They’re instantly drawn to your radiant, sensual energy — the way you embody abundance, beauty, and natural confidence. You feel like a goddess/god to them: the card of the empress is very fertile so right away I get soft curves, warm presence, and that effortless glow that makes them think “they are everything I’ve ever wished for.” The 9 of Cups adds deep emotional satisfaction,just picturing you brings them a sense of complete fulfillment and pleasure. Your nurturing vibe is the match that lights their daydreams. Just imagining a single touch from you, send them straight to euphoria.
In their fantasies, there’s a mix of longing and quiet regret — maybe they imagine having “missed” a chance with you in the past (as I previously mentioned, they may be watching you from a far), or they feel a pang of “why haven’t I found them yet?” But the Emperor steps in strong: beneath that, they feel protective, stable, and in control. They see themselves as a steady individual who finally gets to claim and care for you. The emotions are tender yet possessive — a deep desire to build something solid and lasting with you, turning any past disappointment into focused determination. “You belong to me” I hear as I am doing this part of the reading.
They fantasize about you as a powerful, skilled lover — the Magician energy makes them imagine you confidently “manifesting” pleasure, using your hands, body, and words masterfully to drive them crazy. They picture intense, magical chemistry where you take control or create incredible sensations together.
However, the 8 of Swords adds a layer of restraint or mental blocks in the fantasy: they often imagine scenarios where you (or they) start off feeling a bit trapped, shy, or held back — maybe tied up lightly, blindfolded, or in a situation where surrender heightens the tension.Think dominant/submissive play with a focus on trust and eventual liberation — very intense and focused on overcoming limits through raw skill and connection.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ - Pile 2
They’re instantly pulled in by your open, loving, and emotionally generous energy. The Ace of Cups shows that your warmth, kindness, and the way your heart seems to overflow is what first sparks their fantasies. Justice adds balance and fairness — they see you as someone who feels “right” on a soul level. It could be the genuine way you connect with people, your calm presence, or how you make others feel seen and cared for. Something about your emotional authenticity feels karmically magnetic to them — like meeting you is “meant to be.”
In their fantasies, their feelings are deeply introspective and a little mysterious. They imagine pulling away from the world to be completely alone with you — quiet, intimate moments where it’s just the two of you. The Hermit energy makes them feel reflective and soul-searching, while The Moon adds a dreamy, almost illusory quality. They feel intrigued, a bit uncertain, and emotionally stirred up. There’s a tender longing mixed with fantasy and illusion — like they’re lost in the fantasy of you, wondering “who is this person who affects me so deeply?” It’s private, emotional, and quietly intense rather than loud or playful.
Their physical fantasies about you are very satisfying and sensual. The 9 of Cups brings a strong sense of pleasure, contentment, and emotional fulfillment during intimacy — they imagine sex with you as deeply satisfying, almost indulgent, like every touch leaves them feeling completely fulfilled.
The 7 of Pentacles adds patience and slow build-up. They fantasize about taking their time with you: long, unhurried sessions where they slowly explore your body, savor every sensation, and invest energy into making sure you’re both enjoying the moment. It’s not rushed or frantic — think slow, deep kissing, lingering caresses, and patient, rhythmic lovemaking that builds gradually until you both reach rich, overflowing pleasure. They picture a very sensual, “worth the wait” kind of physical connection that feels abundant and deeply rewarding.
ᯓ♡ -Pile 3
They’re first drawn to your free-spirited, adventurous, and open energy. The Fool brings a sense of excitement and new beginnings — they love how you seem ready to leap into life with joy and no fear. Clarified by The Lovers, this spark often hits when they see your capacity for deep connection and choice. It could be your smile, your playful vibe, or a moment where your chemistry feels electric and fated. Something about you makes them think “this could be the start of something big” — you feel like the exciting, heart-opening adventure they’ve been waiting for.
In their fantasies, their emotions feel like they’re finally waking up after a long period of rest or emotional shutdown. The 4 of Swords reversed shows a release from overthinking or isolation — they feel renewed energy and excitement bubbling up. Clarified by Judgement, there’s a powerful sense of awakening and calling. They feel a deep, almost spiritual pull toward you, like this connection is a major turning point in their life. The feelings are tender yet transformative — a mix of relief, rebirth, and “this person is meant to change everything for me.” It’s not light and playful, but intensely hopeful and reviving.
Their fantasies about you are grounded in raw, patient passion and gentle dominance. Strength shows they imagine a powerful, courageous kind of intimacy where they (or you) tame wild desire with loving control. They picture slow, confident touch that builds intense heat while staying tender and protective.
The Page of Pentacles adds a focused, sensual, almost studious approach — they fantasize about learning your body like a devoted student: taking time to explore everything about you, every sensitive spot, and figuring out exactly what makes you melt. It’s physical strength mixed with careful attention — an example I keep seeing is their hands holding you firmly while they kiss and caress with patience and dedication. The energy is very physical and earthy, with a thrilling contrast between powerful restraint and eager discovery. They imagine sex that feels both wild and safe, where they get to show you how much they want to please and claim you.
Entertainment purposes only. ✨
If you’d like me to dive deeper into specific scenarios, timing, or more detailed insights, my paid readings in my Ko-fi go much further. This one was honestly so fun to do — thank you to the person who gave me this idea!! :))
Summary: You wake up in the body of the second female lead in a manhwa, determined to rewrite your fate. No longer willing to be trapped in unrequited love for the elusive main lead, Min Yoongi, you set out to change the ending of the story. But leaving him behind isn’t as simple as you thought. As the lines between fiction and reality blur, the narrative begins to shift in unexpected ways—Yoongi, who was once only devoted to the main female lead, starts to see you in a new light. Can you escape the cycle of heartbreak, or will you find yourself entangled in a love story you never asked for?
or in which Yoongi found out you aren't from that world and refuses to let you leave.
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Mention of death, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: Happy 6k to me!!! It's finally here. Those who already read the unedited fic know the scenes I added here... I went crazy again and wrote additional 3kish words. I hope you enjoy!
“Does self-love mean nothing for you?”
You commented lightly at the second female lead as you flipped the page. In your hand was the manhwa your friends were gushing about. They went on and on about how dreamy the main lead was for weeks and how annoying the second female lead was until you finally gave in and went to a bookstore one late night. The cover was unassuming, a mere illustration of a man with dark hair and a milky white skin. Despite the chatters of the few customers, it was like it all went silent when you held the manhwa in your hand. You had no rationale as to why you were staring so hard at the main lead, nor why you felt a jolt of electricity when you traced your finger on his face.
The sudden and inexplainable zap of electricity was enough for you to put the manhwa back to its shelf where it belonged. You had enough for today, you thought. It must be your late nights that finally got to you. You turned and started to walk away when you heard someone called your name.
“Are you not going to buy that?”
You blinked owlishly, turning to look your surroundings before realizing that the voice had come from behind you where an old woman with a pleasant smile on her face stood. You didn’t hear her walk, sure that it was only you in that section of the bookstore.
“Excuse me?” you asked in confusion with her sudden question.
She offered you a smile before reaching for the manhwa you were touching moments ago. “This. Are you not going to buy this?”
You glanced at the book in her hands, the cover innocuous enough—a pale-faced man with dark eyes, his expression unreadable, a haunting sort of beauty that seemed to shimmer under the dim light of the store. The same man whose face had burned into your mind the moment you’d traced your finger over it.
"Huh?" you muttered, not entirely sure what to say. "Oh, no... I—" You fumbled with your words, caught between politeness and that unsettling pull you couldn’t deny. “I’m just looking.”
She tilted her head slightly, her smile never wavering, but there was something deeper there now—an unreadable warmth and perhaps... a warning? "Such a shame. This is the last piece," she continued, her fingers running over the cover with a tenderness that made your heart race. "Are you sure you don’t want to enter his universe?"
You stared at her, perplexed. The bookstore was quiet again, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of other customers. But it felt like there was something else in the air now—something heavier. More alive.
As if on cue, your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking the strange tension that had settled between you and the clerk. You fumbled it out, your heart still racing. It was a text from one of your friends: "Did you finally get the manhwa? He's sooooo hot, right?!?"
You looked from your phone to the manhwa and there it was again. It was like something was calling you to touch the book. On the other hand, your flight or fight instinct had never been this high, urging you to walk away as soon as possible. The old woman’s gaze never left you, her expression still serene, as if she knew exactly what you were thinking. The tension between you felt palpable, like a tether was drawing you back to the book, back to the man on the cover.
"You know what, dear," she continued, her voice now almost conspiratorial, "since we're almost closing, it’s on the house. Let me wrap it up for you."
When you asked her why, it was a line you should have taken in face value.
She said that reading this will change your life.
All that was how you found yourself on your bed with the manhwa and feeling bad for the second female lead. Okay fine, she was not exactly kind. She was a bit bitchy and the typical rich kid who fell for her childhood friend who of course, fell for another woman below their stature. She devised devious ways to get the main female lead out of their lives which only managed to push Min Yoongi, the male lead character, away from her. She wanted him so badly, and she had nothing else to cling to. In the end, he left her alone when all she had was him.
She was left alone, Yoongi gone from her life, and all she had left were her schemes and bitterness. You couldn’t help but wonder what she could have been if she had just let go. If she had let him go, instead of holding on so tightly that she suffocated herself.
She wasn’t a villain, you told yourself, though you knew she was far from a saint.
It wasn’t that you were defending what she did. It was just that you felt for her, strangely. You had no family of your own too, and maybe that was why you held on to your friends. You thought that if you were as pretty and as wealthy as her, then you wouldn’t spend all your time and energy pining after Yoongi. You thought about her—so pretty, so polished—and you wondered, If I were her, would I have acted the same way? If you had that beauty, that wealth, that presence, would you still feel this same deep ache for someone who couldn’t love you back? Sure, he was all that. He was handsome, smart, and so manly. For a while, it was just the two of them in their little world until he met the female lead. But then again, if you were her, you would let them be and look for someone who would love you as you were. Surely, there was someone out there for her. You wondered if it would be easy to just walk away, you thought. But then, you didn’t know what it was like to have everything and still lose the one thing that mattered most. To feel like there was no one left who could make you feel whole.
The story was so intriguing with the right amount of suspense that kept you up all night. Despite you being a non-mahwa reader, you could not bring yourself to stop reading until you reached the ending.
The words of the final chapters echoed in your mind as you read through them. Yoongi’s happiness came at her expense, and as you turned the page, you saw the final blow: She died. She died because Yoongi decided to save the main female lead from drowning instead of his childhood friend. Just like that. No grand redemption, no change of heart. She was gone. “Of course, she dies,” you murmured in annoyance as you flipped the page. “Was that really necessary for this Yoongi to get his happy ending?”
You put the manhwa down on your chest and looked up at your bedroom ceiling. You felt tears forming in your eyes and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks and onto the manhwa. “Poor you. You deserved better,” you whispered as sleep took you away.
You didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next time you opened your eyes, it felt like you were in a dream. More precisely, you woke up to a familiar room. You just couldn’t place it yet where you saw this room before. You sat up from the most comfortable bed you had ever been on, your eyes roaming over the whole room. Where were you?
You looked down and noticed that you were wearing a silk sleepwear…You didn’t own this. In fact, you never liked it because you couldn’t afford it. Did someone dress you in this? Were you kidnapped?
Panic surged through you like a wave, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. The thought alone pushed you to stand up quickly, your head turning rapidly to every corner of the room when a mirror across the room caught your eye. You walked over, unsure of what you were even looking for, but the reflection that met you made your heart stop.
Holy shit.
You froze in front of the mirror, your breath caught somewhere between disbelief and panic. The face staring back at you was undeniably familiar but was definitely not yours. It was her—the woman from the manhwa.
Your hand lifted slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, and touched your cheek, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw. The reflection mimicked your every move, except there was no mistake: it wasn’t you. This version of you was flawless—her skin porcelain smooth, her lips full and painted in a soft, understated pink. You blinked hard, willing the image to change, but it remained the same, impossibly perfect.
And then it hit you, harder than any realization should have: You were in her world. You were in her body. You were the second female lead.
What the fuck was this dream?!
You pinched yourself, willing yourself to wake up from this peculiar dream where you were not you, and instead, you were someone of a fictional character. All that it did was reddened her fair skin. You truly tried not to panic, but no one and nothing could have ever prepared you from waking up in someone else’s body! More so of a fictional one. Similarly, you knew this could not be possible. You must have been dreaming.
You were just dreaming…right?
The knock on the door snapped you out of your stupor, your mind reeling as the panic tightened its grip.
“Miss? Sir Yoongi is here to see you,” the voice outside the door called, timid, hesitant.
You blinked, the words barely registering at first. Yoongi? No. No, no, no. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and the world around you seemed to tilt at an impossible angle. You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a shaky, disbelieving breath.
"Y-yoongi?" Your voice sounded strange, foreign in this body, yet with an edge of authority, the voice of someone accustomed to being looked at, obeyed.
“N-no. Why?”
“T-to visit you, Miss. He went straight here from the airport after his three-month work in New York,” she explained with a terrified tone in her voice as though one wrong word would upset you. It did upset you upon horrifying realization that you were in the first chapter of the manhwa. He was coming to see the second female lead, the one who would only ever be a part of his life for the briefest, most painful moments. The one who would disappear when the main female lead entered the picture, leaving behind nothing but heartache and regret.
This was the moment—the beginning of her unraveling. The beginning of your unraveling.
You stumbled back from the mirror, almost tripping over the hem of the silk nightgown that clung to your skin. It felt wrong. This wasn’t your body. This wasn’t you. You couldn’t be her. You couldn't.
But there you were—she was—standing in front of a mirror, and it was your face that stared back, the same face that would soon be abandoned in favor of the main lead. The face that would die tragically, just as Yoongi chose someone else.
A cold sweat broke out on your skin as you pressed your hand to your chest, feeling your heart race, the pulse throbbing in your throat. The maid outside the door was waiting. She was waiting. Yoongi was waiting.
“Miss? Are you coming?” The maid asked again, sounding more nervous now. “Sir Yoongi is waiting.”
You felt your legs walked to where the door was as though they had a mind of their own, as though they were simply following the plot where you had to face her childhood bestfriend, as though you had no choice in this. The door creaked as it slowly opened, and the maid stepped back with a small, nervous bow. “Miss,” she murmured softly, her eyes flicking between you and the hallway.
There he was. Yoongi. Standing in the hallway, waiting for you.
His broad back was turned to you, his focus was on the huge window overlooking the garden below. His hands were in his pockets. You couldn’t help but notice the bags of designer clothes and jewelries beside him. It was always like this. Yoongi would spoil her with everything, his love a quiet promise wrapped in material things. His affection was given in expensive packages, just because he missed her. It was a thing the main lead, Yoongi, and her had for the longest times. He spoiled her rotten, and in turn, she loved him unconditionally until he realized that it wasn’t her love that he wanted. It was someone else’s.
You felt your chest tighten as you stepped forward, closer to him. And then, slowly, he turned around, his gaze landing on you, his eyes sharp and calculating, as though he was seeing you for the first time. He was just as handsome as you'd imagined, his sharp features bathed in the soft light of the chandelier overhead. His expression, however, was unreadable—his usual aloofness on full display. He had on a simple black jacket, the sleeves rolled up slightly, revealing his forearms.
He was standing there, just as he had been in the manhwa—distant, untouchable, and perfect. The kind of person who seemed to have everything. Everything except the one thing that would make him whole. His lips curved into a faint smirk, the usual aloofness settling over him like a second skin. Yoongi. So damn confident. So certain of himself. Yet there was something flickering beneath that exterior, something you couldn't place.
He took a step toward you, his gaze unwavering, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy, too real. The space between you both seemed like an eternity, but somehow you couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.
He raised his brows when you remained motionless – so dissimilar to how the second female lead threw herself in his arms in the first chapter. “What?” he said, his voice a quiet challenge. “Didn’t you miss me?”
His words hit you like a cold wave. Didn’t you miss me?
The phrase was so familiar, but it made you flinch. It was the same thing he had said to her. The second female lead. Her. The woman you had now become. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his gaze leaving you paralyzed. How were you supposed to feel? What was the right answer?
Yoongi’s smirk deepened as he took another step closer, his presence commanding the space between you both. He wasn’t giving up.
“Aigoo,” he muttered, as though your silence had amused him. “Is my princess mad at me?” He reached out, cupping your cheeks in his hands and squishing them gently, his thumb brushing across your skin in a familiar, playful gesture. “I promise I won’t be away for that long again, okay?”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. My princess. Mad at me? It was just like the manhwa. Just like how the second female lead had fallen for him—how she’d craved his affection, how she had convinced herself that he was the only one who could make her whole.
How could she not fall for him? How could she not love him when he was this—this?
See, who wouldn’t fall for that? You understood the second female lead for falling in love with him, or why she did all those terrible things when he suddenly withdrew all his affections from her. But maybe…you could change the ending. Maybe you could find a happy ending of your own away from him. You could choose differently. You could walk away. You could find your own path, away from him, away from this tragic loop. Maybe—just maybe—there was a way for you to have a happy ending. Not the one written in the manhwa, but one you could choose. One where you didn’t lose yourself in the love of a man who could never return it.
What if you and him could all have your separate happy endings?
But also, what if this was just a dream where you’d wake up later and be in your own bed?
It was almost a week later when you realized that this wasn’t a dream. Despite repeatedly pinching yourself, you still couldn’t wake up from this nightmare. You hadn’t gone out of your room since Yoongi visited, and all messages and calls from him were promptly ignored.
You couldn’t even rule out that you were actively going insane because there was no way that this was now your reality. Something inside you was telling you to do something. It was urging you to fight, to survive, not matter how difficult it would be. It was proven when he visited you and you had no control over what happened. However, you also noted that you could do things somehow differently like not hugging him when he visited, or not being affectionate to him.
There were canon events, yes. There were things that should happen as were already dictated by the manhwa. But you also had a will in this story. And if there was a chance that this was your new reality, then you would do absolutely everything to make sure that you end up living.
You had to be smart. You had an edge, you surmised. You read the entire manhwa and you knew what was going to happen. You knew what to anticipate. And the next scene? The next scene was where Yoongi met the female lead and it would be in a charity ball you and him were attending.
You were dressed to the nines, your makeup was impeccable. Around your neck was one of the second female lead’s extravagant necklaces. The dress that she chose was immaculate, a light-colored floor-length gown that would later on be ruined by the female lead’s accident in the ball. You looked down from the unfamiliar eyes staring back at you in the mirror as your maid informed you that the car was waiting downstairs. You got this.
You weren’t used to her life of extravagance and you could feel a shot of anxiety pumping in your veins as the car neared the event. You could see reporters and cameramen lining up to capture the entrance of the wealthiest of the wealthiest. Nothing in your life could have prepared you for this. You were not a confident person…but she was. You only needed to get through this night and then slowly let the events happened. You would let the two of them fall in love with each other like it needed to be.
“We’re here, miss,” your driver announced, meeting your eyes from the rearview mirror. You took a deep breath and counted to three.
1…2…3-
The door opened and just when you opened your eyes, there he was.
Camera flashes illuminated the scene from his back, yet his focus was on you. His hand was outstretched, waiting for you to reach for it. But damn it, Min Yoongi was impeccable. Just like you, he was dressed to the nines with his tailored dark suit and his brushed up dark hair. He was the epitome of what a main lead should look like. Still, you couldn’t fault both the main and second female lead for falling in love with that face. If only you weren’t trying to stay alive, then you would most probably fall for that face, too.
Too bad you were trying to stay alive.
The weight of the moment settled heavily on your chest as you stared at his outstretched hand. The flashes of the cameras were relentless, their bursts creating a kaleidoscope of light and shadow that painted Yoongi's face with an almost ethereal glow. His dark eyes bored into yours, and for a split second, the world seemed to pause.
You hesitated, your hand hovering just out of reach. This was one of those moments, wasn't it? One of the canon events you couldn’t avoid. Taking his hand was expected, a necessary step to ensure the night unfolded as the manhwa demanded. Yet, the knowledge didn’t make it any easier.
“I don’t think you can hide from me now, princess,” Yoongi’s voice was soft but firm. In fact, there was no annoyance in his tone, only a quiet patience as though you didn’t spend the past days dodging him in every turn.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to push past the whirlwind of nerves. You had to remember who you were now—or at least who you were pretending to be. She wouldn’t falter, wouldn’t hesitate. She was poised, confident, the kind of woman who could command a room with a single glance. She was a woman who knew the power she had over society.
Plastering on a polite smile, you placed your hand in his. His fingers were warm, steady, and for a moment, the contact felt grounding. You couldn’t help but notice how his hand completely engulfed yours, how he made your hands seemed dainty in comparison to his. He helped you out of the car with a practiced grace, his touch lingering for a fraction longer than necessary. You didn’t want to dwell on the fact that you felt the same electricity that you did when you first touched the manhwa.
“Shall we?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear it.
You knew you had no choice as he guided you up the grand entrance. This was a canon event. The canon event leading up to their meeting. You had to play your part if you wanted to not experience dying in her body.
The flashes of cameras almost blinded you had it not been for Yoongi’s broad back that shielded you from them. The two of you stopped in the middle to smile for the camera, a PR thing Yoongi had to do for his company. His hand rested on the small of your back, gently pushing you closer to him. You knew what would happen like the back of your hand, and just as written, one of the reporters asked him to define his relationship status with you.
She’s the most important woman in my life.
“She’s the most important woman in my life,” Yoongi declared with unwavering sincerity, his deep voice resonating through the flashes and murmurs of the crowd. As he looked down at you, his lips curved into that signature, disarming smile—the kind that could melt even the coldest of hearts.
The ball was just as grand as you imagined. It was apparent that the rich spared no expense in this and you couldn’t imagine that you would experience this in your life. Yoongi’s gaze lingered on you, an unreadable expression flickering in his eyes as he watched you take it all in. There was something almost amused about the way he observed you, though he said nothing. It was almost comical to him how you were impressed with this when the friend he knew practically grew up in this extravagance. You were in awe at the intricate details, the food and drink being served, and the expensive jewelries that would be auctioned tonight.
“What do you want me to bid for?” Yoongi asked, his voice low and smooth as he tipped his wineglass to his lips, his dark eyes not straying from you.
You let out a short chuckle, already knowing what to say. “I want that old ring the Queen once owned,” you answered monotonously. It was the most expensive item in the auction, and exactly the kind of thing the second female lead would desire. You, on the other hand, felt that it was ridiculous to desire something that was given by someone who dearly loved the Queen. Yoongi merely lifted his dark brow before nodding his head.
As always, her will was always his command– until it wasn’t.
The bidding war for the final piece, the ring, didn’t take that long as Yoongi continuously bidded ridiculously high amounts that the businessmen could not keep up with the younger man. Yoongi didn’t even flinch as the bids shot up. He stood there, effortlessly cool, his back straight and shoulders squared, his eyes locked on the auctioneer like a predator stalking its prey. The others tried to keep pace, their offers becoming desperate, their faces flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation as Yoongi continued to raise the stakes, his voice cold and assured as he increased his offer without hesitation.
In the end, Yoongi won. And it showed with the way he turned back to you, that same smirk still dancing at corner of his lips.
This was it.
This was the moment.
Yoongi was walking to you, his expression still that of a triumphant victor as he made his way to you. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes to him. The way his dark eyes were trained on you was captivating and you were captivated. It was as though you were the only one in this room to him, like all other people could disappear and he wouldn’t even blink. In fact, you were too captivated that you almost forgot what the next scene was.
But just as was written by the author, a waitress tripped, your light-colored dress now splashed with red wine, a stark contrast. The sound of glass breaking, the accident itself, was enough to silence the whole ballroom. Your mouth hanged agape as you looked down at your dress, and then slowly, you lift your eyes to the waitress.
Your eyes met the female lead’s. Hers was comically wide as she continuously apologized to you, her expression that of panic as her manager and more people flocked to where you were.
“What happened?” Yoongi’s voice was sharp, his usual calm replaced by a low, controlled edge. His hands clasped your arms with a firm but steady grip, his gaze darting between your face and the ruined fabric of your gown. The pristine, light-colored dress was now stained with crimson, the deep red wine soaking into the fabric and spreading like an ominous bloom.
Your eyes flicked back to the waitress—her—the female lead. Just as the manhwa dictated, there she was, the unassuming heroine, standing in front of you with wide, tear-filled eyes. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she stammered apology after apology, her hands trembling as she bent down to pick up the shards of broken glass at her feet. You saw her flinched.
“I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Please forgive me, Miss!” she pleaded, her voice shaky and sincere. The panic on her face was painfully familiar. You’d read this scene before. You knew every word, every gesture.
And yet, being in it now, living it—felt different.
Your dress was ruined, yes, but more importantly, this was the moment. The one where Yoongi, the ever-distant, untouchable main lead, would first notice her. Where his protective instincts would be stirred, his curiosity piqued by her clumsy, honest nature. This was where it all began—their love story.
Except right now, he wasn’t looking at her. He was still looking at you
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, his brows furrowed as his thumb lightly grazed your arm, checking for any sign of injury. There was no recognition in his gaze for the woman kneeling at your feet, no acknowledgment of her presence.
You blinked, caught off guard. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. By now, he should have been helping her, offering her a reassuring smile, gently lifting her to her feet. That was what the script demanded
But here he was, his focus entirely on you.
“I…” Your voice faltered as your mind raced to adjust. You needed to steer this back on track. The story needed to progress, or everything could spiral out of control. “I’m fine. It’s just the dress,” you said, forcing your tone to be light, dismissive, as though the ruined gown didn’t matter.
Yoongi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening. “It’s not fine,” he said, his voice firm. He turned, his sharp eyes landing on the waitress. The poor girl visibly flinched under his scrutiny, her hands freezing mid-motion as she tried to gather the broken pieces.
“It was an accident,” you said quickly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “Yoongi, it’s fine.” Your words were deliberate, almost desperate. You needed him to look at her, to notice her, to play his part in the story.
He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but at last, his gaze shifted to the waitress. There it was—that flicker of recognition. The moment his eyes softened, his expression melting into something less severe.
“Are you hurt?” he asked her, his tone still carrying a note of authority, but the sharp edges were gone. This was it—the moment you’d been waiting for.
The girl shook her head quickly, her cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. “N-no, sir! I’m fine. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Enough,” Yoongi interrupted gently but firmly. He crouched down, his movements slow, deliberate, as he began picking up the shards of glass alongside her. The room seemed to collectively hold its breath, all eyes on the enigmatic businessman lowering himself to help a clumsy waitress. “Be careful. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said with a much softer voice. His gaze lingered on her face, and it was apparent that you were now forgotten.
And there it was—their first connection. The moment the story truly began.
You exhaled slowly, stepping back as the crowd around you began to disperse, the murmurs of the guests returning to their usual buzz. This was how it had to be. You just had to step back now and let their love story grow.
You reached the balcony and you thanked heavens that you were alone. You breathed a sigh of relief, both for the gratitude that you were alone and for surviving that scene. You were looking up at the stars when you felt a suit jacket landed on your shoulders, safely engulfing you with warmth and against the cold night.
You turned, not knowing who to expect but he was definitely not it. You didn’t even know who he was.
The handsome man met your eyes before flashing you a charming smile of his own that was enough to disarm you. “What a shame…”
You blinked, confused by his sudden appearance, your heart still racing from the scene inside. "What is?" you asked, voice quieter than you'd intended, as your eyes darted back toward the ballroom doors.
"That your dress was ruined," he said smoothly, his tone playful, though his eyes seemed to hold something more—curiosity, maybe, or perhaps something deeper. "You were the most beautiful girl there. You managed to catch everyone’s attention when you entered the room– including mine."
Sputtering at his confidence, you felt your cheeks heated up from his statement. “Were?”
The side of his eyes crinkled as he looked at you. He couldn’t believe that the elusive and untouchable you were giving him the time of the day. You were always in Yoongi’s orbit, and everyone knew how powerful his family was. It was always the two of you in your own little world, and Yoongi was seldom far from you. It was the reason why suitors couldn’t reach you. No one needed the Min Yoongi for an enemy.
It was safe to say that the relationship between the two of you were always a question mark to the onlookers. In the world of the rich, the two of you should have been long engaged if that was the case. And a chance that Yoongi was far from you was not to be wasted. And so, he took the chance.
“You still are,” he breathed honestly. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were so magnificent and he understood why Yoongi was similar to a guard dog when it came to you. He extended his hand to you. “I’m Kim Taehyung.”
You only had to wait, but the waiting got boring. When you’d read the manhwa, the pacing had felt seamless, the love story unfolding with a rhythm that kept you turning the pages. Here, however, their love story took time.
It turned out that not only were you bored, but you were also extremely wealthy in this life. You rationalized that it would be okay to enjoy her life just a little.
Leaning on the balcony railing, you released your fifteenth sigh of the day, staring blankly at the sprawling estate below. Behind you, the ever-dutiful maid hovered, hands clasped nervously in front of her. Her expression flickered between concern and trepidation, as though bracing for one of the infamous tantrums her mistress was known for. Lately, though, you’d given her nothing of the sort—no sharp words, no impatient outbursts. That, in itself, seemed to unsettle her.
However, another sigh from you finally prompted her to ask you what was wrong.
Her eyes widened, startled by the question. “I… I suppose I’d pay off my family’s debts,” she admitted, voice small. “It’s been weighing on us for years.”
“How much?” you asked, your tone casual, as though inquiring about the weather.
“Three million,” she murmured, her cheeks coloring as though the very amount embarrassed her. “But I couldn’t possibly—”
“Consider it done,” you interrupted breezily, waving off her protests. “Next?”
“Maybe…I’d go to Paris?”
You nodded, your eyes gleamed as the spark of inspiration ignited within you. A brilliant, slightly impulsive idea. “That’s perfect. Grab your passport.”
It turned out that Paris was also someone’s favorite place.
You were sitting in a café one late afternoon, willing the time to pass by quickly so you could return to your life as evidenced by your poor attempt at reading a book when the chair in front of you was suddenly occupied. With your peace suddenly gone, you looked up and met his eyes. He was smiling at you, his dark hair brushed away from his face, so dissimilar to how formal he looked when you met him.
“We must stop meeting like this.”
He chuckled at your expression before he leaned in on the table. “In Paris, of all places. I have to say, this is starting to look like fate.”
Who was he exactly?
You tried to rack your brain of his scenes in the manhwa, and you had been ever since you met him in that ball. He wasn’t supposed to be in the scene…or was it possible that that happened behind the scene when the focus wasn’t on you, but on Yoongi and the female lead?
“Do you believe in fate, Mr. Kim?” you titled you head in curiosity, looking at him intently for any sort of familiarity that may come your way.
“I do and I don’t. I think that fate is an abstract concept that no man can ever define. There are some things that we are just too powerless to stop; and there are some things that we are too powerful to accept,” he stated with a smile on his face. “You’re here because of fate, Y/N. Don’t you think so?”
“What?”
Taehyung chuckled and patiently waited as the waiter placed his cup of hot chocolate on the table. “I think that you’re fated to be here at this exact moment.”
“What are you saying, Taehyung?”
“I’m saying, have dinner with me tonight.”
It was your second week in Paris when curiosity finally got the better of you. On the other hand, you could say that the past few days were one of the most interesting days of your life. You never knew that that little dinner with Taehyung could result to you gaining a true friend here. He was interesting, quirky, wise, and full of life. You also learned that he went to the same school as the original second female lead and Yoongi attended, and that he could never befriended you before because Yoongi was always with you. He offhandedly noted that it was so rare for him not to be with you when before, wherever you went, he would follow. Speaking of the character that you assumed, her phone—your phone now—sat untouched on the marble nightstand of your hotel suite. You’d avoided it so far, reasoning that it felt like rifling through a stranger’s diary. But tonight, as the soft glow of the Eiffel Tower illuminated the room, you gave in.
Plugging it in, the device vibrated to life, and a flood of notifications lit up the screen. Your jaw dropped slightly as you skimmed through the endless stream of missed calls and messages. Most of them were from Yoongi.
“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, scrolling through the list. There were texts, voicemails, and even some emails from him, all timestamped over the last two weeks.
His messages started casual enough, asking you where you were and if you were still avoiding him. He even stopped by the mansion only to find out that you weren’t there, let alone in the country. Not one in your mansion could tell him where you were despite his endless threats. As days passed by, however, his tone shifted to frustration.
I’m not kidding anymore. If I don’t hear from you, I’m coming to find you.
I am hiring a team to find you, princess.
His final message was dated today.
I do hope you remember that it is my birthday today. We always celebrate it together. We’re not gonna stop now just because you’re hiding from me.
You stared at the phone for a moment longer, the screen dark now but somehow still demanding your attention. Should you respond? What would you even say?
The phone vibrated in your hand, the screen lighting up with his name. Your stomach did a little flip, but you shook your head firmly. No. You weren’t going to answer. It was better this way—for him, for you, for the storyline. Yoongi belonged with the female lead, and the longer you stayed out of their orbit, the better. If you wanted to live, you had to do the opposite of what the second female lead did.
Instead, you grabbed your jacket, ready to explore the city some more with Taehyung. Paris was too beautiful to waste time fretting over a fictional man’s messages. Let Yoongi wait.
But just as you opened your hotel room, there he was with his signature stoic face, his dark brow raised. He pointedly looked at your phone, his name on the screen. He had his phone on his ear, while you had yours in your hand. You were literally caught red-handed ignoring his calls.
He ended the call with a deliberate tap and tucked his phone into his pocket, his gaze never leaving yours.
“Going somewhere?”
“What are you doing here?” you asked, shocked at his sudden appearance. He was supposed to be with her. The story said that he was supposed to be with her, celebrating with her, saving her from any other accidents or situations she found herself in. You did your part by staying the hell away from them….so why was he here?
Yoongi tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” His tone was calm, but the edge was unmistakable. He stepped inside as though he owned the place. He didn’t ask for permission, didn’t wait for an invitation. He was just… there, filling the room with his presence like he always did. “And Paris, of all places? You’re more predictable than you think, princess.”
“I-I mean, I didn’t think you’d notice,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, already regretting how ridiculous it sounded.
“What? How could I not? You literally disappeared on the face of the earth. You think I wouldn’t notice when you disappeared? When you’re not there?”
The intensity in his gaze left you momentarily stunned, your thoughts scrambling for coherence. “Y-you’re not supposed to be here…” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your disbelief bled into your words, your mind struggling to reconcile his presence with what you knew—or thought you knew. “The story says you’re supposed to be with her. This isn’t—this isn’t how it goes.”
“What story?”
You blinked owlishly, realizing what you’d said. “Huh? Nothing!” you exclaimed a little too quickly, waving your hands as if to physically push the moment away. “Anyway! Happy birthday!” you added, your voice unnaturally bright, hoping to distract him.
His squint deepened, a mix of curiosity and frustration flickering in his eyes. He clearly didn’t buy your deflection, but he let it slide—for now. Without a word, he crossed the room to the small bar cart in the corner, casually pouring himself a glass of whisky.
The tension in the air was thick as he swirled the amber liquid in the glass, his movements deliberate. He raised the glass to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours. You could practically see the wheels turning in that intelligent brain of his as he sized you up. After taking a slow sip, he finally spoke, his voice low, “Glad you remember my birthday, princess.”
Okay, fine. You were at loss. How were you supposed to know what you should say? This was not in the manhwa! Yoongi was basically going off-script!
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you turned your gaze to the door, silently willing him to leave. But Yoongi didn’t move. If anything, he seemed more determined, his presence as unyielding as ever.
“Fine,” he said after a long moment, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. “If you won’t come back, then I’ll stay. Paris is nice this time of year, isn’t it?”
He stuck by you like a shadow and he all but bought the entire hotel floor. He was adamant on spending every moment with you. The most baffling part? He still kept in touch with her. He called, he texted, he checked in on the female lead—but here he was, right beside you, refusing to leave. It made no sense. To add confusion to the mix, Yoongi kept on shooting dark glares at your phone whenever it chimed from Taehyung’s messages and he felt himself getting irritated. He wondered who was brave enough to message you when no one used to before except him.
You had been away for him for just a short time and yet, he felt like you were so far away already, like something shifted, like your entirety changed. It was like you were not the best friend he used to have.
You looked down at your phone as soon as it chimed again and you couldn’t help but chuckled at the silly selfie he took with a duck. You were too engrossed in your phone that you missed the way Yoongi gripped his utensils. You and him hadn’t spent time together since you were so busy evading him and now that he finally caught up with you, your attention was somewhere else.
Why were your attention not on him?
Who was stealing your attention away from him?!
Was this how you punished him because of his current fling?
The sound of Yoongi’s sharp exhale pierced the air, and you glanced up just in time to see his fingers grip the edge of his glass with more force than was necessary. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed—not at the phone in your hand, but at you. He didn’t say anything, but the silence between you both was thick with something unspoken, a tension you had been drowning in since he followed you here.
It wasn’t that you wanted to ignore him, but the truth was... you didn’t know how to deal with this version of Yoongi. The one who wasn’t following the script. The one who was here in Paris, beside you, watching you laugh at Taehyung's ridiculous duck selfie like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“What’s so funny?” Yoongi’s voice was quiet, but it was sharp. He didn’t bother to look at your phone. Instead, his gaze stayed locked on your face, his eyes a shade darker, deeper than you remembered them being.
You blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in his mood. “Oh, nothing, just a ridiculous selfie from my friend,” you said, still chuckling to yourself. “He’s with a duck.”
“He?” His voice held a dry amusement, but there was an edge to it that made you uncomfortable.
You could feel the subtle tension thickening in the air, like the weight of a storm about to break. Yoongi's question hung between you like a spark in dry tinder. You shrugged, pretending to be casual, though the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. "Yes, he. My friend Taehyung," you said, not looking up from your phone.
But you could feel Yoongi’s eyes boring into you, every syllable of his next words like a tightening coil. “Taehyung,” he repeated, his voice cold and deliberate, as though testing the name on his tongue. His grip on his glass had tightened to the point where his knuckles were white, but it didn’t stop the slow, calculated sip he took, his gaze never leaving you.
The way he said his name made it seemed like your friendship with him was a mistake, a simple blunder on your end that shouldn’t have happened. It did feel like you stepped on a live mine, and you wondered why you were feeling like this when from what you knew about his character in the manhwa, Yoongi was a pure person. However, right now he felt like a dangerous one.
What were you supposed to do?
“You’re thirty now,” you said instead, steering the conversation away from an unfamiliar territory as you placed the phone facedown. The two of you were having brunch in a famous restaurant and you were thoroughly enjoying the croissant moments before the conversation turned sour.
He regarded you for a moment, fully aware of how you this was your sad attempt at changing the subject until he decided to put you out of misery. He nodded, waiting for you to make your point.
“You’re not getting any younger-”
He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “What’s the point of this conversation, princess? You’re starting to sound like my grandma." He paused, as if savoring the thought. "By the way, she keeps asking for you. Says, and I quote, ‘her favorite grandchild never comes to visit anymore.’ Not even a phone call. Meanwhile, I’m still here, the actual grandchild, and I get nothing."
His glare was sharp, but there was no real venom behind it—just the familiar teasing edge that made you both roll your eyes and laugh, despite yourself.
“W-well! I’m just concerned that you won’t have a wife and any children of your own and that you’d grow old alone! I’m just a friend expressing concern over her best and oldest friend…” you rationalized. Fine, you were having fun teasing him while nudging him in the right direction. Yoongi was fun to mess with, you thought, if he was being himself and not the confusing and quite off-putting mood he was in a while ago.
You thought that he would react the way you anticipated him to, that he would get defensive and after which, hopefully, that he’d go back to their love story.
He did none of those things.
Instead, Yoongi leaned in, his manly scent permeating. He tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, all while looking at you. “Why are you saying that I’ll be alone when I have you?”
You blinked, trying to process what Yoongi had just said. His voice, low and warm, carried a weight that wasn’t there a moment ago. You wanted to laugh, to brush it off like the teasing banter you two always shared, but the way his dark eyes held yours made it impossible. “I have you for always, right, princess? You’re not going to leave me for someone…beneath us, right?”
What?
His words seemed like he was pointing to another thing, like what he was asking you was a promise to be set in stone and not a mere assurance on his part. What was the real second female lead to say in situation like this?
“O-of course! We’re best friends! N-now let’s get out of here. I saw this beautiful necklace in that shop. It’s going to look beautiful on her. Maybe if you buy her that, then she’d forgive you for spending your birthday away from her,” you joked to deflect him, standing up and gathering your purse to escape the situation you found yourself in before he could even blink.
Think, Y/N. Think.
You gripped the stem of your wine glass, staring blankly at the flickering candle in the center of the table. The plot was veering off course, drifting further from the original narrative you knew by heart. Yoongi wasn’t supposed to be here with you, his steady presence upending the delicate balance of the story.
The main lead wasn’t supposed to stay by your side like this
Across the room, Yoongi was speaking with one of his father’s acquaintances, his posture relaxed but exuding the quiet authority that came so naturally to him. It gave you a few precious moments to breathe—and to think.
Ever since Paris, Yoongi almost never let you out of his sight. He would spend every free time of his with you. You couldn’t even refuse because he would get so suspicious. His best friend never said no to him, he knew that. Your previous actions of distancing yourself from him resulted in him latching on to you. What could you do to push him in the right direction which was to be with her?
What was the next canon event?
And then it hit you.
The company gala. The turning point. That was when he would bring her, the female lead, into the lion’s den. His family’s icy disapproval, their sharp-edged words of disdain, and their outright rejection of his choice would culminate in a dramatic declaration. Yoongi would stand by her side, rebel against his family, and announce that she was the one he wanted to marry.
It was a pivotal scene. A non-negotiable in the grand arc of his story.
You exhaled shakily. If you could just steer him toward that event, everything will fall back into place. You just needed to figure out when it was happening now that the timeline was unraveling in ways you couldn’t predict.
You just had another problem, though. The man that was now walking back to you was acting like someone who had his heart set on another, so unlike the Min Yoongi from the manhwa who only had eyes for her. His attention was unwavering, but it should not have been pointed to you but to her. The way his gaze softened whenever he looked at you, his refusal to leave your side—it was all wrong. None of it fit.
“Sorry about that,” Yoongi’s voice broke through your thoughts as he returned to the table. He slid back into his seat, his sharp eyes scanning your face. “You okay? You look… distracted.”
You forced a smile, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Just lost in thought.”
“About what?” He tilted his head, genuinely curious, and the warmth in his gaze made your stomach twist. He did hope that your attention was not being diverted by someone he didn’t even want to mention. He couldn’t even understand why the thought of you with someone else didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t understand why he had this urge to remove the pest away from you.
“Doesn’t you company have an annual gala? I was thinking of what to wear. When is it again?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink to hide your nerves.
He was looking at you as though deep in thought, as though you were forgetting something. He tilted his head to the side, “You know it’s always in December. You always choose your dress a year in advance, princess,” Yoongi said, his voice laced with mild curiosity. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied you. “Why? You’ve never been one to care much about those kinds of things before.”
Your breath caught at his words. You always choose your dress a year in advance, princess. The familiarity, the ease with which he said it, threw you off. That line—it didn’t belong here. Not in this timeline. Not in this version of the story where your role was supposed to be temporary, a placeholder in the grand narrative between him and her.
“Right,” you said, forcing a light laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Guess I forgot for a moment. Been busy, you know.”
Yoongi didn’t buy it. His gaze sharpened, a hint of amusement mingled with curiosity. “You? Forget? That’s not like you.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture relaxed but his eyes piercing. “What’s really going on?”
The intensity in his gaze made your stomach twist again. Stay calm. Don’t let him see.
“Nothing’s going on,” you said, a touch too quickly. You took another sip of your drink, using the motion to avoid his eyes.
“Anyway, December’s coming up fast, and I’m guessing you’re planning to bring her, right?” You kept your tone light, as if the question didn’t weigh heavily on your chest.
Yoongi’s expression shifted, the smirk fading as his brows furrowed slightly. “Her?”
You swallowed hard. “You know… the one you’ve been calling and texting all the time.” You gestured vaguely, hoping to seem indifferent. “The woman you’ve been—well, I thought you were planning to introduce her to your family at the gala.”
Yoongi smiled again, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Let’s see, princess.”
“Admit that you had fun,” Taehyung teased you as he drove you home.
You couldn’t help the smile that crept across your lips. Against all odds, you’d genuinely enjoyed yourself. You did have fun. You always thought that movie dates were boring and full of cliché, but not with him. With Taehyung, everything felt effortless—light and uncomplicated, like breathing.
“Fine,” you conceded with mock reluctance, your tone carrying the weight of faux irritation. “It was a fun…”
“Date,” he finished smoothly, his eyes glinting with amusement as your voice trailed off.
Your cheeks burned at his audacity, the straightforwardness of the word stealing your ability to respond for a moment. A "date"? Could you even call it that? The way your heart fluttered betrayed any argument you might have tried to form.
You glanced away, fidgeting with the strap of your bag as thoughts tangled in your mind. Was it okay to feel this way? To bask in fleeting moments of happiness when the life you were living wasn’t truly yours? When you were still determined to set things right, to restore the balance of a narrative that had gone astray?
So caught up in your musings, you barely noticed the car slowing to a stop in the estate’s driveway. The towering grand doors loomed ahead, a stark reminder of the world you’d return to the moment you stepped out.
“Thank you,” Taehyung’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. It was quiet, genuine, and when you turned to look at him, his face was softer than you’d ever seen it.
“For what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
“For being here,” he replied simply, his gaze holding yours.
The weight of his sincerity pressed against your chest, making it harder to breathe. Before you could respond, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. The world seemed to slow as his hand moved to cup your face, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your heart stutter.
Your breaths mingled, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips hovered so close to yours it was almost unbearable. You could feel the moment hanging on a fragile thread, teetering on the edge of something irreversible.
The room’s golden hues seemed to dim as the sound of the car horn echoed through the driveway, shattering the fragile intimacy between you and Taehyung. You jolted back, your heart pounding in your chest as if caught in an act of betrayal—though you hadn’t technically done anything wrong. Yet.
Taehyung sighed, his expression softening as he glanced toward the car behind him. “Looks like your knight in shining armor doesn’t know how to wait,” he said lightly, though there was a hint of tension in his voice.
You managed a shaky laugh, your hand gripping the strap of your bag tightly. “He’s just… overprotective.”
“Right,” Taehyung said, leaning back in his seat. His eyes met yours, warm and understanding, but with a flicker of something else—something that made your chest tighten. “Still, I meant what I said. Thanks for tonight.”
Before you could respond, the honk came again, sharper this time, as if Yoongi were making a point. You turned to glance at his car, the sleek black exterior glinting under the estate’s lights. Even from this distance, you could feel his piercing gaze locked on you.
“Goodnight, Taehyung,” you said hurriedly, fumbling with the door handle.
Taehyung smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
You stepped out of the car and started toward the grand door, the cold evening air biting at your skin. Yoongi’s car door slammed shut behind you, and the sound of his footsteps was a quiet storm approaching. You didn’t dare look back, your heart a riot of guilt, frustration, and confusion.
“Princess,” Yoongi’s voice cut through the quiet, smooth and controlled, but laced with an edge you couldn’t ignore.
You stopped in your tracks, turning slowly to face him. He was already close, his dark eyes scanning your face like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. His suit was immaculate, as always, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his posture—shoulders just a little too stiff, jaw a little too tight.
“You’re back late,” he said, his tone deceptively casual.
“I went to see a movie with Taehyung,” you replied, keeping your voice neutral.
At the mention of Taehyung, Yoongi’s gaze flicked past you to the car that was now idling at the end of the driveway. You followed his line of sight and felt a pang of unease as his expression shifted. His brows raised slightly as he studied Taehyung through the window, his head tilting just enough to convey an air of quiet disdain.
And then he smirked—a slow, deliberate curl of his lips that sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the Yoongi you were used to seeing. In that moment, he was something else entirely: sharp, commanding, almost cruel. The kind of presence that demanded submission without a word.
“What did you say his last name was, princess?” he asked, still watching Taehyung with that same unsettling smirk. His tone was light, but there was something in it—something dark—that made your heart beat faster.
“Kim?” you replied thoughtlessly, your mind too preoccupied with wanting to escape the tension. “Why did you ask?”
Finally, he turned his attention back to you, his gaze softening just enough to make the moment feel surreal. The shift was so subtle, so practiced, that it left you second-guessing the sharpness you’d just seen. He reached out, his arm sliding around your shoulders with an ease that felt both natural and calculated.
“No reason, princess,” he said smoothly, steering you toward the grand doors of the estate. “Just… curious.”
The warmth of his arm contrasted sharply with the coldness that lingered in the air. It was disarming, the way he could shift so easily between roles—between the man you knew and the one you weren’t sure you ever wanted to meet again.
As he guided you inside, you cast one last glance over your shoulder. Taehyung’s car hadn’t moved, the figure inside still watching. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined the tension mirrored your own.
When the doors shut behind you, the weight of Yoongi’s presence beside you grew heavier. His hand rested lightly against your shoulder, his touch far gentler than the unease simmering just beneath the surface.
"Don’t you have better things to do than come to my dress fitting? Like, I don’t know, actually run your empire or something?" you asked, stepping out of the fitting room with a huff.
Yoongi sat sprawled on the plush sofa, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, a glass of champagne balanced effortlessly in his other hand. He looked utterly at ease, as if this boutique was his second home and not a place he had followed you to.
He shrugged, “Well, we can’t have you running away from me again, can we?”
“For the last time, I didn’t run away! I was in Paris because croissant sounded nice that day-”
“Sure, princess,” he agreed condescendingly. Yoongi’s gaze swept over you, lingering a moment longer than you expected. “On the other hand, you look immaculate in that dress,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You’re going to make the rest of the gala feel underdressed.”
Heat crept up your neck at his words, but you quickly masked it with a scoff. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Yoongi. Save it for the boardroom or—better yet—for her.”
He raised an eyebrow, swirling the champagne in his glass as if you hadn’t just tried to divert the conversation. “Her?” he echoed, tilting his head with mock curiosity.
You rolled your eyes, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yes, her. The one you met in the previous ball? The waitress? The one you’ll be introducing to your family at the gala, remember? Does she ring a bell?”
“We’re still talking about that?” Yoongi asked, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned back into the plush sofa. The glass of champagne in his hand tilted slightly, catching the light as he swirled the golden liquid. “Why are you so invested in my relationship with her?”
“I’m just concerned and curious as a friend.”
He chuckled softly, setting his glass down on the table beside him. “Curious, huh? And here I thought you were just jealous.”
Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Jealous?”
Yoongi leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving yours. “You keep bringing her up. You’re obsessed with the idea of me introducing her to my family, of me texting her. You sure this isn’t just about you not wanting to share me?”
Your face burned, and you turned away, pretending to adjust the dress in the mirror. “You’re ridiculous and I refuse to discuss this further,” you muttered. “I’m going to buy this!” You announced before stalking back to the fitting room to avoid wondering about why your heart was skipping a beat and why you shouldn’t venture into that.
You were huffing as you tried to reach for the zipper behind you when the curtain suddenly opened and Yoongi stepped in, making the room felt impossibly small. You instinctively turned your back to him, clutching at the unzipped dress as though a protection against whatever this was.
“What are you doing here?!”
Yoongi leaned casually against the side of the fitting room, his smirk firmly in place. “Helping you, obviously,” he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“I don’t need your help!” you snapped, tugging at the zipper yourself but struggling to reach it.
“Doesn’t look like it,” he said smoothly, taking a step closer. His fingers brushed against yours as he gently moved your hand away. “Relax, princess. I’ll take care of it.”
You froze, your heart pounding as his hands moved to the zipper. His touch was surprisingly delicate, his fingers grazing your back as he carefully pulled the zipper up. The sound of the zipper seemed deafening in the silence.
“There,” he said softly, his voice low and close to your ear. “All done.”
You were about to turn around when he stopped you. You met his dark eyes through the mirror, and the intensity in his gaze held you captive. His hands lingered lightly on your shoulders, warm against the smooth fabric of the dress. There was something unreadable in his expression—a mix of curiosity, amusement, and something far deeper that you couldn’t quite name.
“You’re very beautiful, princess. Do you know that?” he whispered, resting his chin on your delicate shoulder.
“Yoongi, what are you doing?”
He was quiet for a moment as though in contemplation whether to say what he wanted to say. Like in the manhwa, Yoongi was calculating. He never did anything without a reason, one of which would benefit him. “I had a nightmare the night after the ball,” he finally confessed, his voice low and almost distant, as if recalling something that lingered in his mind. “We were on the yacht. I think it was a party. You were there… She was there. I was there. And the yacht… it slammed into a rock. The two of you were thrown off.”
If he felt your body went rigid, he didn’t mention. He never broke eye contact, his arms around your waist as he told you of his dream. The one exactly what happened in the manhwa– the one where the main lead chose to save the main female lead first, only to find out the it was already late for the second female lead.
His body was so close that you could feel the slight tremble in his arms as he spoke, his fingers grazing your waist with the same careful intensity.
You met his gaze in the mirror again, and something twisted in your stomach. There was an almost predatory look in his eyes, but there was something else too—something far more vulnerable, raw. He didn’t break eye contact, and his grip on you tightened just slightly, as though he wanted to hold on, as though he was afraid you’d slip away.
“In my dream,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “I saw you die because I saved her first. It felt so real, like I was remembering something that already happened.” He paused, and you felt the weight of his words sink in. “Why would I save her first when I know I can’t lose you?”
“It’s just a dream…” you tried to console him. How could he remember something that happened in the ending? Was the barrier between the characters and the plot weakening? What was changing? And how could you go back to your own world when he was holding onto you so tight as though if he looked away, you’d disappear?
“It is, right? It’s not going to happen... I’ll make sure of it.”
December came.
It was the month you were both dreading and anticipating. You were almost at the end of the story, and so far, you did your absolute best to let their love story unfold without a second female lead antagonizing it. You did your part by staying away from them. One problem though, the male lead was not acting like he was written in the manhwa. He was not acting like a man in love should be to her. Instead, he was out there sticking to you like
It was safe to say that Min Yoongi went rouge.
You did not know what to expect in the annual gala. You no longer have the upper hand. You were in the blind as though you were a real character and no longer a reader. You feared that the longer you stayed in this fictional world, the more likely that you’d be incorporated in the story and no longer as a second female lead that could just easily disappear.
You needed answers on how to escape from this fictional world. Answers eluded you. Worse still, so did the only person who seemed to see you for who you were. Taehyung. Since that night, not once did Taehyung answer you calls nor respond to your numerous messages. You tried asking your trusted staff about him, but even they were mummed. It was only your closest maid who whispered to you what transpired and how Taehyung’s budding business empire had crumbled overnight, crushed under the weight of lawsuits—tax evasion, fraud, and other accusations you couldn’t fathom. The news left you hollow. You hadn’t seen this coming. The man who had been your one source of normalcy, the one who made you feel like a real person instead of a pawn in someone else’s story, had disappeared into the shadows of scandal. You thought to yourself that maybe you really didn’t know him at all and that it was best to just focus on how to once and for all, leave this universe.
But who could you ask?
You continued anxiously tapping your heels on the marbled flooring, observing the guests. You were in the corner, trying to hide in the shadows so you could freely look for her. He would be bringing her, right?
Where is she?
Your eyes scanned the room again, trying to keep your presence hidden in the shadows. The guests were mingling, lost in the glitter of conversation and champagne. Laughter bubbled up in the air, but none of it felt real. Not like it should have. None of this was real, in fact. This was a fictional world where you were stuck in.
You wondered what would happen if you stopped playing her role. But before you could dwell on that thought, the door opened again, and you stiffened. You were expecting to see the main female lead, yet instead, it was Yoongi. The man of the hour. He entered the room and all the guests he passed greeted and congratulated him for setting another record in his empire, yet his eyes always returned to you. Where was she? This was not supposed to be like this. Yet, you knew in the back of your mind that something integral changed. You were in denial about how you no longer had control over this, that you might as well be truly in the story now, no longer an observer, no longer able to hide behind the pages of the manhwa.
You stepped back involuntarily, no longer feeling the courage you had faked for so long. You lost control. You had to find a way out. However, when you slipped away and turned the corner, you bumped into an old, yet dignified woman. You bowed in apologies when it dawned upon you.
You have seen her before.
Slowly, your eyes lifted to hers. You knew her. She was the woman who gave you the manhwa… How was she in this world?!
Your mouth hanged agape as the corner of her lips lifted, her eyes crinkling when she saw the dawn of recognition on her face. “I told you reading it will change your mind.”
“It’s you,” you whispered, taking an unsteady step back. Your eyes darted over her, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t belong in this world. “H-how… How are you here? What’s going on? Y-you have to help me. Why am I here? How can I leave?!”
She studied you for a moment, her gaze steady, unreadable. “You’re here because someone wants you here, dear.”
“I don’t want to be here! I want to go back.”
Her head tilted slightly, her calm demeanor unwavering. “But why? What do you have in your old life that you so desperately want to return to? Aren’t you alone there? Didn’t you have no one to love you?”
“That’s not the point!” you shot back, a tremor running through your voice. “And it’s not different here. No one loves me—no one even knows the real me.”
Her smile deepened, a glint of something—mischief, perhaps?—in her eyes. “Ah, but who do you think was desperate enough, filled with enough sorrow, to pull you into this universe?”
Your breath caught, confusion clouding your mind. “I… I don’t understand.”
“When she died,” the woman began, her voice lowering, as if unveiling a truth long buried, “the manhwa ended. But did you think the characters would simply cease to exist? No, dear. They continued, burdened by the pain of their story. Yoongi was devastated. He regretted everything—every word, every choice, every moment that led to her death. He mourned her. His sorrow was so great, it transcended the story’s limits and reached you.”
Your head spun. “Me?” you repeated weakly, disbelief dripping from your voice.
“Dear, you are her. Just in a different universe. It’s the reason why you sided with her, why you felt for her, why her character called on you, why her pain felt like your own. You are her.”
“I don’t want to be her,” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t choose this. Please—just send me back to my own universe.”
The woman sighed, her expression softening, though her eyes retained their strange, knowing glimmer. “The only way out,” she said slowly, “is through. The manhwa will only release you when its story ends. And you know how it ends, don’t you?”
A cold realization began to settle in your chest. “When he marries the female lead,” you murmured, dread weaving through every syllable. Your words hung in the air, heavy and final.
The sharp sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, breaking your trance. You barely had time to gather your thoughts before a familiar voice cut through the suffocating stillness.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you. What are you doing here?”
Yoongi’s low, commanding tone sent a jolt through you, but it was his grip—firm but not harsh—as his hand closed around your arm that made your breath hitch.
You turned to face him, his dark eyes locking onto yours. They were intense, holding a darkness that made your stomach churn. Something simmered beneath his composed exterior, something unsettling.
“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, your voice unsteady.
His lips quirked into a small, unreadable smile. “I just arrived, princess,” he said, the pet name rolling off his tongue like silk. “What are you doing here? Alone?”
“I…” You hesitated, your mind racing for an excuse. “I was just talking to—”
When you turned back, the old woman was gone.
Your heart sank, panic surging through you. The corridor where she had stood moments ago was now empty, as though she had vanished into thin air.
Yoongi frowned, his grip on your arm tightening slightly. “Talking to who?” he pressed, his voice dropping.
You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but the weight of it was crushing. “No one,” you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “She must’ve left before you got here.”
Yoongi looked down at you, his expression calm, his gaze steady. Yet, something about the way he held himself—the deliberate gentleness, the faint curve of his lips—made unease coil tightly in your chest. A part of you whispered that this tenderness was a mask, that he wasn’t as naïve or benign as he seemed.
But then he smiled.
It was a tender smile, soft around the edges, and for a fleeting moment, your doubts dissolved like mist under the morning sun.
“Let’s get back to the party, princess,” he said, his voice a soothing balm against the tension humming in your veins. “Your parents arrived.”
Your steps faltered. “My parents?”
The mention of them sent a jolt through you. They were a peripheral presence in the story, barely more than a footnote in the manhwa’s narrative. They were always overseas, managing their company, distant figures who left their daughter to fend for herself. Their absence was a plot device, a catalyst for your dependence on Yoongi.
But now, they were here.
“W-why are they here?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your effort to steady it.
Yoongi stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His expression didn’t change, but there was something unsettling in the way his eyes softened, like he was trying to calm a skittish animal. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone quiet yet resolute.
The words only made your pulse quicken. He offered his arm to you, his demeanor so effortless, so composed, as though he hadn’t just upended everything you thought you knew about the storyline. “Shall we?”
Were you imagining things, or were the guests’ gazes lingering just a little too long as you and Yoongi re-entered the ballroom? Conversations paused, eyes flickering in your direction, a murmur of whispers spreading like ripples across the sea of elegantly dressed attendees.
Yoongi, as always, was composed. His hand rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd with an ease that belied the tension curling in your chest. You tried to focus on the glittering chandeliers, the music, the familiar opulence of the space, but the weight of the stares made it impossible.
“There’s our little girl!”
The warm, dignified voice cut through the hum of the crowd, pulling your attention to its source. Your mother stood near the edge of the room, resplendent in a gown that rivaled the grandeur of the occasion. Her face lit up with delight as she strode toward you, arms outstretched.
“Y-you’re here…” you stammered, shock rendering you momentarily immobile as she pulled you into an embrace. Her movements were graceful yet firm, as though she’d been waiting for this moment.
“Of course, we’re here,” she said, stepping back to study your face, her smile warm but tinged with something calculating. “Why wouldn’t we be? It’s not every day that our dear daughter gets engaged.”
Your heart raced, panic rising as you tried to process what was happening. “I… I don’t understand,” you managed, your voice trembling as you looked between your parents and Yoongi.
Yoongi stepped closer, the warmth of his hand on your back turning into a subtle yet firm pressure. His voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for your ears, as his sharp eyes held yours in an unrelenting gaze.
“It’s all been arranged, princess,” he said softly, his words almost tender but laced with steel. “Your parents and mine have been discussing this for some time. They thought tonight was the perfect opportunity to make it official.”
Your heart pounded in protest, the world around you narrowing to just him and the enormity of what he was saying. “I didn’t agree to this,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “This is wrong! You don’t want this, Yoongi. You have her. And I—”
“You what?” he interrupted sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You have Taehyung?”
“No!” you snapped, shaking your head. “This isn’t about him. This is about them deciding for us. This is about tying your life to mine when you don’t even want to!”
He tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning but without any real humor. “Who says I don’t want to?”
“Yoongi—”
“Look, princess,” he cut you off, his voice soft but commanding. “We just have to act like we’re going along with this. Just pretend. Can you do that for me?”
Your breath caught, and you searched his face for some hint of his true feelings. But all you found was a calm determination that left you more uncertain than ever.
The murmur of the crowd reached you, the polite applause growing louder as you turned toward the center of the room. Yoongi extended his hand, his posture exuding confidence and charm as he guided you toward the raised platform where your parents and his waited.
The spotlight followed the two of you as you ascended albeit reluctantly, every step feeling heavier than the last. The room seemed to hush, the weight of their expectations bearing down on you.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Yoongi began smoothly, raising his glass in a toast. His voice carried easily, commanding the attention of the entire ballroom. “Tonight is a special night, not just for our families, but for me. I’m honored to announce my engagement to this incredible woman beside me, my childhood best friend, the only woman who have never left my side. I cannot live without her, and soon, I’ll never have to.”
The applause erupted, deafening and overwhelming. You felt trapped, the walls closing in as Yoongi turned to you, his smile perfectly composed for the crowd.
“Shall we make it convincing, princess?” Yoongi murmured, his voice low and unreadable, carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place.
Before you could respond, he cupped your face with a gentleness that felt at odds with the deliberate precision in his movements. His touch was warm, grounding, yet it sent a jolt through you—a mix of dread and something far more dangerous.
Your breath hitched.
Never in your wildest dreams did you think Min Yoongi—the composed, untouchable Min Yoongi—would lower his head to capture your lips. Even more unthinkable was the way his kiss shattered every expectation, unraveling something deep within you.
Yoongi kissed like a man starved. His lips moved against yours with a consuming intensity, a hunger that left no room for hesitation. It wasn’t gentle or tentative; it was deliberate, almost punishing. He took and took, claiming you with every movement of his mouth. His tongue brushed against yours, coaxing and demanding at the same time, leaving you breathless.
His free hand cradled your face, tilting it to him as if to ensure you couldn’t escape—not that your body seemed capable of responding. Your knees felt weak, your heart thundered in your chest, and the noise of the crowd faded into an inconsequential blur.
For a moment, there was only him.
The crowd erupted into applause, the sound jolting you back to reality. The cheers and whistles surrounded you, the noise pressing in like a tidal wave. You blinked, realizing that your hands had gripped the fabric of his jacket, as though anchoring yourself to him.
Yoongi pulled back slowly, his gaze locking with yours. His eyes were dark, burning with something you couldn’t decipher. His lips curled into a faint, triumphant smile, as if he knew exactly what effect he’d had on you.
You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he took your hand in his. The velvet box you hadn’t even noticed being opened now sat empty in his other hand. And then, before you could process what was happening, there it was—a massive diamond glinting on your finger, its size almost blinding under the ballroom lights. It was familiar. How could it not when it was the same ring he won in the auction?
Why did he have this now? When was this entire fiasco prepared?
Your chest tightened as you stared at the ring, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should have.
Yoongi raised your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. To the crowd, it was the perfect picture of a devoted fiancé. But to you, it was something far more unnerving.
“You wear it well,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.
The applause swelled around you again, the sound nearly deafening as you tried to steady your racing thoughts.
This wasn’t part of the story. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
But Yoongi, ever the master of control, seemed to have rewritten the script entirely. And you were left standing in the middle of his narrative, unable to tell where the performance ended and the truth began.
The evening air outside was cool and calm, a sharp contrast to the warmth and chatter of the grand party you had just left behind. As the crowd dwindled and the night settled, Yoongi offered you his arm, escorting you toward his sleek black car. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and his dark eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual.
The night seemed to be endless. You were never left alone even for a moment. You wanted nothing more than to lie down and plan your next step. You had to, or else you were stuck here.
“I’m sorry I missed your speech,” you said as the car pulled away from the glowing mansion. “I’m sure it was great.”
He glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s fine. You’ll always be here to hear my next speech anyway.”
You returned his smile, but it was brittle, not quite reaching your eyes. Had your plan succeeded, this would be one of your last moments with him. You’d return to your world, leaving this Yoongi—and this universe—behind. The thought tightened something in your chest, but you pushed it aside.
“I’m sorry about the sudden engagement, princess.” His voice was soft, laced with what sounded like regret, but his eyes told a different story. “My hands were tied. Our families went behind our backs, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”
Lies. All of it.
What you didn’t know was that Yoongi had orchestrated everything. He had whispered into the right ears, pulled strings behind the scenes, and crafted a perfect storm to ensure this engagement would bind you to him. He didn’t care what the truth was, whether or not you were from this world. He cared about one thing only—keeping you by his side.
Something in him had shifted the moment he realized how easily you could slip away. The very idea of losing you—to this world, to Taehyung, to anything—was unbearable. It drove him to actions he never thought himself capable of, cruel and unapologetic. Taehyung was out of the picture now, his budding empire crushed under the weight of scandal. Yoongi had ensured that, and he felt no remorse.
What mattered was you.
You offered him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes because if what you were planning was successful, you’d return to your own world and he’d be left in this universe. Yoongi quietly offered you a champagne as the driver smoothly drove back to the mansion.
“Are we celebrating something?” you asked, eyeing the sparkling liquid.
“Just…for always, princess,” he said softly, the words carrying an undertone you couldn’t quite place.
You hesitated, but took the glass, sipping the sparkling liquid. The conversation flowed effortlessly, a dance of shared humor, mutual interests, and a surprising depth of understanding. With each exchange, you were reminded of why you had felt drawn to Yoongi in the first place. For all his intensity and mystery, he was undeniably charming, and being with him felt easy in a way you hadn’t expected.
The spirit of alcohol definitely made you forget about the ruckus that happened tonight. If he said that he didn’t have anything to do with it, who were you to question him when he was characterized in the manhwa as someone who was good?
Your conversation with him was fun. It was grounding.
Until the world began to tilt.
Dizziness crept over you, subtle at first but quickly overpowering. Your fingers loosened around the champagne flute as your head grew heavier, and before you knew it, your cheek was pressed against his shoulder.
“Yoongi…” you murmured, your voice weak as you leaned against him.
He steadied you, his hand moving to cradle your head as you slumped against his shoulder. “It’s alright,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of finality.You tried to sit up, to stay awake, but your body refused to cooperate. Everything blurred together, and then, there was nothing.
Yoongi’s hand moved to steady you, his touch gentle as he adjusted your position so you rested more comfortably against him. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable, before shifting his gaze toward the driver.
“To the airport,” he instructed, his voice calm but firm.
The driver nodded without hesitation, changing course.
Yoongi turned his attention back to you, his jaw tightening as he studied your sleeping face. He’d heard everything earlier—the old woman’s cryptic words, your desperate plea to leave, and your determination to escape this world.
It all made sense. The nightmare that brought terrors in his heart really happened. You died because of his foolishness, because he chose someone else over you when he knew he couldn’t survive a world without you. It had been like living his worst nightmare all over again, the fear of losing someone he wasn’t ready to let go. But this time, he refused to let it happen.
He wasn’t a religious man, but your presence in this universe felt like a miracle—a second chance, no matter how strange or impossible. Whether you were the original her or not didn’t matter. You were here. You were his.
And he wouldn’t let you leave.
His gaze darkened, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.
“You’re not going anywhere, princess,” he murmured softly, more to himself than to you.
The first female lead was no longer his focus. She was gone.
Now, it was you.
And Yoongi would do whatever it took to keep you by his side—even if it meant tying you to him so tightly you could never untangle the threads.
Warnings: Uhhh, hi guys. I'm back (sorta). ANYWAY... warnings. Right. SMUUUUTTT smutty smut smut. Established relationship. Somno, but like... sensual CNC vibes (aka Reader is into it). Not proofread, just needed to get this out of my brain and into the world. That's all the warnings you're getting cuz I don't like to spoil my own fics. Be adventurous and brave and read this the way God intended - without a bunch of warnings/clues! (Trust me, it's better this way)
WC: 2,282
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It’s late when Barbatos returns to his room – far later than he ever intended. His steps are subdued, his shoulders carrying the weight of his fatigue, his tail low to the ground.
He lifts his gaze from the stone floor in front of him, taking in the sight of his room, his safe space. There, curled up in his bed, is the only thing that can rekindle some life into his tired eyes.
You.
Your fast asleep, his sheets half covering your body, the silhouette of your curves captured by the low, orange glow of the fireplace. The room is warm from its residual heat; which must be why only the sheet is covering you, and poorly at that.
It’s draped over your waist, but your legs are free, your skin exposed. Your nightshift, one that Barbatos is more than familiar with, had gotten bunched up along with the sheets during your tossing and turning through the night. From his vantage point, he could clearly see the curve of your hips, your ass, protected by the thin barrier of cotton underwear.
His fatigue is overrun by hunger – a deep, aching hunger that curls in his gut and sharpens his senses. It’s carved out by the harsh stress of the day and honed to sharpness by his longing for you.
How he missed you...
He’s quiet as a shadow as he approaches the bed, light as a ghost as he carefully makes his way across the bedding. You're sleeping so soundly, so deeply, that not even the touch of his warm hand upon your hip stirs you.
He plants a tender kiss to your exposed shoulder blade, his hand tracing the shape of you until he’s cupping the supple flesh of your ass. He gives it a gentle squeeze, but even that barely makes you stir, the smallest shift of your legs, your bent knee rising the slightest bit higher.
He smiles silently against your warm skin. Even in your sleep, your body knows him.
The subtle clue of dreamy arousal makes his own ache pulse harder, his cock twitching to life in his slacks. Barbatos ignores it, letting its presence fuel him into slow, languid action.
His lips graze from your shoulder, down your arm, as his hand that was once cupping your ass, slowly caresses the back of your thigh, before gently pushing your legs up slightly further. The action makes your underwear shift against your skin, no longer able to fully cover the round, supple flesh.
Down, down he goes, his mouth leaving a trail of love notes in the form of gentle nips and feathered kisses along the silhouette of your body, until he’s finally reached the apex of your hip.
There, only your skin meets him, and he lingers there, letting the heat warm his lips before trailing his tongue over the exposed flesh. There’s a hint of salt, the remnants of sweat from earlier in the evening before you’d kicked off half of the covers in your sleep.
He takes a moment to nestle himself there, his tongue caressing your softness, followed by open mouth kisses. Goosebumps raise up on your skin, and still, to his amusement, you slumber. He wonders what sort of dreams you must be having that have kept you enraptured in sleep so deeply.
It doesn’t take long for his question to be answered, the familiar scent of you clawing at his senses as your body offers its arousal. He accepts the primal offering, his hand sliding from the back of your thigh to the warm, soft heat between your legs, covered pitifully in cotton. Barbatos draws his finger slowly down the divet of you, savoring the puffiness beneath the fabric, the heat and moisture that hovers just out of reach. It’s as if your body is begging for him, weeping for more of his touch. He swipes his finger again, firmer this time, and finally your wetness pushes through the cotton, fully absorbed and coating his finger.
A sleepy moan rises from you, and Barbatos pauses in his administrations, his eyes looking up from you through the strands of his hair that have gotten messed by his nuzzling. Are you waking up? Was this enough to pull you from your dreams?
But your eyes don’t open, and he lets out a wry, quiet chuckle to himself. The irony was not lost on him – here you were dreaming of him, while he was here in reality, nestled between your legs.
The curiosity is turning into a game – a game of skill, a game of patience... how far could he take you without disrupting your sleep? And how much of you would you subconsciously give him?
With his eyes still on you, he draws his finger over your clothed sex once more. Your brows furrow slightly, your lips part.
A heartbeat. Then Barbatos places his hand back onto your hip and lowers his mouth to take the place of his finger, laying a tender kiss upon your wet, swollen lips through the cotton. He can’t fight back the low moan that rumbles in his chest, the overpowering scent and taste of you reducing him to his more baser instincts. Greedily, selfishly, his tongue slips out to lick the slick from your panties, a dangerous maneuver if he’s to win this game with you. But he can’t resist. Every nerve in his body is calling for you, demanding you.
This time, you stir slightly, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your hips shift in desire. He watches, transfixed, as your cunt flutters slightly for him, a rose bud waking in the warmth of his heat.
But the pause in his administrations to watch you is enough to let you drift back to slumber, your body once again going slack beneath the warmth of his hand.
Interesting... he was sure that would have woken you... Barbatos begins to wonder what sort of day you had that has left you so fatigued. And yet despite that fatigue, you’d come to him, seeking him out only to find him too busy to cater to you, too busy to share his own bed with you until you’d long since fallen asleep.
The mental game he’s arranged in his mind shifts into something different, something tender. If you are this tired, then perhaps granting you a sweet release without waking you would be the greater kindness.
Barbatos strengthens his own resolve, curbing his enthusiasm and the ache in his pants as he slightly adjusts his position to you. His mouth returns to the sensual kisses on your hip as his hand slides beneath the hem of your underwear, now resting slightly askew over your half-covered cheeks. Slowly, he slides his hand down the curve of supple flesh, the underwear pulled with it. The air of the room barely has time to touch your skin, before he’s trailing his warm kisses from your hip to your ass cheek and back again.
As his mouth caresses you, his fingers reach their destination beneath the barrier of your underwear. The fabric is pushed down, bunched at his wrist, unable to move further thanks to the spread of your legs, but it’s more than enough. His fingers touch you, finally, slipping between the wet folds of your pussy to savor the sleek warmth. Barbatos works slowly, careful not to wake you. Back and forth, back and forth, he swipes gently, slowing his movement each time he approaches your sensitive clit, swollen with need. He circles the bud slowly, a gentle massage that makes you moan again, your cunt pulsing with an ache that mirrors his own.
When he knows he has you sufficiently wet and ready, he teases your entrance, circling the perimeter once, twice. Then with a hold of his breath and his eyes on your sleeping face, he pushes in with painstaking slowness. You inhale in your sleep, your lips parting in dreamy bliss as your walls clench around him, grateful for his presence. He strokes your soft walls with the pad of his finger, before withdrawing halfway. Again, he pushes in, and it’s easier this time, wetter, your body already adjusting in preparation. He adds a second finger, and this time, pushes in deep, slowly, letting the pressure of his hand ground you in your sea of pleasure.
Then Barbatos truly begins, his fingers fucking you slowly, steadily, the sound of the soft squelching of your wet cunt and your soft pants his only reward. His mouth returns to kissing your hips, your ass, teeth grazing and hungry in an attempt to stifle his own wanton moans. He’s laid across the bed, his head nestled against the curve of your ass, and the ache of his own cock is becoming unbearable. On instinct, his own hips start to move, grinding himself into the bedding, but the plushness offers little resistance. His spare hand is a far better option, and he quickly unbuttons his slacks and shoves the front down just enough to free most of his cock from its prison.
Barbatos starts to stroke himself, slow at first so as not to disturb you, but the pleasure is too much. Between the taste and scent of you, the pumping of his fingers, and his own stroking, his control shatters. It isn’t long before his careful strokes become hard and relentless, the careful climb of desire giving way to a mad sprint as his eyes roll back in his head, his eyelids close, and he loses himself to the feel, the smell, the taste.
He's near the precipice, when he feels familiar fingers card through his hair, tucking slightly on the roots. It pulls him immediately back, realizing that your hips that were once mostly still were now rolling, riding his fingers, the wetness dripping down his knuckles, your pants far heavier than before.
His eyes fly open and he sees you, your half-opened eyes looking down at him, clouded with sleep but burning with fire.
“Barbatos...” you whine. “Fuck me.”
Your words alone are enough to make him cum, and it’s his willpower alone, fueled by his limitless love for you, that makes him hang on by the thinnest of threads.
He halts his masturbating and crawls up behind you, all the while his fingers are still in you, refusing to leave until they can be replaced by what you really want.
Words flutter through his mind like butterflies.
Hello, my love.
I’m sorry for waking you.
Forgive me.
I need you.
But lust makes them elusive, and not a single one can find its way to his tongue.
So instead, he kisses behind the shell of your ear, then kisses the sweaty nape of your neck, and finally your shoulder, all while his fingers leave your aching cunt to lift your leg in his grip, his fingers leaving wet imprints upon your heated skin. Your hand is reached back, your fingers tangled into his damp hair, a sleepy embrace.
His cock is barely aligned before he’s pushing himself into you. His teeth sink into your shoulder, your fingers tighten in his hair, and a unified groan of pleasure fills the deafening silence of the room, before giving way to the lewd symphony of hot, breathless pants, wet squelching, and the slapping of skin against skin as he plunges his cock into you.
Barbatos thrusts into you with purpose, with hunger, but there’s a hint of restraint, a byproduct of his love for you and his desire to do no harm.
But contrary to his own fears and disparities in demon versus human strength, you’re not made of glass. And you trust him completely.
Your grip on his hair tightens even further, and his hisses through his teeth at your roughness, his grip on your thighs tightening as his fingers dig into the fat.
“I told you to fuck me,” you groan.
You know you’ve truly broken him when his growl turns inhuman – a deep, guttural sound, more beast than man. You feel the sharp pain of his demon fangs in your shoulder, and his spare hand is around your throat before you can blink.
You cry out as Barbatos rams his cock into you, then sets a brutal, frantic pace that pulls your own inhuman sounds from your restricted throat. It throws you into a state of delirium, pleasure and pain, dreaming and waking, soaring and drowning. It makes you limp, pliable – a docile, subdued thing captured in the strength of his arms.
Your orgasm comes fast and hard, shattering you against him, a pretty thing broken and remade, over and over again with each crashing wave of pleasure. Barbatos comes soon after, your throes of pleasure giving him the wings to reach his own. You relish the deepness of his thrusts, the heat of his cum as he fills you, the bruises his fingers dig into your thigh. When he’s finally spent, he lingers, his cock nestled in your battered warmth, twitching and spasming the last micro shocks of pleasure as it slowly softens.
You’re both breathing heavily, and you can feel Barbatos’s pounding heartbeat from where your back is pressed against his sweaty chest. He’s still mostly dressed, and you chuckle lightly in amusement at the realization.
Barbatos’s hands release his grip on you in favor of wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his face into your hair, his breath hot against your neck. He doesn’t ask you why you’re chuckling... he likely already knows and is smirking his own silent amusement.
“I missed you,” he whispers, his voice already laden with impending sleep.
You squeeze his hands with your own. “I missed you too.”
genre: ceo au, established relationship, soft yandere
summary: tucked in the hills, there’s a home built from quiet mornings and whispered promises, where yoongi keeps you hidden like a secret the world isn’t worthy of. years have folded gently into one another—marked by lullabies, candlelight, and the warmth of tiny hands reaching for yours.
life here is soft. slow. full of him.
and even when the quiet feels too perfect, you find peace in the illusion… because love like this doesn’t let go—it only grows.
warnings: soft yandere yoongi, obsessive love, dark romance, psychological manipulation, domestic isolation, soft horror undertones, implied surveillance, possessive behavior, gentle coercion, unreliable reality, cult vibes (but make it romantic 😜), hidden wife trope, pregnancy, parenthood, yoongi builds you a dream you don’t want to wake up from
a message from our sponsors 💁🏽♀️ i wrote a short little epilogue last night because soft yandere yoongi is just SO unsettlingly dreamy to me 🫠 just another reason why i’m single
word count: 2,241
There’s a house on the hill that isn’t marked on any map.
It’s tucked far enough outside of Seoul that the city lights fade before you reach it, but close enough that deliveries still come on time. The air is cleaner here—sweeter, full of pine and soft fog and jasmine vines that grow unchecked along the stone fence.
Yoongi rebuilt the house for you.
Every corner, every tile, every light switch. His name isn’t on the deed. No paper trail. But his fingerprints are in the grains of the wooden floors, the curve of the staircase, the deep bathtub that cradles your body when he washes your hair with a touch more tenderness than the moment warrants.
This house is everything he ever wanted: quiet, private, and full of you.
And soon—it’ll be full with more of your love.
::::::::::
Your daughter is six now.
She looks like you—Yoongi insists she does, even though her sharp eyes and deadpan humor are all him. She has your laugh, though. And when she presses her tiny hand into your belly to talk to the baby growing inside you, she does it with the same instinctual care he’s always had for you.
You’re almost twenty weeks along. The bump shows when you wear anything tight, and Yoongi encourages you to.
He likes seeing it. Likes knowing what he put there is claiming space. Growing.
Some mornings, you catch him watching you from the doorway as you brush your teeth or stretch by the window, his gaze dark and unreadable. You don’t ask what he’s thinking.
But you feel it. All of it.
He’s never looked at you like you were his wife.
He looks at you like you’re his home.
His prize.
His perfect, permanent proof.
::::::::::
It’s a Tuesday morning when it really hits him.
You’re in the garden, barefoot in the dew damp grass, your sundress fluttering around your legs. The sun hasn’t fully crested the trees yet, and the world is still blue and quiet. He watches you from the kitchen window while the kettle whistles behind him.
You’re humming.
He doesn’t recognize the song, and maybe you don’t either, but the sound carries across the yard like a memory from another life.
You twirl once.
Just a little spin in the early light, like your body forgot itself and remembered joy.
And Yoongi’s chest aches.
Because he built this world from ash and want, from fear and hunger and desperation.
And you… you look like peace.
::::::::::
He brings you tea in a mug with a chipped handle—the one you’ve used since you found him again after Florence. You take it without looking at him and sip like it’s a ritual. He watches the steam curl around your lashes.
You’re always softer in the mornings.
Softer now than you’ve been in years.
Pregnancy makes you slower, warmer, easier to keep.
“Do you feel okay?” he asks, crouching beside the chair to lay a hand on your thigh.
You nod. “Tired. But good.”
He runs his thumb over the swell of your belly, then presses a kiss there, closing his eyes for a beat too long.
You brush your fingers through his hair.
He wonders if you know what you’re doing.
::::::::::
Later, when your daughter wakes, Yoongi helps her brush her teeth and packs her lunch in little animal shaped containers. She tells him she wants to bring an extra rice ball for the baby, “just in case they get hungry too.”
He smiles.
“Appa, do babies eat food in your tummy?”
“No,” he tells her gently. “They eat whatever Eomma eats.”
She pauses. “So if Eomma eats spicy food… will the baby be spicy?”
Yoongi laughs softly, gently tugging her braid. “Maybe.”
You’re already at the table when they come in, tapping away at the digital tablet he gave you last Christmas. You use it to draw sometimes. To journal. You tell him it helps keep your thoughts in order, and he nods even though he knows every entry is backed up automatically to his server.
He doesn’t read everything.
But he could.
And that’s enough.
::::::::::
You used to resist him.
In small ways—quiet ones. You’d flinch when he mentioned more children. Ask when you’d be able to see your friends again. You once left the gate open just to see how far you could get before he noticed.
He never punished you.
He didn’t have to.
Yoongi believes in patience.
He believes in shaping the world so well you choose to stay.
So he gave you time. Space. Love. Obsession, hidden under silk and soft linen sheets. He made the idea of leaving so abstract, so unnecessary, that one day you simply stopped thinking about it.
And now?
Now you wake up in his bed and kiss him good morning before your eyes are fully open.
Now you walk the house like it was always yours.
Now you carry his second child without fear.
Even if something inside you occasionally whispers—This life is too still. This man is too careful. This door is never locked for you, but never open to anyone else.
You hush the voice. You don’t ask questions.
You pour more tea.
On your daughter’s seventh birthday, Yoongi throws a garden party.
It’s bigger than anything you expected.
Colorful streamers twist between the trees. Ribbons flutter from the wrought iron fence. Long tables are draped in linen and covered in trays of tiny cakes, fruit shaped like stars, and handmade gifts wrapped in tissue paper. A woman with kind eyes and a fake laugh paints flowers on children’s faces while a man juggles balloons just off to the side.
You blink.
You hadn’t known there were this many families nearby.
Your life in the hills has always been quiet. Still. Barely a hint of another home beyond the forest. And yet—today, the garden is full of children. Smiling, running, giggling in packs. Their parents linger at the edges, sipping sparkling juice and making polite conversation as if they’ve all known each other for years.
They wave at you. Introducing themselves like this is a neighborhood potluck. And for a moment, you feel dizzy.
Because something feels… off.
Too perfect. Too polished. Too orchestrated.
::::::::::
You step aside, fingers brushing over your pregnant belly, and scan the crowd.
Each child is neat—perfectly dressed, not a shoe out of place. Their hair is freshly combed. Their hands stay remarkably clean, even with cake nearby.
They don’t whine. They don’t cry. They smile on cue.
You recognize none of the parents. And somehow, despite the dozens of faces, no one ever asks you how long you’ve lived here. No one comments on the lack of a school drop off. No one mentions birthday parties past.
It’s as if today is the first, and only, day these families exist.
::::::::::
You glance toward Yoongi.
He’s crouched beside your daughter, helping her open a gift. His expression is soft, full of adoration, lit by the gold of the afternoon sun.
He glances up, meets your gaze and smiles.
Warm. Reassuring.
Like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. You smile back. Because what else can you do? And you feel it settle inside you—that warmth. That wonder. That truth you’ve come to live by:
You are loved. Utterly. Deeply. Without condition.
The families might be strangers. The children might be part of a story Yoongi wrote without telling you. But the picture is perfect.
And the life you live inside it is real.
::::::::::
By sunset, the families are already dispersing.
Their goodbyes are brief. Their cars disappear one by one down the gravel road that seems longer than you remember. You stand with your arm around your daughter, watching until the last silhouette fades into the trees.
The quiet settles again. Like the world exhaled. And the illusion folds neatly back into place.
Yoongi kisses your cheek. “Perfect day, wasn’t it?”
You nod. But your fingers press into your belly with a little more pressure than necessary.
When you give birth to your son, it rains for three days.
You give birth in the house. Not at a hospital. Not with a full team of strangers poking and prodding. No, Yoongi plans it all. Hires a private midwife who signs enough NDAs to make a lawyer sweat.
The bedroom becomes a sanctuary. The windows covered. The lights low. Jazz humming through the air like a lullaby.
When you scream, he’s the only one who stays calm. He holds your hand while you labor.
Strokes your damp hair.
Keeps his breathing steady even as yours unravels.
“You’re doing so well,” he whispers, over and over, like a spell. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine.
And when the child cries, he breaks.
He sobs—not loudly, not wildly, but with his entire body trembling against yours.
You’re too exhausted to speak.
Too spent to process the piety in his touch as he takes the baby from your arms and kisses his brow like a priest blessing a king.
“He looks like you,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed.
Yoongi nods.
But he’s looking at you.
At the sweat on your collarbone, the raw edge of your voice, the slack in your limbs after the fight.
And all he sees is his future.
Tangible.
Complete.
Eternal.
::::::::::
The house is quieter after that. You’re tired. All the time. But Yoongi never falters. He does everything.
Cooks.
Cleans.
Tends to the baby while your body recovers.
He worships you like the temple where you first met. Like he’s still waiting for a god to strike him down for taking you away from the world.
But nothing ever does.
You’re his reward.
And he’s earned you.
::::::::::
The years blur after that.
You learn to live slower.
You don’t ask to go into the city anymore.
He brings the city to you in curated slices—art books, imported wine, custom tailored clothing that hugs your figure like worship. He keeps the world small and quiet and beautiful, and you stop trying to make it bigger.
He teaches your daughter the piano.
Teaches your son how to press flowers between the pages of your old notebooks.
You think about your old life sometimes, but not often.
Just enough to wonder if the version of you who once existed would even recognize the woman you’ve become.
Would she scream?
Would she run?
Or would she fall to her knees and weep, overwhelmed by the softness of it all?
::::::::::
Some nights, when the world is sleeping and the air outside the windows smells like damp moss and cut jasmine, Yoongi lies awake with you curled beside him and your children sleeping down the hall, and he thinks:
This is all I ever wanted.
A life no one else could take.
A love no one else could see.
And every breath you take beside him is a victory.
A vow.
A possession.
He touches your belly in the dark—flat again, for now.
And smiles.
Because he can have more.
He has all the time in the world.
::::::::::
One night, when the children are asleep, Yoongi pulls you into his lap on the living room floor. You’re in nothing but one of his oversized shirts, the collar askew on your shoulder. His hand slides beneath the hem.
You tremble—but not from fear.
Never from fear.
“You’re too good to me,” you murmur.
His fingers curl along your inner thigh.
“You’re mine,” he replies, as if it’s the answer for everything.
You nod.
And then he says it.
“I want another.”
Your breath catches.
He leans in.
“I want to keep you like this. Swollen. Soft. Full of me.”
You close your eyes.
The fire crackles beside you.
His breath is warm on your cheek.
“Say yes, my love.”
You don’t answer right away.
You don’t have to.
Weeks pass before you say anything.
You’re folding laundry in the living room while the children nap and Yoongi’s finishing a call in the studio downstairs.
You stare at a pair of socks—tiny, pink, soft—and something in your chest twists.
You think of that night in Florence, of the rain, of the man who watched you like you were something fleeting.
Now, he holds you like you’ll never slip through his fingers again.
You don’t know which version scares you more.
::::::::::
That night, you crawl into his lap without a word.
He looks up from the notebook in his hands, eyebrows raised in quiet surprise.
“Baby?” he says, cautious.
You kiss him.
Soft. Intentional.
He doesn’t move at first. Then his hands find your thighs, your hips, the nape of your neck. His mouth parts like it’s muscle memory, like this has been waiting for weeks to bloom.
“I want to try,” you whisper.
He stiffens.
“You’re sure?”
You nod, throat thick. “I want to see more of our love.”
His grip tightens—just barely.
He exhales through his nose.
Then—
“Good girl.”
And when he lifts you in his arms and carries you to bed, you know exactly what’s waiting.
The same thing that’s always been waiting.
Devotion.
Obsession.
Forever.
::::::::::
You’re pregnant within a month.
Of course you are.
He times your cycles. Tracks your symptoms. Has been prepping your body with subtle shifts in your diet for over a year now.
You don’t know that.
You think it’s fate.
He lets you believe it.
Because if this house is a dream, you’re the soul inside it.
★Warnings: unprotected sex, a little bit of dirty talk, breeding mentioned.
★Word count: 1379
★Citrus level: Lemon
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
You couldn't believe it. You were married. To the man of your dreams no less. You had just come home from your wedding venue. You were tired, you've been awake for twelve hours. Twelve hours of pure joy. Seeing Gerard in that cute suit, and his unruly hair looking at least a little tamed. The way Gerard was wiping his tears while you read your vows. The way his soft hazel eyes looked at you while he read his own vows to you. You can't help but smile at the thought of your wedding. You sat in the hot tub staring at the beautiful wedding ring Gerard had tenderly slipped onto your finger earlier today. You take a sip of your fancy expensive wine, the glass fogging up from the steam of the hot tub. You glance up at the night sky, seeing the stars twinkling above you. You see the steam of the hot tub floating up into the night sky.
Your attention was pulled away by the sound of the door opening behind you. Its Gerard, his hair was messy and he looked tired from the long day you both had. He didn't have anything on. It was just the two of you outside and putting on a stupid bikini or something after wearing that heavy ass wedding dress, it just seems dumb. So why not skinny dip? Besides you were sure Gerard would've ripped it off a few seconds after you put it on.
“Hi baby!” Gerard speaks with a sweet smile before getting into the hot tub with you. He's also holding a wine glass but you were sure it was water or something in there, you were so proud of him. You gaze at him lovingly as he sits next to you in the warm water. You lean against him softly.
“Hi gee…”
“Hi sweetheart. God, you look so beautiful y/n…”
“Thanks love. You look so handsome gee. I love you.” Gerard lets out a soft almost dreamy sigh, his hand going to your thigh lovingly.
“I love you too y/n… so fuckin much.”
Gerard gently put a soft hand on your cheek pulling you into a soft tender kiss. He loved you, and every kiss let you know just how much he did. He gently puts his hand on your hips and guides you to his lap. Your pussy is on his thigh and as you make out with him. Your hips give a little jerk, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. Gerard squeezes your hips before whispering to you.
“Keep going baby, please.”
You softly start grinding on his bare leg as he lets his soft hands go up to your tits, playing with the soft flesh of your chest. You let out a soft moan against him, after a few moments Gerard pulls his hands down to your hips telling you to stop.
“I don't want you to cum yet…i want you baby.”
He speaks between soft kisses to your neck.
“Okay okay baby… lemme run inside and grab a condom I’ll be right back.”
Before you can stand up fully, Gerard stops you.
“No, it's okay baby.”
“Uh are you sure?”
“Yeah it’ll be okay. Besides, maybe we’ll end up with a cute baby on our wedding night?”
You sit back down and look up at him with soft eyes.
“You want that? We just got married and you already want a baby?”
Gerard looked at you with those pretty hazel eyes of his.
“ I dunno y/n. A little. But if you wanna go inside and grab a condom you can.”
You pause for a moment, thinking.
“No, it's okay. One time won't hurt,”
You smile and go back over to be on his lap. Gerard's face lights up as you hover your hips over his erection. You place soft kisses to your lips and you softly lower yourself onto him. It was a little rough since water didn't make great lube. Gerard lets out a hoarse groan against your neck. He gave you a moment to adjust for a second. God he felt so good raw.
“You alright sugar?” Gerard's voice is soft but a little breathy as he suppresses his moans. You can only manage to let out a soft whimper and nod. He gives his hips a few bucks of his hips into yours. God he feels so fucking good. You keep your hands on the back of his neck and shoulders. While he keeps his hands on your hips. Guiding you up and down his cock. The movement of your bodies causes waves in the small hot tub. You toss your head back as he hits your g-spot repeatedly. The way your back arched gave him perfect access to your tits. He nuzzles his face in between them softly before giving you a few thrusts that are a tiny bit more rough as he goes to give you a few love bites on your chest and collar bones. Each long kiss gives you a deep dark hickey that you'd be left with likely for several days.
You look at him concerned and gently put your hands on his cheeks in a soft comforting manner.
“Youre too sweet sugar. I'm alright.”
He lets out a few soft huffs of air before gently flipping you onto your back. Your knees are on the seat part and your arms rest on the back part, your ass sticking out for him. He gives your ass a nice squeeze before shoving his cock back into your pussy his head rests back of your shoulder and is arms are hugging your waist as he continues to fuck your pussy with unmatched force. He feels so fucking good. You can't even manage to mumble out a few praises. All that comes out is loud moans and whines of his name. Gerard however is very talkative. He's moaning and groaning just almost nonsense as he pounds his dick into you.
“Goddamn baby~ fuck…god your so sexy sweetheart. Of fuck im gonna breed you so fucking good. Im gonna put a fuckin’ baby in you sweetheart.”
As Gee keeps hitting your g-spot you can feel yourself starting to come undone for him. You can tell Gerrard's close too; he's getting louder and you can feel him drooling on your back.
“Oh fuck! Gee!! Im cu-mming oh fuck gerard!” you moan out as you move your hips in rhythm with trusts. Gerard moves his hand up to grope your tits before emptying his balls in you. You feel his cock twitching and jerking a little as he groans with his orgasm. You let out a few harsh pants as you slowly start to come down from your high. Gerard pulls out and a few drops of cum, float up out of your pussy and into the warm water. You move carefully to be facing Gerard. He looks tired and a little worn out.
“You alright gee?” he nods and gives you a soft kiss to the temple
“Yeah pretty fuckin’ good baby. You okay? I'm sorry if I was too rough.” Gerard speaks softly and calmly as his previously rough harsh demeanor from earlier diminishes, and he returns to his normal self.
“Yeah I'm good, just a ‘lil sore is all.”
“Okay baby. Here you stay there lemme grab you a towel and we can get cleaned up inside.”
He speaks in his usually kind and loving voice as he gets out the tub and wraps a towel around his waist and grabs you one. You carefully step out of the hot tub. Instantly shivering from the cold night air. You immediately go to Gerard who was holding the towel open for you to step into. He quickly wraps you up in the warm towel and an equally warm hug. He gives the top of your head a soft kiss as he holds you for a moment shielding you from the cold of the night.
“I love you beautiful. More than anything. And nothing will ever change that.” he places another soft kiss onto your head before letting out a soft comfy sigh.
The morning light of the sun spilled through the kitchen window, smoothly escaping the lace curtains that hung nearby. It painted the room in warm, golden hues, warming up the place. You stood by the stove, fixing up the fresh coffee in your favourite cup that had golden streaks at the arm and by the foot. Happiness bloomed through your heart; ANAKIN SKYWALKER was finally home, with you. Sleeping deeply in your bed after a..well..wild night after months of separation because of the great war that took over the world. Countries after countries, people after people, death after death.
You hadnt hear him at first. Not when you were too lost in the slow, dreamy rhythm of the imaginary music humming in your mind. until you feel those familiar, warm hands slide around your waist. Anakin presses himself against your back, his chest solid and warm as he rests his chin on your shoulder.
“Mmm,” he hummed, voice heavy with sleepless. “Missed you in bed..”
His lips immediately found that sweet spot just beneath your ear, letting his hot breath linger against your skin. A lazy kiss that sent a slow shiver down your spine. “Didn’t like waking up without you,” he murmured, hands squeezing your hips as if he can’t bear to let you go.
You tilted your head, giving him better access, to which he took it — kisses trailing down your neck, slow, tender, as if he was savoring every inch of you. “Ani,” you whispered, a soft, breathy laugh escaping as he nuzzled into the curve of your neck, a light face hair tickling your skin.
“You smell good,” he said, voice all honey, hands slipping under the hem of the shirt to trace lazy circles over your bare ribs. “Think I could just keep you here all day.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on the spatula in your hand, but it was pointless. He was pressing kisses to your neck, biting gently, sucking just enough to make you gasp. “Breakfast is gonna burn,” you warned, yet the resolve in your voice melting with every brush of his lips.
“Let it,” he said, turning you around to face him “I missed you too much to let the eggs stop me.”
It'd be the last words that were spoken between them. Why? In all the wroten true without any rhymes, any embellishments, a shaky gaze of hurt lingered in between the syllables. There was never another morning. There was never another kiss between the shading light of war. Its all..imagined, invented. Something that, in fact, couldn't happen. Because Anakin Skywalker died of septicaemia at Bray-Dunes on June fourth, 1940. At the last day of the evacuation, holding onto all the letters he got from his only sun, you. So he was never able to put things right with you, his dear y/n, because you were killed on the 5th of October, 1940 by the bomb that destrothe gas and water mains above Balham tube station.
So, you and Anakin were never able to have the time together you both so longed for, and deserved. And which, ever since, the first i love you slipped from your lips.
SUMMARY: Sanji was a hardcore pervert no surprise but to you it seems oddly..romantic.? So why is the he showing it to the wrong girl.?
WARNINGS: slight nsfw! ooc I think?
A/N: Got bored decided to write again because I felt the need too now time to take a week off after this one/j🩷!
“Nami, my dear, would you like me to prepare something sweet for you?” You and Nami were comfortably lounging on the boat, awaiting the others' return from their shopping trip. She let out a soft sigh before glancing at Sanji with a gentle smile. “No, thank you, Sanji,” she replied kindly. Nami settled back comfortably as Sanji eagerly disappeared into the kitchen, only to return with a delightful dessert for you. “For you, my beloved,” he declared warmly. Before you could express your gratitude, Sanji quickly took a seat beside Nami, showering her with sincere compliments, clearly eager to make her smile.
“Nami-swan, oh how our fates are intertwined, destined to be together forever~!” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with playful sincerity as he gently grasped her hand, pressing a tender kiss to her palm. He nestled himself beside her, his gaze filled with affection. Nami, clearly irked by his persistent antics, let out an exasperated sigh. With a soft yet firm push, she tilted his head away from her, trying to regain her personal space.
“Sanji, can you cut it out? I’m trying to relax, and you’re bothering me!” Nami replied, her tone exasperated. She pushed him lightly away from her seat, sinking deeper into the plush cushions as she sought solace in her solitude.
“Of course, my beloved! Anything for you~!” Sanji exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with unwavering devotion despite her dismissal. Watching them share that intimate moment, a pang of disappointment washed over you, wishing it were your hand he held instead. Yet, deep down, there was a flicker of warmth in knowing you experienced a part of his charm, even if it was from the sidelines.
As you finished your dessert, you rose with a sense of purpose to treat yourself. Just as you were about to step off the boat, you heard someone call out, “Wait for me, Y/N dear~!” Without needing to look, you knew who it was. “You don’t have to come with me, Sanji. Who will watch over Nami?” He glanced back with a warm smile before returning his gaze to you. “She’s more than capable; she’s a strong woman, my beloved~!” His words carried a dreamy reverence as he matched your stride. In that moment, inspiration sparked within you, and you resolved to speak your mind.
“Sanji... I really like you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, a nervous flutter filling your chest. A teasing smile played on your lips as you added, “And honestly, I don’t think I can stop liking you, even with how perverted you can be.” You averted your gaze, cheeks flushed, unsure of how he might react to such an admission. To your surprise, his expression softened instead of turning critical.
Gently, he took your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, almost hesitant kiss that sent a rush of warmth through you. “Y/N,” he murmured, a genuine smile lighting up his face, “I like you too, more than you know. I can’t express how happy it makes me to hear you say that.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart race, filling you with a bright, hopeful joy.
“Let’s go back my love~!
As time went on, your relationship with him blossomed, and you felt a sense of trust, believing that he had put his flirtation with Nami behind him. However, one night as you were preparing to head to bed where he was waiting, you heard some soft voices that caught your attention. Curiosity drew you closer, and you peeked around the corner, only to find Sanji leaning in towards Nami, his arm gently draped around her as he offered her something. “Here you go, beautiful. I hope this helps you, my beloved~!” In that moment, your heart felt heavy, as it seemed that old patterns were resurfacing, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of sadness wash over you.
He placed a soft kiss on her cheek
You stormed out of there before you could see anymore making your way off the ship to get some fresh air feeling heartbroken that he had shamelessly done that you made your way into town just to look around. When you made your way into a bar just to have a drink.
Sanji, ever the devoted boyfriend, was scouring the ship from bow to stern, his anxiety mounting with each empty corner he encountered. It was unlike you to wander off without a word, and his mind raced with possibilities. After a fruitless search, he decided to disembark, hoping to find you in town, where laughter and chatter drifted along the bustling streets.
As he navigated through the vibrant crowd, he called your name amidst the din, but you remained elusive. Eventually, he found himself standing before the entrance of a lively bar, the warmth and noise spilling out into the cool evening air. With a hint of hope, he pushed through the door, only to find you in the midst of an unfortunate situation.
There you were, seated at the bar, a rosy flush on your cheeks revealing the effects of too many drinks. A sleazy patron loomed over you, his words dripping with insincerity. “Come on, just come with me and I’ll make sure to take care of you, beautiful,” he sneered, inching closer, oblivious to your clear discomfort. You slurred a defiant response, lazily pushing him away, “No, I love my boyfriend Sanji~!” Your head swayed as you spoke, further emphasizing your state of inebriation.
Panic surged within Sanji as he witnessed the scene unfold. With determination, he strode over, an unyielding expression on his face. He seized the rude man's collar, shoving him away with a protective fury. “Back off!” he growled, his voice low and menacing.
Just as he reached for you, desperate to pull you into his comforting embrace, you slapped his hand away, defiance flickering in your eyes. “Don’t touch me! I’m mad at you~~!” Your words slurred together, and he was momentarily taken aback, confusion washing over his features. He couldn’t fathom why you were upset, but all he knew was that he had to get you out of this predicament.
He gently scooped you up in his arms, feeling the warmth of your body nestled against him as he walked back to the boat, aware of how intoxicated you were. “My love,” he murmured softly, glancing down at your slightly flushed cheeks, “what you said back there... why are you upset with me?”
You stirred slightly, as you sluggishly sat up from his arms “Yes, I’m mad at you!" you exclaimed, your voice laced with a mix of hurt and indignation. "You were flirting with Nami, and then you even kissed her cheek!”
In a surprising burst of energy, you sat up and, in an impulsive motion, slapped him on the arm, your eyes flashing with emotion. “Sanji, you cheating punk,” you declared defiantly before the exhaustion of the drinks suddenly caught up with you, causing you to slump back into a deep sleep.
He let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his silky blonde hair in exasperation. Shaking his head, he carefully laid you down on the bed, making sure you were comfortable before quietly slipping away to take a long, soothing shower and prepare for bed himself.
Once refreshed, he slipped under the covers beside you, feeling the faint rise and fall of your chest as you slept. He leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, his heart aching with regret. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers softly for a moment before allowing his eyes to flutter closed, feigning sleep as he hoped you'd forgive him for what had transpired.
The next morning arrived, and as you stirred awake, a dull ache throbbed in your head. You turned and noticed Sanji beside you, prompting a light scoff before you settled back down, hoping to ease the discomfort. He groaned softly before sitting up and rubbing his eyes, then turned to you and let out a gentle sigh. He leaned in and placed a tender kiss on your cheek, then brushed his lips along your neck, moving down gradually. Sanji turned you over carefully, showering your collarbone with affectionate kisses, his warmth comforting as he continued his gentle exploration, pausing to kiss around your chest with the utmost care and tenderness.
“Sanji, you… you asshole…” You sighed, feeling a rush of warmth as his lips began to trail softly across your torso, sending delightful shivers throughout your body. He lingered for a moment, finally finding his way to your clothed nipples, where he pressed gentle kisses that made your breath hitch. “Sanji… please…” you murmured, your fingers tangling in his silky hair, urging him on. You sank deeper into the plush comfort of the bed, your heart racing as you felt his cool fingertips glide playfully up your side, sending electric chills down your spine, inching ever so slowly towards your waist, lifting your shirt just enough to tease.
“I’m so sorry, my love. I hurt you deeply yesterday, and I can hardly bear the thought of facing you. The shame weighs heavy on my heart. Please allow me the chance to show you the love you deserve, the love I’ve neglected to give you.”
With a gentle touch, he pulls your shirt off, his lips trailing soft kisses along your neck, igniting the warmth between you. He continues his exploration, his kisses traveling adoringly across your body, each gentle press of his lips a silent promise to cherish you. When his lips finally find yours, it’s a lingering caress, filled with sincerity and longing.
He wraps his arms around you, drawing you close as he lays back, holding you tenderly against him. In that intimate moment, you can feel the pulse of his heart, a rhythm of love and regret, and you know you’re safe in his embrace.
“ HEY PERVERT WE ARE HUNGRY HURRY UP!!”
“YEAH SANJI HURRY IM STARVING”
SHUT UP HES BUSY RIGHT NOW”
Sanj softly laughed before wrapping the blankets around each other kissing your cheek. “They can wait for another hour or two.” He smiled as you both closed your eyes.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Kim Seokjin washes your hair…
Pairing ❤︎ Kim Seokjin x (f)reader
W/C ❤︎ 1,118
Tags ❤︎ Care; Soft; Intimate; Established Relationship; One Shot
A/N ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Idk, I quite like the thought of Jin doing this for me, so here’s this short attempt to write it… Sorry for the somewhat unimaginative title ~ I may change it if a better one comes to mind! As ever, please excuse any errors I may have overlooked.
*Merci à celui qui m'inspire sans cesse, sans vous je n'aurais rien pu faire de tout ça...
Seokjin likes to be needed. He needs it. And you need him. You hadn’t even known you’d needed him until you did.
Offering to wash your hair had been a nice surprise, and a smile plays about your lips as you feel yourself relax. Steam curls up around you in smoke that clings to the mirrors, enveloping you in a dreamy haze in the golden light of the bathroom.
You sit perched at the edge of the tub, hair damp and heavy at your shoulders, as Seokjin kneels behind you, guiding your head back over the basin.
“Is that okay?” he asks, voice tender and tentative, “−Are you comfortable?”
“Mm,” you murmur, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel the warmth of the water running over your hair like a tropical rainfall.
Gently, Seokjin’s fingers comb through the strands, his touch a careful harmony of caution and diligence, gentle tugs and soothing strokes, as you feel the heaviness melt from your body.
He reaches a hand across to lower the showerhead until you feel water cascading over your head and down as he massages your scalp. It’s heaven.
“You must trust me a lot,” he teases, thumb brushing away a spot of water that threatens to spill over your forehead, “Hair washing can be… intimate.”
You sigh contently. “Of course I trust you, Jin.”
“What if I do it wrong?” he continues, fingers dragging through the wet strands of your hair. “It could be a disaster.”
“I doubt it,” you reply with a grin. “If it does go that badly, then I guess I’ll have to shave it all off.”
“You’d still be the most beautiful woman in the world to me,” he declares confidently, without missing a beat, and the way he says it with casual ease makes it seem as though it were the single most indisputable fact in history.
Warmth blooms in your heart at the sincerity of his words. From your position, you can’t see Seokjin’s face, but you know every contour, every feature so well. You can picture the affection in his beautiful brown eyes as he works on you, and the sensual curve of his lips as he concentrates on every motion.
His touch on you is seductively slow, and tingling fingers of delight dance along your spine, and you allow yourself to surrender to his care. “You’re so good at this,” you breathe, your body sinking back, “−Why have I never had this before?”
Seokjin chuckles lightly, long fingers kneading lingering, luxurious circles at your temple. “I like taking care of you like this, baby,” he whispers, “−I want to do this for the rest of my life.”
This simple moment does feel intimate, the raw closeness spreading through your veins, much more powerfully than you had anticipated. It isn’t expensive gifts or elaborate dinners, but the simplicity of letting him handle something so vulnerable. It feels good.
You tilt your head into his hands, cheek rubbing against his palm like a cat. “Sounds good,” you hum lazily.
“Feels nice, huh?”
“Oh yeah,” you say, almost blushing by how much, “−Dangerously good.”
Carefully, Seokjin rinses your hair, his palm cradling the back of your head steadily and protectively, and you know you are safe in his hands.
“You need to rest more,” he tells you quietly, the words a mix of a gentle chide and concern, “Let me look after you more.”
The tenderness in his voice tightens your throat. Despite everything, how busy he was, how many responsibilities he had, Seokjin always made you feel so loved, so wanted and so cared about.
“You already do so much, Jin” you say softly, your eyes opening as you reach for one of his hands.
“Yes,” Seokjin replies, his tone firm, “Because you’re mine to take care of, baby.”
Your heart flutters as it always does with him and you close your eyes again as his hands continue to move. He adds shampoo into his palm, and the scent of sandalwood and vanilla fills the bathroom as he works it into a lather through your hair, massaging at your scalp and threading the creamy solution through the length.
Your lips part unintentionally in a low moan, the sensation too pleasurable to hold back, and you hear Seokjin give a small laugh. “That good?” he questions.
“You have no idea,” you tell him truthfully as you continue on in your pleasure haze, “I feel spoiled.”
He leans in, his mouth close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath on your skin. “Good,” he says in a voice that makes desire pool in your stomach, “I want to spoil you. You deserve it.”
Your skin tingles with that ache for him as the water gushes around you. You turn into him, face brushing the side of his arm. He doesn’t pull back and instead rinses the suds with extra care until your hair runs clean.
“You look like you could fall asleep like this,” he jokes.
“I might.”
“Almost done,” he informs you. “You want me to do your conditioner too?”
You smile. “Sure.”
Seokjin is only too happy to indulge you, and as he works conditioner into your hair, you feel absolutely cherished by him, his devotion apparent with every single stroke of his fingers that feels more like a message that transcends being conveyed with just words. You feel as fragile as a China doll under his touch, yet completely unbreakable, and you are overcome with emotion for him.
“Jin,” you whisper, not really sure what you want to say, knowing only that his name feels right on your lips.
“Yes, baby?”
“Nothing,” you say hesitantly. “Just thank you. For this.”
Seokjin is silent for a moment, before he bends closer to you, and you feel his lips brush against your damp forehead in a faint, tender kiss. “Nothing to thank me for,” he says, “−I want to do this forever for you.”
You know he means every word. He always does.
When he’s finished, he wraps a towel around your head, taking precaution not to squeeze too tightly. You feel his fingers resting lightly at your temples, and when you look at him, he’s watching you, his expression unguarded, allowing you to see every emotion that sweeps across his handsome face.
You smile shyly. “Nobody else could ever measure up to you,” you tell him. “You should come with a warning.”
He grins back at you, his eyes crinkling playfully. “I’m not exactly upset to hear that.”
You can’t resist laughing and he gathers you into his strong arms. His tone drops, tender and low. “Stay with me, baby,” he whispers longingly as he holds you tightly.
