysterious, mirroring the unique connection that has grown between you.

San glances over at you, his curiosity getting the best of him. "Can I ask you something?"

You meet his gaze and offer a warm smile. "Of course."

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before he finally asks, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

The question catches you slightly off guard, but you answer honestly, "No, I don't have a boyfriend."

San raises an eyebrow, and a playful smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "I didn't expect that."

You chuckle at his response. "What do you mean by that?"

San's gaze softens, and he offers a sincere explanation. "Well, you're really kind, caring, and incredibly determined. Not to mention, you are very beautiful, I guess I thought someone like you would already have someone special in their life."

A heat creeps up on your cheeks as you feel a flutter in your heart. San's compliments catch you by surprise, and you find yourself at a loss for words for a moment. Burying your face in your hands to hide your flustered expression, San watches you with a fond expression.

You smile and say, "Thank you, San. You're pretty amazing yourself."

Hesitating for a moment, unsure if you should say this, you decide to speak. "I have a husband, though."

San's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "What do you mean? I thought you were single?"

You can't help but grin mischievously before you clarify, "His name is Mingi."

San's incredulous expression is almost comical. "Your bias is Mingi?"

You nod with a playful glint in your eye. "Yes. Why is that such a bad thing?"

San can't help but laugh, "It's not, Mingi is amazing, but come on? I'm here right now. I should be your bias."

You raise an eyebrow, teasing him further, "You have to earn it."

San scoffs before retorting, “what, did Mingi body roll his way into your bias spot?”

“Precisely.”

San leans in closer, a playful glint in his eye. "And what about my cyberpunk performance?"

You contemplate for a moment, then acknowledge with a nod, "Ooh, nice. I have to admit. But Mingi in bouncy was a whole snack."

San pretends to be offended, teasing you back, "What, are you a pervert?"

You protest, "No, you started it!" However, San’s laughter at your reaction causes a wide smile to grow on your face.

San's thoughts drift in the midst of the journey towards Gyeongbokgung Palace, he finds himself mesmerised not only by your unique personality but also by your captivating beauty. He can't help but be struck by the allure of your presence and the way the soft light of the setting sun enhances your features, making you glow in an almost ethereal manner.

To him, you are not just intriguing and kind, but you're also incredibly beautiful, inside and out. Your allure has a magnetic quality that pulls him in, leaving him in awe of the remarkable person he has come to know. The warmth he feels in his heart is not just from the shared connection but from the undeniable appreciation of your inner and outer beauty.

"San?" you question, noticing his distraction and wondering what has captured his attention so deeply.

San blinks, almost like he's been caught in the act of something secret, and quickly replies, "Yes!"

You can't help but chuckle at his somewhat startled expression. "We are here."

The magnificent Gyeongbokgung Palace stands before you, its grandeur and beauty making the journey worthwhile. You both dismount from the horse, and as you step onto the palace grounds, the weight of the world's mysteries and your unique connection continues to loom over your heads.

The palace grounds are a bustling hive of activity, even as the day inches towards twilight. Commoners from all walks of life have gathered to admire the magnificent architecture, wander through the lush gardens, and soak in the historical splendour of Gyeongbokgung Palace.

San and yourself make your way through the lively crowds, you discreetly raise a scarf to drape over your head, partially concealing your face. Though you are not accustomed to the recognition and respect bestowed upon you as a supposed princess in this world, you are aware that you must maintain your appearance. To the people here, you are not the cafe owner from Seoul but a royal figure who demands respect.

Your attire and the scarf shroud your identity, giving you a degree of anonymity as you navigate the palace's vast courtyards and intricate passageways. San walks alongside you, blending seamlessly into the throng of visitors, his presence a source of both comfort and companionship.

The whispers of the crowd, the laughter of children, and the gasps of awe as they take in the grandeur of the palace envelop you. It's a vivid reminder of the rich history that envelops you, and for a brief moment, you forget about the strangeness of the world you've been thrust into. The palace comes alive with the shared fascination of the visitors, and you and San are just two more among the countless souls wandering through its storied halls.

You are keenly aware of the importance of maintaining your facade as you traverse the palace. The scarf that conceals your features becomes your shield, protecting your true identity and allowing you to move freely among the people, your thoughts locked in a delicate balance between the two worlds you now inhabit.

Continuing to meander through the throngs of people, San leans in close to you and murmurs in your ear, "So, what exactly are we looking for?"

You contemplate for a moment, the palace's grandeur and historical significance surrounding you, before replying, "I don't know, maybe something that still exists in our world."

San offers a smile of approval, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's a good start. You're super smart."

You chuckle, appreciating the compliment but also trying to play it cool so he doesn't notice the way your heart beats faster, "Stop flattering me; it's not going to make you my bias."

San lets out a laugh and rolls his eyes playfully, his lips curving into a grin. "Well, it's worth a try, right?"

The two of you share a moment of lighthearted banter, the playfulness of your conversation providing a brief respite from the mysteries that shroud your current circumstances.

As you and San navigate the bustling palace, you suggest a plan, saying, "I'll go around the left, and you go around the right. It'll be quicker for us to split up." Your eyes dart around, on the lookout for any sign of noblemen or advisors who may recognize you.

San, however, appears concerned and holds your arm gently, restraining you from moving away. "What if you get in trouble?"

You smile reassuringly and reply, "I'll be fine. I'm more worried about you." You chuckle softly, trying to hide the fluttering sensation that his touch on your arm ignites. "Stay low, and please don't go around announcing you're from another world. If you end up in the dungeon, it won't be as easy for me to rescue you."

Your words carry a sense of caution, the weight of your shared journey growing more apparent as you prepare to part ways temporarily within the palace. It's a moment of both anticipation and apprehension, knowing that your decisions in this unfamiliar world can have unforeseen consequences.

"Just meet me back here in an hour," you say, giving San a warm smile before parting ways.

San nods, his expression affectionate and filled with genuine concern. "Stay safe."

With those parting words, you both venture into different directions within the bustling palace, each with your own quest and the hope of uncovering clues that may lead you closer to understanding the mysteries of your dual existence.

You methodically search through the palace, scouring every nook and cranny without raising suspicion. Every rock, every brick, and every detail of the architecture comes under your scrutiny, yet nothing stands out as the mysterious link between your two worlds. It's a challenging task, as you're not even entirely sure what you're looking for.

After what feels like both an eternity and the blink of an eye, you glance up at the position of the sun in the sky. The hour has nearly passed, and it's time to make your way back to the agreed meeting point. The crowd begins to thin, and you're aware of the increasing risk of drawing attention to yourself if you continue your search.

Heading back to the designated spot, you spot San already approaching, a sense of defeat etched on his face.

When he reaches you, he inquires, "Did you find anything?"

You shake your head, disappointment clear in your expression. "No, nothing. It's hard to look for something when we don't even know what we're searching for."

Desperation creeps into your voice as you continue, "Tell me everything that happened when you were filming, every small detail that could be significant."

San furrows his brows in deep thought, trying to recall every detail from that day. "Well, one of the dancers ripped his pants during a take. There was an odd rock that almost all of us tripped over at one point..."

You press him for more, your sense of urgency growing. "And what else?"

San's eyes light up with realisation. "I don't know if this is relevant, but there was this old lady. She wouldn't leave us alone unless we bought one of her tassels. The owner told us she's always there, selling charms and whatnot."

Your heart skips a beat as San mentions the old lady. The pieces start to fall into place, and you can't help but feel that you're on the verge of a breakthrough. "An old lady? I saw an old lady too! She sold me a charm to bring love into my life."

“She also sold me one for love!” San exclaims as the dots line up in his head also.

Walking together toward the area where your horse is stabled, you and San discuss the topic about the old lady.

"If only she were here right now," San grumbles, his lips forming a pout. "We could see if her charm is what made us end up here."

You both engage in light banter, acknowledging the absurdity of the situation. The prospect of the old lady's charm being the catalyst for your parallel journeys is almost too surreal to contemplate.

Then, unexpectedly, something, no, someone captures your attention. Emerging from the grand palace doors is a woman who looks incredibly familiar. Your heart skips a beat as you experience a moment of déjà vu, as if the universe is playing a cosmic joke on you.

"San," you say, drawing the young man's attention. He had been aimlessly kicking around stones out of frustration.

"I think she's here right now," you explain, your voice quivering with a mix of excitement and disbelief.

“I thought you were smart, that’s impossible,” San pivots to where you're looking, his eyes widening with shock upon seeing the woman exiting the palace.

In an instant, your eyes meet, and an unspoken understanding passes between you. You both know that you must act quickly to seize this unexpected opportunity.

Without a word, you take off running together in the direction of the woman, your hearts pounding with anticipation.

"Lady!" you yell, your voice echoing through the palace courtyard. Your cry catches her attention as you and San draw nearer, but instead of stopping to address you, she immediately turns and bolts away, disappearing into the forest.

Determined, you give chase, your heart pounding as you follow her into the dense woods. It's puzzling how an elderly woman can move so nimbly, but you're driven by the urgency of your quest.

After a few intense minutes of pursuit, you finally manage to close the gap. Your hand lands firmly on her shoulder, bringing her to an abrupt halt. The old lady, her breath laboured and eyes wide, is now captive in your grasp, and you're ready to seek the answers you've been searching for.

San is close behind the two of you and when he reaches you he places his hand on a nearby tree, trying to catch his breath.

"For an old lady, you're really fast," San exclaims, trying to catch his breath.

You can't help but chuckle at his dishevelled state. "Aren't you supposed to be really athletic?" you retort, teasing him lightly.

"In this world, no," San replies, catching his breath before turning his attention to the old lady. "Please, give us answers."

The old lady, her voice hoarse, attempts to catch her breath as well. "I don't know what you're talking about."

San looks at her with an expression of disbelief, as if he can't fathom her response. "Yes, you do. You bolted in the other direction when we approached you."

The lady, appearing somewhat offended, glances between you and San before responding, "Approached? I beg your pardon. How would you like it if two strangers were hurtling towards you?"

You almost burst into laughter at her retort, and you can see the incredulous look on San's face. The situation has taken an unexpected turn.

"Look, ma'am," you interject, trying to steer the conversation in a more serious direction. "We're well aware that you know something about us. We just want some answers."

The lady rolls her eyes before scanning her surroundings as if she's checking for any potential eavesdroppers. This action puzzles both you and San, and you exchange bewildered glances. San simply shrugs his shoulders in confusion, unsure of what to make of this mysterious encounter.

“Not here though,” her tone turns serious as she leads you further into the woods.

The woods, although unfamiliar, have a hauntingly beautiful quality to them. Tall, ancient trees stretch their gnarled limbs towards the sky, forming a canopy of leaves that filter the low sunlight, creating a mystical, ethereal atmosphere. The ground is carpeted with a thick layer of moss and ferns, lending an otherworldly green hue to the forest floor. Birdsong and the rustle of leaves in the breeze provide a melodic backdrop to your journey, adding to the sense of enchantment that surrounds you.

Despite the woods' eerie charm, there's an undeniable feeling of isolation and obscurity as you venture deeper into its depths. The silence here is deafening, save for the occasional chirping of a distant bird or the rustling of unseen critters in the underbrush. Shafts of muted, golden sunlight pierce through the dense foliage, casting elongated shadows on the forest floor.

As you approach the fallen tree blocking the path, you marvel at its sheer size and age. It appears to have been lying here for centuries, with gnarled roots and crumbling bark that hint at the passage of time. The tree's massive branches extend into the undergrowth, creating an imposing and challenging barrier to your progress.

The old lady, still leading the way, jumps lithely over the tree, demonstrating a remarkable agility that seems out of place for her age. Her movements are fluid and graceful, as if the forest itself welcomes her presence.

San stands beside the fallen tree, offering you his hand, his eyes filled with concern and support. You grasp his hand, and he assists you in navigating the obstacle. As you make your attempt to cross, your foot catches on a stubborn root, causing you to lose your balance. Just as you teeter precariously, San's strong arm wraps around your waist, ensuring you don't fall. His touch is comforting, and for a brief moment, you both share a wordless connection as you regain your footing. San's heart lurches in his chest upon making contact with you, and he can't help but smile when he notices the flustered expression on your face.

The old lady observes this interaction from a distance, her knowing eyes filled with a fond amusement, and she motions for you to continue following her deeper into the forest. The journey becomes even more enigmatic and intriguing as you move forward, leaving the fallen tree behind and plunging further into the mystical beauty and mystery of the woods.

Slowly, the sun dips below the horizon making the woods take on an eerie quality. The once vibrant and lush forest now transforms into a mysterious and dark place. The temperature drops, and a shiver runs down your spine. You can't help but feel a little scared and vulnerable in this unfamiliar environment.

San, noticing your discomfort, moves a bit closer to you, not touching but making sure you know he's there for you. His presence brings some comfort, and you lean slightly into him, seeking warmth and assurance. Just as you're starting to relax, a howl echoes through the woods, sending a jolt of fear through your body. You instinctively press your arm against San, finding solace in his nearness.

"Are those wolves?" you ask, your voice quivering.

San, his cheeks slightly flushed, offers a reassuring smile. "It's okay, I'm here," he says with a touch of affection in his tone, making your heart skip a beat.

Still feeling uneasy, you keep your eyes on the darkening forest.

San notices your increasing anxiousness and quickly starts a conversation to distract you, "have you ever been to one of our concerts?" San asks, his curiosity piqued.

You shake your head, the tension slowly easing. "No, actually. I've been so focused on my education and then opening the café that I've barely had time. But now it's just a money problem. I've put all my savings into the café."

San nods, showing genuine interest in your dedication. "You're really dedicated to the café."

A soft smile plays on your lips. "It's been my dream since I was young."

San's curiosity heightens, he wants to know more. "Why is that?"

You take a deep breath, allowing the beauty of the moment to wash over you, the eerie woods, the presence of San beside you, and your shared stories. "Well, when I was a kid, my mother owned a cafe. I used to help her around when I was young, and I always wanted to own the cafe when she retired. I loved the way it brought people together. It's like a place where you can escape from your daily life, enjoy a cup of coffee, and maybe even make a new friend. I wanted to create that for others, a space where people can find comfort and connection.”

Sharing the story of your café and the emotional reason behind your dedication, San's eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears. He listens with intense attention, his heart swelling with empathy and understanding.

"My mother passed away when I was young, and my father couldn't make enough money to support us, so we had to sell the place. Ever since then, I've dreamed of carrying on her legacy."

San's voice is filled with emotion as he responds, "I'm so sorry to hear about your mother. It must have been tough for you." He takes a deep breath, his own experiences coming to the surface. "Being an idol, I don't get to see my parents often, and I really miss them. But I keep going to make them proud. I know how you feel."

Smiling at San, you feel the connection between you deepen, and San finds himself experiencing an overwhelming amount of respect and admiration for your strength and determination. He can't help but feel a powerful emotional response to your story, and his heart jerks in his chest. He's touched by your vulnerability and the way you've persevered in the face of adversity. In this moment, the small but growing feelings he has for you become even more evident.

You and San share a meaningful gaze, both of your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The warmth of his smile provides a comforting connection between you, and in that moment, you can't help but feel a deep sense of belonging. Unbeknownst to you, the same feelings of belonging, understanding, and connection are mirrored in San's heart, as he finds himself drawn to you more deeply than he could have ever imagined.

“When we get out of here, you are invited to all of our concerts, free of charge.” San exclaims, his wide smile contagious.

“Then I can see Mingi body rolling with my own two eyes.”

“I'm going to feed you to the wolves.”

“We are here.”

The old lady's voice gently breaks your bickering with San, and you shift your gaze towards the source of her words. With a silent nod, she points to a small grotto-like cottage nestled deep within the woods. Covered in vibrant, velvety green moss, it looks like it has been plucked from a Pinterest post. The quaint little dwelling is simultaneously cosy and inviting, yet there is an eerie and somewhat unsettling quality to it that sends shivers down your spine. It seems as if ancient stories and secrets are hidden within its walls, waiting to be uncovered.

The forest that surrounds the cottage adds to the eerie charm. It is a mesmerising place, where the faint light of the setting sun dappled the landscape with warm, golden hues, casting long, enchanting shadows that seemed to dance with every passing breeze. It is beautiful, mysterious, and somewhat foreboding, a fusion of emotions that keeps you on edge.

You can't help but glance over at San, who shares your cautious expression. His eyes meet yours, and his warm smile attempts to soothe your nerves.

Following the old lady's lead, you cautiously approach the charming cottage, hesitating before the small door, which seems to be inviting you inside. The soft glow emanating from the windows adds to the enigmatic ambiance. It is a place that begged exploration, yet also invokes a feeling of hesitancy, as if stepping across the threshold would mean willingly delving into the unknown.

Taking a step closer to the cottage, San reaches out, gently grasping your hand and intertwining your fingers. There are no words exchanged, but his actions speak volumes. His warm touch conveys a silent reassurance, as if he is seeking solace and support just as much as he was offering it. His grip is a mixture of emotions, perhaps fueled by fear or the desire to protect you, and it sends your heart into a flurry of emotions. Your cheeks warm up, and butterflies flit through your stomach as you continue your journey towards the mysterious cottage, hand in hand with San.

Stepping through the small door of the cottage, you and San are greeted by a warm, cosy interior. The walls are adorned with wooden panels, giving the place a rustic, cabin-like feel. The ceiling is supported by wooden beams that add to the overall charm of the room. An inviting fireplace stands against one wall, its embers casting a comforting glow that bathes the space in a soft, flickering light.

In the heart of the room, there is a comfortable, worn-in sofa that beckoned for weary travellers like yourselves. Its deep red cushions invited you to sit down and rest, and you can’t help but admire how perfectly it fits into the rustic décor of the cottage. A wooden coffee table sits in front of the sofa, adorned with trinkets, dried herbs, and a collection of weathered books.

What captures your attention the most, however, is the large, cast-iron cauldron set in the centre of the room. It stands on a sturdy wooden tripod, and it appears to be empty, its black interior gleaming in the firelight. The cauldron is ancient, with ornate patterns etched along its rim, hinting at the history it holds within its iron confines. Taking in the warm and cosy ambiance of the cabin, you can't help but wonder about the mysteries it holds. The combination of old-world charm and the feeling of being in an entirely different realm is both alluring and unsettling. It is as though time has stood still in this hidden refuge, waiting for someone to uncover its secrets.

Taking in the cosy surroundings of the cottage, San's hand remains gently intertwined with yours. The warmth of his hand, combined with the comforting ambiance of the room, help ease the nervousness that has settled within you. The flickering firelight dances across the wooden walls, casting a soothing, amber glow on the two of you.

The old lady bustles around the room with a sense of familiarity, fetching cups and a teapot. Her movements are both methodical and graceful, as if she has been performing these tasks for many years. She has a kind, grandmotherly air about her, and her actions feel like a welcoming embrace.

With a warm smile, she pours the fragrant tea into delicate, porcelain cups, the gentle aroma wafting through the room, filling the air with the comforting scent of herbs and spices. The cups clink softly as she places them on the coffee table in front of the two of you.

You decide to take a seat on the plush, red sofa, and San sits down beside you. Your thighs touching, and the contact between you brought a sense of comfort and security. The cushions embraced you like a familiar friend, and the two of you found yourselves sitting close, as if the physical closeness mirrored the connection that was growing between you.

Sipping on the warm tea, you feel your nerves slowly begin to fade, replaced by a newfound sense of curiosity and wonder.

San and you sit in the cosy cabin, sipping tea and gathering your thoughts, the pressing question of how to return to your own world lingers heavily in the air. You know it is time to seek answers, and you exchange a glance with San before turning your attention to the old lady, a mix of curiosity and frustration in your voices.

"So, how do we get back to our world?" you inquire, your voice filled with a hint of desperation. "And what brought us here in the first place?"

San's voice is more direct as he joins the conversation. "Yeah, we understand we need to find our way out, but why were we brought here in the first place?"

The old lady, who had been bustling around the cabin to fetch cups and a teapot, pauses in her tasks. She takes a moment to consider your questions and then offers a thoughtful response, her voice laced with wisdom. "You were brought here by destiny, not by me. It appears that fate has a plan for both of you."

Your brows furrow with disbelief, and you shoot a sceptical glance at San. This answer hardly provides any solace, and San decides to voice your collective concerns.

"But you gave us those tassels. Weren't they what brought us here? So, it is your fault, and you need to help us get back."

The old lady lets out a weary sigh, understanding the frustration etched on both your faces. Her eyes betray a mix of amusement and sympathy as she speaks, "You are correct; the charms you were given had a role to play. However, they were more like keys, opening the door that destiny had laid before you."

You share another puzzled look with San, trying to grasp the cryptic nature of her explanation. San's patience wears thin, and he leans forward, his eyes locked onto hers. "Okay, so if we were brought here by destiny, how do we go back? What's the way out?"

The old lady leans back in her chair, reflecting on her next words.

“There is the existence of a rare and precious thread that can be woven into a tassel, allowing you to return to your world. It is the sister thread of the charm that brought the two of you here. However, the thread is a rarity, and it can only be made every six months. I know someone who has some, yet they live on the other side of the woods, it’ll take you the whole day for me to get it and return.”

San's frustration becomes more noticeable as he asks, "So, when can we get this thread? Tomorrow?"

The old lady shakes her head gently, a sense of regret in her eyes. "I'm sorry, but I have visitors scheduled for tomorrow. It will be the day after tomorrow before I can fetch the thread for you."

You and San exchange a sigh of frustration, aware that your predicament has become increasingly complicated by the constraints of time.

"What if we get it? We can leave in the early morning and be back in the evening for you to make it." You suggest the plan with a glimmer of hope in your eyes, your voice brimming with determination.

The old lady observes you and San thoughtfully before offering her response, her expression reflecting a mix of curiosity and contemplation. "I suppose that could work. If you get it back to me before dark, I will make it for you."

"What's the catch?" San asks with a hint of scepticism.

The old lady reassures him, "There is no catch."

San's doubt lingers as he continues, "Don't play with me. You're a witch; there's always a catch."

She maintains her composure and responds, "I am not a witch."

Your eyes narrow in disbelief, and you press further, "Girl, you have a cauldron in the middle of your house. Be for real."

Your incredulity mirrors his as you try to make sense of the unusual surroundings and situation.

"You will find out the catch when you return with the thread," she calmly expresses. "This is the risk you have to take. Do you really wish to go home?" Her words are enigmatic, leaving you and San uncertain about what lies ahead on this unexpected journey.

"For now, though," she says, standing up from her chair, "get some rest. I'm sure you are tired from your travels."

You and San walk through the dimly lit corridor to the small room the old lady has prepared for you. It's a cosy, rustic space, with wooden walls and beams overhead, giving it a warm and inviting ambiance. The room is adorned with various knick-knacks, and the window reveals the occasional flicker of fireflies outside, casting fleeting shadows across the room.

Upon entering the room, you both find a comfortable, albeit not very spacious, resting place. There's only one bed, and the realisation causes a simultaneous blush to creep across both your faces. You feel a pang of guilt about the potential awkwardness of the situation, but before you can protest, San insists on taking the floor.

He quickly arranges a blanket he found in a nearby chest and lays it out on the wooden floor, attempting to make a makeshift bed for himself.

"I can't let you sleep on the floor," you object, worried about his comfort.

San chuckles, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lanterns outside. "It's fine, really. I'll be comfortable."

You give in, though you still feel a bit uneasy about it. San's considerate nature is touching, but you can't help but wish for a more suitable solution.

After a moment, you ease yourself into the plush bed. The soft mattress seems to envelop you, and you can't help but let out a contented sigh. The bed feels like a luxurious escape after the long, tiring journey you've had. As you lay there, the comfort and warmth of the bed begin to lull you into a state of drowsiness.

San finishes arranging his makeshift bed on the floor beside you and glances over with a warm smile, his gaze a mix of concern and reassurance. As you're beginning to drift into slumber, he whispers softly, "Goodnight," in the dimly lit room.

The only sounds are the gentle crackling of the fireplace and the faint rustling of leaves outside, making you feel cosy and safe as you slowly succumb to sleep, with San's presence nearby providing a sense of comfort.

The sun's warmth bathes the forest in a golden glow as you and San step onto the path marked on the map. The cool, crisp air fills your lungs, invigorating you for the journey ahead. The forest around you is enchanting, with tall trees and vibrant flora that create an ethereal ambiance. Birds sing melodiously, providing a sense of tranquillity despite the challenges that await you.

The path, as the old lady described, is well-worn and meanders through the woods, guiding you further into the heart of the forest. You follow the landmarks indicated on the map: a peculiarly shaped tree, a massive boulder with moss clinging to its sides, and a serene, babbling brook. Each one reassures you that you're on the right track.

As you continue your journey, you come across a part of the forest that is denser and more shadowed than before. The old lady's warnings echo in your mind as you quicken your pace, your grip on the map tightening. You feel a sense of determination to return safely and bring San with you to your world.

The terrain gradually changes, leading you uphill and into a section of the forest where the trees are thicker and their branches intertwine, creating a natural canopy. The hushed whispers of the leaves add to the eerie yet captivating atmosphere.

"The old lady mentioned a hidden grove up ahead," San says, studying the map intently. "She said we need to pass through it with caution."

You nod, sharing a look of understanding. The forest seems to hold its breath as you venture deeper. The sense of isolation is palpable, and you start to feel a growing unease. The cool, serene forest from before now feels more mysterious, almost foreboding.

The passage through the hidden grove is narrow and winding, creating an otherworldly setting. Shafts of sunlight cut through the dense foliage, casting intricate patterns on the forest floor. You can't help but marvel at the beauty around you, even as you keep an eye out for the thread's location.

Moving forward, the path begins to broaden once more, and the map indicates that you are nearing the area where the thread can be found. An excitement fills you both, and you exchange a hopeful glance. The anticipation of success fuels your determination to complete this mission.

The map guides you to a small clearing where, according to the old lady, the thread can be collected. But as you reach the area, you realise that there are multiple threads, each one shimmering in different colours, suspended in the air as if by magic. They sway gently, casting colourful reflections on the ground.

San looks at you with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Which one do we choose?"

The old lady's advice comes back to you: "The thread must be chosen carefully, as it will determine where you return to."

Your heart pounds as you weigh your options. The forest around you holds its breath, waiting for your decision. The threads await your touch, their ethereal beauty a stark contrast to the perilous journey that brought you here.

Yet the second you reach out for a thread, a woman appears in front of you, halting you from grabbing the threads.

The air becomes charged with tension as the mysterious lady appears, her presence sending shivers down your spine. She stands near the threads, her eyes filled with an otherworldly wisdom.

San instinctively moves closer to you, blocking you from her, and you can feel his apprehension as he interlocks your hands.

“You mustn't take without giving, child. There is a price.”

"What is the price?" San asks, his voice trembling slightly.

The lady's expression remains enigmatic as she speaks, "To claim the thread that calls to your soul, you must offer me your most precious memory. Memories are the threads of your life, woven together to create your identity, and the idea of parting with one is a heavy burden to bear. It is the only way to ensure you are taken to your rightful place. This is the balance of the forest's magic."

The lady's request for a precious memory leaves you both in a state of shock. Your mind races as you consider the magnitude of the request. Your memories are a part of your very essence, each one holding a special place in your heart. You look at San, his eyes mirroring your own feelings of uncertainty.

San squeezes your hand, his voice a whisper, "What do we do? We can't give up our memories."

The lady, her gaze unwavering, adds, "I can see the bond you share, your connection is strong. One memory will be strong enough for the both of you."

You share a wordless, meaningful glance with San.

With a deep breath, you nod in San's direction, your silent gesture conveying your readiness to move forward. San meets your eyes with a deep sense of gratitude, an unspoken acknowledgment of the sacrifice you're both about to make.

The lady extends her hand toward you, and you accept it cautiously, your trust in her growing by the minute.

"Now, think of the memory," she instructs gently.

The room falls into an eerie silence as you stand before the threads, tears still glistening in your eyes. You can feel San's supportive presence beside you, his concern unspoken but palpable.

The lady extends her hand toward you, and you accept it cautiously.

You close your eyes, delving deep into your thoughts to find the memory that holds the most significance. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes as the memory surfaces, the emotions tied to it overwhelming.

You take a moment to collect yourself, focusing on the cherished memory, replaying it in your mind like a vivid film. It's a memory from your childhood, a day at the beach with your mother, building sandcastles and laughing. You remember the feeling of the warm sand beneath your feet, the sound of the waves crashing, and the pure happiness in your mother’s eyes.

San watches you attentively, his concern evident in his gaze. He wants to rush to your side, to comfort you in this vulnerable moment, but he restrains himself.

Opening your eyes, you're greeted by the gentle yet piercing gaze of the lady. Her hand is extended toward the threads, waiting for your choice.

Your heart guides you toward a particular thread, one that stands out in a rich, dark purple shade. It shimmers with an otherworldly luminescence, a vibrant and mysterious aura that beckons to you. You reach for it, your hand trembling slightly as you grasp the thread, and it feels warm to the touch, like a connection to the past and the future.

For some inexplicable reason, your heart guides you to the thread, tugging at your emotions. It feels like the right choice, and you reach out to take it, a profound sense of purpose filling your heart.

With the thread secured in your hand, you turn to face San, a mixture of emotions passing between you. Gratitude, determination, and a hint of sadness are reflected in your eyes.

San smiles softly, offering you a reassuring nod, understanding the importance of the memory you've chosen to give up. He knows you've made this sacrifice willingly for both of your sakes.

You and San begin the journey back through the dense forest, the dimming light of the setting sun casts a warm, orange glow through the trees, a weighty silence hangs in the air. The precious thread safely tucked in your satchel serves as a constant reminder of the memory you've willingly sacrificed. Both of you understand the gravity of the situation.

After a while, San breaks the silence with a gentle voice, "If I can ask, what memory did you give up?"

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the memory in your heart. "It was a memory of a day at the beach with my mother, from my childhood. We were building sandcastles and laughing together. It was one of those moments of pure happiness that I never wanted to forget."

San looks at you with a mixture of understanding and sympathy. He realises that it was a cherished memory you held dear, and his respect for your sacrifice deepens.

San speaks again, his expression one of curiosity, " If it were me who had to choose, I wonder what memory I'd give."

You glance at him curiously, your satchel gently bumping against your side as you walk. "Have you thought about it before?"

San nods thoughtfully. "Not specifically, but... I guess a memory from my trainee days, one from the first time I saw our fans at a concert, or maybe our first win. Those moments are really special to me. But, it's a tough choice. I can't imagine giving up any memory willingly."

You both walk on in thoughtful silence, the significance of the thread and your memories weighing heavily on your minds.

"It's peculiar," San says, breaking the silence as he gazes over at you.

"What is?" You ask, your curiosity piqued.

"I wasn't expecting you to pick the purple thread. In my opinion, you strike me as more of a pink person."

A laugh escapes your lips. "I look like a pink person?"

San nods, a playful smile forming on his lips. "Yes, but I guess appearances can be deceiving."

You chuckle at his observation. "I do like pink, to be honest. But something about that purple thread just felt right, like it was calling out to me."

"That's even more interesting," San utters, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"How so?"

"Purple is my favourite colour," San confesses, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. You turn to look at him, a hint of confusion on your face.

San gazes at you, a warm and affectionate expression in his eyes. "Maybe it is destiny that we found each other."

Flustered by San's words, a warm sensation spreads across your cheeks as you quickly hide your face behind your hand. Your heart flutters at the affection in his gaze, and you can't help but sneak a few more glances at him, stealing moments to admire his comforting presence. His eyes, filled with fondness, occasionally meet yours, and a faint, mischievous smile dances at the corners of his lips. San bites his lip, suppressing a grin as he watches you.

The journey back to the old lady's cottage takes you through the dappled forest as the sun begins its slow descent. You and San, side by side, share unspoken words of comfort. San's unwavering presence helps you navigate the intricate path that weaves through the woods, while the echoes of rustling leaves and bird songs in the distance create a serene ambiance.

Arriving at the cosy cottage, you find the old lady tidying up her small abode. She turns to the two of you with a knowing glance, causing your heart to race. An exchange of puzzled glances with San only deepens the sense of mystery.

Hastily, you present her with the valuable thread you secured. She accepts it, murmuring the word "peculiar."

You and San exchange yet another look, curiosity gnawing at your minds. Despite your burning questions, you both decide not to press her further at this moment.

With the thread in her possession, you turn to the old lady once more, your curiosity now focused on the catch you've been wondering about.

“What is the catch?” You question, desperate to know what it is that could be at risk.

“I need time to thread the tassel, then I will tell you the risk. For now, please eat.”

“How long will it take?” San inquires, also desperate to get home.

“An hour or so, it won't be long. Help yourself to food, it is still warm.”

Sitting at the old lady's humble wooden table, you and San eagerly devour the food set before you. It's a simple meal, but after the day's adventures, it tastes like a feast. You're both so engrossed in eating that your earlier question about the odd word "peculiar" remains on hold.

Taking another bite of the hearty stew, San leans in, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, since we have some time to kill," he begins, "which performance is your absolute favourite?"

You swallow your food, a burst of excitement rushing through you as you recall the various stunning performances you've seen, yet you can't help but to laugh. San’s dedication to find out your favourite parts about his group is endearing as well as funny.

"Well, there are so many, but if I had to choose, I’d probably say Take Me Home."

San grins widely, his eyes lighting up. "Really?." He leans closer, like an excited child, "is it because of my dance solo?"

You laugh at his words and finish another bite and ponder for a moment. "It is really cool. The way you used the mirrors is really cool to me also."

“Thank you for supporting us,” San says quietly, his smile gentle as he looks down at his food.

“Now San.” you say loudly, catching his attention. Pointing your spoon at him, you return the question, “what is your favourite performance to do?”

The two of you continue to chat and savour your meal, the tension lifting up the more you get engrossed in each other's company. Sharing your favourite Ateez moments and music creates a sense of connection which makes the wait for the old lady to finish the tassel more bearable.

You and San sit at the old lady's table, your empty bowls pushed aside, you're engaged in an animated conversation. The room is filled with laughter and shared stories, a comfortable warmth filling the air. You've found that you share many common interests and hobbies beyond just K-pop and Ateez, forging a deeper connection as you discuss your favourite books, movies, and travel destinations. It feels like you've known each other for ages.

The moments pass quickly as you both become lost in the flow of conversation, sharing tales of your personal experiences and dreams. Your voices resonate with passion and excitement as you talk about your aspirations, and you can't help but admire the way San's eyes light up when he talks about his music and performances.

Suddenly, the room's door creaks open, and the old lady enters, holding the completed tassel in her hand. The stunning charm catches your breath in your throat, a masterpiece of intricate weaving and vibrant colours. The thread glistens in the soft light of the room, and it looks as if it carries the power to transport you back to your world. Its craftsmanship and beauty are beyond anything you've ever seen before.

San and you both fall silent as you gaze in awe at the tassel, momentarily speechless. The old lady smiles as she approaches the table, placing the tassel gently in the centre. "Here it is, the thread charm that will take you home," she says, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

You and San exchange a look, both of you sharing a sense of wonder and gratitude for this woman who has helped you.

Suddenly, San's voice pierces the room, grabbing your attention. "Where is the other?" he inquires, his tone filled with urgency.

You and San exchange anxious glances, sensing that something is amiss. The old lady takes a deep, sorrowful breath, her expression growing more serious. "That is the catch," she confesses, her voice heavy with regret. "Only one of you may return home."

San's anger flares, his face flushing with frustration as he runs his trembling hands through his dishevelled hair. You take a step back, your heart sinking with disbelief, and a wave of despair washes over you.

The old lady calmly elaborates, "There is only enough thread to create one tassel. I can retrieve the thread again in six months when it becomes available. But for now, a difficult decision must be made—one must return home, while the other must stay."

The weight of the revelation hangs heavily in the air, the room filled with tension as you and San grapple with the realisation that a choice must be made.

“I will leave it here,” she utters, carefully placing the tassel on the wooden table, “you must sleep with it beneath your pillow, then when you fall asleep, you shall awake in your world.”

The old lady gazes at the two of you, and for the first time in her long life, a pang of guilt washes over her. Letting out a deep sigh, she retreats to the room she emerged from, her expression marked by the gravity of the situation.

You watch as the old lady retreats to the other room, you find a chair near the table and take a seat, deep in thought. San, on the other hand, begins to pace around the room, his frustration evident in his movements. He repeatedly runs his hands through his hair, his expression conflicted and troubled.

After several minutes of silence, you both turn to face each other simultaneously. In unison, you utter the same words, "You take it."

"No, you take it!" You exclaim firmly, determination shining in your eyes.

San responds, equally resolute, "You saved my life, you take it!"

"I saved your life so you can go home," you counter, your voice unwavering.

San's gaze softens as he insists, "You've been here for months, you take it. I want you to go home."

You shake your head, a hint of sadness in your eyes. "You have an important life ahead of you, San. Go home, and I'll meet you there in six months."

San mutters your name, his heart heavy, “you have to run the cafe, you can't wait six months.”

“San. This is what my mother would have wanted… there are more people who need you than people who need me.”

“What if I need you?” San exclaims, tears coming to his eyes.

“San…”

“I can’t leave you here.”

"San," you say firmly, standing up. You grab the tassel and then take his hand, gently pulling him towards the sofa. He follows, looking into your eyes, silently pleading.

Gently, you place the tassel in his hand and he looks up at you, tears threatening to fall as he looks at your face.

Taking a deep breath, you begin speaking, your voice gentle and filled with emotion, "San, I know you want me to go home, but you need to understand something. Your world needs you. Your family, your friends, and your fans all rely on you. You have dreams to fulfil, music to create, and a life to live. You have a purpose, and it's vital to so many people."

You reach out and place your hand on his, holding it with a reassuring grip. "I've learned so much from you during our time here, and I'm grateful for every moment. But I can't take away your chance to return to your world, to be with your loved ones. I'll wait for my turn, and when the time comes, I'll make it home."

San's eyes glisten with unshed tears as he absorbs your words. You continue, your voice steady, "We'll see each other again in six months, and by then, we'll both be where we're meant to be. I believe in you, San. It's time for you to go back and fulfil your destiny."

San listens intently, his eyes fixed on yours as your voice conveys your deep concern and affection.

“I just…” he begins, his voice cracking, yet you stop him.

“It’s okay. Let's go to bed.”

Starting to make your way toward the bedroom, the knowledge that San will disappear by morning brings tears to your eyes. The weight of impending separation presses on your chest, and it's hard to hold back the emotions welling up within you.

Before you can enter the room, San's strong yet gentle hand reaches out, grabbing your wrist with a firm but tender grip. He pulls you toward him, and suddenly, you find yourself enveloped in his arms. The world around you seems to fade into the background as the two of you share a moment.

The hug is a powerful mixture of emotions. San's heart beats rapidly against your chest, its rhythm a reflection of the anxiety and sorrow he feels about the upcoming separation. His tears, warm and wet, seep into the fabric of your clothing as he buries his face in your shoulder, seeking comfort and solace in your presence.

The comforting warmth of his body contrasts sharply with the chill in the room, creating an immediate sense of intimacy and solace. It's as if his body heat radiates into your very soul, offering a shelter from the storm of emotions raging inside both of you.

The subtle scent of him mingles with the earthy, forest fragrance that has clung to your clothes from your time in this peculiar place. It's a blend of familiar and foreign, marking this moment as uniquely special.

You can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he takes shaky breaths, his body trembling slightly with the weight of the impending parting. Each inhale and exhale shows the unspoken emotions that surge between you.

In this shared embrace, the world beyond the two of you fades away. Tears are a silent language, and your tears mix with his. This hug carries the bittersweet weight of the parting, a physical manifestation of the depth of your connection, the pain of separation, and the fervent hope of reuniting in the future. It seems almost insane to you the fact that you met less than three days ago. The person in front of you feels like a person you have known your entire life.

"I'm sorry," San mumbles into your neck, his words laced with regret, his warm breath causing shivers to run down your spine.

Your hand instinctively moves up to pat his head, fingers tangling softly in his hair as you try to provide some comfort. "It's okay, Sannie," you murmur, your voice gentle and reassuring.

With a mixture of emotions, you watch as San takes the bed in the spare room and places the tassel under the pillow. He glances back at you, standing in the door frame, and you offer him a warm smile, your eyes filled with understanding.

"I know what you're thinking," you say gently, a knowing look in your eyes, “I’m not sleeping tonight, don’t think about moving it.” San furrows his eyebrows in confusion, silently wondering how you've seen through him so clearly.

Without hesitation, San stands up and turns to face you, his eyes locked onto yours with intensity. It's clear that he has something important on his mind. His hands move gently to cup your face, his warm touch both comforting and electrifying. He wipes away the tears that have begun to fall from your eyes, a tender expression on his face as he looks deep into your soul.

In a slow, smooth movement, San rests his forehead against yours. You feel your eyes naturally close, giving in to the moment as the world around you seems to disappear.

“I promise to find you.” San whispers with his eyes closed and his promise lingers in the air, playing with your heart strings.

The two of you stay in this intimate position for a while, the only thing that exists being the warmth you share and the unspoken connection between you.

It's almost surreal to you that you've found yourself in this situation, not just with anyone, but with Choi San himself. The circumstances that led to this moment were beyond imagination, and yet, there's a profound sense of gratitude in your heart that it was him who ended up here with you. The closeness you feel in this moment is something you never expected to experience in your life, and it's a bittersweet reminder of the depth of your connection, the vagaries of fate, and the promise of a future reunion.

With a heavy heart, you bid San a quiet goodnight as you leave his room, pulling the door closed gently behind you. It's a slow, painful process, knowing that this may be the last time you'll see him for a while. You turn away from the door and walk down the dimly lit hallway, the weight of the situation bearing down on you.

Reaching a secluded corner of the hallway, you can no longer hold back the emotions that have been building up. Collapsing to the floor, you succumb to the overwhelming grief that has been gnawing at you. Silent sobs wrack your body, and you clutch your chest, trying to muffle the sounds of your heartache. You bite into the flesh of your hand to stifle the cries that threaten to escape, tears streaming down your face.

Each tear that falls feels like another piece of your heart breaking, and you struggle to come to terms with the harsh reality of having to stay here for longer when all you yearn for is to be home. It's a pain that cuts deep, one that only time can heal. But for now, all you can do is let the tears flow, allowing the raw and unfiltered emotions to have their moment.

Whilst you cry, the exhaustion from the day's events and emotional turmoil begins to take its toll on your body. The sobs gradually subside, replaced by a deep sense of weariness. Your eyelids become heavy, and your limbs feel like lead.

In the dimly lit hallway, you find yourself unable to hold back the fatigue any longer. Your body craves rest and respite from the emotional rollercoaster that has consumed your day.

You slump down against the cold, hard floor, your back resting against the wall. Tears still glisten on your cheeks as you close your eyes. With each ragged breath, your eyelids grow heavier, and a sense of drowsiness envelops you.

The world outside the hallway begins to blur, and the soft hum of the forest fades into the background. In your state of emotional exhaustion, you drift into a fitful slumber, the hallway serving as a makeshift bed. The tears have left their mark on your face, but your body is finally granted a moment of respite.

The night had been an unending cycle of sorrow and confusion, leaving you emotionally drained.

The first rays of dawn filter through the window, causing you to stir from your slumber on the hard hallway floor. Your memories rush back with brutal clarity, a sense of urgency and panic gripping your heart.

With trembling legs, you push yourself to your feet, the weariness still clinging to you. The echoes of the hug, the warmth of his presence, and the desperation to see him again fueled your determination.

Stumbling, you made your way to the room where San had rested. Each step feels like a lifetime, the anticipation of what you might discover palpable in your racing heart. You yearned to see him, but also hope that he has returned home.

The door creaks open and your heart sinks at the sight that greets you. The room is in disarray, pillows strewn, and sheets rumpled, signs that someone had indeed slept there. But it was devoid of San, leaving an aching void where his presence once dwelled.

Tears welled up, blurring your vision as you came to terms with the empty room.

To your left, you hear footsteps approaching, and you turn to find the old lady, her eyes downcast and guilt etches across her features. She knew, and the dread that had been building inside you only deepened.

With a quavering voice, you asked, "Where is he? Where's San?"

The old lady sighed heavily, her eyes meeting yours, bearing the weight of a heavy truth. The anticipation of her response filled the air like a thunderstorm on the horizon.

“He made it back safely.”

You turn back to the room, feeling relieved and torn at the same time.

“I will help you,” the old lady says gently, “I have never felt like this before, but your connection stirred something deep in me.”

“What do you mean?”

“There's a horse outside for you, it'll take you directly to your palace. Go there and in six months I will bring you the tassel. I give you my word.”

“Thank you,” is all you manage to say, your thoughts too occupied with San.

What if he is in the wrong world? What if he is stuck in limbo? What if he doesn't remember anything from this world?

Will you ever see each other again…?

—

San gradually becomes aware of his surroundings, a thick fog of grogginess enveloping his senses. The faint, continuous beep of a machine and hushed murmurs echo in the background. As his eyes open, the harsh hospital lighting makes him squint. The sterile, clinical setting becomes apparent, with white walls and the metallic gleam of medical equipment creating an otherworldly atmosphere.

His vision adjusts, revealing a monitor to his right, its rhythmic beeping punctuating the sterile air. An intravenous line is connected to his arm, administering an unknown liquid into his veins. The scent of antiseptic hangs in the air, intensifying the disconcerting feeling of being in an unfamiliar place.

His head pounds with a relentless ache, and confusion clouds his thoughts. Why is he here? What happened to lead him to this hospital bed? The hunger in his stomach intensifies, adding to the growing sense of disorientation.

In an attempt to make sense of the situation, he pushes himself to sit up. The movement catches the attention of someone in the room—a figure in the corner. The familiar voice of his manager pierces through the ambient sounds, a mix of concern and relief evident.

"San, are you okay?"

San rubs his temples, trying to clear the fog in his mind. The events leading to this hospital room elude him, and he struggles to piece together the fragments of memory. Disoriented and perplexed, he turns to his manager, a multitude of questions forming on his lips.

“What happened?” His voice is hoarse as he speaks, and he can feel from his breath that he hasn't brushed his teeth in a day or two.

“You don't remember?” his manager inquires, worried about San’s wellbeing, he continues upon seeing San’s nod, “you were in practice and suddenly fainted, you've been asleep for almost three days. We thought you were in a coma.”

The second his manager recounts the details of being in a coma, San's mind races, trying to make sense of the fragmented memories flooding back. Flashes of the alternate world, the old lady, and most prominently, you, fill his consciousness. The vivid experiences he shared with you seem surreal, yet the emotions are still fresh, and an urgent restlessness takes hold of him. If he was in a coma for three days, you would be in a coma for almost three months.

Ignoring his manager's pleas for rest, San becomes increasingly agitated. The desire to find you, to confirm the reality of the shared adventure, fuels his determination. He can't stay confined; he needs to know if it was all real or just a vivid dream.

With a burst of energy, San attempts to swing his legs off the side of the bed, dislodging the wires and monitors attached to him. His manager rushes to restrain him, urging him to stay put and recover, but San's sense of urgency overrides any rational thinking.

"No, I need to find them!" San exclaims, desperation in his voice as he struggles against his manager's firm grip.

Ignoring the protests, San manages to free himself from the medical paraphernalia. Disentangling from the monitors and IV lines, he bolts out of the room, driven by an unrelenting determination to find you. His legs are wobbling as he walks, but he manages to regain his composure as he walks quickly around the corridors.

The hospital stretches out before him, a maze of unfamiliar hallways and doors. Panic sets in as he realises he has no idea where he is or where to begin. The sterile environment amplifies his disorientation, and every passing moment without a clue about your whereabouts intensifies his anxiety.

Frantically, he searches for a reception area, hoping for guidance. The urgency of the situation pushes him forward, and despite the lingering weakness, San charges through the hospital corridors, driven by an unshakable determination to find you, no matter the cost.

In a frenzy, San navigates through the hospital corridors until he finally stumbles upon the reception area. The receptionist, a weary woman surrounded by stacks of paperwork, looks up with a half-hearted smile as San approaches, still clad in his hospital gown.

"Excuse me," San gasps, breathless from both the urgency of his quest and his hurried journey through the hospital. "I need to know if someone is here.”

Slowly, the receptionist's eyes narrow, “what is their name?”

San replies with your name and the receptionist furrows her brow, perplexed by the urgency in San's eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't disclose information about patients without proper authorization," she explains, adhering to hospital protocol.

Desperation flickers across San's face as he pleads, "Please, it's important. I need to know if she's here. Is there anyone with that name in a coma for almost three months?"

The receptionist hesitates, studying San for a moment. "How do you know this person?" she inquires, her curiosity piqued.

San, quick on his feet, replies with urgency, "They are a really close friend. We lost touch, and I just found out about their condition. Please, I need to know if they are okay."

The receptionist sighs, her empathetic instincts prevailing over protocol. She lowers her voice and says, "Wait here."

San anxiously watches as the receptionist scans through her files. The seconds feel like an eternity, and his heart pounds with anticipation. Finally, her eyes light up, and she raises her eyebrows, a glimmer of surprise crossing her features.

"Yes, there is someone by that name…” she reveals. "Room 302. But you need to understand, only family members are usually allowed in."

San's gratitude is immense as he thanks the receptionist before darting off toward Room 302, his pace almost a sprint. The journey through the sterile hospital environment seems to stretch endlessly, but San's determination propels him forward. Room 302 holds the promise of answers, and he's willing to face whatever awaits behind that door.

San stands outside Room 302, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath. The weight of the unknown presses on him, and he takes a moment to steel himself before gently pushing open the door.

The door swings open and a hush falls over the room. San's eyes widen as he takes in the sight before him.

There you are, lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines and wires. Your hair, longer than he remembers, cascades gently over the pillow, is a sign of the time you've spent in a seemingly endless slumber.

San's heart clenches at the sight of the wires connected to you, a lifeline that has kept you tethered to this world. The room, bathed in the soft glow of monitors, feels both sterile and charged with an emotional intensity that hangs in the air.

Approaching the bed, San's gaze lingers on your peaceful face, now adorned with the marks of time passed. Tears cascade down your closed eyes, and San's heart aches for the pain you have endured in your unconscious state. It's a heartbreaking revelation, but at the same time, there's a profound beauty in the connection they share, transcending the boundaries of worlds.

With a shaky deep breath, San takes a seat in the chair beside your bed. The chair creaks softly under his weight as he reaches out, his trembling fingers gently interlocking with yours. He can feel the warmth of your hand, a tangible connection that defies the barriers of the physical and the metaphysical.

"Hey," San whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. "It's me. I made it back safely." He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Thank you so much for everything."

San's words hang in the air, a heartfelt acknowledgment of the intertwined fate that brought them together across dimensions. The room, filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines and the soft hum of the hospital, bears witness to a moment that transcends the ordinary—a reunion between two souls bound by an extraordinary connection.

—

“What's with this marker on your calendar?” Wooyoung questions as he walks into San’s room.

San turns away from his desk to see what Wooyoung is pointing at. The mark, indicating six months from the time he awoke, brings a gentle smile to San's face. "Just something important," he replies before redirecting his attention back to the game on his desk.

“Okay… are you okay?” Wooyoung questions, taking a seat on San’s bed.

“Yeah, why?” San responds.

“You've been acting weird ever since you woke up from that coma.”

San turns around again, furrowing his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I don't know, you've been all bittersweet, acting as if you’re going through a breakup. And all these trips to the hospital?”

San scoffs at the analysis before resuming his game. The characters on the screen move around, engaging in virtual battles.

“I’m serious,” Wooyoung insists, “you've been weird.”

“Whatever you say.”

Wooyoung shakes his head, a light chuckle escaping him. “We leave in ten minutes, finish your game quickly.”

—

The dance studio is filled with the rhythmic beat of the music, echoing off the mirrored walls. A palpable energy buzzes in the air as the members practise their choreography for the upcoming comeback. San, adorned in his dance attire, moves with precision and passion, putting his heart into every step.

The past three months have been a whirlwind for the group, with preparations for the comeback taking centre stage. The demanding schedule has left little time for personal matters, and for San, that means infrequent visits to the hospital. The initial relief he felt upon waking up from his own coma has been replaced with the stress of managing a packed agenda.

During those initial two weeks, he diligently visited you every day. Flowers, particularly pink ones, became a weekly tradition, a small gesture to brighten the sterile environment of the hospital room. However, as the comeback drew nearer, the relentless cycle of recordings, dance practices, and promotional activities consumed his time.

Today, the dance practice is particularly gruelling. San can't help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing that it has been weeks since his last visit to you. He worries about how you might perceive his absence, fearing that you'll wake up and think he didn't wait for you, or worse, that you'll wake up and be gone.

Whilst the music plays and the members execute each move with precision, San's mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Every leap, every spin, is a dance of dedication to the group and a silent plea for understanding from you. He longs for the moment when he can return to your side, bringing not only flowers but the warmth of his presence and the assurance that he hasn't forgotten the promise he made.

The dance studio pulses with energy as ATEEZ members tirelessly rehearse their choreography for the upcoming comeback. The atmosphere, however, is tense, and a sense of impatience permeates the room as San repeatedly messes up his steps.

For the fourth time, San's foot collides with Mingi's, disrupting the flow of the routine. Frustration bubbles within the group.

Hongjoong's voice cuts through the air, demanding attention. "San, what has gotten into you? Pay attention." His leader's authority echoes, making it clear that patience is wearing thin.

San mumbles a quick apology, his eyes cast downward. Yet, as the group restarts, it's evident that his mind is elsewhere. Another misstep follows, and a collective groan emanates from the group.

Seongwha, although fatigued and annoyed, can't help but express concern for his younger friend. "What's going on? Your mind is somewhere else."

Hongjoong's stern tone is layered with genuine worry as he addresses San. "You've been all over the place since you fainted. It's been more than six months; you need to straighten up." The leader's frustration is palpable, but there's an underlying tone of care. The members, despite their annoyance, share a collective sentiment of concern for San's well-being.

“It hasn’t been six months,” San grumbles under his breath, also frustrated at himself. San of all people would know if it has been six months.

"It has," Wooyoung exclaims, eyebrows furrowing as he gazes at San. "I thought you'd know, it's on your calendar."

San's eyes narrow in disbelief as he retrieves his phone from his pocket, turning it on to check the date. Widening, his eyes register the reality that it has been exactly six months and four days since he emerged from his coma.

"Fuck," San exclaims, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Running his hand through his hair, he's consumed by a sudden rush of guilt. How could he lose track of time? You must have already been awake for more than three days by now.

"I need to go," San mutters under his breath.

"What did you say?" Yunho questions, not catching his soft mutter.

"I need to go. Now," San asserts, this time with more volume. He rushes to his coat and bag, desperately shoving his belongings into it. Meanwhile, his groupmates stare at him with a mix of disbelief and confusion.

"San, what are you doing?" Yeosang inquires, walking up to the man frantically preparing to leave.

"I need to go somewhere."

"San, you can't just leave; we have to practice," Jongho attempts to reason, but his words seem to bounce right off San.

"Choi San," Hongjoong's voice booms through the studio, causing San to momentarily halt his actions. Turning around, San faces Hongjoong, who wears a deeply furrowed brow, an angry expression etched into his features.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hongjoong's voice drips with exasperation as he takes in the dishevelled appearance of the younger male.

“I'm sorry. Really sorry. But there’s something I need to do, and if I don’t, I feel like I’m going to hate myself for the rest of my life,” San exclaims, his voice hoarse, tears welling up in his eyes.

Hongjoong's gaze softens upon seeing San’s vulnerable state. The six others standing around him try to make sense of the situation, but the dots just don’t add up.

“San,”

“I’m sorry, really, I’m so sorry.”

“San,” Hongjoong booms, though not unkindly, his voice carrying a sense of understanding.

“How long will it take?”

“Just today, then I will put all my time and all my effort into this comeback. Just like I always do. I just need today.”

All around him, his friends are confused yet feel their hearts weigh heavily as they witness the desperate state San is in. Never have they seen him like this before, and it feels strange for San to be in such a state.

“Go. But be back tomorrow,” Hongjoong says gently.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I promise to make it up to you. All of you,” San says before bolting out of the room, headed straight for the hospital. He just hopes that he can make it there before visiting times end.

Hongjoong isn’t sure why he allowed San to go, knowing how tight time is right now due to the comeback being in a few weeks. Something in San’s eyes spoke to him, as if destiny were compelling him to go.

San dashes through the bustling streets, weaving through the crowd like a determined arrow cutting through the air. His long strides cover the familiar path to the hospital, the urgency in his heart making the surroundings blur. The city hums with life, but for San, everything else fades into the background.

As he moves, apologies spill from his lips like rapid-fire as he bumps into people on the way. He can't afford to slow down, can't spare a moment for anything but reaching his destination. The KQ building looms behind him, a distant memory as he sprints toward the hospital.

Breath heaving, he bursts through the hospital entrance with a singular purpose. The reception area blurs by as he skips any formality, not bothering to check in. His entire focus is on reaching your room, his heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of his hurried steps.

The sterile, white hallways echo with the familiar sounds of a hospital; the soft footsteps of medical professionals, the distant chatter of visitors, and the rhythmic beeping of machines. San barrels forward, expertly navigating the maze-like corridors, fueled by a mix of anxiety and determination.

Arriving at the elevator, he jabs at the button for your floor, impatience etched across his face. The doors slide open, and he steps in, the confined space providing a brief respite. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he gazes at the floor numbers lighting up as he ascends.

The elevator doors part once more, revealing the hallway that leads to your room. San's pulse quickens as he sprints toward the familiar door. His mind races with worry, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. What will he find when he enters? The anticipation builds with every step, and as he reaches your room, he takes a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever awaits on the other side.

San gingerly turns the doorknob, a mixture of hope and dread swelling within him. The door creaks open, revealing the room where you should be resting. His eyes scan the space, desperately seeking any sign of your presence.

Stepping inside, the reality of the situation crashes over him. Your bed is there, neatly made, but the first thing he notices is the fact that it is empty.

Panic rises in San's chest, and he rushes to your bedside. The room is silent, save for the hum of medical equipment, amplifying the void left by your absence.

San's breath catches in his throat as he clings to the remnants of hope. He gazes around the room, half-expecting you to materialise before him. The silence in the air is deafening, a stark contrast to the lively conversations he had envisioned sharing with you once you woke.

His eyes fall on the wilted pink tulips, a cruel reminder of the hopeful gestures he made in anticipation of your awakening. The vibrant hues have dulled, mirroring the fading optimism in San's heart. San's mind swirls with a whirlwind of thoughts. Guilt creeps in, taunting him with the possibility that he failed you somehow.

He replays every missed opportunity, each day he prioritised work over being by your side. The weight of his choices bears down on him, and a profound sadness envelopes him. Doubt consumes him, questioning if he's truly deserving of happiness or if he's destined to be haunted by regret.

Desperation tightens its grip on San as he moves to the window, hoping for a glimpse of you in the hospital courtyard or perhaps walking down the hallway.

The pink tulips in his hands serve as an emblem of his optimism, now crushed beneath the weight of reality. He recalls the anticipation that accompanied each visit, the flowers symbolising his unwavering belief in your eventual awakening. Now, their wilting petals tell a different story, echoing the fading flame of hope in his heart.

San clutches the tulips tighter, a silent plea for forgiveness to a presence that's no longer there. The room seems colder now, devoid of the warmth he associated with your presence.

The sounds of the hospital, distant footsteps and hushed conversations, serve as an eerie backdrop to San's internal monologue. Doubt creeps in, questioning if he's truly deserving of happiness or if he's fated to be haunted by the spectre of regret.

San's fingers trace patterns on the wilted tulips, his thoughts spiralling into a vortex of introspection. He replays every missed opportunity, each instance where he chose to chase fleeting success over cherishing the moments with you. The room feels smaller, closing in on him as the burden of his choices becomes increasingly unbearable.

Shoulders slumped, San sinks to the floor, still clinging to the flowers. The weight of his heartache is unbearable, each beat echoing a symphony of sorrow. In the quiet room, time becomes elastic, stretching and contracting as he grapples with the reality that he might have lost you forever.

The shadows lengthen as San remains on the floor, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. The hospital room, once a space of anticipation and hope, is now a shrine to what could have been. In the hushed stillness, he wishes he could turn back time, rewrite the script that led to this heart-wrenching moment.

“San?”

San's world comes to a screeching halt, the single utterance of his name from behind him slices through the heavy silence like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, he remains frozen, caught between the realms of disbelief and desperate hope. The air hangs thick with anticipation as he dares not turn around, fearing that acknowledging the voice will only amplify the crushing weight of his recent realisation.

A gentle touch graces his shoulder, a tender reassurance that pierces through the numbness that has settled over him. It's a touch so delicate, yet laden with a gravity that sends shivers down his spine. Still reluctant to face the truth, he keeps his gaze fixed on the emptiness before him, afraid to let hope blossom only to be crushed again.

When he finally musters the courage to turn around, the world tilts on its axis. There you stand, a vision of ethereal beauty in your hospital gown, tears mirroring his own streaming down your face. In that moment, the lines between reality and dreams blur, and San feels as if he's been transported to a realm where miracles are not only possible but tangible.

Time seems to suspend as San takes in the sight of you; the person he thought he had lost. Every detail becomes etched into his memory; the vulnerability in your eyes, the traces of weariness on your face, and the overwhelming emotion that courses through the room. It's a tableau of raw, unfiltered emotion that threatens to overwhelm both of you.

A choked sob escapes San's lips as he surges forward, a mixture of disbelief and euphoria propelling himself towards you and into a bone crushing embrace. The world narrows down to the two of you, a cosmic collision of souls who refuse to be separated. The hospital room transforms into a sanctuary where the boundaries of time and space blur, leaving only the profound connection shared between you and San.

Your tears mingle with his, forming a symphony of emotions that speaks more eloquently than words ever could. In that embrace, San feels a weight lifted off his shoulders, a burden he carried for what felt like an eternity. It's a cathartic release, a culmination of months of longing and despair now metamorphosing into a resurgence of joy.

Whilst you hold each other, the room becomes a vessel for shared emotions, an intimate space where the echoes of heartache dissipate, replaced by the melodies of reunion. San pulls away from the embrace to cradle your face in his large hands as he presses his forehead against yours, a silent promise to savour this moment, to etch it into the very fabric of his being. Your body stays pressed against his, the closeness you have been missing and dreaming of since the moment he left

For San, it's not just a reunion; it's a reawakening. The tears that had threatened to drown him now become droplets of newfound happiness. The gravity of your presence grounds him, dispelling the shadows that had cast their spell over his soul.

In the space of the hospital room, San and you find solace in the simple truth that you are together once more. Tears continue to fall, now a harmonious blend of joy and relief.

Amid the quiet murmur of the hospital room, San's eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and profound emotion as he processes your revelation. The weight of his longing, the months spent in anticipation and despair, culminate in a single question that escapes his lips, laden with an earnestness that echoes through the room.

"You... woke up today?" he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief yet brimming with uncontainable joy. As you nod in confirmation, a wave of realisation washes over him, and he takes a moment to absorb the enormity of the moment.

“You remembered?” You mutter softly, the words barely reaching San’s ears.

"I would've waited forever for you," he confesses, his eyes locked onto yours, sincerity echoing in every word. The depth of his commitment, the unwavering dedication to your well-being, resonates in the air, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of his unwavering devotion.

You proceed to share the intricacies of your journey; the delayed arrival of the old lady, the challenges she faced on her way to you, and the serendipity that brought you back to consciousness today. The room transforms into a cocoon of shared stories, weaving a tapestry of experiences that led to this miraculous reunion.

A playful smile tugs at San's lips as he contemplates the unfolding narrative. "Today," he muses, "feels like a chapter from a book written by destiny."

The atmosphere takes a lighthearted turn as he shifts gears, eyes alight with mischievous curiosity. "So," he starts, "now that you're back and I've got you here, how about we celebrate this occasion with a date?"

Your heart skips a beat at the proposition, and a smile graces your lips. "A date?" you echo, genuine surprise reflected in your eyes.

San nods, his expression earnest. "Yes, a date. You saved my life; the least I can do is take you out and make it up to you."

A playful glint dances in your eyes as you ponder his proposal. "Well," you tease, "if you get me Mingi's autograph, we might just have a deal."

San feigns exasperation, mockingly clutching his heart. "I hate you," he declares with a theatrical sigh.

A laugh escapes your lips, and you playfully retort, "No, you don't."

The laughter continues, and the room becomes a sanctuary of shared laughter and affection. The weight of the past months fades into the background, replaced by the promise of new beginnings and the joy of being together once more. In this intimate exchange, the echoes of a love that transcended time resonate, casting aside the shadows that had lingered for far too long.

The air becomes charged with anticipation as San looks into your eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, his voice a soft murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

A warm feeling of affirmation fills your chest, and you respond with a smile, "I’ve only waited sox months." The atmosphere is tinged with a mixture of excitement and a sense of inevitability, as if this moment had been woven into the fabric of destiny.

San leans in, his eyes fluttering closed as he gently presses his lips against yours. It's a sweet, tender kiss that feels like the universe aligning, a culmination of shared experiences, laughter, and the trials you faced together. The world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect moment.

There's a soft, playful energy to the kiss, like a dance between your lips, a silent celebration of the connection that brought you back together. San's hand finds its way to yours, fingers intertwining as if to anchor this moment in time.

The kiss lingers and it's not just a meeting of lips; it's a merging of hearts and souls. When you finally part, there's a shared look that speaks volumes, an unspoken understanding that this connection goes beyond the magical threads that brought you here. It's a kiss that feels like destiny, a promise of more shared moments, and a celebration of a love that transcends the mystical realms you've traversed together.

Perhaps it was destiny after all.

[transform4u]

I woke up this morning and found out Id been hacked, and the hacker had sent my nerdy best friend a file named “americanalphajockbro.mp3” but I have no idea what it is. I tried messaging him to tell him not to listen to it, but he’s not responding at all. I hope he’s okay, Id heard some strange virus is going around…

As you open the “americanalphajockbro.mp3” file, the initial silence stretches, an eerie quietness that seems almost too perfect. Then, out of the nothingness, a faint buzzing begins to permeate the stillness. The sound starts as a low, persistent hum, like an electric current struggling to stabilize. It has a metallic edge, a synthetic quality that seems to vibrate through the very air.

Gradually, the buzzing evolves into a more aggressive noise, filled with discordant grunts and the harsh clashing of metal. The grunts grow more pronounced, each one carrying a weight of effort and strain. The metal crashes with a forceful clanging, resonating like a rhythmic hammer pounding on a forge. These sounds start to take on a rhythmic pattern, as if forming a chaotic symphony of power and exertion.

Your head begins to feel a fogginess creeping in, a mental haze that obscures clarity. Thoughts become sluggish, like trying to wade through thick, heavy fog. It’s as though your mind is being weighed down by the intensity of the noises, struggling to keep up with the rapidly increasing din.

The grunts, now louder and more insistent, echo within your consciousness. Each grunt feels like a reverberation through your very being, growing in intensity until they seem to invade every corner of your thoughts. The metal clashes turn into a cacophony of discordant clangs, overwhelming your senses and making it difficult to discern any other sound.

Amidst the growing chaos, a country song begins to hum softly in the background, an incongruous yet persistent melody that seems to contrast with the tumultuous noises. The twang of the guitar and the mellow tones of the vocals create a strange juxtaposition against the harsh clashing and grunting, adding a layer of surreal calmness to the sensory overload.

As this soundscape continues, a heat starts to radiate from within your body, an intense warmth that spreads outward. The heat seems to emanate from deep inside, radiating over you with a force that feels almost tangible. It courses through your veins, a vivid, encompassing heat that contrasts starkly with the foggy confusion of your mind.

The heat seems to transform your weak, nerdy frame, melting away the previous state of vulnerability. You start to envision a powerful, muscular form emerging from the haze. Your body morphs into a formidable ensemble of muscle and sinew. The V-shaped torso, broad and well-defined shoulders, and meticulously developed muscles become apparent. Each muscle group is a testament to rigorous training—chiseled chest, bulging biceps and triceps, and abs carved into a six-pack of relentless effort.

The veins running along your newly formidable arms and legs are visible networks of strength, evidence of intense commitment to physical fitness. Your posture is now relaxed yet exudes confidence, each movement fluid and deliberate, reflecting an effortless grace born from intense training.

Your face transforms as well. The strong jawline, rugged charm, high cheekbones, and tanned skin speak of both determination and an active lifestyle. Your eyes, now sharp and twinkling with charisma, are set beneath well-defined brows. The smile that emerges is wide and inviting, revealing meticulously maintained teeth.

The once weak and nerdy body has become a powerful, charismatic all-American jock bro—a figure of physical prowess and approachable charm.

As the buzzing in your mind intensifies, it feels like a wildfire racing through a dry forest, consuming every memory in its path. The flames of change lick away at the remnants of your past, turning them to ash and scattering them into the wind. The once-vivid recollections of late-night Dungeons & Dragons campaigns with friends, the thrill of staying up to catch the latest Doctor Who episode or Spider-Man movie, and the satisfaction of acing every math quiz—these are now nothing more than fading echoes in the wake of the blaze. They're fucking lame as shit.

Those cherished pastimes, once a vibrant part of your identity, now feel distant and trivial, like old, tattered pages in a forgotten book. In their place, a new fervor takes root. Your mind floods with the adrenaline of football games, the satisfaction of rigorous workouts, the robust flavor of protein shakes, and the thrill of flirting with girls. Conversations revolve around gains and flexing muscles, and the smell of BBQ fills the air.

This patriotic passion grows within you, a swelling wave of fervor that crashes against every corner of your psyche. The colors of red, white, and blue seem to paint your thoughts, and the anthem of America plays on a loop in your mind. The very essence of American pride becomes a driving force, a relentless and invigorating surge that propels you forward.

Simultaneously, your appearance begins to transform to match this new identity. Your clothes morph seamlessly into the quintessential American bro attire: a snug, muscle-hugging tank top that highlights your sculpted physique, shorts that showcase powerful legs, and a cap worn backward for that classic casual look. The emblem of a of the Patriots adorns your shirt, and a pair of well-worn sneakers completes the ensemble. Every article of clothing seems to echo your newfound vigor and pride, reflecting the powerful, confident American jock that you’ve become.

Your entire being now resonates with an energetic and unapologetic American spirit, a blend of muscular strength, athletic prowess, and patriotic zeal.

You feel a surge of energy as you receive the text from your bro about hitting the gym and then heading to the bars to pick up chicks. Your old gay thoughts, which used to fill your mind with doubt and uncertainty, disappear in an instant, replaced by a burning desire for muscle growth and American pride.

As you enter the gym, you notice how much stronger and more confident you feel compared to when you first started lifting weights. The sound of grunts and clanging weights fills your ears as bros surround you - their gazes lingering on your impressive physique before returning back to their workouts. You grab a barbell loaded with plates and begin warming up by doing some squats and deadlifts; each movement challenging yet manageable under the weight of this newfound masculinity coursing through your veins.

After an hour-long session at the gym where sweat mixes with dirt from yesterday's football game, it's time for some well-deserved rest before hitting up downtown where all the action is happening tonight! You hop into your truck decked out with American flags stickers - ready not only for another round at lifting but also primed for picking up chicks who appreciate real men like yourself.

You stroll confidently into the bar, taking in the sights and sounds around you. The smell of beer and sweat fills your nostrils as bros jostle for position at the bar counter. Your eyes land on a bimbo chick with huge tits who catches your attention immediately - she's exactly what you're looking for tonight!

"Dude, check out that chick over there," you say to your bro while pointing her out. "She has a pair of cans on her that could launch an aircraft carrier!" You both burst into laughter at how crude yet accurate your observation is.

As she walks past, making sure to sway those hips just right so they catch every man's gaze, she glances over at you and smiles coyly before returning her focus back to her friends sitting nearby. "I bet she wants me bad," you think to yourself as lust fills every pore in your body like an adrenaline rush.

Without hesitation or any concern for respecting women (because let's face it - these types don't deserve it), you move towards your target while casually catcalling from behind: "Hey baby! Wanna ride the Rodester?

The bimbo chick laughs dumbly at your crude joke, clearly not understanding the double entendre but enjoying the attention nonetheless. She then approaches you and starts feeling up your muscles, complimenting how strong they are while simultaneously calling you an idiot for making such a lame pick-up line.

Ignoring her insults, you grab her ass and pull her in for a kiss - taking control of the situation as any true alpha male would do. Her lips are soft against yours as she moans into the kiss, encouraging more aggressive advances from you both on this bar stool that's becoming increasingly uncomfortable under all this heat generated by two bodies colliding together so passionately.

Your bro orders another round of drinks; while you firmly place your around one of those massive melons hanging off this girl's chest as if you owned them.

As you continue making out with the bimbo chick, your mind wanders to thoughts of how much fun it is to be a fucking American bro. You have big muscles, and you take what you want without giving a shit about anyone else's feelings or opinions. Getting drunk, fucking, and working out are your life - they define who you are as an individual in this world filled with weaklings and pussies who don't understand the true meaning of masculinity.

Drinking shot after shot helps fuel this fire burning inside you- pushing your boundaries further than ever before! You don't care about consequences or repercussions because you know deep down that being an American Bro means living life on your own terms without apology or regret for those left behind scrambling to catch up with you at every turn.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Flush Little Baby, Don't You Cry

ALASTOR x READER Summary: Alastor thinks your permanent blush is cute, similar to Charlie's even. But what if you aren't actually blushing at all his advances? Warnings: Small mention of scars, allusions to death. Rating: PG For the always lovely @anon-of-the-void Ask and you shall receive my dear!! Requests are still open - see pinned post for details!

In the chaotic space of the Hazbin Hotel, where demons sought redemption amidst the swirling chaos of Hell, an unexpected connection began to blossom between Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, and you, a newcomer to the hotel's staff as a receptionist.(To which Husk was greatly pleased that now he could just focus on bartending and not deal with as many ‘idiots’)

Alastor, with his charismatic demeanor and macabre sense of humor, found himself strangely drawn to your presence. You were different from the other inhabitants of the hotel, having a quiet demeanor and gentle nature standing out amidst the cacophony of voices and chaos. However, neither of you had dared to voice romantic interest, both of you unsure of the other's feelings and your own.

It was during one of your chance encounters early on in the hotel's grand foyer that Alastor noticed something peculiar about you. Little red circles adorned your cheeks, slightly tinted whenever you smiled or laughed. Even when, and especially when, frightened - they glowed slightly. Alastor found himself captivated by this. At first, he dismissed those little circles as mere blush or simple state of your demon form similar to Charlie or Nifty, finding them endearing in their resemblance to the delicate flush that adorned his mother's face in his long-forgotten memories of his mortal life.To him, it was endearing, a subtle charm that only added to your allure and reminded him of a simpler time in his life that brought him a sense of peace and familiarity. 

Because of this assumption, Alastor's fondness for you only grew, his interest piqued by the circle's presence. He found himself seeking out your company more often, engaging in lively conversations and sharing moments of laughter amidst the chaos of the hotel, just to see the cute flush of your rosy cheeks every time. The revelation ignited a fierce protectiveness within Alastor, a primal instinct to shield you from any harm that might befall you. He watched over you like a silent guardian, his presence a comforting shadow in the tumultuous world of the hotel.

However, his actions did not go unnoticed by the other inhabitants of the hotel, who watched with a mixture of amusement and bemusement as the usually aloof Radio Demon became fiercely protective of their new receptionist. Some whispered behind closed doors, speculating on the nature of your relationship, while others simply shook their heads in amusement at Alastor's unexpected display of strange affection.

As the days passed, you too began to notice Alastor's increased vigilance and protective nature. Sensing his concern, you decided it was time to address the elephant in the room. One evening, as the chaos of the hotel ebbed into a rare moment of tranquility, you found yourself alone with Alastor in his radio room, a perk that only you and Nifty enjoyed. It was a cozy tower despite its menacing metal exterior, with cozy chairs and vintage curtains. A lot like Alastor in a way, scary on the outside and maybe even the inside but something sweet and old was there too. 

Taking a deep breath and mustering the courage to broach the subject that had been weighing on your mind, you spoke. 

"Alastor," You began softly, voice barely above a whisper, "I noticed you've been... different around me lately. And I think it's because of these." With a hesitant hand, you gestured to the crimson circles on your cheeks that had remained beneath layers of uncertainty and shame.  In your time in Hell, many had found out about the circles on your cheeks. And had left you for them. So you were worried about approaching Alastor on this subject to say the least. 

Alastor turned his attention towards you, his crimson eyes softening with concern. "I assure you, my dear, it's merely a demon's instinct to protect those they care about."

You nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips at his veiled confession. You would note that for later. "I appreciate it, truly. But there's something I need to tell you."

With a gentle touch, you traced your fingertips along the scared cheeks, gaze meeting Alastor's unwavering stare. "These marks... they're not from blushing or simply a part of my demon state…. They're scars – reminders of a past I'd rather forget."

Alastor's expression shifted from curiosity to empathy as he listened to this confession. Suddenly it all clicked in his head. The way you would flinch when anyone would get too close too quickly, loud noises sparked the tint of the scars to glow, and how the scars moved with each expression you made. They stayed on your face 24/7 but didn’t shrink or expand like Charlie’s with each new expression. Instead they stayed stagnant and were less of circles and more oval shaped. Definitely not a blush or demon feature now that he had a closer look. 

In fact, that cute little blush that he adored so much didn't happen within the circular scars on your face but around them. How had he been so blind? His shadows would mock him later for this.

"I see," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mhmm, yet they do nothing but add to your fierce beauty my dear."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you met Alastor's understanding gaze. In that moment, both of you realized that despite the literal and metaphorical scars that haunted their pasts, they had found solace and understanding in each other's presence.  

He reached out to gently cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender despite his fearsome reputation. And this time, you didn’t flinch away but instead leaned into his embrace. It felt warm and comforting and he smelled like holiday cinnamon whiskey and pine. (Which my dear, as your sassy narrator I think sounds/smells like an Old Spice commercial but this is Hell and Alastor has no idea what that brand is)  

And as you both sat together in the quiet sanctuary of Alastor's radio room, surrounded by the faint crackle of static and the soft hum of his radio, you knew that you had found a confidant in the enigmatic Radio Demon – someone who accepted your scars, both seen and unseen, and vowed to stand side to side with you no matter what trials lay ahead.

Maybe that half hearted confession Alastor made had some truth to it and maybe your confession was right around the corner too. 

[rollinouttahere-writes]

could I get A E I J N for Ace please

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Ace is a BIG quality time kind of a guy. He wants to do things with his darling. Like going for a ride on Striker, exploring a new island together, or even just hanging out in his cabin. He lives to spend time with you, and he'll drag you along to whatever he wants to do in the name of bonding time.

He's also a touchy guy. When out and about, he's either holding your hand or has an arm slung over your shoulder. In private, he's much more cuddly. You won't be able to get further than arm's reach from him. Every inch of him is pressed against every inch of you. Ace is strong as hell and just as delusional, so he'll make excuses for any lack of enthusiasm from you while easily keeping you in place.

It's all very intense, Ace doesn't do anything in halves. You are his everything, and he's going to make sure that he becomes your everything, too.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

At first, Ace is very much keeping up a front around you. He wants and needs for you to think that he's this perfectly happy and normal guy. He has a sort of fake-it-til-you-make-it kind of mentality, but he never quite makes it. Eventually, cracks start to show, and then they shatter. His darling will feel like they have whiplash after witnessing their happy-go-lucky captor switch to the miserable, self-loathing persona.

Once the dam breaks, you become an unwilling pillar of emotion support. You're exposed to every facet of his extremely tumultuous character. It feels like you're being guilt-tripped to the extreme by him, but it's genuinely unintentional on his part. He can't help it. He needs to let you in, body and soul, even if he's dragging you in against your will.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Ace doesn't have a plan. He's going through the motions in life, and that also applies to you. He wants you to be there, sure, but he doesn't really have an end goal. He just wants to be with you forever. Marriage doesn't really cross his mind. Not because he's against that, he just feels like you guys pretty much are married already. What's a couple of rings and a sheet of paper really going to add to that? That being said, he would happily go along with it if you were fully in the throes of stockholm syndrome and brought it up, but that's really only because he's through the roof excited that you've finally accepted him.

Don't worry about him pushing to have children. While he does like children and is honestly great with them, he is terrified of actually having any. He doesn't want to pass along his problems to them and perpetuate a cycle of misery. That being said, he wouldn't be as opposed to the idea of taking in some random orphan that's in need.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Oh boy. Ace has intense jealousy issues. His deep rooted insecurity comes out full throttle, and it gets scary fast. Fortunately, it only applies to potential romantic rivals, so friends and family are safe at the very least. If he does snap, you don't have to worry about him hurting you, but that can't be said for whoever had the nerve to approach you. He doesn't give them a chance to back off. Once they've gone far enough to actually make Ace jealous, they are already past the point of no return. He'll beat them within an inch of their life, and possibly burn them to death if he was angry enough.

After this is over, and you are thoroughly traumatized from watching that, Ace pulls a 180 and starts babying you. In his delusional state, he believes that you are upset because that disgusting waste of life was bothering you. You'll learn quickly to avoid people when you're out and about with Ace.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He can't do it. He already struggles with guilt from just keeping you with him. He could never actually harm you. The worst that can happen is that he might yell at you if you've been fighting back a lot and had frequent escape attempts. He'll be up in your face, and his yelling is genuinely terrifying after only ever dealing with his softer side. As soon as it's over, Ace feels like a monster and starts love bombing the hell out of you to try and make up for it.

[estellan0vella]

Slipping Through My Fingers ❀ includes: Gojo, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji, Yuta, Megumi, Yuji & Toge (REQUESTED) Masterlist

The sterile scent of antiseptic clings to the cold, clinical air of the hospital room. Gojo Satoru stands by the bedside, his usually vibrant eyes now clouded with a storm of emotions. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor is the only sound that fills the oppressive silence. He reaches out, his fingers trembling as they gently brush a strand of hair away from your face, careful not to disturb the various tubes and wires that seem to be the only things keeping you tethered to this world.

His mind is a tumultuous sea of what-ifs and should-have-beens. He should have been there. He should have protected you. The guilt gnaws at him, a relentless beast that refuses to let go. He swallows hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him as he whispers your name, hoping for any sign, any flicker of response.

"Please," he begs, his voice breaking. "You have to wake up. I can't do this without you."

Every day feels like an eternity, the same agonizing wait, the same desperate hope that today might be the day you open your eyes. He sinks into the chair beside your bed, his usually confident posture slumped, the weight of his helplessness bearing down on him. The strongest sorcerer in the world, and he can't save the one person who means everything to him.

The memories of your laughter, your warmth, and the way you made him feel human in a world full of curses flood his mind. He clings to those memories, a lifeline in the abyss of despair. He closes his eyes, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down his cheek.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the steady beep of the monitor. "Come back to me."

Nanami Kento sits by your bedside, the steady beeping of the monitors a cruel reminder of your fragile state. His usually stoic demeanor cracks, revealing a storm of emotions beneath. The sight of you, so still and pale against the sterile white sheets, sends a shiver down his spine. He reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face.

"Why did it have to be you?" he whispers, voice raw with pain and frustration. He leans in closer, his eyes tracing every detail of your face as if committing it to memory. "You should be with me, awake, laughing. Not... not like this."

Guilt gnaws at him, each passing second a reminder of his helplessness. He replays the moments leading up to your injury over and over, wishing he could turn back time, protect you, save you. The world outside continues to move, but for Nanami, time has frozen in this room, with you.

He takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, desperately hoping for a response. "Please come back to me," he pleads, his voice breaking. "I can't do this without you."

The silence that follows is deafening, a heavy weight on his chest. Nanami bows his head, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his tears falling freely now. "I need you," he murmurs, the words barely audible. "More than you'll ever know."

Sukuna Ryomen stands at the edge of the hospital bed, the stark white sheets contrasting sharply with the blood that still clung to his robes. His eyes, usually glinting with a malicious gleam, are darkened with an emotion he refuses to name. His fingers, so often curled into fists of destruction, hover uncertainly over the hand of his lover, now cold and unresponsive.

Every breath is a battle, each heartbeat a reminder of the life slipping away before him. The machines beep monotonously, mocking the silence that had settled in his soul. He has faced gods and monsters, revelling in their agony, but this? This is a torment he cannot fathom.

"Wake up," he whispers, the words more a command than a plea. His voice, devoid of its usual cruelty, cracks under the weight of desperation. "You can't leave me like this. Not now. Not ever."

But there is no response, only the steady rise and fall of a chest sustained by machines. Rage and sorrow intertwine within him, a tempest he can neither quell nor escape. He could shatter mountains and tear the heavens asunder, yet he was powerless against this cruel twist of fate.

Kneeling beside the bed, Sukuna presses his forehead against the cool, unyielding metal of the bed frame, his breath hitching in a rare display of vulnerability. "Come back to me," he murmurs, a single tear escaping down his cheek, quickly wiped away as if it had never existed. "I can't do this without you."

Toji Fushiguro sits in the sterile, too-bright hospital room, the steady beeping of the monitors the only indication that his partner is still alive. The antiseptic scent burns his nose, mixing with the metallic tang of fear that clings to him. His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, are now clouded with an emotion he hates to name: helplessness.

He clenches his fists, knuckles white, as he stares at the pale, motionless form on the bed. Tubes snake around their body, machines doing the work their broken body cannot. Toji’s mind is a storm of anger and guilt, every breath a reminder of his failure to protect them. He reaches out, hesitates, then finally allows his hand to rest gently on theirs. The skin is cold, so unlike the warmth he’s used to.

"I’m sorry," he whispers, his voice rough and unused. The words feel inadequate, pitiful against the weight of his regret. "I should have been there."

Memories of laughter and stolen moments of peace flood his mind, taunting him with what he might lose. The thought of their smile, now hidden behind a mask of unconsciousness, tightens the vice around his heart. Toji, the invincible, the untouchable, finds himself praying to gods he never believed in, bargaining with any higher power that might listen.

"Please," he chokes out, tears he refuses to shed burning his eyes. "Come back to me."

The room offers no comfort, only the relentless beeping and the cruel reminder of his powerlessness. Toji swallows hard, pressing his lips to their cool forehead, hating the chill against his lips.

The hospital room is dimly lit, shadows crawling across the sterile walls like silent ghosts. Yuta sits at your bedside, his heart heavy with an unbearable weight. Your form is unnervingly still, a tangle of tubes and wires connecting you to a symphony of beeping machines. He reaches out, his trembling fingers brushing against your cold hand, desperate for any sign of life, any flicker of response.

"Please," he whispers, his voice breaking, eyes stinging with unshed tears. "Please come back to me."

His mind races back to the moment it happened—the cursed spirits, the blood, the agonizing wait for help to arrive. The memory is a relentless torment, looping in his head like a cruel, endless tape. Guilt gnaws at him, a vicious beast tearing at his insides. He should have been faster, stronger, better.

"I can't lose you too," he chokes out, resting his forehead against your unmoving hand. The silence of the room presses in on him, a stark contrast to the chaos in his heart. Each second stretches into an eternity, a relentless reminder of the fragile thread by which your life hangs.

He sits there, consumed by fear and regret, holding on to the hope that somewhere in the darkness of your unconsciousness, you can hear him, and that his voice will guide you back to the light.

The hospital room is suffocatingly sterile, filled with the low hum of machines and the faint scent of antiseptic. Megumi sits by your bedside, his usually stoic face a mask of despair. He hasn't left your side since the incident, dark circles under his eyes testament to sleepless nights filled with worry and self-recrimination. His hand clutches yours, fingers trembling slightly as if afraid you might slip away if he loosens his grip even a fraction.

"Why?" he whispers, voice breaking the oppressive silence. "Why did it have to be you?" His eyes, normally so sharp and guarded, are now glassy with unshed tears. He presses his forehead against the back of your hand, the warmth of your skin a small, cruel comfort. Every beep of the monitor is a cruel reminder that you are here, but not really.

Guilt gnaws at him relentlessly. He was supposed to protect you, to be strong enough for both of you. Yet here you are, trapped in this fragile state, and he feels more powerless than ever. Memories of your laughter, your strength, your fierce spirit flood his mind, each one a dagger to his heart. He longs to hear your voice again, to see the spark in your eyes that makes everything seem possible.

"I need you," he murmurs, voice barely audible. "Please, come back to me." His words hang in the air, a desperate plea to the universe, to anyone who might be listening. He stays there, holding on to you, willing you to fight, to wake up and break this agonizing silence. And as he sits there, hope and despair warring within him, he silently vows to never let you out of his sight again.

The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs heavy in the hospital room, mingling with the suffocating silence that seems to drown Yuji Itadori. He sits at your bedside, eyes bloodshot and hollow, as the steady beep of the heart monitor serves as a cruel reminder of your fragile state. His hand, rough and trembling, clings desperately to yours, willing some semblance of warmth back into your cold fingers.

Yuji's heart is a storm, crashing waves of guilt and helplessness against the fragile shore of his resolve. He whispers your name, a broken prayer on his lips, hoping against hope for a sign of life. Each rise and fall of your chest is a cruel paradox: a reassurance that you're still here and a stark reminder of the deep chasm between your reality and his yearning.

Memories of your laughter, your touch, the way your eyes lit up with joy, haunt him. They taunt him with a cruel irony—moments so vividly alive in his mind, yet you lie still, unresponsive, caught in a world he cannot reach. Yuji's breath catches in his throat, a sob clawing its way up, but he swallows it down, forcing himself to stay strong for you, even as every fiber of his being threatens to unravel.

He leans closer, his forehead gently resting against the back of your hand, eyes squeezed shut as if he can will you awake through sheer force of will. "Please," he chokes out, voice cracking with the weight of his despair. "Please come back to me. I don't know how to do this without you."

The silence is deafening, the void of your absence a gaping wound in his soul. Yuji's tears fall freely now, tracing a path down his cheeks, each drop a testament to his unyielding love and the unbearable pain of watching you slip further away.

Toge Inumaki sits beside the hospital bed, his heart heavy with unspoken words. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors is the only sound in the sterile room, a constant reminder of the fragility of life. His partner lies still, eyes closed, unmoving, their breathing shallow but steady. A mass of bandages covers their injuries, evidence of a battle that left them teetering on the edge of existence.

Inumaki's throat burns with the desire to speak, to pour out his feelings, but he knows better. Even now, his cursed speech could cause more harm than good. He clutches their hand tightly, his fingers trembling. Silent tears stream down his face, falling onto the sheets. His mind races with memories of their time together, the laughter, the shared moments of joy and sorrow. He aches to hear their voice again, to see their eyes light up with life.

Guilt gnaws at him, a relentless beast. He blames himself for not being there, for not protecting them. He would trade places in an instant if it meant they could wake up, smile at him, and tell him everything will be okay. The words he cannot say choke him, the weight of his love and fear pressing down on his chest. All he can do is wait, hope, and pray that they will come back to him, that he won't have to face a world without them.

But for now, he is trapped in this silent torment, his heart breaking with every passing second.

Requested by @mangiswig