#i just didn't know. i lived in a world without him and i didn't even know. how terrible | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dixonsbugaboo · 7 hours ago

Text

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.

ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ🎵

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 1 - 𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶

Fem!Reader x Saja Boys

Summary: Reincarnated in the body of a demon from the last film you saw before you died, you have decided to change the script of the story in your favour. But you didn't count on your presence in the story changing everything.

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, Jinu being an asshole, ooc (probably), kinda self-disdain too, no proofread (oops)

Word count: 3300+

A/N: Hey there! First of all, please remember that English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes (sorry about that), and this is the first time I've written for this fandom, but the hype is very real and I wanted to join in on the Saja fanfic craze. I hope you like it :)

Ch. 0

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From your perspective, being the producer of the Saja Boys was a wonderful idea. But in reality, it was a disaster and a task that would drain your will to live... if you were alive.

The Saja Boys were demons, in the most literal sense of the word, and they drove you crazy. They tested your patience, trampled on your pride, and were incapable of listening to your advice. You should have realised how difficult it would be to carry out your plan from the moment you first met Jinu... and you almost pulled each other's hair out, literally.

In the movie, Jinu was handsome, but in reality... he was simply breathtaking. Even in his demonic form, he was the most attractive man you had ever seen, with patterns crossing his sharp face like tattoos and radiant eyes that seemed to see right through you. Your demonic form, on the other hand, was a far cry from what a normal human would look like: with horns sticking out of your forehead, sharp teeth and eyes that were too big and outstanding. You were sure that if you could look at yourself in a mirror, your own reflection would be depressed.

Jinu walked confidently, heading in an unknown direction, not caring in the slightest that another creature from the underworld was literally drooling and staring at him. Or so you thought...

"Is this a staring contest?"

You tensed immediately when he stopped walking and spoke, his back still facing you, clearly addressing you.

"... Excuse me?"

"I asked you if this is a staring contest. Can you stop gawking at me? You're going to wear out my face...."

Damn conceited demon. There's nothing worse in the world than an attractive man who is aware of his good looks. Lesson learned.

You decided to continue on your way because you had a feeling that if the conversation continued, you would end up trying to scratch his eyes out with your claws.

"... he's not THAT handsome," you muttered as you walked away.

Silly you, Jinu heard you and teleported right in front of you, so you ended up bumping into his chest. Which, by the way, was pretty hard... considering you hit your nose bad, and now it hurted like hell.

"Pardon me?" he asked, hands on his hips and an arrogant look on his face. "I think you just lied to yourself." That smirk was driving you crazy.

"Lie? HA! All I see in front of me is a smug demon tortured by his past who tries to improve his days by bothering others because he has nothing better to do." You replied, rubbing your sore nose. You would never admit that, before you died, you were sure that if he were real, you would give him your soul without hesitating.

Apparently, your comment bothered him much more than you expected, and when he grabbed you by the shoulders, digging his claws into your skin, you were about to scream. The only thing that stopped you was your pride and the sheer terror that gripped your throat.

"You don't know anything about me. You don't know me."

Oops. That's right. You weren't supposed to have seen him before and didn't know anything about him. First mistake. But... what if you took advantage of the situation to speed things up? All you had to do was try to get along with him... and plant the seed of an idea...

"You know what?" you managed to say as you pulled his hands away from your shoulders, which were sore from his strong grip.

You had just dodged a possible death (if that was even possible, giving you were already dead) at the hands of your number one platonic crush. "You're right." You pretended to brush dust off your shoulders. "I don't know you. But I've heard of a demon who sounds a lot like you... and who was supposedly a musician in his human life."

Jinu raised his eyebrows, surprised and apparently calmer, letting his arms fall to his sides. Damn, he was tall. Next to him, you looked like a mushroom. A mushroom with horns and popping eyes.

"You know, before I died, I used to write music," you said, trying to plant the seed of the idea.

It wasn't entirely a lie... you did write music, although the demon whose body you occupied, through his memories, you learned that he had absolutely no knowledge of it, since they were a painter.

Jinu's gaze made it clear, however, that he had no idea what you were talking about. In fact, he thought you were crazy and waited respectfully for you to finish your ramblings so he could walk away and never come back.

"The thing is..." you continued. The poor guy wasn't very bright. "In the end, isn't it music that keeps us down here? Besides Gwi-ma, of course." You paused, looking for some response in his eyes. "Because of the hunters... because they sing... because their music keeps the Honmoon alive..." You continued, speaking slowly, trying to make him think it was his idea... but he didn't seem very interested. In fact, he looked at you as if he wanted to leave as soon as possible to get back to his miserable life in the underworld.

You snorted, bit your lower lip and decided to give up. What was the point of trying to get a demon with a brain the size of a peanut to understand the plan that, according to the script, would (temporarily) destroy the Honmoon? Because Jinu was clearly incapable of coming to that conclusion on his own.

You took a deep breath and decided to plant the seed deep in his mind, by force, to see if he would water it. As a gift.

"... Sometimes I think, oh, how awful it must be to live down here, hungry for souls, because of those tacky singers! And I realise that the problem has always been the same: the source of their power, which turns out to be the people who listen to their music... you know, right? their fans?"

Jinu nodded slowly, finally understanding where you were going with this.

"Guess we manage to steal their fans and... Ta-da! We're free!" You finish with a dramatic pose, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. At no point do you mention that this plan, if executed well, could be a feast for Gwi-ma, because that's not part of your scheme... although you'll figure out a way to deal with that in the future, when necessary.

Jinu remained silent, scrutinizing you.

Playing dumb didn't work for him, because even though his plan was to play bonkers so you would leave him alone, your intentions were apparently far from stopping talking anytime soon. Furthermore, he had been mulling over that idea long before you mentioned it... but he found it striking that you had thought of it. Did you say you wrote music?

You could even be useful for his plan...

Was that a sign to get started?

"You know what? I think it's a good idea," he finally said, after seriously considering disappearing so he would never have to see you again. "It might even work."

"Of course it would work, you idiot!" you shouted in exasperation, tired of the back and forth of the conversation.

Clearly, Jinu didn't like being called an idiot very much, and he stared at you with one eyebrow raised, weighing up whether it was worth slapping one of your eyebrows off. After all, even though you were a little rude and extremely irritating, with that brain of yours, you could be useful to him. And Jinu never let potential tools get away.

You cleared your throat, looking semi-serious again, before continuing: "The thing is... who knows? If someone who could sing found... I don't know... four other people who could sing... and a successful producer in her previous life... they could negotiate with Gwi-ma to form a band... and, you know, succeed?

You were tired of Jinu.

Jinu was tired of you.

But you needed Jinu to find the rest of the Saja Boys, and Jinu didn't mind a producer (not as successful as she claimed to be) with similar ideals to his... even though you were both sure that the other was the stupidest person in the underworld.

In the end, you decided that the best thing for both of you was to work together... even if that meant exchanging ideas again.

But if you thought that encounter had been disastrous, it was because you couldn't even imagine what it would be like to meet the others. Or to have them all together in one room. Or to explain to them how the roles and ‘personalities’ of a modern boy band work... or to get them to stop flirting with you just for fun. Or, quite simply, to get them to pay you the slightest bit of attention.

"I refuse to play the baby, even if Jinu asks me to. Nuh-huh. Not happening."

You put your hands over your face in frustration. Everything was more difficult because you already knew the roles played by each of Jinu's friends. And the hardest part was that they listened to Jinu and Jinu only, not to you, a grumpy, bossy stranger.

"But to satisfy the fans' absurd need to infantilise idols, there has to be one member of the group who behaves a little more like a youngster, Byeol." you said through your hands, tired of arguing.

It was a surprise (though it made sense) to discover that Jinu's friends had real names and not literal descriptions of their roles in the group. It was also a surprise to discover that Sang, whom you knew as Abby by his stage name, was the only one who really liked his role in the band: the himbo, muscular gym rat.

Byeol flatly refused to play the adorable maknae. Even though he was the youngest... and whose physique was more like that of a young boy.

Dasom wanted to be the leader, not the flirtatious Don Juan. Even though it had already been made clear that Jinu would be the leader.

And Minjun wanted to be the team mascot. Even though you had explained to him hundreds of times that boy bands didn't have mascots.

Jinu, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy your frustration. He knew your idea was good, especially after studying current music trends and fan preferences himself, but he would rather die (again) than confess that you were right.

You just wanted to pull your eyelashes out from the stress they were causing you. Because when they weren't complaining about your ideas, they were playing games to make you agitated and blush. Which was difficult when your lack of self-esteem and patience couldn't properly process the flirting and romantic jokes that Dasom, in particular, tried on you.

In the end, at the expense of your mental health, you reached an agreement: you would be strictly partners, and you would work as a team for the common good (making Gwi-ma happy so he would give you some space) and at the same time, for personal reasons: Jinu wanted Gwi-ma to erase his memories, Dasom and Minjun wanted to leave the underworld, even if only temporarily, Sang wanted to improve his quality of life in hell once they had destroyed the Honmoon... and no one knew exactly what Byeol wanted.

Thanks to Jinu, they accepted their roles and decided on their stage names (which, thank goodness, you didn't have to argue with them about, because they were able to come up with them on their own) and ended up accepting you as their producer and something like a secretary or manager or something in between... a helping hand to make their plan succeed.

In return, you only asked for three things: no flirting with you, even as a joke (or seriously), no asking what exactly you would get in return, and never, ever, telling Gwi-ma about yourself, since he didn't know you existed... and if he found out that a demon from his kingdom had a soul and wasn't under his control... you'd be dead.

You would think of something to prevent the death of the humans, Rumi's very avoidable misunderstanding with the others, Jinu's death and all that...in time.

For now, all your attention would have to go into producing their debut and making it a resounding success... and also convincing the boys that pastel pink was sexy.

They clearly had talent. Without using their powers, they were good singers, and you were surprised by Dasom's, now known as Romance, skills as a dancer and choreographer. Baby rapped effortlessly and was able to help you write, Abby had an incredible memory and physical resistance, Mystery had a heavenly voice, and then there was Jinu... who had all of the above, bathed in sarcasm. From that first encounter, your friendship never quite clicked. But you didn't care, because he would clearly end up with Rumi and they would live happily ever after, right?

Before you pitched the idea to Gwi-ma, you wanted them to be ready. You wanted their debut to be perfect. At first, simply because it was your plan, and because it was necessary for the story to move forward. But as time went by, it was also for their sake. Because even though they constantly drove you crazy and tested your patience, you learned to care for them. After all, part of your plan was to give them back their souls, and to do that, you had to understand them as best you could.

You learned that Baby was the most mature of them all despite being the youngest, even though he never talked about his past as a human beyond admitting that he had been a writer. You had the best conversations with him. He knew how to listen, he knew how to debate, and he was intelligent. Attractive, if you were asked for your honest opinion. One day, after rehearsal, you found him deep in thought, writing notes in a notebook. Although he found it difficult to open up to you, he finally admitted that even in the underworld he still liked to write, especially fantasy, and you convinced him to let you read something. After giving him your honest opinion in the form of constructive criticism and silly jokes, you two became closer. You found Baby to be a very interesting, attractive person with a great talent for storytelling. And to Baby, you were a reliable critic, smart (even if Jinu said otherwise), and although a bit grumpy, very funny. He learned to enjoy his time with you and to miss you when you weren't around. You were the one who could offer him the best conversation... and the best company.

Abby was much sweeter, and sometimes a bit childish. He was competitive and affectionate, hungry for physical contact. Apparently, he had been the eldest son in a military family, and from a very young age he had been raised to be the head of the family. That meant he was the only one of his siblings who couldn't have time for his mother's affection, because he had to be the strongest, and feelings only weakened men. Behind his confident gaze was a child who had never received a hug from his mother. The day you dyed his hair, he discovered how much he liked having his hair stroked, and since then, every now and then he asks you to do it, pretending it's good for his muscles, ignoring the fact that you both know it's the worst lie ever told. But after learning his story, you decided not to say a word about it and let him rest his head on your lap so you could run your fingers through his soft hair. What you didn't know was that, over time, it became Abby's favourite place, and that sometimes, when you hummed without realising while caressing him, he felt like he had finally left the underworld and came home. Because that's what you were starting to be to him.

At first, Mystery was the hardest to deal with, as he was the least vocal of the five. And not being able to see his expression made it even harder to understand his emotions. Was he happy? Sad? Angry? Maybe it was because he had gotten too into his role, but he was a complete mystery. Little by little, you learned to read between the lines, to interpret his silences. When he tilted his head to one side because he was curious, when he lowered his chin because he was angry... He was a bit like a kitten. And you understood why he insisted in been a mascot... without the need to talk, but kinda expressive. You learned that he was an orphan and had lived most of his life alone. As time went by and you learned to understand him, he opened up to you, little by little. He talked to you more, trusted you more. Until he explained that he had once been in love, that his heart had been broken, and that since then he had found it difficult to express himself with words and to open up to people. But for some reason, with you it was different. You never judged him, even though he went along with the others to tease and joke with you, and you were always patient with him. You wanted to understand him... and now he wanted to learn from you and try again to open up to people.

Romance hid a genuinely cheerful and funny boy behind a facade of smiles and empty flirting. Apparently, he had been a dancer in his human life, hence his talent, and he had had four older sisters, which made him the most patient with you. At first he was cold towards you, apparently because you reminded him of a life he couldn't return to, but little by little he came to understand that you had nothing to do with his sisters, hius past and his decisions, and that being distant towards you didn't benefit him at all. Gradually you talked more and more, understanding each other's tastes, and coming to enjoy each other's company. When Romance wasn't trying to embarrass you just for fun, his company could even be enjoyable. And although he didn't want to admit it, he liked spending time with you more and more, and he was beginning to enjoy getting on your nerves in a different way.

Jinu, on the other hand, was the one who had remained the most distant from you. You couldn't say why, but that's how it was. Maybe he was disgusted by your appearance, or maybe he was bothered by the smell of your breath, but he always stayed several steps away from you. He tried to look unbothered, calm, and composed, as long as he wasn't picking on you. How considerate. In fact, he practically only spoke to you directly to annoy you. It was frustrating because you knew he was sweet and kind to Rumi, but for some reason, with you, he was... like that. You wanted to strangle him every time he contradicted you or when he clearly pretended to be fine when his memories were torturing him. You couldn't see that he always turned to look at you when you turned away, that he was the one who cared most about you getting some rest, and that he was actually cold to you to try to prove to himself that you weren't important. That you were expendable. That you were stupid, no fun, not attractive at all, and in no way interesting. Because if he got closer to you, it could mean moving away from his goal.

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A/N: Well! Finally, a real chapter. I hope it was interesting enough to make you want to keep reading… My intention is to let the relationships develop slowly, and as the story progresses, and finally let you choose who will win your heart (wink). For now, everyone deserves a chance, right? Even Jinu, who acts all tough. Or should Jinu end up with Rumi, because they didn't give us that satisfaction in the movie?

Anyway, I hope you liked it and that you want to keep reading :)

See you soon,

Nun🐇

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catchastarorten · 6 hours ago

Text

—“Come back alive”

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x eventuallover!fem!reader

Summary: he never told you how he really felt about you, believing you deserved more than a man consumed with finding his brother and that island. But now, with the island gone, he returned home to you, and did what he should’ve done a long time ago—truly be with you.

Content: very brief mentions of s3 events, happy endings for you and Jun-ho, childhood best friends to lovers, Jun-ho having emotional conflict, kisses, a little angsty(?), fast-paced, English isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.1k

You were his everything long before he ever admitted it to himself.

Jun-ho always knew that. Knew that since you were kids, voices hoarse from screaming each other’s names across the playground.

You two had grown up together, attached at the hip. Kids who met on a rainy schoolyard and never let go. He scraped his knees, and you were the one who washed the blood away. You got your heart broken in middle school, and he showed up with a small boquet he made with flowers he picked and told you that anyone who didn’t love you was a damn idiot.

As time passed by, the world changed—got colder—but you didn’t. Or maybe you did, in the same way he did. But you still looked at him like he mattered when he didn’t even feel real to himself anymore.

When In-ho disappeared, it was like the whole city turned to grey static. People offered "sorry"s, a few helped at first, but you—you stayed. You looked through police reports with him, stayed up late when he looked through footage frame by frame, and asked anyone you thought had a chance of knowing In-ho.

You never once asked him to stop. Never once told him to move on like everyone else did. You just looked at him with that patient grief in your eyes that mirrored his, and it made something hurt deep in his ribs, something too full to name.

There were nights when he wanted to say it. You’d be sitting on his couch with cups of cheap convenience store coffee, exhaustion hanging between you, and he’d look at your face—tired, steady—and want to say, I love you.

But how could he? How could he look you in the eye and ask for your heart when his was still buried under the weight of his missing brother? When he still woke up cold in the middle of the night from that dream? The cliff, the gunshot, the ocean.

He thought if he really said it, if he really let himself have you—you'd feel like a placeholder. Like comfort he ran to because his brother was gone.

And you deserved so much more than being second to his grief.

He was terrified. That loving you meant dragging you into his shadows. That you’d smile that soft smile of yours and nod, but never really feel like you meant enough to him. Because how could you be, if he hadn’t made peace with himself yet?

But he never stopped thinking about it. About you. About the things he didn't say.

And maybe you knew. Maybe that’s why you never said anything either. You never pushed. Never asked. But you were there. You were always there. You waited.

—

The night before Jun-ho left for the island again, he stood outside your apartment for five full minutes, just staring at the door. He thought about turning around. About leaving without seeing you. Maybe it would hurt less that way.

But when you opened the door—like you already knew he was coming—he forgot all of that.

You didn’t ask why he was there. You just let him in.

He stood there in your tiny living room, his eyes didn’t meet yours right away. “...I'm leaving tomorrow.”

You swallowed, your hand tightening slightly on the edge of your sleeve. But you were calm. “So you came to say goodbye.”

He hated the sound of that word in your mouth. Goodbye. It wasn’t supposed to sound so final.

“I came because I didn’t want to leave without seeing you.”

That’s when you reached for him.

A hand to his chest first, gentle and warm. Then your other hand cradled the side of his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone like you were checking to see if he was real. Your eyes flicked to his lips for just a second.

That was all it took.

You kissed him.

Slow.

Soft.

He froze.

Not because he didn’t want it—but because he did, he wanted you ever since he was fifteen and you tackled him during a stupid pillow fight. But because he was afraid. Afraid that this would be the only kiss he would ever share with you. Afraid that he might never get the chance to have you in his arms again if he left today.

But you didn't kiss like that. You kissed him like you knew there would be more. Like you were certain he'd come back.

Then he melted.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. He kissed you back as his chest pressed against yours, and it felt like home.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his.

“Come back alive,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer for a second. He just held you. Closed his eyes and imagined your life together—quiet kisses in soft-lit rooms, laughter over dinners, long nights where the only war was deciding what movie to watch.

“I will,” he finally said, and he hated how much his voice wavered.

—

The next day, he was gone with Woo-seok and the team

He could still feel the touch of your kiss. He leaned against the boat, eyes scanning the horizon, but all he saw was your face.

He thought about you the whole time they drifted on the ocean, trying to find the island. He thought about your laugh. He thought about how you never told him not to go. You just asked him to survive.

And he tried. When everyone on the boat nearly died from a betrayal. When he got the confrontation he wanted with In-ho, moments before the island exploded.

And he came back for you.

—

The second he saw you again, standing in that same doorway, he dropped everything and wrapped his arms around you.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

Your fingers curled into his back like you were afraid to let go. His lips found your shoulder, your temple, your cheek, then finally your lips.

And this time, it wasn’t slow. It wasn’t hesitant. It was years of ache and longing and quiet waiting that finally let loose.

He pulled back only once, to whisper the words he’d carried for so long.

“I love you.”

You smiled, voice breaking, but eyes steady. “I know.”

He was home.

#hwang jun ho #hwang jun ho x reader #hwang jun ho x you #squid game #squid game season 3 #hwang jun ho x y/n #squid game fanfic #squid game fic #squid game imagine #squid game x y/n #squid game 3 #squid game x reader #hwang junho #jun ho squid game #jun ho x reader #junho x reader #hwang junho x y/n #hwang junho x reader #squid game s3

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universefcb · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii can you do Hector Fort x reader?

Where Reader tells Hector that she wants to get a tattoo and he should pick a tattoo for her 😽

TATTOO MY NAME WITH INVISIBLE INK

→ Pairing: Hector Fort X fem!reader

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff.

→ Author's note: I didn't really understand this request, but I did my best to do it.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

Sunday was slow, almost in slow motion. The living room curtains danced with the warm wind that came in from the balcony, the sound of the city echoed in the distance, as if the world outside was in snooze mode. She was lying on the couch, her legs thrown over his, while Héctor scrolled through his cell phone feed without paying attention to anything. The television was on, but it was just background noise. The world seemed to pause when they were together like that.

“I’m thinking about getting a tattoo,” she said suddenly, breaking the peaceful silence of the afternoon.

Héctor looked away from his cell phone and looked at her face with a surprised expression.

“You? Seriously?”

She nodded, a small smile on her lips.

“I’ve thought about it several times, but I always give up because I can’t choose anything. And then a crazy idea came to me…”

“Here it comes,” he said, chuckling softly, playing with her fingers.

“I wanted you to pick out the tattoo. Like... everything. The design, the meaning. It would be yours, you know?”

For a few seconds, Héctor didn't respond. He just stared at her as if he was trying to understand if that was a provocation or a serious proposal.

“Are you telling me that you want to mark something on your skin that I will choose, without knowing what it is?”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on his with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

“I want it to be something of yours in me. And I trust you.”

Héctor swallowed hard, surprised by the weight of it. It wasn't just a tattoo. It was a commitment. It was a mark she would choose to carry forever, simply because it came from him.

“I take this more seriously than you think,” he said, gently running his fingers over her face. “If it’s going to be mine, it’s going to be real. Are you ready?”

She smiled, her gaze calm.

“I was born prepared for you.”

Three days later, he showed up at her apartment with an envelope in his hands and his heart pounding as if it were going to jump out of his throat. She was sitting on the living room rug with a glass of wine, barefoot, and her eyes lit up when she saw him.

“So? Have you decided?”

Héctor approached and sat down next to her. He handed her the envelope without saying a word.

She opened it carefully, and inside was the drawing: a delicate olive branch, thin, as if drawn by hand with a pen. Around the branch was a Latin phrase: "Fortitudo in amore."

She read it quietly, trying to translate it mentally.

“It means strength in love,” he explained before she could ask. “That’s what I see in you. A beautiful, light strength. You love as if loving were simple. And that makes me want to be a better person.”

She looked at the drawing more closely, her eyes beginning to shine.

“It’s perfect.”

“It’s you,” he replied, leaning his forehead against hers. “I thought I’d put it just below the rib cage, on the left side. Near the heart.”

“I loved the place,” she said. “But what does it mean to you?”

Hector took a deep breath.

“That wherever you go, you will take a piece of me with you. And that what we have is strong enough to stay engraved. Even if life changes, even if everything passes... this remains.”

On the afternoon of the tattoo, she was tense, but she tried to hide it. Héctor didn't leave her side for a second. Sitting in a chair next to her, he held her hand firmly while the tattoo artist prepared the materials.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice low, just so she could hear.

She nodded, but never let go of his hand.

As the line began, she bit her lip, trying not to move.

“Look at me,” Héctor said, and when she turned her face, he smiled. “You are brave. And you are even more beautiful now.”

Hours later, at home, she was lying face down on the bed, with the bandage on her skin and a look of happy exhaustion. Héctor appeared with a glass of water and lay down next to her, observing every detail of her body as if he had never seen it before.

“Doesn’t it hurt anymore?” he asked, lightly touching the edge of the bandage.

“It’s burning a little… but I would do it all over again just to see your face when I showed you that I loved you.”

He smiled and moved closer. He ran his fingers around the spot, not touching it directly, and kissed the skin beside it, with an almost reverent calm.

“You have no idea what this means to me,” he murmured against her skin. “Seeing something of mine marked on you like this... it feels like I belong to you even more.”

She turned her face and looked at him with a soft smile.

“As if I didn’t already belong?”

“Now it’s official. Signed on the skin.”

He pulled her in carefully, respecting the sensitive area, and wrapped his arms around her. They both stood there, in silence, wrapped in a feeling that was hard to describe. It wasn't just love—it was presence, security, truth. As if, in that moment, the world had become too small to contain everything they felt.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered, his eyes already closing.

"He can."

“I'm thinking about getting a tattoo too.”

“Really?” She turned her head, surprised.

“Uh-huh. A symbol of ours alone. But the place… will be hidden. Only you will see it.”

She chuckled softly, her body fitting better into his.

“Then choose carefully, Fort. Because if it is mine alone, I will keep it as the greatest treasure.”

“It is,” he replied. “It is yours alone.”

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinott @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

#barcelonafanfic #fc barcelona #universefcb #football imagine #football x y/n #football x reader #football x oc #football #hector fort x yn #hector fort x reader #hector fort x imagines #hector fort #hector fort x y/n #hector fort fanfic #hector fort imagine

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its-avalon-08 · 2 days ago

Text

🏁 pairing : Daniel Riccardo x Verstappen!Sister!Reader

🏎️ summary: he was the honey badger with a grin that could silence storms, and she was max verstappen’s little sister—always there, always watching, never saying too much. they’d spent years orbiting each other, but after singapore'24 when daniel quietly stepped away from formula 1, everything shattered. now she’s left wondering if he was ever just a friend or the great love she let slip through her fingers without ever saying a word.

themes : fluff, flirting, angst, over protective brother, anxiety, emotional, slight smut in a few chapters, overshadowing, loneliness

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

chapter 2: the paths we take

Early 2025

Y/N in Monaco

The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of her keyboard echoed through the clean, open-plan workspace of TerraData Solutions—a green tech company pioneering systems for sustainable city modeling. Y/N sat with a straight back, her dual monitors glowing with charts, CO2 metrics, and client data dashboards. (guys sorry I dont know alot of technical terms so this is what came up when I googled tech terms) Her calendar was packed, her inbox relentlessly full, and her deadlines always inching closer. H

But she preferred it that way. Busy meant she didn’t have time to think. To feel. She drowned herself in her new life, a life without a certain curly haired Australian. It had been months since that night in Singapore.

Months since Daniel looked her in the eyes and tore down everything she’d believed about him—with one cruel, furious flick of his words. And not once—not for a second—had she looked back.

She had never unfollowed him on Instagram. That would be obvious. Too harsh. Too real. But she never watched his stories. Never clicked on his name. Never let the algorithm win. His posts would pop up, all showing the crazy things he had been up to, but not once did she click that little red heart.

His contact was still in her phone, hidden deep in a folder labeled "old numbers", but even the idea of clicking it made her chest clench.

She poured herself into work—data presentations for city councils, testing their waste management model in Copenhagen, keynote prep for the GreenTech Forward summit in Zurich. Y/N Verstappen was moving forward. Professionally. Quietly. Without him. She didn't need him.

Still, on nights when the streetlights flickered outside her flat window and the hum of city life faded, she would sit on her couch and scroll through Instagram—thumb hovering just for a second too long over a mutual friend’s photo. If Daniel was tagged, she scrolled faster.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

That was her only rule. That was the only way to survive.

Meanwhile Daniel in Sydney

The air up here was cold and thin. It sliced right through him—cleaner than any adrenaline rush from the grid ever had.

Daniel stood on the edge of a bungee platform suspended above a canyon, arms outstretched as the wind whipped at his navy blue hoodie. A GoPro was strapped to his chest, capturing every moment for his memory vlog.

He jumped. And for a moment, he felt everything and nothing all at once. The honey badger's classic laugh echoed through the serene space, making everyone who heard it smile. He was happy. He was truly happy.

It wasn’t that he hated life after Formula One. It had its perks: freedom, sleep, food without a calorie tracker so he could eat all the cheeseburgers he wanted , and thrill-seeking adventures he couldn’t even think about while under contract.

Skydiving in Dubai. Wingsuiting in Norway. Dirt biking through remote Australian deserts. Surfing monstrous waves in Maui.

He was living. At least, that’s what the world thought.

But when the rush wore off and the cameras stopped rolling, Daniel found himself doing something far less thrilling.

Checking her Instagram. It wasn't like he missed her (he did but he was in so much denial).

Late at night, after his friends fell asleep. Quiet moments in airport lounges. Even once, standing in the middle of a Patagonia glacier.

Search: @ynverstappen (Still following you)

Her grid was filled with aesthetic posts—clips of her presenting climate models, photos from Berlin with her coworkers, one grainy carousel from a boat day that made his stomach twist. Not a single post he could like without looking desperate. And God, she still followed him back.

Daniel never sent a text. Never left a DM. Never clicked that call button. But he always looked. And hated himself for it.

Y/N: She stared at a presentation slide titled “Sustainable Living by 2030”, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her colleagues praised her for her talent and skill. She smiled and laughed along with them.

Daniel: He was laughing at his family's farmhouse as his friends and him drove dirt bikes. He was having the time of his life.

Y/N: In Zurich, she delivered her keynote flawlessly. A standing ovation. She thanked the crowd, smiled politely, and quietly slipped away into the dressing room… where she sat alone for fifteen minutes and stared at the floor. She was thriving but why did she feel empty?

Daniel: At 2:17 a.m. in his Queenstown lodge, he watched her newest reel—some shot of her sipping matcha in Amsterdam, laughing at something off-camera. He hovered over the heart. Didn’t press it. Just locked his phone and stared at the ceiling.

Two people. Worlds apart. One walking forward as if nothing broke her. The other pretending he hadn’t been the one to break her in the first place.

And neither of them knew how to find the way back.

fast forward to first race of 2025 in Melbourne

The streets of Melbourne were warm and golden, casting a glow over the quiet laneway cafés that had already begun to fill up with fans and team personnel for the start of the 2025 Formula One season.

The weekend buzzed with energy, the streets adorned with posters of this year's contenders—Oscar Piastri's face on every other billboard, alongside Antonelli, Bearman, and the newest rookies.

Y/N Verstappen, dressed in a white linen shirt and loose denim shorts, was trying to enjoy a peaceful morning before the chaos of the Grand Prix began. She wasn’t working, just here with family—technically on vacation, her heart fluttering ever so often in fear of running into a certain someone since they were on his home turf.

“P, slow down!” she called, laughing softly as the little girl skipped ahead. Max’s stepdaughter, now five and braver than ever, was practically a blur of curls and excitement as she darted into the café ahead of Y/N. She had a babyccino obsession and a habit of naming pigeons she saw on the sidewalks.

“Penelope!” Y/N said again, more firm this time, just as the little girl let out a delighted screech while rushing towards someone's tanned figure.

“DANNYYYY!”

Y/N froze. Her head snapped up.

And there he was.

Daniel Ricciardo, in the flesh, in a loose white t-shirt with a cherry cola graphic and shorts, holding a takeaway coffee and blinking in pure surprise as a small human missile launched herself at his legs.

“P?!” Daniel exclaimed, beaming as he bent down to scoop her up in one fluid motion, laughing. “What the heck are you doing here, little monster?!”

He spun her around, making her giggle wildly, his voice coated with warmth—the same warmth that once made Y/N’s stomach flutter. Now it made her freeze.

She took a breath. Straightened her shoulders. And walked forward.

Daniel's grin almost left his face as his eyes found hers.

Y/N.

His heart did something stupid in his chest. But her expression didn’t change. Cool. Calm. Unshaken.

“Hi,” she said with a small, polite smile. “Didn’t think we’d see you here.”

Daniel cleared his throat, still holding Penelope. “Yeah, I—uh, I’ve been in town a few days. Thought I’d spend time with my family, hang with some mates.”

“Right,” she said smoothly, her voice a glacier. “Of course. How very fun.” Her eyes were cold, her posture distant.

He felt the iciness instantly, and it was like someone had flipped a switch in his head. This was the first time he was seeing her since that night in Singapore.

And she was acting like they’d never even fought. Like he was just some distant friend she hadn’t caught up with in a while.

It freaked him out more than if she’d screamed at him. Her indifference stung him.

“Bubba, look!” Penelope giggled, still clinging to Daniel’s neck. “Danny’s here! He’s back!”

“Looks like it,” Y/N replied, smiling at Penelope but not even sparing Daniel another glance.

Penelope reached out, still half in Daniel’s arms, and grabbed Y/N’s wrist. “Come, sit with us! Please Danny!!!”

“Oh—uh…” Daniel hesitated, glancing at Y/N.

She just raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Why not?”

They sat at a small outdoor table, Penelope nestled between them like a tiny chaos agent sent by the gods of awkward reunions. Y/N sipped her iced latte. Daniel nursed his black coffee. Their knees brushed under the table once when Penelope kicked her legs.

“Where have you been, Danny?” Penelope asked, swinging her legs back and forth. “You weren’t in any of the races last time.”

“I’ve been… around,” he said, his eyes flicking to Y/N before quickly looking away. “Doing some cool stuff. Traveling. Trying not to break bones.”

Penelope gasped. “Did you break a bone?!”

“No,” he laughed, “but I almost did. Jumped off a cliff in Norway.”

Y/N didn’t react. Not even a raised eyebrow. Y/N was simply smiling at P and her happy face.

Penelope looked between them, frowning slightly. “Bubba are you okay? Why aren't you two talking?”

Daniel choked on his coffee.

Y/N tilted her head and smiled sweetly at the little girl. “Aw my darling. Daniel and I are perfectly fine.”

Daniel felt her words like a slap. They were fine? Fine? She was acting like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t shattered her trust, broken whatever fragile thing they had with that night in Singapore.

Penelope scrunched her nose. “You’re both being sooooo weird.”

“I think you’re just imagining things,” Y/N said, brushing a curl out of Penelope’s face. “Danny’s just nervous. Maybe he's just too excited to meet u you again.”

Daniel blinked. “Oh- I'm not nervous.”

Y/N’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Relax, Daniel. No one’s asking you to stay.”

He swallowed hard. “Didn’t say I wasn’t staying.”

“Didn’t say you were welcome, either,” she said under her breath, so softly Penelope wouldn’t hear—but Daniel did.

Penelope looked between them again, sighing. “Adults are so annoying.”

Daniel let out a tight laugh. “Tell me about it.”

A silence fell, awkward and dense. Daniel tapped his fingers on his cup. Y/N checked her phone. Penelope licked the foam off her babyccino mustache.

Y/N stood abruptly. “Alright, little bean. Let’s get going. Max will be wondering where we are.”

Penelope pouted. “Can’t Danny come?”

Y/N paused, then looked at Daniel—expression unreadable.

“Maybe some other time schat,” she said simply, and turned, holding Penelope’s hand.

Daniel watched her walk away, a cold wind suddenly much stronger than the Melbourne breeze slicing through him. He hadn’t expected her to cry. Or shout. But this?This careful, polished indifference?

It terrified him. And he couldn’t stop watching her go.

taglist : @cheer-bear-go-vroom , @britenysbitch @yllomhej @stuffyownswrld @princessria127 @easy4 @gluecksbaerchieee @percysaidnever @sltwins @sainz0fthetimes @landofotographyy @hashcakes @mskate105 @formula1girly81 @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @marijas-stuff @mayax2o07

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bewitched-hours · 1 day ago

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Okay...could i request a 007n7..x reader....

So basically like reader was married to seven but then he got forsakened...so when the specter puts us in we see 007n7 who is sitting down watching the others play go fish or something we like run in his arms crying...i really like fluff guys..

YES I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR A REQUEST LIKE THIS YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW- Ahem- Yes-

Reader gets She/Her~

Life went downhill ever since they disappeared...

First c00lkidd... Then 007n7...

You were sure this was some sort of curse put on you. Having your only family disappear couldn't be just a coincidence.

Your biological family weren't nice people and made it clear they weren't interested in changing. They treated any misfortune as a joke and didn't care who got hurt as long as they got their laughs.

It was cruel and made you file a restraining order when they refused to let you be after you tried going no-contact.

You still remembered sitting on a park bench the day you filed that order and felt utterly exhausted.

It wasn't easy to just let go of family like that, even if they were cruel...

But that day you noticed a little red child coming up to you and stringing you into a conversation. It was simply adorable and a perfect distraction for the pit that had formed in your stomach from the anxiety earlier.

His father joined soon after and you two got along better than you thought, even exchanging numbers as you offered to help with babysitting.

But who were you kidding? You simply wanted to see c00lkidd again because he seemed like such a sweetheart.

It was a matter of months before you and 007 started dating and moved in together, becoming a dual income household and finally living a normal life of sorts... You even got married after just a year or two!

No more cruelty, no mean jokes, your mistakes were treated with love... You felt your heart melt whenever 7n7 helped you fix it.

But now..? Now you were lying in your shared bed, staring at the empty space besides you and listening to silence...

The only actual sound was your sniffling as you cried into the pillow. It was like your perfect family had been ripped away in an instance and you had no one to turn to.

You knew your husband's past. You were well aware he wasn't someone with many people on his side to speak of and you didn't have anyone either so you were basically alone in your grief.

The world felt dull and grey without them. No more laughter and drawings, no one to share the morning bacon with...

It was almost more like mercy that you suddenly ended up in this realm.

When you woke up, you saw the night sky above and heard the faint sounds of chatter and fire crackling. It was almost comforting if you weren't still confused on how you got here.

Sitting up, you noticed immediately you seemed to be on some kinda camping grounds and looked around.

A large cabin with smaller ones at the side, a group of strangers huddled around a fire, your husband leaning against a-

wait... WAIT A MINUTE-

You couldn't believe your eyes when you saw that familiar burger hat and blue shirt. Tears forced their way into your eyes as you got up and shakily made your way over to him and collapsed against his back, hugging him tightly.

Before he could even question the sudden motion, your voice brought the realization to him immediately. "I missed you..."

Your sniffling soon exploded into quiet sobbing as 007 turned around to hug you back, tears escaping his eyes now too as he couldn't believe his luck.

Within seconds you were both cuddled up and telling each other how much you've missed the other. With you talking about the countless nights where you'd hug his pillow for comfort and him talking about the countless times he got anxious thinking about if you were still safe.

But you were here now... That was what mattered to you both.

You eventually introduced yourself to the other survivors, making sure they knew of your past after hearing 007 wasn't so liked among them... They were shocked to say the least.

Hell, you even showed them your ring that 7 and you got custom-made for the both of you. It had a message engraved on the inside that was meant to remind you both of the other.

The other survivors were conflicted with you, knowing you hadn't done anything to warrant caution besides being married to the ex-hacker and protecting him so fiercely.

But you didn't care. You were happy sticking with your husband and discovering more about this realm and your new abilities.

And at least you'd be able to see c00lkidd during rounds... Even if just for a short time...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

#forsaken roblox #forsaken #roblox forsaken #forsaken x reader #forsaken x y/n #007n7 forsaken #007n7 x reader

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ashthesalamipiece · 2 days ago

Note

Dabi reacting semi poorly to a positive pregnancy test in the trash?

"Ashes and Expectations"

The scent of smoke still lingered faintly in the air—charcoal and scorched fabric, the remnants of another night’s restlessness. Dabi had gotten used to the smell. He found it comforting, even. It smelled like control. Like power. Like the edge of the world he'd carved for himself.

Morning light slanted through the blinds, cutting across the cheap linoleum tiles of the bathroom. He had woken up earlier than usual—some disjointed dream pulling him out of sleep with a clenched jaw and a pounding heart. That happened a lot.

He shuffled toward the sink, rubbing at tired eyes, skin tight and patchy over staples and scars. He barely noticed the chill of the tiles anymore. It was routine: splash water on his face, grimace at the person staring back at him in the mirror, move on.

But then he saw it.

Peeking from the small trash bin in the corner. A piece of plastic, light pink handle. Innocent. Almost sterile-looking.

At first, his brain didn’t register it. Just another thing in a pile of wrappers, tissues, toothpaste boxes.

Then it clicked.

His eyes froze on the faint blue lines.

Positive.

He didn’t move for a few seconds. Just stood there, bare chest rising and falling slowly, his breath suddenly sounding loud in the quiet of the apartment.

Positive.

He crouched next to the trash can, fingers trembling slightly—not from fear. Not from anger. He told himself it was just from surprise. He picked it up, turning it over, reading the instructions on the side like it might say something different. Like maybe two lines meant something else.

It didn’t.

"Fuck..."

The word slipped out, barely more than a breath. It wasn’t said with rage. Not yet. Just disbelief. A fraying edge of something he hadn’t prepared for. Had never wanted to prepare for.

He tossed the test back into the bin like it burned him, stood, and paced. Back and forth across the tight bathroom, then out into the hallway, one hand raking through dark tufts of hair that refused to stay styled.

He tried to think—how long had you been acting weird?

More tired. Skipping breakfast. Quiet. He’d noticed, of course, but hadn’t pushed. Dabi never pushed for the emotional stuff. He figured if something was wrong, you’d tell him—or not. That was your business.

But this?

This wasn't just your business anymore.

He leaned against the wall, thudding his head back against the peeling paint. Once. Twice.

It wasn’t rage. He wasn’t about to blow fire through the walls or torch the furniture. That would be easy. That would be expected. Instead, something more complicated coiled in his chest. A slow, heavy thing he didn't know how to name. A cold knot behind his ribs.

"Why wouldn’t you tell me?" he muttered, staring at the ceiling like it might answer him.

Maybe you were scared. Maybe you didn’t know how he’d react. He couldn’t blame you for that.

Hell, he didn’t even know how he should react.

The thought of bringing a kid into the world—this world—was like asking a knife to stop being sharp. Dabi wasn’t built for softness. He wasn’t built for parenthood. He wasn’t even sure he was built for love, despite how tightly he clung to you on the worst nights.

The idea of a baby—a little thing with skin that might burn too easily, eyes too curious for a world so cruel—terrified him.

And yet...

Under all the confusion, the fear, the silent storm inside his skull, was a flicker of something else. Not joy, not quite. But something adjacent. Something like awe. That this was real. That you trusted your life enough to keep living in it. That maybe there could be something born in the middle of all this destruction.

But he couldn’t focus on that yet.

Not now.

His voice was low, barely audible as he whispered, “I don’t know how to do this…”

And he didn’t.

He didn’t know how to be a father. How to protect without destroying. How to love something without the edges cutting in.

He stayed by the wall for a while longer, torn between walking out and walking into your room and demanding answers he wasn’t ready to hear. Maybe both.

Eventually, he pushed off the wall, his face an unreadable mask again, eyes hard but not angry.

Just… bracing.

He needed to talk to you.

He needed to hear it from your lips, see it in your eyes.

Because if this was real—if you were pregnant—then Dabi’s world had just shifted. Not exploded, not yet.

But it was smoldering.

And he didn’t know whether to fan the flames or smother them.

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caniaskwhoiscallingplease · 1 day ago

Text

I have some thoughts about the next to normal proshot that I need to share because I have never been less normal about any musical ever and no one I know irl has seen it. Spoilers below if you care about that sort of thing.

The whole plot happens because Diana wants to connect with Natalie! She sees her reaction to Henry and wants to relate to her and feel how she feels, so she dumps her meds and it's only when she acknowledges Natalie in therapy that she really starts making progress. It's also only when Nat tells the truth of their lives that Diana starts to remember it. Natalie really is the driving force of the story.

Gabe corrects Dan on Henry's name! In my mind this means either Diana's subconscious pays more attention than Natalie thinks she does or Dan's guilt extends to how little attention he pays to Natalie.

In I am the One, Gabe only speaks after Dan says "could you leave me" to Diana. Gabe really is Dan's fears in that moment, not Diana's, and it's about what will happen if Di leaves and he is left alone with his grief. The next time we see Gabe around Dan is after the suicide attempt, and he's refusing to hear his fears even when they're screaming beside him. "I've never had to face a world without her by my side". When she does leave him officially that is when he is finally able to acknowledge (and name!) his grief and he is terrified.

The Break is Diana finally taking her mental health into her own hands. She's not just trying to be 'normal' for Dan any more, as his 'normal' is ignoring Gabe. The staging is just amazing, showing how she acknowledges Gabe in a healthy way, instead of relying on him to get her through the day.

The hand touch! When Nat sees her dad (Dan "it's going to be good" Goodman) crying in the dark, Natalie feels a small part of the grief that has been haunting her family. She has always known about Gabe, but she didn't overtly feel the grief of the loss until she sees it in her dad.

The references to weather throughout are crazy, but I don't see people talking about references to the light/night! At the very beginning, Diana is waiting up for Gabe. She says it's the seventh night this week (obviously insomnia due to her manic state) but also because when Gabe was a baby they would stay up all night to make sure he made it through. During the last song, Dan finally acknowledges those nights "night after night, we'd sit and wait for the morning light, but we've waited far too long". Then Diana comes in with "day after day, wishing all our cares away, trying to fight the things we feel but some hurts never heal, some ghosts are never gone" she's again acknowledging that she doesn't need to be normal! And she can live with her illness and her grief in the daylight.

And that's it!! Maybe now that I've put all my thoughts out there I can stop thinking about this musical but unlikely.

#next to normal #gabe goodman #dan goodman #next to normal west end #natalie goodman #diana goodman #thoughts #musical theatre #truly cannot get this musical out of my brain

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valeelavvale · 22 hours ago

Text

Drive - Chapter 1

featuring : Fernando Alonso / ofc

requested by @sunnytkm23

"Hi. Could you do a Fernando Alonso one where practically is Right person at the wrong time, in which reader and Fernando dated during his first years at Renault and his first WDC title and during his second title, she wanted bigger things like getting married and starting a family with him, but he didn't want to at that time and they separated and each one moved on with their lives, even though they had friends in common and they commented on how one was going for the other and so Fernando finds out that she got married years after their breakup and her rise to fame as a model and she knows about his single life and the reputation he had with women and years later she is a renowned model but divorced and with 2-year-old girl which the father doesn't care and in not in the picture and they meet again after unknowingly, Fernando sees her in Monaco with her child going to market and discovers that she separated and moved there with her child and little by little the two reconnect and he invites her to dinner and admits that he regrets not having fought for both of them and that he still loves her and gives her what she wanted most and she decides to give him a second chance and he practically adopts her daughter as his own."

notes: I absolutely loved this request, and since it covers quite a long time span, I thought I’d divide it into multiple chapters instead of writing just a oneshot. So here’s the first chapter—more will be coming soon. I made an ofc insted of reader because I write better this way, I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

genre : romance, angst

word count : 1440

October 2005

It was still early in the morning, but the sun was already high and pouring boldly through the open windows. Ana climbed onto the bed, kissing his back with a smile.

“Fer, you have a race in four hours and a billion things to do,” she said, leaving a long trail of kisses on his bare skin, hearing him laugh softly.

“I’m tired, you’re the one keeping me from sleeping,” the boy mumbled as she lifted her head, puzzled.

“Excuse me? I’m the one keeping you from sleeping?” she asked, amused, as he rolled over and put his hands on her hips.

“Okay, maybe it’s partly my fault…” he admitted, still groggy.

“Partly…” she said with a grin, leaning down to kiss his neck. “Get up or Flavio’s going to burst through that door like a madman threatening to kill you,” she added, looking at him. “And that man scares me. I’d rather not get caught naked in bed again…” she laughed, standing up and grabbing her coffee cup from the table. “You’ve got a championship to win, right?” she said, watching him sit on the bed with messy hair and the face of someone who wasn’t sure if he was better at driving or at sex.

Probably the second one, Ana thought without hesitation.

The world championship had arrived and swept over Fernando like a tsunami: he was everywhere, the youngest, with that aura Ana fell in love with every morning she woke up wrapped in his body.

Her first ad campaigns were rolling in too, Armani, Versace, her face on billboards in big cities, in magazines. It was their golden moment, lived to the fullest in the huge Monte Carlo house Fernando had just bought.

Young, crazy, and in love, they were on top of the world, photos, press, and another championship just around the corner.

And it came. By the end of 2006, she and Fernando had been together for over two years when the second title entered their lives, bringing a new wave of fame and chaos.

Fer was in the world he had always dreamed of and he was racing at 300 an hour, always, in everything: new projects, interviews, the McLaren contract, everything came pouring in as if it were owed to him, but he had earned it.

It was March 2007 when an old friend invited Fernando to his wedding, not far from Santander on the northern coast of Spain. The season was about to start, but he and Ana had decided they could take a long weekend off before getting back into the whirlwind.

The evening had turned cold and windy, the room’s large windows looked out over the sea, and Ana had stepped away with yet another glass of champagne, leaving the noise of the party behind.

“Hey, guapa, hiding out?” Fer laughed, closing the door behind him and shutting out the commotion.

“I needed some air, too much going on,” she laughed as the driver walked up and kissed her without asking, as passionate and hungry as always.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” she laughed, pushing him back slightly.

“Maybe…” he teased, kissing her neck before sitting in a nearby chair.

“Have you ever thought about it?” Ana asked, looking at him. “About what your friends did a few hours ago?” she smiled.

“The wedding?” he laughed. “No, I mean… we’re 26, and we’ve got a million things to do. I want at least three more titles first,” he said without thinking, like he always did, never stopping to consider that maybe, in some hidden corner of her mind, she had thought about it.

“You don’t really seem like the marriage type,” he went on, amused, watching her tilt her head. “The parties, the fashion, you’re a wild one. I don’t think you want to be tamed,” he laughed. And Ana looked at him, wondering: did he really believe that, or was it just convenient for him to think so?

“I’ve actually thought about it,” she admitted, and Fernando’s smile faded slightly. “Getting married doesn’t mean the fun ends, or that you can’t keep winning,” she went on, while he stood up.

“We’ve got our whole lives, amor, and way more important things to do right now, don’t we?” he smiled, kissing her cheek and leaving her there, staring at the chair where he had just been sitting.

More important things.

Than her.

Than them.

Ana sighed and shook her head, because for Fernando Alonso, nothing was more important than himself.

May 2007

"You celebrated a world championship last year and a contract with one of the most important teams, but you don’t seem happy," Alessandra said, taking a sip from her glass.

"I am," Ana replied without even thinking. "His career is going great, and so is mine," she added, her gaze a little distant.

"So what’s wrong then?" her friend asked.

"Us," Ana answered simply, with a sad smile. "Just races, interviews… We cancelled the vacation we were supposed to take, he needs to go all in with McLaren, and that’s fine…" she explained. "I asked him if he’s ever thought about getting married," she admitted at last.

"Are you kidding?" her friend asked, surprised. "Him? Fernando? I think he’s allergic to marriage," she laughed, but stopped immediately when she saw her friend’s face.

"I think he’s becoming allergic to me too," Ana admitted in the end.

"Ana, he cares about you," Ale said.

"Not as much as he cares about Formula 1, I think. And maybe part of me even understands that he just wants to win, but the other part… wants something more than just living together and fuck when we get the chance," she said honestly.

"He’s ambitious, and you’ve always known that," the other said gently.

"I wish I wasn’t so in love with him," Ana smiled.

"Too late, huh?" her friend replied, as Ana nodded thoughtfully.

January 2008

2007 didn’t go the way they had hoped. In fact, it was a bit of a disaster. Hamilton, McLaren, tensions every day, Fernando had nothing in his head but Formula 1, and the space he made for Ana in his life was shrinking.

He wasn’t an asshole. He was just hungry for something else.

More wins, more speed, more of something he chased endlessly, without pause, never able to catch it.

Fernando was never satisfied. To him, it wasn’t time to settle down. He wanted more for himself, for his career.

They still lived in the same house, but the dinners on the terrace and the romantic nights had been replaced with endless phone calls with the team and briefings that never ended. She had become an afterthought, someone he might still love, but not enough. Not as much as he loved those Formula 1 cars.

They had argued in the days before. Too many times to count.

He wasn’t there, and she was tired of waiting.

Maybe they still loved each other, but now, for Ana, that love wasn’t enough. And he didn’t think he had anything more to give.

“Are you going out?” she asked, leaning on the door. It was late December, and he was putting on his jacket.

“I have a meeting with Flavio, we have to prep the Renault return,” he answered.

“Do you realize you’re never here? That we never even have time to talk…” she said, not accusing, just tired. She didn’t want to fight, not again, she just wanted him to understand that this wasn’t the life she wanted.

Fernando looked at her. “It’s an intense time…” he said with a sigh.

“I want more,” she said simply. “More than this, Fer. A life together. Something where I’m not always chasing after you while you run in the opposite direction.”

“This is my life,” he said plainly. “It’s the life I want. I want to race.”

“Alone?” she asked.

“If others can’t keep up with me, maybe it’s better that way,” he said, staring at her.

“Happy racing, campeón,” she said, turning and disappearing into the kitchen.

Fernando came home late that night, and the house was silent.

On the entryway table, there was a note. He picked it up.

I’m not fast enough to keep up with you, or maybe I’m just tired of running. I love you. A.

Fernando stood there, staring at the piece of paper with a mix of guilt and sadness.

But the truth was, maybe he also felt a little relieved, because at that moment, he wasn’t capable of thinking about anyone else but himself.

He had goals to reach, and those needed to be the only thing in his mind.

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burningcheese-merchant · 3 days ago

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I'm so angry. So unbelievably angry.

I'm angry at all of you. Everyone on this website. Everyone on this earth. You all just smile through your teeth at me and offer your little condolences and that's it. You all get to just say "I'm sorry for your loss" and walk away. Walk away and leave me behind. Go back to your perfect happy lives while I'm stuck here with a hole in my chest that won't stop bleeding. When I was rushing him to a hospital after the 3rd violent seizure in less than an hour you were all here in your little carefree bubbles. When I held him and tried to soothe him as the nurses sedated him because they couldn't run any tests on him while he was so panicked you were all here cracking your stupid jokes and working on your stupid drawings and chatting about stupid shit that doesn't matter. While I sat there by his side watching him sleep with a bunch of tubes in him and barely breathing even with a mask on you were all eating dinner and watching tv and having fun with your friends and family. While I held him and kissed his little head and sobbed into his fur and told him how much he meant to me and thanked him for being a part of my life and told him I'm sorry i failed him while the doctor got the final injections ready you were all getting up and getting dressed and happily wondering what to do with your beautiful precious day. When I came home without him and sat on the couch and wrapped myself in his old blanket and stared into the abyss without a sound for I don't even know how long you were all getting your shit ready for artfight. I cry myself to sleep and I cry myself awake and you don't. I have to go deaf from the silence that won't stop howling and you don't. I have to force myself to eat through the constant stomach pains or else I'll just sit there and starve to death without even noticing because I don't want to eat at all anymore and you don't. My actions are no longer my own. I'm dragged through the house and the outside world by cold uncaring hands. Where I am and what I'm doing barely register in my mind. I can barely see through the tears anyway. Autopilot. Machine obeying a preexisting command. Puppet on a string. None of you have to be any of these things. The only world that ended was mine and I have to live and lay in the smoking ruins while you all say "I'm sorry for your loss" and then walk away and go back to your lives and forget I was ever even there.

I'm angry at the doctors. The hospitals. The cancer. He shouldn't have gotten sick. He shouldn't have had to suffer like that. He shouldn't have had the happy and peaceful ending where he was old and grey and tucked into his warm bed after a long life full of love and joy taken from him like that. It shouldn't cost all of your limbs to get live-saving treatments. I shouldn't have had to book it to a whole different country just to find someone and something we could actually sort of pay for. We shouldn't be fucking asked about a deposit for the overnight stay while we sit there and watch them stick a bunch of needles and tubes into him just to keep him alive for a little longer. We shouldn't have to cry and mourn in the looming shadow of debt. Life should not have a price tag. Human or not. If it didn't then maybe he'd still be here like he should be.

I'm angry at myself. I failed him. He's my best friend and I failed him. He's done more for me than he'll ever know and how do I repay him. What do I give back to him. Months of pain and suffering. I didn't know what to do. We didn't have the money for help. I followed whatever instructions I managed to obtain and gave him whatever medicine I managed to procure and all it did was delay the inevitable. He was in so much pain by the end. And he couldn't actually say it so he would just sit next to us and stare at us with his big brown eyes like he was asking us for something. Begging. I didn't understand. I didn't know what to do. I still don't. All I did was watch him die for three months. It's all my fault. His suffering is my fault. His death is my fault. I would've killed myself a long time ago if it wasn't for him and this is how I repay him. This is how I thank him for helping me remember how to smile and live. He wasn't living. He stopped living after that first seizure in March. Just pain and fear with some worthless meat creature next to him stumbling around crying and barely sleeping at night and holding him and begging him to come back whenever another seizure struck. I failed him. He was my best friend. He was my family. And I failed him.

It was cool and cloudy the morning he died. A few hours later the sun came out. Bright and warm as ever. Not a cloud in sight. I hated it. More than anything. I didn't want the day to look that pleasant. It was salt in my wounds. It was like the world had already forgotten him. Like I was the only person left alive who still loved him and wanted him there. It drove the knife deeper into my heart. It's still there. I can't pull it out. Not strong enough.

I don't really know what this is. I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just screaming into a void hoping somebody listens. Anybody. I'll probably delete this later. I sound like an asshole. I'm sorry. I really am sorry. It just hurts. Everything hurts. I've been hurting for a long time and it got a little worse every day until it became what it is now. I miss my friend. He's been gone for 4 days now. I used to joke that I didn't remember what life was like without him there. Now I don't have a choice. I never really did. I feel so small and powerless. I just want the pain to stop

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esmedelacroix · 5 hours ago

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10 - Picture You

synopsis ! he’s an american football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night . she’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life . they lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room .

previous chapter | series masterlist

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol, angst, brief mention of self-harm, depressive tendencies, very suggestive, smut if you squint

fic radio ! Picture You by Chappell Roan

Awkwardly enough, the two of you didn’t say much while in the library. But when you were in his room, the conversation flowed freely. Now that you were studying in such a familiar setting, you both took a moment to soak it all in. No dialogue needed.

Even in his room, you couldn’t help but silently notice the duvet you had slept under. You even picked up on how he had switched out his generic dark blue bedsheets for some striped ones. It was reassuring to know that he was one of the few brothers who actually cared about cleanliness.

You looked down at the carpet where your clothes had been tossed not long ago. Then, your gaze moved to the worn surface of the dresser, where he had taken the oversized T-shirt and shorts from—did I even give those back?

As you sat in the library, you stole quick glances at his intensely focused expression. While you were re-acquainting yourself with his face, he noticed you. He stared deeply into your eyes, not breaking his gaze until you got uncomfortable and looked back down at your laptop.

In the brief moments when you caught a glimpse of him, you couldn't help but remember how his sharp jawline and perfectly defined cheekbones contributed to his striking looks. His facial tattoos, though impressive, seemed as if they had been chosen and placed on his face by God himself. From his soft lips to his relaxed eyes, which almost had an almond shape, all his features worked harmoniously together and greatly complemented one another.

That was simply who you were. You had the ability to look at anyone's exterior, dissect it, and still find something admirable. This was an inescapable cycle and reality throughout your high school years.

Your dad always saw you as the most beautiful girl in the world, and he made sure everyone knew it. He didn’t hesitate to warn nearly every boy at your school to steer clear of any romantic advances. But he still insisted they treat you with kindness and respect.

Consequently, most of your high school years were spent yearning for boys who seemingly never wanted you. You had yet to experience sex, kissing or holding hands romantically when you started college.

It didn't bother you that you were having inappropriate thoughts about Sukuna at that moment. As you stared at his large, veiny, thick hands gripping your pencil(that he grabbed without asking like it was the most natural thing), you noticed the veins in his arms bulging and the different muscles in his forearms flexing with every movement he made. You couldn't help but wonder if they would look the same if he were to finger you.

You couldn't help but watch as he devoured his two protein bars in just four bites. He wasn't one to take small, neat bites; he consumed his food with reckless abandon. He didn't care if he made a bit of a mess in the process. He took bites that seemed far too large for any sane person to manage and still asked for seconds afterward. He was that kind of guy. You always found that quality attractive. It made you wonder if he ate pussy the same way he did food.

You remembered seeing him at Sal’s countless times, always tearing into a sub or finishing off a salad in no time at all. He was always messy and always hungry. As he crumbled the wrapper of his snack, his eyes glanced up at you. “What? Do I have something on my face?” he smirked.

It was only then that you realized you were leaning forward, eyelids heavy with the weight of the sinful thoughts you were having, and your lip was caught between your teeth. “Yeah,” you sighed mindlessly.

“I mean, no,” you corrected yourself. Then, after getting a better look, you realized, “Yeah, actually there’s a crumb.”

He wiped his mouth, still looking up at you, cocking a brow now. “You good?” he smirked.

“Uh huh,” you sighed breathlessly, trying to snap yourself out of the trance you were in. Once you managed to do so, you noticed your reflection in your laptop screen, which had turned off due to your prior distraction. You thought to yourself, Does he think this way about me?

Do guys think I'm sexy? Here comes that familiar wave of insecurity that hits every now and then when your period is about to start. The moment you begin to think about a guy in a dirty way, you immediately feel wrong because it seems impossible that he could feel the same way about you.

You looked down at your sweatpants and tank top under your zip-up hoodie. Overcome by your sudden wave of insecurity, you zipped up your hoodie, covering your once-exposed shoulder.

Sukuna watched everything silently, but he was clever about how he observed you. During his childhood, he often people-watched as he wandered around the trailer park and his street. He would sit at the gas station, hoping someone would take pity on him and buy him a snack. However, he lived in a tough area where, if you were older than five years old and stared for too long, you would get your ass handed to you.

He perfected his ability to fixate on one specific area while focusingon his periphery. This skill helped him observe you without you or anyone else realizing it. However, it had its drawbacks. It was easy for him to lose focus and simply stare, and he often found that he couldn't see you clearly.

He was a bit disappointed when he saw you cover up the little sliver of skin he was going insane about like a rabid middle schooler. Then he chuckled to himself about the tongue-lashing you would've given him if you could hear his thoughts.

You stretched your arms before retying your bun. This time, Sukuna chose to shamelessly stare. But you faced his gaze head-on; he grinned with some teeth showing, and you just smiled back and shook your head.

You both hadn't accomplished much of anything. You knew it, but for once, it didn't bother you. "I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting any work done," Sukuna finally sighed. The tension was unbearable. You were caught between feeling thirsty and wondering if he felt the same way about you.

“Well, I got a lot done,” you lied through your teeth as you began to pack up. He knew you hadn't.

“Good for you, I just couldn't seem to focus for whatever reason ,” he said in a very suggestive tone.

You shrugged, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks and ears. “Let’s get out of here then,” you joked, throwing that overused frat-phrase at him.

“Sure.”

You found yourself at Sal’s with Sukuna on a lively football night, the atmosphere electric with excitement. The place was packed, but somehow, you both snagged a cozy booth tucked away in a dim corner. With just a piercing glare, Sukuna deterred anyone from interrupting your time together—his way of making it clear he was solely focused on you. He didn’t seem ashamed to share this moment despite your decreasingacademic status.

He let the whispers wash over him, enjoying the way their eyes lingered. There was something exhilarating about knowing he was the center of attention, especially as they started to connect him with you instead of Toji. It filled him with pride, but he could sense your discomfort in the spotlight. Thus, he decided to find a quieter spot to settle down.

Sukuna suggested ordering a small snack. Feeling mischievous and curious about his feelings for you, you excitedly hinted, “Fried pickles sound so good right now.”

A flicker of disgust crossed his face—a brief twitch of the upper lip—before he masked it with a practiced smile and nodded in agreement. It was clear he hatef for pickles. You remembered the moment vividly when he’d slid his extra pickles onto Satoru's plate. Satoru didn’t like them either, but Ryo seemed unfazed. In fact, among your entire friend group, there was only one pickle enthusiast: you.

As the pickles were set down in front of you, a sly smile crept onto your face. You couldn't help but wonder if this would finally prompt Sukuna to confess his disdain for them. With a crunchy bite, you savored the flavor and sighed in pure bliss. “These are exactly what I needed! Come on, Ryomen, have one!” you encouraged, eager to see his reaction.

You watched him as he drew in a deep breath. Unbeknownst to you, the way you said his name motivated him to suck it up. Without hesitation, he grabbed a piece and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. To your surprise, his face revealed little emotion, yet he nodded casually and said, “Not bad at all.”

You couldn't help it—you threw your head back and laughed uncontrollably, a wave of pure bliss washing over you. It was that familiar rush you only experienced during those nights spent drinking with friends or at the handful of parties you'd attended this year. As you savored the moment, he reached for a few more pickles, munching on them with a playful grin. “What’s up?” he asked, his curiosity piqued by your infectious joy.

To which you giggled, “I know you don't like pickles.”

His face fell and he retched. “Why’d you put me through that then? Goddamn.”

Your laughter transformed into the most adorable giggles, each peal woven with a gentle rasp that hinted at your impending slumber. It was the kind of sound that danced in the air, carrying a soft, sleepy warmth that made everything feel comfortable and safe.

In that moment, both of you felt completely high off each other’s energy and attraction. You were in an odd, euphoric haze the whole time you and Sukuna laughed over the fried pickles you both ended up finishing. This time, he could make faces about it.

As always, he insisted on walking you back to your dorm. You couldn’t help but notice how he instinctively inched closer whenever a chill ran through you. He probably thought it was a small gesture, but the warmth radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cozy blanket. Or maybe it was the fluttering in your stomach that left you feeling like you had a high fever.

When you finally reached your dorm, you both stood there, eyes locked, wrapped in the moment. The air buzzed with an electric tension, the two of you silently wondering if the other felt the same way—the longing hanging just between you, like a secret waiting to be shared.

“I like the way you look at me,” you admitted quietly, your eyes sparkling as they met Sukuna's. There was something about that intense look of his that always captivated you, drawing you in deeper with every shared moment.

He gently rested his hands on your shoulders, his touch warm as he squeezed as a smile danced across his lips. “Sleep tight,” he said softly. Your brows knitted together subtly, while your full, plump lips formed a thoughtful pout. Sleep tight? Was that really all he had to say to me?

. . .

-> next part

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heiznx · 16 hours ago

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𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

✦ ┊ a mermaid-type siren on a lake.

what to know ┊ this contains book 7 spoilers of lilia's dream, major character death, and i don't proofread.

ㅤ

"The lake lays still, but beware of what stays underneath, when you follow the whispers in the night—then it takes you deep in the waters."

It was the specific words that Silver's father used to tell him when he was a child, warning him to never step foot outside the house at night, and to never follow what sound that calls to his name or any sound in general.

He has no recollection of ever trying to get near in the water, in fear of actually a monster lurking in those rivers even if it was something that Lilia would just say to scare them to celebrate or catch up to the Halloween event.

Rarely does he go home now, however, after becoming a student of Night Ravel College, he has become too busy, since there were dorms present and he has to watch over the heir of Briar Valley with Sebek.

The Sebek that nearly didn't want to escape Malleus' dream after think that it would be better to remain happy where his liege's mother was alive and well—the past where Silver was not around and the past where war was on-going.

"Silver," the prefect whispered after he had froze.

"Right," he muttered, realizing that the sight of home made him reminisce.

Still, they were aimless, they found the owner of the dream, but they don't exactly know what to do with him: Lilia Vanrouge.

The bat Fae who was cast out for leaving Her Majesty Maleanor Draconia in the castle while she fought the Dawn Knight and Henrick's men ended up settling in a house by the woods near a river and was denied access to the egg.

It was exhausting to witness the past without having the power to interfere, the quad knew that after having watched the supposed admired general save the egg from a greedy king, but was belittled and chastised by the nobles of Briar Valley despite his deeds.

Silver watched his father be belittled and banished—the father he loves and admired for his sacrifices and unconditional love.

The dreams of the banished general were rather snippets, ranging from the forest with the undergoing war, to meeting Her Majesty Maleanor, to going to the castle, and to being banished to the cottage.

It was still a question of why these dreams were the ones Malleus were showing, because if he wanted a world where everyone can be in bliss, then he should've showed happier moments—but everyone just witnessed Lilia suffer one problem then another.

"There was truly...!?" Sebek's loud voice exclaimed as Grim yelped at the sight of the lake by the house.

There it was—a creature by the waters—a merfolk it seemed; it was staring with its head down to its eyes out of the water, watching the banished general carrying a large axe inside the house without a care in the world or maybe the future.

After all, in a day, he was entrusted with a last wish and an egg, but he had to leave the egg behind due to the banishment he received for making a said poor decision for following through the queen's orders.

"I assumed it was a joke," Silver responded, confusing the prefect about the context of the situation. "When we would children, father would tell us scary stories at night for his entertainment or to simply... make sure we stay inside the house, though we didn't truly expect there's a living creature in the lake."

"But why would a merfolk be in the lake?" Grim asked, gesturing to the merfolk that seemed to drop down in the lake after observing the banished general.

Sebek raised his hand to rest behind his head as he asked, "Do they not drag humans under the lake and feed on them?"

"I admit it takes skill to be still in the water," Silver commends.

"Is that the kind of story he should be telling a child!?" the prefect seemed to be the only one concerned for the stories that the duo knights have heard.

"Unfortunately so."

ㅤ

It didn't take long for the shift to dream, much to the nausea of Grim and Sebek though they recovered quickly, but were late to react as the prefect gasped rather loudly to see the merfolk forced out of the water to the dirt of the ground.

"I suppose their relationship was not nice," Silver says, crossing his arms at the sight, feeling his morals clash at the thought they may have to witness the end of a merfolk.

The merfolk looked rather panicked that their hands began moving around, desperately looking like they were trying to communicate by pointing at the tree near the lake and then their head.

It's understandable when Lilia had stabbed their clothing and it ripped while he launched the merfolk out of the water; they look even rather distressed with the dirt clinging on their wet body.

"They're mute..." the prefect whispered as the merfolk looked like they were about to start whining when Lilia just frowned at them.

"You don't speak," the banished general murmured, to which the merfolk nodded feverishly to be understood. "And you didn't come to attack me?"

There was a pause, silence as the merfolk's face scrunched, confused and offended by the assumption before they pointed at the apple by the tree and then slammed their palm on the ground as if to say it an apple fell by the lake and they simply want to.

Thinking it was for him, Lilia grabbed the apple and ate it, prompting the merfolk’s jaw to drop, now offended, dumbfounded, and on the verge of hitting the banished general yet they closed their first instead, having an inkling of what could happen if they acted out.

Silver sighed in relief as the prefect frowned when Lilia grabbed the half-eaten apple to the merfolk, who was trying to get back to the lake since the dirt was clinging to their flesh and tail.

"Your name."

The merfolk looked at the apple, wondering what it was for when Lilia was asking for their name; they dipped their hand in the water before they used their nail to poke holes in the half-finished apple since there wasn't enough dirt for them to write.

They frowned, trying to make sure it was understandable before they tried to crawl back to the banished general with the apple, because they didn't want to be accused of attacking him if they threw it back on his way.

ㅤ

The dreams were only snippets, so there's no way of telling what happened in between other than assuming, but there was an obvious connection between the banished general and the merfolk—who they found out was actually named [name].

Despite the growing connection, there was one thing in common between the snippets that the quad was seeing; it was that the two only ever meet during night time.

"To put it equally, father is a bat Fae," Silver said, watching the merfolk only stay near the shore in silence while the banished general stays by the tree.

Neither of them really talk—considering that [name] was mute and Lilia could possibly be hesitant to add any more people in his life after what happened, but that part about Lilia was only an assumption.

It also appears that [name] was overly conscious about their appearance, they can stay minutes staring at the same part of their hands, they can spend the silence just massaging their fingers or untangling their hair.

However, more than the both of them, [name] seems to actually be concerned about Lilia as they linger long in the night with him—which Silver was grateful for, because the banished Fae had done nothing but simply linger around, just existing.

"Where do you think they are?" the prefect asked, because tonight, [name] doesn't seem to be around after they spent hours observing Lilia the night before.

"If we assume that the tree is their food source, it's natural they moved," Sebek said in a rational sense. "No one would want to stay when someone stronger has gotten their territory."

"I thought they were... somewhat closer," Silver said, feeling quite disappointed or even saddened that Lilia was left all alone to deal with his own feelings.

In how Silver thinks, he wants to say that being with someone in silence is better than having to deal with everything alone; this comes from him assuming he was undeserving of his father's love, but having Sebek save him in a literal and in another sense was what pulled him out.

"Maybe they are," Grim said, laying down in boredom of what was happening especially when the nights were usually so quiet with just crickets and nothing more. "Just take me out of here, this place is creepy."

"It is quite eerie, this wasn't how I remembered it," Silver comments, looking to the side to face Grim, but only to notice that the still lake wasn't so still anymore—it was rippling.

"They're back," the prefect said, looking rather relieved as well.

The merfolk had a clothing that was tied in a knot that they threw it on the ground making it squirm and jump around, and Grim knew the scent, he sat up and asked, "Fish!?"

"They eat their own kind!?" Sebek asked rather loudly.

"It's for father."

There's a feeling of awe in Silver as he watched the merfolk, who was so conscious of their body, struggle to get up to the ground to simply lift themselves to the shore to crawl around for any wood.

For the merfolk doing something for a stranger and the prefect asked, "So [name] is... definitely a mermaid then?"

"What else would they be?" Grim asked.

"I don't know," the prefect responded and that made Silver think. "Possibly siren at first, but... they're not depicted so nicely in comparison to mermaids, so... then basing here, [name] is a mermaid."

"Sirens are just as nice as mermaids are, based on the current books of history outside of Briar valley," Sebek said, crossing his arms. "They're usually half birds, but there are now sirens that are the aquatic type that lives with the rest of the people in Coral Sea."

"To depict them now as... eerie or manipulating is basically an old tale now," the other knight said as he watched the merfolk huff at themselves for being unable to start fire.

It wasn't something that Lilia actively questioned when he saw the black licorice in a stick by a fire; he can't help but look amused at the way half of [name]'s head was peeking out as if to see his reaction.

The odor was foul, but it was edible, to say so at least—for him, not for the trio that stood to watch; Grim doesn't watch what he eat, but the humans and the half Fae definitely did and they know it wasn't all that delicious.

However, Silver noted that Lilia looks satisfied with it, because the next day he cut the grass nearby the lake and gave [name] a dirt box to start communicating with him since he was going to start having questions.

There's a bit more information about [name] now, and apparently they live incredibly far from their peers because they likes watching human behavior up close but the lake was connected to an ocean; they write that they haven't seen anyone for a few years.

It was most likely because of the war.

The house Lilia lives in and the lake that [name] was in was still by the borders of Briar Valley after all; he didn't want to live too far, and a lot of people have evacuated because of Henrick and his crew.

"They're so cooperative," Silver mentioned despite having clashing ideas with Sebek that [name] was rather commendable for giving information to the banished general about his new home.

The prefect comments, "It's like they're the rent-person or something."

ㅤ

"Sir Vanrouge, I apologize for calling you here so suddenly... I'm glad you came."

Silver and the rest stood on another snippet of the dream; it's feels like it's been years since they watched watching the interaction between the merfolk and his father that seeing Briar Valley again was rather odd.

The dreams seems to be showing some useless information, but no doubt important to Lilia, though there's no deciphering what they meant as their mindless conversation ranges from the weather, children, Faes, how cold the water was, what to eat for dinner, the color of Lilia's eyes, to the sun rising.

"It's been ten years, Baur," the bat Fae responded.

Apparently as well, it was brief but the quad had the ability to move around—and Silver discovered while going around near the dreamer was that the bat Fae has been receiving postcards from Baur but hasn't truly replied.

It wasn't that Lilia didn't have the time to reply, but he just chose not to and he didn't find any relevance that he would have to talk about it to [name].

In fact, Silver knows he doesn't really say much either and he's left to pick the pieces of what his father meant; there's a lot of things his father didn't tell him—and Malleus for that matter.

If it weren't for the dreams, none of the duo knights would ever know that their liege was late when he was being hatched and that the love of his grandmother could not even suffice.

"Shrimps."

[name] wrote on the dirt box with a stick as they placed the cloth they retrieved from the previous general years ago from their first few months of eating.

They don't know what's happening, but the prefect knows that they're at least aware that something was rather amiss—especially with the way Lilia was going around carrying a map as if to look for information.

It's important, and Lilia would have to leave; the quad knew that, but then the question lingers, what would happen to the merfolk that he build connection with?

Realizing they weren't getting his attention, they used a rock to smoothen the surface of the dirt box, and then they wrote something with a stick before they started splashing around to get his attention.

"Lilia."

He placed the map down to turn to [name], who smiled a little but almost hesitantly before they pushed the shrimps a little towards his way.

"I got distracted," he speaks, moving to place the map rolled near the cloth-filled shrimps to start smoking the shrimps and [name] then frowned.

"Let me help." "You are" "The nicest I've known."

"Dragons," Lilia speaks, rolling the map open as [name] looked over curiously. "Where have you heard of them?"

They looked rather troubled; they shook their head, immediately as if to tell him that they don't really have much information about dragons and they rarely ever saw one.

"Briar."

[name] rested their elbows on the shore and tilted the dirt box for the banished general to read; well, of course, Briar Valley was known to have different types of Faes and a dragon Fae ruler.

"What else?"

"Sighting Shaftlands." "Dragon turns invisible."

"Shaftlands is vast," the bat Fae commented, his voice rather agitated and Silver knew why.

The rulers of Shaftlands by far had been kind, however, the place they rule was rather big; it would take too long to look for a specific city that talks about a dragon sighting.

While Silver was focused on the current scene, his previous words about [name]'s cooperation rather sparked something for Sebek to see the merfolk in a different light now.

Call it desperation, but doesn't Lilia Vanrouge trust [name]?

"Fluer City." "I'll come with." ㅤ

ㅤ

[name]'s words have sparked hope to the two knights despite knowing that their liege would still be hatched in a later time, at least they have a merfolk to be with them.

They seemed to have traveled through the water systems of Fleur City much to their disgust or discomfort, but Silver was glad for their dedication because his father didn't go through the entire ordeal alone.

It was easy for the merfolk to act oblivious about what's happening; they didn’t want to touch on anything about Lilia unless he spoke first, but they would write words on the ground or with matches on stones about words like they knew what he was going through.

“Their dragon was a mascot,” Lilia said, sitting by the bridge of the city where lamps were the only ones illuminating the scenery. “Mascots… Where do they even get the idea?”

[name] was quite irked at the fae for being up the bridge and they had to crank their head up to him just to be able to look at him as he speaks; they can’t even write a response because the water was low and the sides of it were cemented.

Silver was still thinking about the significance of the dream when Grim points out, “[name]’s nails look like stones.”

“Blot stones,” the prefect mutters, remembering the time of Grim nearly not coming back from the Island of Woe. “But he’s right.”

The merfolk wasn't truly able to be with the bat Fae for a long time, because Lilia left them at one point to gather information separately from him for a faster search—which Sebek found to be a better strategy.

Until they were caught by Baur, that is since they were deemed suspicious in a way they've been swimming around the lake and asking people in the shore about dragons, because the Royal family and the other people were quite sensitive to the information about the heir.

They haven't gathered that much and he wasn't so nice to humans considering what happened with the previous ruler, but [name] was not human, they were a merfolk—that cannot shift their body to be a human.

Nervously gesturing around won't get the trust for Baur, and Sebek rather finds it commendable that they won't even mention the last name of a renowned general (to Baur's eyes).

Like Sebek, Silver thought, Baur kept talking even while the merfolk was in a large container for being suspicious; [name] could still hear, and they definitely caught up on their own.

"Oh no..." the prefect murmured as Grim shrieks at the noise that sounded like Lucius scratching its nails on the chalkboard, but mostly because [name] was ruining their nails trying to communicate with Baur.

By scratching their nails on the glass, but the prefect and Grim wouldn't know that mermaids cannot simply just sharpen their nails; they don't have that ability, not even in the written history.

Grim can do that too, considering he seems to have the anatomy of a cat, he can sharpen his nails or go scratching on the couches that Heartslabyul people have—but [name] was an aquatic creature.

"A siren," Baur speaks, adding to the discomfort in [name]'s face.

"Love = Hatch?"

It's not known why they cooperate so well with Lilia or why they seem to have mercy towards Faes, because their hearing is rather loud and if they just opened their mouth to sing—without proper ear coverage or preparation—it would've been over.

The prefect of the ramshackle was not from this world and Grim was simply unaware, so it's confusing why Silver and Sebek appeared to be much more surprised than they are.

Baur appeared much more alert as he asked, "How old are you?"

The siren looked uncomfortable, hesitating to tell as Silver explained to the prefect and Grim about what exactly was about sirens was so bad centuries ago from today.

Someone had made a song that could be used to steal the remaining or 20 years of a person's life, while the stigma with the sirens in the future would be good, it wasn't so good right now considering the song was still well-known, making everyone wary of sirens.

If the siren wants to steal more than 20 years, they would have to sing again—and considering [name] hasn't aged for the past 10 years seems to be abnormal because she retained a certain age from the aid of using the song.

Some sirens use the song later than their forties or sixties, and the first time they use the song will be the first tie will be their eternal appearance, and [name] looked like they used the song in their nineteens.

"...hundred something."

"It's... sweet," the prefect murmurs.

Sebek huffed, trying to keep his beating heart in a stable condition after knowing that [name]'s species was because it's usual to be careful—yet Silver cared little.

He whispered, "If this is father's memory, is this an imagination or did father hear their voice? In fact, father is..."

Lilia is in the Shaftlands in Fleur City to search for a dragon that could turn invisible because of [name]'s information that there was a sighting of it before, yet the snippet was not by him—it's with [name] and Baur.

The people who are not from the original dream should not be so far from the owner of the dream, because that would require vast imagination.

"We're of the same age."

"Sir Vanrouge," Baur speaks as [name] sinks to the lowest of the container even though it was incredible clear and they could be seen in any perspective of the glass.

"Let them go, Baur," Lilia frowned, the situation only adding to the frustration before he knocks on the glass. "Where else...!? I went around Fleur City doesn't remember any dragon! They don't know anything!"

There seems to be much more important matters, it seems, considering that [name] swam up a little to face Lilia despite their troubles of being founded out that they were a siren.

Lilia indeed have heard their voice since they were conversing they responded, "No! It wasn't entirely useless, it must've been a hundred years ago sighting in Fleur City. I don't know what you're looking for, but some of them said that there's a valley on the opposite from here and legends says there's a dragon there."

The bat Fae's face rather scowled, temper short as he—in Silver's words—gently—banged his palm on the glass because they were rushing for information and they can only rely on gossips.

"You trust their words?" Baur questioned, sounding rather accusingly.

"How long do you have?" the bat Fae asked.

[name] didn't seem to take offense or feel too saddened about the information as they said, "I have 200 hundred more years I think, Henrick's men kept coming to the lake, I'll use it to help you."

"Great, have [name] scour the books," the bat Fae said, moving past the container the siren was on the go inside Blackscale Castle where the egg was being incubated. "Tell Lady Maleficia to hide them."

"But Sir Vanrouge—"

"Lilia! After the valley, try going to Harveston, there's something there too I heard...!" [name] tried to add further information. "If... the—there's also Scalding Lands, they didn't have a dragon but they have good fortune tellers!"

"We don't have time for fortune tellers!" Baur said making [name] match their face to Lilia's scowl.

"You don't know that," they replied. "We're taking all our chances, better something than nothing."

"At least their views align," the prefect says, smiling a little though confused. "...but you two don't seem to know about [name] despite this contribution."

ㅤ

Maleficia indeed did hide [name] in the most unexpected place but incredibly well protected—they're inside the same castle that Malleus was on and they're only sitting around and reading despite their aching elbows and drying tail.

They tend to talk to themselves or the egg quite a lot, and even reads the books they are reading about dragons to Malleus himself; Lilia often comes by each two years or more to talk to Malleus before leaving again.

"...There's nothing else, Lilia," [name] muttered, having read the books that were given to them but it's lacking the information they need. "What... what are we looking for even...?"

The goal was to hatch Malleus and it's been a hundred years, but there's little to no progress on what to do; it's the first a dragon had no parents to hatch it and there's littler information about dragons themselves.

Lilia was just as lost as [name] was, but he didn't want to lose hope, and the rest from outside his dream would know considering that Malleus was hatched in the future.

"You killed Henrick's men, didn't you?" he asked, sitting down beside [name] as they soaked their tail on the water that Baur brought for them while they sat on a chair. "What song was it?"

"You're exhausted," [name] murmurs, not wanting to entertain anyone about the song they're trying to desperately hide, feeling queasy. "You're just... really tired, Lilia... Don't start talking about this."

"I heard you sing for Malleus," he said, causing [name] to rewire their thoughts, his previous words changing from something sad to something sweet.

The scene was rather too boring for Grim since they've been in the dream forever yet nothing was happening, by that he meant there was no battles since forever and Sebek can only applaud the duo for their dedication.

the prefect whispered, "...What are they, exactly?"

Silver knows his biological father was the Dawn Knight and Queen Leah, however the current guardian—or the person that helped him grow to whom he was now—was Lilia Vanrouge.

If by chance, [name] and Lilia were something, then maybe in the future times, Lilia has someone to rely on; it's odd that he didn't get to meet them, but if Lilia had traveled a lot then so must have [name]—he wasn't completely in the dark, perhaps he didn't just catch up.

He knows better that these were just memories of Lilia Vanrouge, and that [name] wasn't in the future; if [name] was, then they would be in the lake, living together instead of so far apart.

"I don't know."

"I'm not singing for you, that's basically courting you," [name] replied, frowning towards Lilia. "Mermaids can't dedicate songs, not even Sirens because that means something special for them, didn't you at least hear about that while traveling?"

"But you sing for Malleus?"

"Don't be like that," they replied, sighing, but they smile a little. "Sirens could be internally bounded, it's basically like marriage when they sing for someone, but children don't know how to bind and cannot bind—they're innocent creatures."

A hundred years snippets went fast and there's no way to tell how close [name] and Lilia was, Silver's left guessing what happened in between but it's tender; he can at least tell his father's relationship with the siren wasn't fragile nor was it banters.

He comes to the Blackscale castle for Malleus, but at the same time, he was coming home to [name] in a sense; it sounds delusional the more Silver processes it, and he was already so satisfied with Lilia as his father—perhaps it won't be much to wish Lilia to be happier.

"Bind us," Lilia replied.

"You're out of your mind," [name] immediately shut it down, frowning, in disbelief of his impulsive words. "You're exhausted, Lilia. Ask me again when Malleus hatched."

"Maybe there's something after all," the prefect said as Sebek shrieked so loudly, he cannot believe something like this had happened and that Lilia loved someone that even hid their own species.

ㅤ

Lilia's happiest moments was the time Malleus was born.

All the wondering Silver has been thinking was finally solved as he can hear his father's sobs from the relief on his shoulders; the reason to why the dream that Lilia had was filled with suffering.

The dream was filled with suffering and heavy choices were made on the way, Lilia fought in the war, suffered injuries, and lost people in his life all so could the egg would hatch.

"I never knew my liege's birth was such an incredible event, not even books in Briar Valley in history could chronicled this," Sebek sobbed himself as the prefect looked away to avoid crying. "Why did grandfather never share such an awe-inspiring tale with me?"

"Vanrouge! you've done us all a great service in hatching His Highness," a mist-looking entity says, which was considered to be a noble senate of Briar Valley. "His companion is doing well healing those whom are injured as well!"

Right, [name] was singing for the guards that were injured because prior to the hatching, Malleus was crying and striking people with lightnings when he was still in the egg.

The dark-scaled creature blinks as the quad felt their world spin, the entire world they stand in looking disorientated as Lilia whispered, "Well...? Good?"

"Come, you must present yourself and His Highness to Her Majesty."

"It's a miracle! You're a true hero!"

"...A hero?" Lilia whispered, further having his head crack in confusion as so are the people who jumped in his dream, furthermore, his voice cracked. "No..."

'Vanrouge! How dare you lay you and your companion lay your filthy hands upon the royal heir!?"

"A dragon egg hatched with the magic of a bat and a siren!? This is a scandal to end all scandals!"

"What's going on!?" Sebek asked loudly because everything had started swirling. "The world's getting all disorientated, and the senators are acting like different people!"

"I think father is... realizing this is a dream," Silver whispered, looking down, not feeling well as well from all the disorientation. "Father... was never met with felicitations."

Grim is whining in pain, and wanting to hurl from the way the dream swirls albeit too much, but his groans of pain were nothing in comparison to the sudden loud screeching nearby, causing everyone to flinch.

— S C R E E C H !

It was Malleus this time as Sebek looked back to see where the first screech came from, but to see [name] being held down by the guards they healed because of the senate, hissing.

"Oh, our poor prince..." the senate whispered. "Not only did he lose his parents due to their incompetent guard, but he was also infused with impure magic."

"This is your punishment, Vanrouge! Guards, take the siren's tongue—!"

"Stop! We'll leave, alright!?" Lilia yelled, rather loudly, not wanting to fight even if his body wasn't stuck on the ground or even if he could've done something. "We'll leave!"

The prefect held on Silver's sleeve, pointing at the side as a green smoke started to appear, alarming the duo knights and Grim, knowing who it could possibly be.

Just the horns was enough to tell who it was; it was hard for other people to control the blot, but Malleus seemed to have no problems being able to handle it as he smiled towards them with a greeting.

"There you are," he said. 'I've finally found you, Lilia."

"That voice... Raverne? How are you back?" Lilia asked, confused more than he was hopeful, his eyes going from Malleus to [name], which Silver noticed. "No, you have Maleanor's horns, who are you!?"

"I never knew that this happened," Malleus murmured to himself, looking around at the scene he can't remember—from seeing his small self in the arms of Baur to seeing [name] being held down. "How dare those doddering old fools treat you that way... and grandmother! How could she hide the truth from me all this time!?"

"It wasn't her choice, Malleus! I asked her to!" Lilia replied rather quickly despite not knowing what was happening. "If you'd known the truth—but Malleus... is an infant..."

"Don't think about anything, Lilia," Malleus speaks, smiling a little, his voice turning calmer so Lilia could not question anything more. "You don't have to suffer any more pain. What dream do you want...?"

"Wait, stop," Silver whispered, but his gaze not directed at the way Malleus looked at Lilia—rather, at [name] who looked utterly confused but everything proceeded as they are. "Stop!"

Malleus' head whips back at the loud screech as [name] was released, covering their mouth with their hands much to the way Lilia's heart dropped and Sebek paled.

Their hands were stained with dark colored liquid as they shed tears, but didn't hope to say anything lest the wound worsens—the image, however, was erased quickly before the prefect or Grim could even see.

Malleus murmured, "So this is why you weren't bounded, they lost the ability to sing. These old fools...!!"

"Father!" Silver yelled, trying to shake Lilia out of the trance of his image of [name] though everything was already disorientated and wrapped.

They lost their tongue, and it's a crucial moment to him to the point Lilia can't imagine [name] ever speaking after facing the senators of Briar Valley; he gained as much as he lost.

He cannot create any image past that and [name]'s figure just disappeared much to the slight disappointment Malleus felt as he asked, "Silver, you again, you truly are a poor sleeper, you still resist me?"

The dream snippet changed back to the forest of where Lilia had lived after being banished, making Malleus blink himself, knowing the place from the inside.

"We will never give up!" Silver responded, attempting to ignore the way that there was a crib inside the house with a wailing younger version of Malleus.

"You were born from the love of so many, my liege," Sebek responded as the prefect nodded together with Grim at the same time as [name] burst through the doors of the house. "It's not right for you to become an enemy hated by all the world!"

[name] still tripped, however, having gotten used to legs and they went through everyone present within the house like they simply just did not exist, they were trying to get to the younger version of Malleus, large parts of their arms already turning dark.

They still got to the child, however, smiling so fondly as they made sure to steady themself before carrying the half-transformed infant.

"That's why we'll break this, whatever it takes," Silver declared as Lilia opened the house to the house, staring right at them and not through. "Malleus, we'll crush your blessing!"

"That... sounds about right," Lilia spoke. "My pupil is really well-spoken."

"Born from love," the prefect murmurs, looking back at the spot [name] was with the younger version of Malleus. "But what happened?"

ㅤ

It's over, the entire ordeal, at least.

Ignihyde played such a big part, assisting the rest in jumping dreams with Silver, Sebek, Grim and the prefect; Malleus has lost half of one of his horn thus his magic had lessened significantly as it was a fatal spot, yet he didn't seem to care so much.

Dancing with the dead, however, was a different thing—never had Lilia felt quite afraid that the memory of the dead could come true as he sees Maleanor smile in front of him and Malleus; he knows her temper and how she's like.

"You should go, Lilia," Malleus whispered quietly.

He may never be able to call Lilia his father, but he was still loved, and he was glad to be able to bestow Silver a present of what he wanted for his contributions—Lilia's last name.

Lilia looked at the palace where he found Silver, abandoned and covered in thorns was it at first, but now it was an event place for the people who wanted to celebrate or simply eat like Grim.

[name] was there with the crowd of memories; they had lost the ability to sing and couldn't get more years, and Lilia knew that they wouldn't dare steal more lives even if they were able to sing.

He still can't help the clench in his heart even if his memories came back, because he just saw [name] in his dreams and everything felt so real.

"Henrick's father," Lilia started, not looking a bit too happy but he smiles a little, bittersweet, Malleus supposed. "He gifted them and passed them around supposedly as a heirloom."

"Is that so...?" Malleus murmured as Silver stands by the side, talking and bidding his farewells to his biological family.

"They got so frightened that they sang that song as their last resort," the bat Fae continued, thinking it's best for Malleus to know the rest of the story. "Because that song is painless for sirens unlike their usual offensive songs."

"Father," Silver speaks, moving close to the two. "May I listen?"

Lilia nodded and said, "They said that Queen Leah was the last person they healed with their song, and she helped them out when she grew up, and [name] had hated the Royal Family who acted like Henrick and his father."

"Ohh, look here~" Floyd said, leering over the siren. "Jade, look~"

"Floyd, we don't tolerate this kind of behavior towards adults," his brother twin responded strictly as he crossed his arms. "Especially not to a fellow siren."

"Kind of surprising you could tell," the prefect of Ramshackle said. "They don't look like their age, they're... perhaps... three hundred years old."

"Ehh... It looks like Lala-chan."

"Perhaps they find you kind, father," Silver says as [name]'s memory took Yuu by the hand and began dancing.

"I was no different," the bat Fae sighed, placing his hands on his hips. "You saw, didn't you? I was not exactly at my kindest."

"But they claim you're the kindest," Grim cuts in, standing on his two paws as he looked at the trio with crossed arms.

"Fufufu, now, now," Lilia laughed. "Who did you hear that from?"

"[name] did, no?" Silver asked briefly remembering the dirt box they had to write in when hiding their species. "Before you two went to Fleur City."

"Aren't they just sweet?" the bat Fae asked despite not needing a question, but he steps quite away for a little to where the prefect. "I'll leave for now."

"They are made from how I remember them, Lilia," Malleus speaks, just before [name] smiled at the sight of the bat Fae, coming over just to hug him and spin him around.

The people from Malleus' memory from Lilia's dream didn't really talk, but they move on their own without assistance—they were like the spirits or souls of the dead—or maybe even the ghost inside Ramshackle.

They also didn't last long, but the bat Fae was starting to find [name]'s movements rather odd yet tried to drown in the bliss of being spun around or thrown during the dance.

"The music ended," Lilia whispered. "Malleus won't know, but you're actually louder than this... really cheeky too."

He enjoyed himself a lot, and he cannot grieve again, especially since it's been a long time already; he misses [name], but his grieving days were already over.

Malleus was going to dismiss the memories now, and while so, Lilia tried his best to memorize their features, except for the fact that [name] smiled—the slight part of their lips revealed a tongue.

They have a tongue, which Malleus shouldn't have a recollection of; he never even saw them until it was cut off and [name] never opened their mouth around him when he was an infant.

"I found you."

"Found—" Sebek spoke up first but was cut off as Malleus dismissed them before he gets the chance to process.

"Not even my parents spoke," Silver said, feeling quite surprised as Grim shuddered, feeling quite scared.

"Was it... a ghost!?"

Lilia was still standing surprised, blinking as his hand remained where it was earlier before he chuckled rather loudly to the point he nearly shed a tear.

Azul claps, trying to get his chance with the people of Diasomnia before he says, "Such interesting dance, if sirens interest you, we have a late recruit in Octavinelle that might quench your curiosity."

"Father..." Silver whispered, feeling a little off by the prefect of Octavinelle.

"As you know, sirens are now living equally with us," Azul said, holding onto his staff. "Though I don't mean to be rude, but I just thought you'd like to see our performer this Friday evening."

"Oh, Azul, you didn't even mention their name," Jade said with a close lipped smile. "But [name] look forward to seeing Diasomnia in Mostro Lounge one day."

"That's just interesting, isn't it?" Lilia asked, smiling a little politely though his bats seem to be flying closer to him to intimidate. "What an odd time to know that name. Who told you about it?"

Because [name] was never in any history books, just known for their tendency to drag people in the lake and steal years of their life.

"That's interesting, Lala-chan basically never met Flapjack Octopus-chan but they know how to push him," Floyd speaks, adding to Azul's nervousness of being attacked by any of the Diasomnia members, especially not Malleus. "Lala-chan is so odd... They hit their head and suddenly they know them."

"Father, I believe this is an odd case," Silver says, standing by Lilia. "However, the prefect mentioned something similar when we were in your and their dream... and I believe... you should try."

"Sebek?" Lilia asked for a second opinion since he was also in the dreams of other people.

"It's worth something," Sebek said.

"I believe the song would be dedicated to you, Lilia-san," Jade said, smiling with teeth bared this time. "They said that should be enough for you to go."

"How cheeky."

hzn ┊ i cried when silver cried during book 7, like what do you mean you weren't love and feeling like you don't deserve it? it's so sad… familial love makes me cry faster and harder than any romantic story. i was crying abt diasomnia for days.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland lilia vanrouge #twst lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader

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daydreamgoddess14 · 11 hours ago

Text

Strategic Interests - Chapter 7

Ohhhh, how I have AGONISED over this chapter! I hope it's worth it.

How do you reconcile a near death experience? Self preservation, obviously. Spoiler alert... rating is going UP in this chapter.

Warnings/ratings/notes: language, political setting (literally I only know what Google, Hamilton and the West Wing has taught me!), yearning, longing, Bucky trying so hard to be better, he falls first - she falls harder, banter and arguing, enemies-to-lovers that’s really frustrated co-workers-to-lovers, a little Thunderbolt chaos.... New warnings: smut - unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, overstimulation, soft!Bucky...

Congressman/Thunderbolt Bucky Barnes x F!Congresswoman Reader.

Word Count: 5k

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Chapter 7

You couldn’t sit still.

It was impossible.

At the hospital, you’d paced the hallways outside Kara’s surgery, by her bedside afterwards, at the end of the bed when the kids and Gray had arrived.

And Kara, groggy but still sharp, had rolled her eyes at you and rasped, “get the hell out of here, boss. You look like shit.”

And then at home, you’d paced some more.

Around the kitchen. In the bathroom while you waited for the shower to heat up to a sufficiently scalding temperature. In your bedroom until you couldn’t stand it any longer…

At the risk of incurring Doug Gary’s wrath - and his lovely wife’s - you’d called an Uber rather than your driver.

Then you’d walked past the gate, up the stairs, knocked, and waited for him to answer the door like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When he opened it, you knew how you looked: wide-eyed, shell-shocked. Like you were still hearing glass breaking around you.

The blood had been cleaned off, the glass had been washed from your hair, but a few cuts were still visible on your knees, one on your cheek.

The heels, the pencil skirts, the silk blouses were gone.

You were still dressed in the clothes you’d put on when you’d gotten out of the shower. Soft shorts, a much too big sweater and your bare feet pushed into unlaced sneakers.

“Are you ok?” he asked, softly.

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t meet his eyes.

He held the door a little wider and you brushed past him into the dim living room, standing there like you didn’t know what to do with your hands.

He probably didn't know you could be silent, you thought idly.

That was his weapon of choice.

“I’ll get you a drink.”

He came back with whiskey. You took it without looking. You didn’t even drink it. Just held it in both hands, ice tinkling with your tremble.

He leaned against the arm of the couch, giving you space. Letting you hover uncertainly in the middle of the room.

You still didn’t speak.

You weren’t even sure what to say.

He glanced at your knees. At the butterfly stitches and scratches. Something in his eyes you couldn't read.

Something you weren't sure you were ready to.

And then -

You moved.

Fast. Like something inside you had snapped, like you couldn't hold back any longer.

You set the glass down too hard, crossed the room in three quick steps and kissed him.

Fiercely. No warning.

You’d thrown yourself into it without thinking - like your body had made the decision for you and your brain was still catching up.

You couldn’t not.

He didn’t move at all.

He didn’t respond to your clumsy, breathless, graceless kiss. Your mouth was too hard against his. Your hands didn’t know where to land.

You weren’t even sure what you were doing - you just knew that everything inside you had been coiled too tight, and this - this - was the first thing that had snapped.

But. He didn’t kiss you back.

And that sting of rejection hit fast and sharp.

You stepped back, humiliation crawling under your skin like fire.

“I - I shouldn’t have come,” you muttered, already turning.

Then his hand closed around your wrist. Firm. Final.

“Is this what you came here for?” He demanded quietly.

“Well I didn’t come here to talk,” you bit back.

And that was the moment he snapped.

He surged up from the arm of the couch and caught your mouth with his.

Not careful. Not restrained.

Desperate.

It knocked the breath out of you. Teeth, tongue, hands everywhere. You’d kissed him like a question - but he was kissing you like an answer.

No hesitation this time. No space. Just yes.

He drove you back into the wall with a thud. Your sweater rode up, and his hands were under it before you could even breathe - and then they paused.

Just for a second.

No bra.

His fingertips dropped and traced the waistband of your shorts.

He exhaled, sharp and stunned.

Nothing between you but the soft cotton of the sleep shorts and the oversized sweater still slipping off your shoulder.

“You really came here to get fucked,” he muttered. Not a question, not teasing.

Your jaw clenched.

You were still pinned between him and the wall, your pulse thundering in your throat. His statement shouldn’t have landed like it did. Not like a slap, but like a truth you didn’t want spoken out loud. Something you were too embarrassed to admit.

You wrapped your hand around his and pushed it lower, under the waistband, and pressed it between your legs, daring him to feel how soaked you already were.

“Isn’t that what you want?” you said, voice tight. Trying to sound defiant. Trying to control it. “Or are you gonna stand there pretending you’re better than this?”

You hoped it landed like a challenge. But your voice cracked. A hairline fracture beneath the sharp edge.

He heard it. You knew he did.

He swallowed, you watched the muscles in his neck tense.

"You knew I wouldn't say no," he said, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

His fingers curled slightly, pressure just enough to make you shudder, he watched you closely, cataloguing every micro-expression. Not quite touching you yet, though you could feel the restraint.

“You knew I’d give you whatever you asked for.”

He leaned in, his mouth brushing yours but not kissing.

“You want to get fucked so badly?”

His voice dropped, sounding dangerous. His hand still so close to where you needed it.

“You want me to fuck every damn thought out of your head.” He dragged his fingers through your aching folds with the lightest touch, holding your hip still when you tried to chase more.

You let out a broken breath - part need, part panic - because you knew it was true.

Because this wasn’t just sex.

It was him. Giving you everything, even when he knew it would cost him. When he had every reason to think you'd run again.

You kissed him before he could hesitate - hard, frantic, angry - because you didn’t know how to ask for what you needed without handing him your throat.

You arched off the wall, trying to push him back. Needing movement. Needing control.

He let you.

Like you had any power here. Like you weren’t already crumbling in his hands.

He let you grip his t-shirt in your clenched fists and shove him back until he reached the couch.

You kicked off your sneakers and followed him, climbing into his lap, your knees smarting as the cuts and scratches pulled. You welcomed the sting.

His hands went to your waist, dragging your sweater off and spreading wide across your ribs, pulling you deeper into his lap. You hissed as the couch fabric dragged on your butterfly stitches, and he stopped immediately, moving to lift you off and lay you down instead.

You pinned your knees to his hips and rolled against him instead, “no.” You told him firmly.

His head fell back against the back of the couch, watching you through eyes so dark they could swallow you whole.

It felt like he was drinking in the sight of you. From your wild eyes, down to your breasts, and down again to the thin shorts, the only barrier you had left.

You tried to ignore the fact that he clearly had you at your most vulnerable while he was still fully clothed.

That this power and control you thought you had was only because he was giving it to you.

You took what you needed, freeing him from his sweatpants, reassuringly hard.

You ground against him, sliding along the length of him, chasing friction like it might burn the ache out of you.

He should’ve stopped you. Should’ve asked if you were sure.

But when you pushed your shorts to the side and sank down onto him, inch by inch, skin to skin, he only growled your name - and let you take him anyway.

Stupid. Reckless. But neither of you were thinking. You were burning.

You bit your lip hard, adjusting to his size until he'd filled you completely.

Only when you started to move did he touch you.

One hand cupped your breast, thumb grazing across your nipple. The other stayed tight at your hip - anchoring you to him.

You hated him for how he touched you.

Not possessively. Not roughly, but like you were something holy.

Like he wasn’t afraid of how close to breaking you were.

His thumbs stroked slow, aching circles into your skin, following the rhythm of your hips like he was tracing a memory. His mouth found your throat - warm, wet, open. Then lower, dragging along the curve of your breast, tongue circling your nipple before grazing it with his teeth.

And still he didn’t take over.

Every time your rhythm faltered, he steadied you. Every breathless twitch of your thighs, he met with patience. Not stillness.

Patience.

And it was infuriating.

You wanted resistance. You wanted friction. You wanted to fight him into giving you something that would let you forget.

You shoved your hand against his chest - not hard. Just enough to say push me back.

He didn’t. He just looked up at you - seeing everything you were trying to hide, and took the swell of your breast into his mouth again, sucking until you felt the bruise bloom.

Your jaw clenched.

“Why won’t you move -” you hissed, the words all teeth and heat and ache.

His grip at your waist flexed - just enough to make you feel it. Just enough to remind you he could take over, would take over - but not until you asked for it.

“Because you look so pretty when you’re pretending you don’t need me,” he murmured.

You snapped - not with rage, but with rawness. A survival instinct.

You rode him harder, like you could outrun what he was saying.

“I don’t need you,” you panted, pace faltering even as you fought to keep it, “Don’t fucking tell me what I need -”

But your rhythm was unraveling. Your thighs shook. Your body betrayed you - folding into him even as your mouth lied.

He caught you just before the fall - his hands holding your hips steady, thrusting up to meet you.

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart.”

Then his teeth caught your lip, and that was all it took.

“Fuck, Bucky, I -”

You came with a cry strangled in your throat. Hips stuttering. Nails dragging through his hair like you didn’t know how to let go gently.

And even then he stayed perfectly still beneath you.

Still hard.

Still holding you like he had time. Like he could wait for the rest.

You collapsed against his chest, breath ragged, trembling in the aftermath. You tried to gather yourself, to pretend it was just release. Just need. Just sex.

But you knew he knew better.

This wasn’t the end - it was a beginning. The first layer peeled back. And he wasn’t done with you yet.

You stared at him, chest heaving, sweat cooling on your skin. You felt exposed, cracked open. And he just watched you.

Like you’d done something holy, and he was still praying.

You shifted, as if to move away, to reclaim even a scrap of distance. To pretend it was nothing.

But your body betrayed you - shaking, soaked, still clenching around him like he was the only thing holding you together.

“That all you came here for?” he asked quietly. “One and done?”

It should’ve been a yes. Because that had been the plan.

You knew what you needed, and he'd been right that he'd give it to you. You'd needed to walk away before you said too much or wanted too hard.

But the way he was looking at you, darkly and yet terrifyingly tender, made every lie you’d told yourself feel thin and stupid.

You thought taking from him would be easier than giving yourself.

He shifted under you, the muscles in his thighs tensing. The hard length of him still stretching you, reigniting the need you thought you'd quelled yourself.

His hands were still at your hips, but they weren’t holding anymore. They were claiming.

“You think you’re done?” he murmured, sitting up straighter, his chest brushing yours. “That little show - that was it?”

You inhaled sharply, but your legs were still around him. Your body still clinging to his.

“You gonna run again?” he asked softly, like he already knew the answer. His mouth brushed your jaw. “Or are you finally going to stop pretending this is nothing?”

You didn’t answer.

Because the truth was suddenly too loud in your chest. Too sharp in your throat.

Your fingers curled slightly where they pressed against his chest, not pushing now - just touching. Just trying to ground yourself in something that wouldn’t crumble.

“I don’t know what this is,” you said finally, voice quiet and unsteady. “I only know that I can’t... breathe when I’m not near you.”

It cracked something between you.

His hands slipped from your hips to your thighs, dragging you forward until you were pressed so close there was no part of you that didn’t touch him. Skin to sweat-slick skin. Chest to chest. Pulse to pulse.

“You don’t have to know,” he said simply. “I’m not asking for anything.”

And then he moved.

His hands slid up your thighs and lifted you, twisting you both until you were underneath him, and then sat up on his knees between your legs.

He pulled off his t-shirt, and dragged your shorts down your legs, baring you to him.

Then he wrapped his hand around his cock, coated in your release, and pumped it. The sight of him jerking off in front of you - because of you - made you ache.

It wasn’t a question anymore. It was a promise.

You sucked in a breath, half-frightened by the intensity of it, by how quickly your body responded - as if it had just been waiting for him to take control.

He didn’t ask for your permission.

He didn’t need it.

He already had you.

And now, he was going to show you what it meant to be known.

You could feel your heart racing, unable to take your eyes off him. You weren't sure where to look first, you were so drawn in by his eyes on yours, but you wanted to look away.

You wanted to look at his broad chest, at his biceps as they curled - one arm still hooked around your leg and the other moving smoothly, his hand still firmly around his cock.

You wanted to watch.

You wanted to touch.

You'd been so consumed with the noise in your head, screams and glass breaking. The unexpected, gut-wrenching fear of seeing him searching for you. You'd driven out all of the noise, all of the voices, without considering that there was one you wanted to hear.

One you needed to hear.

You weren't sure if it was the sound he made - low and rough, his breath hitching as he stroked himself - or the look in his eyes, but something inside you twisted and tightened.

You swallowed, suddenly unsure. Not of him - never of him - but of yourself. Of how badly you wanted to give in. To stop pretending you didn’t need this.

Didn’t need him.

His hand slowed. He waited - like he could see it, the war behind your eyes. His thumb brushed the head of his cock, slick with you, and your breath caught.

"You can still go," he murmured, voice thick, almost kind. "I won’t stop you."

Your throat worked around a reply that didn’t come.

Because you didn’t want to go.

You shifted on the couch, sitting yourself up. And your fingers - uncertain, but needing - reached down to wrap over his.

You didn’t say anything. Just moved with him, your hand over his, until his fell away.

You took over.

He hissed through his teeth and dropped his head back for a moment, a tendon jumping in his neck, but he didn't close his eyes. He watched you.

"You’re killing me, sweetheart," he rasped. Like he’d die this way a thousand times if you asked.

You leaned up, kissed his chest. Softly. Then again, slower. Not like you were trying to take, but like you were offering something.

"You think I don’t feel it too?” you whispered.

His hand cradled the back of your head, not pulling you closer, just holding.

"Then stop pretending you don't," he said softly, lips brushing your hair.

You didn’t answer.

You just sank back onto the couch, pulling him down on top of you, slow and aching. Your hand moved from his cock and around his hip to squeeze his ass, pulling him closer still.

His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw. Down your throat. Each kiss warm, lingering, like he was memorising you. In case this sacred permission was ever revoked.

Your hands were shaking, one flat in the small of his back and the other in his hair. You didn’t even realise it until he caught one and kissed your palm.

You kissed him like a threat, like a dare, scared he’d think you were giving up the fight.

But when he kissed you back, it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t punishment or possession.

It was devotion.

It was a kind of tenderness that made your whole body revolt - because it held a mirror up to your own feelings.

His hands moved with reverence. Slow and certain. Not because he was holding back, but because he wasn’t rushing.

Because he was going to feel all of you.

His body pushed your legs wider apart, each shift of his weight against your still sensitive, wet core making you arch into him.

But he didn’t move to take you. Not yet.

He just looked at you.

And the worst part was - he wasn’t smug. He wasn’t smirking or cocky, or even satisfied that you were giving in.

He looked hungry. And devotional.

Like he was about to worship at the altar of your undoing.

Then he kissed down your throat again, slower this time. Tongue first. Then teeth.

When he reached your chest, he didn't go for the obvious. He took his time, lips brushing the slope of your breast, then the underside, then the other side. He sucked slow bruises into the soft skin, marking you, and when he finally dragged his tongue over your nipple, it was with aching restraint. His mouth stayed there, teasing, tasting, and every roll of his tongue sent a new wave of heat ricocheting through you.

One of his hands stayed firm on your hip, grounding you. The other slid between your legs.

You gasped when his fingers parted you - the gentlest touch, a total contrast to the speed and ferocity you thought you needed - and he pulled back just enough to watch what he was doing to you.

“I could keep you here for hours,” he murmured, dragging one slow, devastating stroke through your slick folds. “Just like this.”

You squirmed, your hips rising - needy, seeking.

“Bucky -”

“You know today’s the first time you’ve used my name?” He asked, his hand coming to stillness between your legs, his lips tracing your jawline. Something wavered in his voice. “You didn’t just call me Barnes.”

You didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t articulate that it was because he felt like yours now. Because you wanted him to be.

“Let me take my time,” he said, almost softly. “Let me show you what you’ve been running from. You don’t have to prove anything here. Not with me.”

He kissed down your body. Past your ribs, the curve of your stomach, down to the softest skin at your hips. He knelt between your legs like he was praying, and you wanted to tease him, to say something biting just to feel in control again - but then his tongue was on you.

And your world went white.

“Oh, god,” you breathed, panic - no, not panic - but something similar, something close, filled your lungs. The feeling of letting go, of relinquishing control. Like freefall.

His hands were heavy on your thighs, keeping you open, keeping you there, even as you tried to squirm away from the intensity of his mouth. He didn’t rush. He just devoured you - slow, precise, addictive.

He learned you too fast. Found the rhythm that made you tremble. The angle that made you whimper.

When he slipped one thick finger inside you, your hips bucked.

When he added another, curling it just right - you cried out.

He groaned into your cunt like it was the only thing he needed to live. Like you were.

And when your thighs started to shake, when your hands fisted in the couch cushions and your whole body went tense - he didn’t stop.

You broke with his name on your tongue.

And he kept going.

Because this wasn’t just about pleasure. This was about proof.

Proof that you could need someone like this.

Need him.

And that was the most terrifying part.

Because needing meant opening yourself up. It meant admitting there was a hollow ache inside you you’d sworn to ignore. An ache you thought you'd filled with a career and enough friends.

You’d always been the one to walk away first. Before anyone could decide you were too much. Or not enough.

If needing anyone made you powerless, you’d sworn never to be powerless again.

But here, under his hands, under his mouth - you weren’t powerless.

You thought you'd taken what you'd needed, but he was relentlessly proving you wrong.

He didn't stop. He slowed. His mouth, his fingers, keeping you on the edge, just long enough for you to get your breath back.

The rush had barely subsided and it was already building again, “I can't, I can't, Bucky -”

“One more, baby, you can give me one more,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh, to your clit.

He sucked the swollen bud into his mouth, “oh god,” the increasingly familiar feeling of freefall crept up on you again. A hand scrambled, reaching not for the couch to cling to, but for him.

His hand found yours, pliant, cool metal fingers intertwining with yours, while the other hand worked in tandem with his tongue to tip you into the abyss.

“C'mon sweetheart,” he coaxed, “I've got you.”

At his reassurance, with his hand in yours, you came with a broken sob. He savoured every drop, gently guiding you back to him.

You were still half dazed when he moved against you, covering your body with his own.

"Still with me?" he murmured against your throat, voice low, almost a rasp.

You nodded, breath catching. It was barely a motion - just your chin tipping down, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He ran his nose along your jaw. "Use your words, baby."

"Yes," you whispered, and it cracked. Quiet, but sure. “I’m with you.”

He groaned, and it sounded like gratitude. Like reverence. Like home.

You expected him to take, to push in and fuck you deep - but instead, he dragged his cock through your folds again, slow and unhurried. Teasing.

“Bucky,” you gasped, frustration sharpening your tone.

You wanted to feel everything.

He smiled against your neck. “Still gonna tell me you don’t need me?”

You didn't want to argue. For once, you didn't want to snarl something biting, something that could keep the last of your armor in place. You moved with him as he angled his hips just right, and pushed inside you with one long, thick stroke, and your breath shattered.

“I’m gonna fuck you so slow, sweetheart, you’ll feel it in your bones for days.”

He rolled his hips up into you, slowly at first - maddeningly slow. You jolted, every nerve ending sparking. He didn’t pause. Didn’t stop.

He fucked you like he’d waited years for it. Not fast - precise. Devastating.

A rhythm that didn’t let you hide, that didn’t let you drift away or disassociate or pretend this was just about bodies.

Because it wasn’t. Not anymore.

He rocked into you, dragging another broken sob from your throat. His hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face to his.

“I’m right here,” he said roughly, “Look at me.”

You did.

And it broke you.

Your nails dug into his back, hips rising, legs wrapping around him - but his pace stayed intoxicatingly slow.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. Your cheek. Your temple. His rhythm deep and steady, fucking you like it meant something.

Because it did.

“You feel that?” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours. “That’s not casual, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t answer. You were drowning in it - in him.

He brushed your hair back from your face. You hated how gently he did it. How much it made you want to cry.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he whispered. “And you’re gonna let me.”

You couldn’t disagree, because the truth was, he already had.

Your fingers curled into his hair again, your hips rising to meet him, chasing every bruising, perfect thrust.

“Bucky -” you gasped. His name tore out of you, raw and desperate.

You felt him jolt at the sound, felt his rhythm falter for the first time. His careful control slipping, the undoing you’d seen a shadow of earlier. What it meant to him.

You said it again, almost sobbing. “Bucky -”

It felt dangerous. Like saying his name could destroy you both. Like you could hand him the last pieces of you - and he would take them, hold them, worship them.

You felt the change in him, a deep tremor rolling through his body. His slow, deliberate cadence fractured. His hips snapped into you harder, faster, finally giving in to everything he’d been holding back.

His breath ragged against your throat. His teeth scraping your skin. His hands gripping you like he might drown without you.

He wanted you. Not just to love. To consume. To claim.

And for the first time, you wanted to let him.

Your body locked around him, legs trembling, your orgasm tearing through you like a white-hot flood. You screamed his name again, the sound echoing in the dark, private space between you.

He followed you into the abyss, driving so deep you saw stars, his voice a low, shuddering groan against your ear. You felt every pulse of him inside you, felt the final snap of control breaking between you both.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away. You felt him everywhere - pressed into your skin, your bones.

And it felt like you could finally let go of the breath you’d been holding for so long.

Neither of you spoke. You lined your palm up against his, his hand dwarfing yours, the golden lines and etchings shining in the low lamplight. He turned yours over, tracing gentle fingertips over the scratches. You recalled planting your hands firmly onto the ground, pushing down on broken glass as you got onto your knees with your ears ringing and warm blood on your face.

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered.

“I thought you were,” you croaked. “I couldn’t get to you fast enough.”

His fingers stilled.

“I saw you crawling toward me,” he said, voice hoarse. “Thought I was dreaming.”

“I needed to get to you.” The words felt too fragile, too close to the truth.

He nodded like he understood anyway.

“Kara?” He asked quietly.

“Awake, alive. Told me I looked like shit,” you smiled fondly.

“She lied.”

“You lie,” your smile widened, “I look awful.”

You weren’t sure how long you lay like that - squashed on the couch, your legs tangled with his, his hand idly mapping the curve of your waist, your thigh, like he couldn’t stop touching you. Like he didn’t want to.

It would’ve been so easy to stay.

But the weight of it pressed into your ribs - the knowledge that staying too long would make this real. Would make him real.

You exhaled slowly, blinked up at the ceiling. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I know.”

You swallowed. “It’s not that I didn’t want it. I just... I don’t know what to do with it.”

His silence wasn’t accusatory. It was patient.

"I already told you, you don't have to know tonight," he said. "Just don't pretend it didn't mean something."

You looked at him - at the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheek, the way his jaw had softened now that the hunger had passed. He looked calm. Peaceful. Beautiful.

And underneath it all, still waiting. Still hoping.

You reached up, brushed his hair back from his face, let your fingertips linger.

“I should go,” you whispered.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t argue, but you saw it in his eyes anyway - the flicker of disappointment.

He nodded.

You dressed in silence, his gaze never leaving you. He followed you to the door, a part of you wanted to turn back. To find his room, crawl into his bed, back into the heat of his body, to let yourself be held.

To be touched.

Again, and again.

But you didn’t, you stepped into the night.

“I’m not running,” you told him softly, rising onto your toes to press a kiss to his mouth.

Light, but certain.

His hand found your hip and gripped tightly, a silent final plea.

“I know,” he murmured against your temple. “Neither am I.”

You didn’t dare look back.

Tagging: @potatosackk @buckybarnes82 @greatenthusiasttidalwave @stevetonycupcakes @florie1 @crdgn @ficmeiguess @its-in-the-woods

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! How do you think the fellswap, swapfell, and underfell brothers would react to a crush/SO that was the eldest of several children in a bad situation. Keeping the younger siblings safe, making money for the family, taking care of everyone and the house. You wouldn’t guess it because they’re very optimistic and put together, and now are well off. They and their siblings all still live together and are happier now. Maybe the skeles knew before they were even dating about their past, maybe they only find out a while in. That’s up to you! I love your blog and your wiring and I’m always checking in to see if you’ve posted. I hope you’re having a good day! <3

Underfell Sans - He can relate, obviously. He did the same, in a world where being two orphan kids on their own was a death sentence. And he's survived anyway against all odds. He's still baffled you're not showing any sequels of this when, well... He can't say the same, eh? Red wants you to know you're not alone in this though, and that you can count on him in case of troubles for all it worths.

Underfell Papyrus - He's impressed, and a tiny bit jealous, as you and your sibling clearly stayed united in this and managed to escape this without too many problems. He's forever bitter it's not his case. He knows he has his responsibility in that, as Edge wasn't easy on his brother as a kid, far from that, when Red was just trying to make them survive another day, but... The Surface seemed way nicer than his Underground. He's glad you're ok.

Swapfell Sans - Ouch. He wished it went that well with Rus, and he's clearly impressed you managed to make the right choices. Not like him, who almost gave up his brother just to gain protection and regretted it every day since. He's protective of your younger siblings, though, as he promised himself he would never let something like that happen again. He can't fix what happened with Rus, but he wants to be at least there for you.

Swapfell Papyrus - That must have be nice to have an older sibling actually there to protect you... Rus is a little bitter about it, and might even get upset at Nox again for a few days, because he's realizing slowly all he missed as a kid because of his stupid job in the royal guard. Rus didn't deserve to be let down like this, and he's still looking for some kind of justification. It hurts you're probably how he would have been if things went differently.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Well, that's a thing you definitely got in common. He's realizing, though, that he maybe covered Coffee a little too much as a child, as your siblings seems fine enough, while his brother doesn't fit in. Well, of course, his universe was also incredibly violent and dangerous, so there's that, but... Maybe he can concede he had a part of responsibility in how Coffee turned out to be. Wine rarely questioned himself, and the fact that you managed to do so is a good sign for your relationship.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Well, if you need reassurance, he assures you you did a really good job and that all your siblings look happy. He knows it's not always easy to be raised by a sibling, but it definitely went better than him and Wine, so that's at least something. He still wonders if things would have turn differently if Wine didn't forbid him to go outside at such a young age.

#underfell #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

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noxitsnox · 2 days ago

Text

backstage- s. matthew x m!reader

fanboy!matthew x top!idol!reader

summary: matthew had bought tickets for special valentine's day concert for him and his boyfriend, but unfortunately - or fortunately - they break up a few weeks before the concert.

tags: angst at first, first meetings, some cuss words, suggestive content, smoking, making out, backstage sex, body worship, handjob (m!r receiving), bttm!matthew, pet names (2)

a/n: this trope TT i love tumblr, i love knowing there will always be at least one person who agrees with me (posting matthew smut so i can ignore squid game s3 better) @exactlyinfp

matthew was devasteted.

breaking up with his boyfriend was already bad, but breaking up with his boyfriend so close to valentine day and y/n special couple concert was terrible. he begged all of his friends to go with him, but as expected they were all busy with their own partners.

he already knew he was going to be the only single person at the concert and it was embarassing.

but still not embarassing enough to miss the concert of his favorite singer, and maybe there was a hidden part of him who hoped you'd notice him being all alone and who knows then...

in the morning he spent a little more time than usual getting ready, he wanted to be as beautiful as possible, and he left the house way too early to go stand in line at the venue. it was dumb, it was an event for only a few people- fifty couples, only fifty couples could access the concert. he had spent a whole day in front of his laptop to make sure he got the ticket presale, he had saved up for months only to be able to afford them.

the wait was worse than imagined, he didn't even feel the typical pre-concert excitment. he was surrounded by couples and even is usually he found it pretty easy to make friends this just wasn't the right mood to. he was almost wanted to cry: what was supposed to be an unforgettable night with his boyfriend looked like it was going to be the worst night of his life.

and it only got worse.

the seats were divided by couples, every couple got their own private heart shaped chairs. its was worth every single penny. it was so good he couldn't like it.

lights off, you were ready to enter the stage. you were used to perform in front of big crowds, a hundred people was nothing compared to usual but for some reason you were feeling an unjustifiable amount of anxiety.

spending valentine's day alone in front of cute couples was not your perfect idea of the day. seeing people in love was always beautiful, however you were alone, alone in the same room with people who were happy and together.

there were cheers and claps as you walked in; best feeling in the world. matthew couldn't contain himself, he was pratically jumping on that stupid chair.

he never saw you live before. it didn't seem real, you were so beautiful, your voice was amazing and it almost looked like your eyes were locked on him. he knew it wasn't possible, but he wanted to believe it, he'd make it feel better knowing that at least one person in that room cared about him.

a darl haired boy alone in the centre of everyone.

he was the only one without a partner, he in your same situation. as you danced you couldn't stop staring at him. you wondered how his skin would feel, how he'd tremble under your touch, how that pretty voice he was using to sing along would sound moaning your name.

you were conflicted: being attracted to a fan was normal but acting on it was immoral.

---

it happened fast.

the concert was over, you met fans backstage, took pictures, signed autographs and talked to them, matthew stayed there the whole time, wanting to make the best out of the experience. this had been the best night of his life so far, he had the opportunity to hug you and have a little chat. everything was perfect, he already knew he was going to replay those moments jn his mind every night before falling asleep.

as you returned to your dressing room and people started going away, a security guard approached him with a piece of paper- an NDA, and a pen. it took him a few minutes to understand what was happening, that it was all real. the looks was real, the way your hand lingered on his waist when you hugged was real, and you really wanted him in your dressing room.

you wanted him.

matthew entered the room, shivers running down his spine when he saw you on that black couch heads down with a cigarette in your hand.

you were so different from the stage, so different from lives and interviews, so real.

he stood there, unsure of what to do, until you looked up to him. you smiled, motioning for him to sit down next to you on the couch. you offered him a cigarette, which he declined with a shake of his head. he never smoked before, he never even liked the smell of it.

"you know", you said while blowing smoke out of your mouth and throwing away the butt. "i couldn't focus before, you were all i could look at."

matthew swallowed, his cheeks turning a subtle pink. "wow... i, i don't know what to say." he felt a hand on his thigh, your fingers sat so well on him as if they were meant to hold him. "just say you're okay with this, or walk away and forget this has ever happened."

he shook his head. "no, it's fine- it's fine i want this, too."

he could feel you grin on his neck, your breath was itching his skin so much he didn't notice the way your hands went to his waist until you grabbed him and laid him flat on his back on the couch. you were on top of him, balancing yourself on your elbows. matthew could feel your legs between his, your hair tickled his face. you looked at him for what felt like ages, you looked at him as if he was something precious, something rare. in your eyes there was this light and matthew told himself it was more than lust, there was a connection between you two.

"ah baby," you took his hand in yours, guidong it to your mouth to kiss it. "i'm so rude, i didn't even ask for your name."

"matthew." he felt a knot on his stomach as spoke. this simple act of sharing his name felt like a confession, like he was telling you a secret he was supposed to keep forever.

you repeated his name, hearing him say it felt unreal. you kissed his jaw, "matthew," you said on a sigh. you kissed him again and again until you got to the collar of his shirt. he gasped in shock when you quickly removed it. you admired him, his body was just as beutiful as his face. matthew found himself seeking your touch, he took your hand and placed it on his chest "please." you chuckled, before going back to his neck and whispering a soft “sorry” in his ear.

matthew could swear time had frozen, every minute was twice as long as usual and your hands, your lips on him were starting to feel more and more familiar. you kissed him in a way that made him tremble and whimper. he grew more cofident and you got bolder, and for a moment it seemed like you weren't strangers, like you've been doing this forever.

you took off his pants without ever looking away from his eyes. he was exposed while you were still fully dressed. there was a wet spot on the centre of his underwear, and the outline of his half hard cock was perfectly visible. you could see his cheeks turn red, embarrassed.

you took his hand, guiding it to your own hard lenght. matthew's eyes widened in amazement but soon the roles reversed. you found yourself half-lying on the arm of the couch, matthew between your legs as he unzipped your jeans. he spit in his hand and started slowly stroking your cock. his hand was cold, making you shiver. his touch was gentle and delicate, his fingers moved on your dick curious and steady. you couldn't stop looking at him, the concentration on his face, the way he seemed to like it more than you did.

"ah- that's it, baby." your whisper was met by his smile. you brought one hand close to his face and kissed him, on the lips this time. you bit on his lower lip as you felt his pace increase. you came in his hand, moaning his name.

you two sat in silence, you tried to catch your breath as matthew wiped his hand on a handkerchief he found on the table in front of you.

you kissed him and removed his underwear, he was now fully naked under you. he made a sound of surprise before leaning in the kiss. you said his name over and over as you kissed his body, leaving traces of saliva all over him. his golden skin was glowing under your touch. when you arrived to his dick, he trembled. you kissed the tip before getting up from him with a wink. you took a condom out of a your jeans pocket before throwing them away somewhere in the room.

you weren't done. the night was still long.

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