#this will be a continuous story with each day acting as a chapter

[uconndallas]

Name: Whiteout

A/N: Hi guys! I took the last two days to finish this story. I decided to keep it a short story, and I will post chapter four and five today and those will be the final chapter of Whiteout. I just wanted to say im very thankful for everyone reading this series it means so much to me. I already have something planned for the next series AND one shot, so the wait wont be long! Again tysm for reading <3

Summary: Paige and Azzi have been roommates all their college years teammates on the court but worlds apart off it. When a surprise snowstorm traps them together on campus overnight, old tensions boil up, and buried feelings start to surface. As the campus shuts down and the night stretches on, the walls between them begin to crumble. But can they face what’s really been hiding beneath the surface before the morning comes?

Chapter Four: What Was Never Said

The storm had softened to a hush.

It was still out there, still folding the world in snow and silence, but the rage of it had passed. The windows no longer shook with each gust. The candlelight danced steadier now, as though even the flames could sense the shift in atmosphere.

Inside the dorm room, Paige and Azzi sat side by side on Paige’s bed, knees barely touching beneath the thick blanket that covered them both. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore it was full. Brimming with things they hadn’t said for too long. With a closeness they had both tiptoed around since sophomore year.

Azzi had one hand loosely draped in her lap, the other fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. Her eyes were focused on the flickering candle on the windowsill, but Paige knew she wasn’t really seeing it. She was somewhere else. Back in a memory. Paige could feel it in the way her shoulder leaned just slightly into hers.

“I keep thinking,” Paige said suddenly, voice quiet but deliberate, “about the last time we were like this.”

Azzi turned her head, a flicker of surprise passing over her face. She didn’t say anything, just watched her, lips slightly parted.

Paige swallowed. “It was that night, after the South Carolina game. We stayed up late. You brought that bottle of Gatorade you swore was magic.”

Azzi smiled, just a little. “It was. We won that game.”

“And then we…” Paige hesitated, but there was no turning back now. “We kissed. We didn’t talk about it. You slept in my bed, and we held each other all night. And the next morning, it was like it never happened.”

Azzi exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding that breath for two years.

“I didn’t know what to do,” she admitted. “You acted like it didn’t matter. Like you regretted it.”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“You were so distant,” Azzi said, more firmly now. “You got dressed without saying anything. You barely looked at me. And when I left the room… I waited for you to say something. Anything.”

“I thought you were the one pretending,” Paige said, stunned. “I thought I had messed everything up. That you didn’t feel the same and didn’t know how to let me down easy.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened. “So we both thought the other one didn’t care.”

Paige nodded slowly. “Yeah. And then everything got weird.”

“That’s one word for it,” Azzi said. “I started pulling away because I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I thought if I kept being normal if I just acted like nothing had happened, maybe we could still be friends.”

“You’ve always been better at pretending than me,” Paige murmured. “I thought you were over it. Over me.”

Azzi turned her whole body now, sitting cross-legged on the bed so she was facing Paige fully. Her face was illuminated by candlelight, soft and open and vulnerable in a way Paige hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I was never over you,” she said. “Not for a second.”

Paige looked at her, and for the first time in years, didn’t look away.

“I told myself it was just a phase,” Azzi continued. “That we were just close because of the team. Because we lived together. But that wasn’t true, and I think I always knew it.”

“So why didn’t you say anything?” Paige asked, her voice tight with something between hurt and disbelief. “If you knew?”

“Because I didn’t want to lose you.” Azzi’s voice cracked at the end. “And I thought saying it out loud would ruin everything. I figured if we could just keep going if I could be close to you, even just as a friend it was better than nothing.”

Paige felt her chest ache. “You thought nothing was safer than something real?”

Azzi nodded. “I was scared. And I figured you were fine without it.”

“I wasn’t.” Paige leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I spent two years convincing myself I didn’t care, but every time you walked into the room, it was like I forgot how to breathe.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

“I hated that sweatshirt,” Paige added quietly.

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“The one you used to wear all the time. The grey one with the stretched out collar. I loved it, because it was yours. But I hated seeing you in it after that night. Because it reminded me of how close we were… and how far away you felt after.”

Azzi was still, eyes locked on hers.

“I wore that sweatshirt because it smelled like you,” she said.

Paige looked down.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

“I didn’t want you to,” Azzi said. “I didn’t know how to be brave.”

“I wish I’d said something sooner.”

“I wish we both had.”

The words weren’t an accusation. Just the truth.

Paige reached out slowly, not touching Azzi yet just giving her the space to meet her halfway.

She did.

Their fingers brushed. Then held.

Paige looked down at their hands, thumb brushing Azzi’s knuckles. “So… where does that leave us?”

Azzi was quiet for a long moment. Then she whispered, “I don’t want to go back.”

Paige looked up. “You don’t?”

Azzi shook her head. “No. I don’t want to pretend we can undo what happened. Or try to be who we were before. Because we’re not those girls anymore.”

Paige’s lips curved slightly. “Then what do you want?”

Azzi’s gaze held hers. “Something new. Something honest.”

Paige nodded. “Okay.”

Azzi blinked. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Let’s try again. For real this time. No pretending. No walking on eggshells. Just… us.”

Azzi leaned into her, forehead resting against Paige’s. Their hands stayed laced, their breath slowing until they matched.

“I’m still scared,” Azzi murmured.

Paige smiled gently. “Me too. But I think we’re allowed to be scared. As long as we don’t run from it this time.”

Azzi nodded, eyes fluttering shut.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours. The storm had become background noise—just white noise now, soft and distant.

Eventually, Paige reached over to blow out the last candle.

But before she did, she turned back to Azzi.

“I never stopped loving you,” she said.

Azzi didn’t answer with words. Just leaned forward and kissed her—slow, steady, certain.

This time, there was no hesitation. No miscommunication. No looking away.

Just warmth. And breath. And all the things that had gone unsaid finally finding their way out.

When they pulled back, Azzi whispered, “You still feel like home.”

Paige smiled against her skin. “Good. Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

The candle flickered once. Then went out.

And for the first time in two years, they weren’t lost in the dark.

They had found their way back to each other.

[blametheeditor]

Day 1 | Mirth

Gt July Prompt List

Next

When stranded on an uncharted underwater planet, alone and surrounded by hostile lifeforms, there are only two possible outcomes: adapt and survive, or die trying.

Spoilers: For the game Subnautica

Content Warnings: Mentions of death and violence. Mentions of drowning and suffocation.

Introducing the Subnautica AU

____________________________

Fritz finds himself laughing uncontrollably. 

In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been as funny as it was to him. But once he started to laugh, there was no stopping it.

Even though he’s positive he’s the only survivor of the ship that crashed on an undocumented and hostile planet. No hope of being rescued as he fights for his life using technology that might as well be magic to him. Nothing but certain death lying in wait for him at every corner. 

But maybe that’s why he had such a visceral reaction. To something as simple as a fish getting stuck in the rock and exploding out of sheer frustration. 

He hadn’t even been confident on how he should’ve reacted. The teenager thought he was a respectful distance from the sulfur plant inside the tunnel he was just outside of to collect materials. Apparently this particular crashfish didn’t appreciate it and decided to come after him. Seemingly attempted to be stealthy and decided to squeeze through a narrow hole. A move that, if it worked, would’ve left Fritz dazed and bleeding. 

Fortunately for Fritz, it hadn’t worked. Ended up with the territorial fish firmly stuck, unable to swim forward or backward. Went completely still for a full minute as the confused teenager watched before exploding. 

Not because anyone or anything got close enough to trigger the reaction. No, purely out of frustration. Decided that would be the best course of action. 

Fritz had stared for a good minute. Felt a smile tug on his lips when he realized what happened. Couldn’t hold back a small giggle after it bubbled in his throat. Unable to stop as his laughter grew louder, stronger, to the point there were tears in his eyes as he desperately tries to gasp for air. 

"Me too,” Fritz wheezes as he clutches his stomach, his body in pain but unable to stop, part of him not wanting to. “Me too.” 

How ironic the fish that tends to cause him the most grief is the one that makes him laugh for the first time in days. Most likely this will be the only time he finds a reason to, but he’ll take it. Hope that he can be treated to such a sight again in the future. Give him something to look forward to amidst the daunting task of surviving without any promise he’ll ever be rescued.

The flashing from his HUD warning he’s about to run out of oxygen jerks Fritz out of his daze. Takes a long and slow breath as he quickly swims up to the water’s surface. Sends fearful glances below him as his air replenishes. 

The last of his mirth vanishes when his eyes catch a blurry but unmistakenly large figure swimming in the distance. The Aurora stretching into the sky as smoke continues to bellow from the once magnificent ship. The reminder just how insignificant he is on a planet completely submerged in water. 

...if a fish half his size valiantly protects its home despite clearly being outsized and outmatched, then Fritz can too. It’s about time he finally looked at everything the Lifepod can make.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

How to Start Writing Again When the Spark Fades

Sometimes the well of creativity runs dry, leaving you staring at a blank page with nothing but frustration. But trust that the art of writing is as much about the journey as it is about the destination. Here are some ideas to help you reconnect with your writing practice when you feel like your passion has dimmed.

Redefine Your Environment Consider taking a deliberate step outside your usual writing space. The environment in which you work can drastically affect your mindset and creative flow. Even if it’s setting up in a different corner of your home, finding refuge in a local café, or enjoying the subtle distractions of a park bench, a change in scenery often signals a mental reset. This isn’t about permanent relocation, just a simple shift can break the monotony and stir new ideas that have been hiding in plain sight.

Embrace Imperfection The pressure to produce perfect prose can be paralyzing. Give yourself permission to create something imperfect yet honest. Think of every sentence you write as a rough sketch, a necessary experiment in understanding your own voice. When you allow yourself the space to write without the weight of perfection, you invite experimentation and genuine self-expression. That freedom lies at the heart of rediscovering why you fell in love with writing in the first place.

Set Incremental Goals for Continuous Momentum When the idea of diving into a full chapter feels overwhelming, scale back to manageable, bite-sized projects that feel achievable. Instead of demanding a polished page, challenge yourself to write a paragraph or even a single sentence each day. These micro-goals build a foundation of small successes, gradually restoring confidence and momentum. Over time, these consistent efforts enrich your creative reservoir, proving that every little step is indeed a victory.

Engage Deeply in the Process of Freewriting Allow yourself to spill thoughts onto the page without judgment or expectation. Freewriting is an exercise in vulnerability and self-exploration, offering you a space to unburden tangled ideas and unexpected insights. In these unfiltered moments, you might stumble upon a germ of an idea or a rediscovered passion that rekindles your creative fire. Embracing this unstructured approach can transform an intimidating blank page into an open canvas of potential you haven't tapped back into.

Rekindle Old Inspirations There is power in revisiting the work and moments that first ignited your creative spirit. Even if it’s rereading an old journal entry, rediscovering a favorite piece of literature, or reflecting on the stories that once moved you, reconnecting with your past inspirations can shed new light on your present creative journey. This reflective practice not only reminds you of your original passion but may also reveal new directions for your current writing endeavors.

Create a Consistent, Loving Writing Routine Creating a structured yet gentle routine can help reestablish your relationship with writing. Treat your writing time as a vital appointment, a moment carved out just for you. Even if inspiration seems scarce, the simple act of sitting down, opening your notebook, and letting words flow without self-censorship can be incredibly healing. Over time, this practice transforms writing from an obligation into a ritual of self-discovery and mindfulness.

Connect with a Community That Understands Engaging with fellow writers can remind you that you’re not alone in this struggle. The shared experience of creative highs and lows can be profoundly comforting. Join writing groups, participate in online forums, or simply reach out to someone whose work inspires you. These interactions foster a sense of belonging and accountability, encouraging you to keep writing even when the path isn’t clear. In the gentle exchange of ideas and feedback, there is often a spark that reignites your dedication.

Every writer’s journey is unique, filled with ebbs and flows. If you’re feeling disconnected, know that these moments are integral to growth. Embrace each phase as an opportunity to rediscover writing on its own terms, and allow your passion to guide you back into the words you love. If you need any advice from me, never be afraid to send me an ask.

Until next time, Rin T.

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven

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A/N: I think I went too hard on this, but I also feel like it wasn't enough. I really wanted to play around with dialogue more. I was going to have the Bats hit Smalltown in this, but I think it would be best if the confrontation(s) had it's own chapter. Let me know what y'all think!

A/N: This is my longest writing yet. Just a heads up. Hope that's all good!

Warnings: Yandere themes, alluded murder, platonic bed sharing, OC usage.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

The way the raindrops on the windshield seemed to chase each other didn't even registered to you as your heart continues to palpitate in your chest. Your hands shaking on the steering wheel as the numbers on the mile markers continued to change, and they weren't growing any steadier with each passing one. The way the excitement to gyrated inside your chest as the old truck continued on the patch-work road made you feel lightheaded. Not in a bad way, but in a way you could get addicted to.

It didn't stop the nausea curdling in your stomach, but you chalk that up to this being your first true act of rebellion. Even if you felt it was justified. It wasn't like they were going to chase after you, though. They had made their priorities clear. Clear as Gotham's smog filled skies. You weren't going to allow yourself to waste away in that manor filled with more secrets than people when there was a life outside of it that you had once been a part of.

It wasn't until you were certain a full day had past that the storm had finally dissipated, both over Gotham and over your mind. The trepidation in your belly at long last fading into a sense serenity. Even if it was only a fleeting thing. Water rarely stays still for long when the storm comes.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Back in Gotham the family had finally dragged their bone-weary selves back to the cave. Some collapsing in the nearest got. Some dragging themselves upstairs for their comfort of their bed. But, surprisingly, it's Damian that drags himself to your room. The past two days had worn him down and he just wanted his sibling, even if it meant disturbing them. Even if they were mad at him.

It doesn't register to him that your bed is empty. That some of your things are missing. He crawls under the covers and curls into the pillow like a temperamental cat. Resting his eyes temporarily he says. You're his sibling, you shouldn't mind. (He had heard you laughing on the phone about how your other little brother used to do this on occasion. He wants to know what that’s like)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

As everyone rest their heads back home, unaware that the worse was yet to come even after the lighting had passed, you start to turn down familiar roads. Roads you had memorized every bump of once. The roads that lead you towards a home you had missed and things you used to know.

There's a few new bumps and pot holes that you don't recognize, but you're too excited to see them as the warnings they were.

As you pull into the driveway of Nana and Grand Daddy's house, you can see Nana standing outside. Waving for you in front of the two-story bedroom house Daddy had designed and built for them years ago. The place was well cared for despite the creaky steps on the front porch that you had spent many hot summers on. Blowing snow across the yard to keep cool.

When you finally park the truck and hop out Nana's already rushing towards you with surprising speed for her old age. Already your arms are opening for her when she suddenly scoops you up and locks you in an tight embrace.

"I missed you." You mumble into her shoulder. Trying to fight back a few tears as the scent of her bitter perfume fills your nose.

"I missed you more. We all missed you more, sugarplum." You hear the gravel in her voice as she gives you one last squeeze. Holding you so tight that for a moment you feel you can't breath. But, before you need to gasp for air, she pulls back slightly. Her aged brown eyes looking you over appraisingly. "You sure ya' don't wanna rest up a bit? You look thin, sweetpea."

A soft noise escapes your lips in a puff.

"I'm sure. Still too wired from the drive." You reply as you wipe those few stray tears that somehow trickled down your cheeks. Your best efforts to keep them contained failing.

Everything around you feels different. It's home, but there's something about it that is different. The smells are the same, the sights are the same, even the sounds are the same. But, you chalk it up to the way the Gotham air still clings to your skin and the silence of the manor that has left your ears sensitive to the slightest shifts in change.

"I… I kinda feel bad about leaving how I did." Comes your immediate confession as she continues to hold you like you're made of soft gold.

Even if it seemed unnecessary to say, it felt nice just to blurt out how you were feeling to someone who actually listened. Besides, Nana had always made you tell her what was bothering you if there ever was something. It was a habit to tell her things by now.

"Leaving Gotham, I mean…. running away in the night without warning, Nana."

"Nonsense, baby." Already she's brushing your cheek and trying to soothe the worry and fear. Holding your face between her hands so all you can focus on is her.

"You ain't done not a thing wrong. They was being unreasonable. Besides, you can just call them later and tell them your alright." For a moment, you feel like she's lecturing you. Like she used to when you where little. About being safe and staying near her at all times when you went out into town with her. But, now you're grown and she still does it.

"Are you sure, Nana? Because I know You, and Momma, and Daddy used to get on to me about asking permission before doin' things-"

"Ah-ah," She irrupts your before you could finish, "This is one of those incidents where it's better to ask for forgiveness, I promise. Besides, I know you asked first. Not your fault they was being unreasonable. Not your fault at all, baby." Nana's voice going from stern to a soft coo as she starts to lead the way into the old house.

You take a breath of the place, smelling the seasonal candles that you usually had lit this time of year. Noting the slight changes in decor. Projects that Nana probably had Grand Daddy completing while you were gone. There's even more pictures on the walls. Some more of Momma and Daddy, and even more of you. Nana had even printed out the ones you had sent her on your phone while you where in Gotham.

It was nice she missed you so much that she made you the center piece of the picture gallery, but still it felt odd. You had been hoping to see more pictures of your brother, Jean Luke. To actually see what memories he had made without you. But, you don't comment. You just head towards the kitchen. Sitting in your usual spot at the counter to continue talking with her.

You can smell her cooking. Nana really wasn't the best cook, but she went all out making a few of your favorite dishes with as much effort as she could muster out of her bones.

"So, how's Lukie been doing?" You mean to start conversationally, but your tone drifts to sounding more concern when the reminder about the lack of pictures on the wall crosses your mind and the thought that maybe he actually hasn't been coping well since you’ve been gone pops into your head as well. "I know what he tells me. That he's doin' fine when we’re on the phone, but how is he actually doing, Nana?"

"He's doing better." She replies while checking the oven, a slight sigh in her voice. She caught your tone of concern. "Still misses your Momma and Daddy. Bless. But, he's doing better. He'll probably feel ever better now that your back." She gives you a grin before sliding you a cutting board and a knife.

Already you fall into step, peeling and chopping the things she hand you.

"I'm not actually back, back." You mention, biting your lip when you catch her freeze.

"What you mean, baby?" Her soft voice doesn't match her tense shoulders. The lines on her face growing taunt.

"Well, it's just I kinda feel bad about how I left things with Bruce and 'em. And, I still gotta finish high school." You start to explain. It is true. You had a whole day to try to think about your actions. Getting out of Gotham had helped you process your feelings about the place. You still didn't like Gotham, but you'd been told all your life that family was important. You just didn't know that the family that had told you that wanted you to put them before all others.

"Oh, baby, you won't be needing none of that. Besides this is where you belong. We need you here. Them city folks just don't understand you, baby." You're about to protest when she continues on just before your lips could part to speak.

"Besides, Tanner's really been missin' you. He about turned himself into a frog when Mae showed him a picture of you in that pretty little outfit she made for ya’. The boy about croaked." Nana gives you that meddlesome look you knew to well. The one she gave you when she spoke about her church friend's grandson's. The one that always made you bush.

It was a clever distraction, and not at all a lie. Nana had watched Tanner turn green with envy at the sight of you in that dress and with your date. And, he about sang when he heard about your date's death right after. The town all had to forcefully stop him from driving back to Gotham to just to comfort you.

"Nana, you're being silly again. He don't like me like that." You brush off the flush with practiced easy, giving her a stern look of your own.

"Things change, baby. You're grown now. Everything's gonna be different, but just the same." She muttered that last part so low you could hardly hear it. Just as your about to question that statement, she changes topic once more.

"Now, you wanna stay we me and your Grand Daddy tonight?" The question stunning you for a second. You hadn't even thought about where you were going to stay when you started your way back here. But, the longing creeps back into your chest once more.

"Actually, I want to stay at the old house. I- I miss my own bed." You once again find yourself confessing, though it goes much deeper than that. Nana likes it when you let her see even surface level things, usually she's able to draw the proper conclusions from them. However, this time Nana tenses for the briefest moment, but then relaxes almost instantly after. You nearly miss it.

"Of course, baby. Of course. Take Lukie with you. It'd do him some good and I'd hate for you to be alone all up in there. The loneliness might get to ya." She seemed to place a bit too much emphasis on bringing your brother with you. But, you weren't going to complain.

After all, "It already got to me, Nana. It already got to me." You whisper to yourself before letting Nana regale you with all the latest town gossip.

It's not long until you're making plans to help set up for your brother's and by extension your own birthday tomorrow. Happily chatting away until Grand Daddy and Jean-Luke walk in the door.

Instantly, receiving a soft kiss on the forehead from Grand Daddy along with a tight grip on your shoulders and a firm, "Missed you, sugarplum." Before he slowly lets you free to help Nana and quite speaking to her.

You turn to your brother, little Jean-Luc, and reach for him with the swiftness of a breeze. He seems to hesitate before returning your hug with an almost intense ferocity that strangely makes you think of your last hug with Dick. Like he doesn't want to let go. Like he's almost scared to let go.

You let him hold you a good long while, standing there in the kitchen. It should feel like a relief to hold him again. Yet, you have the sudden urge to carry him away. Something that makes the winds inside your chest tell you to flee. You mange to swallow it down, but not the tears. Those freely pour down your cheeks as you both whisper about how much you missed each other back and forth. You notice how oddly quite he is. It's easy to blame that on the grief you both still feel, but it's different.

Sitting at the table and enjoying the meal feels different. Everything is different. Including the way Jean-Luke grips your hand when you tell him your going to stay at the old house and how he can come if he wants.

You almost want to laugh at how fast he leaps into the front seat of the truck. The grin on his face the most genuine you've seen since you got here.

Driving up to the old house made you ache. A deep ache that you felt from you chest to your palms. The dirty from the buried grief you felt being disturbed. As you glanced at your little brother’s face, the one that looked so much like Momma’s, you could tell he felt it too. Which bothers you because he shouldn’t have had to bury his grief like you did yours.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Back at the manor, in the short time it had been since Damian rested his head on your pillow. He noticed it was too still. You were always moving in the manor. Always breezing through the halls. Yet now things had gone still. Not just in your room, but through out the manor.

His green eyes had opened, and sharpened. You should be here resting with him. Where were you? He hadn't bothered to keep track of your belongings before, but some things felt out of place. After a brief scan of the room, he made his way towards the cave. His senses on high alert for you. Straining to overhear your usual chattering on the phone or your pattering feet on the carpeted halls.

But, there was nothing. Most everyone was asleep or dozing and the stillness bothered him. The cooling realization filled him with each step as he walked down into the cave.

Sitting at the computer, Bruce goes over the footage of the previous nights. The storm was suspicious, and the churning in his gut and the way his hair stood on end didn’t help those suspicions. But, when Damian had entered the cave, those suspicions went from whispers to screams.

"Damian, get everyone to the cave. Now."

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"Missing? What the hell do you mean missing?" Dick was the first to respond to the news, standing at attention and livid despite having recently been woken up by an anxious Damian. Well, as anxious as Damian would physically allow himself to be in front of anyone.

"Damian brought it to my attention and the truck is gone from the garage." Bruce replied. Normally, this would sound like his usual paranoia flaring, but no one questioned him this time. Just the grim look on his face and the way his shoulder's tensed let everyone know that this was a completely serious matter.

Exhaustion immediately melting form everyone as the mission suddenly shifted.

"Barbara, pull up the manor security cameras from the night first night of the storm."

She speedily rolled her chair over to the computer and started pulling up the footage. It was only because she had years to develop her self control that her fingers didn't shake as she typed on the keys.

I should have been watching them. I should have checked on them.

The footage begins to show the exact moment that their sweet sibling left their room with a large bag of their shoulder and a excited grin on their face.

Why are you smiling like that? Why are are you happy to be leaving them? Why are you leaving? Why are you leaving?

A million thoughts flash through each of their heads. All filled with variations of despair and worry. Those are quickly amplified when the camera video finally goes out due to the multiple lighting strikes that hit the manor and the generators.

"They left right when the manor's and cave's generator were hit." Tim jumps in into detective mode right away, not wanting to linger on the disparaging thoughts in his head. And, the budding anger in his chest for allowing this to happen. And, for you leaving them. Him.

"Why are their eyes glowing?" Duke points out, coming out of his head finally when his eyes catch the flicker of a glow on the screen. It was a blessing that the cameras were so state of the art.

"What?" That snaps everyone else out of their heads. All of them moving behind Barbara to see what he's talking about.

"Their eyes," He bends forward of the keys, lightly pressing his finger to where you face is on the high definition screen. "They're glowing."

"Babs…" Dick murmurs into her left ear, his eye's never leaving your frozen smiling face.

"On it." She nearly hisses right back. Fingers actually shaking this time as she zooms into your face and changes a few setting of the camera to see the light waves that were captured.

And, right there on the screen, was the hint illumination in those large eyes of yours.

"Holy shit, you're right." Stephanie is the first to speak. Stumbling back as she starts running a million different scenarios through her head. The other's following. Some still sitting enraged or worried about what this might possibly mean.

Possible hypothesises start being blurted out.

Mind Control?

Hypnosis?

Magic?

God, I hope not.

Aliens?

Even worse than the magic.

"Maybe someone from that town manipulated them?" Cassandra suddenly suggests, having silently watched the footage of you play over and over again. You looked excited, genuinely excited, and it broke her heart that you did. But, there was a part of her that was still hopeful. That maybe you left because you didn't know any better. Didn't realize how much they adored you. They'll fix that. They fix that as soon as they get you back.

"Was anything tampered with when that asshole dropped off the truck?" Jason grumbles while rubbing the bridge of his nose. Of course he is livid. You fucking left. Sure, he liked putting the fear of God into you and could even tell you were unhappy at times, but you're an idiot if you think it's safe out there. And, you need to come home. Fuck, he'll even apologize and make up for scaring you. Please, just come back.

"No." Tim knows this because he made sure to check. Bruce may not have wanted to touch the truck and forbid them from messing with it. But, that didn't stop Tim from snooping on you at the very least. He just wanted to pretend he was in your fondest memories. Only until he could help you make newer better ones.

"Maybe a drug? Some chemical compound?" Duke eventually suggest, praying it isn't so.

"We could run a test? Just to check." Already Barbara begins pulling up the programs necessary, while Tim sets up the lab equipment. Dick is already running up to your room to grab any strand of hair he can find that might have been left behind. And, maybe checking to see if they were all wrong and you really didn't leave them. Him.

"Run them all."

That draws everyone's attention back to Bruce. The man had been standing stoically in silence. Brooding in silence as his thoughts overwhelmed him.

You left him. You left because of him. This wasn't some disagreement on how he did things as Batman. This wasn't because you were trying to get back at him. You left him willing because of what he had done as your father. No one has ever willing left him like this before. Not his children. Not his parents. Not anyone he has ever allowed himself to actually care for. It makes him mad, but more than anything it makes him want to collapse in on himself. He won't. Obviously. But, he's going to bring you back home. He's going to fix his mistake while he has the chance and you will give him that chance.

"Bruce… That includes a DNA test."

"I said all of them."

"What?" It's Damian who finally speaks up. For the first time since he alerted the other's of your disappearance. "Why would you do that? It's unnecessary."

It's a betrayal, he thinks. Not on your part. You may be too soft and too kind and too fragile and too simple minded. But, he knows you’re his. He may have gotten over his obsession with the blood in his veins, but the blood in yours connects you to him in a way none of his other siblings can have. He doesn't even think to question it. Doesn't want to. And, for a moment, he feels utter betrayed by his sire for thinking to doubt it.

"Damian."

"NO. It is unnecessary." He doesn't glare, but the anger is plain on his face. How dare father question?

Regardless of what Damian wants, Bruce nods to Barbara and Tim when a downtrodden Dick reenters the cave with a hairbrush in hand. You really were gone.

"Do it."

"Father-"

"Damian. They are our family, regardless of the results."

Bruce will love you regardless. He did a DNA test all those years ago. He knows your his, but he needs to make sure your still his. That something didn't change you or take you from him.

For Damian it's a tense minute. He knows you'll be family. No matter the results. But, he wants to share something with you that only an exclusive few people on this Earth or in this life ever will.

"Fine."

After that, it's silence for the next forty-three minutes. The programs running on the BatComputer dinging softly as each one is completed. Barbara's fingers rub together as she watches each one.

Tim doesn't bother looking, too anxious to sit around and wait. Already, he is on a spare computer looking into God knows what. Whatever it is, the rest of them can tell it's about you. Just by seeing the way his pupils are blown wide and darting about his screen.

Dick stands tense. Normally he would move about. Pace or do something. But, it seems wrong right now. The discomfort in the stillness is nothing compared to his current distress at knowing you're gone.

Stephanie debates internally on ripping the spare computer away from Tim. Wanting to see what he's found on you. Wondering if he knows if you're alright or not. Wondering if he's just watching looped footage of you and not sharing.

Duke is thinking. Really, he's contemplating what's happening. This is going to spiral into something. He feels it. He might not be the most experienced or most trained, but he knows something is changing. And, for once, he's not scared of the idea. Mostly because he knows by the end of this you will be back home. They won't allow you to stay lost.

"DNA test shows their a match to you, Bruce. And, we compared them to your old test of them too. Still a match."

Damian nearly beams, but manages to hide his relief under a smug smile.

"I told you, father."

"I didn't doubt." And, it is true. He never doubted you were his. But, he is still searching for an explanation.

"No drugs. No anything in their system that would register, but-" Barbara stops when she notices the screen. The anomaly on it. The one test that triggered. A question being possibly answered from the result and a million more arising if true.

"Oh."

"What is it?" Jason breaks the silence that's once again gone over everyone. The sense of unease bubbling through them all.

"I ran their DNA through all the usual test, and there was one single positive one."

"Which one?"

"Meta gene. And…"

Oh.

"It's active."

"Son of a bitch."

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

As your brother and you start getting settled in for the night in the old house, airing out the stale air, pretending the dusting isn't there, you wonder around a bit. Similar to how you would back at the manor. Only this time there's no historical paintings on the wall. Just pictures of your own history laid out before you.

You'd never been more grateful for all the photos taken by you mother. All the times she would chase you down with a brush or comb in hand yelling at you, "You need to make sure you have nice hair for the picture. Or, the one's with terrible hair will be the one's that forever."

"But, what if I want them to last forever?" Your voice had been young and cheeky then.

"What if I just want them to last a little bit longer?" Now that voice was older and much more solemn.

Quickly, you shake the thought from your head. Setting your bag back in your old room for the night. A quick glance at the old space shows that someone's been in it recently. Probably your old friend Mae, judging by the amount of clothes spilling from your closet and dresser. She was always stuffing things in here for you. It makes you smile fondly to know that she missed you despite your phone calls early every day.

As you walk back down the hall, you find Jean-Luc standing outside your parent's old room.

"You wanna come with me to see them?"

"Yeah." The word soft, full of unshed grief as you both walk out to the back. There's an old live oak with Spanish moss out there, and two dead people that were loved and buried underneath it.

"Daddy always liked it when you made it rain when it was sunny out." Lukie whispers, recalling all the times you won the water-gun fights.

You remember the summer showers. The snowy Christmases. The way you used to blow the pollen away. The hurricanes you tamed. The tornadoes you saved the town from . The memories make causing the rain difficult. But, when you walk through the slightly overgrown grass towards the two stones the tears fall easy while the rain falls hard.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

"I pulled up all the weather patterns for that region and the theory is starting to look more factual by the second." Tim's already taken the helm, old weather radar scans on the screen. Files on Smalltown and it's people pulled up for display.

And, an entire screen dedicated to you. You. You. YoU. yOU. YOU? YOU

"So, it's confirmed they caused the storm. But, why?" It's Stephanie that asks while pacing back and forth next to the all of gear. Her worry and disbelief illuminated by the display lights.

"Princess was probably pissed." Jason says while cleaning his guns. The parts neatly laid out on the table while he shines and greases each piece. Twice. Thrice. Over and Over.

"But, why?" Dick is finally in motion, tapping his foot as impatiently. He knows they need all the information and a plan before they can get you back. But, the wait is straining him.

Barbara gives him a single look in reply. One that they've all shared often enough to know the meaning of.

"They hid it pretty well." Duke mushes. Strangely enough he's happy with this information. Everyone else in this family is technically a normal person, just with maxed out skill stats and trauma. Now, you two can both be normal childhood bros and meta buddies together.

"Cass, did you suspect anything?"

"I didn't ask." Which translates to, she knew, but didn't want to say anything that would drive you away. Seems kind of pointless now that you're gone, though.

The bitter silence reigns once more, before Tim speaks up.

"Incoming. The Asshole is getting a call from Nana." A few clicks and they're listening to the sound of your old childhood crush and your dearest Nana speak. The topic? You.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

That night you curled up with Jean-Luc in your parents old bed. Like you both used to when nightmares made cowards. You had to dig the old bedding out of the storage. The scent of the detergent Momma used to use faint on them. But, the two of you burrowed underneath the duvet like you were trying to hide from the world.

"How you feelin'?" You whisper to him, the room only illuminated by the stars in the window and the faint bathroom light.

"It's weird without Momma and Daddy. Everythin' is weird now and scary." He mutters in reply. He practically plants himself into your side.

"I know. I feel that way about it too."

"No, I mean… here. In town it's weird. Eveybody be actin' weird since you left." There's something in the way his voice shakes that makes you think he's not making this up

"What do you mean about everyone actin' weird, hun? I thought you were spendin' time with everyone. Nana said you were hanging out with Mae and Tanner. I know Mae is odd, but-"

"Nana's being weird too. And, Grand Daddy. She don't let me do nothin' fun at all these days. Says everything's to dangerous, and if somethin' happened to me you'd be upset." The child interrupts, sounding remarkably like his age with his complaints. But the low sound of his voice sounds less like mutterings and more like a cautious whisper.

"Well, that's cause Nana loves you. She don't want nothin' to happen to you, baby." You try to reassure him, as you've always done.

"But, she's always going on and on about you. She's almost as bad as Tanner." The way he says that name makes you pause. Tanner's been mention quiet a lot since you've been back. And, you've only been back for a couple of hours.

"Tanner's gone on about me?" You try to sound bashful, try to sound like its a compliment. But, the blush doesn't come.

"Yeah." Lukie practically roots himself into your chest where your heart is beginning to pound. "Always going on about you and the future and ranting about Gotham. He… he's kinda scary. I saw him and Grand Daddy a few months ago dragging something into the swamp. It looked… it looked about as long as a gator, but it wasn't a gator. It had clothes on."

"Baby, what do you think it was?" You somehow keep your voice steady as your arms wrap around him. Clinging to him and shielding him.

"I don't think I wanna remember. I just want everything to go back to normal."

After that, you let the wind outside the house howl. The way it blows through the trees with your fear keeps you up. Eventually you force the rain once again. Trying to lull Lukie-boy and yourself to sleep. For a brief moment, a flicker of a thought before you drift off into an uneasy slumber you think...

Should I have stayed?

And, your not certain if your talking about here or Gotham.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I'd say there's about two more parts of this left, then we'll be really focusing on Pregnant!Reader for a bit. Got a blurb list in the works for it and a few ideas. And, I really really really need to clean out my ask box. Oops.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Taglist

@starsdotalk @sleepyghoster @maicenitas @box-of-kinderjoy @yandereheros @skwunkler @cl0esblogg @delias-stuff @rosecentury @lilyalone @addie-r-u-ok @space1crow @imaginarydreams @dhanyasri @rosalietodd013 @rissareader @rando2509 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @interobanginyourmom @heyitsaloy @myanyan-me @animegoddess15 @resident-cryptid @schaarfyx @skwunkler @erikasurfer @enchantingarcadecreation @redkarmakai i @be3b0o @couldeatthatgirlforlunch @ratchetprime211 @labryel l @kawaii-cakes @linaisadream @vanessa-boo @m0063576 @oooof-ifellforyou @minkyungseokie @theseustimes @the-ruler-of-death @blueberry19000 @ghostdoodlen @victxria024 @nebulousmoon3990 @bad4amficideas

[woniehugs]

OPERATION: FUCK SIM JAEYUN.

—✧ summary: as a student, you were a huge academic overachiever, always wanting to excel in class and get the highest grades. as a teenage girl, you wanted to get some hardcore action. academics were stressful, and you needed an outlet for that stress. besides, it’s your second to the last year in high school. what could possible go wrong if you deviated and have a little fun? you’ve had your eyes on one guy for a while now, sim jaeyun. the handsome guy, the star soccer player, good at physics. now, you now had another goal aside from finishing the school year as the top student: fuck sim jaeyun. one day, you get partnered together for a project, and one thing led to another, you end up in his bed. this might just turn your life for the better… or the worst.

—✧ pairing: jake sim x y/n

—✧ genre: highschool! au, fluff, pining (mutual? you’ll see), friends with benefits, casual relationship, smut (in later parts)

—✧ a/n: i’ve been thinking about this plot for soooo long now and i really want to write it so here i am haha. this story will be split into two parts (you’ll understand why soon) each part with a vague number of chapters for now. depends on my mood, i’ll be writing and posting the chapters whenever since i’m pretty busy. but i promise, i will finish writing this because this is the plot i’ve been both daydreaming and sleeping to at night. this’ll be my outlet for my stress from academics ;)

—✧ taglist: @youreverydayzebra @witheeseung @w3bqrl @renjuns-grillfreind (cant be tagged) @freakywonbin , @enhafika , @enhacolor, @woniebuns, @cyberstephzz, @sumzysworld, @woniefull, @aanniikkaa, @faithnsstuff, @wonnienyang, @wonlluvie, @slut4hee, @hwaluvrsblog, @jakeswifez, @jiryunie, @nikibleist , @friurt, @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate, @jakesimfromstatefarm, @lolddhfsdcvff-blog (cant be tagged), @my10monthslovesimjae, @heefever, @milanco, @khaisdrz, @cha-raena, @khaisdrz , @milanco , @bananna-12 (cant tag), @ilovejakesimsm (cant tag), @enhypenlovre, @simjaeyunswifee, @shawnyle, @hoonieluv, @niniissus, @bookloversomuch . send an ask or comment if you want to be added!

SHORT PREVIEW:

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

you pull away from jake, panting, trying to catch your breath. you hear him breathing in the same pace as yours, and your brain short-circuits for a moment. you couldn’t believe what the hell just happened.

who the fuck leaned in first?

was it me? him?

and why did i enjoy it so much?

“s-shit, i…” you try to say, clearing your throat. you weren’t so sure what to say after that. wow? you’re an amazing kisser. we should do this more often! oh no you would sound insane. but then again, you were never even sane in the first place.

jake continues to stare at you, still trying to catch his breath. he looks at the unfinished project beside you, biting his bottom lip to keep himself from smiling. you notice this, raising an eyebrow, “what are you smiling about? is this funny to you? we just—“

“yes. we just made out. in my bed.” he cuts you off, looking you in the eye once again. you wanted to look away, growing shy under his gaze, but you find yourself not doing so. “didn’t think you were capable of that. always thought you were the saving yourself after marriage type of girl.”

your eyes widen in surprise, pushing him off. “e-excuse me! you act like you just fucked me in your mattress, which you didn’t, and we won’t ever do!” partially a lie. now that he mentioned it, you couldn’t stop thinking about that scenario now after that incredible almost experience. “and besides, i am that type of girl. i have huge respect for myself.”

jake smiled even wider at your response, “right. i’m not saying you don’t. but i gotta say, i wouldn’t mind doing that again.”

did you hear that correctly? did he just say he wouldn’t mind doing that again?!

well, to be fair, you honestly wouldn’t mind either.

you shake your head, “oh, shove off! let’s pretend that never happened. keep that between us.” you point a finger towards him, “say a word to anyone else and i will cut your balls off. that isn’t a threat, it’s a promise.”

“oh y/n, i know better than to disobey you.” jake replied, holding your hand in his and pressing a kiss to the finger you pointed at him. you could see the mischievous glint in his eye and you wanted nothing more than to slap (kiss, no, scratch that) smirk off his face, but that would mean you were in the losing round in a game that was never played in the first place.

not yet at least. oh god, what the hell were you thinking?

you gulp quietly, nodding at him, and quickly turned to the project in front of you. “right. we’re finished with our short break, l-let’s continue working. we’re not nearly done with this.” great. distract yourselves from what happened. that’s a good idea. put it all behind you and him.

you couldn’t exactly look him in the eye when saying that, so you could probably guess all that jake heard from you was blah blah blah. fortunately for you, jake hummed beside you and continued to work, acting completely oblivious (or so you’d like to assume) to what you were feeling right now.

once you went home, you were going to spend the whole night thinking about this. not just about what happened, but what jake responded to your embarrassing outburst.

“right. i’m not saying you don’t. but i gotta say, i wouldn’t mind doing that again.”

now why on earth would he say that to you?

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

chapter list! (tentative)

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

©2024 ©woniehugs

[sourco0kie]

Self Awareness AU - Prologue

You huffed as you placed your controller, playing this game each day has gotten boring, Especially when there’s no to little update to the game. When it does updates it’s only bugs fixes or some features getting removed.

With a disappointed sigh, you closed steam and opened google to watch youtube. You searched the general if there’s any interesting video that would catch your attention. One for your favorite youtuber catches your interest and instantly you click on it.

You groan in displeasure as an ad starts playing, with no other choice you decide to wait for the five seconds for the skip ad button. The ad starts playing and.. It instantly catches your attention. The quality of the game and the voice acting intrigued you. Especially this one character with an ice cream cone for a hat having that magical girl transformation.

You went on deep research about the game, seeing what it will bring to the table. You watch a few videos about the story and it’s interesting enough and well written. You were so hyped when you found out the game is available on PC you went and download it, so you won’t force your phone to die more for the game.

You instantly download it, and once installed you open the app for another download. Typical. You happily waited for it and were super hyped about the intro animation. You played on, already loving the characters, oh how you favor Gingerbrave!

You played everyday, not missing a single day! Heck you even began trying to draw in the unique artstyle, even as you never draw in your entire life. Each time you gacha, you prayed on getting either an ancient or a beast. And either would be good for your team. As of current you favor Strawberry Crepe Cookie for their amazing defense and skill.

On a particular day as you log in, everything feels.. Different. The front loading screen felt odd. You brush it off and log in the game, doing your missions and creating stuff you need for the laboratory research. One of the cookies, Affogato Cookie, has a speech bubble. You clicked on it expecting the usual repeating dialogue but this time it’s different. “My, My you look quite lovely.”

Ok. A bit creepy but okay.. Maybe that’s just a new dialogue the game added? But there’s no small update requirement from the game, odd. You paid no mind to it as it’s a regular occurrence. Sometimes the cookies would have a self awareness dialogue.

You continued on playing the game with no more weird occurrences, just the normal game. You speed run through the cryspia story already passing the hollyberry kingdom. You kept on losing in the dark choco chapter so you decide to just gather up your power first before continuing.

The sound of your alarm snapped you out of your game run. Glancing at the time you realized it’s already time for one of your online classes. You closed the game, going to your kingdom one last time just to be met by Gingerbrave saying; “Pure Vanilla Cookie would love to know how radiant you are!”

You paused, staring at the screen with a shiver under your skin. You brush it off and log out the game to open your class in session group. For 30 minutes you listen to the professor explain about today’s lesson. Suddenly the sound of your phone notification caught your attention, you were about to pick up before it started to shake.

You gasped, watching as a blue hand reached out from your phone. “What-”

“TA-DA! The star of the show has arrived!~”

The hand clenched the edge of the table, using it to leverage the infamous of a Diva jester pulled himself out. “Wooow.. quite a lovely place of living you got here, need a little more blue for color though. But you won't be needing to change things since you're coming with me.”

You stare with your mouth gape open. Meeting with a powerful jester was NOT on your list today.

“What? Cat got your tongue? Ooh don’t be afraid dear, I don’t bite, unless..”

“NOPE-” You grabbed the nearest item which was your notebook and threw it at him, he barely dodged it. He frowned before smirking again as he tilted his head with his hands clasped together, placing his cheek against the back of his hand.

“Adorable attempt, dear. But you gotta do more than tha-”

A pen smacked square on his face, He stares at you, unphased “That..” he continued. “Your humble knight has arrived to bring you home!~”

“Home!?” The jester laughed, “don't fret, I don't bite.. too hard!” He grabbed your shirt and yanked you towards your phone.

Everything was.. black, no light as you stared at the abyss before a sudden flash of colors blinded you. The birds chirp to one another as they fly above you. The light from the sun blinded your vision a bit before you adjusted. You glance around, noticing your surroundings.. are odd.

Everything smells so sweet. Too sweet for your liking.

The sounds of leaves rustling snapped you out of your daze, your attention instantly went towards the bushes. Looking around, spotting one that's moving.

Stepping a bit back away from the bushes you stayed quite, not daring to make noise and startled the.. whatever it was in the bush and attacked you. Carefully you picked up a nearby stick as a weapon, if it would do anything.

Something pounces out the bushes scaring you as you leap back and fall on your back. It barks as it approaches you and sniffs the air. You opened your eyes seeing it was just a cake hound.

Wait.. Cake hound!?

[writing-flower]

“ Between life and death

death is tempting ”

• MASTERLIST •

“𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐘”

Synopsis: Death is cold and dancing on it is cold too. That day she danced with death, dancing to see who would dominate the dance. Death dominated.

Slowly, one by one the lights went out, four five in total, she thought she would never see them again.

So why did the lights come back on now? Why are they now in the mansion above her? Since when were they so bright? Since when did they burn?

“𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀”

WARNING: Suicidal thoughts, slight mentions of abuse, slow burn, Yandere themes, Child Neglect, Platonic!Batfamily x Fem!reader, mentions of blood and death.

[As the story progresses and the chapters continue, there will surely also be content warnings. But don't worry, at the beginning of each chapter there will be a warning if necessary.]

“𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖.𝐅

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐄!”

“𝐈 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘...”

First act: “From the roots”

• Prologue: “Happy fifteenth birthday! (Again?)”

• Chapter I: “Happy birthday to you (me)”

• Chapter II: “Dancing with fabrics (and glances)”

• Chapter III: “I admired you” [Coming soon...]

• Chapter IV: “(CRIES) Whispers of conscience.” [Coming soon...]

“𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅...”

Second act: “From the plant”

• Chapter I: [Coming soon...]

• Chapter II: [Coming soon...]

• Chapter III: [Coming soon...]

• Chapter IV: [Coming soon...]

“𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎...”

Third act: “In the tree”

• Chapter I: [Coming soon...]

• Chapter II: [Coming soon...]

• Chapter III: [Coming soon...]

• Chapter IV: [Coming soon...]

“𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐓”

Act Four: “The delicious apples...”

Chapter I: [Coming soon...]

Chapter II: [Coming soon...]

“𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄

𝐊𝐄𝐘...”

"Last" act: “...are rotten”

Final Chapter: [Coming soon...]

“𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 [𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄]”

NOTES: I FINALLY FINISHED IT, I love how it turned out and I hope you do too. I love you all muak muak💋💋

I also want to clarify something, anyone who wants to be on the taglist, let me know in the comments, so no one misses anything😽💖

TAGLIST:

@crazycaoticsimp @closetreader1864 @eyeless-kun @welpthisisboring @saiichai @leeiasure @shycreatorreview @bat1212 @vanessa-boo @midnightgrimoire @thereeallink @c4xcocoa @jsprien213 @stargirl404 @chericia @a-lurking-fae @kye-chen-r @alittletiredcry @lfiee @mishkapi @cxcilla @alittlelostmoonchild @ocean-mochi @randomlyappearingartist @thegothamsiren

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 1] Marriage Proposal

Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Story Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Attempted Murder, Murder, Smut, Eventual Fluff and Romance

Regret is an overwhelming emotion because no matter how hard you wish to go back in time to undo your mistake, there is no possible way for you to do it. You love your daughter to pieces but she wasn’t planned. You didn’t regret having her but you did regret ever getting with her father and running away from your life.

“The Zenins are a very successful family, and they’re always in the eye of the media so don’t embarrass us.” Your step-mother says as she looks into her compact mirror to make sure her makeup is okay. “They’re really doing us a favor by taking you off our hands.”

You ran away at the age of 18 with your boyfriend. You never got married, but you did end up with a baby when you were 20. Now you are 25. You had to go back to your father and your stepmother because you couldn’t afford to take care of yourself and your daughter. Your boyfriend left you, leaving you with so much responsibility you couldn’t afford to take on. Worst part is that your daughter now asks where her father went.

“Act like a proper lady.” She continues speaking, and you zone out in the backseat of the car. She had forced you to put on a corset and now you could barely breathe. It was unnecessary, but she loves seeing you in pain. You feel like the day will never come to an end, even though it has just started. “And don’t speak unless you’re required to. We don’t want you to scare him off.”

She continues to ramble, making you roll your eyes at each word. It’s infuriating, and your nails dig into your palm and you chew on the inside of your cheek as you try to remind yourself that she’s the woman your father chose. The woman that makes him happy. Although you hate him for it because she’s always his priority. Her happiness always comes before yours which is why he’s marrying you off.

But when you’re married, you’ll tell her off. That’s a plus side of the marriage, probably the only benefit. It’s suffocating in the car, and maybe she is taking all the air or maybe it’s the corset that makes you feel this way. Or maybe it’s the way that you’re just being married off as if you have no value to keep in the family. “They know about Misaki but you better not mention her.”

She finally shuts her mouth and you’re so grateful for a moment. Until you realize where you’re at, and a sigh escapes your lips. You wish to hear your stepmother speak again because you’re convinced that’s better than this.

The mansion is an European style, not one you were expecting. But she knows everything so she speaks to inform you at least. “This isn’t the Zenin’s main house. Their main estate is a couple hours away but they prefer for the engagement to happen around here.”

“Oh… When is this engagement supposed to happen?” You ask as you see a couple different cars. Expensive and foreign cars. It was a mix, and the regular old cars stick out like a sore thumb. Your father parks.

“When do you think? Today. Everyone is here, even the photographers.” She informs you. “The guy you’re engaged to is a pretty big deal in the clan so it’s kind of a big deal.”

“Consider yourself lucky because after the engagement he’ll take you back to the main Zenin state and you won’t have to lift a finger.” Your father speaks which doesn’t ease your nerves. “For the rest of your days you and Misaki won’t ever have to worry about anything.”

“Jinichi Zenin, that’s your future husband’s name.” Your stepmother finally reveals. Your father turns off the car and she’s the first person to open the door and get out. Then your father does the same. You’re the last one left and you feel your stomach turn, as if you’re about to puke. 

Your father opens your door and offers his hand to help you out of the car. You take it because without it you feel like you won’t be able to get out of the car. You inhale the fresh air which you thought would help, but you’re proven wrong because this air is different. This air makes everything different.

Your father puts his hand on your shoulder and smiles at you. You can’t smile back. You just can’t because this is all his fault. Because he wants to please his wife, you’re getting married to a man you haven’t had a conversation with before. He walks over to his wife, and they begin to walk to the main entrance together. 

You gulp and wipe your sweaty hands on the expensive dress that was bought for this occasion. You have to close your eyes for a moment before taking a step and walking behind them.

“I thought they’d have a butler opening doors and waiting for us outside.” Your stepmother jokes, at least you hope that she’s joking as she rings the doorbell. You wonder how they’re benefitting from this as you wait.

Soon enough the door opens and you get greeted by a man that’s well dressed-up. A man in his uniform. Your stepmother is the first one to enter the house, she walks confidently into the place, she turns to get a good look at that part of the mansion. Then your father walks in, but he isn’t interested in looking around, he’s interested in catching up to his wife.

Then there’s you. Your gaze falls to the floor and you put on a shy smile as you walk into the house. When you finally look up, you notice that there’s not that many people, at least not as many as you expected. 

“Naobito.” Your father smiles as he acknowledges the man that is walking over. Your stepmother puts on her best smile, and adjusts her posture, shooting you a glare to do the same. You attempt to be the woman she wants you to be. “Friend.” The man replies. He then looks at your stepmother with a slight disgusted look, and then at you. It’s so easy to differentiate who is who. The man smiles at you, at least you don’t lack looks. “My nephew is upstairs, he’ll come down soon and then we can start. Just a heads up, there’s a couple reporters that will ask about how you two met, and I’m leaving it up to you. Just say you two met at a coffee shop and it was love at first sight. Have been dating for a couple of months. Toji will fuck it up somehow.”

“Toji?” Your father questions. They had previously agreed on Jinichi, so was Naobito playing around? “You’re getting the names confused, I told you to stop drinking booze.”

“No, she’s marrying Toji.” Naobito confirms, and you can’t understand why your father is so affected by this. He’s in shock. Your father has known the Zenins for a long time, so what could Toji possibly have done to cause such a reaction?

“The good-for-nothing that ran away? He’s back?” A tone of offense is clear in your father’s voice. No one notices the man that’s at the top of the stairs, listening to every single word. “There’s no way you’re thinking my daughter is getting married to him of all people.”

“It’s either that or no one at all. I’m not marrying Jinichi, someone who has potential, to a single mother like your daughter.” Naobito says, and your heart nearly breaks and you want to break down in tears. But you remember her words, and act like a proper lady. You don’t smile, you hold your posture and steady your breath so you don’t begin crying. “You want someone who will give a house and pay for everything for your daughter, and we want someone who will fix Toji’s absolutely horrible reputation in the media. He’s ruining the Zenin’s pristine reputation and we’re hoping this engagement can fix this. It’s a win-win situation.”

“I don’t-'' Your father begins but your stepmother discreetly pinches him and he stops. Noaobito’s eyes fall on you.

“Don’t take it the wrong way. You’re just not fit enough… Maybe a couple years back, when you didn’t have your creature.” He tries his best to seem as if he has good intentions, but his words show who he really is. “Plus it’s perfect. He has a son too, just a couple months old, so not only will he be a stepfather, but you’ll be a stepmother.”

You don’t say anything because it feels as if you have no words left in you, even if you haven’t spoken. There’s a lump in your throat that holds back your tears, and you’re afraid your words will release it and cause you to cry. The fact that you’re thought of as less-than because of your daughter is just something that you can’t wrap your head around. But you still give him a nod in response.

Soon enough he slightly turns and faces the stairs, making you look at them too. Slowly walks down a tall, muscular man with a hostile look on his face. He has mid-length black hair, a few strands fall over his emerald green eyes. What really catches your attention is the scar that’s located on the right side of his mouth. You feel your cheeks get warm.

You hope that he’s your soon-to-be husband only because of the physical attraction you feel towards him. You don’t believe in love at first sight, and you know that no emotions will develop quickly so you can at least hope your husband is handsome. He reaches the last step and then he’s on the first floor. He walks over to you.

“Toji.” Naobito says. “Why did you take so long?”

“Sorry, Megumi just took forever to fall asleep. He’s such a crybaby.” Toji lies, hoping that if he complains about his son that you’d be scared and rethink the marriage. He thinks that somehow this is up to you. “He didn’t even let me sleep last night.”

You don’t say anything, you just stare at him which pisses him off. Toji already doesn’t like you but those feelings can change at the end of the day. At the end of the day he’ll either grow to like you or hate you, and it was all up to the final decision.

Naobito calls the butler, and the butler comes with a black box. Toji is forced to take the box, and he puts it in his pocket.

“We’ll give you five minutes to speak to each other, after, come outside to propose. The photographer and reporter are ready.” Naobito instructs before guiding your father and stepmother elsewhere.

Toji and you just stare at each other for a minute or so. Toji decides to get straight to the point, knowing that there’s no way you can read his mind. “I want you to reject the proposal.”

“And I’m not going to reject the proposal. It’s not up to me.” You respond and he doesn’t like your response.

“What do you mean it’s not up to you? You have freewill, don’t you? Reject the proposal.” He insists. “Don’t you have freewill? Instead of forcing me to reject the proposal, just don’t ask.” You tell him, making him click his tongue.

“The problem is if I don’t ask, they’ll kick me out because I’m unwilling to cooperate with them.” He reveals, making you sigh.

“I’m stuck too. If I reject the proposal, my daughter and I will be kicked out.” You answer. “We don’t have any other option here so let’s just try to get along.”

“But you have the option to reject me. That’s easy.” Toji continues, labeling your refusal to cooperate as plain selfishness. He doesn’t really care to think about your position and how you’re trying your best for your daughter.

He glares at you, and you notice but don’t pay attention to it. If he’s unhappy, that’s on him. You’re unhappy too, but ultimately you’re trying to do what’s best.

“Let’s go to the garden, the reporter and photographer are waiting.” You say, and begin to walk. The sound of your heels hitting the floor irritates him. 

“Fuck you.” He mutters under his breath. And he hasn’t gotten to know you for ten minutes but he hates you. That’s decided in his heart because you’re not giving him what he wants so he’s forced to follow behind you.

Once you get outside, your eye is immediately drawn to the beautiful flowers that are outside. Your father and stepmother are nearby, talking to Naobito. Their eyes fall on you and Toji who’s behind you.

You begin to walk around the garden, a massive garden that never in your life did you think you would see. The photographer follows behind, trying to be discreet and not spoil the “surprise”. He just acts as if he’s a part of the family.

You notice the red rose bush and you’re drawn to it. You’re tempted to touch the roses, and your finger is so close to the flower but you stop yourself. Toji knows that the reporter is nearby, and he doesn’t want to fuck things up. He has to be romantic .

As much as he doesn’t want this, ultimately he wants you to be the one to fuck things up. Toji puts up an act since his uncle is also watching. He wants his uncle to see that he tried everything and in the end you are the one that doesn’t want anything to do with him. 

Toji wraps his arms around you, from behind which catches you off-guard. He can feel the corset through the dress and it makes you uncomfortable. He puts his chin on your shoulder before pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“You look beautiful today.” Toji comments, his voice loud enough for the reporter to hear. You wonder if they think why such an intimate moment is forced to become public. But then again the Zenins business has always been important in the media and they’re attempting to keep a pristine image which apparently can’t be possible because of Toji.

“Thank you…” You respond, taking your hand back because touching the rose just wasn’t that fascinating anymore. A stranger is holding you and you can’t do anything about it. A stranger is going to propose and you’re forced to say yes because if you don’t say yes, you’ll end up in the street with no means to survive with your daughter.

He turns you around to force you to look at him. There’s a smile on his face but his eyes are empty. No emotion behind it because how could there possibly be any emotion behind them? You met perhaps ten minutes ago. He pecks your lips, causing your face to get warm.

“I love you so fucking much.” He says empty words that can be written down and be deemed as romantic. His uncle listens and he’s not pleased with the cursing, but at least it’s not something that’s too bad.

“I love you too.” You reply with a tiny smile on your face. You watch as he gets the little black box that he has in his pocket, out. You begin to wonder why it has to be this way, why can’t they just say it’s an arranged marriage.

The Zenins want it to look as if Toji has an option. That at the end you are the woman he chose and he ended up fixed. They want to look like the perfect family that the media has always sold.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you because you’re…” Toji has to shut his eyes for a moment. He imagines someone else that’s standing in front of him. When his eyes open his expression grows tender. “You’re the woman I want to see each time I wake up. I want to grow old with you. Ever since you walked into my life, you’ve made it better. You’re such a great mother to our-”

Suddenly he chokes up, tears building up in his eyes when his imagination gives out. But he remains his composure and holds back the tears. His face goes back to being cold and the passionate tone he had was long gone. “What I’m trying to say is, will you marry me?”

He opens the little box, not bothering to get on one knee. He isn’t devoted to you and he certainly doesn’t have any sort of respect. There is no love either. There’s nothing. He’s getting married to a complete stranger and it feels surreal. But the flashes of the camera remind him how real everything is.

“Oh my God- Yes!” You smile and pretend to be excited as you look at the ring. He takes the diamond ring out of the box and slips it on your ring finger. What are you supposed to do next?

Your hands wrap behind his neck and you peck his lips. You notice the flash of the camera and you act surprised at the photographer. You look back at your now fiancé and then at the photographer.

“So this is why you have been acting so mysterious!” You say. You’re quickly approached by another man. He wears a white sweater, black jeans and glasses.

“If it’s not too much of a hassle, may I ask a couple questions?” The man is quick to say. He clears his throat before scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I suppose I should congratulate you first.”

“It’s alright.” You assure him. “Although we would like a couple minutes alone, and then we can answer questions.”

“Alright, we’ll be waiting inside.” The man responds with a smile. The photographer and him walk inside and you’re left behind with Toji. Once they’re in the house, Toji asks the question he had forgotten to ask.

“What’s your name, again? Naobito told me but I don’t remember.” Toji speaks, making you roll your eyes. You tell him your name. “Well, I’m Toji Fushiguro.”

“Fushiguro?” You look at him in confusion. You have understood that he is a Zenin, but then again you never really got to know who of his parents was the Zenin. He just nods and you don’t think about it for too long. “Alright…”

“So we met at a coffee shop and it was love at first sight… How old is your son?” You tell him, and he furrows his eyebrows.

“What does my son’s age have to do with any of this?” He replies with a nasty tone.

“It’s due to the time we have been together. If we’ve been together longer than the time your son has been alive, you’ll be labeled as a cheater.” You explain. “This is all to clean your family’s reputation.”

“They’re not my family.” Toji is quick to say. “But he’s nine months old.”

“What happened with his mother?” You innocently ask and he gives you a nasty look. 

“That’s none of your fucking business.” He’s clearly angry by the question, and you’re tempted to apologize but you don’t. You don’t think you should because this is information you have to know sooner or later since he is your future husband.

“Well then we have been together for eight months.” You inform him and he shakes his head.

“For five.” He responds. “We’ve been together for five months.”

“Alright then, let’s go inside.” You begin to walk inside and he follows behind. You get back into the mansion and sigh before walking to the reporter.

“We’re ready.” You announce and the man nods, as he gets his notepad and pen ready.

The man looks at all the questions he has written down. Something that should be easy to paint Toji and you in a good image. He then realizes that he hasn’t even introduced himself.

“I’m Jin Itadori.” He smiles and you smile back at him. Toji doesn’t care to smile.

“Well Mr. Itadori, it’s nice to meet you. We’re ready for any questions that you have for us.”

[pink-delirium]

Arranged Yandere

Chapter One

Masterlist

It was supposed to be a nice day. A nice day because it was yours and Elliot’s sixth year anniversary. While you knew that you shouldn’t be acting excited over this, you couldn’t help yourself; you think you’ve just always hoped that Elliot would’ve come around.

You think it’s the fairytales you used to read when you were younger. Where the prince and the princess live happily ever after together. That’s what you wanted for you and Elliot, where despite the odd way you guys got together, you two would’ve been able to live happily ever after.

That could be why you still chose to decorate your house. You put out what you normally did on this day: balloons, a banner, a gift that you had chosen with him in mind, and a cake for you two to share. You had made sure that everything was ready for him when he arrived home, and if you were right, he should be home in a few more minutes.

You think that you only tried your hardest to make everything feel more special because it was the sixth anniversary, the next anniversary would be where you and Elliot would decide whether to continue with this arrangement or to go your separate ways. Perhaps you wanted to show Elliot that you were willing to make this work even though you know that you shouldn’t have tried this hard. Not this hard for a man who didn’t seem to appreciate anything you did.

You were correct in that he would be home as soon as you heard the door opening and Elliot’s footsteps walking in. As usual, Elliot went into the living room first. He always took a few moments to relax on the couch before heading off to his bedroom. Before you knew it, you and Elliot were standing together in the same room as you see Elliot eye the decor.

You’re not sure what reaction you were supposed to be expecting. Maybe a part of you was still hoping that he’ll show a semblance of being happy. But you should be honest with yourself; you’re being delusional because why would he act differently today in comparison to all the other anniversaries?

As always, he gave you his usual frown as he eyed the decorations and your face. He took a few seconds, seeing all the thought put into the decorations before speaking.

“Why did you put these up? Again?”

“It’s our anniversary, and I thought that—”

“Well, you thought wrong. I’m tired. I don’t have time to be celebrating every anniversary we have.”

Elliot huffed in frustration as he went towards his bedroom.

“Stop with all of this lovey dovey nonsense. We’re only supposed to act as a happily married couple to the media, not in private. Why can’t you get that into your head?”

And with that, he entered his room and slammed the door shut.

You stood in silence for a while before beginning to put away all the decorations, you couldn’t help but think to yourself.

Why keep trying so hard for a man who doesn’t even seem interested in reciprocating that same energy?

Would it have killed him to show a bit of affection towards you?

Why only towards the media that he acted like a loving husband?

You really tried your hardest to make this work. You didn’t want this marriage to just be for show, you wanted it to be like those stories that you read of arranged marriages that have happy endings.

Maybe that’s why it would never happen. Because that was fiction and this was real life. In real life, people aren’t told to marry for fame. They marry each other because they love each other. Maybe that’s what this was. You were so focused on obtaining that fictional happy ending that you didn’t consider that Elliot may have never been happy with this marriage.

He was unhappy the day that this contract was made, and his unhappiness persisted six years later.

You should’ve realized it from the start:

Elliot wouldn’t ever love you, and you couldn’t blame him given the circumstances.

The least you could do was respect his desire to live together at arm’s length. Only to the media, you’ll be a happily married couple. That’s the least you could do for him.

You could put on the mask and stop trying so hard to get him to love you. Maybe if you wore it long enough, you wouldn’t care if he loves you or not.

With that in mind, you decided on this day that:

You’ll stop trying so hard for a man who doesn’t even seem to be interested in you.

You’ll treat him the same way he’s been treating you, like a roommate, no more acting like a loving wife when out of the public eye.

And for your seventh anniversary instead of a gift, you’ll deliver a nice stack of divorce papers, and who knows? Maybe you’ll be so happy that day, you won’t even be wearing a mask.

Taglist: @alebrasil0101, @little-ponkan, @rainejiang, @yandereaficionado

Nobody asked but in case someone was curious. I had made this story when I was younger because I had read the WEBTOON, The Remarried Empress, so Elliot’s personality was kinda based off Sovieshu, but only up to season 1. If you were kinda curious as to the personalities of the Yanderes/ how the story will kinda be.

[lonely-ey3s]

Heartlines | Chapter Four

pairing: harry castillo (materialists) x f!reader

chapter summary : Your night with Harry continues at his work's masquarade ball where tension runs high and each other's feelings are put on the table.

chapter warnings: fluff, slow burn, Harry speaks Spanish (translations will be there), , drinking, SMUT (18+ MDNI), fingering, overstimulation, sexual tension, semi-public sexual acts, praise kink, Harry is a little dominant, flirting, if I missed anything, lmk!!

word count: 10.1k

a/n: for those sweet amazing moms reading, happy mother's day -- enjoy 💗

also just a reminder! chapters will be every other sunday alternating ride or die !!

your feedback is very important to me, and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments, and likes. I secretly hope you like this story. 🤍

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

You remembered the first time it hit you — really hit you — that you weren’t someone Damon was proud to love.

It was his sister’s engagement party. You’d worn that soft blue dress he once said made you look “sweet.” Curled your hair the way he liked. Smiled politely, asked questions, showed up fully — present, eager, trying.

But when he introduced you, it was with a single name. No title. No warmth. Just, “This is Y/N .” Not my girlfriend, not someone special. Just… an accessory to his evening. A plus-one with no context.

When you stood by his side, waiting for his arm to slip around your waist, for his hand to find yours — it never came. He kept just enough space between you to remind everyone that you weren’t his.

At dinner, you reached for his hand beneath the table, and he didn’t even look at you. He eventually pulled his hand away to grab his drink and never returned it.

When you spoke up during the group conversation — trying to join in — he cut across you with a joke, something about how you “always had opinions,” followed by a laugh from his friends that didn’t reach their eyes.

You felt your cheeks flush, and not in the good way. Like you were being tolerated. Like love meant being quiet and grateful, not seen and celebrated.

You felt so damn small.

You tried to play it cool. Tried to lean into him later as everyone stood around chatting, hoping for a small sign of comfort, of affection. But he stepped away to join someone else’s conversation, laughing harder, smiling wider — like he was more himself without you near.

You stood there in your heels, clutching your glass, staring down at the ice melting in your drink as voices hummed around you. Alone, while standing next to the person who was supposed to make you feel most at home, supposed to make you feel seen.

That night in the car, you asked softly, “Why didn’t you tell them I was your girlfriend?”

He shrugged, eyes still on his phone. “What’s the point in putting labels on things? It’s not that serious.”

You swallowed hard, turning to look out the window, hiding the way your heart cracked a little.

After that, it became routine — how he turned into someone else around other people. More detached. More polished. He'd let you sit beside him, but never close. He'd laugh at things you said when you were alone, but then roll his eyes when you said the same things around others.

He never invited you to family dinners. Said it was "complicated." Introduced you as “a friend from work” when someone unexpected ran into you in public. He texted back late. Forgot anniversaries. Gave affection only when it benefited him — when he wanted something, or needed to prove something to someone else.

You started shrinking without realizing it. Spoke less. Laughed less. Smoothed yourself down into something more palatable. Someone easier to explain away.

But it still wasn't enough. Because he never looked at you like you were something he was lucky to have.

But with Harry — it was never a question.

From the moment he’d first pulled you into his orbit — that slow, steady charm like gravity — he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you’d said yes to even being around him.

He had introduced you to everyone tonight like you were a treasure. “This is the beautiful woman I've been telling you about,” he’d say, with that low warmth in his voice, his hand already on the small of your back, anchoring you to him. “She’s brilliant, by the way. You’ll love her.” Then smile down at you or kiss your temple — proudly.

When you laughed, he didn’t flinch or shush you — he leaned in closer, eyes crinkling like your joy lit something in him. When you had an opinion, he listened like it mattered. When you spoke up in some of the busier conversations tonight, he’d glance your way and nod subtly, as if to say I’ve got you. I’m here.

He held your hand whenever he could, at every table. Not as a statement. Not to prove something. But simply because he wanted to. Because being near you never embarrassed him — it settled him.

So when you watched Harry disappear into the crowd, his tall frame quickly swallowed up by suits and sequins — your heart soared.

You were beaming. 

The hum of music returned to your ears, warming something deep inside you. You were still floating a little — replaying that word over and over in your head.

Girlfriend.

You barely had a second to gather your thoughts before a voice slipped in beside you — cool, smooth, and just a touch too friendly.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve got to be her.”

You turned to find a tall man, all swagger and smugness, lounging with a champagne glass in hand. His hair was slicked back like he spent too long in the mirror, and his tie hung just a bit too loose — casual in that deliberate way that tried too hard not to care.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. There was something about him, you just didn't know what quite yet. 

He grinned wider at your silence. “Didn’t mean to spook you. Just… had to see what all the fuss was about. And now I get it.” He grinned. 

That voice — that condescension dressed up as charm — it tickled something in the back of your mind. 

You didn’t know his name, not exactly, but you’d heard Harry mention someone like this before – in the few times he’s spoken to you about his work. ‘The guy who made meetings drag. Always had something to say, usually wrong. Thought he was God’s gift to strategy.’

Everyone that Harry knew, or respected, had already been over to see him, or he’d already introduced you to them. With that deduction, you thought there’d be no harm — you’d play along.

“Oh,” you said lightly, lips curving into a smile. “So you’re that guy.”

His brows ticked up, caught off guard. “That guy?”

“Mm. The one Harry sighs about when he tells me about the meetings you're a part of, or I should say – ones you force your way into...” You took a flute of champagne as a waiter walked by and took a sip. 

That made him laugh, even if his eyes sharpened a bit. “Ouch. Well, I’m sure he’s just threatened. After all, it’s not every day someone like him gets someone like you.”

You tilted your head, playing along. “And what exactly is someone like me?” You took another small sip, keeping your eyes on him.

He stepped in, just a little closer than necessary. “Too bright. Too interesting. Too... alive.” He leaned in more, voice low and teasing. “You sure you’re not bored already? The man talks in spreadsheets. I can’t imagine he’s any fun when—”

“Oh, he’s plenty fun,” you cut in sweetly, letting the implication hang just long enough to watch him flinch. “Besides, I like men who know what they’re doing. Harry doesn't need to talk about it.”

His smirk faltered.

Before he could recover, a warm, familiar hand slid across your back. Harry’s hand. Claiming. Calm. Dangerous.

“Funny running into you, Dorsey,” Harry said, tone casual but tight.

Dorsey, Alex Dorsey. You filed that away — the name from a few venting sessions, the man Harry nicknamed, ‘a walking ego with Wi-Fi access.’

Alex straightened, the smirk reappearing like a reflex. “Harry,” he said smoothly. “You didn’t say she was this charming.” He took a sip of his champagne. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry replied, then looked down at you with a soft edge that didn’t quite reach his jawline. “At least to you.” He looked back to him and tutted. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

Alex lifted his glass in some mock-toast. “Touché Castillo.”

You leaned into Harry just slightly, eyes never leaving Dorsey’s. “Your friend was just trying to convince me I was in the wrong company. Silly, right?”

Harry’s smile was tight. “That’s one word for it.”

Dorsey chuckled, clearly not used to being so easily brushed off. “Well. Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again.” He winked at you and gently touched your arm before starting to walk away. 

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Harry muttered — just low enough that only you could hear — as Dorsey melted back into the crowd.

You turned to him with a teasing smile. “Someone’s feeling possessive.”

He looked down at you, that fire still smoldering in his gaze. “You have no idea.”

“Mm,” you hummed, resting a hand on his chest. “That was fun. We should do that more often.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You want me to watch you flirt with Dorsey again?”

“Oh no,” you said with a wicked little grin. “I want you to remember how fun it is when you get a little jealous.” 

His gaze darkened instantly. “Careful.”

You leaned up on your toes, brushing your lips just beneath his jaw. “Or what?”

Harry’s breath hitched just slightly, he could feel the blood rushing downwards. “Or I remind you exactly who you belong to.”

And just like that, the air around you thickened again — but now it buzzed with a very different kind of tension.

Your lips hovered just beneath his jaw, breath warm, your fingers teasing at the lapel of his suit. 

His hand on your waist flexed, fingertips digging in slightly — like he was holding himself back.

“You want to play that game, baby?” he asked, voice like smoke.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, and God, the heat in them. Dark. Focused. Possessive in a way that made your stomach flip and heat rush down between your legs.

You shrugged one shoulder, voice soft but smug. “Remind me, then.”

Harry didn’t respond — not verbally. Just the subtle shift of his body as he guided you out of the ballroom with quiet urgency, the hand at your back never leaving your skin. You passed people without seeing them, barely aware of anything but the simmering pull between you.

‘A door. A hallway. Somewhere quiet.’ was all he could focus on right now. 

The moment the door to an empty hallway shut behind you, he had you pressed lightly to the wall, not rough, but certain.

“You liked making me jealous,” he said, a little incredulously, as if he couldn’t quite believe you’d done it.

You nodded, breathing a little harder now. “I liked what it did to you.” 

“I’ve been dying all night to get you alone,” he said, voice roughened by restraint.

You opened your mouth to say something smart — to tease him, maybe — but he was already there; already cupping your cheek to pull you close to him as he leaned in. 

His mouth met yours again, and this time, it wasn’t tentative.

It was need, slow and burning. The kind of kiss that made you clutch the lapel of his suit, the kind that felt like it had been waiting all night.

His hands were everywhere and nowhere — one moved from your cheek to brace the wall beside your head, the other at your waist, fingertips teasing the curve of your hip. Your back arched slightly into him, letting him take whatever he wanted, whatever he needed — and offering just enough to make him chase more.

He kissed down your neck, lips brushing your skin like a secret.

“I don’t like people looking at you like that, I don’t like people like fucking Dorsey touchin’ at you…” He murmured, voice barely more than a growl.

“He barely touched me.” You smiled as he came up to capture your lips with yours, kissing him deeply. 

He pulled back after a kiss or two. “He didn’t have to,” he said, quieter now, the words heavier. “You’re not his to touch.”

Your breath caught.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes — stormy and serious and sincere all at once. His hand moved to cup your cheek, and his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. “You know that, don’t you?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you breathed. “I know.”

He kissed you again, and this time it was different — slower, more reverent, like he needed you to feel what he couldn’t say fast enough.

You let yourself fall into it, into him, the way his lips moved over yours like he had all night to learn your shape.

Then — voices.

Coming down the hallway.

Harry froze, head tilting slightly as he listened. Footsteps. Getting closer.

He let out a breath, forehead leaning against yours. “Shit.”

You stifled a laugh. “Guess scandal’s not on the schedule tonight.”

He chuckled quietly, but he didn’t let go of you. Instead, he scanned the hallway and nodded toward a side door. “Come on,” he whispered, tugging you gently toward it.

You slipped inside a dim storage nook barely bigger than a closet. Warm, quiet, and filled with linen-scented air and the sound of your hearts pounding.

Your back was to the door, Harry, inches from you. He rested one arm above your head, not crowding, just close — grounding.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Didn’t mean to pull you into a closet like some hormonal idiot.”

You smiled. “You say that like I didn’t follow you in here willingly.” You teased. 

A beat passed, and then something softer settled over the moment.

“Earlier,” you said, voice quieter now, “when you said I was your girlfriend... did you mean it? Or was it jus–?”

Harry’s eyes didn’t waver as he stopped you. “I meant it.”

Your breath caught again — not from the kisses, not from the chase. From this.

“I didn’t say it on accident or to get props from my boss,” he added. “I said it because I’ve been thinking it. Because I want it to be real. I want nothing more than to be with you – to be yours.”

You looked up at him, feeling suddenly unsteady in the best possible way. “It didn’t freak me out.”

His brow lifted, hopeful. “No?”

You shook your head, smiling. “It felt… good. Like it fits.”

He exhaled like you’d knocked the wind out of him.

“Then it’s real,” he said simply. “If you want it to be.”

And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t about who saw or who didn’t. It was about you. Him. This tiny pocket of space where the rest of the world didn’t matter.

The hallway was blessedly empty when the two of you finally slipped out.

Harry checked first — cautious, but casual — before opening the door and gently tugging you behind him. His fingers laced with yours instinctively, holding on even after the thrill of hiding had passed.

You were flushed, a little breathless, still riding the high of his mouth on yours and the way he’d said It’s real. You weren’t sure how long you’d been in there, but the champagne had nothing on what you were feeling now.

“Think anyone noticed?” you whispered.

Harry glanced at you sidelong, mouth twitching into a grin. “If they didn’t, I should probably try harder.”

You laughed under your breath, giving his shoulder a playful bump. “You’re cocky all of a sudden.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips briefly by your ear. “You just agreed to become my girlfriend. That does things to a man.”

You tried to hide your smile and failed.

Back in the ballroom, the music had shifted to something slower, smoother. The crowd had thinned slightly, giving the whole room a more languid, glowing feel — like the after-hours version of the party.

You were just about to head back into it when a familiar voice cut through the air behind you. 

“Well, well. Took you long enough.”

You turned to find a man that you recognized from the wedding, one that Ben even despised. His tone was breezy, but there was a glint in his eye that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Thought you’d gone off to do something terribly professional, but you look…” he glanced at you with a pointed smirk, “…flushed, Castillo.”

Harry’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t rise to it. Instead, he stood a little closer to you, his hand slipping down to rest more deliberately at your waist.

“Rob,” he greeted coolly.

Ah. That was the name you’d caught once or twice, Robert Mangold — always accompanied by a certain tone in Harry’s voice, annoyed mostly. Some kind of work rival. Friendly, maybe. But only on the surface.

“Oh,” Rob said, his smile sharpening. “So you’re the one. The mystery girl I kept hearing about on the work trip.”

Your brows raised. “Mystery?”

“Harry talks,” he said with a wink. “Mostly when he’s had a drink. Or three.”

You could practically feel Harry’s jaw clench.

So you smiled sweetly. “All good things, I hope.”

Mangold’s gaze lingered just a beat too long. “That depends on your definition.”

Before Harry could snap — and you could tell he was close — you slipped a little closer to his side, your arm brushing his as you tilted your head.

“Funny,” you said to Rob, voice laced with feigned innocence, “he hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

Harry choked on a laugh.

Rob blinked.

You smiled wider. “Guess he’s got better things to talk about.”

Rob cleared his throat, trying to regain his grounding. His eyes flicked between the two of you. “Didn’t realize you were the one keeping our boy so distracted lately,” he said to you, his grin lazy and just a little too direct.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’ve been keeping him very busy. Haven’t I, baby?”

Harry let out a quiet breath — the kind that almost sounded like a laugh — but there was something undeniably pleased in his expression as he looked at you.

“More than I can handle,” he murmured.

Rob raised a brow. “Well, just make sure he shows up to the Tets meeting tomorrow morning. Preferably not hungover or covered in lipstick...” he jabbed. 

You leaned into Harry slightly, cocking your head at Rob. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s… thoroughly looked after tonight.” 

The other man gave a low chuckle, clearly caught off guard, and Harry, behind you, bit back a grin.

“Good to meet you, Rob. You have a lovely rest of your night.” You smiled tightly.

Rob’s smirk faltered just a fraction, and then he nodded and walked off, disappearing into the ballroom.

Harry turned to you with wide eyes as soon as he was gone. “Thoroughly looked after?”

You grinned. “Too much?”

“God, no. I like it when you’re like this… witty and confident.” 

“Well,” you teased, brushing a finger down the lapel of his jacket, “maybe next time he’ll think twice before trying to bait you.”

Harry gave a soft, head-shaking laugh, pulling you into him by the hips. “You might be the death of me.” He said leaning back in for your lips slowly.

You grinned and bit your bottom lip as your arms came up around his neck. “You said that already.” 

“And I meant it.” He kissed you once, slowly. “But what a way to go.”

You pulled back and combed your fingers gently through his hair. “I like when you get like this — when you pull me close when we are with others… like you’re making it well known…” You murmured as you nudged his nose.

Harry didn’t say anything at first — just tugged you a little closer. Then, softly, near your ear said:

“You keep talking like that, and I will drag you into another closet.”

You bit back a grin.

As you made your way across the ballroom, the air between you was buzzing again — not just with heat, but something sharper. A new kind of intimacy. Like a shared secret, sealed with breathless kisses and soft declarations in the dark.

Harry was told that he needed to stay until at least 9 o’clock, and since he hadn’t heard anything about Tets signing officially, the two of you decided to sit down and rest your feet. 

The ballroom had become less busy now — soft classical music drifting from the quartet, the sparkle of chandeliers dimmed to a soft amber glow. A few servers moved through the space clearing glasses, their chatter hushed. You and Harry had reclaimed one of the tables near the edge of the room, half a bottle of champagne between you.

Harry leaned back in his chair, collar loosened and shirt rumpled in the best way, his gaze heavy on you. It wasn’t the same hungry look he’d given you in the hallway, but something softer. Surer.

You sipped your champagne and gave him a smile. “You’re staring...”

He didn’t look away. “Can’t help it.”

Your heart did that fluttering thing again, the one that had started the moment he said girlfriend like it was the only word he’d ever meant.

He reached for his drink, tilting it toward you. “You know,” he said, voice low, “I can’t stop thinking about what’s going to happen when I get all to myself later tonight.”

The air went taut — the promise in his voice sending a slow burn straight down your spine along with sending a rush of blood between your thighs.

You opened your mouth to reply, to flirt, to tease — but then…

“There you are, Harry.”

You both looked up to find Mr. Clarkson sliding into the empty seat beside him. Impeccably dressed still, tie loosened just enough to suggest the after-hours for him had begun. His smile was polite, but his eyes carried the same sharp intelligence as earlier.

“Sorry to intrude,” he said with a glance at you. “Just wanted to talk through a few things about the Tets meeting tomorrow… they signed. I just want to make sure we’re aligned.”

Harry straightened a little in his chair, switching gears with impressive smoothness. “Of course, sir.”

They began to talk — something about budget allocations and pitch materials — but your focus had slipped elsewhere.

Specifically, under the table.

You had taken off your heels earlier to give your feet a rest. With that, you slid your foot slowly along the floor until it brushed Harry’s ankle. Just a little nudge. Innocent.

He didn’t react.

So, naturally, you kept going.

Up past the cuff of his trousers, slow and deliberate, circling your toes just behind his knee.

Harry’s voice faltered — just for half a second — before recovering, his posture staying perfectly polite. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

Clarkson didn’t seem to notice a thing, gesturing toward some talking point about competitor analysis. But Harry’s hand had clenched around his glass.

You inched higher.

Your foot grazed further up the inside of his thigh, and this time, you felt the faintest jolt — his breath catching in his throat. Still, he didn’t look at you. Didn’t break. Just tightened his jaw and nodded along to Clarkson’s ramblings.

“I’ll send over the updated spreadsheet by morning,” Harry said — or tried to.

Except his voice cracked mid-sentence.

Just a small hitch. Barely there. But you heard it, and so did Mr. Clarkson, whose brow ticked up slightly in surprise.

“You alright?”

“Fine,” he said too quickly, then cleared his throat, shifting in his seat like he couldn’t quite get comfortable. “Just—dry throat.”

You bit back a grin, letting your foot wander dangerously high now, pressing in just enough to make his leg tense under your touch. His breath stuttered again.

He reached under the table, fingers wrapping around your ankle in a silent warning — firm, desperate — but you only stroked your toes higher, trailing slow, featherlight circles up the inside of his thigh.

The muscle there twitched. He took a sharp breath through his nose.

Clarkson was still talking — none the wiser — but Harry had fully stopped contributing. He was nodding, answering in clipped one-word replies, completely at your mercy.

“Don’t stop,” you mouthed across the table as he turned your way, lips curling in a wicked smile.

Harry’s eyes narrowed at you, a mix of disbelief and barely-contained heat. His hand squeezed your ankle again — and lingered this time.

“I think Harry’s more than ready for tomorrow,” you said smoothly, glancing at Mr. Clarkson with a saccharine smile. “He’s been… very committed to ensure this goes smoothly.”

Harry cleared his throat again, this time slower, deeper. Like he was trying to shake it off. His face was flushed now, eyes darkened, but his voice managed something close to control as he said, “I’ll… handle it, sir.”

Clarkson gave an approving nod. “Glad to hear it. We’ll need you sharp in the morning.”

“I’ll be sharp,” Harry said tightly. “Don’t worry about that.”

Your foot stroked one last, dangerously suggestive pass up his thigh, and Harry very nearly dropped his glass.

Clarkson stood then, oblivious, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket. “Well, I’ll leave you two to your evening. Get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You both murmured polite farewells and watched him disappear toward the exit.

The moment he was out of earshot, Harry turned to you with fire in his eyes and a low, stunned laugh. “You’re evil.”

You leaned in, your voice sweet and just a little wicked. “What? I was just helping you practice… composure.”

Harry’s hand slipped under the table, wrapping around your knee, firm and possessive. “You wait until I get you alone.”

You smiled, slow and promising. “That was the idea.”

He grinned and held onto your leg, eyes dark, “Wanna get out of here? I know a place to...” he raised a suggestive eyebrow.

You nodded. “Please.” 

Harry stood up abruptly, smoothing his shirt and shooting you a look so hot it made your insides twist. He was just as wound up as you were. 

You rose slowly, champagne still dancing on your tongue, heart already pounding as he grabbed your hand and led you through a side hallway.

His pace was steady, restrained — but his grip on your hand said otherwise.

Past quiet corners, linen-draped tables, flickering wall sconces — until he found a door, tried the handle, and pulled you into a darkened lounge. The kind meant for executives to take private calls or host quiet VIP chats. Now dimly lit, intimate.

The door clicked shut behind you. Silence.

You turned to face him, but before you could do or say anything, Harry had you against the wall in one smooth press of his body — not rough, but solid. Intentional.

A small frame behind you fell to the floor in the heat of the moment, neither of you caring. 

His mouth met yours without a word, his hands on your waist, pulling you close like he’d waited hours and not had you in that closet less than an hour ago. 

Like every second you spent teasing him under the table had wound him tighter and tighter until now – he was unraveling.

“You knew what you were doing,” he murmured against your lips, voice a little breathless. “Nearly made me choke in front of my boss.”

You gasped a laugh, fingers slipping under his jacket to start pulling it off. “You were holding it together so well, though…” you teased.

His jacket fell to the ground. You felt his hand move down to the slit in your dress and pull your thigh up and around him, putting his hips against yours, the feeling of his erection now obvious. His lips found your throat, open-mouthed and slow. “Barely.”

“You’re not mad, are you?” you continued to tease, panting softly.

He smiled against your skin. “Mad?” His hand slid further up, tracing every line, every curve. “I’m obsessed.”

You arched into him as he whispered it, a slow drag of his body over yours sending sparks through your spine. 

You moved your hands up to undo a couple of buttons on his dress shirt, wanting more contact with his skin. 

He moved back up and with his other hand cupped your cheek and began kissing you with a deeper urgency – a need. 

He picked you up quickly, making you squeal and giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist. His grin broke through for just a second — boyish, breathless — before his mouth was on yours again. He walked you to the pool table in the center of the room, and set you down on the edge, letting your legs drape around him, your dress hiked scandalously high.

“I should be mad,” he whispered, pressing kisses along your jaw. “You tormented me out there.”

You smiled against his lips, breath hitching as his hands slid up your thighs again, purposeful. “You loved every second of it.”

He let out a soft, low laugh — the kind that vibrated in his chest and made you feel it through every inch of contact. “You're right,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours. “God, I did.”

Then his voice dropped — deeper, rougher, laced with something like awe.

“I need you.”

The words barely escaped before he kissed you again, deeper this time, all tongue and heat and want. You clutched at his shirt, pulling it loose from his waistband, needing more of him, needing skin. The way he responded to your touch — the hitch in his breath, the tension in his muscles — was addicting.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands cradling your thighs, his gaze scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every flush of your cheeks, every flicker of your lashes.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he said softly. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

You cupped his jaw and smiled, just as breathless. “Then don’t stop.”

A pause, just for a heartbeat — and then he slid his hands to your hips and dragged you toward the edge of the table, pressing himself back between your thighs, his body heavy and solid against yours.

“Promise you won’t stop looking at me like that,” you murmured. “Like I’m the only one.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

That did something to you— he felt it. 

His kiss turned fevered again, hungry and reverent at the same time, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to worship you or ruin you.

You moaned softly against his mouth, and the sound made him shudder.

“Say it,” he breathed. “Say you want me.”

“I want you, Harry.” Your voice cracked a little on his name, and he groaned in response, pressing you back slightly onto the felt surface.

Then, before either of you could do anything—

A faint creak. Voices in the hallway.

You both froze.

He looked toward the door, his breathing heavy, his hand still resting dangerously high on your thigh. Then he turned back to you, eyes wide but amused. “Fuck.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Think it’s locked?”

“I hope so,” he whispered.

“Is it so hard to get a moment alone? No interruptions?” You whispered, sitting back up, half-laughing as adrenaline and desire tangled in your chest.

He chuckled and put his hand to cup your cheek, whispering, “Perhaps that’s our cue to leave?”

“Yeah?” You gently nudged your nose with his, sliding your hands slowly up from his waist to land on his chest. 

He swallowed and kept his eyes on yours, “I think it’s time for us to get some time alone, enough hiding in closets and backrooms.” He gently stroked his thumb across your cheek.  

Your gaze softened, and you nodded. “How close do you live from here?” 

He chuckled softly, “About 5 minutes. Why do you ask?”

You leaned in and pressed a slow and deep kiss to his lips before slowly pulling back, breathlessly whispering, “Because I don’t know about you, but a 20-minute drive to my place sounds agonizing…” 

He softly nudged your nose against his. “Mm. You’re right. My place it is then.” He helped you slide down from the table, both of you hurrying to gather yourselves as the voices sounded closer as you listened. 

You fixed yourself up and then a knock on the door, followed by, “Anyone in there?” 

Harry looked at you, not knowing what to say. 

You cleared your throat, “Yes! One minute, please…”

Harry mouthed oh my god at you, trying not to laugh as he grabbed his jacket off the floor, raking his hands through his hair and quickly fixing his shirt.

You turned your back to the door, slipped off your masquerade mask, and quickly gathered your hair up into hair clip you had in your clutch, hoping the change was enough to not invite suspicion.

“Okay,” you whispered, breathless. “Everyone I’ve met tonight only knows me with the mask on, right?”

Harry nodded, smiling, his shirt still half-buttoned as he fiddled doing it back up. “You’re a mastermind.”

You pulled your phone from your clutch and raised it to your ear just as a soft knock sounded again—followed by the door creaking open.

“Hello?” a voice called. A woman. Not Mr. Clarkson or anyone else of importance —thank god— but someone you’d met earlier. A junior exec or project manager… she’d introduced herself at the cocktail hour. Nice enough. Not someone who’d seen you up close without the mask.

Harry straightened and turned, calm as ever. “Sorry Mary, we just needed a quick moment to handle a call,” he said smoothly.

She blinked. “Oh… sorry, Harry. I thought this room was empty.”

You smiled apologetically, keeping your phone to your ear. “No worries. I’ll be done in just a second.” Then, into the phone, you added in your best overly professional tone, “Right. If Barbara doesn’t have the contract to Stonebridge by Monday morning, Mr. Castillo said that the deal could be off.”

Harry bit back a grin as the woman gave a polite nod. “Of course. Carry on.” 

She left, the door clicking shut behind her. You both stood still for a beat.

Then Harry leaned in and whispered, laughing quietly, “You’re wicked.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m efficient.”

“Barbara can’t get it together, again?” he teased, kissing the edge of your smile.

“Right? I know… I think we may have to let her go…” You whispered, giggling as you shoved your phone back in your clutch.

He cupped your cheek, eyes warm and shining. “You’re going to get us in trouble one of these days...”

You brushed your fingers down his chest, tugging gently at his jacket. “Only if we get caught,” you winked, then backed up slowly, holding your hand out for him to take. “Now come on, handsome.”

He shook his head, chuckling as he reached forward and laced his hand with yours — following you out the door. 

The city buzzed beyond the velvet ropes and valet line, but neither of you spoke during the drive. You could feel the heat simmering — the way his fingers curled tighter around your thigh, the occasional glance that said just wait.

By the time you got to his place, you were practically vibrating. The elevator ride up with a bellboy glancing at you both — torture. 

Harry's penthouse apartment was quiet — with low light spilling from the kitchen, casting a soft glow across the hardwood floors. The moment his front door shut behind you, the air thickened.

Not with urgency, but intention.

You stepped in and were taking it all in, a part of you stunned at how big his place was. You knew he was rich, but this rich? Good god, this was filthy rich. 

He stepped behind you slowly, bringing your attention back to him — his hands brushed your waist as he leaned in. His voice was just above a whisper, rich with that velvet edge that only came out when the world fell away.

“You looked so damn good tonight…” His fingers traced the edge of your dress, featherlight. “But I must admit, all I wanted to do was get you out of this dress...”

You turned in his arms, hands sliding up his chest. “You looked good too,” you said with a teasing smile. “I still bet half the room was wondering who you were going home with.”

He leaned in closer, his lips grazing your cheek, not quite a kiss. “They knew.”

You smiled, lips moved to brush his jaw. “You sure?”

“Positive.” He backed you gently toward the bedroom, one step at a time, never breaking eye contact. “Especially after that stunt we pulled earlier in the night and then your little stunt under the table.”

You gave a playful shrug, pretending innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘stunt under the table’…”

“Oh, playing coy now, are we?” He let out a low laugh, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

You giggled as you stroked his hair back, eyes bouncing over his features, memorizing every little thing you could about him.

He pushed the bedroom door open and guided you inside with one hand at your back.

The room smelled like him — warm, woodsy, clean. 

“Me vuelves loca, nena,” (You drive me crazy, baby) he said softly.

Then he leaned in, and this time the kiss was slower. His hands didn’t rush to undress you — they explored over your clothed body instead. His mouth moved with reverence, mapping every curve like a confession.

He broke the kiss just enough to whisper, “I want to take care of you tonight….” 

Your fingers slipped into his curls, gently tugging him back in. “Then take your time,” you whispered. “I’m all yours.”

That did something to him — you saw it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his breath stuttered just slightly. Like your words struck a match to something already smoldering inside him.

He knelt slowly in front of you, never taking his eyes off yours as his hands slid up your thighs, bunching your dress higher until it rested around your hips. The drag of fabric across your skin felt electric — deliberate and slow. His lips brushed over your knees, then your inner thigh, until your breath hitched.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, lips warm against your skin, “how long I’ve thought about this. About tasting you. About worshiping you.”

Your hand found his shoulder for balance as he gently nudged your legs farther apart, his kisses getting closer, more urgent, but still wrapped in restraint — in care. You felt it in how he touched you like you were something rare. Precious.

One of his hands slipped your panties down and off, his other still steady on your thigh. His eyes met yours again before he leaned in, his voice a low vow against your skin:

“Let me make you forget the world.”

And then — he did.

His mouth found you with devastating softness. He took his time, savoring every flick of his tongue, every roll of your hips, every sound you made just for him. One of your hands clutched his shoulder while the other tangled tighter in his hair, and when your thighs trembled around him, he only held you firmer — grounding you, guiding you through it, like he wanted nothing more than to memorize every second of you falling apart.

When your legs started to give out, he grinned as he stood. "Sabes tan dulce, cariño." (You taste so sweet, darling)

You blushed and smiled, repeating what he said with a small giggle. "What does that mean?"

He cupped your cheek and whispered, "You taste so sweet..." then he leaned in, "Would you like a taste?"

You nodded and leaned in to meet his lips in a slow, deep kiss. The sweetness of yourself, mixed with the champagne and the sweetness of his scent, drove a deep want in you. You needed him—now.

When he pulled back, you were breathless, fingers gripping his shirt as he lowered you gently onto the bed. The air between you buzzed with anticipation, the promise of everything to come unraveling at a delicious, deliberate pace.

He hovered over you, eyes searching yours, checking — not just for permission, but for intention.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, voice husky.

You slowly pulled him down by the collar and whispered against his lips, “More than okay.”

His hands found your thighs, pushing your dress slowly higher — slow enough to feel every brush of his fingers, slow enough to make you ache.

“Good,” he breathed. “I plan to take my time.”

Harry’s lips met yours again, deeper this time — no teasing now, just a raw, unguarded need. Still soft, still gentle, but full of intent. His hand slid further up your thigh, the pads of his fingers dragging slowly along your skin, making you shiver beneath his touch.

He pulled back for just a moment to look at you — hair mussed, chest rising and falling, lips kissed pink. And God, the way he looked at you. Like you were art. Like you were something rare and precious and entirely his.

“May I take off your dress?” he asked, voice thick with restraint. His thumb traced your hip, grounding, steady.

You didn’t need words. You slowly guided his hand up to a strap and pulled it off your shoulder with him, your eyes locked on his.

He let out a breath — like he’d been holding it all night.

Then he was on you again, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, reverent as he went. He took his time, undoing the back of your dress slowly, his mouth following every new inch of skin he revealed. There was no rush, no desperation — just a building intensity, like he wanted to savor every second.

Once he had you out of your dress into nothing but your lace bra, his hands roamed your body, lightly grabbing and grounding himself — like he needed to make sure you didn’t float away. 

You quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt and peeled it off his body. Your hands roamed his skin, and you felt his lips discover and map over your soft skin. 

When you whispered his name, it came out a little breathless, a little needy — and it broke something in him.

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could kiss you again, slow and full of longing. “I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, lips brushing yours, “for longer than you know.”

You softly panted, confessing, “I’ve wanted the same… since the reception hall kitchen…” Your finger curled into his belt loop, pulling him down as you shifted beneath him. His weight settled over you — solid, grounding, everything you'd been craving. 

He murmured as his head dropped to your jaw and neck – making soft love marks into your skin. “That night… I wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to hold you…” 

And when his hand slipped between your legs, his touch was careful. Exploring. He moved up to the shell of your ear and lowly whispered, “…to touch you…” 

You softly gasped and threaded your fingers through the back of his head, gently holding onto him as you moaned his name. 

He enjoyed learning the way your body responded to him. He took his time — every kiss, every stroke, laced with a devotion that made your breath catch.

He had you arching up against him as he pressed small circles into your clit — praying for him not to stop. 

He moved up and began kissing your lips slowly, intentionally –  he muttered in between each kiss, 

“God, you’re so beautiful when you come undone.” 

"You're gorgeous like this… completely wrecked and mine."

¿Sabes lo hermosa que estás así? ¿Completamente deshecha, gimiendo mi nombre? ("You know how gorgeous you are like this? Completely undone, moaning my name?")

You clung to his shoulder and moved your hand down to his bicep as your legs began to tremble. 

You began panting and whimpering, whispering, repeating, “Oh fuck… oh fuck…” followed by a soft moan and your hand flying down to the silk sheets below to grip as you came. 

His name left your mouth again, soft and wanting.

You were barely coherent when he whispered against your skin, “You’re mine tonight. No more distractions.”

You were softly panting, cheeks flushed. You felt like you were floating. 

“Are you sure you don’t have a maid or butler who’s going to interrupt?” you teased as your eyes left his to look around at his bedroom. It was bigger than your living room and kitchen combined. “Jesus, Harry, I think you’re actually Bruce Wayne. Look at this bedroom!” you chuckled slightly, out of breath. 

He leaned his head down and softly kissed your neck as you spoke, your breath hitched as his hand curled around your thigh.

Harry lowly chuckled as he came back up to you and grinned — that smug, devastating smirk returning for just a flash. “No Alfred tonight… no one to interrupt us…”

You smiled up at him, heart racing. “No one...”

He leaned in and slowly kissed you again — and this time, there was no holding back. He cupped your cheek to hold you close, like he feared losing you. 

He removed his hand from between your legs and trailed it slowly up your body, landing it to lace with your fingers and softly push into the mattress as he started to grind his hips into yours. His erection was still painfully trapped in his trousers. 

You softly moaned against his lips before pulling away a fraction, leaning your forehead against his, “I need you…” you whimpered. 

He nodded and then kissed you once more, deep and with so much being said without a whisper. 

I want you.

I need you. 

This is everything I want – you are everything I want.

He then pulled back slowly, and your back arched off the mattress as his mouth traveled lower, each kiss a slow burn across your skin. He took his time like he was memorizing you — the places that made you gasp, the places that made you whimper.

The way he touched you wasn’t frantic, but it was intense — all simmering control and reverent heat. His hands slid under your thighs, spreading them open with quiet confidence, and when he looked up at you from between them, it nearly undid you.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he said softly, lips brushing your inner thigh. “I want to see you fall apart.”

And when he finally touched you — really touched you — you did.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, the back of his neck, anything you could reach. He was relentless in the way he worshipped you with his mouth, slow and purposeful, building you up with every swirl of his tongue until you were trembling beneath him.

He couldn’t get enough of you like this – on his tongue, entirely under his spell. He loved making you feel good — making you feel important. 

You gasped his name again as you quickly came to your peak — your words broken, breathless.

Once you started to come back down, he kissed his way back up your body, chest pressed to yours. 

He wasn’t done with you yet. He wanted to give you more. He wanted to make sure you were taken care of before his own selfish desires were addressed.  

He murmured as his hand slid back down between your bodies and began rubbing gentle, slow circles again, quickly building you back up. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, and your jaw slacked open — eyes-fluttering-shut type of build up. “That’s it, mi cielo. Let go for me.” he grinned.   

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. It hit you in waves — your hips arching into him, your voice a breathless plea against his shoulder as you unraveled.

He held you through it, whispering quiet praises against your skin.

“Keep making those sounds for me — I need to hear you.”

"You're trembling, baby. You're ok — I’ve got you."

After you came back down again — you melted into the sheets, panting heavily, legs shaking – he gently took you by the chin and kissed your lips slowly before softly smiling against your lips. 

“Let’s slow down for a second—look at me, you’re okay,” he said softly, gently brushing your hair back. 

You looked up at him and nodded, completely undone, leaning into his touch to calm yourself down. 

You hadn’t even had his cock yet and had cum more times than you ever had with any other man. 

He was so focused on making sure you felt good that you hadn’t even realized you hadn’t offered to do anything for him yet. 

You took a moment, taking a few deep breaths before you leaned up, brushing a light kiss against his lips before smirking and whispering, “Can I take off your trousers?” You moved your hand down his chest to pull gently on his belt loop. 

He smirked and nodded, “You can do whatever you want, baby…” 

You bit your bottom lip and looked down at his lips hungrily before starting to pull his belt undone, “I want to take care of you now…” You kissed his jawline.  

He looked down at your hands as they made swift work at getting his belt undone. His pants — along with his boxers — down and off of him. 

He eagerly kicked them off the bed, causing you both to let out an excited and lighthearted chuckle.

Once his cock sprang free and you gently wrapped your hand around it, starting to stroke him slowly. 

He grunted, and you watched his eyes flutter shut at the contact as he hovered above you. His fists clenched the sheets and your waist, letting out another groan deep in his chest, then muttering something you couldn’t quite make out in Spanish under his breath. 

“I want to taste you now…” You nudged your nose with his. 

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and he became partially flushed, and for once — speechless. 

“I’ll be careful…” You teased your lips against his again as you whispered. 

“I won’t make you cum… at least not this time.” you taunted.

He grinned, his eyes darkened. He liked this side of you. The side where your walls were completely down and you were comfortable around him. The side of you that showed him all parts of you, your vulnerabilities and scars — the side of you that trusted him.  

His hand that was gripping your waist moved up and gripped your chin gently, “On your knees then...” he nodded to the side of the bed.  

A jolt of electricity ran through your body and your heart started to pound excitedly. You nodded and moved with him to get off the bed. You went to kneel when he stopped you by cupping your cheeks in his hands, “Wait…” 

You looked up at him and instantly melted at the look in his eyes. There was lust, but also something softer — something tender and longing that you had as well in yours. 

He leaned in and kissed your lips deeply, one hand moving to gently pull your waist close to him — the other hand supporting the back of your neck as he tilted your head up. 

You put your hands on his chest and continued to kiss him until the two of you were breathless.

You pulled back slowly and kissed down his body, taking your time as you slowly knelt in front of him — kissing his jaw to his neck to his chest then down at the inner part of his hip bones, causing him to groan softly.

You couldn’t help but grin at the power you had in this moment. You wanted to make him feel just as good – if not better – than he’s made you feel tonight. 

You gently took his cock in your hand and kissed the tip, your lips lingering for a moment as you looked up at him.  

His heart was racing as you moved your lips down his body. He knew he wouldn’t be able to last long, the sight of your lips on his cock — he knew he was in trouble.

You moved and lightly trailed your tongue up the length of him, taking your time before wrapping your lips around him and slowly taking him into the warmth of your mouth. 

“God, you look perfect like that...” he praised, groaning softly. 

You lightly moaned, slowly sliding him deeper before gradually pulling back right as he was about to reach the back of your throat. 

The breath got caught in the back of his throat, and you felt his knee give out for a moment. 

“Fuck baby…” he whimpered. 

You pulled off and hummed at the sight. Seeing his cock drenched in your spit was a sight you knew you wouldn’t get tired of, one you’d be recreating often.

“I could get used to how sweet you taste, baby…” Then you went back to wrapping your lips around him, doing the same thing, but this time bouncing your mouth up and down on him slowly. He eventually reached the back of your throat, causing you to moan at the sensation. 

He let out a few shaky breaths as you continued to suck him off, talking you through it: 

“That’s it—take it like the good girl you are.”

“God, you feel so good like this. I can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

He felt a pull behind his navel, and he grunted, not being able to form a coherent sentence, “F-Fuck I’m–…” He clenched his jaw, trying to hold back. 

You pulled off slowly with a tight ‘pop’ and bit your lip as you looked up at him, “Need me to stop?” you said innocently, knowing he was close as you felt him start to throb. 

He chuckled shakily, his features flushed, but nodded.

After a second, he reached down, took your hand, and pulled you to stand. “Come ‘ere…” He growled, grinning. 

You giggled as you stood. 

He picked you up, your legs wrapping around his torso, arms around his neck as he carried you back to the bed like he couldn't stand another second without being inside you.

He laid you down gently, kissing you hungrily as your back hit the mattress. His hands roamed over your skin like he was relearning every inch, his body pressed tight against yours, his cock hard and ready.

“You know what you do to me?” he murmured against your lips, grinding his hips just enough for you to feel how much he needed you. "Me arruinas, cariño." (You ruin me, baby)

You moaned softly against his lips and pulled him closer, grinning breathlessly, “You have no idea what you’ve done to me, the things I feel for you… I–” you stopped yourself. 

You knew what you were feeling for him. You knew it was something deep, something that usually terrified you. It was a feeling you avoided feeling in the past. A feeling that always ends with you getting hurt. But right now, with Harry, it didn’t feel so scary. Why can’t you say it?

‘I’m falling in love with you…’ 

He pulled back from your lips and rested his forehead softly against yours, “…I think about you constantly,” he whispered or more so confessed, his breath warm and shaky against your mouth. “Even when I’m with you, I miss you. I crave you…”

Your chest ached in the sweetest way, his words sinking deeper than just your skin. 

You cupped his jaw, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone as your eyes searched his, all heat and tenderness and something else — something that felt dangerously close to love.

“I’m right here,” you whispered, arching your body against his as your legs tightened around his waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry exhaled shakily, like your promise undid him. He leaned in and kissed you again — slower this time, deeper — like he wanted to taste every unspoken thing between you. His fingers traced reverent lines down your body, slow and soft, until he settled between your thighs, his cock slowly sliding in between your folds.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, kissing your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest. “So good. I just want to make you feel everything.” He moved back up to press his forehead against yours, cupping your cheek gently. 

When he finally pushed inside you — slow, thick, filling you to the hilt — your fingers curled into his back. He stilled, keeping his forehead against yours, his breath shaky.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured. “Te sientes como en el cielo”. (You feel like heaven.)

You gasped his name, wrapping your arms around him as your bodies melted together, moving in a rhythm only the two of you could understand.

You leaned up to kiss him fiercely, rolling your hips up into his with each slow thrust, and he groaned — low and rough — before moving again.

You moaned against his lips and your back arched against his chest, goosebumps littering your skin — that tight coil moments away from snapping again.

“F-Fuck…” You gripped the hair at the back of his head as you continued to kiss him. Another hand moved to his bicep as you began to feel the wave build up to crash down. 

“Look at me,” he murmured, pulling away from your lips, voice thick with feeling. “I want to see you... I want to see you come undone on my cock..."

And when you did — trembling beneath him, whispering his name like a prayer — he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed.

He continued drawing his hips slowly and steadily back and forth. Taking his time, rooting himself in this space and time with you. It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t fast. It was deeper than that — a rhythm born of connection, of all the tension and teasing that had built between you. His fingers laced with yours as he thrusted slow and deep, and when your eyes met, it felt like nothing else existed outside that room.

He whispered your name like a prayer against your lips as you fell apart again — and this time, he followed.

The early morning light filtered softly through the curtains, painting the room in pale gold. The city was quiet — the kind of hush that only came just before the world stirred awake. But in the warm tangle of blankets and bare skin, Harry was already awake.

He lay on his side, head propped up by one arm, the other stretched across the bed to touch you. His fingers traced slow, featherlight paths along your upper arm, his touch reverent, careful not to wake you—not yet.

You looked peaceful, curled toward him, your breathing slow and even. The soft rhythm of your breath grounded him in a way nothing else ever had.

His thumb brushed over your skin again, and he leaned in, his lips hovering just above your shoulder.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispered, so quiet it almost got lost in the morning air. “This… what we have… between us… I’m all in, yeah? No games. No doubts.”

His hand wandered gently to your waist, fingers splaying there like he was memorizing the feel of you.

“I’ll give you everything,” he added, softer now — as if he was afraid to say it out loud. “Just… stay.”

You shifted slightly, not quite awake, but enough that your body moved closer to his in your sleep. It made him smile — wide and full of something warm and vulnerable. He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“I want every morning to look like this.”

That was the one that did it.

Your lips curved into a sleepy smile before your eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly in the golden light. “Mmm,” you murmured, voice still thick with sleep, “You trying to make me melt before I’m even awake?”

Harry laughed quietly, brushing your hair back from your face. “Wasn’t planning to… but I’d be lying if I said I hated that smile right now.”

You stretched languidly, the covers slipping a little down your back. “How long have you been watching me sleep?”

“Long enough to know I’m in trouble,” he teased, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “You looked too beautiful to wake.”

You turned toward him, your hands slipping around his neck as you pulled him down into a kiss — soft and lazy and unhurried. The kind of kiss that tasted like contentment.

“You meant all that?” you whispered against his lips. “Everything you said?”

Harry’s hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “Every word. I’m yours...”

You kissed him again, this time a little deeper. “You’re mine...” you murmured. “Don’t think you’re walking away after last night.” You teased.

“Wasn’t planning to, querida...” He said softly against your lips. 

His hands slid beneath the blanket, pulling you closer, until there wasn’t a sliver of space left between you. The kiss deepened, and you felt him smile against your lips just before he rolled you gently onto your back.

“What’s this?” you murmured playfully, fingers slipping into his hair.

“Just want to start the day right,” he said, voice low and full of warmth, “by reminding you exactly what you do to me.”

You let out a small giggle, feeling his scruff tickle your neck as he leaned down to kiss your neck, “Mm, don’t you have a meeting with Clarkson?” You wrapped your leg around his waist as he moved to settle in between your legs — no intention of letting him go now. 

The covers shifted, and he smirked as he kissed your throat before moving up to your jaw, muttering sweetly, “I’ve got time, mi cielo…” 

His hand slid up your leg that was wrapped around him — slowly up your body as he began kissing your lips slowly and passionately — before he slowly buried himself inside you. 

Your breath hitched. And the morning unfolded with soft moans, slow touches, and kisses that promised more than just passion — they promised something real.

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[writinginatree]

The Book Can Wait

Relationship(s): Bodhi Durran/Xaden Riorson/reader

Summary: Finishing the book you're reading proves impossible with Bodhi and Xaden next to you, needy for attention and unable to keep their hands to themselves.

Warnings: Cousincest, making out, allusions to sex

Written for @empyreanevents's Bodhi Week Day 7: Free Day. I had something entirely else planned for today but it turned out terrible so you're getting this instead because I saw @xadensbiceps and @theoppositequeens write Bodhi x Xaden this week and got the urge to join the fun (except I made it a reader-insert because apparently I don't know how to write anything else lol)

AO3

Fully engrossed in the book propped up against your pillow, you ignore the dip of the mattress where Xaden's elbow digs into it near your waist as he leans over you. You can feel his body heat against your back, just distracting enough that you stumble over a word and have to restart the sentence you were reading.

To your left, Bodhi also shifts. His fingers — previously tracing nonsense shapes on your arm and shoulder — still for a second, then leave your skin altogether. You instantly miss the contact.

Briefly glancing over your shoulder to see what they're up to, you find Xaden and Bodhi locked in a kiss. Both their torsos are bare, miles of soft, brown skin and toned muscle on full display, practically begging to be touched.

Fuck. Do they have to look so stupidly hot while you're just trying to finish your book?

It takes all your willpower to avert your eyes and focus back on the text before you. Only two more chapters, you remind yourself — less, actually, seeing as you're already halfway through one of them. If you manage to ignore the distractingly perfect men on either side of you for just a little longer, you can finish the book and then focus solely on them.

Naturally, that plan doesn't work out.

You manage a single page before one of them nips at your shoulder, ripping you out of the story again. A kiss to the same spot follows, then fingers trailing down your spine and soft curls brushing your arm as Bodhi's head enters your field of vision and obscures the view of your book, his hand coming up to caress your cheek.

He smiles up at you like the very definition of innocence — acting as if he doesn't know damn well what he's doing.

Xaden kisses his way along your shoulder up to your neck, his hand sliding under your shirt.

Your eyes squeeze shut.

"Guys," you whine. "I only have like a dozen pages left. After I'm done reading you'll have my full attention, I promise."

"Oh, I think we already have your attention," Xaden's low voice sounds right against your ear.

He's right, of course. It's impossible to concentrate on anything else with the two of them being all over you like this.

Opening your eyes, your gaze meets Bodhi's.

He's half lying on your book, dark curls obscuring the words, but you know he's taken care to not wrinkle the pages lying down. He takes your jaw in his hand, gently guiding your face down to his. His mouth brushes yours in a barely-there kiss.

"Your book can wait," Bodhi mutters against your lips. "We can't."

"Yes you can. You just don't want to."

Unsuccessfully fighting a smile, you don't sound nearly as stern as you'd intended. It simply isn't possible to be irritated at their interrupting your precious reading time — not with the way Bodhi is purposefully being all adorable while Xaden continues to cover your neck in open-mouthed kisses.

Bodhi shrugs and claims your mouth with his own, effectively shutting down any further retorts. With his tongue roaming your mouth, it gets increasingly hard to remember why you would even want to complain in the first place.

Releasing you from the kiss, Bodhi expectantly looks up at you.

You know if you really insisted on going back to your book, he and Xaden would accept it. They could keep each other occupied. But you also know your thoughts would keep drifting back to them and the fun you'd be missing out on. There is no resisting the temptation they provide — Bodhi sprawled before you like a mischievous angel, Xaden wrapped around you from behind, nuzzling against your neck like the devil whispering in your ear.

With a sigh, you pull the book out from under Bodhi's head and close it. You'll just have to read the remaining chapter another time, no matter how badly you want to know how the story ends.

"Alright."

Bodhi's beaming smile makes it instantly worth it. Still, you can't help but tease them a little, jokingly complaining that the two of them are like a couple of needy puppies begging for attention.

Payback follows instantly in the form of Xaden biting your neck — hard. If he's trying to beat the puppy allegations that's not the most efficient move, but before you can say so, he starts to suck on the sensitive skin and the thought dissolves in a rush of warm pleasure.

"What ha— nhh— happened to not leaving any marks?" you gasp.

Bodhi answers for his cousin, locking eyes with him over your shoulder, the grin that spreads over Bodhi's face mirroring the one you feel against your neck. "We can't leave marks on each other, but we can leave marks on you, actually."

Xaden's hum of agreement vibrates against your skin. His mouth glides higher up your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"Ah. That's reasonable, I guess. But—" You interrupt yourself with a breathy moan when Bodhi licks up the other side of your neck. "But hardly fair. You could let me mark up one of you, at least."

"Nope."

Though you're not exactly happy about it, you understand Xaden's reasoning, and can't claim to disagree. Rumors are the last thing the three of you need, and if someone were to see all three of you with lovebites at the same time, rumors would ensue. And even if it's just you and one of them alternatingly, there would be talk. People probably wouldn't jump right to the conclusion of a polyamorous relationship, but they might think you're hooking up with both of them behind the other's back. Either way, it would only lead to unnecessary drama.

"Aww, come on, Xay! I want hickeys too," Bodhi pouts.

"Next time. We can take turns," Xaden decides. "But we have to be careful it's really just one of us getting hickeys, and not all the time."

Bodhi grumbles something unintelligible and pulls you on top of him. His hands are at your waist, toying with the hem of your shirt.

You sit up and lift your arms, silent permission for him to take it off, which he wastes no time in doing.

The fabric isn't even fully over your head when Xaden's hands are already on you, following the curve of your ribcage with what feels like reverence, like no matter how often he's already done so, he can't wait to explore every inch of exposed skin again.

Bodhi's teeth scrape over your throat, hands joining Xaden's, groping and caressing until you can no longer tell whose touch is whose. It doesn't matter. There is only their skin against yours, searing kisses and mingled breaths. Their lips on yours and each other's, Xaden's bare chest warm against your back, your hands in Bodhi's hair.

Angling your head to give him better access to your neck, your gaze falls on your book, laying abandoned on your pillow. It'll have to wait a little longer — in this moment, reality is much more appealing than any story could ever hope to be.

[drfleetflower]

HG Scenario: Love Languages

~Requested~

Pairings: Coriolanus Snow, Tigris Snow, Sejanus Plinth, Casca Highbottom, Peeta Mellark, Finnick Odair, Gale Hawthorne, Haymitch Abernathy x Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, addiction, trauma

WC: 2.1k

Coriolanus Snow:

Coriolanus Snow is not a very affectionate man, but he shows his love in subtle ways. His love language is ‘acts of service’. So, of course he’s very gentlemanly. Afterall, he was nicknamed ‘Gent’ a while back. He opens doors for you, gives you his arm when walking up stairs, your meals are always prepared for you, your bed is always made, really anything you need done is done for you. Maybe these things aren’t always done by him, but he orchestrates them without you having to lift a finger. That is, unless you have a task you want to do. 

So, a moment like this is rare. Coriolanus is sitting in a royal red, tall and embroidered chair. He holds a book in his hands, reading aloud to you as you stand behind him. Your hands rest on his shoulders, massaging out the stress after a long day. A deep warmth bathes the two of you, emitting from the crackling fire in the fireplace. He occasionally pauses to sigh or take one of your hands, kissing it softly. 

Coriolanus is scarcely away from his office or the public, so this intimate instance is one you don’t take for granted. You listen intently to his smooth, controlled voice and rest your cheek against your intertwined hands. After each chapter he asks you questions and the two of you discuss different aspects of the story. He often just gives you his opinions and you agree, although when you do weigh in with your own ideas, he brightens and challenges you whether or not he agrees. You can’t help but be enraptured by him when he gets deep into a discussion and feels secure enough to share his feelings with you. 

Tigris Snow:

Tigris Snow is constantly giving. Whether that means giving time, attention, and care to her loved ones, or physical things like gifts, it doesn’t matter. She gives and gives. Especially to you; her most loved one. She spends most of her time hunched over a sewing machine and design book. And, a lot of that effort goes into making special things for you. 

You take every stitch to heart, and can’t help but be blown away by how she spoils you. Constantly Tigris suddenly showers you with new clothes, clothes she could easily sell for a pretty penny. Instead, she’s made them especially for you and it’s hard for you to figure out how to repay the kindness, how to show her that she means just as much to you and you do to her. So, you hone in on your craft. You take time and care to make her something just as special as the magic she has crafted for you. 

When you find the right time, you set a fine occasion and gift it to her. The act, so simple and so underwhelming in your eyes, brings tears to hers. She embraces you and thanks you perhaps too many times, making you wish you thanked her more. You embrace her right back and share a tender kiss. You feel grateful, fulfilled that you had done your job. You made her feel seen and special and appreciated, the way she deserves to feel. And so, you spend the evening in each other's arms admiring each other. 

Sejanus Plinth:

Sejanus Plinth is burdened. He tends to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, worrying about the state of the districts and constantly wracking his brain for ways to fix what is tremendously broken. So, you’ve adopted the job of consoling him. Many nights he lies awake ranting about the injustices that run rampant across Panem and you lie next to him and stroke his head, running your fingers through his curly hair. You coo words of encouragement and try your best to settle him down by acknowledging the hard work he’s already done. Still, the cycle continues.

There is some improvement though. You can tell that Sejanus has become happier, at least, as happy as one can be under the conditions. And, once you realize just how much he lights up when you compliment him, you make it a point to motivate him even outside of those late nights. He returns the gesture. 

You didn’t notice it at the start of your relationship, but Sejanus is big on complimenting you, too. It doesn’t matter the time or occasion, Sejanus finds a way to weave in a ‘you look wonderful today, my love’ or ‘what a great idea, you’re amazing’, and the like. Clearly, he’s a ‘words of affirmation’ type. So, you tend to his love language and the two of you sometimes have mini competitions of who can compliment the other the most.

Casca Highbottom:

Casca Highbottom doesn’t ask for much. He is content as long as you are near, present with him. Why you would waste your time on him, a depressed addict, he doesn’t know. But, he refuses to question it, and selfishly he chalks it up to luck so you’ll stick around. You don’t have to do anything together, really. Usually, the two of you just sit around doing absolutely nothing, simply being with each other. Other times, the two of you talk for hours about everything and nothing. 

He will share his worries with you, his guilt about his role in the Hunger Games. Most of the time though, he avoids the subject, preferring to spend the coveted time he has with you discussing more pleasant matters. 

Some days, Casca might be at his desk grading papers while you sit in a leather chair by the fire, telling him about your day. He hums in response, laughing at your quips, and chimes in with a remark when he has one. You always ask about his day in return, and he’ll sigh and usually give the same old, same old, his red pen making slashes on test questions. You wait up for him to finish his grading, and when he’s done, he’ll come over and give your shoulders a light squeeze before the two of you curl up in bed together.

Peeta Mellark:

Peeta Mellark is a very affectionate person. He has no trouble expressing his feelings to you, but prefers to do so without words. Words can get complicated, and when it comes to you, sometimes he can’t decipher the cues you’re giving him. So, physical cues are a safer bet. 

When the two of you got together, Peeta hadn’t the slightest clue that you reciprocated feelings for him until you kissed him. It surprised the both of you. But, from then on you knew you’d have to be more direct in your approach to romance and such. For example, you don’t shy away from holding his hand, or cuddling with him, or kissing his cheek. He won’t always make the first move, so you just take the initiative when you want to instead of waiting for him to get the hint. 

The moments that the two of you cherish the most are when you’re wrapped up in each other's arms. You lie on the couch or your bed, holding each other, Peeta kissing your head. You can watch television or read a book, or sometimes just do nothing. You could take the time to talk about your days but a lot of the time, the two of you like the silence, simply focusing on the feeling of each other being so close and warm. Obviously, this time together is best in the cold months.

Finnick Odair:

Finnick Odair exudes love and affection. He truly understands and appreciates every language of love, but he is inclined toward gift giving. He makes knots almost all day, everyday, so he’s bound to make a few things for you. And, practically anything you give him he automatically treasures. He is honestly a bit of a hoarder with how many keepsakes and sentimental items he has displayed. There’s overlap that he has to keep in storage too. 

What he likes about physical pieces, is he can keep them with him when you can’t be near. He can weave a shell you gave him into a necklace or bracelet and always have it on his person. And Finnick loves it when you wear the things he gives you, it’s as if you’re showing him off and tying yourself to him. He also appreciates the time, care, and effort that are put into the gifts you give each other. Although weaving comes easy to him, it can still be tedious and time consuming. And, you are simply astonished by what he can do with nothing but a strand. Even if you have so many pieces of braided jewelry you couldn’t possibly name each one. 

Sometimes, Finnick even adds a little note. A one-liner usually, something like ‘I love you more than the moon loves the ocean.’ You can’t help but make him read each one to you, too. His voice is always so calming when he’s telling you how much he loves you. Also, in general, but especially then. 

Gale Hawthorne:

Gale Hawthorne isn’t great at expressing himself. Not in the sense that he won’t talk to you about his emotions, but more so on how he goes about it. Of course, when you first met, he wasn’t much of a talker at all. Now that the two of you are close though, he doesn’t shy away from sharing his feelings. You love this about him, that he has become unashamed around you, that he feels so safe with you he will tell you any thought that pops into his head. Unfortunately, in the midst of being so honest with you, he can get blinded by what is perhaps too honest. Or, let his emotions get the better of him. 

This is why his love language is physical touch. First of all, the two of you have kind of evolved to communicate without words anyway. Secondly, it makes so much more sense to him to put his hand over yours than say ‘it’s alright’. Because sometimes it isn’t. And thirdly, Gale gets much more satisfaction from a kiss than anything else. He would happily live as an Avoxe if your tender touch was on line. Although, some kisses would be less exciting without his tongue.

He is big on quality time too, but he does request to have his hands on you in one way or another. Gale wants a family some day, so when the two of you are in the Meadow, his hand subconsciously rubbing your back as you tell his younger siblings a story that finally starts to settle them down… He swears his heart beats a mile a minute. 

Haymitch Abernathy:

Haymitch Abernathy is still in shock by the simple fact that you like him. Let alone love. And perhaps even more shocking than that is: he loves you too. He’s tortured by guilt though. Tortured in general, really, so he pushes you away. He refuses to admit anything but disdain for you until you break down crying, screaming at him that you love him. He lets you hug him and he comforts you, realizing you are not giving up and if he continues hurting you it might just kill him too. 

So, when he reluctantly accepts your love and affection, he goes along with whatever you want. You kind of have to force him to help you help him and tell you what it is he wants. You learn that Haymitch wants security. Not a security system, although it’s doubtful he’d be opposed, but a feeling of calm. A guarantee that everything will turn out right. That guarantee doesn’t exist, but you try your best. You learn that he goes crazy when he doesn’t know where you are, so you tend to stay close to him and when you aren’t, he always knows where you are. Also, you make sure that he’s somewhat distracted, like having Katniss, Peeta, and the kids come over when you’re away. 

Everyday can come as a challenge, a welcome one of course, but still a challenge. Trauma like Haymitch went through is no easy feat. But, little by little, it gets easier. And you start to have more good days than bad. He lets you help take care of his geese, he’s protective of them but he is of you, too. Maybe the little birds picked up on that, because they follow you too now. 

[thewritingfairy]

BATFAMM WHEN I CATCH U

I just wanted to grab Bruce Jason and Barbara not to mention dick through the screen n beat ‘em for all the DUMB SHI they said in this fic. Bruce talking bout “what happened to the sweet little kid I used to know?” YOU NEVER KNEW THEM?? Only relaying on Alfred’s bitch ahh words and not seeing them for yourself like you barely cared when Jason (HYPOCRITE) beat em why care now? 🤷🏻‍♀️ OH AND WHEN HE THOUGHT HE WAS BEING SMART N SHIT? The mean mug I gave to my phone was true

Jason tryna act all big n bad to my boy duke like js stop your embarrassing yourself. I would have spat on his face in pure anger if I was duke ngl like i totally get his disgust towards them, UGHH HE MAKES ME MAD AND DICK? Yk what they say birds of a feather flock together 2 peas In a pod head ahh like they really suit each simply because they both act as if they’re righteous and good all bc they suddenly started caring for they sibling far to little, it almost feels like out of obligation more than out of guilt which is BARELY showing in their actions, bffr they could’ve had brains damage in the past and they still wouldn’t have cared

And last but not least Barbara talking bout “they clearly don’t know how to take care of themselves ” girl they have been doing it for YEARS?? Like you barely even know them and you started making assumptions based of a few files🧍🏻‍♂️ UGHH THEY ALL MADE ME SO MAD IN TS CHAPTER

SORRY FOR THE RANT AGAINN you did such an amazing job and I gobbled ts shit up like it was last meal on earth, continue your GLORIOUS work and have a great day/night/evening TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF XOXO

Story mentioned: જ⁀➴Nobody's child, specific chapter: ↪ 10. Duke is done

I love writing thanks to these reactions, I am so glad you enjoy my story<333

But yeah Duke was the best, because let's be honest, they are acting out of guilt but it seems like it's from obligation because they still think you only deserve the bare minimum, but they think that the bare minimum isn't that. They are quite delusional as fuck.

But absolutely, they don't know shit about (Name) or their health.

They can all fuck off :)

and dw they'll get worse :D

[gayestsimp]

Decaying life: Chapter 2

words used 3.2k

Tag list: @randomlyappearingartist @ryuushou @rowannin @s0ggyrats @maybeethan69 @0-candlecove-0

I’ve made #Decaying life so if you wish to find post only related to Decaying life, you will!

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

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(Name) was seventeen. It had been a few days after he first met Damian. His half “brother” and so far- the one out of the few that were mostly in the mansion that interacted with him. A few small scars and bruises present over his face and body from some of these interactions, but most didn’t end in violence but instead many aggressive words being yelled at him, like being called a ‘half breed’ or a ‘bastard son’ and a ‘whore’s son’ that last one being the most painful… the brat daring to comment on (Name)’s mother this way? That was what angered the boy the most- but thankfully, he had plans, when Jason arrives in two days, he’s going to ask his older brother if he can move in with him for a while.

It brought (Name) some joy to know he could be somewhere more… freeing- and actually hangout with his most beloved brother. Right now though, all he had to do was wait and go through life like normal, like school. (Name) could get a ride to get to Gotham Academy from Alfred, god knows the butler has insisted that the boy should due to how long the walk was and getting a bus as well wouldn’t be needed than- but to also interact with his other two brothers, Tim and Damian more. However (Name) didn’t want that, so he always refused and turn down the offer, and anyways, the walk to the bus stop was nice, with fresh air- well fresh as Gotham could get and a brief talk to the elderly women and men waiting for their rides, they were decent to talk to and some even had interesting life stories. But either way, (Name) would take his usual route and path to the school, enjoying his ride… well not enjoy but liking it a lot more than having to be in a car next to those two.

Regardless, (Name) would arrive at the bus stop and continue to walk towards Gotham Academy, arriving a little earlier than his supposed brothers, his own journey taking longer than the car ride, so an earlier bus had to be taken to fully avoid the boys, but still arrive on time, causing some bags under his eyes, having to get up more early to get prepared for the day. The academy life that (Name) experienced wasn’t the worse or best- he wasn’t easily noticed by most, his own surname being kept the same as it was before he ever moved in with the Wayne family- that being (Last Name). Not using the Wayne name or being widely known like his supposed brothers did help- most people that wanted and are his friends were legitimate with their interest being in (Name), maybe one or two interest in just using him for small schemes, but most were decent people… well as decent as some Gothamites can be, but regardless- (Name)’s academy life was rather nice, better than most as he preferred it over his own…

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After each second that ticked away on the clock, the seconds into minutes and those minutes into hours. A partially gloved hand holding a pencil and tapping it against a desk- just waiting for the final hour of the day to pass. (Name) was waiting to finally get out of building and go to his job. In order to get some real experience as soon as he leaves and not act like a burden for Jason- if his older brother would be willing to let the younger stay with him, which does seem likely to be fair on his end, he could make some extra money to take care of himself- he also just couldn’t become a vigilante, as the matter of fact, nobody in the family knows that he’s aware of their secret double lives, even Jason, but also the fact that he can destroy anything with the touch of one hand. He also just wanted to live a normal life, to go with his own dreams and ambitions like his Momma would have wanted him to do so… the mere thought of her would bring some tears to (Name)’s eyes, it’s been so long since he’s seen her face, so much of it was a blur to him now, the only thing he can remember clearly was her hands- how soft and warm they were, how they wiped away his tears and covered him with love.

Soon enough, the clock would tick by until it reached the ending hour, and with one last bell, everyone could stand up and start walking away- with (Name) quickly making his way through to avoid both Damian and Tim, with him hastily making way through the hall and out at the front, before Alfred could arrive and insist that (Name) enters the car- he was already out and turning to his place of work- it was a small business in a rather decent place of town, his boss was just a nice man, up their in his age, but a welcoming and inviting person- often helping those of a lower class or needing the support, he was Mr. Evan’s, a man that has been running this business for about twenty years- and a strong pillar for the community. The man sold all sorts of things, from food and drinks to toys and books. And the people that visited the place were just as pleasant to be around, even sometimes- after a good days work, (Name) could take back a book or two for free, often reading them with Jason in his room.

(Name) would quickly get inside the building, seeing the elderly man in front of him, waving towards Mr. Evans, quickly making his way behind the counter. “Hey, Mr. Evans- how are you doing today?” He asked, holding a bright smile for the man that gave him a job.

“I’m doing fine (Name), think you can close up for me today? I have to go see my daughter in the hospital, she’s close to giving birth now.” The old man spoke, having picked up his coat and a hat, putting them on while handing the key over to the younger male, with his partially gloved hand taking it and nodding back at the elder.

“Sure, have fun seeing Lauren, have fun being a proper old man now!” He spoke in slight teasing tone to Mr. Evans, allowing the older man chuckle at (Name)’s words before leaving the building, allowing the seventeen year old take over for the rest of the day. Customers going in and out regularly, with some familiar face popping in to buy something and holding small conversations with (Name), before buying what they wanted and bidding the boy a farewell.

Soon enough, (Name)’s shift would come to an end, the closing time for the store popping up and leaving the boy to close it up, ensuring to lock the door once he left after turning off everything inside. All that was left was for (Name) to check for a bus- pulling out his phone and looking for the next available bus at his regular stop would reveal that… they were all cancelled- this wasn’t the first time this happened, it happened a few weeks before for a couple of days, leading the boy to call Jason up for a ride- he would have gone with Alfred… but the butler having to leave the house for a while might pick up some unwanted attention. So (Name) changes to his contacts, preparing to call Jason, his thumb hovering just over the name… but he couldn’t bring himself to call his older brother right now… what if he’s seeming just like a leach? What if Jason starts to find him annoying as well?- not interact with him any more afterwards… no- he shouldn’t think like that… but that feeling is always there… what if he could just get another bus instead?- not bothering his older brother would be good… so with shaking hands and slightly heavy heart would instead check for buses once more- and thankfully, there was one he could catch, though there was only one issue- it was in the east end… further than Mr. Evan’s business is in- should he really go through this- surely Jason wouldn’t mind one call again… No, he shouldn’t bother the only family member that doesn’t seem annoyed or ignores him- he can make it on his own to get back to Wayne manor- maybe Jason would be able to see that (Name) can actually look after himself, especially if the boy does live with him in the end- and Jason wouldn’t have to worry for (Name) being alone at nights.

So, (Name) decided to start taking off, tomorrow was a Saturday- so he could return early and help Mr. Evans with running the place and hand the keys back to the elder, quickly trying to get to the bus stop as he got further and further into the East End- ears picking up on all the crime, some screams, at least a violent voice ordering a person to give them money, and two gunshots in the further distance- even some glass breaking. Though not all of it was bad. (Name) saw some children playing games together, having fun, another group of older boys also talking about ‘How cool Red Hood is’ which only brought a smile to the boy’s face- his big brother- his only brother- was admired by so many here… Jason deserves it, he’s kind to (Name) and has been more effective at stopping crime than the rest- but also inspiring to the younger boys and even girls around the East End, letting them breathe life into once completely crime filled streets.

(Name) was now half way to the bus stop, he hadn’t realised how far along he has come- sorting out his uniform as his heart rate slowly rose up, he was… unsure if he should even be down here… there’s too many chance he could be jumped, robbed or worse even killed for no reason… but than… he could feel a sensation down his back, something making him shiver, as though eyes lingered onto his body, turning his head back slightly, he could notice a man behind him, not that close, but somewhat near… ‘Maybe we’re just going in the same direction?’ Is what (Name) questioned in his head, wanting to just… make sure- (Name) made a small turn around a corner, planning to just walk down the sidewalk until he can cross the road, wanting to keep an eye out for the man behind him.

So (Name) took the turn, and walking down for a little while, he saw the man do the same- but with a more clear look at him, (Name) could notice he hand one hand in his pant’s pocket. In Gotham, that could usually mean he has a… gun. But than again, many people have guns- even Alfred, the old man teaching the boy about them slightly on one of (Name)’s birthdays, but after crossing the road- the boy could notice a slight jolt in his actions before the man did the same- and once more, walking straight to (Name). That meant this man likely had some… intentions with the boy- what are they?- well (Name) isn’t sticking around to find out, going further down the path, keeping his eyes out behind him, picking up his pace slowly, not wanting this stranger to catch on and either pull out his weapon or run after him. Gloved hand clutching at straps on the schoolbag on his back, his grip like iron, blood pumping around his body faster and faster- trying to get away from the man. And ahead would be another corner he could turn and hopefully run away- well that is what (Name) originally planned, only to suddenly see another man there- that could be his salvation! But, the feeling in his gut? It said otherwise, unable to trust that either have pleasant intentions for him, it resulted in (Name) making the quickest exit he could, with a quick look around- it was an alleyway right next to him- so as fast as (Name)’s legs could carry him, he had bolted down the alleyway. The boy could hear the sounds of two more pairs of feet picking up in pace, causing his heart to beat faster than it ever has. “Fuck- fuck!- w-who the hell a-are they- shit!-“ He yelled, tripping and twisting his ankle, letting out a small yelp, and a hiss afterwards- falling to the ground and landing on his right thigh, the pant pocket pushing against the ground and a small crack being heard. “Fuck! M-my phone, s-should’ve used it earlier-“ he spoke while trying to get his phone out of his pocket, attempting to stand up, only to hiss out in pain as stepped on his right foot, a shooting pain going up his body and leaning against the wall, but his body forced him to push past the pain and continue running forward while opening his cracked phone with one hand, his other one scratching away at his neck. His phone new exterior causing small cuts on his finger as it also struggled to open an app or respond to his finger, taking it longer to do anything. “C’mon, c-c’mon!- work you stupid piece of-“ and before (Name) knew it, his face planted against a wall- looking up from his phone- he’d realise that he it a dead end, no more turns or hope in running, only now in his slow responding phone, with his fingers desperately trying to call ‘911’ or even ‘Only Brother’ but he couldn’t… he could hear the two pairs of footsteps approaching him, getting closer and closer to him, leading to the boy to shiver, what could he do?- how could he defends himself- his hands…

(Name) stared down at them, they were still gloved… but they had dirt on them from his trip and falling, and one finger had blood from the broken glass he tried to use. He didn’t want to use them… not again, every time he’s accidentally used his power… he couldn’t help but think of… her… his Momma, and what he had done to her- but it a possible matter between life and death- a-and he could just use them to destroy their weapons and make them run off… yes!- or destroy the wall! But he could barely run anymore- the pain of his foot making itself clear now, he had to stand his ground. So with panted breaths, (Name) would start to remove his gloves, letting his hands free. “S-shit… p-please let this work…” he softly spoke to himself as he saw the men approaching, the one with a hand in his pocket slowly taking. Out his gun- oh, it was a knife… perhaps they wanted to be more silent about it. Regardless, the one with the weapon spoke. “Hey, what’s a GA brat like you doing out here? Don’t you have a butler to carry you around, or does Daddy not give a shit?” He asked, as they both got closer- the other man speaking instead now. “Hey… wait a minute- I recognise this brat- he’s one of Bruce Wayne’s children… they don’t appear much in public, but I remember that face.” He explained to the other criminal- causing (Name) to take some deeper breaths, not only did they now just know he was a Goth Academy student, but they knew he was related to Bruce… but being called that man’s child?- it only boiled (Name)’s blood, mixing both his fear and anger into one, still scratching at his neck slightly. “Really? Oh we’re definitely gonna make a fortune out of this brat- one ransom and we’ll be loving like kings!” He yelled, approaching the frightened boy. “Now kid, come along with me, and I won’t be forced to cut that ugly face of yours.” The wanna be kidnapper spoke, approaching the boy with the knife. (Name) couldn’t help himself with how much fear he felt, seeing something sharp that threatened to stab or cut him wasn’t new- but these strangers- they could do anything, at least Damian has some form of restraint with murder now, mostly because of Jason and Alfred… but these men, they could do anything- especially if Bruce doesn’t pay them, he probably doesn’t even remember that he has five sons.

So (Name) would lunge forward, startling the man with a knife as the boy’s hand went for his face, laughing softly, about to speak about who knows what- only to to break apart into pieces, the light in his eyes flickering like a failing bulb, the other unarmed man was left shock- confused and not sure on what to do, his legs locking in place, as (Name) pushed himself forward on his good foot in the heat of the moment, hand grabbing the older man’s throat, destroying it first, as skin and muscle broke- causing him to struggle to breath at first, than choke on his own blood, before the rest of his body also broke down. Leaving just a panting (Name) with a bloodied hand and panting heavily. “I just… k-killed them… o-oh… I’m-“ before (Name) can properly process this situation and what he had done, he could feel himself nearly throwing up, though he was able to hold it down, nearly gagging a few time, but still could keep his vomit down. Leaving him alone to pant and process everything again. Sitting in silence. His own hands furiously attacking his own neck, small amount of tears leaving the boy’s eyes.

He just bawled his eyes out and sat there for a few minutes, before slowly rising up and reaching back for his phone, not even realising he had dropped it. Putting it inside his pocket for a moment as he went to grab his fallen glove, putting it back on carefully to not destroy it. Than (Name) would shakily pull his phone out, slowly making his way out of the alleyway and back onto the sidewalk as he used his phone, swiping the screen to where his contacts were again, opening the app, and than finally calling Jason. It rings for only four seconds before his older brother picked up the phone. “Hey little wing, you alright? Need me to pick you- I’m guessing the buses got cancelled.” Jason spoke, sounding gentle and relaxed, allowing for (Name) to destress a little, his shoulders sinking slightly while still taking in heavy breaths. “Y-yeah… I… J- I n-need you to… to pick me up.” Though he still softly sobbed in between his words, struggled to properly speak, leading to Jason’s growing concerns. “Hey, little wing, you doing fine? What’s got you sobbing? Did the Demon spawn do something?” He asked, now annoyed and angry that Damian could have hurt you again. “N-no… no, I… I, I was about to…. Ki-kidnapped by two men… th-than I k…killed them… p-please c-come h-here Jason…” Jason remained silent for a moment, not entirely sure on what to say, it was hard to tell what he was thinking at the moment, but than he spoke in a much softer tone, one he’d used to comfort some of the crying children of the east end. “Alright, just tell me where you are, and I’ll pick you up, alright?” And just like that, (Name) told his brother why was around him, the older male staying on the phone with the boy until he got on his motorbike, leaving (Name) alone for a moment- just himself and his memories of the passing moment, sotting on the sidewalk in the cold… wishing for her warm hands again, but also for Jason…

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[vamptizm]

vi. MISSION JEALOUSY — p.bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis: in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings: angst. explicit language. that’s it i think.

word count: 3.6k

note: this took me soso long i apologize, i’m just not satisfied with this whatsoever. this series will not be revolving around just smut, so obv it’s not going to be in every or every other chapter. idk how long i’ll make it, but most of my chapters are rather short so probably double in the digit chapter count. yeah anyway thank u for being patient and reading this (i loveee comments of any kind so pls don’t hesitate to leave those)

series masterlist

Clover sat across from Vanessa in a quaint little sushi restaurant downtown, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her water glass as she tried—really tried—to focus on the conversation. The dim lighting cast a warm glow across the table, the soft murmur of voices and clinking plates filling the space between them. Vanessa was mid-sentence, her voice light and animated as she recounted a story from work, but Clover wasn't listening.

She couldn't.

Everything about the evening felt... off. The restaurant, the atmosphere, even the date itself.

Vanessa had been the one to suggest this place, raving about it for days until Clover finally agreed to go. It was supposed to be a fun night out, a break from the monotony of campus life and basketball practices. But instead, the girl found herself counting the minutes, waiting for the check to arrive so she could call it a night.

The truth was, she hadn't been feeling it from the start. Not the date. Not Vanessa. 

Vanessa was kind. Sweet. Energetic in a way that most people found contagious. Her laughter was bright, her gestures animated, and her eyes sparkled with sincerity whenever she looked at Clover. She was someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, someone who loved openly and fiercely, someone who deserved the same in return. 

But Clover wasn't that person. 

She wasn't someone who gave her heart away easily. Hell, she wasn't even sure if she had it in her to give it away at all. 

Relationships had never been her thing. The idea of commitment, of letting someone get close enough to see her cracks and flaws, felt like a weight she couldn't bear. Vulnerability wasn't something she handed out freely—it was something she locked away, hidden behind witty remarks and carefree smiles. And still, Vanessa wanted more. 

Something serious. Something Clover couldn't give. 

"...and maybe next weekend we could check out that new art exhibit?" Vanessa's voice pulled her back to the present. She was smiling, hopeful. Her hands rested on the table, fingers curled lightly around her glass. There was a certain softness to her expression, an eagerness that made Clover's chest tighten with dread. 

It was getting too much. 

"Hey, listen," Clover interrupted, her voice quieter than usual, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "We've already talked about this." 

Vanessa's smile faltered, just a little. Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. 

"I told you," Clover continued gently, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, "I'm not ready for anything serious." 

For a moment, Vanessa froze. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words didn't come. Instead, she sat back in her chair, shoulders stiffening slightly as she processed Clover's words. 

"I know," Vanessa finally said, her voice quieter now, too. "But... I thought maybe if we took it slow, you'd change your mind." 

Guilt twisted in Clover's stomach, sharp and unforgiving. She hated this part — the part where things inevitably fell apart, where someone always got hurt. 

"I don't think that's gonna happen," she said softly, regret lacing her words. "You're... you're too good for me, Vanessa. It's not fair to let you act like my girlfriend when we both know it's not gonna happen." 

The words hung heavy in the air. 

Vanessa's face hardened, a flicker of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it. But Clover saw it — she always did. And it only made the guilt worse. 

"You show up to my games with signs," Clover added, her voice quieter now, her gaze dropping to the table. "You wait for me after practice. You plan dates, and you're always so thoughtful... I don't deserve any of that. And you know it." 

"Why wouldn't you deserve it?" 

The question came quickly, sharper than Clover expected. It caught her off guard, and she stilled for a moment, her thoughts scattering. 

Why didn't she deserve it? 

It was a loaded question, one one required an even more loaded and heavier answer.

Because she didn't appreciate it the way she should. Because it never felt like enough to change how she was. Because the butterflies Vanessa so desperately tried to give her never came—not from sweet gestures, not from thoughtful words or sex, not from anything Vanessa did. 

"Because I don't appreciate it," Clover finally said, her voice low, barely audible above the hum of the restaurant. "The way you'd like me to." 

Vanessa blinked, confusion clouding her gaze. 

"It doesn't... it doesn't do anything for me," Clover admitted after taking a deep breath, the confession weighing heavily on her chest. "It's not wooing me. It's not making me feel any butterflies. None of it. And I don't want you to keep hurting yourself trying to make it happen." 

Silence settled over the table like a heavy blanket. 

Vanessa's gaze drifted to the window, her jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. Her hand curled around her napkin, knuckles white. Finally, she nodded—a small, stiff motion that spoke of resignation more than understanding. 

The guilt was unbearable. 

Clover signaled for the check, pulling out her card before Vanessa could argue. She paid quickly, avoiding the waitress's curious gaze, and stood without a word. 

The silence in the car pressed down on Clover like a weight. The rain tapping against the windshield filled the space where words should've been. Vanessa sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window, her expression distant and unreadable. 

Clover clenched the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles white. The guilt gnawed at her, twisting in her chest, but not in the way most people would expect. She didn't owe Vanessa anything — not her loyalty, not her heart. She had made that clear from the start. 

Still, something about the way Vanessa sat quietly, radiating disappointment, made the brunette’s stomach churn. 

Vanessa finally broke the silence. Her voice was quiet, but steady. "You're not a bad person." 

Clover exhaled, the lump in her throat tightening. 

"You're kind," Vanessa continued, her gaze still focused on the rain-slicked streets outside. "You're thoughtful. You care more than you want people to think. And I don't know why you keep trying to convince yourself that you're incapable of something real." 

Clover's chest tightened. 

She hated this. Hated that Vanessa saw her as someone capable of giving more than she actually could. Hated that Vanessa saw something in her that wasn't there. Or maybe, she just hated that she couldn't see it too.

The memory of Paige lingered — the weight of her touch still fresh on Clover's skin, the way her hands trembled slightly when they pulled Clover closer, the way their eyes met in that charged, unspoken moment. 

And then the look on Paige's face when Clover left. 

It had mirrored the one Clover wore the first time they'd crossed that boundary. She had been the one left standing there, confused and craving more while Paige walked away without a word. 

Tonight, it had been her who walked out, and she hated that it still hurt. That it felt so wrong.

Vanessa sighed, her tone softer now, like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to reassure Clover. "I just... I thought maybe you'd change your mind. That maybe I could be the one to—" 

Clover cut her off before she could finish. 

"You're not the one." 

The words came out harsh, sharper than Clover intended, but she couldn't take them back. The truth was too raw to sugarcoat. 

Vanessa flinched, her lips pressing into a tight line. She nodded slowly, as if piecing everything together, realizing how deeply she had misread the situation. 

"I see." 

Silence returned, heavier than before. 

Clover wanted to tell her that none of this was Vanessa's fault — that she hadn't led her on, that Vanessa deserved someone who wanted to give her what she was looking for. But it would've sounded hollow. Pointless. 

Instead, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her mind unwillingly drifting back to Paige. 

To the way Paige had looked at her, eyes burning with something Clover could never quite name. To the feeling of Paige's lips against hers, desperate and insistent. To the ache in her chest when she walked out of the room, the echo of her own footsteps on the hardwood floor sounding louder than they should've. 

And to the nagging thought in the back of her mind—almost like a whisper from the devil himself—that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't running away from love entirely. She was just running from the wrong person. 

"I had sex with someone else before this," Clover said suddenly, her voice steady but quiet, cutting through the silence like a blade. 

Vanessa blinked, startled by the blunt confession. 

"What?" 

"I had sex with someone else," Clover repeated, this time slower, more deliberate. "Right before this date." 

Vanessa's expression shifted — not to anger, not to betrayal, but to resignation. 

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Vanessa said after a long pause. There was no malice in her tone, just disappointment. "I thought I could be different. That I could make you want... more." 

Clover stared straight ahead, her chest hollow. 

"I told you from the start I wasn't ready for anything serious," she said, her voice steady but distant. "I wasn't lying." 

"I know." Vanessa's voice softened again. "But I hoped." 

And there it was — the difference between them. 

Vanessa was someone who hoped, who believed in love and connection. She thought that if she showed enough kindness, enough patience, she could win Clover over. That she could make her feel the way Vanessa felt about her. 

But Clover had stopped hoping a long time ago. The only person who ever made her feel anything real was Paige. 

And that terrified her more than it should.

Vanessa cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Did it mean anything?" 

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. 

Did sleeping with Paige mean anything? 

Everything. 

"Not in the way you think," Clover lied, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Vanessa nodded again, her gaze dropping to her lap. "Right." 

The rest of the drive was silent, tension crackling between them like a live wire. 

When Clover finally pulled up in front of Vanessa's apartment, neither of them moved right away. Vanessa fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, and Clover kept her hands on the wheel, staring at the rain streaking the windshield. 

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Vanessa said softly, breaking the silence. 

Clover didn't answer. 

Vanessa gave her one last glance before stepping out of the car and disappearing into the building without looking back. 

As the door clicked shut, Clover let out a shaky breath. The weight of the evening bore down on her, but it wasn't Vanessa's disappointment that crushed her. 

It was the way Paige's name lingered on her mind like a brand, burning and inescapable. No matter how far she ran, no matter how many distractions she sought, Paige was always there. 

The way the blonde's gaze lingered a little too long during practice. The way her usually teasing and taunting voice softened when she checked in on Clover after a particularly rough game. The way her presence filled every empty corner of Clover's mind, no matter how hard she tried to push it away.

Because Paige had never just been a fleeting crush or a temporary obsession. 

It wasn't just admiration. It wasn't just complicated friendship. She had always been something more. 

It had been something more for a long time.

The apartment was quiet when Clover walked in, save for the soft clatter of a knife against what she assumed was a cutting board. She barely glanced at the kitchen, her mind clouded with exhaustion, her heart heavy with that same guilt. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and shut out the world.

But of course Paige was still up.

Clover cursed under her breath as she slipped off her shoes, hoping to make it to her room without incident. She knew how Paige operated. Knew the games she liked to play. And Clover wasn't in the mood for another round of it tonight.

"Late night?" Paige's voice cut through the silence, sharp and calculated.

Clover stopped in her tracks, her heart sinking. She set her bag down by the door, straightened, and took a slow breath before turning around. Paige was at the counter, slicing through an apple with a steady hand.

"Something like that," Clover said, keeping her tone flat.

Paige didn't look up. "Thought you'd be back later. Guess the date wasn't that great, huh?"

There it was. The edge in Paige's voice. That barely veiled disdain, like she was trying to poke holes into Clover's night without outright saying what she really felt.

Clover ran a hand through her straightened hair, none of her natural curls in sight. "It was fine."

"Fine." Paige repeated the word with a smirk, like it was a joke only she understood. She tossed a slice of apple into her mouth, chewed slowly. "Guess that's not exactly life-changing."

Clover's patience was already wearing thin. "Why do you care?"

Paige shrugged, finally meeting Clover's gaze. Her blue eyes were cool, assessing. "I don't."

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on Clover's chest. She could feel the unspoken tension between them, like a storm waiting to break. She shifted her weight, debating whether to walk away — but Paige wasn't done.

"You're wasting your time, you know," Paige said quietly, her voice softening. It wasn't a taunt this time. It sounded almost like a warning.

The brunette frowned. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Paige set the knife down, her hands resting on the counter. "These girls you fuck around with. They're not going to give you what you want."

Clover's chest tightened, brow raised in an almost challenging manner "And what exactly do you think I want?"

Paige tilted her head, her gaze never wavering. "Someone who makes you feel the way I do."

The air between them went still, heavy with meaning. Clover froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her pulse quickened, a mix of irritation and something else—something she didn't have the guts to name—coursing through her veins.

"That's overly cocky, even for you," She responded, her voice steady but strained.

Paige's lips curved into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "Maybe. But I'm not wrong, am I?"

Clover's hands curled into fists at her sides. She hated how easily Paige got under her skin. How she always knew exactly what to say to make Clover doubt herself.

"God, you just say the dumbest shit sometimes." Clover muttered, turning toward her room.

"You're scared 'cause I'm right, Amar," Paige called after her.

Clover stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart pounded in her ears, a feeling of unexplainable dread and frustration clawing at her chest.

Paige's voice softened, almost teasing. "Went straight from my bed to her arms. You always like to rebound, don’t you?"

Clover spun around, her eyes flashing with irritation. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" the blonde questioned, feigning innocence.

"Make it sound like it meant something to you," Clover near to snapped. "Because it didn't. You made that clear the first time."

Paige's smirk faltered for the first time. Her gaze dropped for a moment before meeting Clover's again. "And yet, it keeps happening."

The words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable in a way Paige probably hadn't intended or planned.

Clover swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing. "Yeah, 'cause we're both too fucked up to stop."

Paige's expression shifted—something between hurt and frustration flickering across her own face now. "Is that what you think?"

"What else is there to think?" Clover shrugged lazily. "We don’t do that healthy shit. That's how it's always been."

Paige pushed away from the counter, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. Her gaze never wavered, her expression unreadable.

"You keep saying that like it's a rule we mutually agreed on," Paige spoke quietly. "Like it's some fucked up contract we both signed."

Clover's back hit the wall. Paige was standing too close now, the scent of Clover's sweet vanilla perfume lingering in the air between them.

"Isn't it?" Clover whispered, her voice unsteady.

Paige's hand brushed a strand of hair away from the brunette’s face, a light, almost instinctive touch. But it sent a cold shiver down Clover's spine.

"Don't remember signing anything," Paige murmured.

Clover's heart was pounding, her mind racing. She hated this—hated how Paige made her feel out of control. Vulnerable. Exposed.

"You don't know what you want," Clover said, her voice deliberately bland and cold, despite the emotional chaos brewing inside of her.

Paige's hand lingered, her finger tucking the piece of hair behind Clover's ear. "Neither do you."

For a moment, Clover couldn't breathe. The tension between them was suffocating, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on her.

"You think this is a game," Clover said, her voice barely audible now. "But it's not."

Paige's hand dropped away, and for a second, Clover saw something crack in her expression—a glimpse of vulnerability before the mask slipped back into place.

"It's not a game to me," Paige said softly.

Clover blinked, stunned into silence, though she didn't let it show.

But before she could say anything, Paige stepped back, the distance between them suddenly unbearable.

"Get some sleep," Paige said, her voice quieter now, almost gentle. "Gotta be up early for practice tomorrow."

Clover didn't respond. She watched as Paige turned away, heading back to the kitchen to finish her snack, leaving Clover standing there, harshly biting down on her tongue and heart aching with everything they couldn't say.

The sound of Clover's door closing echoed through the apartment, cutting through the thick silence like a blade. Paige stood frozen in the kitchen, staring blankly at the half-sliced apple on the cutting board. Her appetite was gone.

Her hands trembled slightly as she set the knife down, pressing her palms against the counter to steady herself.

'What the hell is wrong with me?'

Paige exhaled sharply, pushing herself upright. She rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers brushing over the faint mark Clover had left there earlier — a kiss, a bite, she wasn't sure which. It didn't matter. It wasn't supposed to matter.

This wasn't supposed to feel like this.

It was supposed to be easy. Fun. No strings, no feelings, no mess. That's how it worked. Clover hooked up with whoever caught her eye, Paige did the same. They'd judge each other, throw around meaningless jabs and at the end of the day they'd be fine. Back to being a team.

So why did it feel like her chest was caving in every time Clover walked away and into the arms of someone else?

Paige clenched her jaw, trying to swallow the frustration rising in her throat. She hated this. Hated feeling out of control. Hated how Clover had walked out on her earlier without a second glance — just like Paige had done with others so many times.

'Is this what it feels like?' she wondered bitterly. ‘To be the one left behind?’

She'd told herself it didn't matter. That Clover going on a date with someone else was none of her business. That it wasn't jealousy, just curiosity. But the sting in her chest said otherwise.

Because deep down, Paige knew the truth.

No one made her feel the way Clover did.

And that terrified her more than it should.

She grabbed the cutting board and shoved it into the sink with more force than necessary, the sound of it clattering against the metal louder than she intended. She winced, glancing toward Nika and Jana's rooms. No lights turned on. No doors opened.

The last thing she needed was a groggy Nika asking her why she was slamming things around at midnight.

Paige turned off the kitchen light and leaned against the counter in the dark, the faint glow from the streetlights outside casting shadows across the room. She could still hear Clover's words in her head, clear as day:

‘Because we're both too fucked up to stop.’

Paige ran a hand over her face, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Yeah, no kidding."

She'd spent so long pretending she didn't care. Playing it cool, keeping her distance, convincing herself that what they had was just physical. But it wasn't. Not anymore.

And Paige wasn't ready to admit it.

She thought back to the way Clover had looked tonight — tired, defeated, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Paige had wanted to say something real, to cut through the bullshit and tell her whatever truth there was.

But that truth was messy. Vulnerable. And Paige wasn't good at that.

Instead, she'd resorted to what she knew best: cocky remarks and passive-aggressive digs. It was easier to act like none of it mattered. To pretend that Clover's wandering eyes and restless heart didn't bother her.

But as hypocritical as it was, it did.

And that scared her more than anything.

Paige glanced toward Clover's room, her heart aching in a way she didn't quite understand. She thought about knocking on her door, saying something — anything — to break the silence between them.

But what would she even say?

‘I care about you. More than I want to. More than I should. And it's killing me.’

No. That wasn't her.

Paige pushed off the counter and headed to her own room, her footsteps quiet against the hardwood floor. She paused outside Clover's door for a moment, her hand hovering in the air like she might knock after all.

But she didn't.

Instead, she whispered into the silence: "Good night, Clover."

And with that, she walked away, closing her own door behind her.

taglist (open) @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @starlighttsv @ekisokay @st4rrzynight @ohmybueckers @pbbucks

[flowerandblood]

Play with my heart (1/3)

[ modern actors • Aemond x Strong • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, sexual tension, unprofessional behavior ]

[ description: He gets the main role in a series about a great family and dragons, which could change his career. He is set to play the uncle and love interest of his childhood friend. When he meets the actress who plays her role, he begins to lose track of what is an acting and what is his real feelings. Sexual tension, grumpy, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: Yeah. I talked about it and I did it. You don't even know how much fun I had doing this. Of course, my characters play in a series whose script is an exact copy of my story The Fall from the Heavens. In this universe, Aemond (playing the One-Eyed Prince) and Rhaenys (playing the Princess) are of course not related – the other characters are also just actors. This three-part series is my gift to all fans of the original series, thank you so much for your support. "Rhaenys" in this story is her artistic pseudonym which she use instead of her real name. In this chapter you will see her Instagram photos without any face reveal, just treat it like some moodboard of her modern look. You can read this as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Despite his resistance, his grandfather said this series could be his big chance. Because what's the likelihood of a big production looking for a tall actor with a scar over his left eye?

The white line running from his eyebrow to his cheek was a reminder of when his nephew smashed a bottle next to him, the shards of which shot upwards as he leaned over it. He lost the sight in that eye at the time, but got a new artificial one that looked almost identical to the real one.

"The director became interested in you when I described your appearance and character to him. It's a leading role, Aemond." His grandfather continued, clearly excited. He, however, felt only discomfort at his words.

"It's a fantasy series. Dragons, gowns and knights. Romance, on top of that, between an uncle and a niece. I don't know. It's…" He started and didn't finish, running his hand over his face.

It sounded idiotic and he felt he would have made a fool of himself in front of millions of viewers who would forever remember him in the role of the cripple prince in an incestuous relationship.

"At least read the script." His grandfather didn't give up and placed a thick volume of stapled white pages in front of him.

Resigned, he spread himself comfortably on the sofa in his flat in the evening and began to read. He pressed his lips together when he saw that it all started with a flashback – the characters of the prince and his niece were still children at the time and were to be played by younger actors.

There was no cloying or exaggerated sweetness in the story or dialogues that he had expected. What surprised him was the moment when his character lost his eye and the fact that he decided not to speak to his betrothed for eight years.

He thought it was a bit of an overreaction, but perhaps in those days men approached their honour in this way.

Then he got to the scenes where their adult characters appeared and their first scene when they see each other in the courtyard. He imagined what was happening as if he was watching a film, them, throwing glances full of pain at each other, and him, unable to bear it, attacking his opponent in rage.

To his surprise, the next scene, the scene in his chamber turned into a love scene that made him hot – and then, just when he thought the rest of the plot would be a soap opera, his character suddenly became aggressive and cold again, destroying everything they had managed to accomplish.

He thought curiously that he liked how complicated and unpredictable the Prince's character was, how hard he tried to suppress the feelings he felt for this girl, how confident he was at the same time, with so many complexes and hatreds inside him.

He was intrigued.

He decided he would go for an audition and to his surprise, the next day he received a call that the director had decided he was perfect for the part.

He got the lead role in the series.

His grandfather, as his agent, contacted the production and it turned out that they wanted to rehearse scenes between him and the actresses who would play the Princess. He was to appear in the studio in a setting specially prepared for this, which would resemble the Prince's chamber.

They were to portray the scene in which his niece comes to the Prince's chamber on the evening they see each other for the first time in eight years.

There were no wigs or costumes prepared yet, so he was given something of a substitute, a simple leather tunic and boots, and a black eye patch that had been designed specifically for his character earlier and was already finished.

The lights were turned off, leaving only the lamps for illumination and the candles and fire lit all around. He looked towards the fireplace, fiddling with the knife between his fingers, recognising that this would add an air of unease to the scene.

"Action!" The director shouted, and the door opened. He looked to the side and spotted a tall, black-haired girl. Her lips curved in pain at the sight of him, as if she was suffering greatly, but he thought in the back of his mind that her facial expression was exaggerated.

"Did you received my letters?" She asked in a trembling voice, looking at him with her chin raised high.

This was not how he imagined her, but he decided to focus on his role, rolling the knife between his fingers.

"Yes." He replied coldly and dispassionately.

The girl swallowed hard.

"Have you read them?"

"Cut! They see each other for the first time in eight years. They feel anger, fear, disbelief! Give me something more than theatrical indifference and tears." The director called out, making both him and the girl in front of him swallow hard, embarrassed.

"Action!"

It seemed to him that it went on forever. Girls similar to themselves went in and out, and he repeated the same line over and over again, feeling nothing.

He was in character as much as he could, taking his role very seriously, trying to identify with it, but he couldn't bring up the feelings he was supposed to have for this girl who, after all, was supposed to be the love of his life.

He sighed heavily, adjusting the eye patch over his eye when the director said that there was another rehearsal ahead of them. He nodded his head to let him know that he was ready.

"Action!"

The door opened, but the girl who stood in it looked at him for a moment with big eyes, as if she didn't recognise him. There was something endearing in that gaze. She turned behind her, as if she was afraid of being seen, and immediately closed the door, breathing loudly.

At last, real acting.

She turned towards him, as if she was afraid of him, and he pressed his lips together, involuntarily looking at her body hidden only beneath a thin nightgown, her slightly wavy, long dark hair falling freely over her shoulders.

Her face was gentle, warm, her eyes large, her lashes and eyebrows dark, accentuating her charm.

She was silent for a moment, her lips trembling, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't.

"Did you received my letters?"She muttered softly in a hopeful voice, from which he felt goosebumps pass along his back.

"Yes." He whispered, his voice soft and low.

Yes, he thought, give me something I can work with.

She swallowed loudly and clenched her hands into fists, shifting from foot to foot. She shook her head, her eyebrows arched in pain as if asking how he could do this to her.

"Have you read them?" She asked, and he pressed his lips together, tilting his head back and snorted under his breath, turning the blade in his hand. She jumped up, horrified when he slammed it suddenly into the armrest lying beneath his hand.

"Yes, my Lady Strong. I have read them all. Many times, here, in this chair." He murmured mockingly, looking at her with slightly parted lips, lifting his chin in a gesture of superiority.

He was sure the director would interrupt, but he let them continue.

The girl lowered her gaze, her body quivering as if she was about to cry, an expression of humiliation, pain and shame on her face from which he felt heat in his heart.

Her gaze suddenly changed. She swallowed hard, as if she had also swallowed his insult, and moved ahead of him, pretending to walk towards the bookshelf.

He pressed his lips together and looked at her over his shoulder, measuring her with a furious, cold stare.

"Do you often visit men like this?"

She turned to him with a look as if she wanted to kill him, her hand dropping as if she had run out of strength after what she had heard.

"Have you no shame?" She asked coolly, the way she said it, the look in her eyes made him feel a cold sweat on his back.

"Cut! That was fantastic, thank you!" Said the director, and she blinked, the expression on her face turning from cold and disgusted to a wide smile full of joy, her gaze warm and welcoming.

"– you were amazing – I had goosebumps –" She whispered as she walked past him and giggled, waving goodbye to him, disappearing out the door a moment later.

When it turned out a few days later that she had got the role, he breathed a sigh of relief. The director had told him in a phone conversation that he could feel the kind of tension on camera that he expected from their characters and that this was it.

He was ashamed to admit it, but he agreed with him.

She was good and pulled the most subtle, intriguing expressions from her face with ease.

Although he didn't usually do this and resented his grandfather for forcing him to create an official instargam account, which was almost dead anyway, he used it to find her. At first he thought Rhaenys was her name, but then the producent told him it was her stage pseudonym.

He did not know what he thought of this, finding that it was an approach to acting that he was not fond of, but he decided not to judge her hastily, being a very private and withdrawn person himself.

Finding her turned out to be child's play, and he felt like a voyeur, scrolling through all her posts on her wall one by one, wanting to get a sense of who he would be working with, or at least that's how he tried to explain this unnatural curiosity to himself.

He snorted involuntarily in amusement upon seeing her Pikachu shirt, thinking with a kind of admiration that she had a distance to herself that he lacked.

She apparently wasn't afraid of harsh judgement from the outside world, of someone saying she was childish or immature, retaining a kind of innocence he hadn't seen in any actress in a long time.

Usually, like him, they created themselves, how they wanted to be perceived, making from their characters a style under which everything else was adjusted.

He felt a strange kind of satisfaction that he couldn't explain when he didn't see her in any of the photos with any man in an embrace or position that might indicate that she had a boyfriend.

He thought this would make it easier for him to get into character and not feel remorseful – although of course it was only his job – that he was touching someone else's girlfriend.

Although he was not convinced about this project at first, he was now beginning to feel excited at the thought that this really could open the door to his career.

All the way up to the start of shooting, he had been preparing himself to actually get into the character mentally, reading the script again and again, trying to understand Prince's character, unintentionally identifying with him more and more.

With his pain, his shame, his longing, his despair, his unfounded, cold, calculating irony and aggression.

While not everyone applauded the method acting, he felt the need to understand the character he was playing, to get inside his head, to become him in some way, to properly portray his emotions.

He and his grandfather flew to the hotel a few days before shooting to acclimatise, attend rehearsals and costume fittings. He met the actor, Aegon, who would play his brother-king, and Jace, who would play the Princess's older brother, and although he was an aloof man, he quickly found common ground with them.

Looking at the size and number of sets, the scenery created especially for one or two scenes, he felt the grand scale of the whole project and thought with excitement that he would be a fool if he refused.

When the make-up artists and stylists applied the wig on his head, his leather tunic, his breeches and his eye patch they said he was made for this role. When he glanced at himself in the mirror, he found in disbelief that he really did look like a different person and he liked what he saw.

He looked dark, menacing, malicious.

Just as he had imagined.

They met formally for the first time at, much to his liking, a session with a woman who he understood was a psychologist and was supposed to take care of them when it came to approaching intimate scenes and their comfort zone.

They shook hands with polite smiles in a way that was a tad too official, but there was something heartfelt and warm in her expression and her bright eyes that made him feel a pleasant sensation in his chest.

He tried not to grin as he saw her wearing a Pikachu t-shirt, the exact same one she wore in one of her photos on Instagram.

The woman invited them with a hand gesture to sit across from her on the couch as she sat on the other side, in an armchair.

"As I understand it, you have both read the script and your director's suggestions and know that there will be scenes involving you touching your naked bodies or exposing yourself in front of each other." She said calmly and they nodded their heads.

"Okay. I'll start by asking if you have any questions or concerns." She continued, but they were silent.

"I will be with you during every scene of this type, offering you advice and support. You have the right to say if you feel uncomfortable, if you are made to feel bad by a certain type of touch and you don't want to repeat the scene in the same way. The director wants you both to feel safe here." She added, and they nodded their heads.

"Do you have any barriers, things you're sure you don't want the other party to do? Touch in places that you find unacceptable?" She asked, and he remained silent, but looked at his partner out of the corner of his eye, curious.

He saw that she pressed her lips together, as if she wanted to say something but was afraid to. She swallowed quietly at last, fiddling with the material of her black tracksuit shorts.

"– I – let's just say I'm not experienced in this kind of scenes – it's hard to say where my comfort limit is – what should I do if, for example, we're in the middle of filming and I feel unwell? –" She asked uncertainly, looking at her with her big, bright eyes.

The woman nodded.

"– of course, you should then stop the filming – it would be a good idea if you just agreed between you beforehand what you plan to do, where you plan to touch each other – this will help you to prepare in advance for what is going to happen, to say what causes your concerns –" She replied calmly.

The girl smiled and let out a quiet breath, as if something in her answer had reassured her.

He saw her for the second time during a party at the hotel that the series' production organized for them, so they could get to know each other better and relax before the first day of shooting.

Like him, she was dressed plain, in long mid-thigh length, fluffy sweatshirt and woollen cream, overknee socks, while he, as usual, was dressed all in black.

She approached him to greet him for a certain out of sheer courtesy, he however appreciated her professional demeanour. When she asked if she could sit with him and the people from production he involuntarily moved over on the sofa, making room next to himself, which she accepted with a smile.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye while chatting to the set crew all evening, a few drinks were enough for him to loosen his tongue a little and start talking like a normal person.

He furrowed his eyebrows, feeling the whisky already humming heavily in his head when he saw her get up from the table and go to the toilet, leaving her half-finished drink with them.

He figured he'd wait with his assessment of the situation until she returned, but to his dismay, surely enhanced by the alcohol, he acted rather dramatically, pushing the glass away from her as soon as she sat back down next to him and tried to reach for it.

"Never leave your drinks with strangers in this business. Always take them with you." He said as if he were her older brother or father.

She blinked, horrified and ashamed, clearly not even thinking that anyone among the people around her might want to hurt her, but he knew this environment better than she did.

Seeing the look on her face, he pressed his lips together.

"Believe me. I heard this kind of stories. They put pills in your drink, tell you they'll help you back to your hotel room when you start to feel worse, and the next day on set they tell you that if you say anything to anyone, you can go back where you came from."

They stared at each other for a moment in uncomfortable silence and although the people around them were laughing, she seemed to be experiencing some sort of shock.

"Do...do you know such women personally?" She mumbled, and he shook his head, playing with his glass between his fingers.

"No, thank God. But I've heard hundreds of stories like that. I'm not trying to scare you, I'm just trying to warn you. For your safety." He added, feeling for some reason like an idiot who was now lecturing and moralising her.

She nodded quickly, however, her gaze filled with a warmth and understanding that made his chest hot, though he blamed the whisky he'd drunk for his condition.

"Yes, you are right, I should be more careful. I'm glad I'll be working with someone like you." She confessed with a kind of embarrassment that surprised him, playing with the material of her woollen knee-length socks.

He looked at her, spread out comfortably on the leather sofa, realising that there was so little room at the table that their knees were pressed against each other.

When she said she would go to sleep, for some reason he offered to walk her to her room. She smiled broadly at his words and they set off together for the lift, exchanging quiet, non-committal remarks on the way.

There was something about her demeanour that made him feel at ease, her gentleness, openness and the alcohol humming in his head made him more daring when it came to spoken words.

"You made a great impression on me during the auditions." He hummed and she looked up at him, her eyes shining with joy.

"You don't even know how much these words mean to me. You were wonderful, convincing and charismatic. I hope I won't disappoint you." She said.

"Mmm." He hummed and flinched as the elevator doors slid open on the floor where their rooms were located. They walked out into the hall in silence, the warm look in her eyes that she gave him over her shoulder made him feel hot.

"– see you tomorrow –" She said and he nodded.

"– sleep well –"

The first scene they were to play, although it was only in the fifth episode, was when they returned to her chamber after speaking with her stepfather following negotiations about the succession to the throne.

Their dialogue was about what they really thought regarding what had happened in the past – this scene did not contain intimate moments and was meant to help them get into their characters well.

She walked into the room, which was also a large medieval chamber immersed completely in darkness and smiled at the sight of him. He nodded his head in greeting.

She approached him, all beaming with happiness and excitement, a nightgown on her body and a thin robe thrown over her shoulders.

"You look amazing. Wonderful characterisation." She said softly with a sincere cordiality from which he felt warmth in his heart.

"Thank you." He replied calmly, not knowing what more he could answer.

"I am the one who wants to thank you. For what you said yesterday. I guess I needed to hear this." She said, giving him a warm look full of gratitude that made him feel relieved.

"Forgive me if I was too harsh." He whispered.

"You were not." She said calmly.

He nodded and grunted, swallowing heavily, being sober having problems again with putting his thoughts into words.

They looked up at the director who ordered that they were about to go to the first shot where they were lying on the bed, so they took their places next to each other on the sheets.

He felt the stress gripping his body, the tension at the thought that there were dozens of people around them looking at them and judging him.

He had been given this role with ease and now he had to prove himself.

"Action!"

He shuddered as he felt her hand on his and looked up at her – her face was frighteningly close to his, pleasantly smooth and soft, a warmth in her gaze from which he ran out of words.

"Speak to me, uncle. Don’t lock yourself in your mind." She whispered to him, as if these words were meant only for him, as if she really cared about him, missed him, loved him.

He looked at her with his heart pounding fast, thinking with horror that he had forgotten his line.

"– I will –" She whispered.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyelids, trying to turn his fear into an expression of regret and rage on his face.

"I will never understand how could you leave me then." He hissed through clenched teeth, looking at her again, pain in her gaze, as if his words had really surprised and hurt her.

"– that was never my intention –"

"– then why? –"

"My mother then told me to let you rest and calm down. That the guards wouldn’t let me visit you anyway by order of the Queen."

He snorted, looking at her with both disbelief and frustration. He blinked, smelling her pleasant scent, and realised that, just like in the script, she must have rubbed her skin with some vanilla oil.

He looked at her lips, pink, soft and full, and for a moment he forgot again what he should say next.

What was happening to him?

"It doesn’t matter." He muttered finally. "I needed you when it happened."

He saw her furrow her brow, her lips tightened in pain.

"I needed you too." She said in a trembling voice. "When Criston Cole held my cheeks as your mother’s guards poured moon tea down my throat. I wondered at the time if that’s how you felt."

He was impressed to see real emotion in her gaze – pain, grief, shame, fear. He didn't know why he lifted his hand and touched her cheek – he thought it was idiotic, but she followed it up and grasped his fingers in hers, kissing gently the inside of his palm.

He cursed in his head feeling his manhood pulsed softly in his breeches.

He put his arm around her waist and snuggled her into his chest as scripted – her hands embraced him, her face pressed against the hollow of her neck.

He seemed to feel her puffy little nipples through the fabric of his shirt before the director shouted ‘cut!’.

They pulled away from each other, looking up at him, rising on their elbows.

"– I liked it, but I would change the ending – I know it's not in the script, but the moment when he touches her cheek begs for a soft, tender, innocent kiss – can we try it that way? –" He asked, and they nodded and grunted, embarrassed.

She returned to her earlier position, trying again to bring to her face the same sadness, pain and grief he had seen seconds before.

"I needed you too." She said in pain. "When Criston Cole held my cheeks as your mother’s guards poured moon tea down my throat. I wondered at the time if that’s how you felt."

He looked at her for a moment with a gaze full of regret and touched her cheek again, running his thumb over her jaw. She kissed his hand as gently as before, cuddling her face into his rough skin, closing her eyes. She sighed quietly as he drew her closer to his face, her warm breath enveloping his skin before his fingers weaved into her hair, forcing her to lean down.

They clung to each other in a slow, shy kiss with the quiet click of their saliva, her plump, fleshy lips tasted of some sweet strawberry lipstick, deliciously soft, warm and wet, their breaths shaky and excited.

It seemed to him that time stood still; her touch was tender and full of peace but also the certainty of her affection, her soft fingers gently trailing over his jaw and cheek, caressing him as if she wanted to give him a sense of security.

Something about her closeness reassured him, and his broad hand stroked her head as if she were a small child, brushing gently her lower lip with his own, a quiet, shy sigh left her mouth.

He swallowed loudly, terrified as he felt his manhood swell and throb at the sound, at her closeness, at her taste, craving more.

They finally pulled away, her forehead pressed against his temple as his knuckles ran over her warm, soft cheek, something in her gaze he couldn't name.

"Cut! I loved this!" Their director called to them and they let out a loud sigh of relief, as if they had accomplished something very significant. His partner smiled at him.

"Everything's all right?" He asked, somehow condescending towards her, afraid she wouldn't tell him she felt uncomfortable even if she did.

She blinked, surprised by his question, and leaned over him as the crew discussed with each other whether they wanted to change anything in the shot.

"Why are you asking?" She asked lightly, curious, as if she didn't understand what he meant.

There was something intimate about how close her face was, her pleasant scent filling his lungs.

"We didn't talk about this before the scene. You know." He replied, not knowing what else to call what he was thinking about. Her eyes widened as if what he said scared her.

"– oh – no, no – I feel fine – but it's very kind of you to ask –" She whispered warmly, laying her head next to his on the pillow, pressing her forehead to his temple.

"– I feel safe with you –" She said softly into his ear, her words intended only for him.

He swallowed loudly at the thought that this could be a huge mistake on her part.