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nanamisgirly · 3 months ago

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part 1, you can still read this as a stand alone.

cw p in v, unprotected sex, choso is kind of doing hyper fixation, nipple piercings, Prince Albert piercing, both are dominant, oral sex (f. receiving), big dick choso, degrading and praising, riding, mating press, face sitting. mostly smut with a little plot (?)

˖ 𑣲 reblogs and comments are very muuuch appreciated ma girliees <333

choso stood in the shower, slapping his head against the wall, cursing himself for what he had done last night. was he dumb? no—he was the dumbest. not only had he given you a lap dance, but he had totally lost control�� all because he got carried away by gojo's antics… and your cockiness.

“i'm so dumb, please, what was i thinking.”

he must have freaked you out—you, his pretty crush. his lovely crush of five years!!!! he had wanted to wait for the right moment, take you out first, maybe? just keep it slow. he had plans—not concrete ones, sure, considering he had been putting off asking you out for four years— BUT HE WAS ABOUT TO!! and then? then, he flubbed everything.

put his hand in your panties like some kind of pervert.

“am i crazy?” the memories of last night kept replaying in his mind like a never-ending torture reel—the way your eyes had widened, gojo's obnoxious cackle, the way he moved on top of you…

his hands flew to his face, covering it as the image of him taking off his shirt surfaced.

“why did i do thaaaat?” it's been hours now but he still was analyzing every second, every word, every breath—like some kind of detective trying to piece together a crime scene.

“i wasn't even drunk, just a little tipsy, please,” he muttered to himself. his brain refused to move on. he needed a reset. a cleanse. what if he vanished? he could pack his bags, drop out, change his name, move to remote village where no one knew the name Choso Kamo—

“you're miserable.” of course he couldn't do all that, and of course suguru and satoru had to invite you over their shared college apartment.

meanwhile you? you had spent all day thinking about last night. the way choso—the usual awkward choso—had moved against you, the heat of his body, the way his hands gripped you. the way his usual reserved, flushed face was nowhere to be seen—replaced by something demanding, dominant.

and it had left you aching. all day long, the pulse between your thighs wouldn't let up. only intensifying as you replayed the moment his bulge pressed against your heated core, giving you that perfect pressure.

which is exactly why you were in his room now.

he had tried to escape you all night, hunched over on the couch, avoiding eye contact like his entire existence was a mistake. the moment you called his name, his entire body tensed, bracing for impact.

and now? he was hiding in his room.

choso had had shot up so fast he nearly tripped over the coffee table. “i—i gotta—” he didn't even finish his sentence before he had bolted to his room, slamming the door behind him.

a beat of silence had passed before gojo wheezed. “ohhh, he's so fucked.” as he exchanged a look with geto. you laughed, stretching out on the couch before standing up and followed choso right after he had left.

‘yeah, this was gonna be fun’ you thought.

he was so different than from last night. you needed to know if it was just a fluke. if, perhaps, he regretted it. or if he wanted you as much as you now realized you wanted him.

choso was losing it. he was pacing his room like a madman, running his hands through his damp hair, yanking off his shirt as heat crawled over his skin. his heart was beating out of his chest, his entire body on edge from just one moment of closeness with you.

but how was he supposed to face you after last night? after making a complete fool of himself? he wanted you so badly—had wanted you for years—but now it was all ruined. you probably thought he was weird… or worse, pathetic.

“…choso?”

fuck.

your voice was soft, almost hesitant, but something about it send a shiver down his spine. he should have ignored it. pretend to be asleep. do anything but let you in.

but then the doorknob had turned. and there you were.

the second you had stepped inside, he knew.

knew from the way your eyes had darkened the moment they had landed on him. from the way you shut the door behind you without looking back.

he swallowed thickly. “y-you need something?”

you stared at him for a moment, eyes roaming over his bare, inked chest—his damn barbells—his flushed face, the nervous twitch of his fingers at his side. he looked unsure, so lost—like he had no idea what he had done to you.

‘how dare he look like that after making me ache for him all night?’

“…yeah,” you finally said, voice low. “i do.”

you stepped forward, pushing him back until his knees hit the bed. he sat without thinking, eyes wide, lips parted in shock. you leaned in, caging him in with your hands on his thighs. his breath hitched.

“i've been thinking about last night,” you admitted, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against his skin. “a lot.”

choso swallowed hard, his entire body going stiff. “y-you have?”

you hummed, tilting your head. “mhm. and you've bee avoiding me all night. i don't like that.”

“i—”

you don't let him finish. instead, you climb onto his lap, straddling him exactly like you had last night—right before geto had joked about getting a room.

he choked on air as your hands slid up his chest, slow and teasing, nails scratching lightly against his skin. just like you did at the party. “you danced on me like you wanted me, choso,” you murmured, lips brushing against his ear. “you even felt how wet i was. you touched my pussy… licked your fingers.” your teeth grazed his earlobe, making him shudder. “so tell me…” your hips rolled against him, pulling a trembling gasp from his throat. “…you don't want me anymore?”

that's all it took for choso to snap.

one second, he was frozen beneath you, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. the next, he was grabbing you—strong hands gripping your waist as he flipped you onto the bed in one swift, effortless motion.

you barely had time to gasp before his weight was on you, pressing you down, his breath hot against your skin. his tattooed hands—nails painted a deep purple— pinned yours above your head, fingers intertwining with your own, your dark red polish a stark contrast against his.

“fuck—” he growled, voice rough, desperate. his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes burning with unhinged desire. “do you have any idea how many nights i've spent dreaming about this?”

you shivered. this wasn't the flustered, awkward choso from earlier. no, this was the lapdance choso.

“choso—”

this time, he was the one not letting you finish. his lips crashed onto yours, hungry, all tongue and teeth, all the pent-up frustration from five years of longing spilling out at once. his hands moved from your wrists to your waist, gripping tight, possessive.

his hips ground against yours, and you moaned into his mouth, back arching at the friction. that was all it took for him to loosen up completely.

his lips started attacking your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks—his marks. his hands tore at your clothes, desperate to feel your skin against his. his mouth trailed lower, teeth scraping against your collarbone, sucking one nipple on the way as his fingers dig into your thighs, spreading them, his breathing ragged.

you whimpered, hips pushing against his, searching for more. and choso didn't even bother undressing himself—his only focus was you.

his hands were rough as he spread your legs wider, slotting himself between them. his breath hot against your inner thighs, and fuck, he was already feral with hunger. his lips drag over your skin, leaving open-mouthed kisses that sent chills up your spine. his fingers resting on your hips as he looked up at you, his dark eyes blown wide with need.

“i've wanted this for years,” he groaned. “thought about this—you—so many fucking times i—” he shook his head like he couldn't explain it, like he was too far gone to form words.

then he did the only thing he's capable of—diving into your core.

his mouth latched onto your clit with a desperation that was insane. his tongue flicked, lapped, sucked, determined to commit your scent to memory by morning. he was messy. sloppy. loud. he slurped, pressing his nose against you as he ate like a man on death row having his last meal.

he moans onto your fat lips, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. choso's eyes roll back at the sweet taste of you. one of his hand traveled up to cup one of your soft breast, squeezing, thumb playing with the hardened nipple.

“fuck—fuck, choso—” he didn't stop. didn't slow down. if anything, your moans only made him more drunk. he buried his face deeper, his free hand holding you open even as you tried to clamp them shut from the intensity of it. his inked arms looked almost sinful against your untouched skin—marked hands spreading and owning the softness of your body.

"nuh-uh," he grunted, shaking his head. “not happening. you're gonna take it. gonna let me taste you.”

he was dripping. his cock was so hard it was truly painful, leaking through his sweatpants, leaving a wet spot on it, but he didn't care. didn't need anything except your pussy against his tongue, your thighs trembling on his broad shoulders, breathless little whimpers spilling past your lips as you fell apart for him.

he licked everything. lapped up every drop like he was trying to drink you, tongue sliding through your folds, sucking, moaning, devouring you.

choso was gone. absolutely, completely, ferally gone. he wasn't just eating you out—he was making a mess out of himself, out of you, out of the sheets. his tongue was everywhere, slurping up your slick, pushing deep into you just to hear the obscene squelching sounds echo through the room, riding you through your orgasm. god, he was so fucking shameless with it, groaning as he makes out with your cunt—as if he wanted to live there.

his face was soaked, his chin dripping, his cheeks wet with your slick. and he just kept going, even after your previous climax. he is obsessed, getting off on nothing but the taste of you. his big hands holding you open, keeping you in place even as your legs shook from the overstimulation.

"up." he groaned, pulling back just to take in the sight of your wrecked pussy, spread and dripping for him.

you barely registered his voice, your brain still fogged with pleasure. “w-what?”

“up here,” he said again, gripping your thighs, his voice rough, hungry. “sit on my face.”

your eyes widened. “choso, i—” he glared, pulling you closer. “what? you scared?”

your face burned. “no, i just—what if i—what if i suffocate you?” this was genuine fear. no one had ever requested that from you before—no one had ever wanted you like this, so desperate, so feral.

choso just snorted, flipping you over with ease, positioning you right over his mouth. “sit.”

“choso—ahhh—”

he pulled you onto him, locking his arms tights around your thighs, forcing you to sink down onto his mouth. he lost no time to dive back in. tongue flattened against you, lips sucking hard before he shoved his face deeper, noise brushing your clit with every movement of his tongue fucking you.

“choso—” your thighs squeeze around his head making choso groan. sending vibrations up to your core.

his hips bucked up, his rock-hard cock leaking more pre-cum through his sweats, but he ignored it—ignored his own desperation, his own need, because you were all that mattered. you crying out his name, you feeding him what he'd been craving for years was way more important.

his hands slide up, gripping your hips, his thumbs stroking the soft patch of hair above your cunt. his fingers twirled the strands absentmindedly, tugging, playing—entranced by every inch of you.

he pulls you down harder, deeper as you start to grind against his tongue, getting wetter from his spit and his sheer obsession. and when your thighs twitch and your back arch and your cunt gushed against his tongue—

“so pretty,” he muffled. “so soft, so sweet, i could stay down here forever.” your fingers clawed at the bed head, mind blurring as another orgasm crept up too fast, too hard. there was no escape. no mercy. just the wet sounds of his mouth working you open, inked arms locking you in place, dark nails digging into your skin.

choso latches onto you, drinking every single drop, messy and greedy as he moaned once again.

“mine,” he rasped, tongue flicking, fucking you through the second orgasm even though your body was jerking from overstimulation. “you're fucking mine now. you hear me?”

your mind was fuzzy, lips parting as you tried to catch your breath, but choso wasn't having it.

his lips were shiny with your slick, his face drenched, his eyes dark and hungry as he kissed his way up your body, pressing sweet, almost gentle kisses against your skin. But the contrast—the way his hands were still gripping you tight,—made you shiver.

“you can take more, right?” he murmured, voice soft, almost sweet as he nuzzled against your cheek. "you're not done, are you? my pretty girl can handle one more, yeah?”

your breath hitched. "choso, I—I don’t think I—” but he did not care.

one moment, you were still straddling his face, thighs trembling—and the next, you were on the mattress, your legs pushed up, spread wide as he hovered over you. folding you into a mating press—big hands hooking under your knees.

you felt his heavy cock toying with your clit as he freed it from the drenched boxer. the tip already leaking against your overstimulated folds. you weren't even looking at it—the two back-to-back orgasms leaving you drenched—but damn, you could feel how big he was just from just the tip.

you tensed. “choso—”

“shhh, baby,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss on your smudged lips. “i'll make it fit. just be good for me, yeah?”

his voice is a mix of gentle sweetness and absolute filth, causing your walls to clench around nothing.

“ohhh, fuck—” you gasped, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders.

“shit,” choso groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “fucking hell, baby, you're so tight—fuck, squeezing me so good—”

your pussy was strugglig to take him, stretching wide, the thick girth of his cock making your mind go blank. he was so big—it felt like he was splitting you open. “c-choso, s'too m-much,” you panted, legs trembling around his waist.

but choso only cooed, kissing your temple, his voice all sweet and reassuring even as he bullied his cock deeper. “you can take it, pretty girl,” he whispered. “you're made for it. look—fuck, taking me so well—”

but suddenly you feel something.

a cool, hard press against your walls, dragging along your inside. your eyes widened, fingers tightening around his biceps as a sharp jolt of pleasure shot up your spine.

“w-wait, what—”

choso chuckled breathlessly, hips rolling just enough to let the metalic weight of his piercing grind against your sensitive spot. “you feel that?” voice barely above a whisper, thick wtih amusement.

you whimpered, thighs twitching as the sensation made your head spin. the prince Albert piercing was something you hadn't been prepared for—hadn't even know he had—but fuck, the way it dragged inside you, catching against your most sensitive spots, it was…delectable.

tears pricked your eyes, your body overwhelmed.

“mm, s'nice, huh?” he grunted. “been dreaming about how you'd feel wrapped around me like this, all warm ‘n’ wet, taking my cock with my piercing…”

a broken moan slipped past your lips as he rolled his hips again, the cool metal rubbing against your tender, stretched-out walls, adding a whole new layer of pleasure. your nails raked down his tattooed chest, catching on his pierced nipples.

your walls gripping him like vice, your body pulling him in even as you struggled to adjust.

“shit, baby, you're creamin' all over me.” you whimpered, embarrassment flooding through you, but choso just grinned, his hand sliding between your legs, fingers rubbing at your clit.

“nasty little, thing. acting like you can't take it, but your pussy's sucking me in—mhh, goddamn, you're loving it, right?”

you sobbed, head lolling back, body burning hot from his words, from the way he was praising you while talking so dirty.

his hips keeps pushing into you, pushing all the way to the hilt, forcing you to take every inch of his thick cock in one deep thrust.

“choso—ah!”

“mmh, yeah,” he pulled back just to slam into you again, the sound of his hips smacking against yours echoing in the room. “fuck, baby—so tight—gonna stretch you out realll good, yeah. gonna fuck you open 'n—mhfp”

choso wasn't gentle anymore—fucking roughly, fast. animalistic. he pounds into your poor, overstimulated pussy like he owned it. because he does. his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over and over—

“listen to you,” his eyes rolls back at the obscene sounds of your wet cunt sucking him in. “so—” slams “fucking—” slams “messy—” slams.

hot fat tears make their way down your cheeks, nails dragging down his back, over the swirling ink that covered his shoulders and arms, down to his taut stomach where his happy trail led to thick patch of hair at his base.

you weren’t even sure what was hotter—the way he fucked or how he looked doing it. his tattoos flexing with every movement, his abs tightening as he drilled into you, the barbells through his nipples gleaming with sweat, the veins in his arms prominent.

“gonna make you my little cumdrunk girl, huh? my pretty little toy to fuck stupid?” he panted, voice thick with lust, his hips drilling into you. “feels good? best you ever had? tell me, baby—tell me no one else ever fucked you like this—” his grip on your waist was bruising, holding you onto place as your body jolted forward because of his brutal thrusts.

your mind was mush. you could barely think, barely breathe. but you knew the answer.

“n-no one—fuck, c-choso, mghn—no o-one everrr—”

“damn right,” he gritted out, snapping his hips harder, deeper, until you were seeing the whole constellation. “no one else gets to have you. no one else gets this pussy but me, got it?”

you nodded desperately, body already on edge, the coil in your stomach ready to snap—

and choso feel it, his hands went to support your thighs, hugging them tightly around his waist. “go on,” he growled, forehead sticking to yours, not slowing his pace. “cum for me, baby—wanna feel your cum all over my cock, please.”

your head rolls back as the knot in your stomach releases, vision blurring from the pleasure, cheeks reddened by your tears. choso still hadn't cum, dick still hard—and if anything, it only grows inside you as he feels your spongy walls spasming around him.

you had never felt something like this before—so high off pleasure, so insatiable, so utterly dizzy with lust that even after he had fucked you into oblivion, you wanted more.

as you came back to your sense you take a look at the man above you, hair damped with sweat, chest heaving, face still shiny with your slick. cock twitching—and so does his piercing—gleaming with your cum and his own pre-cum.

strength surged back into your limbs—not much, but enough to straddle him. your palms landed on his chest, fingers splaying over his pierced nipples, the cool barbells sitting perfectly against your skin as you pushed him down.

his eyes widened. “are you—”

you smirked, dragging your soaked pussy along his length, feeling his pulse against your swollen folds, the hard curve of his piercing pressing into your clit like a tease of what's to come.

“what's wrong, baby?” you cooed, tilting your head, feigning innocence. “tired already?”

choso groans, hands flying to your hips, dark painted nails digging into your flesh. “fuck, you're gonna kill me—”

“or milk you dry.” you wink at him, giggling at the way his cock throbbed at your words. you could feel the heat radiating from him, could see the tension in his shoulders as he fought to keep control. “i thought you said i could take more,” you teased, voice sticky-sweet.

the tattooed man cursed under his breath, jaw locked tight as he watched you slide up and down his length, your arousal coating his veiny shaft, dripping down to his balls, his dark coarse hair shinning with slick. “shit, so fuckin' messy—”

you leaned down, licking a slow, wet stripe up his throat, feeling his pulse hammer against your tongue before whispering, “wanna ride you, sweet boy.”

his whole body jerked.

“holy fuck—” and before he could process anything, you reached between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his cock, tracing a looong vein going from his base to his swollen tip—hot, leaking. the weight of his piercing pressing against your palm.

your thumb brushed over the Prince Albert, curiosity flicking across your face. his tattoos were hot, his nipple piercings were hot…but this? the idea of that thick metal pressing inside you, once again? fuck.

“y-you sure?" choso stammered, his usual cocky drawl cracking into something desperate. i—i'm quiet big, d-don't wanna hurt you.” his flustered concern was endearingly cute, but you knew better.

“i can take it.”

you dropped. in one go. fast.

“FUCK!”

his head slammed back against the pillows, his mouth falling open as your tight, soaking heat swallowed him whole, the tip piercing pushing past your entrance, forcing your walls to stretch around both his sheer girth and the unrelenting hardness of the metal.

“shit…” you gasped—his cock stopped right before your bellybutton—your pussy was still struggling to accommodate him, the stretch toeing the line between pleasure and overwhelming fullness.

his happy trail and coarse pubes grazed against yours, adding to the overstimulation, his fat tip hitting something that made your toes curl.

choso's painted nails sank into your ass, black and purple contrasting on your unmarked skin, as he took in the sight of you—you're messy hair, fucked-out expression and the obscene bulge pressing out of your belly.

you bit your lip, rolling your hips just right, feeling the delicious burn of his cock pressing on every spot inside you. “feels so good,” you moaned, taking your sweet time to enjoy every inch. after all, it wasn't everyday that you could fuck a pretty hyper fixated emo man. with a big big cock above all that. “so fucking full—”

choso was hanging on by a thread, every muscle in his body taut. his breath shudders as he tries to keep himself together. but the way you were riding him—slow, teasing, your cunt clamping down around him.

“you little tease,” he panted, voice strained. “you're fuckin' enjoyin' this, huh? making me lose my mind—”

you rolled your hips harder, making him grunt. “mmh, you like it, don't you? like watching me fuck myself on your fat cock?”

his palms landed harshly on your cheeks' ass. making you yelp in surprise. “fuckin' filthy—such a nasty girl we have here—”

you moaned, reveling in the way he filled you so perfectly, the way his big hands manhandled you even though you were the one on top.

suddenly you feel his fingers wrap around your throat. your breath hitched.

“my pretty little slut," he rasped, squeezing just enough to make your head swim, to make you even more aware of his piercing dragging inside you with every pulse of his cock.

his hips bucked up—hard, deep, unrelenting.

“you want to ride? then ride, baby—correctly.”

your moans turned into choked cries, your body jerking as he thrust up into you, driving his cock into your sweet spot over and over and—

“c-choso, p-please—”

“pussy's like magic," watching as your slick splattered onto the sheets and his abs. "sloshing wetness all over me—fuuuck.” his gaze darkened, locked onto your bouncing tits, onto the way his pierced nipples tingled every time you dragged your nails across them.

“you feel so good. riding me like a pro," choso was on the edge—panting like he'd lose his mind if he didn't cum soon. “th-thought you were scared it wouldn't fit?”

but you were gushing around him, walls spasming, your tight heat milking his cock for everything he had.

“baby, i—god.”

choso’s whole body tensed as his climax crashed through him.

his hips jerked, his cock throbbing deep inside you as thick, hot ropes of cum spilled into you—so much that it was concerning.

his head fell back, a deep, wrecked whimper slipping past his lips as he kept coming, his hands gripping your hips tight, forcing you down onto him, making sure you took every drop.

"shit," you breathed, feeling the warmth flood you. your walls still fluttering from the aftershocks of your own release, thighs burning, your clit throbbing from the stimulation.

"choso, you're still—"

"i know," he gasped, still throbbing, still leaking inside you. "i can’t—fuck, i can’t stop—"

And neither could you.

it continued.

For hours and hours.

choso had been relentless, folding you in every position imaginable—his stamina something straight out of a mythological tale.

and you finally stumbled out of the bedroom—legs gone. nonexistent.

you might as well have left them in the sheets because they were absolutely not functioning. you had to grip onto choso's arm just to stay upright, and the smug, self-satisfied grin on his face was not helping.

“fucking finally,” geto drawled from the couch, stretching out his arms. “took you two long enough to get a damn room.”

you groaned, burying your burning face into choso's shoulder. geto should be more worried about if you were leaving that room alive.

gojo, sprawled next to him, smirked. “nah, nah… room or not, i definitely still heard everything.” he turned his head towards choso with a shit-eating smile. “didn't know you had it in you, big guy.”

choso was… shy? embarrassingly shy. he froze, ears burning, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something—desperately wanting to find an exist to this discussion.

you blinked up at him. confused. because who's that the same man who whispered the filthiest, most dominant shit into your ear?

he was mumbling, looking everywhere but at you. “i hate you both,” he muttered under his breath. staring aggressively at the floor.

geto chuckled, nudging gojo. “oh, this is gold. he's all quiet now. what happened to all that dirty talk, huh? gone?”

you bit your lip, holding back a laugh. he was so shy. and it was adorable.

“actually,” he blurted out, too quickly. “did you know tigers have the strongest bite force among big cats? but hyenas actually have a stronger one in comparison to their body weight?”

silence.

you blinked. gojo and geto stared.

“what?” gojo squinted. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“animals,” choso said even faster, shoving his hands into his pockets like he could just disappear into them. “as you know, i watch a lot of documentaries and—”

gojo wheezed. you smiled.

and the, because you were a menace and because this was the cutest thing you'd ever seen in your life, you leaned in—all slow, all teasing—watching as his ears somehow got even redder when you got close.

as if he hadn't just spent hours rearranging your insides. as if he hadn't been the most depraved man known to life.

you let your fingers graze his forearm, voice sickening sweet. “tell me more.”

his eyes flicked to you, wide, surprised.

but when he saw that you actually wanted to hear him ramble, when he realized you were genuinely interested—his lips parted slightly. his shoulders relaxed.

and softly—hesitantly—he started talking again.

and it was kinda hot!!

(づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

I hope the anon who requested that is satisfied !! :3

#choso doing hyperfixation is canon i do not make the rules #choso with piercing is even more canon idc #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader smut #jjk choso #choso kamo #choso x you #jjk fanfic #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso x reader #fem reader #x you smut #jjk #jjk x reader

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gghostwriter · 8 months ago

Text

Have Your Cake

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer notices a change in you that he tries to address Trope: Comfort; Established relationship w.c: 1.8k Trigger warnings: tackles eating disorder and body dysmorphia a/n: this is a really hard topic I personally felt the need to write about (in a way to comfort myself.) Its very personal as I used my past eating disorder here so if its something you’re not comfortable with, please go skip ahead to another fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer wrapped the front ends of his coat tighter on his slender body. It did little to no good fending off the cool seasonal air of an October night. His scuffled loafers squeaking from his shuffling feet.

The line at your favorite bakery was unsurprisingly long on a Tuesday evening. Every night, the shop sells their remaining pastries at a discount To lure innocent commuters, tired from a long day of pushing papers. He usually wasn’t one to give in to the notion of ‘treating yourself’—unless counting out his big spendings on first editions written in its original language.

He gave the cashier a slight smile before listing off his purchase, one slice of their decadent strawberry shortcake and another of their vanilla bean sponge cake—both your favorites. And both an integral part of his perfectly thought of scheme to solve a riddle.

Your mystery.

In simple layman’s terms, they were bribery of some sort.

“Thank you,” he muttered under his breath, side stepping his way out from the throng of customers holding their own trays of pastries and back into the cold October air.

He blamed himself for not noticing the change in patterns early on. His attention otherwise preoccupied by the trauma from his time in prison and the stares that vary from judgement to pity that come from officers outside of the BAU.

No longer was he the shining, new prodigy once hailed to be, now he was just damaged goods. His downfall from grace was an adjustment.

His mind was another matter, all together—could no longer detect subtle shifts in behavior as fast as he used to.

Yes, there was really no one else to blame but himself.

As his long strides covered the way home, the moon shining down on the empty streets, Spencer thought back to the moment when he finally noticed you eating less and less.

———

You pulled down the cuffs of Spencer’s Caltech sweater, leaving only the tips of your fingers peeking through. Everything about it made you self-conscious. How it drapes down your shoulders differently from before. How it wraps around your body, sending shivers down your spine. And how it leaves the lower half of your plush thighs exposed for anyone to see—anyone to judge.

You hated it.

You hated how hyper aware a single comment from a distant relative made you feel.

A voice from a distance called out your name causing you to look around the aisles of grocery and come face to face with an aunt, twice removed from your father’s side.

“It is you!” She leaned in to kiss your cheek. Her choice of perfume, a sickly sweet artificial scent of oranges, wafting on your nose.

It made you want to gag.

A fake smile donned your face. “Oh, hi Auntie. What a surprise to see you back in Virginia.”

“Oh, I just flew in for my husband’s sister’s birthday. You know how we are, always booked and busy with events,” she waved her hand, the ostentatious diamond ring on her finger catching the light. “I haven’t seen you since you graduated college. You look so different now—more and more like your mother.”

“Thanks, I always did look like her,” you awkwardly laughed.

Her eyes traveled down to your feet and back up again, a tight grin on her face. It made her look vicious, condescending, causing you to catch your breath as she uttered the words that would repeat in your head like a commercial slogan you can’t get away from.

“But you were much prettier when you were thinner—” her eyebrow raised, cataloguing the items in your cart. “Might want to cut down on the carbs a little bit, sweetie.”

She poked a wound inside of you that never seemed to fully heal.

You thought you were better, all those years of talking to your therapist and changing your relationship with food for the better made you believe those dark days were behind you. But those spitting phrases veiled as words of care from a family member amplified the doubts once buried in the recesses of your mind.

“I’ll keep that in mind. It was great seeing you, Auntie.”

The jiggling of keys brought you back to the present.

“Love, I’m home!”

You called back from the kitchen, finishing up plating tonight’s dinner—a fresh serving of Chicken Alfredo to share. “In here, Spence!”

With a saccharine smile on his tired but beautiful face, he wrapped his arms around your shoulder for a loving hug. His pillowy lips leaving trails of kisses from your temples, to your nose, to your cheeks, and finally landing on your awaiting lips.

You giggled at his antics. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too,” another peck on the lips. “Dinner looks amazing. Thank you for cooking.”

“It’s no problem at all, you know how much I like to cook for you.”

He brought up a mystery package to showcase, eyes tracking every minuscule change on your face. “And I brought us some dessert! Your favorites from the bakery.”

The smile on your face threatened to drop. “That’s—that’s great!”

———

You felt Spencer’s eyes on you all throughout dinner. One of the disadvantages of dating a man who earns his living by understanding human behavior and its changes—triggers, as he would like to call it, is never having the leisure of keeping a secret.

He means well, you‘d like to believe so, but that didn’t change the fact he knew something was bothering you.

It made you feel like a riddle he wanted to solve. It made you want to scream and cry.

The only reprieve you could get was within the little confines of your shared bathroom, water beating down your back muffling the sobs that escaped from your tightly pressed lips.

Everything felt too much.

The devil voices in your head listing off the calories each spoonful contains. The mathematical equation of how long you’d need to exercise to lose every unnecessary bite eaten over dinner. And the facade of keeping everything together—everything perfect.

You picked off the sides of your nails, already raw and starting to bleed.

Maybe you shouldn’t eat breakfast and lunch tomorrow. Maybe you should walk the 15 minute commute from here to the office. It would take 30 minutes but that’s additional exerc—

“Love, is everything alright?” Spencer asked behind the locked bathroom door.

You turned, turning off the shower, before hurriedly toweling off the droplets all over your hair and body. “Yes, I’m—I’m almost done!”

Swiveling around the dry area, you realized you forgot to bring in a change of clothes beyond a clean pair of underwear.

You sighed to yourself as you wrapped the towel around your chest. Still feeling uncomfortable and oddly naked even then.

“Spence, there’s still some hot water left—are you okay?” You ask, having found him sitting on the edge of the bed with a distinct frown on his face.

He stood up. Hands on your waist, shuffling both your bodies closer to one corner of bedroom.“It’s just—you know how much I deeply care for you, right?”

You slowly answered. “Yes, of course. I deeply care for you too.”

“So I have to ask, are you alright? Really alright?”

“Wha—what do you mean? Of course, I am—I’m completely fine,” you vehemently denied. The lump on your throat making you sound hysterical, even in your ears. If you couldn’t fool yourself, what chances were there that Spencer was fooled—none.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been eating smaller portions lately and you didn’t even take a bite of the cakes I brought home. You’ve also been going to the gym daily, instead of your usual five times a week. And you’ve started wearing my clothes more—not that it’s a problem. I love seeing you in my clothes but you’ve started to prefer baggy silhouettes rather than your usuals. It’s like you’re hiding your body. Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me anything, I won’t judge.”

It was the soft tone in his voice mixed with his doe, teary eyes that caused you to break under pressure. Your shoulders shook as sobs that you’ve kept bottled up rose to the surface. It was a wave of emotions that battered through your dam of facade.

“I hate how I look—I hate that I gained weight,” you cried out. “I hate how a relative pointed it out and how her words won’t leave my mind. I hate it, Spence. I loathe it all—the voices in my head whispering how I should keep track of every meal I eat in a notebook like I did before. Telling me to never go beyond a 800 calories per day, to workout two hours a day twice! It’s just—” you took a deep breath, vision blurring from tears. “—so exhausting and please, make it stop.”

Spencer hugged you tight to his chest, as if wanting to merge you two as one to take away all your pain and sorrow. Your hands creasing his white button down with a grip so tight.

For a second, it felt liberating to let it all out. But the fleeting emotion had passed, leaving you with only shame from your admittance.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way,” he detangled himself, enough to stare into your eyes. “Love, can I show you something?”

You nodded. He slowly turned you around, back against his chest, to face the full length mirror tucked in the corner. His eyes never leaving yours as his calloused fingers reached up to the tucked ends of the towel wrapped around your body. He tilted his head, asking for your permission to which you slowly nodded.

Your naked body was in full view. Your nails digging onto your palm as you catalogued every minuscule flaw there is—the additional flesh around your stomach and sides and your hips no longer as thin as they were before.

“Do you know what I see?” He softly asked.

You bit your lip before shutting your eyes close, unable to take what was right in front of you. “Me and how I gained weight?”

He placed a kiss on your temple. “No. I see a beautiful adult woman who has curves in all the right places—”

He laid a kiss on your cheek. “I see the love of my life in her full loving glory—”

He kissed the side of your neck. “I see my future wife who loves herself and all the changes that aging and our slowing metabolism entails—”

He placed one last kiss on your shoulder. “—I see you, and I love every piece of you. And I hope you love every part as much as I do.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid comfort #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine

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ludwigplayingthetrombone · 1 year ago

Text

Post war/coma comic about Gai struggling with his recovery

Since tumblr hates long form comics, I have to split this into 2 bc its 36 images. This is the first part, part 2 i'll either do as a reblog or a separate post right after this, stay tuned! Links to support me in pinned post <3

tw: s*icidal thoughts, injury, a little blood

Bisuke: Gai's Back!

Gai: GRAAH!

Kks: Im home Gai: Welcome back Kks: [wheels rolling] Hey,

Kks: Ga-!? Gai: Im fine. The tile is cool on my face. Kks: Wanna go lay down in bed? Gai: I am so /sick/ of lying down. Kks: Ok. What do you want for supper?

Gai: You're not going to comment? Kks: I already know what happened. You overdid it again. I should be able to keep up with chores, kakashi. Kks: You can. Just don' bull through it all in one go. Do you want to end up in the hospital again? Gai: Please don't. Kks: I know sitting still is hard for you, and "too much" is in your DNA, but you have to take this slow so you don't exacerbate your injuries, Gai. You went from hyper-aware to pretending your body limits dont exist. Gai: Like you haven't done the same.

Gai: You've proved your point. Kks: It's not about that. And you've dragged me to bed and out of bed repeatedly when I needed it. You were burning alive from the inside. Tsunade told you your immune system is out of whack. You need to take it easy. /I/ know you're capable, but are you trying to prove to /yourself/ you are? Gai: You want me to admit my embarrassment? Kks: If something serioud happens, You'll be even more embarrassed then

Gai: How could you possibly know how I FEEL?! How could you EVER KNOW HOW I FEEL?! Kks: I DON'T! But I've /been/ the one ouking and sobbing on your bathroom floor because I couldn't take living anymore! And I don't want that for YOU!

Kks: I'm sorry, Gai. Gai: I'm sorry

Kks: I can't stand knowing you're in pain, and I can't get you help. If there was a way, I'd do anything. Gai: You do so much to help me already.... And I yelled at you Kks: I've screamed at you so much, that was pretty tame. I wish I was like you with things like this. Not great with what to say...... But I can listen.

Gai: I hate feeling so weak. I'm tired all the time, in constant pain, I can't even walk-..... I can tell tenten and the boys worry despite my efforts to appear positive. Kks: They're just not sure how to react. They know you hate being babied, but don't want to push you into hurting yourself. You hate being told you can't do something. They love you. You get stronger everyday, everyone is cheering you on.

Gai: I know it's irrational, but... I feel like you gave up the Hokage position to take care of me. Kks: Haa!? I'm grateful if anything. I'd be retired too if I could. That'd be amazing. I'm dreading just helping Tsunade but as long as you're by my side, I'll be fine. We're still equals, rivals, friends, partners

Gai: Even if I can't- Kks: /Always/ wil be, dickhead. Gai: You worry about me hurting myself? Kks: I know you think about it

Kks: We're the same in that regard Gai: I would never act on this, please believe me, these thoughts are rare........... Kks: It's ok, Gai. Gai: Sometimes I think i should have just died. I feel so out of place on the streets I used to feel so at home at. I never asked to live. I didn't plan to. I just don't know how to-...

Kks: I understand that. Though, dying didn't feel any better. Gai: I know I didn't fully pass like you did. I didn't see papa. Just for a moment, I wish I could have seen him.

Kks: As much as I'm sure he wants to see you again, It's too soon. Dai'd slap the shit out of you for wanting to waste your youth just to see him. Gai: [chuckle] probably. Kks: I have those thoughts less and less now, but they're still there. "why am I the one who survives?" "Burden" "Gai will come to his senses eventually"

Gai: FALSE!! None of my grief is with you! I love living here with you! My love for you only burns hotter each day! You're so lovely inside and out! Kks: Maa What did I do to deserve such praise from teh mouth of the hottest man in Konoha?? Gai: YOU STILL THINK I'M HOT?! Kks: YOU-! [CACKLE]

Kks: Your bad taste is the only reason I had a chance before someone snatched you up. Gai: The worst. Kks: Thought we'd irritate eachother, but it's been pretty smooth. Even though you still get played by the dogs. Gai: You really wanna throw those stones?

Gai: They play you just as easily. don't lie. Kks: My point is, whatever you need from me, you have it. No questions asked. Even if you yell and scream, i can take it. You held me together when I was unraveling, and I'll never forget it. Didn't trust anyone else to see me like that. Broken

Gai: I never saw you as that. Kks: I'll never see you as that

#kakagai #kakashi hatake #maito gai #naruto #my art #team gai #tenzou yamato #angst

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

Hello!! hello! i love all your works!!! and how much you post per day???? pls take breaks between writing if you can!

i read the streamer!jing yuan one...

if requests are open can i request sunday with the same scenario?

i imagine he'd never play any otome games on his own so robin would have to coerce him into playing the game. i also see him to be the type of player who'd clear every route and have things down to a T ...

but what if there was one route he never finished? the hardest route to trigger and the one with the most bad endings cause the favourability bar is super fickle?

but the payoff is worth it once he somehow???? manages to trigger a yandere event hehe

Yandere!Streamer Sunday x Reader

Game Loading… Welcome Back.

Sunday leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms before settling in for another long night. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this.

When Robin had first forced him to play, he’d scoffed at the idea. Him? A dating game? No way. But somewhere along the way—after countless hours, multiple endings, and way too much money spent on DLC—he’d become obsessed. His competitive streak wouldn’t let him quit until he had 100% completion.

And yet, one route remained unfinished.

Yours.

You were the hardest love interest to win over, your favorability bar more unstable than any other. No matter what he did, one wrong move could send it plummeting. He had watched others fail, seen forums filled with players begging for hints. No one had a clear guide. No one had reached the true ending.

Tonight, that would change.

“Alright, chat” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t care how long it takes—I’m finishing Y/N’s route tonight.”

“Sunday, you’re too deep in, bro.” “At this point, Y/N is your real partner.” “No way you’re getting the true ending. It’s cursed.” “Watch him fumble and lose favorability in five minutes.”

He exhaled, ignoring the teasing comments as the title screen faded, and the game resumed where he left off.

This was it.

Carefully, he selected his next dialogue option, choosing words with precision. Your sprite appeared, and for the first time in all his failed attempts, the favorability bar twitched upward.

[Favorability +5]

“That’s new” he muttered, brows furrowing. Chat exploded with excitement, theories flying in real-time. He leaned in, hyper-focused. The background music softened, replaced by an eerie silence.

Then, the screen flickered.

“What the-?”

Your expression on screen shifted. Subtle, almost imperceptible. The soft smile you usually wore seemed… off. Before he could react, a new dialogue box popped up.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“?????” “This isn’t in the script, bro.” “GOT THE SECRET ROUTE?!” “ABORT. ABORT.”

Before he could click anything, the screen distorted. Pixels warped, the background dissolving into a mess of static. A sudden high-pitched ringing filled his headphones.

Then—darkness.

Sunday had always been good at games. He could grind through any RPG, master mechanics, and break down any system with enough time and effort. But Ethereal Reverie: Fated Bonds was different.

When he stumbled upon your route, he had been hooked.

You were different from other love interests. You're the ultimate challenge. And Sunday loves that.

In the world of Ethereal Reverie, you were the kingdom’s renowned scholar and strategist, sought after by nobles and rulers alike. Your mind was your greatest weapon, and you wielded it with precision. Unlike the other characters—who were knights, royals, and adventurers—you had no need for physical prowess. Instead, you navigated court politics, warfare, and intrigue, always three steps ahead of everyone else.

Most players never even got past your acquaintance phase. Your favorability was infamously fickle—one wrong move and you'd cut ties with the protagonist entirely, locking them out of your story. It was said that only a handful of players had even managed to trigger a romance flag, and none had reached the true ending.

Sunday was determined to be the first.

But now, as he stared up at you—no longer a 2D sprite but a living, breathing person—he realized he had made a grave mistake.

“Sunday.”

His breath caught in his throat. You knew his name. That wasn’t possible. His in-game avatar had a preset name—Caius—the default protagonist. But you weren’t looking at Caius. You were looking at him.

Sunday barely had time to process what was happening before another voice called out from behind you.

“Lord Sunday, you’ve finally arrived.”

What?

It wasn’t just you.

He turned his head sharply, eyes darting around. The grand stone courtyard he had landed in was familiar—ornate fountains, banners bearing the royal crest, and intricate marble pillars. This was the capital’s royal palace, the heart of the kingdom.

He knew this place. He had seen it countless times in the game.

But this wasn’t the protagonist’s usual starting point.

And then the pieces clicked.

His ornate outfit, the way the NPCs were addressing him, the "Lord" title—

This wasn’t his usual avatar.

The game hadn’t just dragged him into the world. It had assigned him a new role.

A dangerous one.

There was only one person in Ethereal Reverie who was constantly at odds with you. One person who stood as your rival in the court’s deadly political game. The one strategist whose name was whispered with both admiration and fear—

Lord Sunday, the Grand Strategist of the Northern Territories.

He had become your greatest enemy.

Why the hell did the game slot me into the villain’s role?

“Lord Sunday. I hope you’re ready. We have much to discuss.”

He had spent a month obsessing over you, trying to understand your thought process, learning every intricate detail of your route. He knew how dangerous you could be.

And now, he was trapped inside the game—forced to be your rival.

The tension in the grand hall was suffocating.

Sunday sat at the long, polished table, hands clenched into fists against his lap as his brain scrambled to keep up. Across from him, you stood poised, arms crossed, your expression carefully neutral—yet he could see the sharpness in your gaze, the unmistakable glint of contempt.

You hated him.

Which was funny, considering he had spent weeks trying to get you to like him.

“This is reckless” you said coldly, turning away from him to address the gathered nobles and military officers. “If we march our forces north under such a thinly-veiled deception, we risk stretching our supply lines too far. It’s a fool’s errand.”

Sunday barely heard the murmurs of agreement that followed. His mind was still caught on the fact that you were speaking to him like he was an actual person. Not a scripted character, but as though he had always been here—as though this world had been real from the start.

And worst of all?

His name, his role in this world, had come with pre-existing relationships—and every single one of them pointed to you absolutely despising him.

He could feel the weight of the stares on him, waiting for his rebuttal. He had no choice but to play along.

“Stretching our supply lines?” he scoffed, leaning back into his chair, “What, do you think my forces can’t handle a simple flanking maneuver? Or do you just enjoy opposing me on principle?”

A flicker of irritation crossed your face. “I oppose stupid ideas on principle.”

There it is.

You had always been like this in the game—blunt, tactical, calculating. You didn’t suffer fools, and apparently, he was a fool in your eyes.

Fine. If that’s how this world saw him, he’d use it to his advantage.

“The southern front is already stabilizing” he continued smoothly, gesturing to the map. “If we strike before the enemy fully regroups, we force them into a defensive position and eliminate their supply routes. You can’t tell me you don’t see the logic in that.”

You narrowed your eyes, and for a moment, Sunday swore he saw something flicker across your expression.

Then, your lips curled into a humorless smile.

“Oh, I see the logic. I also see the arrogance of a man who plays at war like a gambler throwing dice.”

A collective oof rippled through the court. Even Sunday felt that one.

The tension between the two of you was so thick it could be cut with a blade.

“Tell me, Lord Sunday” you continued, “when was the last time one of your little schemes didn’t end in absolute disaster?”

That was a loaded question.

And one he definitely didn’t know the answer to.

Because he had no idea what his past self had actually done in this world.

What the hell did my predecessor do to make you hate me this much?!

Sunday knew when to back down. He had spent the past month failing your route over and over again, watching his choices backfire, and seeing your favorability bar plummet to zero in an instant. Pushing you wouldn’t work.

So, he changed tactics.

For the next few weeks, Sunday did what he did best—he studied you.

Not in the obsessive, love-struck way he had before. No, this time, he played the role the game had given him—your rival. A nuisance at court, a persistent thorn in your side, someone you could never quite get rid of.

But somewhere along the way, he started slipping into your life.

When you left the palace on a diplomatic mission, your caravan mysteriously found safe passage through bandit territory—unaware that Sunday had bribed the local mercenaries to keep them away.

When you spent long nights buried in military reports, a second set of documents would appear on your desk—already summarized with the most critical information highlighted.

When an assassination attempt nearly succeeded in the dead of night, your would-be killer was found dead in an alley the next morning. The guards claimed they had no idea who had done it.

And your favorability bar?

It didn’t move.

No matter how many times Sunday secretly lent a hand, no matter how much effort he put in, you remained completely indifferent to him.

It was infuriating.

It was addicting.

But then, Kristiana betrayed you.

And Sunday knew—this was it. This was where he had to step in.

Kristiana—your most trusted friend, the one person you had allowed yourself to rely on—had sold you out.

For what?

Power. Influence. A higher seat at the table.

Sunday had seen the signs before you did.

But even he hadn’t expected it to be this cruel.

By the time you realized, it was too late.

The palace was in an uproar, whispers spreading like wildfire. You had been accused of treason. Fabricated evidence, falsified reports—all of it meticulously crafted to erase you from power.

And it would have worked.

If Sunday hadn’t stepped in.

When you were dragged into the throne room, stripped of your titles and power, the nobles stood like vultures, watching your downfall with thinly veiled amusement. Kristiana stood at the front, her expression unreadable.

And then—

Sunday spoke.

“...What an interesting turn of events.”

His voice was lazy, amused, and every single person in the room stiffened. Because Sunday never spoke at these gatherings unless he had something dangerous to say.

You turned to him, eyes narrowing. “What are you playing at?”

He ignored you.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but are we really accusing the kingdom’s greatest strategist of treason?” He chuckled. “How convenient. And Kristiana, of all people, is the one bringing it forward?”

Kristiana lifted her chin. “The evidence is irrefutable.”

Sunday tilted his head. “Is it?”

Then, before anyone could react, he threw a stack of papers onto the table.

“What—” Kristiana’s eyes widened.

Sunday grinned. “Because I have evidence too. And mine says you’re the traitor.”

Kristiana paled.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he said, “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

He turned to look at you “I told you, didn’t I?” His voice was quieter now, softer, just for you. “You don’t have to fight alone.”

And for the first time since you met him, since he arrived in this world, your favorability bar moved.

All eyes were on Sunday. It was infuriating how effortlessly he controlled the room.

He had just turned your execution trial into his own personal stage.

Kristiana’s hands trembled as she stared at the documents he had thrown onto the table. Papers filled with her secret dealings, her correspondence with enemy factions—detailed proof that she had orchestrated everything.

You didn’t know whether to feel furious or relieved.

Kristiana quickly schooled her expression, regaining her composure. “This is absurd” she said sharply, eyes flicking between Sunday and the king. “Lord Sunday has always opposed Y/N. He has no reason to support them now unless—”

Her gaze snapped to you, then back to Sunday.

“…Unless he’s playing a game of his own.”

She was right. Sunday was known for strategy, deception, manipulation. He wasn’t a savior. He was your rival. You thought.

This wasn’t kindness—this was tactics.

Kristiana latched onto that, her voice rising. “Your Majesty, can’t you see? This is just another one of his ploys! He—he’s aligning with them to further his own agenda!”

Sunday let out a low chuckle.

“Now, now, Kristiana.” His tone was almost mocking. “If that were true, wouldn’t it make you the fool for not realizing it sooner?”

Kristiana’s face burned red with rage.

And you didn’t know what to believe.

Sunday’s interference had saved you. But why?

You weren’t friends. You weren’t allies. You were enemies.

“Your Majesty” Sunday finally said, turning to the king with that same, insufferable confidence. “With all due respect, I think it’s clear who the real traitor is.”

The king’s gaze flickered between you and Kristiana. The weight of the court’s murmurs filled the air.

“Guards” the king ordered. “…Take Kristiana into custody.”

“Wait—!”

The guards moved instantly, seizing her arms before she could react. She thrashed against them, screaming your name—screaming that you would regret this. That Sunday would betray you, too.

And maybe she was right.

You didn’t even notice how tightly your hands had curled into fists until you felt the sting of your own nails against your palms.

The moment the doors slammed shut behind Kristiana’s struggling form, the tension in the room finally snapped.

“What do you want?” you asked him, voice carefully neutral.

Sunday smiled.

“I’m resigning from my position as Grand Strategist.”

The room erupted.

“You—”

Sunday’s smirk didn’t waver as he turned his back on them all. “Figure the rest out yourselves. I’m done.”

And with that, he walked away.

Sunday had abandoned his entire career.

For what?

You didn’t know.

And that was the most dangerous part of all.

The tavern was dimly lit, the scent of alcohol and warm food hanging in the air. It was quieter than usual—most of the patrons had already retreated to their rooms or stumbled home.

Sunday sat alone in the corner, one hand wrapped loosely around a glass of dark liquor. He wasn’t drunk, but there was a sluggishness to his movements.

His fingers tapped idly against the table as he swirled the drink in his hand. Resigning had been necessary. The position was a leash, binding him to forces he had no control over. And if he wanted to truly be close to you— if he wanted to get everything he desired—

He had to start over.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

His eyes snapped open.

You stood at the entrance of the tavern. Unlike in the palace, where your every movement was calculated, here, in the dim light of the inn, there was something… different about you.

Sunday leaned back in his chair, “What, no gloating? I thought you’d be thrilled to see me jobless and miserable.”

You sighed, stepping forward. “I don’t have time for your dramatics.”

You pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, elbows resting on the worn wooden table.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Kristiana was a problem,” he said simply. “I dealt with it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

For a moment, he considered telling you the truth. That you were the reason. That, in another life, he had spent weeks chasing after you, memorizing every dialogue choice, failing and failing just to see you look at him with something other than cold indifference.

That this was all a game to him once—but now?

Now, it was his reality.

“Would you believe me if I said I was just tired of playing the role they wanted me to?”

Your brows furrowed, caught off guard by his sincerity.

“I should just let you waste away here, but…”

You hesitated. Then, with a sigh, you reached into your coat and slid a folded letter across the table.

“…I need a strategist.”

His fingers brushed over the letter as he picked it up, unfolding it with careful precision. His eyes scanned the contents—an official contract, under your seal. The offer was clear: a position within your faction, under your personal command.

He had to bite back the grin threatening to form.

Staying in the palace as Grand Strategist kept him shackled to the court’s politics, unable to act freely. But working under you?

That gave him access to everything.

To you.

“Does this mean we’re friends now?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I accept.”

And just like that—

He had slipped right back into your life.

The first few days of having Sunday around were... strange.

You weren’t used to having someone constantly at your side. At first, you thought giving him a position as your personal servant was just a way to keep him under control—make sure he wasn’t scheming something behind your back. After all, he was your enemy.

Or at least, he used to be.

Now, he was everywhere.

You barely had a moment to breathe without Sunday inserting himself into your routine. If you so much as reached for a teapot, he was already pouring your tea. If you sighed after a long day of dealing with incompetent nobles, he was magically at your side, hands on your shoulders, pressing into the knots of tension like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Why are you still here?” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Sunday, standing beside your desk, completely unbothered, merely hummed as he flipped through the reports you had been working on. “Making sure you don’t overwork yourself.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Mm. Clearly.” He held up a document, tilting his head. “Like this mistake right here?”

You snatched the paper from his hand, scanning it quickly—only to freeze when you spotted the minor miscalculation. Your grip on the paper tightened.

Sunday smirked. “You’re welcome.”

You exhaled sharply, setting the document down before rubbing your temples. “I should fire you.”

“But you won’t.”

With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, exhaustion settling in. You had been working since morning, and the strain was finally catching up to you.

Without a word, Sunday moved behind you.

Before you could react, his hands were on your shoulders, fingers pressing into the knots of tension with practiced ease.

“…You’re tense”

You gritted your teeth. “Maybe because someone keeps breathing down my neck.”

He chuckled, his fingers working at the tension with slow, deliberate pressure. It felt annoyingly good. You hated to admit it, but he was good at this.

“You know” he said, “I think I’m growing on you.”

Your eyes snapped open.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And yet, he didn’t stop.

---

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Secret route triggered. Remaining lives: 4

Sunday gasped as his consciousness was yanked back into existence. One moment, there was nothing—just the cold, suffocating embrace of death. And then, suddenly—He was back.

He jolted upright, hand instinctively clutching his chest. He could still feel it. The sharp pain. The blood. The sheer betrayal.

You had killed him.

Not out of hatred. Not out of revenge.

But because you thought he was scheming against you.

The memory was blurry. He remembered standing in your office, your cold, empty gaze, the guards stepping forward—your blade piercing through him.

This was new. The system had never interfered like this before. He had suspected that this world wasn’t entirely real, but for it to suddenly have rules about death?

The message had been clear:

If he died four more times, he was gone for good.

And there was only one way to stop that from happening.

He had to figure out why you had killed him.

-2nd life-

This time, Sunday was careful.

He stayed out of sight. He watched. He listened. He took note of everything—the way the guards moved, the shifts in your behavior, the whispers among the servants.

And yet, despite all his caution, he still died.

A dagger in the dark.

Slipping through his ribs as he passed through the halls alone.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Remaining lives: 3

-3rd life-

He wasn’t alone this time.

He stuck by your side closer than ever, watching you, watching your people. And still— The moment he took a sip of wine, his throat locked up. His vision blurred. Poison. As his body collapsed to the floor, he saw the wide-eyed horror on your face, the way you rushed to his side.

The way you whispered, "Who did this?"

But the system was already pulling him back.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Remaining lives: 2

---

When he came back again, Sunday finally had enough pieces.

He had overheard the murmurs between the palace servants. How they whispered in dark corners, how they spoke of him as if he was a threat. How someone had been spreading lies about him to you.

You had always been calculating. If you believed he was plotting something, then that meant you were given evidence.

Fabricated evidence.

And just like that—he knew.

Someone in your inner circle wanted him dead.

And if he didn’t fix it soon,

he would die for real.

Sunday had two lives left.

This time, he didn’t act recklessly. He smiled at the servants. Charmed the guards. Pretended he didn’t know that any of them had already been responsible for his previous deaths.

And most importantly?

He stayed close to you.

It didn’t take long for him to confirm his suspicions.

The whispers in the halls, the stolen glances between certain attendants, the way they avoided his gaze whenever he passed. Someone had been feeding you lies about him.

Twisting the truth. Painting him as a traitor.

And the final piece clicked into place when he overheard a conversation outside the grand hall.

“Has the master grown suspicious?”

“Not yet. But if that man continues to cling to them, we’ll have to push harder. The evidence is nearly ready.”

Evidence.

They think they can manipulate me?

They have no idea who they’re dealing with.

He had to move carefully.

But even knowing what he knew, he still miscalculated.

Sunday had been following the movements of one of the suspicious attendants, gathering clues, trying to find solid proof before he confronted you—

When he felt the cold press of a blade against his throat.

“You should have stayed in your place.”

The blade sliced.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅.

-Last chance-

Sunday woke up shaking.

This was it. One life left.

The moment he was revived, he went straight to you.

He didn’t wait for the lies to spread again. Didn’t wait for another chance to be stabbed in the dark.

He had to make you listen. So when he found you in your private study, brow furrowed over a new report, Sunday did something he had never done before.

He dropped to his knees.

“What are you—?”

“Someone has been feeding you false information about me.”

“What?”

“I don’t know who exactly is behind it, but I have proof that some of the palace attendants have been manipulating you,” he said, voice low and urgent. “I’ve overheard them talking. The whispers in the halls. The fabricated ‘evidence’ against me.”

“Tell me,” he said, “what did they show you?”

You hesitated.

Your fingers tightened over the report in your hands.

Sunday saw the conflict in your eyes, the way your mind worked behind that carefully unreadable expression.

For weeks, he had been watching you—learning you. Every minute change in your stance, the flicker of your gaze when something unsettled you. And now?

You were unsettled.

Good.

That meant he was getting somewhere.

“Tell me, then.” Your voice was composed, but he could hear the tension beneath it. “What do you think I saw?”

“Something that made me look like a traitor.”

He pressed on.

“Documents with my forged signature? Secret meetings I never attended?” His voice lowered. “Maybe even an intercepted message—words twisted just enough to convince you that I had been plotting against you all along.”

Sunday exhaled slowly. “You didn’t question it because it made sense, didn’t it?” He tilted his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “Because I’ve always been your biggest obstacle. Because I’ve always been the one who stood against you.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t deny it, either.

He needed to tread carefully. One wrong move, and you could still see him as a threat.

“But even after all that… you let me stay by your side.” He tilted his head, watching your reaction. “Why?”

“You were useful.”

“Liar”

Sunday sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look. You don’t trust me. Fine. But at least trust yourself.” His voice softened. “Think about it, really think about it—was there ever a time I actually betrayed you?”

Sunday leaned back slightly, voice steady as he gave his final push. “If you still want to kill me after thinking it through, then do it.”

You stared at him.

Seconds passed.

Then, your fingers loosened over the report in your hands.

You set it down.

“…Who?”

“Let me find out.”

And this time, he wouldn’t die before getting his answer.

For the first time in weeks, Sunday wasn’t lurking in the shadows or biting his tongue. No, this time, he moved freely.

You hadn’t explicitly told him to investigate, but by not ordering him to stop, you had given him permission.

And he would take full advantage of that.

Sunday wasn’t stupid. The moment he started looking too closely, his enemies would know.

So he laid a trap. He spread a rumor. A whisper in the halls, planted through a careless slip to an eavesdropping maid:

“The master is growing suspicious.”

It took less than a day for the rats to scurry.

Late into the night, Sunday followed a group of attendants as they snuck through the palace corridors, slipping into a secluded study.

He pressed against the wall, listening.

“The fool is still alive.”

Kristiana.

Your former best friend.

“No matter. The next attempt will not fail” she continued. “Their trust in him is wavering, but it is not broken. We must strike before it is too late.”

A second voice—one of your high-ranking advisors—spoke up. “Then we must act now. The documents are already prepared. A few words from our informant and the master will be forced to execute him. This time, there will be no hesitation.”

So that’s how they did it.

Forcing your hand. Setting you up so that killing him was the only logical choice.

He stepped into the dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows.

“Do you take me for a fool?”

The room fell silent.

Kristiana’s eyes widened before narrowing. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I shouldn’t be alive either, and yet, here I am.” His gaze flicked over the forged documents on the table, then back to her. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

The advisor paled. “You have no proof—”

“I don’t need proof, because you’re going to confess.”

Kristiana scoffed. “And why would we do that?”

“Because,” he murmured, taking a slow step forward, “I am still standing here.”

“And that means I know exactly what you’ve done.”

Sunday let the silence stretch before delivering the final blow:

“I wonder what will happen when I tell the master.”

Kristiana was a skilled manipulator, but even the most cunning fox could be outplayed. Still, Kristiana wasn’t the type to surrender without a fight.

“You assume Y/N will believe you.”

“I don’t assume. I know.”

Kristiana clicked her tongue, fingers twitching toward the hidden dagger at her belt.

“Let me guess. This is the part where you try to silence me?”

He didn’t give her the chance.

Before her blade could even leave its sheath, guards swarmed the room.

Her face twisted in shock as soldiers restrained her, yanking the weapon from her grasp.

Sunday turned, finally meeting your gaze as you stepped into the room.

You weren’t looking at him, though.

You were looking at Kristiana.

“…Why?”

Kristiana let out a breathless laugh. “You still don’t get it?” Her smile was sharp. “I was never going to let you win.”

“Take her away.”

[Favorability +20]

For the first time since entering this world, Sunday saw the notification appear.

All this time, he had been serving you, watching you, following you. He had given you his loyalty, his time, even his own life. And yet, only now, after clearing out the people who poisoned your ears, did the game decide to acknowledge his efforts?

Still, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he watched you.

You had been silent since Kristiana was taken away. You stood there, alone in the now-empty study, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“…You were right”

Sunday blinked. “What?”

“About Kristiana. About the lies.” Your jaw clenched. “About me being too blind to see it.”

“…You trusted her,” he said simply. “It wasn’t stupid.”

“It was careless.”

“No. It was human.”

[Favorability +10]

This time, he really did laugh.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

For the first time since Sunday entered this world, things were peaceful.

Kristiana was gone. The whispers had died down.

And you stopped looking at him with suspicion.

You still didn’t fully trust him, but that was fine.

Because you let him stay.

He continued to serve you, just like before.

When you were tired, you didn’t push him away when he set down a cup of tea beside you.

When he disappeared for a few hours, you caught yourself wondering where he had gone.

[Favorabiliy +5]

It was slow.

But it was happening.

Of course, he knew this peace wouldn’t last forever.

Kristiana might be gone, but her knowing smile haunted the back of his mind.

Something else was coming. The true storm. And Sunday would be ready.

The palace halls were silent.

The mourning drapes hung heavy over the grand windows, blocking out the golden light of dawn. Even the servants moved quietly, their usual whispers and hurried footsteps replaced by a solemn stillness.

Your father was gone.

The weight of it pressed down on you like an iron chain.

He had held on as long as he could. Even in his final hours, he had smiled at you—his tired eyes filled with warmth, his hand resting weakly over yours.

“You will be alright.”

His last words echoed in your mind.

But you weren’t.

You could barely eat. Barely drink. Barely breathe.

The world around you blurred. People came and went, offering condolences, yet their voices were distant, as if muffled by water.

And through it all—

Sunday remained.

----

You didn’t see it. Didn’t notice the way Sunday silently turned away envoys, nobles, and officials, intercepting their letters before they could reach your hands. Marriage proposals. Political alliances disguised as heartfelt offers. Opportunists circling like vultures, waiting for the moment your grief would make you vulnerable.

Sunday burned them all.

Every request. Every demand. Every veiled attempt at stealing you away.

They didn’t deserve you.

And if anyone thought they could force your hand—

Well.

They would have to go through him.

-----

The night was cold.

You sat by your father’s desk, the candlelight flickering against the tear-stained letters before you.

You hadn’t touched the meal that had been left for you.

“You need to eat.”

You didn’t respond.

He stepped closer. Gently, he placed a cup of warm broth beside you, the steam curling into the air.

Still, you didn’t move.

“…He wouldn’t want you to waste away like this.”

For a moment, Sunday thought you would ignore him again.

But then, slowly, you reached for the cup. The broth sat warm in your hands, but you barely tasted it. It was just something to do. A distraction. A meaningless action to appease Sunday so he wouldn’t pester you further.

You had expected him to leave once you took a sip.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Sunday crouched beside you, plucking a small piece of softened bread from the untouched plate.

“Here.”

“I can feed myself.”

He didn’t argue. He simply held the bread near your lips, gaze steady.

“You’ve barely eaten in days.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned forward and took a small bite.

The moment the food hit your tongue, you realized how hungry you truly were.

You had been so caught up in grief, in the crushing weight of loss, that you had ignored your own needs. But now, your body reminded you—loud and clear—that it was starving.

Sunday didn’t say anything as he picked up another piece and lifted it toward you.

And without thinking, you let him feed you.

The warmth of his fingertips, the way he wordlessly knew when to offer you water, the way his gaze never once wavered from yours.

For the first time, you actually looked at him.

He had always been there, hadn’t he? Lingering in the background, watching over you, handling things before you even had to ask.

And now, up close like this, he wasn’t that annoying.

Actually… he was— Handsome.

The thought struck you so suddenly that you nearly choked on your next bite.

Sunday blinked, brows furrowing slightly. “Careful.”

You coughed, hastily grabbing the cup of water he handed you. Heat crept up your neck, but whether it was from embarrassment or something else, you weren’t sure.

“What’s wrong? Finally realizing how charming I am?”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t push it.”

But he only chuckled, satisfied.

[Favorability +5]

You didn’t see it. The tiny, nearly imperceptible shimmer in the air—like a system notification only meant for him.

“What?” he said. “Did I get more handsome just now, or are you finally acknowledging that I’ve been devastatingly attractive this entire time?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You’re seriously fishing for compliments while feeding me?”

“Multi-tasking is an important skill.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he plucked another piece of bread from the plate and held it up, smirking, “you’re still letting me feed you.”

You froze, only just realizing it.

You could argue, push him away, reclaim some of your dignity… but you were still hungry. And honestly, this was the first real conversation you’d had since your father passed.

…It was nice.

So instead of answering, you simply huffed and took another bite, avoiding his gaze.

“You know, if I had known all it took was feeding you to make you behave, I would’ve done this ages ago.”

“I take it back. You’re annoying.”

“Too late. You already let me in.”

-----

Sunday should have been pleased.

You were recovering. You were finally eating, standing tall once more, resuming the duties your father left behind. He had worked for this. Stayed by your side through the worst of it. Protected you, fed you, shielded you from the opportunistic nobles who sought to take advantage of your grief.

And now?

Now you were back to work.

And he hated it.

Not because he wanted you to remain weak—no, he would never wish that on you. But because now, he had less control. Before, when you were withdrawn in your chambers, he was the one managing things. The one turning away suitors, handling your food, ensuring your safety without question.

But now?

Now you were surrounded by people. Officials, nobles, potential threats.

And worst of all—

You were talking to them. Laughing with them. Standing too close to them.

Sunday’s fingers twitched as he watched from the shadows of the court hall.

He couldn’t stand this.

His jaw clenched as he watched you tilt your head toward one of your advisors, listening intently to whatever nonsense they were feeding you.

You weren’t even aware of it, were you? How vulnerable you were in moments like these.

What if someone whispered poison into your ear? What if they sought to turn you against him?

His mind spun with all the possibilities—his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface—

And then, a soft chime.

A faint glow only he could see.

𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑹𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔: 𝑼𝒏𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅

Favorability: 40%

40%. It had never been this high before.

But if he had learned anything from playing this game before—

40% wasn’t enough.

Sunday’s mind was already calculating his next move when another chime echoed in his ears.

[System Assistance Available]

His eyes widened slightly. Since when?

Before, the system only interfered when he died. It never offered him anything—no guidance, no tools, nothing. But now?

He focused on the faint glow only he could see, willing the system to respond.

[Query Registered: Assistance Requested]

A loading screen flickered in his vision before a new window appeared.

[Available Items – Secret Route]

Whispering Veil – Conceals the user’s actions from others for a limited time. (1 use)

Falsified Letters – Alters the contents of incoming messages before they reach the recipient. (3 uses)

Echo Crystal – Records and replays conversations to the user. (1 use)

Subtle Influence – Temporarily shifts favorability by +5% in a critical moment. (1 use)

Locking Key – Prevents an individual from leaving a designated area for 12 hours. (1 use)

These were cheats. This world had been working against him for so long, making every step toward you a battle. But now?

Now he had weapons.

The Falsified Letters were already useful. How many proposals had he secretly turned down for you? With these, he wouldn’t have to intercept them—he could alter them entirely.

The Echo Crystal was perfect. He would find out exactly what these scheming nobles were saying to you behind his back.

But the Subtle Influence?

Sunday’s fingers twitched.

A guaranteed +5%?

It took him months to raise your favorability even this much. He could get closer right now.

…But no.

Not yet.

[Item Acquired: Echo Crystal]

Let’s see what these people were really saying.

Sunday gripped the Echo Crystal in his palm, feeling the faint warmth of its magic pulse against his skin.

Slipping out of sight, he activated the crystal. A shimmer of light pulsed from its surface before fading, leaving only a soft hum in his ears.

“We need to act soon.”

Sunday’s eyes narrowed.

The voice was familiar—one of the noble councilmen, Lord Arventis. A well-spoken official who had spent the past weeks pretending to be loyal to you.

Another voice joined in, one that sent a sharp chill through his spine.

Kristiana.

“Y/n's regaining their strength” she murmured. “If we don’t secure their hand in marriage or weaken their standing, soon they'll become untouchable.”

Sunday’s fingers curled tight around the crystal.

These leeches. These pathetic, scheming rats.

They weren’t just trying to manipulate you anymore.

They were planning to seize control.

Sunday exhaled, slipping the crystal into his sleeve as he stepped out from the shadows.

He needed a plan.

And this time?

He wasn’t playing fair.

It took two days.

Two days of watching, listening, gathering proof.

Every word spoken behind your back, every noble secretly conspiring against you—Sunday had it all.

And now?

Now, it was time to remove the pieces from the board.

One by one, carefully, subtly.

The Falsified Letters were the first to be used.

Kristiana? Lord Arventis? The others who sought to control you?

Every letter they sent—every request for a private meeting, every false plea of loyalty—was altered.

You never saw their real words.

Instead, what you received were poorly veiled insults. Demands. Mockery disguised as diplomacy.

Your anger was immediate.

Within hours, you had your court questioning their intentions.

Within a day, Lord Arventis had lost your favor.

And Kristiana?

Her carefully woven web of deception began to unravel.

Sunday watched it all unfold with quiet satisfaction.

When you looked at him that evening, your gaze lingering just a little too long—

Sunday saw it.

That flicker of realization.

That first, fragile crack in your walls. He didn’t need the system to tell him this time. You were finally seeing him.

Sunday had been waiting for the right moment.

The Locking Key wasn’t something to use carelessly. It was a tool meant for control, for ensuring that no one could interfere with what was about to happen.

It happened without warning. The door, which had been perfectly fine just moments ago, let out a soft click.

You frowned, standing up to test the handle, only for it to remain firmly shut. “…Strange.”

Sunday, who had been silently refilling your tea, glanced up in feigned curiosity. “Something wrong?”

You jiggled the handle again. “The door isn’t opening.”

His lips parted in mock surprise. “Oh?”

You turned to face him, your exhaustion making you more irritable than usual. “Did you do something?”

He blinked at you, the perfect picture of innocence. “Why would I lock us in?”

“Then what, the palace just decided to trap me here?”

He hummed in thought. “Maybe it’s fate.”

You shot him a glare, but deep down, you knew there was no use fighting it. You were tired—too tired—and the energy to argue with him simply wasn’t there.

The weight of the past few days had finally caught up to you. The grief, the stress, the endless work… it was pressing down on your chest, your body begging for rest.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you brought them to your temple.

Sunday noticed immediately.

“Sit” he murmured.

You resisted. “I’m fine.”

“You can barely stand.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, something shifted. A strange warmth settled in your mind—a pull, a quiet lure, almost like… magic. It was subtle, like a whisper, telling you that you should just listen to him. That for once, you could stop fighting.

Your legs moved before you could think.

You collapsed into the nearest seat, but the hard wooden chair was uncomfortable, your body aching as you tried to relax.

Sunday sighed. “You’ll never rest like that.”

He moved forward, taking the empty space beside you—no, not beside. Right behind.

Before you could react, his hands were on your arms, guiding you gently but insistently. “Come here.”

Your breath hitched. “What—”

He pulled you onto his lap.

You should’ve moved. But your exhaustion made you weak, and your body—traitorous, selfish—sank into him instead.

His warmth seeped into your skin, his steady breathing oddly calming as your head rested against his shoulder. His fingers brushed against your wrist before settling at your back in a silent reassurance.

“…Better?” he asked softly.

You hesitated, then—reluctantly—nodded.

“You’re finally listening to me.”

You hated the way your face warmed.

[Favorability +30]

Sunday felt the chime before he saw the number.

Thirty. Thirty?

That was insane.

Nothing he’d done before—no silent loyalty, no favors, no devotion—had ever made your favorability jump this high.

He had expected a modest increase, maybe five or ten points at most. But this?

This was a breakthrough.

His mind raced, replaying every second leading up to this moment. The exhaustion, the quiet lure of his voice, the way you had naturally leaned into him without fighting.

And then it clicked.

You liked skinship.

Or rather, you found comfort in it.

Not that you’d ever admit it, of course. You were still too stubborn, too prideful to say it out loud. But your body?

Your body didn’t lie.

It was something subconscious, something deeply ingrained in you that even you didn’t seem aware of.

All this time, he had been carefully balancing between too much and too little, afraid of pushing his luck. And yet, the answer had been right in front of him—literal physical closeness.

Of course, he couldn’t abuse it recklessly. You were quick to irritation, your temper flaring if someone overstepped.

But if he did it right…

If he played this carefully…

Then he had just unlocked his greatest weapon.

His arms tightened around you slightly, as if testing the waters, but he didn’t push further. For now, he let you rest against him, let you trust him.

And when your breathing evened out, when the tension in your muscles melted completely, Sunday only smiled to himself.

Checkmate.

----

The next morning, when you drowsily shuffled into the dining hall, he was already there, waiting. He handed you a steaming cup of tea, but instead of simply setting it down, he took your hand in his, guiding your fingers around the cup.

[Favorability +5]

A test—and a success.

You barely reacted, too groggy to care. But it worked.

At midday, when you were busy drafting letters and reviewing reports, he appeared by your side with an ink-stained cloth.

Without a word, he took your hand and gently wiped the smudge off your fingers.

You stiffened for a second but didn’t pull away.

[Favorability +7]

And so, the pattern continued.

Each day, a small touch here, a silent act there. Never enough to raise suspicion, never enough to cross a line, but just enough to nudge you closer.

[Favorability +2]

At 84%, you had stopped questioning him.

At 87%, you had stopped fighting it.

And now?

90%.

The notification chimed in his ears.

You still didn’t notice.

But he did.

And now, the only thing left to do…

Was push you past the threshold.

---

Sunday had been playing the game well. He had spent days getting closer, learning your preferences, adjusting his every move to keep you comfortable while steadily increasing your favorability.

But what he didn’t know—what he never could have anticipated—was that the more you grew attached to him…

The more possessive you became.

It wasn’t obvious at first. A lingering glance here, an oddly fixated stare there.

Then it got worse.

And today?

Today, you were seething.

You stared at Sunday across the dining table, your fingers gripping the silverware a little too tightly as you cut into your meal.

He was being too calm.

Like he had nothing to be guilty for.

“So.”

Sunday barely looked up from his plate. “So?”

“I heard you were with the maid today.”

He paused for a fraction of a second before responding. “…I was.”

That made your grip tighten.

You placed your utensils down with a little too much force. “You were seen with her at the market.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but his expression remained composed. “She was just getting supplies. I needed to ask about—”

“Flowers?” you cut in, your tone sharp.

His lips parted in realization. “…You’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” you lied. “I’m simply asking why my personal servant was out shopping for flowers with another woman.”

Sunday stared at you, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.

You weren’t supposed to be like this.

You weren’t supposed to care.

But you did.

Because the way you felt at that moment—the way your blood boiled at the idea of him entertaining someone else, at the thought of him being kind to someone that wasn’t you—it was irrational. Terrifyingly so.

“…You think I was flirting?”

“Wasn’t it?”

Something flickered in his gaze before he let out a small breath. Then, he placed his utensils down and leaned forward.

“Look at me.”

“If I wanted to flirt, don’t you think you’d be the first to know?”

You should have let it go.

You should have brushed it off, laughed, changed the subject.

But instead, you found yourself gripping the edge of the table, voice quiet but trembling with something unfamiliar. “…Then don’t do it.”

Sunday’s smirk faltered.

For the first time, he saw it.

The hint of something deeper in your eyes.

This wasn’t just a favorability boost anymore.

This was dangerous.

And for the first time…

He wasn’t sure who was hunting who.

[Favorability: 96%] → [Favorability: 94%]

Why?

He had been so careful, every action calculated, every touch measured. You were supposed to be getting closer, not slipping away.

Just as he was about to summon the system, a knock echoed through his room, followed by the soft creak of the door opening.

“Who were you talking to?”

For a split second, panic clawed at his chest, but he forced himself to relax, plastering on his usual lazy smirk.

“Talking? I was just thinking out loud.” He leaned back, stretching as if nothing was wrong. “Why? Miss me already?”

Your eyes didn’t waver.

“…Let’s go for a walk.”

Sunday blinked. “…A walk?”

You nodded, stepping further inside. “You’ve been inside all day, haven’t you? A change of atmosphere would be good.”

His mind raced. He needed answers from the system—but with you watching him like a hawk, there was no way he could summon it now.

“…Fine.” He stood, brushing himself off. “But if this is some elaborate scheme to make me carry all your shopping bags, I’ll protest.”

You scoffed. “As if I’d waste your time with something so trivial.”

(But if it meant keeping you outside longer, he wouldn’t have minded.)

The air was cool, a soft breeze brushing against the streets as you and Sunday wandered through the bustling town. You had led him to a small ice cream stand, insisting that since it was his first time out in a while, he should try something sweet.

Sunday wasn’t really one for desserts, but the moment he saw the way your eyes lit up as you tasted yours, he found himself taking a bite of his own without complaint.

“What do you think?”

Sunday tapped his chin, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… tastes better than I expected.”

You rolled your eyes. “You could just say you like it, you know.”

“And give you the satisfaction of being right?” He smirked. “Never.”

You huffed, taking another bite of your own, and he had to force himself to look away before he stared too long.

Then, it happened.

You took a step forward—and slipped.

Sunday’s body reacted before he could think.

In an instant, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you against him just before you could hit the ground.

The ice cream you had been holding slipped from your grip, landing pathetically on the pavement, but neither of you reacted to it.

Because at that moment, you were way too close.

Your face was inches from his, your breath warm against his skin.

Your hands had instinctively grabbed onto his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric. You weren’t moving away.

[Favorability +3]

“…You okay?”

Sunday swallowed, forcing himself to breathe.

He was the one who caught you—so why did it feel like he was the one about to fall?

Sunday wasn’t sure how long he held you like that.

Seconds? Minutes?

It didn’t matter.

Because all he could focus on was the warmth of your body against his, the way your breath hitched slightly as you realized how close you were.

Your hands were still resting against his chest, fingers lightly curled into the fabric of his clothes. His arm, firm and unmoving, remained around your waist, securing you in place.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

“…Are you going to let me go?”

“Do you want me to?”

Your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering down to where his fingers pressed into your side, then back up to his eyes.

You didn’t answer.

And he didn’t need you to.

His other hand lifted instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

Sunday had spent so long trying to read you, to predict your reactions, to find ways to win you over. But right now?

You were looking at him like you were the one figuring him out.

Slowly, your hand slid up from his chest to rest lightly against his collarbone. The touch was hesitant but intentional.

You weren’t pushing him away.

If anything, you were leaning in.

His grip around you tightened slightly as his gaze flickered to your lips. He could kiss you right now.

And then—

“Ah! Your Grace!”

Both of you froze.

Sunday barely had time to react before someone practically materialized beside you, bowing so quickly they almost fell over.

“It’s an honor to see you again! Thank you for your generosity the other day—our village has been thriving because of your kindness!”

Your entire body went rigid.

Sunday could feel the way your muscles tensed, your hands jerking away from him like you had just realized what was happening.

The warmth disappeared.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

You coughed, taking an awkward step back. “Ah, yes. Of course. I’m…glad to hear that.”

Sunday clenched his jaw, forcing himself to exhale slowly.

He turned his head slightly—only to see you blushing.

Not just a small, embarrassed flush—a full-on, heated, flustered mess.

Sunday blinked.

You? Blushing? Over him?

His heart nearly stopped.

And that was before he felt the warmth creeping up his own neck.

His ears burned.

You glanced at him briefly, eyes darting away almost immediately when you realized he was already looking at you.

Sunday almost cursed out loud. Instead, he cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from grabbing you again. “…We should keep walking.”

You nodded way too fast. “Y-Yeah. Let’s go.”

The villager beamed, bowing once more before stepping aside.

And as the two of you walked off—still visibly flustered, still awkwardly avoiding each other’s gaze—Sunday let out a small breath.

Maybe that damn favorability bar was a nightmare to raise.

But right now?

He didn’t even need to check it to know that something between you had changed.

Sunday woke up with an immediate sense of wrongness.

For one—his arms didn’t move.

For two—his legs didn’t move.

For three—you were straddling him.

He blinked, slowly coming to terms with his predicament. His wrists were tied to the bedposts. His ankles were similarly restrained. And above him, sitting comfortably atop his waist, you were smirking down at him.

“…I must still be dreaming”

You chuckled. “Oh, you’re awake? That’s good. I was starting to think you were just pretending.”

Sunday squinted at you. “Why. Am I. Tied up.”

You shrugged, tilting your head in mock innocence. “I thought I’d do something different today. Y’know, entertain you.”

His lips parted, a dumbfounded expression flickering over his face.

Entertain him.

He was seconds away from losing his mind.

Your fingers drummed along his chest, your weight warm and solid against him. “You seem awfully close with the maids these days. I thought perhaps… I should remind you where your loyalties lie.”

Sunday stared.

“Excuse me?”

You smiled, leaning in slightly.

The warmth of your breath tickled his cheek. “You’ve been talking a lot with them, haven’t you?”

You were jealous.

The realization slammed into him like a freight train.

The hours he had spent gathering information—asking the maids about your favorite foods, your daily habits, your preferences—had backfired spectacularly.

And now here you were, pinning him to his own damn bed.

Sunday had never, in all his life, imagined the ‘Impossible Route’ would turn out like this.

You leaned in even closer, lips dangerously near his ear. “…You should be more careful. People might think you’re plotting something.”

His jaw clenched.

His heartbeat thundered.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And you were enjoying every second of it.

Sunday inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain calm. “Alright. You’ve had your fun. Now untie me.”

You hummed in thought, fingers lazily tracing the outline of his collarbone. “Mmm… I don’t know. I think I like you like this.”

Sunday's patience snapped.

In one swift motion, he flexed his wrists and ripped free of the bindings.

Before you could react, Sunday flipped you over, pinning you beneath him.

Your back hit the mattress, your wrists caught in his grip. The tables had turned.

“My turn.”

You barely had time to blink before he leaned down—and stole your lips.

Your mind went blank.

Sunday pulled back just enough to see the dazed look in your eyes, his lips still hovering over yours.

“Next time you try to trap me” he murmured, “make sure I can’t escape.”

And then—

The door swung open.

“…Oh.”

Sunday didn’t move.

You didn’t move.

The servant froze in place.

A long, suffocating silence filled the room.

“…Should I come back later?”

You shoved Sunday off of you so hard he nearly fell off the bed.

“GET OUT.”

The servant practically tripped over themselves trying to flee.

The door slammed shut.

You and Sunday sat there for a moment, staring at each other.

Your face? Completely red.

Sunday, meanwhile, simply grinned.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“SHUT UP.”

You avoided him for the rest of the day.

Which, really, was adorable.

Every time Sunday entered a room, you’d suddenly be very interested in a random document or an irrelevant piece of decor. The moment his eyes met yours? Immediate retreat. He’d never seen you so utterly defeated before—it was addicting.

And that blush? That frustrated, completely flustered look?

He wanted to see more of it.

You tried to act like nothing had happened the next morning. You sat at your usual spot, drinking tea as if the past twenty-four hours hadn’t completely obliterated your composure.

Sunday casually poured himself a cup and sat across from you, resting his chin in his palm.

“So.” He smirked. “That was quite the reaction yesterday.”

You choked on your tea.

Coughing violently, you shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

“You’re not denying it?”

Finally, you set your cup down with a soft clink and exhaled sharply.

“…Fine.” You looked at him, shoulders squared, lips pressed into a thin line. “I admit it. I lost that round.”

“Round?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb.”

His grin widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “…You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am. Still by your side.”

You faltered. Your fingers curled slightly, as if hesitant to say what you were thinking. Sunday watched as you took a slow breath, steadying yourself.

Then, with clear reluctance, you muttered—

“…I suppose I don’t mind.”

He almost forgot how to breathe.

You weren’t looking at him, too focused on the way your tea swirled in your cup. But Sunday could see it—the faintest hint of a smile on your lips. The soft flush still lingering on your ears.

[Favorability: 100%]

His heart skipped a beat.

You finally looked back at him, eyebrow raised. “Why are you staring?”

Sunday blinked. He schooled his expression just in time, lips curling into his usual smirk.

“…No reason.”

But inside?

Inside, he knew.

He had won.

And he would never let you go.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #honkai star rail sunday #sunday hsr #sunday #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n

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saintobio · 5 months ago

Text

☆ sorry for disappearing…

when i decided to put my blog on private, it was the only solution i could think of to end my dilemma. a dilemma that sprung from the anxiety i get whenever i log into tumblr, realizing i’m keeping people waiting over an update that hasn’t happened in almost a year. i wish there was a better way to describe how i felt, but there’s just so much pressure and anxiety that accompany a writer who has an on-going series of a popular jjk character.

if you’ve been with me since 2021, you probably know the struggles i faced before i ultimately left my blog archived. back then, i never imagined i would return to running this blog. but it was my love for writing that brought me back, hoping i could start fresh as long as i knew how to set boundaries between myself and the people consuming my fics. and i could say, all was going well, until…

until i get daily messages about how it’s taking me so long to update a certain series, how i’m writing too much for another fandom, how i’m never fulfilling my promises of posting an update. it must be the trauma, but the unease of existing on tumblr began to build up inside me, reminding me of the days when i was made to feel like i did something wrong for simply posting. with that, i had grown paranoid, thinking that every time i check my notes, there would always be one or two person sending me the most ridiculous messages/comments.

i never realized just how much my experience in 2021 scarred me ‘til this day.

and the only remedy i could think of was to escape. or hide. or be unseen. for my peace of mind, for the silence. all while thinking no one’s really going to notice.

but logging in again made me realize that there are people i’ve disappointed for my sudden disappearance, people who wished me nothing but good things, people who genuinely supported me in and out of this blog, people who appreciate my works even if i’m no longer as active. to those people, i want to say i’m sorry, and that i assure you that i’m doing better.

however, i also hope that i’m not just seen as the writer who only wrote sincerely not. i hope that i’m given the same amount of support and liberty to write for characters and stories that i’m equally passionate about. wherever my hyper-fixations take me, i hope i’m not treated as if i’ve abandoned what my blog was known for. i never wanted to feel caged by writing only sn/sy. i need the space to explore other characters, other genres, before i lose myself in the pressure of just producing.

if you’re still here, thank you. i can’t promise to be fully back, but i’ll take it one step at a time.

love, saint.

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zeropro · 4 months ago

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Now that starscreams with the autobots have you considered the new dynamic of ‘Starscream casually saying something incredibly messed up about megatrons treatment of him without realising how bad it’, while the autobots all give him varying looks of are u ok? And WTF!

Meanwhile thundercracker is just so relieved to finally have others than can confirm how bad megatrons treatment of him was, I’m honestly imagining him pulling a full “see I told you so!” Moment before it hits him how incredibly insensitive that was (he’s stressed and and let a moment of relief get to him).

Skywarp also definitely has mixed feelings because he’s only just beginning to fully understand that megatron did abuse starscream and in his blind loyalty to megatron he either ignored it or even defended his abuse, so seeing it so blatantly confirmed that yeah that was messed up and I made it worse is a hard blow.

I figure I'll respond to this since I'm pretty sure I wont be able to communicate this in any way otherwise, but I have been suggested a few times now that Starscream would say something messed up without realizing how messed up it is.

I think yall need to give Starscream more credit. He's a schemer (dare I say a manipulator), he's very smart, and he is hyper vigilant about how others perceive him. Starscream absolutely knows when he says something messed up, he might even do it on purpose to get a rise out of someone while feigning ignorance. Starscream knows how messed up the situation with Megatron is, he probably prides himself in being able to "handle it" as "well" as he does.

No if anyone is saying messed up stuff and has no idea how messed up it comes across it's Skywarp. Guy's been killing people from birth, war and violence and depersonalization have been so normalized to him he'd definitely end up saying something and be like "oh my bad was that not a casual thing to say in normal conversation?"

Thundercracker would def be feeling massive validation for everything he's been morally conflicted on, tho I think it would come with a big helping of guilt because he did go along with it for a long time. I like the idea that the stress and moment of relief makes him say something insensitive before he realizes it. Haven't thought too much about it tbh.

You're def right about Skywarp only just beginning to fully understand what Megatron did to Starscream. His loyalty had been wavering for a while but it's so easy to just go along with what you know when you dont bother to think too hard about stuff, and I think the admiration turning into fear didn't quite register until very recently.

Thank you for your comment!

#transformers

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myfictionaldreams · 2 years ago

Note

Slides in with a bucky request!

Can you do a possoves bucky? Like someone flirts with her and that leads to an argument that leads to to feelings coming out with marking dirty talk and rough sex? Pretty please

Always Watching // Bucky x Fem!Reader

Requested by: hey bestie, thanks for the request!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, possessive behaviour, obsession, jealousy, threats of violence, enemies to lovers, pining, unwanted attention, flirting, sexual harassment, arguing, rough kissing, biting, marking, scratching, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, overstimulation, light dom/sub, hair pulling, oral (f receiving), size kink

Words: 6.3k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The word used to describe your relationship with Bucky Barnes was ‘strained’. Strained because you’d prefer it if it were at least adequate, and no one could fault you for the attempts made at becoming his friend and helping him with the transition from the Winter Soldier to a member of the Avengers. In truth, you’d tried more than most to help him, especially as he was still at risk of being compromised and shifting back to the assassin’s mindset. You prided yourself on your compassion and empathy, always providing physical and mental support to Bucky, asking how he was, helping him move into the Avengers tower and adjust to going on missions.

Except, somewhere along the way, it had become evident that from at least Bucky’s perspective, you were a person to keep at arm’s length. Your questions would be ignored, and your attempts to help in medical situations would be pushed away. The only responses you’d receive were belittling comments or fierce glares that would have you backing away from the man and shutting your mouth. Even when you kept to yourself, his eyes always seemed to follow you around the room, eyes burning with what you assumed to be hatred, like he was plotting all the ways to eradicate you.

For some unknown reason, Bucky Barnes seemed to hate you, and you had no idea what you’d done to offend him. The other Avengers and agents you called your friends had all implored that he didn’t hate you, but when you stated the experience you’d received from the long-haired man, there was no response but an awkward close-lipped smile and shrug of the shoulders.

This treatment had been going on for months now, avoidance, glare and comments under his breath, and you were slowly getting to the end of your rope. Even earlier in the day, he somehow managed to get under your skin with only one sentence.

“Are you really going out in that dress?”

At first, you’d been embarrassed and somewhat mortified by his comment, wishing to cover up the beautiful dress that Natasha had helped you to pick that emphasised your body shape and the perfect colour to compliment your skin tone. Soon, the embarrassment changed to anger, finding the comment rude and unnecessary. Who was he to say what it was that you wore? Especially tonight, everyone had returned from a difficult mission and decided it was about time the team let their hair down and went to a nightclub for drinks.

Other than the comment, the rest of your night was amazing. You were feeling a light buzz from the alcohol and danced so much that your calves were beginning to burn from standing in the heels borrowed from Natasha. Even as you became lost in the music and masses of people squeezed into the club, you were still hyper-aware of the man watching you from where he was leaning against the wall.

“Does he even blink?” you shouted, attempting to be over the pounding bass to the red-haired woman you were dancing with.

Natasha tipped her head back and laughed, glancing over her shoulder a second later to assess the man who seemed to be staring at you constantly. Bucky didn’t even have the gall to look away in embarrassment, having been caught staring and that only made Nat’s smile widen as she turned back to you with a twinkle now in her eyes.

“You know why he’s staring”, she says matter of factly, swaying her hips as she talks into your ear.

Your eyes roll so hard that you have a momentary headache. “He does not have a crush on me. Can you please stop saying that? The man clearly hates me! I feel like my skin is burning from his stare, like he wishes me to combust spontaneously.”

After the tight-lipped smiles from your friends, they would often tease that maybe he was being so mean and hateful because he had a crush on you. You’d laughed initially, and some small part of you was hopeful that this was the case, but the more he belittled, embarrassed and ignored you, the more evident that was not the case.

“Maybe he’s just admiring the dress that I know he loves”, Natasha shouts confidently, grabbing your hand and twirling you around in an attempt to show off your outfit.

Despite her ridiculous statement, you laughed, “Well, he has an interesting way of admiring it! I’m going to go and get another drink. Do you need one?”

Natasha shook her head and held up her beer bottle, which was still over half full. Giving her one last smile, you made your way through the sweaty, head bobbing with the music until you finally found a free area at the bar, which was busy enough that you knew it would be a while before being served.

Someone pressed against your arm as a new person also had similar ideas to you, leaning on the bar and trying to get the staff’s attention with a click of his fingers. You took a deep breath to try and refrain from rolling your eyes at the arrogance of the man next to you, who was leaning on his forearm on the bar side.

“What are you having?” he shouted confidently with a grin, and it took you a good minute to realise he was talking to you.

“Oh, no, it’s ok. I’m getting my own drink; I’m sure it won’t take long”, you politely decline, turning your body away from him for a moment, hoping to catch the eye of the bar staff so you didn’t have to stay there any more with the guy next to you.

“Nonsense, pretty girl like you shouldn’t be buying your own drink. Come on, let me buy you a drink. I’m Chad, by the way”, he responds whilst sticking his hand out for you to shake. You stare at the hand before shaking it with a limp wrist, wanting to show that you aren’t enthusiastic about the conversation.

“Nice to meet you, Chad. I appreciate the offer, but I’m really fine buying my drink”. You pull your hand out of his grasp and try to take a step away, but there are so many people at the bar that there’s nowhere to go. Chad only moved closer, ignoring your discomfort as he leaned his face towards yours.

“Don’t be like that, Baby, it’s just a drink. Your dress is beautiful, by the way, it really makes your…eyes pop” As he spoke, he was not looking at your eyes as you crossed your arms to cover your chest. “Are you here alone? Maybe we can grab a drink and go somewhere beautiful; I’d love to get to know you on a more personal level”, Chad asked, lifting his fingers to stroke the apples of your cheeks.

“She’s not alone, and get your fucking hands off of her”, came an aggressive voice from behind as a warm chest brushed against your back.

Bucky pushed against Chad’s shoulder, giving him enough space to stand between the two of you, so now you’re staring at his back as he protectively became a shield for you.

“Hey man, what the fuck’s your problem! Who do you think you are, touching me like that?!” Chad shouted loudly enough that others began to turn and stare at the scene.

You could feel the thickness of the atmosphere, and there was nothing more you wanted to do than de-escalate the situation, not wanting Bucky to get into any further trouble as he was already being watched like a hawk by Shield.

“Bucky, please stop; everyone's staring!” you tried to pull on his arm, but he stayed completely still, ignoring you as he stared daggers at Chad.

The man looked between you and Bucky before settling on you and pointing at Bucky, “Is this guy bothering you? Listen, asshole, she clearly doesn’t want to be with you; otherwise, she wouldn’t have been out here buying her own drink, now would she? Why don’t you get lost so the pretty girl and I can get back to getting to know each other?” Chad smirked cockily.

This only made Bucky tense further, his posture straightening as he took a threatening step forward, and Chad flinched. Bucky’s gloved hands clenched at his side as you quickly did a visual check to see if he had any weapons, but you couldn’t see any in the suit jacket and jeans; you were sure he probably had them hidden up his sleeve.

Bucky took another step forward, nostrils flaring as anger radiated off of him in waves of heat, and genuine fear pooled in your stomach with how the situation escalated as you tried to push him away from Chad.

“If you ever touch her again, I promise you, I will fucking ruin your life. No, you know what, scratch that. If you so much as look at what’s mine again, there’s nowhere on this planet that you can hide; I will find you and end anything you find precious, including your life. Do you understand me?” Bucky asked, his tone surprisingly calm for promising such life-ending threats.

“What's going on here?” another voice joined the conversation as Steve and Tony appeared at your side, pushing the growing crowds back to give everyone space. You would have been thankful for their arrival had you not been staring open-mouthed up at Bucky. Not only was he threatening to kill someone for you, but you didn’t miss the possessiveness in his words and actions, and the biggest question screaming in your mind right now was what he meant by saying ‘what’s his’. Surely he didn’t mean you? Everything was becoming far more complicated than you’d anticipated.

“Is he compromised?” Tony asked in a hushed tone to you as he wrapped a hand around your upper arm, prepared to pull you away from the scene if needed.

Bucky’s eyes snapped to the hand on your arm, the glare moving to Tony’s face as the billionaire changed his stance to one like he was preparing for a fight. Your heart nearly stopped, everything becoming too overwhelming and escalating to a level that no one would be coming down from if it wasn’t stopped soon.

“No! Tony, he’s not compromised; he’s fine. There was just a misunderstanding-”

“A misunderstanding? Is that really what you are calling this situation?” Bucky demands, staring down at you whilst moving out of reach of Steve’s outreached hand.

“Bucky-” you try to reason with him, but you notice that his eyes have gone in the direction Chad seemed to disappear from. He was moving before you could even stop him, following wherever the guy had escaped. Quickly looking up at the confused Tony and Steve, you tried to reassure them whilst beginning to follow after Bucky. “Everything is fine! I’m just going to make sure he’s ok”.

You mostly needed answers than anything, feeling completely and utterly sober now and not wishing to return to the dance floor. As well as making sure that Bucky wasn’t going through with any of his threats.

You were going from being within a stuffy nightclub full of alcohol and dancing people with not enough room to move and music so loud that your voice had to strain to be able to be heard by others. To now, you’re rushing out of the entrance, out into the open air that was considerably colder, added to the fact that the heavens had opened and the rain was pouring enough that it was hard to see more than a few feet in front of you.

Any sane person would have turned right back around and reentered the club just to have some cover, but your adrenaline was pumping, and after a few seconds outside, you were already drenched, so there was no point trying to find the jacket you’d left in the cloakroom.

You follow in the direction Bucky had stormed off, trying to weave through the people running through the rain and past the busy New York traffic. “Bucky!” You called out for him while wrapping your arms around your chest, trying to keep some of the warmth you’d found in the club, but the more you were out in the open, the more the rain wholly soaked your body, drawing the freezing temperatures into your bones.

You stare at his back as he continues to walk with a purpose; you aren’t even sure if he’s following Chad anymore or just needs some air. You try your hardest to keep up, even with the struggle of the slippy wet floor and your ridiculous choice of heels burning your calves enough that you contemplated risking the sanity of the bottom of your feet by taking them off.

“Please, just wait, Bucky!” you shout to the man in front, who, of course, doesn’t slow down. You were at your wit's end, cold and drenched from the rain, confused by Bucky’s reaction in the club, not just from Chad but also the look from Tony grabbing your arm. There was clearly something more going on, and him running away, potentially on the warpath, was only making your anxiety increase to the point of wanting to scream.

Distracted with your rolling emotions, you hadn’t noticed that you were no longer following anyone as the street in front of you only had the occasional couple walking past with umbrellas over their heads.

You’d somehow lost Bucky.

“Shit!” you curse to the sky, letting the rain pour down over your face, unsure of what to do. You could return to the club, but you were now much closer to the tower than you were to the club and at least back at the tower, you could use Jarvis to assist with trying to track and find Bucky.

Before you could follow through with your decision, a gloved hand wrapped around your upper arm, pulling you quickly into an alleyway that had some shelter above your head, protecting you from the rain. Just as your mouth opened to scream and combat training reflexes moved to punch whoever had grabbed you, the movements were halted as you became face-to-face with a very pissed-off Bucky Barnes.

All air rushed from your lungs as you were forcefully pushed up against a wall as Bucky leaned his metal arm beside your head, leaning over you. Even though his blue eyes were burning with more intensity than you’d ever seen before, you still sighed in relief that he hadn’t rushed off somewhere, but now you just had to deal with the confrontation you were hoping for.

“Go back to the party”, he demands in a voice so low that you almost coward from him. Still, instead, you held your ground, pushing off the wall, expecting him to move back in a show of confidence, but he remained hovering close enough that it only meant that there were a few inches between your faces.

In the shadows of the alleyway, he looked threatening, especially with his bulky silhouette, but for some reason, he looked somewhat like a fallen angel. The fierceness in his swirling ocean blue eyes that devoured you completely, the height and strength that was trained through every single inch of muscle throughout his body, even his shoulder-length hair left unbound and dripping from the rain, gave him a mysterious look. It was nearly enough to distract you from the events that had taken place. Nearly.

“What? No! I’m not going back to the party. What even happened back there?”, you demanded, trying to remain as confident as you’d felt when leaving the club and not letting the adrenaline altogether go from your system.

Bucky looks away, towards the end of the alleyway in thought before finally muttering, “It was nothing”.

You scoff, “It wasn’t nothing! You threatened to kill the guy in there, Bucky! And what was all that with Tony? I saw the look you gave him! Oh, and what did you mean by touching what was his?”

To your shock, Bucky smirked, but his gaze was so vibrant when he turned back to look at you that, on instinct, you took the step back again to press against the wall. “I told you not to wear that stupid dress,” he says under his breath, like he is telling you a well-kept secret but is forcing himself to say the words.

You frown, your chest restricting, making it difficult to breathe. “The dress? Why do you hate this dress so much, I can wear whatever the fuck I want, Bucky! Stop trying to change the subject! Everything you do is so confusing. For months, you've acted like me even breathing in the same room as you is an inconvenience and then you’re threatening some asshole guy at the bar and protecting me? What’s that about?”

“Because I knew I’d have to be fighting off dickheads like him all night! That’s why I have an issue with the dress. When men like him take one look at you and assume that they have any right to even talk to you, let alone any of the other fucked up shit he was hoping to get from you”.

His outburst shocked you to the core, leaving you stunned and fumbling to think of any words. “I…I don’t understand where this is all coming from. Wait, aside from Chad, no one is allowed to talk to me? Who do you think you are to decide something like this? Maybe I want a cute guy to buy me a drink!”

“You’re naive if you think guys will only want to buy you a drink and nothing more”.

Your face heats uncontrollably at his words, hating the condescension lacing his words. “Don’t talk to me like that! Maybe that’s just what I want anyway. Someone nice to buy me a drink and treat me with kindness that clearly you won’t give me! So how dare you try to dictate my life by saying what I wear means you’ll have to be my knight in shining armour! You don’t have to do anything for me, these past few months have clearly shown you don’t give a shit about me so why care so much what people do to me?”

“You don’t understand”, he seeths through gritted teeth.

You want to scream in frustration from the lack of answers, letting all the energy form in your arms and hands as you pushed on his chest, needing some space between both of your bodies, but he was built of stone as he didn’t move at all.

“Then explain!” you shout in frustration, the heat and adrenaline returning to your veins. “Because I’m losing my fucking mind right now! Why do you act like you hate me one minute and save me another whilst acting like you have any sort of say as to what I wear and who touches or looks at me?”

“Because he touched what’s mine!” Bucky bellows, his face dropping close to yours as a vein bulges on his temple. “Call it jealousy, call is possessive, I don’t fucking care. Do you know how hard it is to see you in the line of fire at work and then come out to places like this and watch every guy and woman in this place have their eyes all over your body, wishing that they could have you? And then watching that asshole Chad come and talk to you, giving you those compliments and then having the nerve to touch you? He was a dead man walking”.

Your mouth opens and closes, feeling like you are having an out-of-body experience. “But… but you hate me”, you say, sounding as defeated as you felt.

Bucky scoffs again with less anger this time, the tone of his voice calming slightly as he leans closer, crowding you in his warmth. “I don’t have you, sweetheart, but I’m so fucked up in here”, he points to his head, “I can’t risk being near you”.

“Bucky-”

“Just go back to the party. I’ll call you a cab; just don’t follow me.”.

A lump forms in your throat. There’s no way you’re leaving him to go back to the club, and just as you’re about to tell him that, he’s suddenly dipping his head and cheek against yours so that he can whisper into your ear. “Just know that even though I’m not there, I’ll know if someone is looking at you. Your body is for my eyes only, so if anyone approaches, they’re dead”.

The breath hitches in your throat as your fingers clench, and you remember that they’re still resting on Bucky’s chest as you grip his shirt tightly. The warmth against your face retreats as he attempts to move back, and it is out of instinct that you glance towards his lips. You’ve never experienced anyone becoming possessive over you before. It should have had you running in the opposite direction, but your feet remained planted in that same spot, leaning towards the protective force in front of you.

Bucky then surprises you as you watch his frowning lips shift into a knowing smirk, laughing under his breath which causes a pulse of attraction through your cunt. “Oh Doll, you’re going to need to stop looking at me like that; otherwise, you won’t be returning to that party”.

A surge of confidence rocks through your core as your gaze burns into his intricate, beautiful eyes, “What if I don’t want to go back to the party?”.

You try not to jump away from the gloved hand, now cupping your jaw, tilting your face up towards the covering, shading you both from the continuing thrashing rain. The warmth of his breath skips over your exposed throat as he runs his nose along your skin, causing a shiver to rush down your spine. “You don’t mean that?” his tone had deepened and sounded increasingly strained, as if he was somehow holding himself back.

You weren’t entirely sure what was happening and how everything had changed to such a degree. All you were 100% certain about was that there was no way you would be going back to any party without Bucky.

“I mean it more than you could ever know”, you say with a rush of breath, finding it difficult to hold back the restraint to continue looking up entirely at his mercy simply.

Bucky contemplates your words as his nose drifts lower, and your heartbeat thumps hard in your chest. You are sure that you’ve felt the delicate kiss of his lips against the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “I think you like it when I show you who you belong to”, Bucky states with arrogance and sultry need that equally has your knees weakening.

The pure desire pooling in your underwear was becoming impossible to ignore, like a flame had been lit within your body and was slowly devouring your rational thoughts. A weak moan escapes your lips as your eyes drift close.

“Bucky…” you trail off, beginning to tremble, not from the low temperatures or being soaked through from the rain, but because your arousal had hit you so deeply that he consumed all thoughts.

“Yes?” Bucky asks as he laughs throatily at how you were so easy to succumb to his advances.

“Just fucking kiss me already!”

The pleasure and pain that enveloped your body was something that you’d crave and dream about for months to come. Pain because his lips pushing into yours with such force that your body was pushed back against the brick wall, but the overwhelming pleasure from finally feeling his mouth on yours, the hand gripping your jaw moving to the back of your head to cradle it with gentleness that you were surprised he as even capable of. The urgency didn’t end there, even as you finally received what you both had truly wanted for all of this time. You needed more of him, all of him, every single inch of his body you wanted to feel without the barrier of his clothes.

Bucky’s nose pushed into your cheek as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, both of your mouths opening to allow your tongues to dance and caress one another. You moaned, tasting the mint on his tongue and something that was so uniquely him your mind momentarily lost any coherent thought.

His massive body was pressed against yours so that you were consumed by him completely. Which also meant that you could feel the hardness of his arousal rutting into your stomach as he gently rolled his hips to try and relieve some pent-up frustration.

You were ready to give him everything, right there, in a random alleyway in rainy New York, where anyone could stumble upon the two of you. Thankfully, Bucky still could hold onto some restraint as he put some distance between you.

“As much as I’d love to fuck you in front of everyone, I have the sneaky suspicion that Fury would not be pleased if a member of the Avengers were caught having a quickie out in public”.

In any other situation, you probably would have laughed at the absurdity and realisation as to just how far gone you’d become to actually be ready to lift your dress and let him fuck you. However, you were so caught up in the fact that this was happening and hearing the beautiful man in front of you say that he wanted to fuck you in a public setting only added to the deep desire from his possessive tendency to increase.

Bucky pressed a chastising kiss to your temple as he began to shrug his jacket from his shoulders to then wrap it around yours, and you could have moaned at the warmth and mouthwatering scent of his cologne surrounding you. The man you thought hated you didn’t give you any time to lose your senses as he grabbed your hand and tugged you out of the alleyway and back into the startling freezing rain.

As the Avengers tower was only a couple blocks away, it was easier for the two of you to run in the rain, with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, using his big build to shield you somehow from the wetness, but you were already soaked.

Finally, once in the safety of the private elevator that was only used for residents of the tower, you both were once more consumed with each other. His jacket was pushed to the floor so he could run his gloved hands over your shoulders and back to cradle your face.

Your back was against the elevator wall as he crowded around you, trying to taste every possible area of your mouth. Your leg lifted, hooking around his hips and causing your dress to hitch further up your thigh until it rested around your waist, pulling him closer.

In this position, he was able to thrust his tented jeans against your panties, the rough material catching your clit and causing an obscene moan to echo around the small space. His lips left yours but only so that he could kiss down the side of your neck, causing more mewls and pathetic squeaks to leave your parted mouth.

“I want the whole world to know you’re mine”, he declares as his teeth scrap against the area where your shoulder and neck meet. The same part of you that was throbbing for his possessive tendencies needed him to do whatever he was alluding to. To persuade him to continue, you ran your fingers up his firm chest, scratching up his throat and to the nape of his neck so that you were able to grab a handful of his hair and tug him even closer.

However, arriving at the Avengers’ living quarters interrupted the two of you. Without missing a beat, Bucky's hands lowered to your thighs, picking you up so that your legs were now wrapped around his waist as he supported your weight with his hands on your arse.

Your fingers remained in his hair, pulling his face back to your neck as he began to suck on different areas, marking your skin with darkening, wet patches. The tiny reasoning voice at the back of your mind was warning you that you’d regret those marks tomorrow, but with the want and need to have his lips and teeth all over your body, you couldn’t care less if he was marking you.

Everything about his touch was seering in heat, even though those leather gloves still covered his hands. It was as if you could feel the temperature of his burning skin through the material, and it only made you more desperate to claw at his clothes. Equally, Bucky needed to feel more of your soft skin and learn every inch of your body.

You were only half aware that you’d entered his bedroom because the low lighting had naturally turned on by the building's sensors. It was minimalistic, and for a second, your focus zoned into the sheets and pillow led out on the floor and not on the bed, which was just a bare mattress that he all but dropped you into the centre of.

His lips were on yours again, and you were thoroughly distracted from the makeshift bed on the floor. The sharp sting of his teeth grazing your bottom lift caused you to mewl and pull on his hair, exposing his thick neck that gave you the opening to begin your exploration, licking and teasing until he was shivering and sitting back on his knees.

You admired him momentarily as he seemed to do the same for you. His handsome face was flushed with arousal, the pupils in his eyes so vast that it was almost as if the clear blue didn’t exist anymore. His chest was heaving with steading breaths as he began to pull on each of the fingers of his gloves.

“How expensive is the dress?” he asked, eyeing the cleavage that had been his downfall all night.

“It’s Natasha’s”, you answered breathlessly.

“I’ll buy her a new one”, Bucky mumbles, gripping the edges of the dress and tearing the material into two. You gave a startled scream as you were suddenly left in your underwear, but the shock at being exposed was swiftly distracted by him ripping his shirt directly down the centre so all the buttons popped off, and the material shrugged off his broad shoulders.

Even though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him without a shirt on, your breath caught in your breath at his beautifully sculptured chest and abs, mouth already watering with the need to lick every inch of him.

“Be a good girl for me, Doll and spread your legs”, he demands with surprising gentleness, still sitting back on his knees and stroking a soft caress against your outer thighs.

A pathetic whimper bursts from your chest at the praise, pussy clenching with need that you didn’t waste a second before opening your legs. Even though you still had your panties on, Bucky's gaze became hungry, as if he was a man on the brink of starving to death as he licked his lip and began to lower his body.

“You don’t understand how long I’ve wanted to do this”, he admits, gripping the edge of your underwear and beginning to drag the material down your legs.

You smile to yourself, straightening yourself in the centre of the bed and getting comfortable as your legs naturally lay across his shoulders as he led stomach first on the bed.

“Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you”, you tease, but all the smug arrogance is drowned out by the pornographic scream from feeling his tongue taking a long, exaggerated lick from your perineum to your clit. You weren’t sure who was louder between the two of you with the moans as Bucky finally was able to taste the girl he’d been wanting for months and you for having someone actually wanting to give you some form of pleasure.

Every time you made a noise of pure joy or increased in volume, Bucky repeated the action, learning what you loved. Your thighs were nearly suffocating him with how hard they were squeezing around his face, and you knew that he would happily die right there between your legs if that’s what you truly wanted. Then there was the hair you were clenching, probably having ripped out two handfuls as you pulled on his long hair, hoping to have him as close as possible between your legs.

“Fuck Bucky! Who taught you how to do that- AH! I’m so close!” your back was arched, eyes clenched tightly closed as the pleasure was tightening within your core. His tongue lapped with quick flicks, firming the tip to add more pleasure as he pushed it into your dripping pussy. His moans added extra stimulation as you happily came all over his face, trembling and twitching cunt around his lips and tongue.

Just as Bucky was about to add two fingers into your still pulsing hole, you shouldn’t take the wait anymore and begged, “Please just fuck me already, Barnes!”

The Avengers grinned down at you as he began to crawl up your body, nipping each of your breasts with his teeth through your bra as he moved. Your cheeks warmed, seeing the shine over his stubble from your juices that he’d been happily drinking. Your thoughts didn’t remain on this fact for long though as he was kissing you feverishly once more, meaning you could now taste yourself on his lips.

With his mouth thoroughly distracting, you’d not noticed that he’d been unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans and boxers down his toned thighs. Without waiting until they were entirely removed from his body, he swiped his cock between your folds, coating his length in your liquids.

Your mouth gaped open as the tip of his cock nudged into your entrance, stretching it to a level that you’d not been used to. “Shh, it’s ok, Doll, you can take me”, he promised, with one hand holding your hip steadily and the other against your cheek so he could hold your face still.

He was so deep, impossibly deep. You could feel him everywhere, widening your cunt until you were fluttering around his cock, and he hadn’t even begun fucking you properly yet.

“Nearly there, try and relax for me”, Bucky praises into your ear as your eyes widen, realising that it wasn’t even the entire length of him inside of you yet. Only as he was pushing into your cervix did your head fall back, and you sighed out. “That’s it, you’re taking me so well. Put your arms around my back; you’re going to need to hold onto something”, he boasts as you try and take a deep breath, your fingers reaching around his back, nails digging into the skin to give yourself something to hold onto.

Spreading his knees further apart on the bed, Bucky readjusts his position to gain more momentum. The man fucked good. More than good. You were pretty much pleading incoherently to whatever gods were above or below. There wasn’t anything you were begging for, just whatever it was that Bucky seemed to be doing, that it never stopped.

Each stroke caressed that sweet spot within, and with the way his hips rolled, he was able to nudge your clit with his body. Added to the mouth on your neck, biting and licking the sore spots to ease the ache, his hands pinning you down to the bed only added to the raw possessiveness dictating Bucky’s movements.

Harder and faster, his hips moved. The thick cock pounding into your cunt until you were seeing stars and cumming again, squeezing him so hard he had to still his hips to stop his own orgasm from spiralling.

But then, he's pulling out and turning you onto your front, spreading your legs once more and demanding, “Arch your back for me, Sweetheart”. Doing as he instructed, your still-covered breasts pressed into the mattress as your hips angled up. With one hand holding onto your shoulder and the other on your hip, he began to fuck you with just as much enthusiasm.

In this position, he somehow felt even more deeper, and all you could do was cry out and moan with how good he felt.

“Tell me you’re mine, I need to hear you say it”, Bucky grunts as you came for the third time, becoming overstimulated and disorientated with how good you felt.

Your cunt was still squeezing with the effects of the orgasm as you repeatedly told him, “I’m yours, only yours, Bucky”.

Bucky’s head tilted back so that he could release an almighty grunt, the hands on your body tightening enough that the skin became tender, but you didn’t care at all, not with how good you were feeling. You could feel his cock throbbing and the wetness that followed, dripping from your hole and onto the mattress beneath.

It was a long few minutes before he eased out and collapsed onto the mattress beside you, the two of you breathing heavily as his metal fingers stroked slowly down your spine and his lips followed.

“You should have told me earlier”, you whisper over your shoulder to him.

“Hmm?” he asks, moving up to your shoulder, where he carefully kissed the skin that was tender from his grip moments before.

“You should have told me how you felt”, you explain, thinking about how much time was wasted.

“Maybe. But then, I wouldn’t have had so much fun threatening everybody for looking at you”, he answers with a grin, kissing your cheek once before climbing off the bed and returning with the sheets from the floor.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #marvel smut #bucky barnes one shot #jealous bucky #bucky barnes x reader #marvel one shot #bucky #mine*

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ange1heavensent · 8 months ago

Text

An inch away from more than just friends

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Pairing: loser!ellie x loser!fem reader

Content Warning: making out, mentions of sex scene in film, fic loosely based on Naked in Manhattan by Chappell Roan

w/c ≈ 1200

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Jackson had a way of making the world feel still. Days came and went, each one blending into the next with the simplicity of routine. For you, that routine often involved ending your day at Ellie’s place, curled up together watching whatever strange or offbeat movie she’d dug up. Tonight, like so many nights before, you’d settled into that rhythm, expecting nothing more than the usual.

Ellie greeted you at the door, her hair messy from what you imagined had been a lazy day of reading or sketching. You stepped inside, shrugging off your jacket, trying to shake the feeling that something was a little different tonight.

“Everything alright with you?” Ellie muttered, hands in her pockets. Her voice was casual, but you noticed the tension beneath it, something unspoken in the way she barely met your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved her off, following her into the “bedroom” where she’d already set up the movie Mulholland Drive. You threw yourself onto the bed while Ellie stayed standing, fiddling with the remote. She seemed more on edge than usual, fidgeting with her sleeves, avoiding looking at you for too long. You tried to shake off the weirdness, focusing on the movie as the opening credits rolled. For the first half, things were mostly normal. Ellie made the occasional comment, and you both laughed at the more bizarre parts of the plot. But then… the scene happened. A sex scene hit the screen, and the air between you two shifted in an instant.

You felt it immediately, the awkwardness that spread like wildfire. Ellie stiffened beside you, eyes glued to the screen but not really watching. Your heart pounded as your mind raced, hyper-aware of how close your bodies were. The heat from her leg brushing against yours suddenly felt like too much, like it was burning through your jeans.

You weren’t exactly a stranger to sex scenes in movies, but this time it felt different, more intimate. Too intimate. You risked a glance at Ellie and saw the tension in her jaw, her hand gripping the bedsheets tightly. She wasn’t handling it any better than you were.

God, why did this feel so… charged?

You looked away quickly, trying to focus on literally anything else. But the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. When the scene finally ended, it left an awkward tension that lingered long after. The rest of the movie passed in a blur. You weren’t paying attention anymore. All you could think about was Ellie, how her hand was so close to yours, how your heart was still racing even though the scene had long since ended.

When the credits rolled, Ellie jumped to her feet like she couldn’t handle sitting next to you any longer. “I, uh- I’ll get the couch ready for tonight,” she said quickly, moving toward the closet. You frowned. “The couch? You’re not coming to bed?” Ellie paused, looking over her shoulder, clearly flustered. “I just thought… maybe I’d sleep there instead.”

That didn’t sit right with you. Sleepovers had always been the same, you’d sleep together, limbs tangled in the small bed. The thought of sleeping apart felt wrong, but you didn’t argue. Not with things already feeling this weird. You crawled deeper into the bed while Ellie busied herself with blankets, but neither of you seemed able to sleep. The room was too quiet, too still, and you found yourself lying on your side, facing her direction.

After what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence.

“Ellie?” You heard her groan, and then she shifted, turning over to face you. Even in the darkness, you could sense her eyes on you, wide and uncertain. “What?” she asked, her voice strained. You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. This had been eating at you all night, maybe for longer than that. “What’s going on?” Ellie didn’t respond right away, and you could practically hear the gears turning in her head. Finally, after what felt like forever, she sighed.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. The answer didn’t surprise you. It didn’t make things easier either. You bit your lip, unsure of how to put into words what had been slowly building between you two for weeks, maybe months.

“You’ve been acting… weird tonight,” you said, feeling vulnerable. “Is it because of… the movie?” Ellie groaned again, this time louder, like she was frustrated. “No… yes… I don’t know!” She exhaled sharply. “That movie just… it got me thinking, okay?” Your pulse quickened. “Thinking about what?”

Silence filled the room again, thick with tension. Ellie seemed to be wrestling with something, and you held your breath, waiting for her to speak. When she did, her voice was soft and uncertain. “Us,” she whispered. “Are we… are we more than just friends?”

There it was. Out in the open. The question hung between you like a heavy weight. It was something you had never allowed yourself to think about, not really. But now, with Ellie lying there, so close yet so far, you couldn’t avoid it anymore. Your heart hammered in your chest as you sat up slightly, your voice shaking. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

Ellie shifted on the couch, and suddenly, she was standing. She climbed into the bed beside you, moving slowly like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be there. Your breaths came out shallow as she lay down next to you, her face inches from yours, her expression unsure.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just stared at each other, and you swore you could hear both your hearts racing in the silence. Then, finally, Ellie leaned in, her lips brushing yours tentatively, like she wasn’t sure this was real.

The kiss was soft, hesitant, but it sent a rush of warmth flooding through your veins. You kissed her back, your hands instinctively finding their way to her hair, pulling her closer. The dam had finally broken, months of tension spilling out in that one kiss.

Ellie’s hands slid to your waist, and she pulled you against her, deepening the kiss. It was soft but intense, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and wanting more. You didn’t know how long it lasted, time seemed to blur as you lost yourself in the feel of her lips, her hands, her warmth.

When you finally pulled back for air, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. “This is… weird, right?” Ellie whispered, a nervous laugh escaping her. You smiled, your thumb brushing gently over her cheek. “Yeah,” you admitted, your own heart still racing. “But good weird.”

Ellie grinned, her hands still firmly on your waist, as though she was afraid to let go. “I don’t know what this is,” she said softly, “but… I like it.” You leaned in and kissed her again, the warmth of her smile still lingering on her lips. “Me too.” The rest of the night passed in a blur of soft kisses, whispered words, and gentle touches. Whatever you and Ellie had now, it was real, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to question it.

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Thank you for reading! If you liked this fic, check out my masterlist for more :)

#ellie williams #the last of us #ellie the last of us #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader #tlou #tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x female reader #ellie willams x reader #tlou ellie #the last of us part 2 #ellie #ange1heavensent

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kryptonitejelly · 1 year ago

Note

art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x y/n #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson x female reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers imagine #not cm #not tg

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harryhighkey · 5 months ago

Text

183.

hi! this is my first ever Lee Byung-Hun/The Frontman one shot! I hope u like it! this man has taken over my life !!!!!!!!!!

a frontman x reader series - masterlist to series here

183.

That was the number that ticked over on the screen as the final vote was casted by Player 001. The people who voted to stay had won. You were in disbelief. Standing on the side of people who voted to leave this hell you were positive that this was the side that was going to win the vote.

How wrong you were.

183, this number was going to haunt you during your time here, which was ironic considering it was also the one that was labelled on your green tracksuit.

Now you stood in utter shock at this outcome. All 183 of them had witnessed the same brutal deaths that had only happened hours earlier, so how could they choose to stay?

You were frozen and your eyes were trained on the man who had been the 183rd vote. You kept watching as he turned to face everyone else. Half the room cheering and the other half disappointed. However, his expression was unique, a sinister smirk adorned his face that sent shivers down your spine.

------

The guards had demanded you had spent too much time in the bathroom and were making you return to the room the vote had taken place. It had been a long time, but you weren't doing anything wrong, you were so desperate for a moment alone to cry over your terrors which is exactly what you had been doing. You cursed yourself for not trying to do anything productive in looking for any chance to escape, there was a vent in the roof that you wanted to have a closer look at later.

Not wanting to draw attention to yourself as you walked back through the doorway, you kept your steps quick & quiet. You were about half way back to your bunk when you got stopped.

"Hey, now look at this pretty girl, I didn't notice you in the game today." Thanos. The purple haired, Player 230 had certainly let himself be noticed by everyone today.

"I was laying low, wouldn't you expect you to get it." You quipped back, keeping your head down due to the fact you could feel your eyes were puffy & were positive your nose was red from crying and you didn't need it pointed out.

"Why lay low, baby? We're here to have fun. We should have fun together!"

You scowled at the pet name and instantly snapped back, "I'm not interested in joining your tiny dick parade."

"Such a dirty mouth on a pretty girl! I'd like to know what else that mouth-"

Just as you were about to raise your voice and interrupt the unwelcomed comment by telling him to fuck off, someone beat you to it.

"Enough." It was another man's voice, this one much more commanding, not as loud but it was dominant.

Yourself & the purple haired man turned to who spoke up. It was him. The final voter. Player 001. You stood there with the only red 'X' on your green tracksuit out of the three of you yet he was coming to your aid, going against a fellow blue 'O.'

His eyes briefly landed on yours and you inhaled a sharp breath, you were so hyper-focused on him that you swore you noticed his face contort into a display of sympathy. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone just as fast and Player 001 was stone faced once more as he looked back to Player 230.

You watched the interaction between the two men, had something happened whilst you were in the bathroom? They were only saying a few words to each other but the tension was so high.

"Leave her alone." Was how Player 001 ended the moment and this man shocked you yet again as he caused the most bold player to follow his order and walk away from the two of you. Once Thanos was gone he turned back to you. Your chest going tense at the eye contact. "Are you-"

"I don't need your help." You quickly cut him off, already walking away from him so he didn't get a chance to answer. This unknown man had just come to your rescue, but he was also the deciding vote for staying in this hell. If you hadn't of rushed off so quick maybe you would have paid more attention to how his face softened when looking at you and maybe paid attention to the fact that part of you noticed how nice that felt.

------

"There you are."

You were laying on your side and the voice came from behind you, but you already knew who it was without seeing them. You'd heard that same deep voice hours earlier when it had come to your rescue. The only difference this time it was more hushed and closer to your ear.

"Go away." You didn't turn over to look at Player 001, you stubbornly stayed in place.

"I would like to talk to you."

"I'm sleeping."

"And conversing?"

"Sleep talking exists."

"Yours is quite advanced." His tone was light-hearted, but you were still on the defence. It wasn't lost on you that you had to protect yourself, being a female and much younger than a lot of the other contestants here. Player 001 included.

"Wait until you see how I sleep hit." You suddenly waved an arm back towards his direction, only for a firm grip of his hand coming around your wrist that quickly halted your movements.

He used his hold around your wrist to pull you so you were flat on your back. The movement was so fast, your strength was no match for his and now you were face to face. If you lifted your head the slightest bit from your pillow, your nose would graze his and that had your heart racing. Surely just because you were scared, not for any other reason.

Acting fast, you went to grab his hand with your spare one to try and free yourself, but he was faster and easily caught your second hand in his own second hand, trapping them both.

"If you are going to make it out of here alive, you need to keep that attitude of yours under control." His tone was serious now, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. You were so vulnerable right now, your breath was coming out in quick pants, your wide-eyed gaze had become frightened as you were forced to look into his stern one.

"Please let go of me." Your voice came out shaky, tears began to well in your eyes. He had scared you. Your hands were freed and you swiftly moved to sit up and move to a corner of your little bed to put some space between you and this man.

His face softened, the same way it had when he looked at you earlier and would have noticed the after effects of crying being present on your face. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Well you did."

"I'm sorry." He apologised and you didn't know what to say. "May I sit for a moment?" He asked so politely, his tone now gentle. You took a second before nodding your head and he sat on the side of your bed, facing you. "I don't want you to die in here."

"I don't want to either. That's why I voted to leave." At that response, his eyes fell to the red 'X' labelled on your outfit before lifting to find your gaze once more.

"Let me help you in here."

"I don't need your-"

"You do." He cut you off, his words were impactful. You clenched your jaw.

"No I don't."

"Yes."

"No."

He huffed and dropped his head into his hand, rubbing his fingertips into his temples. "Stubborn girl."

You watched him silently, a million thoughts running through your head. Part of you still felt afraid, but another part of you was curious about him, you almost felt drawn to him. Your eyes were trained on his fingers massaging his own head and before you had a chance to think about what you were about to ask, you already blurted it out. "Can you rub my head like that?"

"What?" He paused his movements and looked at you again, an expression of confusion present on his face.

God, he had a handsome face.

"I know it's a weird request but I can't sleep and I'm exhausted. I'll never able to sleep here and I will obviously need energy for tomorrow and my head getting rubbed always makes me sleepy." You spoke fast, rambling your words out and you could feel your face heating up in embarrassment as he continued to stare at you in surprise. Which only got worse when he let out a quiet laugh which made you put your head in your hands and let out a little whine. "Forget it-"

"I'll do it." Yet again he cut you off and his response made your heart beat harder.

The two of you sat there looking at one another in silence. You were memorising the details of his face when he snapped you out of it.

"Are you going to lay down?"

"Oh, yes." You returned to your original position of laying down on your side, this time your back was leaning against his leg as he stayed in his spot.

When his fingers combed into your hair and made contact with your scalp, you took a deep breath at the soothing movements he began making.

"Like this?"

"Yes, just like that."

"Close your eyes." You finally listened to him without arguing back and fluttered your eyes closed.

The more you focused on the feeling of Player 001's fingers dancing such peaceful patterns along your scalp, the more you relaxed back against him and forgot about where you were. In your mind, only the two of you existed in this moment.

Maybe the next time he offered help, you wouldn't be so quick to fight back.

#lee byung hun #lee byung hun x reader #frontman #frontman x reader #squid game #squid games #player 001 #player 001 x reader #writing #writings #my writing #my writings

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radiance1 · 7 months ago

Text

"Mom, Dad. I have something to tell you."

Danny said, twin rings going up and down his body respectively as he went ghost. Then back as he turned back to Danny.

"Tada..?" He said, shaking his hands after he was finished.

Jack and Maddie sat silent on the other side of the table, eyes wide as they just... Stared at him. His mom's hands were over her mouth, while his dad's mouth just hung open.

Jack pushed himself away from the table, getting up and walking out of the room.

"Honey!" Maddie said, turning to look in his direction. She briefly glanced between Danny and the doorway, before getting up herself and following after Jack.

Danny looked down, placing his hands down on the table and interlocking them as an uneasy smile graced his face.

'Fuck.' He thought. 'I should've done this when Jazz was here.'

Now, Danny isn't scared of his parents per se. Having escaped from them multiple times up until this very moment, and having fought and won over ghosts that embodied concepts toughened him up considerably.

But, just because he isn't scared doesn't mean he isn't uneasy.

He really should have waited for Jazz-

"Danny," His mother's voice broke him out of his thoughts as she walked back into the room and took her seat. She rubbed a hand against her temple, looking down at the table. "Your father... Needs a moment. Just to collect his thoughts, alright?"

"Uh, yea I understand." Danny pulled his hands back and down into his lap.

Maddie gave the movement a brief glance, but chose not to comment.

"Listen, this..." Maddie released a breath, placing her hands down on the table and interlocking her fingers. "Is news that neither of us ever expected, and frankly it is hard to believe that you aren't just a ghost who took the body of my son-"

Danny's breath hitched.

"-But I want, no." Her eyes hardened, forcibly releasing the tension from her shoulders. "I need to give you a chance. This, a chance. Before I do something I might regret." There was something in her eyes that Danny couldn't recognize, and he fought to keep looking into her eyes.

"Th-That's good." He said, bringing a hand up to rub against the back of his neck. "Yea. Good. Good." He couldn't help but look down, digging his fingers into his thigh.

Fuck. Why was he trembling?

He's had way, way worse than this. Survived way worse than this. It's just his parents. Just his regular old, maybe a bit hyper fixated and ghost hating parents that threatened to dissect him on various occasions and tried to do the same to other ghosts-

Danny dug his fingers a bit deeper, forcibly exhaling.

Just. His parents.

"How long." His head snapped back up to Maddie as she spoke, it didn't seem to be a question. Something she seemed to realize as she softened slightly. "How long, have you been a ghost?" She asked, quietly, softly.

There was something there that Danny, despite everything, couldn't identify.

"Since," He started, before swallowing when his mouth felt dry all of a sudden. "Since you guys. Um. Built the portal." His fingers dug into his neck, and he felt something wet under his nails and a stinging on his neck before he pulled away and put it into his lap. "And, you know. Thought it didn't work."

Maddie's breath hitched, and her eyes screwed shut. Interlocked hands tightening on the table as her lip quivered.

"I..." She began, slowly. Voice trembling before she smoothed it back out, trying to restore some semblance of calm. "I see." She exhaled, slowly. Still keeping her eyes closed.

It... Hurt. To see her like this. To see his mother so shaken up.

He shouldn't have told them.

But it seemed to be going well.

Was it even worth it?

He hopes it keeps going well.

He should have just kept it a secret.

"The portal." She finally began again when her hands stopped shaking. "It opened on you, didn't it? And then you-" She paused, trying to get the words out. "You died. Didn't you?"

Danny nodded, before remembering that her eyes were still closed. "Y-eA." He said, voice breaking at the end.

He was glad her eyes were closed, just because she couldn't see the embarrassment on his face.

"I was hoping you would say no." Maddie said, reopening her eyes and looking down at her hands. "I so, so desperately want to believe this to be some trick by Phantom or- well, you. I want this to be a prank, or some nightmare, and to just wake up and know that you're still alive-"

"Well, I am." Danny shrugged, eyes darting towards a nearby wall. "Technically, half and half, y'know?" He said, making a so-so gesture.

"Are you?" She asked, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked up at him. "That would explain why you don't look like a ghost, but-"

She paused, eyes widening.

Okay, now this Danny could recognize.

Recognition and horror.

"Oh... Oh God." She looked back down hands breaking apart as one covered her mouth. She shook in her seat, hunching in on herself. "We-We chased you. Shot at you and said we would rip you apart." Her eyes grew wet, tears slipping down her cheeks. "We wanted to dissect you and said it in front of your face."

"Well, technically it would be a vivisection-"

Maddie closed her eyes, a sob ripping from her throat.

Danny shut his mouth.

Danny watched as his mother cried on the opposite side of the table. At this moment, for some reason, she looked so far from him. Like he could reach out, climb over the table, and still not reach her. Like there was some great, unfathomable distance, between them.

He looked down at the table, at his hands. One of them, the one he dug into his thigh, felt wet. He pulled away his hand, and saw... Well, blood.

Weird.

He didn't feel anything.

"I'm sorry." His mother sobbed, and for some reason her voice seemed so quiet even as he looked up at her. He could see her, yet why did she seem so far away? "I'm so, so sorry." She said.

And Danny...

Danny didn't know what to do.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #angst #tw blood #open ending #Vaguely this ties into a Good Parents Jack and Maddie au #But like #I ain't writin allat so have fun with this ig

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bunnwich · 6 months ago

Text

Why Leona Gave Himself The Bad Ending

Leona Kingscholar Analysis

Usual disclaimer to say that these are just my thoughts and you don’t have to feel pressured to agree. This was my thought process as I played through the parts of Chapter 7 Parts 212-226, featuring Leona’s dream triggered by Malleus’s magic.

I wanna start off by saying that I believe all the dreams are a mixture of Malleus’s magic and the dreamers themselves.

Idia theorized that Malleus is sort of “setting up the parameters” in a way, then each of the dreamers' personalities and imaginations affect the dream in different ways. The emphasis of this has been brought by Idia several times that it’s the strength of imagination that determines how complex dreams are. Which is maybe why in the first years dreams seem so basic? They’re young, their magical abilities are still new, and their magic is no match for Malleus’s magic. That and, to be fair, most of the first years don’t have the same amount of angst and turmoil as some of the other second years and third years have.

With that being said, I believe that because of his high intelligence, magical prowess, and his hyper-vigilance, that is the main reason Leona’s dream was so…different than the others.

But let's get into it!

There are a lot of Lion King references in this dream, and it’s very clear the writers wanted to play around and show this off. I feel like they did a good job of integrating the themes of the movie into Leona's dream. It does give me a little validation as I feel Leona’s struggles and personality are closely linked to his great Seven Counterpart, Scar. More so than any of the other overblotters. When I analyze Leona I sometimes I do use Scar as a starting point to understand his intentions.

This is how I came to the conclusion long ago that being king would never make Leona happy because it's not what he truly wants.

We start with the dream back in the Sunset Savanna. It’s VERY interesting to see that there is hyena prejudice right off the bat as a woman flees from Ruggie while he attempts to buy food.

Right off, everyone can tell something is…off about the city. Especially coming fresh from Ruggie’s dream where everything was idyllic and happy for hyenas BECAUSE of Leona.

Grim hits us with the: “I laugh in the face of danger!” line. We even get the three hyenas referenced and the “love for you to stick around for dinner” line. The once proud lioness-dominated palace guard has been taken over by hyena “ruffians” (interesting choice to portray a disenfranchised group being given jobs as the new guard as a negative thing, but moving on.)

The first interesting thing we get is that the palace is somewhat rundown and empty? The group makes comments of how dark and dreary it is, and how few people are around. Is there an implication that the servants fled at some point after Leona became King or did he replace them? This further shows me that Leona for whatever reason has chosen to isolate himself. To me, it's most likely that he already feels isolated by his country and those in the palace.

From the looks of it “Malleus’s magic” has given Leona the one thing he has always wanted, but has he? Leona seems less than thrilled and genuinely upset by the fact his whole family is...gone. As I mentioned in my Leona relationships post, I think that he holds a complex relationship with his family, and while he resents them, in no way can I see him wanting them to be dead.

It’s now I started to think that Leona’s magic was overriding the simple “let them eat cake” logic of all of the happier dreams. This dream feels TOO real, dark, dreary, and…sad. Could it be Leona’s intelligence or cynicism, ruining what’s supposed to be an idyllic scenario?

Why is even in his WILDEST dreams Leona is still miserable?

Hmm.

A lot of people have talked about Kifaji and their thoughts on his presence. It’s strange to see people praise him as “a loving parental figure” as if he’s really there trying to help Leona. But, Kifaji is not there. This Kifaji is a manifestation of Leona’s mind and I’ll get to why that’s interesting and what I think he represents. Remember, that often in other dreams we’ve seen of loved ones or rivals and they can act normal, out of character, or even cruel. Vil and Neigie come to mind and Neige turned out to be the blot keeping Vil asleep.

Kifaji is a bit different. He actively tries to help the group wake Leona as opposed to encouraging the twisted dream logic. For this reason, to me, Kifaji represents Leona’s conscious and the Dream!Leona we see represents his shadow self, like the dark side of the moon. AKA, the Leona we meet in Chapter 2. In fact, this whole dream feels like a rehash of Chapter 2.

We get the outdated Leona that dumbs himself down and settles for less, cloaking himself in his pride and believing that everyone is below him. An idle king while he lets others do his dirty work. (Scar basically.)

Leona asks Kifaji to sing (another Lion King reference) and it plays out how you would think. Leona tells Kifaji that he is the only competent person in the kingdom. And he argues that the kingdom is in shambles, not because of his choices as King, but because everyone else sucks basically.

Hmm.

Kifaji reminds Leona that while he is clever and his plans are grand, that he can not treat people like human chess pieces. (Can I just say I love when chess is brought up to us because I find that when people analyze Leona or his thoughts they often forget how much he uses chess to process his thoughts. We saw that plenty in the Tamashina Mina event!) I think it helps him sort his thoughts and emotions which he can have a hard time doing.

I think Kifaji represents Leona’s mindset post Chapter 2 and because Kifaji in his real life is one of the only people who probably stands up to Leona, he has placed him in this antagonist role in his mind. (but not really) Plus, it’s not far off from Kifaji’s actual treatment of Leona in the Tamashina Mina event.

So yeah, Leona acts more like he does in Chapter 2—he's the player or the king even and everyone else around is just lowly pieces.

Just like the scene from The Lion King, Scar and Leona are not happy. Even though they are supposedly getting their deepest desire, they remain bitter and…alone.

When I first began to read into Leona it was quite obvious to me that the whole “I’ll never be king" thing was just a front for something else. What I think Leona truly craves is approval and acceptance.

Being king, especially of a broken kingdom that despises him, will never make him happy. But, why do the people not love him? This is supposed to be a fantasy right?

There is this interesting layer of how he became king too. Instead of Cheka or Falena simply not existing, like I thought it might be, they are dead. That is…so much more tragic than it needed to be. As if deep down Leona believes the only way he can become king (his dreams to come true) is if tragedy happens. This reminds me of his bitter view/the symbolism of his unique magic. That he can only bring misery wherever he goes—everything he touches turns to sand.

I also think that Leona is afraid of failing and much of this dream is his anxieties and insecurities that linger from all his past failures.

Though interestingly enough, I sense that in the dream, as implied later by Idia, Leona has implemented an “over-exaggeration” of his policies and plans for the kingdom. It was almost like he purposely ran his resources dry and gave up trying to compromise with anyone for the sake of “progress.”

Why, though?

It’s very masochistic in a way. It’s almost like he wanted to prove himself right. Everything he touches will turn to sand eventually and his grand plans will fail even if he claims they are “perfect.”

That’s why this dream is probably the most masochistic and self-deprecating we have seen. I think what initially began to draw me to Leona’s character is because of the hidden pain he holds. He is by far one of the most easygoing, and lackadaisical acting of the cast, but…he cares, he cares so, so much about how he is perceived and his haunted by his hopelessness about his future and the failures of his past.

I think the pain of never feeling good enough, causes his mind to be unable to “play nice” with Malleus’s dream magic to even manifest any sort of positive future. One where he holds a position he wants AND is loved and respected. it’s just impossible that he could ever have that, even in his wildest dreams.

He’s too much of a “realist.”

Side tangent, but a frustrating take is to see was the: “Oh yeah, see? He would have sucked as king.” tinged comments after this came out.

I think it’s more complicated than that.

This isn’t me trying to defend him necessarily, but to be fair, all dreams tend to be over exaggerations by the dreamer. Plus, I think the fact that Ruggie HATES Leona in this dream and is suddenly in favor of Falena, is a sign right there we can not trust Leona’s interpretation of the people he knows in his dream. He is sort of an unreliable narrator that way.

Besides, like in The Lion King, why would all the water dry up, just because the hyenas over-hunted?

A big theme in Lion King and even The Lion Guard TV show is "the balance of nature." The blight upon the Pridelands when Scar takes over feels more like symbolism of the “unbalance of nature” caused by the tragedy of Mufasa’s death. Which makes me again, connect that Leona feels the only way he can succeed is by inflicting misery on others. Like his magic, perhaps a part of him believes he is a curse.

I theorized in my Tamashina Mina review, that maybe Leona feels like an outcast himself, and the separation he feels from his country is showcased in how he blames the citizens for the decline of the kingdom, rather than his plans. He feels isolated from them.

By this point, I was having flashbacks to Chapter 2, where he got a whiff of his plan failing and he still pushed through even though he knew it would fail. At first, he may have started doing okay as king, but maybe when he came upon too many obstacles or pushback, He just gave up. Because he was not instantly loved by the people, who probably already feared him, he’d rather not even try. Suddenly, they are “not worth his time”, and he can’t help them because they suck.

Leona’s problem has always been his pride. I think he has to put it aside to genuinely help people reach their potential and learn to collaborate with others more. Part of how this dream plays out, is him realizing that maybe some criticisms Kifaji had about his pride all along may be true. Leona refuses to play nice with others.

That’s why I think Kifaji represents a more sensible and lucid Leona. He is in a sense, talking to his past self, and trying to shake himself from the dream and his outdated ideals.

Ortho even points out that Ruggie is not really the Ruggie we know but rather a part of Leona’s imagination. Again, which puts emphasis on how the characters in his dream are more indicative of his mindset as opposed to being “in character”. Maybe Ruggie hating him in his dream is his inner anxieties about him and Ruggie post Chapter 2 fallout. He feels like Ruggie could never forgive him for what he did. He let him down. And Leona being bad with people and feelings, doesn’t know the proper way to apologize.

Kifaji (woke Leona) says that the state of the kingdom is a result of him “pursuing efficiency over all things and disregarding other people's feelings.” It really feels like he is calling himself out here. Does he REALLY wanna help people? Or is it just Leona’s selfish pride who wants attention for just being smart?

Dream!Leona complains about the protesters interrupting his nap which is another sign for me of the exaggeration of the scenario of Leona being the king. Like...did he not criticize Falena for having the same carefree and laid-back attitude? And yet here he is...complacent in the same behavior he once criticized Falena of.

Interesting.

Ortho mentions that Leona’s dream is clearly a more complex situation than the other dreams.

I think there is a key implication we are missing here too, that I haven’t seen many mention. There is a throwaway line that Jack mentions that Leona has not attended school and is king instead. And he doesn't seem to know Dream!Ruggie either. Nor Ruggie him.

There is no doubt his time at NRC has shaped him to be the Leona we know now. Someone who has at least somewhat benefited with the connections he made at school. It does seem like this Dream!Leona is regressed. And because he never attended school, he is a much colder person who has no regard for others' feelings at all. He is even more socially inept.

I feel like this is a common theme to show us that despite the independent nature of most of the students at NRC, that it can still be “the friends we made along the way.” trope. These connections do matter and especially to Leona. He mentions this in his post-overblot monologue in the light novel. He found his pack at NRC. This time with his dorm members affected his personality for the better. It's kinda sweet when you think about it!

Ortho mentions Dream!Leona appears DEEPLY absorbed in the delusions of his dream. This means that even though he has the lucid failsafe of Kifaji, Leona’s self-deprecation, despair, and pain are still overtaking his logic. That's what's crafted this nightmare. (And he later references it as such.)

Everyone acknowledges that he can’t possibly be happy and looks EVEN MORE miserable than at school. It can't be a silly happy fantasy, but a grim dark reality of what he thinks of himself.

That's why he gave himself the bad ending.

I love the double entendre of Idia saying Leona is building his dream like a “sandbox” game. Lots of Minecraft references. (Leona Minecrafter confirmed? Or hear me out…Leona playing King Crusaders or Civilization V FGHJ)

Anyways, Idia or Ortho, (I forget) suggests that perhaps he has run out of ”simulations” for his dream playthrough. And being an intelligent person his mind tends to overthink naturally and this caused his dream to have a more realistic tone. Plus, I theorize that because Leona is powerful and his intelligent, his magic and imagination was almost able to overwrite Malleus's, a standard happy dream formula.

Ortho suggests Leona chose a more “realistic mode “on purpose.” Perhaps like I theorized earlier, it is almost a masochistic test to see if he could have everything he wanted? Leona is a very analytical person who enjoys games. It makes sense, the way he often plays chess alone to practice “strategies.” But as I mentioned before, I think he just genuinely believes it's not possible. Ortho mentions he thinks Leona’s the type to understand that an “aggressive urban development” would come with risks.

Jack asks “If Leona knew this was a bad plan then why would he make the citizens suffer and be hated?” (Sheesh, now we know Leona really is the type to play pretend and get a lil too real with it.)

Ruggie adds that Leona may be “doing something he knows he shouldn't be on purpose.” Like maybe he did it to be dastardly and maybe he just wanted to “feel the rush” of being a ruthless and hated king.

When Azul asks Ruggie if he thinks Leona takes pleasure in immoral things he says that he can't say for sure, only that he is a prince that no doubt can take pleasure in “bad things”.

To me, however, it feels like a masochistic move to prove to himself his happiness is unattainable.

Then Sebek chimes in: “How could he go so far to kill his family only to abandon his responsibilities as a king and become a horrible one?"

No one seems to know for sure. Everyone in the group has their theories but the consensus in the group is that - nobody fuckin’ knows why this guy intricately carved himself such a miserable fantasy for himself. Very masochistic for a guy who appears to be so proud huh?

Idia continues to mention that Leona’s imagination is so vast compared to everyone else's. It fills out a whole “world” completely and the mechanics of this world must make sense. He's playing on hard mode. In Leona’s brain this seemed to manifest as if he is to “get what he wants” it can't be serendipitous or through triumph, IT MUST be through tragedy.

Can we lighten up a little?

Again, he may have started to do “good work” but quickly realized that keeping up with all to create a perfect kingdom was waaaay over his head. Maybe he was afraid to give it his all, because he knew everyone would still hate him anyway.

Another reason I think Leona thrives better as a “big fish in a small pond” so to speak. Like his dorm leader role where he can interact directly with his cute (this man used this word a lot for some reason) froshes, make tangible make things better for a small group or community.

But as we saw, even with his dorm Leona began to feel overwhelmed with the pretty promises he made to his underclassmen in Chapter 2 about the Spelldrive tournament. He like…wants to be wanted but he’s terrified of people actually relying on him, because trying your best and then failing anyways is the most painful thing to him. His instinct when he gets too frustrated with something is to act like he never cared about it in the first place or anyone. AKA “I did everything right and it's THE REST OF YOU who are incompetent.”

That’s why I personally think that in the future Leona working within a small community might be a better fit for him, using his skills to see potential in others as a way to connect with them and teach them how to thrive.

So yeah, needless to say the group is stumped on analyzing Leona’s intentions and Azul hilariously notes that Leona is just…a complicated person.

What an understatement.

The group hatches a silly plan to have Ruggie puppet a Cheka hologram and yeah obviously it didn’t work.

This is where it started to get interesting again.

Dream!Kifaji said he’s been “waiting for the day Leona would wake up from his bad dream” and joins the fight against him to wake him. It’s like Leona telling himself that it's time to let his original dream go.

Ortho is surprised Kifaji is on their side, that he should be the darkness pulling Leona back in, but like I mentioned I think Kifaji is actually a “fail safe” Leona created to stay lucid or...maybe the little bit of hope he has fostered now that he has grown from Chapters 2’s events.

Since Kifaji is the one to normally call him out, maybe he's Leona’s way of processing his relationship with him. And that maybe…sometimes as annoying as Kifaji is, he has a point. Kifaji is the one who is implied to have raised him after all, so it's no surprise Leona sees him in a father-like role more than his own father.

“No one understands me, it's not my fault.” Leona laments running away, running away from himself.

Reminds me a lot of Chapter 2 Leona where he began to feel sorry for himself instead of actually trying to fix things. It's clear that no matter how smart and mature Leona is…is that he still has a lot of growing to do. And that his relationship with his family and country are complex. There is not a black and white or good and bad with this situation and I feel like this is important when talking about him and his relationships with his family.

He was very much ostracized and probably neglected to some extent by his real parents but at a certain point, Leona decided to give up on improving himself just because he didn't achieve the results he wanted to. It's one of his biggest flaw.

His complacency is what drags him further into the darkness. Not Kifaji.

Sitting and stewing in his despair and how unfair his life has been instead of reaching out. Rehashing all thise chess strategies alone on his chess board until his brain hurts. Making grandiose plans instead of actually working hard toward a realistic goal.

The idle king. A king with naught. (Nothing.)

I am now realizing that in a way (because Ruggie and Leona are so similar) Jack is Leona’s foil; he is the determined and earnest one who admires Leona at his best. He still holds the innocence and the idealism of working hard.

The group jumped through the darkness with Leona and we are replaying the events of Chapter 2 once again.

Ruggie and Jack watch it go down in dismay. Ruggie addresses that he once did think Leona’s way of thinking/plan was good and it’s cool to see he clearly regrets it now too.

They watch the drama play out as if Leona’s plan in Chapter 2 actually succeeded and see that he craves more. More ways for Savanaclaw to get ahead by unsavory means.

Jack says even if Leona becomes king there will be no end to his dissatisfaction. BOOM, there it is.

That is why Chapter 2 is so mind boggling. Leona’s whole speech was about being king and second. But it’s clear now, it's not what he truly wants. I think Leona is afraid to admit what he really wants. Because that takes vulnerability and then comes the possibility of being rejected.

Jack also notes that, despite Leona getting “everything he wanted” he seems more grumpier and dissatisfied than usual.

“Leona is not your King, hes’ our Dorm Leader,” Jack growls. They fight and we get a nice callback to Lion King here. “Remember who you are.”

As Leona wakes up from his dreams he straight up says, yeah the scheme from Chapter 2 was…stupid. (Nice.)

Oh and we finally get some acknowledgement that Ruggie feels like Leona abandoned him in Chapter 2 which SHEEEEEEEESH. This is a deep cut for me, considering Ruggie’s real dad abandoned him. And it really confirms the fact he sees Leona as a father/big brother figure.

But, Leona doesn't, he sacrifices himself for Ruggie as the whole group tries to escape the crumbling dream. And while Ruggie cries out for Leona, Leona goes down smirking not knowing what will happen to him.

It’s time for him to face himself, his blot monster.

Blot!Leona wants them dead, all of them. Cheka, Falena, everyone. The real Leona finds it kind of pathetic. Because, in reality, I don't think Leona hates Cheka or Falena and he doesn't want to be alone anymore.

Leona admits to his blot that yeah, no he can’t do the job. He can’t be king. And instead of it being a negative it’s more a relief? Maybe he is incompetent too. He is addressing himself and his previous grandiose illusions. He hasn’t done anything worthy of being king.

However, he will not give up. He’s finally living up to Savanaclaw’s motto of perseverance (which he sorta laughed off in Chapter 2?)

This next part is what struck me the most because. He just lays it out so simply, finally saying it out loud.

Self awareness!! Like he finally said it!! (And I felt very vindicated in this moment, NGL)

What he desires most is the approval of others.

Ah, and Blot!Leona responds with the fact he can't earnestly try, it's too painful to think of failing. Props for Leona acknowledging his flaws! Just like with the other overblotters. But I'm especially floored here because of how PRIDEFUL he is all the time.

In order to have better relationships with people, he has to leave that whole “they all hated me” shit behind. Because in reality, there are people who care for him despite his flaws. There are those who look up to him and admire him, for him.

But, the idea of that I think is so…crazy to him that he tends to deny its very existence. Then when he is genuinely complimented on his leadership or whatever skills he brushes it off.

He calls himself disgusting which feels kinda sad but it’s proof he has moved on from his previous way of things. What did I say earlier? Leona is afraid of failure.

Giving being a king a earnest optimistic go is too painful for him because ultimately he is afraid of failing. Like he was happier to play the role of tyrannical king than to bother to build relations with the citizens of his kingdom.

As his blot self withers away it’s almost…sad compared to the previous blot monster showdowns we’ve seen. It mentions something about “his friends” (A reference to Scar’s final words.) like he’s reaching out for Leona so it's not alone anymore. And Leona almost embraces his monster? It’s clear he feels pity for this thing…him. His pain, his depression, his loneliness. Maybe a step in the way of self-love? He acknowledges (almost as to soothe it) that it will always be with him, clawing from inside. Except now, he won’t give up.

He vows that he will get what he wants one day, for both of them. He’ll have his “own throne and pride” instead of wanting for someone else’s. He’ll find his place to belong through his own merit.

It reminds me of that expression “find your own tribe” which is an expression that those who are not close to heirt families understand all too well. He wants to find satisfaction outside his desire to rule and maybe because we know he prefers NRC to home, this confirms his fondness for his dorm life. (Savanaclaw found a family dorm.)

When he returns to his original dream of being king Kifaji is there as they look on at Pride Rock. The fact that it is raining is telling that hope has returned. (Just like at the end of Lion King) and that by accepting that “being king” is not what he really wants now “all things are balanced again”.

They have a nice moment here. Leona acknowledging that he has been given the tools to do good things by Kifaji’s training is a big mature moment for him. (Especially how they acted toward one another in the Tamashina Mina event) And Kifaji praising him, since this a dream, could be a testament to what he wishes would happen between them.

AKA Leona finally feels more, “at peace” with himself.

As Leona destroys this false kingdom with his sand he seems reserved, it’s almost bittersweet as it all settles over him, his new found aspirations, letting the old ones go. He's letting the past go. A big theme in Lion King. (I really feel the writers must be fans of the movies.)

Kifaji says: “Go to the place you really belong.”

This line kinda got me. Because the implication is that Night Raven College and his dorm is where he really belongs. Leona is confirming that his experiences at NRC have shaped who he is SO MUCH.

For years he accepted his life as it was, a cage, and now he is acknowledging that he has the power to break that cage and do whatever he wants. It’s a great callback to the advice he gave Jamil in Chapter 6.

This is quite refreshing as he mentioned before that it was too “late for him”. Now, he realizes it isn’t.

Back with the gang, Ruggie admits his fear that Leona will abandon him again. Leona denies it, and says somewhat casually that he is in fact a true friend of his. This feels like a clever inversion of the line that Scar says to the hyenas about being his “friends.”

But, we know now that Leona does mean it now. And this shows Leona’s desire to finally stray from the “path” of his Great Seven counterpart and actually like…have friends?

The reunion of the Savanaclaw trio is actually really sweet. For a dorm full of cocky jocks with strong personalities they seem to be so genuinely happy to be reunited.

Jack bursting out into tears and crying got me tearing up. Like Ruggie and Leona clearly are bit more reserved in their emotions but we see Savanaclaw really are close, despite their disagreements. They care for one another as a dysfunctional little family.

As a dorm that doesn't get much mainstream attention compared to others it was so nice to have this little moment. It's hard to tell, but I’m 99% sure there was a group hug based on how the sprites moved and the sound effects. At least a nice back pat from Leona. (Thanks, dad.)

All in all, I really...enjoyed his dream section. As someone who is pretty hyper-critical, for the most part, it satisfied most of the things I wanted to feel. I even got emotional at a few points! Yes, it would have been nicer to spend more time with “king” Leona and dive into it more. Or get more lore about his family. But, he admitted it FINALLY, everything I have clocked about him all those years ago. It’s very satisfying to see his growth in a tangible straightforward way, instead of just me reading between the lines.

I hope we will continue to see even more growth with his character (Like we did in the Halloween event) and I’m excited to see the role he will play in the rest of Chapter 7, even if it’s just him being a cranky old man. (What do you expect he was raised by one?)

I'd like to end this with some positivity. As someone who deep dives into character stuff a lot I know it's really comforting to see part of yourself reflected back in your favorite characters.

To anyone reading who feels they have things in common with Leona or his despair, the truth is that you should keep going, even if it's just to spite the world itself.

Your vision and presence in this world are valid all on their own and that failing is not indicative of your value as a person. It never will be.

Keep fighting to find your place, your pack and never forget who you are.💚

Thanks for reading!! This one took quite a bit to edit and think through so if you like my Leona analyses, I’d appreciate a reblog or even just if you wanna share it with your friends! Shoutout to the youtuber ガスマスクゲーマー whose video I pulled these screenshots from. Thank you!

#twst #leona kingscholar #twst chapter 7 #leona twst #charcter analysis #twst leona #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #savanaclaw #twst analysis #bunnwich writes📝

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simplygojo · 1 month ago

Text

Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Seven

author's note ⸺ Hello lovely people! I hope u are all doing well this Sunday :) I have finished up my edits on this chapter and am very excited to hear your thoughts as this is where the plot begins to thicken. I love all ur comments and some of y'all have just started DMing me and sending in asks and MY HEART IS SO FULL <33 Also exciting news: I will be publishing a nerdjo x reader multi-chapter fic in June!! So stay tuned!! pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, taglist at end, 3.8k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

previous chapter ୨୧ series masterlist ୨୧ next chapter

Geto: Got it. Be there in 30.

And just like that, your night cracked open.

You stood in the middle of the kitchen, phone still in your hand, as if it might say more if you just kept looking at it.

Thirty minutes.

You didn’t think—just moved.

You wandered into the bathroom, flicking on the soft overhead light. Washed your hands. Then your face.

You looked up, water dripping from your chin, and stared at your reflection in the mirror.

Your eyes were wide—not panicked, just… alive. Awake in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You reached blindly for the towel, dabbing at your face, suddenly aware of how warm your cheeks felt.

After touching yourself up a bit, you made your way back to the bedroom, still not really thinking, just doing.

A gentle patter of rain against the windows settled into the background, faint but rhythmic. Not a storm—just the kind of rain that settles in and stays a while.

The sound curled at the edges of the quiet, filling the space without asking.

But something about the quiet of your apartment made everything sound louder—the whining of the pipes in the wall, the sigh of the heater kicking on, the creak of the floorboards as your heel shifted, just slightly off center.

You moved toward the chair by the window, where your hoodie from two days ago lay draped, sleeves twisted like it had slumped there after giving up.

Picking it up, you folded it without thinking. Placed it on the armrest, suddenly now hyper-aware of how many little messes were sitting around your place that you’d just hadn’t noticed before.

Not that it made the place look dirty—just kinda more… lived in. And there wasn’t anything wrong with that…right?

A mug sitting out on the counter with a ring of tea at the bottom.

Three receipts in a pile near the keys.

Your shoes—one tipped over, half-tucked under the coffee table.

You righted them. Not for him. Just—because. You’d have to do it eventually, why not now?

You quickly pulled your phone from your back pocket to check the time: 9:47.

Eleven minutes.

The silence you felt was heavy. No music. No TV playing mindlessly in the background. Nothing to fill the void that felt like your apartment.

Your thumb hovered over the screen a second longer than necessary.

Then—Spotify.

That old, faithful green app on your home screen.

You pressed shuffle on a playlist you’d built over the past few years. Songs shuffled together from half-sleepless mornings and lazy Sunday afternoons. The opening chords of a familiar track spilled into the room—warm, looping guitar, steady drums.

The kind of sound that didn’t demand anything, just offered itself up and stayed a while.

You let the music play.

Not for any particular reason. It just felt better than the silence.

You sat down on the couch, thumb grazing the seam of your jeans, letting the song fill the space. Nothing dramatic. Just… something to do while the minutes passed.

You weren’t expecting much from tonight.

Geto had always kind of moved through your life like this—unexpectedly, casually. Like showing up was just something he did sometimes. And this felt like one of those times.

You only ever really got to know him in the moments between Gojo.

For a long time—maybe two years—Suguru Geto had just been Gojo’s friend.

The quieter presence, the steadier one. Always with that half-smile and his sleeves rolled neatly at the forearms, as if even his ease came with intention. You could still picture the first time it was just the two of you, alone in that library.

He was the person standing just off to the side in every memory you had of those years, hands in his pockets, watching the way Gojo filled up the room.

But sometimes Gojo would be late, or forget, or disappear entirely.

And that’s when Geto would sit across from you.

Just the two of you, sharing whatever was left of the afternoon or the space or the silence. No spotlight. No noise. Just low conversation and the occasional dry comment that stuck with you longer than you expected it to.

Those were the pieces of him you learned—quiet, rare things. A glance. A line from a book.

The way he really listened when you spoke, not just waiting to reply but actually there to hear you.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

**4 Years Ago: Campus Library 2:28 pm**

The library had that particular kind of quiet that wasn't really silent—just full of other people trying not to make noise. Pages turning, pens scratching. The occasional cough muffled into the crook of an elbow.

It was an older building, with real wooden shelves, not the cold plastic or industrial steel you'd gotten used to in public libraries growing up. These shelves were warm-toned and tall, climbing nearly to the ceiling, stacked tight with worn spines and little brass call number plates.

You were tucked into the far end of one of the long tables by the windows, headphones in, jazz looping soft in your ears. A watered-down iced coffee sat sweating beside your open textbook.

Business Law. Final exam. Second year.

Your notes were a mess. Your eyes were tired. But your focus had reached that kind of dull, narrowed state where time bent around the pages and the words almost started to make sense.

You didn’t notice him until he put his bag down.

Suguru Geto. Gojo’s best friend—well, other than you.

You blinked up, tugging one earbud out. He gave you a nod—not sheepish, not smug. Just… neutral. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to join you, even though you were pretty sure the two of you had never spoken one-on-one before.

You gave him a polite smile. The kind reserved for like classmates or acquaintances, or friends-of-friends.

Then he opened his bag and pulled out a textbook, spine softened from use, corners curled. He didn’t make a sound beyond that. No explanation. No question. Just settled in, a quiet body beside yours at the edge of the window light.

You tried to refocus on your notes, but the presence of him lingered—a shift in the air, not intrusive, just… present.

Every so often, your eyes flicked toward him.

He read steadily, one hand curled near his jaw, thumb brushing the page as he turned it. A pen tucked behind his ear. A faint scuff on his sneakers.

He hadn’t brought headphones, but he didn’t seem to need them.

Your playlist looped into another low, slow track. Jazz drums and upright bass. Something that made the library feel more like a moment than a place.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes still on the page in front of him.

Then, without looking over, he spoke—voice low, just above the hush of the room.

“You studying for BA121?”

You glanced at him, surprised, but then looked down at your boldly labelled textbook and sighed. “Yeah.”

He nodded once, still thumbing the corner of his book, which turned out to be the same one as yours, just in a much worse condition. “Same.”

You blinked. “Oh, wait—really? I didn’t realize you were in that class.”

His mouth quirked—not quite a smile, but close. “Oh really? Interesting. I guess disappearing into the back row really does work.”

You winced, a hand half-lifting in apology. “Sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I usually sit near the front.”

He let out a soft laugh, and the sound caught you off guard—not loud, but warm, rough around the edges like he didn’t use it all that often.

“It’s alright,” he said, glancing over now. “I wasn’t exactly trying to be memorable.”

You gave a sheepish smile, suddenly aware of how dry your mouth felt.

The silence shifted—same shape, different weight. A little looser around the edges now.

You reached for your pen again, but your grip was soft, unfocused. The lines on the page blurred, just a bit. The kind of blur that had nothing to do with your eyes.

You hadn’t even realized he was in that class.

Something about that sat a little funny—like you’d missed something obvious. Had he noticed you? Or had the textbook just given it away? Either way, it left a small echo in your chest.

He adjusted in his seat. The hem of his sleeve brushed the table. Nothing big, nothing showy. Just a reminder that he was still there, right next to you.

Not loud. Not distracting. But present.

After a long beat, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“You think you’re gonna pass this final?”

You exhaled through your nose, each word laced with fake annoyance. “Not if I keep talking to Gojo’s mysterious friend.”

He smiled at that. Not sarcastic this time—just a real genuine smile. “Touché.”

You both looked back down at your textbooks, as if by unspoken agreement.

The quiet folded over you again—pen to paper, eyes tracing text—but something buzzed low in your chest now, faint and bright like a secret you weren’t sure you were supposed to have yet.

You fought the smile tugging at your mouth. Really tried. But it was no use. It crept up anyway—cheeky and uninvited.

Curious, you risked a glance sideways in his direction.

And there he was. Suguru. Also looking up. Also smiling.

That same unreadable curl at the corner of his lips, like the two of you were in on something that no one else would ever quite get.

His eyes were dark, but not in the way of shadows, more in the way old velvet holds warmth—quiet, weighty, and worn with something you couldn’t quite name.

Your gazes held.

Not long. Maybe a second. Maybe less.

But it settled in your chest like the gentle weight of a blanket—comforting and light and kind of impossible to ignore.

Then, as if coordinated without a signal, you both dropped your eyes back to the pages in front of you like it hadn’t happened.

You flipped a page in your notes, hand slower now, pen resting loose between your fingers.

He capped his pen, rolled it once across the back of his knuckles, then uncapped it again.

Neither of you said another word.

But the silence no longer belonged to the library.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

**Present Day: Your Apartment 9:58 pm**

You pulled yourself out of the memory like stepping back from a window—one moment inside it, the next with your palms flat against the glass.

The library dissolved, its warm wood and filtered light giving way to the dim quiet of your apartment. A different kind of silence. A different kind of ache.

It had been years, but the moment clung like dust in the corners of your mind, undisturbed until now.

It’s strange, how something so small—just a glance across a library table—could leave a memory deep enough to resurface years later, still whole, like it had been waiting in the quiet just beyond reach.

You blinked, the soft blue glow of your phone as it vibrated, tugging you from your thoughts and back into reality.

Geto: Here. Wanna buzz me up?

You stared at the message for a beat, then stood up and made your way towards the buzzer by your front door.

You had no butterflies. No last-minute panic. Just the faint hum of readiness, like a light turning on in a room you hadn’t entered in a while.

You: Yep! One sec :)

Somewhere below, the door groaned open. Pipes clanked. The building held its breath.

You didn’t move from your little kitchenette beside the entryway. Just stood, fingers curled lightly at your sides, the music behind you still spinning something soft and familiar through the speaker.

Then—

A pause. Just on the other side of your front door.

A knock.

You reached for the knob. The metal met your fingers, cool and smooth.

You opened it.

And there he was—Geto.

Rain clung to him in soft streaks, running the length of his coat sleeves, caught in the collar where the fabric had darkened. His hair was all the way down, loose and heavy with water, a few strands pressed flat to his cheek.

It gave him a different look.

You noticed how his eyes reflected the warm spill of light from inside when you opened the door, highlighting the softness you tended to see behind his gaze.

You stepped back without thinking, leaving just enough to let him in without speaking.

“Hey,” he said, quiet, with a nod that somehow felt like it held more weight than the word itself.

“Hey,” you echoed, your voice not loud, but enough to cut through the space between you.

You weren’t sure why you felt so—nervous. You had opened your door to Geto countless times, although it was always when others were already in your apartment…

He stepped inside, careful to toe off his shoes by the door, water already beginning to bead on the floor. You reached instinctively for the towel hanging on the hook near the entry—normally used for grocery runs or spilled tea—and handed it to him without a word.

Thank god you did the laundry this weekend…

“Thanks,” he murmured, accepting it, rubbing the back of his neck first, then pushing his wet hair back with one slow pass of his hand, the towel dragging behind like an afterthought. It didn’t do much—just shifted the strands out of his face before they fell forward again.

You tried not to stare.

Tried not to notice how good he looked like this—rain-damp and quiet, something about the messiness softening him.

Like an artist's greatest portrait left out in the weather. Like a version of him not meant to be seen by you up close.

He wore it well, though.

The water-darkened sleeves, the slight flush on his nose and cheeks from the walk, the way the low light caught on the curve of his cheekbone.

Not the kind of thing you should necessarily be noticing. But I mean, you’re not going to hell for thinking your friend is a good-looking dude. It’s not like that meant anything to either of you.

Still, your eyes caught on the little details.

The tilt of his jaw when he glanced toward the living room.

The way his hand settled on the towel, gripping it once like he didn’t quite know what to do with it now that he was inside.

He slid his jacket off, careful with the sleeves, like the fabric might protest if tugged too hard. The movement sent another few drops scattering to the floor.

“Shit—sorry,” he said, glancing down as water beaded at his feet. “Didn’t think it’d be coming down this hard.”

You shook your head, already stepping aside so he could hang it on the rack by the door.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Coat rack’s been bored anyway.”

—That's a bit odd to say, but that’s alright!

He huffed a quiet laugh, eyes flicking toward yours—holding it for just a moment while he smiled at your dumb joke—before returning to the coat rack.

The jacket landed with a wet, muted thump against the hook, shoulders sagging the second he let go, like it had been holding something up for him.

He gave it one last glance, then rubbed his hands along his forearms, slow, trying to shake off the leftover chill.

For a moment, nothing more than the sound of the rain outside, dull and steady against the windows, the faint scrape of the towel as he patted at the ends of his hair.

Then—

“You want tea or anything?” You asked, your fingers brushing the lip of the counter.

He glanced at you, eyes warm. “Yeah. If it’s not a hassle.”

“Of course it’s not,” you said without missing a beat, already turning toward the kettle.

Behind you, the door eased shut on its own. Not a slam—just the soft click of something returning to place.

He stepped further inside, eyes drifting across the space like he was trying to take it in without making a thing of it. You wondered if he was comparing it to your old place—the tiny student flat with barely enough room to turn around, where Gojo used to complain the walls were too thin and the fridge made ‘psychotic noises’ at night.

This one wasn’t much bigger to be honest, but it was yours now. Yours in a way the last one hadn’t been considering you lived with four other girls, and Gojo practically visited every day.

Geto’s gaze flicked across the bookshelf, the little trailing plant over the kitchen cupboard, the single framed print above the couch.

Not in a nosy way—just absorbing the environment. Familiarizing himself.

He moved toward the couch, careful of the damp towel still hanging from one hand, and sat down like he was half-afraid the thing would squeak under him. It didn’t, the cushion just let out a quiet sigh.

The couch wasn’t far from the kitchen—nothing in your apartment was—so even with your back to him at the counter, you could still hear the soft shuffle of him settling in.

The towel rustled again as he rubbed the ends of his hair, slower now, like he wasn’t in a rush.

“So…Welcome to my apartment, you haven’t been in this one before,” you said, only half-looking over your shoulder as you measured out loose leaf into the strainer.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little lower now. “Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” you said, turning to face him for a beat. “Just overdue, I guess.”

That made him smile—small, crooked. The kind of smile that made your throat go a little tight for no reason at all.

“Nice place,” he said, glancing around again. “Very you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. It just feels like yours. Lived-in. Warm.” He shrugged. “Also the music. And your loose-leaf tea. And the fact that there are, like, four different oddly shaped mugs on that shelf.”

You huffed a laugh as your grin widened. “Okay, Geto, now you’re being judgy.”

“I’m not! I swear…I like it.” His gaze cut to yours, easy.

“Feels settled,” he said, easing back into the couch. “Like it’s got a rhythm.”

You turned toward the kettle, eyebrows lifting. “That’s a polite way of calling it cramped.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose. “Didn’t say that.”

“No, but you thought it.”

Another soft smile. “I just meant—it feels like you. Like you’ve been here a while.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “I have.”

He nodded once, almost to himself, then reached for the towel again, pressing it behind his neck where his hair still dripped a little.

His eyes scanned the nearby shelf, the quiet kitchen details. No commentary. Just noticing.

You turned back to the counter. “And for the record, I pay too much rent for it not to feel like me.”

“City tax,” he murmured, almost too quiet to catch. “Comfort’s always overpriced.”

Geto laughed under his breath, then went quiet again. You could hear the shift of the fabric beneath him as he crossed one ankle over his knee, glanced down at a coaster on the coffee table like it had caught him off guard.

“This one’s got a cat in a space helmet,” he said.

“Yeah. Set of four. Each one is a different animal in space.”

He paused. “Nice. I like space animals, what are the other ones?”

“One’s a duck. Another one’s a bear, and the one I will be using—” You set down a second coaster beside his. “—is a hippo.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Did you buy these or were they a gift?” He said, completely deadpan.

You glanced back at him with that same grin you just couldn’t seem to shake. “Does it matter? Don’t you like them?”

“Of course I do,” he said, smiling back at you and letting a small chuckle slip past his lips. “Wish I was that cool y’know?”

That made you laugh—quietly, through your nose. You shook your head as you reached for the boiling kettle. “Yeah I do know.”

You poured the tea, the faint hiss of water filling the mugs, and carried them over—setting his down on the space cat. He thanked you with a quiet murmur and wrapped both hands around the mug, warming them.

You sat across from him, your own mug nestled against your legs, knees pulled up comfortably under you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything—just letting the steam rise, letting the silence stretch a little in that comfortable way that didn’t need filling.

Then—

“So,” you said, your tone light but edged with curiosity, “What’s up? Was this just…You being spontaneous?”

He looked at you then—really looked.

Not with that easy warmth he wore like second nature, but something closer to stillness.

Like he was weighing the moment in his hands, turning it over before deciding what to offer back.

After all—Geto never wasted words.

His smile lingered, soft at the edges, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. There was a flicker there instead—something hesitant, almost searching.

His gaze fell, not abruptly, but with a slow sort of grace.

Drifted down to the rim of the mug cupped between his palms, where steam curled lazily into the air.

Then further, toward the window, where the rain slipped down in quiet ribbons. The kind of rain that made you feel like the world had shrunk to just the room you were in.

And in that small silence, something in your chest pulled tight.

It wasn’t weird to ask that—was it?

When his eyes returned to yours, they were softer.

Unshielded in a way they hadn’t been before. But quickly darted away.

He didn’t speak right away—just let the moment stretch between you, fragile and thin and glinting with something that felt too honest to touch.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low—barely above the whisper of the rain. “I’m just… kinda spontaneous.”

His lips curved slightly, the kind of smile that followed a thought he hadn’t meant to say out loud, but it was a fleeting thing.

Not a deflection. Not even a joke. Just an acknowledgment that the words were only part of what he meant.

There was a subtle shift, his posture easing toward you with quiet intention.

“But—” His gaze found yours again. This time, he didn’t look away.

And you felt it. The weight of it.

His thumb drifted along the curve of the mug, slow and deliberate, the motion steadying in a way that suggested he wasn’t quite at rest.

“Is it so wrong if I just wanted some good company?”

Your heartbeat faltered at his words. There was no bravado in it. No performance. Just a small truth, placed gently between you like an offering.

You were his idea of good company.

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ponderingmoonlight · 8 months ago

Text

Geto being forced to kiss you during a mission but shamelessly making out with you instead

Pairing: Geto x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,8k

Synopsis: It was an easy mission like many others before. Get in, find the suspect, free the innocent. Well, if it wasn't for none other than Geto Suguru who has to play your boyfriend. If it wasn't for that fateful situation that forces you into a heated kiss.

Warnings: I swear this is a dream I had tonight and I HAD to write it down with Geto being the main character lol, no smut but it's getting a little heated y'all, enjoy

You’ve been assigned to many missions before, but this one is different. It’s not the mission itself - that’s pretty standard. Blend in, gather the information needed, free their hostages and get out. No, what makes this different is who you’re paired with.

Geto Suguru.

It’s not that you dislike Suguru. Quite the opposite, really. He’s intelligent, powerful, and intimidatingly good-looking. To be honest, you didn’t really get the chance to talk a lot with him. You’ve met him a few months ago at a party, innocently meeting his gaze for the first time. Since then, you wrote a few messages back on forth without him really kicking off a conversation with you himself.

Working so closely with him? That’s a whole different challenge.

You glance over at him as the two of you walk down a crowded street, playing the part of casual tourists. He’s dressed casually, his black hair tied up in its usual bun, dark sunglasses resting on his face. His tall frame and handsome face draw some attention, but not enough to arouse suspicion. Still, you’re hyper-aware of his presence, every step synchronized with his, every breath you take feels too loud beside him.

“You alright?” Suguru questions, his voice smooth as ever, but there’s a hint of amusement hidden behind it.

You realize you’ve been staring a little too long. Again.

“Yeah, fine,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Just focused.”

“Good,” he comments, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“We can’t afford any distractions today.”

It’s funny he should say that, given that he’s been the biggest distraction for you all day.

The two of you are currently undercover in the heart of Tokyo, tasked with infiltrating a high-profile gathering where some curses are believed to be in league with a dangerous rogue sorcerer. You’re supposed to act like a couple - just a pair of normal people attending a party, gathering information without raising any alarms. Simple enough.

Except pretending to be a couple with Geto Suguru isn’t as easy as it sounds.

The party venue is just up ahead, a high-end rooftop lounge that glows with expensive lights and laughter spilling out into the cool evening air. You take a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your dress as you try to mentally prepare yourself for what’s coming. You’ve done plenty of undercover work before, but never one so… intimate.

As if sensing your tension, Suguru places a hand lightly on the small of your back, guiding you toward the entrance. The touch sends a jolt through you, far too electrifying for something so casual. You hope he doesn’t notice the silly reaction of your body, how his touch alone sends shivers down your spine.

“We’ll get in, blend, and be out of here before anyone knows we’re even involved,” he murmurs, his voice so close to your ear it sends another shiver down your spine.

“Just stay close to me.”

You nod, your pulse quickening despite yourself.

“Got it.”

The two of you approach the entrance, and after a quick flash of the fake invitations, you’re in. The lounge is just as extravagant as you expected: soft golden lights, chandeliers glinting like diamonds, and elegantly dressed people sipping on expensive drinks.

The air is thick with the scent of alcohol and perfume, a faint buzz of conversation filling the room. You can feel the tension already, a subtle undercurrent that tells you something’s off. The rogue sorcerer could be anywhere in the crowd, and the curses could be anyone. You can’t afford to relax for even a second.

Suguru’s hand doesn’t leave your back as he leads you through the room, guiding you with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times before. You find a spot near the back, close to the open bar, where you can observe without being too obvious.

“They’re here somewhere,” Suguru mumbles, his eyes scanning the crowd behind his sunglasses.

You nod in agreement, your gaze sweeping over the guests. You can feel eyes on you too, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just regular party-goers glancing at the attractive couple standing together, unaware of what you and Suguru are really here for.

Just as you start to relax, a small group of men enters from a side door, catching your attention. One of them, in particular, stands out. He’s dressed sharply, his dark hair slicked back, a predatory gleam in his eyes. You don’t need to double-check him, your palms already starting to sweat.

That’s him. The rogue sorcerer. The man you’ve been searching for.

Suguru notices him too, his posture tensing slightly.

“That’s our target,” he mutters under his breath.

You nod subtly, trying to remain casual, but the moment the sorcerer’s eyes land on you and Suguru, they narrow. He recognizes something. Or maybe it’s just paranoia. Either way, the tension in the air spikes.

“He’s watching us,” you whisper, your pulse quickening.

“Act natural,” Suguru says, his voice low, steady.

He slides his arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Just follow my lead.”

Your heart pounds at the sudden closeness. His hand is warm on your waist, his body pressed against yours in a way that’s far too intimate for what should be a simple undercover mission. But you force yourself to relax, slipping into the role.

The sorcerer is still watching, his eyes flicking between the two of you with suspicion.

Suguru leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“We need to do something to throw him off. He’s getting suspicious.”

You swallow hard, nodding slightly. The last thing you want to do is causing a scene and risking the lives of countless innocent people.

“What do you suggest?”

There’s a pause, just long enough for you to notice the way his gaze switching back and forth between your lips and eyes. No, he can’t really mean this, right? You, kissing Suguru Geto?

But his eyes aren’t joking around. Not the slightest bit.

“We’re going to have to make this look real,” he continues, voice low and serious.

Before you can ask one more time what he means, his hand slides up to cup your cheek, turning your face toward his.

Your breath catches in your throat as he tilts your chin up, his dark eyes locking onto yours. There’s no time to question it, no time to think. His lips are on yours before you can even process what’s happening.

It’s soft at first, just a brush of his mouth against yours, gentle and controlled. It’s meant to be quick, just enough to make it seem real. But then something shifts. The pressure deepens, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

You can’t help the soft gasp that escapes you as his other hand tightens on your waist, his body pressing more firmly against yours. What started as a brief kiss to maintain your cover quickly spirals into something else entirely. The kiss grows heated, his lips moving against yours with a hunger you hadn’t expected.

Your hands move on instinct, holding onto the back of his neck as you lean into him, literally fall against him.

You should pull away. The mission. The rogue sorcerer. You can’t afford to be distracted. This is nothing but a cover-up, after all. But the kiss… it’s overwhelming. Suguru’s lips are firm, his breath hot against your skin as he deepens the kiss, coaxing a response from you that you can’t hold back.

The world around you fades. There’s no party, no rogue sorcerer, no mission. There’s just the heat between the two of you, the press of his body against yours, the way his lips seem to know exactly how to pull you under.

Your pulse races, your mind going hazy as the kiss stretches on longer than it should. There’s an urgency now, a desperation in the way his mouth moves against yours. It’s not about the mission anymore. This is something else entirely. Something raw, electric. Something you only allow yourself to dream of.

His tongue brushes against your lower lip, and without thinking, you part your lips, letting him in. The kiss becomes even more intense, your bodies pressed so close you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against yours. His hand moves from your neck, tangling in your hair as he pulls you impossibly closer, his breath mixing with yours as the kiss turns downright needy.

A soft sound escapes you, half gasp, half moan, and you feel Suguru’s grip tighten in response. He’s losing control too. The realization sends a thrill through you, the idea that Geto Suguru, the calm, composed and always in control force of a man, could be folding because of you.

But then, just as suddenly as it started, he pulls away. The kiss breaks, leaving you both breathless, your lips swollen, your heart racing.

Suguru’s chest rises and falls rapidly, his dark eyes staring into yours, wide with something unspoken. His hand lingers on your waist for a moment longer before he finally lets go, stepping back, his expression unreadable.

You blink, trying to clear the haze from your mind, trying to remember where you are, what you’re supposed to be doing, your mind desperately fighting for control while your body still griefs the cold he left behind.

The rogue sorcerer. The mission.

You quickly glance around, realizing the sorcerer is no longer watching. He must have lost interest, convinced by the display. You breathe a sigh of relief, but the tension between you and Suguru remains thick, heavy.

“That… worked,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Suguru nods, but his eyes are still on you, dark and intense.

“Yeah. It worked.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the air between you crackling with something unsaid, something neither of you is quite ready to acknowledge.

But the mission isn’t over yet. You have a job to do, and now, more than ever, you need to stay focused.

Suguru clears his throat, straightening his posture, slipping effortlessly back into his composed persona.

“We should keep moving. We still have to find out what their plan is.”

You nod, trying to steady your racing heart as you follow him through the crowd. But even as you focus on the task at hand, you can still feel the lingering heat of his kiss, the way his lips felt against yours, the way your body reacted to his touch.

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jihyoruri · 11 months ago

Text

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 YOU GOT ME NERVOUS TO SPEAK yu jimin x reader

↳ warnings jimin’s a mess, yn is a model and producer and older idol!karina x famous!reader

you could never catch jimin lacking confidence. she carried herself with an air of self-assuredness that was impossible to ignore, and she always thought highly of herself. nerves? they were foreign to her.

however, jimin had her moments. moments where friends and managers took advantage of her kindness, slipping past her defenses. though these instances were minor, they left a lasting sting, prompting her to build a thick wall around her emotions.

now, nobody could make her feel less than the strong woman she knew herself to be. nobody could easily sway her into doing things for them, and most importantly, nobody could ever make her nervous.

or so she thought.

jimin had heard of yn a few times—just in passing. she knew yn was a high end model, admired for her beauty. but that wasn’t all. yn was also a talented music producer who had worked with various artists, particularly under SM entertainment.despite this, yn had never collaborated with aespa.

that was until their fist full album.

"oh my gosh, she's so cool," aeri exclaimed as she walked out of the recording studio, plopping down beside minjeong. her cheeks were still flushed with excitement. "she complimented my outfit, bro! I wanted to die. she’s so hot."

yizhuo and minjeong nodded in fervent agreement, both still riding the high from their own recording sessions with yn.

"she's in love with me," yizhuo bragged with a grin, her voice dripping with playful confidence. "she kept complimenting my voice. I was literally serenading her."

jimin rolled her eyes at her members’ antics, feeling a bit of skepticism creep in. "stop being delusional," she teased, getting up from her seat and preparing to enter the studio herself. "I guess it's my turn with your little crush," she added, a smirk playing on her lips as she walked through the door.

the moment jimin stepped inside, the first thing she noticed was yn, lounging casually in the producer’s chair, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if lost in thought. there was something about the way yn carried herself—calm, composed, yet effortlessly commanding the room.

jimin cleared her throat, drawing yn’s attention. the producer turned her head, her eyes slowly scanning jimjn from head to toe. the intensity of yn’s gaze made jimin instinctively tug at her sleeves, suddenly hyper-aware of her appearance under the scrutiny.

“hey,” yn greeted, a lazy smile spreading across her lips as she leaned forward in her chair. “best for last, huh?”

jimin felt her face heat up at the comment. It wasn’t just the words, but the way yn said them, smooth and confident, with a hint of something more. the girls weren’t lying, yn had an undeniable charm that was hard to resist.

jimin, for the first time in as long as she could remember, felt a flutter of nervousness. she didn’t like it—not one bit. she tried to brush it off with a light chuckle, but it came out more awkward than she intended, causing yn to raise an eyebrow at her.

“oh-oh, sorry,” jimin stammered, quickly moving toward the recording booth, hoping to shake off the strange feeling that had settled in her stomach. as she stepped inside, she heard yn’s soft laugh. a sound that only made her cheeks burn hotter.

from behind the glass, yn adjusted her glasses, her eyes flicking between a piece of paper and jimin. “you’ve gone over your parts?”

“yep,” jimin replied, trying her best to regain her composure. she watched as yn nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

“good. I’m actually going to have you start with the bridge,” yn instructed, her tone professional yet still carrying that undertone of warmth. “I want to see how it sounds alongside winter’s voice.”

“sounds good,” jimin said, eager to get started. she wanted to get this over with—to finish the session so she could stop feeling whatever it was that yn was making her feel.

yn gave her a small smile. “confident.”

“always am,” jimin replied, a hint of her usual vibe returning.

“that’s cute,” yn remarked, laughing when she saw the shock on jimin’s face. “alright, let’s get recording.”

jimin was so ready to get this over with but who knew one producer could screw her over like this.

it wasn’t going as smoothly as jimin had hoped. an hour passed, and she couldn’t seem to get a single line right. wvery time she tried to focus, she felt yn’s eyes on her, and it threw her off completely. It was frustrating—she had never had this problem before. she was usually the epitome of professionalism, but now she was fumbling over words like a rookie.

jimin gently banged her head against the mic in frustration, eliciting a soft laugh of pity from yn. “Is there any reason why you’re having such a hard time?” yn asked, her tone laced with genuine curiosity.

“you,” jimin grumbled, surprising herself with the admission. she hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it was the truth.

“me?” yn repeated, her voice tinged with amusement.

jimin sighed and leaned back against the wall of the booth, running a hand through her hair. “I’m just… I’m used to certain producers. you’re new to me, I guess. I’m having a hard time because I don’t know you.” the words tumbled out, a half-truth meant to mask the real reason behind her nerves—how was she supposed to tell yn that her presence was distracting because she was just too damn attractive?

It was totally bullshit but it’s all she could think of, how else is she supposed to say “hey, I’m having a hard time because you’re very hot and I can’t focus.”

yn seemed to sense the half-lie, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully, biting the inside of her cheek as if holding back a smile. “alright, then. you can get to know me,” she said casually. “you know the party sm is throwing in a couple of days? find me there.”

jimin did know about the party. It was a big event, meant to celebrate sm artists, choreographers, and producers. she hadn’t planned on going—parties weren’t really her scene—but it seemed she had no choice now.

“okay… I guess I’ll see you there,” jimin agreed, her voice quieter than usual.

“yup,” yn replied, her tone light. “now go tell your members why you couldn’t finish recording because you didn’t know me.” yhe mockery in her voice was playful, causing Jimin to laugh despite herself.

“bye,” jimin said softly, her smile lingering as she turned to leave the room. she couldn’t help but glance back one last time, seeing yn wave with that same teasing grin.

Is it possible to develop a crush in an hour? because it seems like jimin definitely had one

jimin stood beside aeri at the party, her usual confidence feeling slightly out of reach. The sm event was in full swing, with artists, producers, and choreographers mingling under the soft glow of the ambient lights. laughter and chatter filled the room, but jimin found herself unusually quiet, her eyes scanning the crowd.

“you seem nervous,” aeri noted, nudging jimin with her elbow. “I thought you were too cool to get nervous.”

jimin forced a laugh, trying to play it off. “I’m not nervous,” she insisted, though her eyes betrayed her as they continued to dart around the room, searching for a familiar face.

“hh-huh,” aeri teased, clearly not buying it. “If you say so.”

just as Jimin was about to retort, she spotted yn across the room. he producer/model was in deep conversation with a group of sm’s top choreographers, looking effortlessly laid back yn’s presence was magnetic, and it wasn’t just jimin who noticed—several heads turned to glance at her, admiration clear in their eyes.

jimin felt her heart skip a beat when yn’s gaze suddenly locked onto hers. the conversation yn was having seemed to fade into the background as she smiled at jimin, her eyes lighting up with recognition. without breaking eye contact, yn raised her hand and waved jimin over, the gesture both casual and inviting.

“you’re gonna go over there, right?” aeri asked, leaning in with a knowing smirk.

“yeah, I guess,” jimin muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. but inside, her nerves were buzzing, and her feet felt heavier than they should as she began to make her way across the room.

as she approached, yn excused herself from the group she had been talking to, turning her full attention to jimin. “hey,” yn greeted, her voice smooth and warm, just like in the studio. “glad you made it.”

“yeah, well… couldn’t miss it, could I?” jimin replied, cursing herself internally for how awkward she sounded. she took a steadying breath, trying to find her footing. “You look great, by the way.”

yn’s smile widened, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “thank you. you clean up pretty well yourself,” she complimented, her gaze sweeping over jimin appreciatively. “though, I have to say, I’m still thinking about what happened in the studio.”

jimin’s heart sank slightly, knowing exactly what yn was referring to. she let out a nervous laugh, trying to brush it off. “about that… sorry I wasn’t at my best. It was just, you know, the new environment and all.”

“mm-hmm,” yn hummed, clearly unconvinced. she leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a playful whisper. “or maybe it was something else… or someone else?”

jimin’s cheeks flushed, the teasing sound in yn’s voice making it hard to maintain eye contact. “okay, maybe I was a little… distracted,” she admitted, the words tumbling out before she could stop herself.

yn raised an eyebrow, her smile turning into a smirk. “distracted, huh? by what, exactly?”

jimin hesitated, feeling the heat rise in her face. she knew there was no way out of this without admitting some of the truth. “by you,” she finally confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… you’re different from the other producers I’ve worked with. It kind of threw me off.”

yn seemed to savor the admission, her smirk softening into a more genuine smile. “I guess I should be flattered then,” she said, her tone still playful but with a hint of sincerity. “but you didn’t have to make up that little excuse about not knowing me. I think you were just nervous.”

jimin bit her lip, feeling both embarrassed and amused by how easily yn had seen through her lie. “maybe I was,” she admitted, surprising herself with how honest she was being.

yn’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in even closer, her voice just a breath away from jimin’s ear. “well, if it makes you feel better, I thought it was cute.”

jimin’s heart skipped another beat, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe. the way yn was looking at her—with that mix of teasing and something more—was making her feel things she wasn’t used to feeling, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying.

trying to regain some semblance of control, jimin cleared her throat and straightened up, a small, nervous smile on her lips. “So… about that recording session. maybe we could, um, try again? Without the distractions this time.”

“oh?” yn’s interest was clearly piqued, her smirk returning. “and what kind of distractions are you talking about?”

jimin felt her face heat up again, but this time, she decided to lean into it. “how about just the two of us in the studio? no members in the outside room. no distractions,” she suggested, her tone carrying a hint of flirtation despite the nervousness still gnawing at her.

yn seemed to consider this for a moment, her gaze lingering on jimin with an intensity that made the air between them feel charged. “I think that could be arranged,” she finally replied, her voice low and smooth. “just you and me.”

“just us,” jimin echoed, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“well then,” yn said, straightening up but still keeping her eyes locked on Jimin. “It’s a date. I’ll make sure the studio is ready. you just bring that confidence you’re so famous for.”

jimin nodded, her heart racing but excitement bubbling up alongside the nerves. “I’ll be there.”

“looking forward to it,” yn replied, her smile lingering as she took a step back, giving Jimin one last look before turning away, leaving Jimin standing there, trying to process everything that had just happened.

as yn walked away, jimin couldn’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and nerves. It seemed like she had gotten herself into something she wasn’t quite prepared for—but at the same time, she was eager to see where this new, unexpected connection might lead.

I guess you can say she was okay with feeling a bit nervous.

#aespa x reader #aespa x fem reader #karina aespa x reader #karina aespa #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin #girl group imagines

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