#LITERALLY IT WAS ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT ALL DAY

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ask Around in the Morgue

Most times, Tim is not a fan of social interaction. If he can acquire the necessary data from literally anything written in text, without the need to actually talk to people, he does that. It's the logical thing to do, come on! People lie, or, even if they don't, they take ages to get to the point, and you can't put them on pause or set aside to return later. Some written resources lie as well, but that is, at least, way easier to prove by relying on several of them instead of a single one.

That saying, he can work in a team — Young Justice is great proof of that. Batfamily, not so much, but then, none of the Bats like working together. Because they are all hypercontrolling, manipulative, and paranoid.

And yet, keeping all that in mind, right now Tim is about to go and speak — using his mouth and words — to a GCPD mortician whom he's never seen or met before in his life.

All because of this report.

More precisely, because of the line 'pls come talk to me if u r a bat' that was inserted right into the file, just between the description of contents of the victim's stomach and the rather unappealing photo of the same thing. Tim supposes the placement was intentional — most people skip over that kind of information, jumping straight to the cause of death. Which is a homicide, by the way.

Not that it's anything unusual in Gotham.

Tim walks through the hallway, keeping his steps silent. Daniel Nightingale, the mortician, more accurately a pathologist, works graveyard shifts — very ironic and no less convenient — and most days, he does so all alone, so Tim is not expecting company. He is just keeping quiet out of habit.

And yet, as he gets closer to the autopsy room, he hears it. The chipper, amused voice from inside.

"You can't just make that shit up, I swear," it laughs, "Oh, Minerva. You were way too old to pull it off." There's a pause, and then it starts speaking again, filled with hidden laughter, "You don't say?"

The door is, thankfully, already half-open. Tim takes a quick look inside, hoping to figure out who's the other part of the alleged conversation, but the only person there — erm, the only alive person — is a guy in a gray uniform and a lab coat. Supposedly, Mr. Nightingale. There's also a corpse of an old lady on the table in front of him, of course, but Tim doubts she can hold up the conversation. A phone call? Or maybe he's just talking to himself?..

The guy raises his head briefly, turning to the door.

"Come on in, lurking in the shadows doesn't suit you," he calls, almost cheerful, and Tim pauses.

He's pretty sure he hasn't made a single noise.

Oh, well. Maybe he did. Maybe the pathologist has an alarm system in case of a zombie apocalypse. Maybe he sees the future. The possibilities are endless.

Tim steps inside.

"I'm here about your note," he says, cutting the greetings and niceties. The pathologist hums, his eyes still on the bare, skinless ribcage of the woman before him.

"Cool. Which one?" He asks without missing a beat. Tim stares; the guy looks entirely too nonchalant, given the circumstances, but that's not the only reason. Daniel Nightingale is way younger than Tim expected — twenty, at most — and he is... well, if Tim had a type, which he doesn't, he would definitely check all the boxes. Most of the boxes. A lot of boxes.

Okay, he's just good-looking, what is he even thinking about, this is getting sidetracked.

"There was more than one?" He asks because that's the logical, reasonable thing to ask. Daniel glances up at him. A tiny strand of hair escapes his pinned down bangs, and the guy huffs, shaking it away from his face. Shouldn't he be wearing a hat?

"Yeah, I put the bat alert in at least five reports I've written. Only two recently, though, so, if you could specify?" He asks. The loose strand of his hair moves all on its own, brushing itself up over Daniel's head. Then, one of the bobby pins comes out, hanging in the air briefly, and goes back into Daniel's hair, securing it from falling again. "Thank you, Minerva," the guy smiles politely, casting a glance to the side.

Tim is not sure what's going on but he has a hunch.

"I'm speaking about John Doe from last week?" He attempts, but Daniel only hums.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow it down," he turns back to the table, looking down into the old lady's open abdomen with a critical eye. "Darling, do you think you'll be fine here all on your own while I speak with our dear guest?" He asks, almost demurely, and Tim is not dumb. Minerva is definitely the name of the lady on the autopsy table. The question is, has the GCPD hired a schizophrenic man during such dire times, or is the guy really some kind of ghost-whisperer?

The chances are, honestly speaking, 50/50. It's Gotham.

There's no response that Tim can hear, but Daniel straightens back up and takes off his gloves before turning to the other side, still away from Tim. "Mind cleaning up?" He asks again and then throws his gloves into the nearest bin. They don't land, but just as Daniel huffs and goes to retrieve them, the gloves float up from the floor like someone invisible picked them up and dropped them into the bin.

"Ah, thank you, Minerva," the pathologist smiles.

Tim feels an uncomfortable chill run down his spine.

"How many ghosts are in here?" He tries for casual, but fails spectacularly, judging by Daniel's chuckle.

"Five," he answers without any pause, "Six, if you count the nonverbal kid that's hiding in Page's cold locker. Anyway, John Doe?.."

A few of the instruments Daniel has used float up from the table and start moving towards the nearest sink.

Tim takes a deep breath.

Either he's gotten himself a new contact in GCPD forensics or a very alarming new meta. 50/50.

But Daniel's smile is 100 percent going to be a pain in his ass.

[kurooh]

keigo is unapologetically a whore when it comes to sending you voice notes. it’s a surprise every damn time—it could be the middle of the day, and you’ll press play, expecting a rant about something, only to for his pretty groans to reverberate through the earbuds.

your jaw drops, and a low heat begins to simmer in your stomach. after you’ve quickly scanned the area to make sure nobody’s around, you crank up the volume to the max and restart the note.

“god, fuuuck,” he moans, the word trembling on his lips, and it is just too easy to picture him right now. in your mind’s eye, you can see him leaning against a wall on the very top of a tall building, flushed cock in hand while he tries his hardest not to drop his phone. “i need you, baby. i need to bend you over right now and give you this dick.”

keigo shudders, and you can hear the ruffle of his agitated feathers in the background. his breaths come in both hot and heavy, crackling through the phone between each pinched gasp or moan.

“i - i know you’re gonna say i’m being dramatic, but god, you have no ideaaa,” each slick pump of his hand on his cock brings less relief than it is meant to, and you notice the frustration making its way through his dirty talk. “i can’t focus. all i’m able to think about is—nghhh, shit—is how goddamn pretty you look when you’re fucking me back.”

keigo takes a moment to drag in a shaky inhale, his nose whistling softly as he does so. your thighs squeeze together tightly, arousal pooling sticky and wet between them. just like he had intended, you’re hanging off every word, nearly sick with desire as you wait for more.

you think of him throwing his head back in that certain way that he does when he nearly sobs out your name, sounding broken and debauched all at once. god, he’s so damn shameless, sending you shit like this while he’s on patrol and you’re somewhere across the city. it’s hard to complain, though, with the way he spoils you—you almost begin to wonder what you did to deserve a four minute audio jam packed with noise.

“oh, oh fuck,” keigo whines, sounding like he’s nibbling at his chain, a nervous habit of his, “christ. you—you gotta tell me where you are, angel. i can’t handle this anymore, i really can’t.”

not far from the speaker, his feathers flick and shuffle, sounding more uncontrolled than before. “ughhh, i just wish you could see what you do to me. i’m crazy for you and sometimes it’s like you don’t even know it.”

he goes on to say something else, but it’s too crackly and muffled to understand. you shift in your seat, feeling hot all over—you’ve seen what you do to him, and is it a sight.

keigo’s cheeks always flush a rosy color, and when his body is tangled up with yours, it’s impossible for him to even attempt to mask his emotions. breaking down his daytime defenses and making a mess of him is satisfying in a way that is impossible to stop craving. on the other side of the phone, he probably looks even better than you could even imagine—golden and flushed in the afternoon sun, chain between his teeth, expression crumbling into one of absolute bliss.

you can hear the change in his breathing pattern, the way it becomes more stuttered and gasping, and you know your favorite part of the audio is coming soon. literally.

“—so close, i’m so fucking close,” a litany of moans spill out of his mouth, each one softer than the last. “all i want you to do is come here and take what’s yours, angel . . hah, i’m gonna cum—shit, ‘m gonna cum for you.”

you’ve got stars in your eyes as you mentally cheer him on, feeling your own arousal swell and rise in your chest like a tidal wave. thanks to keigo, you’re all hot and bothered in a café.

keigo falls apart just as a barista passes you with a coffee in hand, and you ride the high along with him. he sounds nothing short of beautiful as his groans dissolve into overstimulated gasps of your name and various pet names.

he chuckles, quaking with sensitivity. “there’s so much. if you were here, you might’ve choked,” he sighs dreamily, starry-eyed. “i’ve combed through this district and the next one over twice already. send me your location, angel.”

there’s some static and shuffling before you hear him shaking his wings out to get them ready for flying. “we’ve got plenty of time, if you’re fine with not being able to walk after. maybe i can drop you off at the house and we can take a quick shower there too.”

[readwritealldayallnight]

“You having fun there, Si?”

“‘Course.”

“‘Cause you look like you’re having a lot of fun right now.”

“I’m here aren’t I?” He snaps at you without thinking, immediately catching himself with a shake of the head when he spots your raised brow. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I know I’m pushing you out of your comfort zone. But Simon we’re safe here, I promise you.” You attempt to reassure him, still intent on making the most out of this trip together

One year

365 days

An entire trip around the sun since the day you and Simon met for the first time

And not a day has gone by since without each of you holding the other’s heart in the palm of your hands

Though Simon would do quite literally anything for you, he’d been less than impressed when you’d dropped the boarding passes in his hand last night

You’d been reminiscing to him about the holidays you used to take each summer with your family while growing up, memories of building sand castles and burying siblings until only their heads were visible, visions of waves lapping at your toes and seashells in your hands, images of melting ice creams cones and chasing pesky seagulls until the sun set

Memories that Simon could not relate to, could only smile and nod along as you told him about missing a time when you could be so care free

“Wonder what tha’ was like.” He’d said offhandedly to you that night as you both stood at the kitchen sink, his large hands passing off the clean dishes for you to dry

The idea of Simon having never enjoyed a family holiday when he was young made your heart ache, but thinking about Simon never having had a holiday, never having had a chance to slow down and relax, to enjoy himself for once in his life, well that left a foul taste in your mouth that you were determined to change

You’d had to pull some strings, even go so far as sneaking behind his back to arrange the time off with his Captain, who’d agreed wholeheartedly with you that his Lieutenant was in need of a holiday but who’d laughed when he bid you good luck in telling Simon as much

The suitcases were secretly packed while he worked, the plane tickets purchased as he slept, the secluded beach house with private access to the water booked while he was busy with making dinner one evening, your plan coming to fruition while your lover was none the wiser

As excited as you were, his reaction had been just about what you’d expected

Grumbling about how it was unnecessary, too risky, too dangerous, he’d wanted to reject the idea entirely from the get go, to flat out say no, though deep down he knew he could never truly tell you no

That was how Simon found himself on a beautiful, private beach, miles away from any military base, without another soul in sight apart from the one linked to his own, all while he tried his best to continue sulking in the sun

“Can’t know tha’ for sure, love.”

“Simon, this place had the best rating I could find, promises to be totally private. It isn’t peak tourist season, we’re far out from the city. Plus we literally used fake names on everything, I think we’re going to be fine.” You tried to rationalize, though knowing his past and how preoccupied his mind could become, you knew you were essentially speaking to a brick wall at the moment

“Anythin’ could happen, can’t account for everythin’.” He argued, adjusting the sunglasses over his eyes as he scanned the surroundings yet again, not enjoying how exposed he felt out here clad in nothing more than the swim shorts and sunscreen you’d packed for him

“You’re right, anything could happen.” You agreed with a shrug, dropping the last of the beach gear onto the sand, reaching for the bottom of your sundress. “But I can tell you what’s going to happen right now. I’m going to go swim in the water, because I want to, and because I can. You can join me, or you can sit here and mope, but I have a feeling you’ll change your mind. And because it’s our anniversary and because I love you, I won’t even say I told you so.”

He’s just about to tell you that that’s far from likely, that he’s certain he’ll be staying under the shade of the umbrella he’s about to stick in the sand, that he’ll be the smart one here and keep look out for the danger he’s decided is certain to happen, when you stop any logical thought of his in its tracks, as you lift up your arms and peel off your dress, revealing the bathing suit you’re wearing underneath

He’s seen you naked before hundreds if not thousands of time at this point, seen your body form every angle imaginable and more, had you in every way he could ever dream of

So why is the sight of your swaying hips walking away from him the most enticing thing he thinks he’s ever seen? The view of your ass in the skin tight material of your bathing suit the first thing to really give him pause?

No

No, he’s not going to let himself fall for that, he’s not going to cave so easily, not when you’re both in a new place like this, so exposed-

All the fight is nearly drained out of him, when he sees your arms reach up behind your back, your head angling enough to meet his eyes just as your steady fingers untie the strings that hold your top in place, letting the material fall to your feet as you continue making your way towards the shore, a quick wink sent his way before you’re turning your focus to the waves

He gulps loudly, not that he can hear it over the sound of his heart beating rapidly in his damaged ears

He tells himself he’s not going to fall for this, though his grip on the cooler full of drinks is rapidly slipping

Tells himself he’s only just going to pick up your bathing suit top off the ground for you, when his legs decide for themselves to start following you in your wake

He tells himself that he can keep his cool, surely you’ll be quick, that when you emerge from the water, wet droplets rolling off your naked, sun kissed skin, that he can satisfy himself by offering to reapply your sunblock, that the image he’s just conjured up of getting his hands on you soon will be enough to tide him over

But then, of course, you go ahead and slide your hands down the side of your waist, reaching lower until your fingers slipped under the fabric of your bottoms, pushing further and further down until the material is pooled around your ankles, leaving them behind for your ghost to pick up

Fuckin’ hell, he really had said anything could happen, hadn’t he?

Simon’s following you into the water before he fully realizes he’s stepped in, knowing that he’d follow you anywhere at the end of the day

One year down with you

A lifetime to go

[steddiehyperfixation]

@steddiebingo prompt: dog | 1.1k words | G | (inspired by this post i saw like two years ago lol)

“She looks familiar,” is the first thing Robin says when she walks into Steve's house to meet his new dog. Well, it's one of the first things she says, aside from the immediate incoherent cooing and baby-talk aimed at the newest furry member of Steve's family.

“You've seen my dog before?” Steve asks, just the tiniest bit worried. He got Shadow from a rescue shelter, and he’s really hoping she's not just a runaway who ended up there by accident and has a loving family that's missing her somewhere.

“No, dingus,” Robin says, looking up from where she's crouched on the floor scratching Shadow behind her shaggy little ears. “I just mean she looks like someone—like a celebrity or a person we know or something.”

Steve crouches down beside her, giving the dog some love too. “She looks like a person?”

“She looks like a dog, but she bears a resemblance to a person,” Robin corrects. “I just can't place it.” She studies Shadow’s face, then glances at Steve. “You really don't see it?”

“No?” Steve shakes his head, running his fingers through Shadow’s curly dark brown fur and smiling as her tail wags even harder. “I just picked the cutest dog at the shelter.”

“Huh.” Robin’s thoughtful frown lasts about a second longer before she nuzzles her nose against Shadow’s and giggles when the dog licks her face in return. “Well, she is very sweet.”

Yeah, she likes you,” Steve says, heart warm at the sight of his best friend and his new dog both happy and getting along.

“Of course she likes me,” Robin grins proudly, kissing Shadow’s shiny black nose. “Animals always love me.”

Steve grins back. “How could anyone not?”

-

“Don't you think she looks like someone?” Robin evidently has not given that theory of hers up yet, because she asks it again several days later when the kids are over, all of them already dropped to the floor to fawn over the dog.

Steve had been a little nervous about having Shadow meet so many new faces at once. She's not a delicate puppy by any means—roughly two years old by the shelter's best estimate and already fully housebroken and well-socialized—but still, Steve hadn't wanted to overwhelm her. He clearly had nothing to worry about; Shadow bounds happily from kid to kid, basking in all the attention being lavished on her.

“She has a very human hairstyle,” El says helpfully as she ruffles the mop of curls on the top of Shadow’s head.

“Yeah, you could tie bows on her ears and they'd look like little pigtails.” Max encircles her fingers around Shadow’s frizzy ears and lifts them to illustrate her point, loosely enough to let go immediately when Shadow huffs and shakes her head free.

Mike snorts. “She kind of looks like Nancy’s eighth grade yearbook photo.”

“Yeah, when she had that really bad perm,” Will agrees.

“Or like Dustin’s Snow Ball look,” Lucas teases instead.

“Hey!” Dustin and Steve both protest indignantly—they worked hard on that look.

“Yeah, pretty sure neither of those are what I was thinking of, but thanks,” Robin says, rolling her eyes as the kids devolve into unhelpful bickering.

-

When it's Eddie's turn to come by and meet the dog, Robin brings it up again, intercepting him at the door. “Okay, you have to tell me if you think she looks familiar, because I’m so sure she looks like someone, I just can't figure out who and it's really bugging me.”

“Oh my god, not this again,” Steve makes his exasperation known from the kitchen where he dumps a cup of kibble into an expectantly waiting Shadow’s food bowl before heading towards the front door.

“Steve doesn't see it,” Robin continues. “He’s always just like, ‘Oh, I don't know, I just picked the cutest dog at the shelter-’”

“I do not sound like that,” Steve says in protest to the deep, dumb voice Robin put on to mimic him, coming up behind her.

“Yes you do,” she states. “That was literally a direct quote.”

“Anyways.” Steve rolls his eyes and pushes Robin aside to give an amused Eddie room to actually enter the house. He gestures towards Shadow, who’s wolfed down her food in about two seconds flat and is now excitedly prancing over to greet the new person at the door. “Meet Shadow.”

Eddie's face immediately breaks into a grin. “Hi, Shadow!” He crouches down, arms outstretched to allow Shadow to jump on his shoulders and lick his face. “Metal name,” he says, turning his head to keep his laughing mouth out of range of Shadow’s tongue and looking up at Steve with approval sparkling in his eyes.

Steve feels strangely bashful all of the sudden, something almost shy in his smile as he gives a modest shrug and says, “It's the one she came with.”

“Still cool.” Eddie grins. Shadow’s investigation by licking and sniffing has calmed down enough for him to safely turn his face back towards her, and he ruffles her long curly ears. “Look at her, she even looks like a rocker.”

“Oh my god, that's it!” Robin snaps her fingers and points at Eddie and Shadow. “She looks like you! That's who she looks like.” Her eyes are wide, excited to have finally figured it out. She looks at Steve and announces it again, “She looks like Eddie!”

“Huh.” Steve blinks, considers it, studying their appearances. It barely takes a second for him to start to see it. Matching frizzy dark brown hair; the same adorably big, soft brown eyes. “Yeah, I guess she kind of does.”

Eddie laughs, also studying Shadow’s face. “Oh, yeah, I see it. We have the same hair,” he agrees, then pauses. “Wait a second—” His grin solidifies into definitively more of a smirk as he looks over at Steve and raises his eyebrows. “‘The cutest dog at the shelter,’ huh?”

“Wh- oh. Shut up.” Steve feels his face begin to burn as he realizes the implications of that. Robin snickers, and Steve cuts her a glare too. “Shut up.”

Eddie does not shut up. In fact, he stands up and sways into Steve's space. “Do you think I'm cute, Stevie?”

Steve looks away, cheeks still warm, pressing a hand to Eddie's chest to push him away. “I think you're insufferable.”

“And cute,” Eddie teases again, leaning right back in the second Steve drops his hand.

Steve takes a deep breath, rubs his hands over his face and then through his hair. “Yeah,” he admits, finally looking back at Eddie. “Yeah.”

“Okay, um- do I need to leave?” Robin points her thumb over her shoulder at the door, taking in the way both boys are looking at each other.

Eddie and Steve take a break from staring intensely at each other to turn their attention towards Robin and say in tandem, “Yeah.”

[imnotinvisivis]

@oripoke @bo-beanies Why was i just this object for you to use, abuse, and then leave for dead on the streets? Like i was garbage? There TLDR is that you knowingly, and willingly, abused and controlled and autistic and mentally ill person; a close friend of years you knew was autistic; you stole my assets and safety, traumatized me, then left me on the streets to die. In the beginning, there were days I literally could never put my phone down because I was 24.7 comforting bean. Id have to hide and be quiet in the bottom room, just to talk to Rory on the phone for a few minutes, or bean would get would get wildly upset at me if they saw. I couldnt even take my phone out in any way or say the wrong things, because i knew what would happen, and i was terrified. Id do everything you asked even when it hurt me. And yet, when i freak about the extreme trauma you cause me, doubled with my brothers abuse- when i did it,

you lied and sent abuse and abanonded me, lying about safety and so many promises. Id have stayed by your side for months until you felt better, and you knew that, but either of you talking to me for 2 minutes was too much effort, no matter how badly i needed it and how much i communicated this, you just ignored it

I was always there for both of you, even when it radically hurt me. I tried so hard to keep bean happy, for MONTHS, but when it was my turn to need help i was abandoned, hated, tossed away like I was nothing, and mocked. Of course i snapped. You have no idea how much pain you put me in, to be starving, to be on the street with an infection, to lose my cat. Everything just got worse. My disorder is not something i can control. After 7 months of hell i was still not a person to you i was just an object or a toy for you to use. Why talk to this thing now, why bother? I was just a pet for you two to keep and torment

The pain was too immense for me to handle, each month it just got worse. It hurt so badly. I cant describe it and i wouldnt wish it on even the most evil soul. It's agony. No human deserves what i had to go through- nobody.  Hard drugs couldnt even make it better. It was both mental and physical hell. Do you know how painful my med increases were, too, but i still did them because thats what you told me to do? I STILL listened and trusted you because i cared. I got therapy, too. And you still treated me like dirt, and im the one that has to pay for it in the hospital, in debt, in isolation and immense pain. Im the one that has to pay for all the trauma, pain and suffering that I had no control over, and didnt start. Then you parade my dead name, and accuse me of things I did not do

I did everything you both asked of me even when it was hard, contradicting and confusing. Id never asked either of you for ANYTHING. Not ever. All I asked for was to talk, to help me with this stupid fucking disorder, but after everything I went through and how hard I tried and everything i suffered. Instead of being there, instead of responding to the only thing ive *ever* needed from either of you, you radically hurt me, then left me to die. TWICE

You may not believe this, but i don't. Want. To. Be. Like. This. I didnt choose to have this disorder, i dont choose the attacks that happen, and when i attempt suicide its *NOT* for attention like you scream at me. Its to make. The pain. Stop. Its so immense, the only thing that goes in my head is "stop, make it stop, please make it stop" and i try and escape from my body to make the suffering end. There's no other way to escape your own mind but to die. And drugs, which I've gotten even further sick for abusing, but nothing else fucking helps

I dont WANT to be like this. You all act like its a choice i made, and that's what you abandoned me for. I cant control my panic attacks. I dont control the disorder i got from my brothers abuse. i dont *WANT* to talk to any of you ever again or even think about you ever again. But that's the thing about mental illness, its crazy because it is, and when I said it wont fucking let me.... i mean IT WONT FUCKING LET ME. Could you ask a schizophrenic person to stop seeing demons?? "Like hey dude,  just stop seeing them. Have you tried just stopping?" I know pea had fun mocking me, and you all had a good laugh, "lmaooo you couldn't even not do it for a single day"- i didnt choose to be like this. And when i needed your help, so incredibly desperately. You were gone at the drop of a hat; the first time i ever had a panic attack i couldnt handle alone. How cruel is it that bean has panic attacks on the daily and gets comforted for it, and you all did this to me for my very first one i couldnt stop. Rory told me he loved me more than hes ever loved anyone, he told me i could always talk to him if i was hurting, he told me it was okay, he reassured me he was there for me and that it was completely okay.Rory, you told me it was okay. You did. Then you disappeared without even saying goodbye. After 7 months of confusion, not understanding whats going on or whats even happening to me or where ill sleep the next day. Living the way I was living. Constantly hurt and abused and hungry and infected, mourning everything i lost. You can never give me back my cat, or the opportunities i lost, my trans health care, my savings. You cant undo the immense pain I've felt and you cant reverse the trauma you've caused

Yes, I hurt you too. I did fucked up things, too. But not. And I repeat. Not until after 7 months of this mental and physical torture. I couldnt take it anymore

And I *still* kept trying. I *still* am. BECAUSE THATS WHAT YOU TOLD ME TO DO. My meds are at 220mg and excruciating, therapy is so incredibly confusing, but im still doing it even if i desperately dont want to. But you two can torture me, because you didnt want to talk to me for a few minutes, and explain what I didnt understand. Instead you left me in the dark. While you were both going to *another* con just moments later, and sleeping comfortably, and going to parties and weddings; i was still in the hospital, in incredible pain, for an incredibly long time, from events you directly caused. Do you understand the mental toll it does on a person when you have no one, and i mean NO ONE, and no where to go, with the situations I had to face..do you know what that does to a person? I went to hospital to hospital, reaching out, just more and more confused, just more and more hurt.

While im going through all this, as if im not a real human being behind your computer; besides peas ranting the only things i recieved are "man my notifications" "man this sucks" "Yeah I hate it" like im an "it" a toy or a thing. Parading my dead name is a close contender, but its the amount of lies that hurt me the most.I did not do revenge porn and post it on porn sites, I dont know where the hell you think you're doing making up something that serious. I did not ever have any kind of conversation with Rory OR Bean, I did not fake being in a coma for 2 weeks, I was very much fucking out. I've been telling the truth, even when its hard. Why cant you? Im not afraid to tell the truth.Communication and honesty are human things. My attempts have been very real and very painful, I made myself take pictures and I have the fucking discharge papers from every single one, because I've been telling the truth and can PROVE IT. I did so much I didnt want to do. I went through so much I didnt want to. You broke my boundaries and abused me, i gave up so much of myself and my safety and my life for you, and it was okay. But im now the criminal, your boundaries > my life. Your notifications>my human life.

Nobody's reading this, nobody gives a fuck, im never going to hear anything other then "maaaan this is so shitty, we destroyed his life and his mental and his job and his healthcare and we almost killed him with our neglect....but maaan hes really clogging up my notifications and that makes him the most evil, horrible, awful and disgusting person in the world. Let him die so I can get some quiet." And "Urgh omg I cant believe i have to post this". That's all it ever is. That's all its ever going to be. You hide behind an interent wall, pretending not to see what you did to my body, my person, and my life

[stylesispunk]

"Whatever you'd like us to be" | part 2

harry castillo (materialists) x sunshine!f!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the one where you and harry play pretend but the game comes with some rules you must follow.

w.c: 11,7k

warnings: age gap (reader 29-30, harry 47) fluff, idiots neglecting their feelings, mostly fluff and a tiny bit of angst. Remember I'm stupid and I don't proofread things.

A/N: Thank you so much for your positive reception on this fic. I literally loved reading your reactions to this. I always overthink a lot about it. I hope you enjoy this chapter and see you soon with the other one. I WANT TO READ YOUR THOUGHTS.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

“Alright. Ground rules,” Harry said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. His grin was playful, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes.

“Rule number one: we stay friends. That’s it. No more.”

You smirked. “Oh, what a cliché thing to say.”

“I'm serious,” he pointed a finger at you, feigning sternness. “You can’t fall in love with me.”

“You're ridiculous, why would I fall in love with you? this was your idea” you said.

“I know. And I’m really embarrassed about it.” His grin widened.” And I’m already regretting how good you look across this table.”

You rolled your eyes. “Next.”

“Rule number two,” he continued, leaning closer. “No sex.”

You snorted.  “That’s hard. I just want to ripped your clothes right now” you said, pouting.

“Oh my god, can't you stop?” Harry laughed, shaking his head.

“Celibate, okay.” You smiled “I have a question though.”

He nodded, gesturing for you to go on.

“What happens if we fight?”

Harry’s playful look softened. He hesitated, then shrugged.

“We won’t.”

“How are you so sure?” you asked, quietly this time.

He met your eyes, something honest flickering there. “Because I don’t think I could push you out of my life now that I know you.”

Your smile faltered for a second, heart knocking against your ribs.

He quickly cleared his throat, waving a hand. “And, rule number three: no kisses. Especially when we’re alone.”

“Oh, too bad. Because you already kissed me,” you teased, grinning.

Harry stopped mid-laugh, eyes narrowing playfully.

“That you remember, but not puking on my shoes, huh?”

You laughed, leaning back, feeling warmer than you should.

“Your loss though.”

What Harry didn’t say, what he wouldn’t admit, not even to himself, was that this wasn’t just about keeping his nosy family off his back. Sure, he wanted to make his ex-eat her heart out. But somewhere along the line, you’d become something else entirely.

Something he didn’t want to risk hurting. Like just a few days of knowing you felt like a lifetime.

Harry ran a hand down his face, letting out a breathy laugh, because damn it, you were dangerous.

You sat there across from him, eyes sparkling, a cocky little smirk tugging at your lips as you laid down your so-called rules, and he knew, knew, this was a terrible, terrible idea. The kind of thing people wrote cautionary tales about. But he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from it. From you.

He had could just get to know you and move on with you, but he didn’t want to fall in love again, he didn’t want to go through heartbreak all over again, but getting to know you had been the easier thing he had to do.

Even if it had been just a few days.

“Alright, deal,” he said, extending a hand over the table. “Friends. No falling in love. No sex. No kisses unless it’s in public and absolutely necessary to sell the whole thing.”

You bit your lip, trying to hide your grin as you shook his hand. “Absolutely necessary, huh?”

He arched a brow. “You know, for the credibility.”

You laughed, but inside, deep in some corner of your heart you didn’t want to name. Something fluttered. Because for all your bravado and teasing, you could already feel the ground shifting under your feet. You were lying to yourselves, both of you, and somewhere you both knew it.

But neither of you was about to admit it.

Not yet.

Harry didn’t want to catch feelings. He told himself he wouldn’t.

Even when your smile already felt like it was burning its way into his ribs.

Even when the way you tease him made him feel more alive than he had in months.

Even when every part of him knew. This wasn’t going to stay pretend.

The deal was struck, sealed with free ordering of coffee for him and some certain of retuning for you. You both pretended it was easy, casual, a harmless arrangement between two people who had no business getting tangled up like this. You were getting to know each other, but even as you both laid down the rules, something heavier hung between the lines neither of you dared to read out loud.

The next few days blurred by in a mess of work and texts from Harry, stupid things mostly.

Harry ☕

Tell your barista that oat milk is not a personality trait.

You ☀️

I’ll tell them after you admit you’ve ordered the same vanilla iced latte three times this week. I’ve have to order a ton of syrup.

Harry ☕

Consistency is key, darling.

It felt too easy. Too natural. Like him calling you darling didn’t knocked out the air out of your lungs.

And maybe that’s what scared you most.

You ☀️

Bye, harry. I’m working.

Harry ☕

Rude. I’m your favorite customer.

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips despite yourself. It was stupid, how easily his messages slipped under your skin, how his voice in your head saying darling still made your stomach tighten like you were seventeen again with a reckless crush.

Your phone buzzed again in your pocket. You ignored it this time, for a solid three minutes before cursing under your breath and pulling it out.

Harry ☕

I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something that’ll make me look good by association.

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to smile. God, he was infuriating.

You ☀️

I haven’t said yes yet, Castillo.

A pause.

Then another message.

Harry ☕

But you will.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t wrong.

Because you could already feel it happening, like a storm you saw coming from miles away, but still refused to get inside. You told yourself you were agreeing because it was harmless. A few dinners, some fake smiles, polite lies to his family. No big deal.

And if your heart beat a little faster when you thought about his crooked grin, or the way he called you darling, well… that was your problem.

You slid your phone back into your pocket and went back to work, telling yourself you weren’t falling.

You spent the rest of your day pretending you weren’t checking your phone every five minutes.

By the time the clock hit 6:45, your nerves were a tangled knot in your stomach. You stood in front of the mirror in the tiny office behind the shop, smoothing down your dress for the third time, not too fancy, not too casual, you told yourself. You weren’t dressing up for him. This was strategy. Optics. You were supposed to make him look good.

And maybe, just maybe, look good doing it.

Your phone buzzed again.

Harry ☕

Outside. Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting.

You rolled your eyes, grabbed your jacket, and stepped out the back door saying goodbye to Celine and Patrick.

The sun was low, autumn was still fighting between the cold and warm kind of weather, painting the city in soft gold, and there he was, leaning against his car, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his nose like a damn magazine ad.

“You clean up nice,” he teased, opening the passenger door for you.

You smirked. “You act like you haven’t seen me without an apron on.”

“Yeah, but this is different.” He gestured vaguely at you. “Now you look like someone my Nan will immediately start asking about grandkids.”

You snorted, sliding into the seat. “Maybe I’ll tell her you’re terrible in bed.”

Harry shut the door and grinned down at you through the window. “Joke’s on you. She already thinks I’m a saint.”

As he climbed into the driver’s seat, you couldn’t help it. You smiled.

And he saw it. Of course, he did.

“See,” he said softly, starting the car. “Told you you’d say yes.”

You rolled your eyes again, followed by a silence that didn’t last too long. 

You tucked one leg beneath you, glancing over at Harry as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Okay,” he said, breaking the silence. “We need a plan.”

You raised a brow. “A plan?”

“Yeah. They’re going to ask questions about how we met, how long we’ve been together, what I love about you…” He glanced over with a crooked grin. “The usual.”

Your stomach flipped, but you played it cool. “Alright, Hit me.”

He tapped the steering wheel. “Okay. How did we meet?”

You thought for a second, then smirked. “You came into my coffee shop every day for two weeks straight, ordering the same vanilla iced latte, until I told you it was starting to get weird.”

Harry laughed, throwing his head back a little. “God, I wish that wasn’t almost exactly what happened.”

You grinned. “See? I’m good at this.”

“Okay. How long have we been together?”

You chewed your bottom lip, pretending to consider it. “Hmm… should we go for six months? Feels long enough to be believable but not so long they’ll start asking about rings.”

“Smart,” he agreed, nodding. “Six months it is.”

You glanced at him. “And what do you love about me, Harry?”

He shot you a look, lips twitching. “You’ll have to let me come up with something convincing. Give me a sec.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Fine.” He cleared his throat dramatically. ““I love that you’re the most real person I’ve met in a long time. Like you’re really genuine. That you call me out on my shit. And that you laugh at the dumbest things like it’s the funniest thing in the world and you make that tiny scrunch with your nose.”

Your grin wavered for a beat because it didn’t sound like a line. It sounded like he meant it.

He must’ve felt it too, because he glanced your way and softened his voice. “Too much?”

You swallowed, forcing a smirk back on. You looked down at your hands, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest. “Good answer,” you murmured.

He chuckled under his breath. “Good. Because it’s the truth.”

And you hated how your chest tightened at that.

You quickly looked out the window, pretending to be invested in a passing streetlamp. It had been a week. One week. You shouldn’t feel anything at all. And yet here you were, half-smiling like an idiot in his passenger seat.

“Alright,” you cleared your throat, trying to shake it off. “Your turn. What do I love about you?”

Harry grinned. “Obviously my incredible music taste and my charming personality.”

He reached over and nudged your knee gently. “Your turn.”

You bit your lip, stealing a glance at him. “I love that you’re an idiot and how much attentive you are. To those tiny details other people don’t really care about. ”

His laugh was soft, warm, one of those real ones that made the corners of his eyes crinkle just a little.

“Well,” he said, shaking his head, “guess I’ve been caught. You pay attention too, you know.”

You shrugged, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. “Some people deserve it.”

That hung in the air between you for a second longer than it should’ve. And it wasn’t playful this time. Not entirely.

Harry cleared his throat, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “Alright, new rule,” he grinned, trying to keep it light. “No getting sappy in the car. I can’t be seen crying before dinner.”

You snorted, grateful for the easy out. “Okay.”

Harry glanced at you, something a little softer in his gaze now.

You shrugged, smirking. “See? I’m good at this.”

He let out a breath of a laugh, eyes flicking back to the road. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You really are.”

You reached for the car’s aux cable. “Okay, last question before we get there — what’s our song?”

“Crazy for you by Madonna” he replied, eyes on the road.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Crazy for You? By Madonna?”

Harry grinned at you, one hand on the wheel, “Don’t tell me you forgot our dance at Claire and Chris’s wedding”

Your mouth dropped open as the memory slammed into you. “Oh my god. Of course, I remember.”

“Yep.” He beamed, clearly enjoying himself now. “One of my favorite memories I will treasure forever.

You stared at him for a second, warmth blooming in your chest despite your best efforts to stay cool. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, your voice softer than you intended.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, don’t act like you weren’t the one clinging to me like your life depended on it when that song came on.”

“I was starting to get tipsy,” you argued, though a grin tugged at your lips. “And you’re forgetting you were the one who dragged me to the dance floor.”

He chuckled, but his eyes softened. “You had been the best plot twist I’ve had in my life.”

Your breath caught, just for a second because he kept saying things like this, out of a such simply habit. He said it like it meant something. Like in just one messy week you had carved out a space in his life you weren’t supposed to have.

You tried to laugh it off. “God, you’re dramatic.”

Harry grinned, eyes flicking from the road back to you. “Comes with the territory.”

You shook your head, biting back the smile that threatened to give you away. Because it was getting dangerous already. The way your heart picked up when he looked at you like that, or remembered something you didn’t think he noticed. It was supposed to be fake. Easy.

And yet, sitting in his passenger seat, driving toward a dinner where you’d have to pretend to be his, you weren’t sure how much pretending would get to stop the rhythm of your heart.

The restaurant was one of those really enormous places you know you would never go inside willingly, warm lighting, exposed brick, and overpriced wine. You followed Harry inside, heart pounding a little too fast in your chest when his hand found the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

You really didn’t get a chance to think about why he had bother too much on paying for a place like this.

He leaned in with a teasing, “Ready to charm the ladies of my life?”

You smirked. “Lead the way, Harry.”

At the far end of the room, you spotted them. His mum, elegant and effortlessly put together, eyes sharp but kindness on his gaze. His Nan, tiny and sweet-looking, a mischievous glint in her gaze. And his sister, with Harry’s same wild grin and a streak of purple through her hair.

Harry’s mum was the first to rise. “Harry, love!” she greeted, pulling him into a tight hug before turning her attention to you. “And this must be…”

“This is my girl,” Harry said, his voice softer than you’d expected, hand settling at the small of your back. “Mum, Nan, Liz, meet my girl.”

You swallowed, smiled warmly, extending a hand. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you.”

“Oh, none of that,” his Nan waved you in for a hug instead. “Come here, darling.”

You settled at the table between Harry and his sister, who was already grinning at you like she knew a secret.

“So,” his mum started after the drinks arrived. “Harry’s been awfully private about you. We had no idea there was someone special.”

Harry shot you a quick look, like the this is your line look.

You smiled, lifting your glass slightly. “Well, I own a coffee shop not too far from here,” you began, keeping your voice light and teasing. “And your son started spending an unreasonable amount of time there. At first, I thought he was just really obsessed with vanilla iced lattes.”

Liz snorted into her drink.

“But turns out,” you continued, glancing at Harry, “he’s a lot harder to ignore than I expected.”

His Nan chuckled. “That sounds about right. Castillo men have a way of getting under your skin.”

“Oh, he’s relentless,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Hey!” Harry laughed. “I’m charming. There's a difference.”

Liz leaned in conspiratorially. “So, was it love at first latte or what?”

You grinned. “More like mild annoyance at first conversation. He wouldn’t stop coming”

“Because you have the best coffee in the entire New York,” Harry shot back, looking betrayed.

The table erupted in easy laughter, and the warmth in the room seemed to settle around you.

“Alright, alright,” Nan waved a hand. “I like her.”

Harry looked over at you then, not smug or teasing this time. Just soft. Like he was genuinely happy you were there. And you hated how much it made your heart skip a beat.

“So, what do you love about our Harry?” Nan asked, a wicked glint in her eye.

Your stomach flipped. You didn’t even get a chance to answer before Harry groaned, “Nan, come on.”

But you lifted a brow. “Hmm,” you pretended to think. “I guess I love how annoyingly attentive he is. He notices every tiny thing no one else would. And he always has something clever to say, even when I wish he’d just shut up.”

Liz cackled. “Welcome to the club.”

Nan grinned like she’d just won something. “Oh, I really like her,” she declared, reaching out to pat your hand. “Finally, someone who’ll give him a bit of trouble.”

Harry shook his head with a sheepish smile, his hand finding your knee under the table, a simple, steady touch that made your pulse stumble for a beat. You weren’t supposed to notice stuff like that. It had been a week, for god’s sake.

Liz leaned toward you. “He always dates the boring ones. No offense, but you’ve got more spark than the last three combined.”

“Liz,” Harry groaned again, his face going red now.

You laughed, leaning your chin into your palm as you looked at her. “Well, thank you for the warm welcome. I was honestly a little nervous.”

“Nothing to be nervous about,” his mum said kindly. “We’re just happy to finally meet the girl who’s been keeping our Harry busy.”

“Busy, huh?” you teased, raising your brow at Harry.

He shrugged with a grin, eyes flickering down to his plate. “I might’ve… mentioned you. A bit.”

“A bit?” Liz scoffed. “It’s been non-stop. ‘She made me this insane coffee today,’ ‘she roasted me for my shoes,’ ‘she is the most beautiful woman in every room’ It’s pathetic, honestly.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I had no idea I was such a topic of conversation.”

Nan winked. “When he likes someone, he’s hopeless.”

Harry cleared his throat, sitting a little straighter. “Okay, alright. Are we gonna eat or roast me all night?”

“Both,” Liz and Nan said in unison, and you laughed again, the sound too easy, too natural in this little group you’d known for about an hour but somehow felt like you’d known your whole life.

And somewhere between dessert and another glass of wine, when Harry’s hand brushed yours again under the table and didn’t move away this time, you felt it.

The tiniest shift.

Like maybe this fake thing was starting to feel a little too good.

Like maybe you didn’t mind the way his family looked at you, or the way he did

And you smiled, because what else could you do?

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that you were lying to them.

Or the fact that part of you that was wishing it wasn’t a lie.

As the night wore out. Nan was telling a story about Harry as a kid, something about him putting his head through a fence to get a better look at a stray cat, and you were fully invested. You had your chin resting in your hand, eyes soft, grinning at every ridiculous detail like you’d known him your whole life.

Harry glanced at you, and for a second, everything around him faded.

You laughed when Nan got to the part where he’d cried because he couldn’t get his head back out. And then, without thinking, you reached over and squeezed his hand on the table. Just a light touch, but warm and steady, and it sent something sharp and tender right through him.

“You were adorable,” you told him, your voice laced with nothing but kindness, no teasing this time.

And damn, it did something to him.

It was stupid. It was fake. A one-week, pretend relationship because he was an idiot who’d lied to his family, but the way you looked at him in that moment wasn’t pretend at all.

His mum caught the way his face softened, and her own expression shifted just a little. She saw it too.

“You’re sweet, love,” Nan said to you, beaming. “I can see why he fell for you.”

You blushed, ducking your head, biting your lip as you murmured, “I’m just glad I get to be here.”

And you meant it. You were kind in this effortless way Harry hadn’t realized he was craving for. All this time chasing after people who never quite knew how to be gentle with him, people coming after the money he had and here you were, a storm of wit and heart, laughing with his family like you belonged there.

Liz elbowed him under the table with a knowing look.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the stupid grin tugging at his mouth.

You turned to his mum as the waiter set down dessert, a beautifully plated lemon tart that made you gasp a little.

“Oh, this looks incredible,” you said, eyes lighting up as you reached for your fork. “If I’d known you lot ate like this, I would’ve insisted Harry introduce me sooner.”

His mum laughed, warmth in her eyes. “Well, you’re welcome anytime, love. It’s about time someone kept him in line.”

You grinned. “I’ll gladly take that job. He’s already a full-time headache at my coffee shop.”

That earned a round of chuckles from the table, and even Nan reached over to pat your hand. Liz was watching you with that same knowing look, like she could see right through you both and was enjoying every second of it.

Harry, meanwhile, couldn’t stop watching you. The way you laughed with his family, like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there did something to him he couldn’t explain.

Without even thinking, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand resting naturally on the back of your chair.

You blinked up at him, caught a little off guard.

He smirked, lowering his voice. “Couldn’t help myself.”

You bit back a smile, nudging his knee under the table. “Better behave, Castillo. Remember the rules.”

“I’m bending them,” he murmured back, grin still tugging at his mouth.

And across the table, Nan smirked into her wine glass, Liz raised her brows at him, and his mum just smiled like she’d seen it coming all along.

As the night wound down and everyone stood from the table, you found yourself being wrapped in warm hugs, Nan pulling you close again, Liz whispering a teasing “You’re my favorite already” in your ear, and Harry’s mum holding your hands for a moment longer than expected.

“It was so lovely meeting you, sweetheart,” she said with genuine affection. “I can see why he’s so taken with you.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you smiled. “Thank you so much for having me. Really. It was… one of the best nights I’ve had in a while.”

“Good,” Nan declared with a wink. “Now, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” you promised, glancing at Harry, who was watching the whole scene with a look that was dangerously close to soft.

After goodbyes were exchanged, his family made their way toward their car, waving as they went.

And then it was just the two of you outside, the night cool and still, the distant sounds of the city settling like a hum around you.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and let out a long, quiet breath. “Hey,” he said, turning to face you fully. “Thank you. For tonight. For… all of it.”

You gave him a soft smile, nudging his arm with your elbow. “You don’t have to thank me, Harry. They’re amazing. And honestly… it was kinda nice. Felt like I was crashing someone else’s family dinner in the best way.”

He smiled back at you, one of those quiet, real ones that didn’t need to be flashy. Then, without overthinking it, he stepped a little closer, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You closed your eyes for a second, feeling it more than you should’ve.

When he pulled back, his voice was soft. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You looked up at him, a playful smirk returning to your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t fall in love with me, Harry. Remember the rules.”

He laughed, shaking his head as you stood there.

Then Harry took a half step toward his car before pausing, glancing back at you.

“What are you doing there?” he asked, brow quirked, that grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m driving you home.”

You looked around the quiet street, hands in your jacket pockets, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Yeah, about that,” you said, pretending to study a flickering streetlamp. “I’m honestly kinda craving a pizza right now. Thought I might walk to grab one and then I was going to take a taxi”

Harry blinked at you, then let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head like you’d just suggested adopting a stray dog at midnight.

“You’re kidding,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re seriously about to wander off into the night for pizza and a taxi?”

You grinned up at him. “I’ve done worse.”

He tilted his head, giving you a look equal parts exasperated and fond. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Yeah, you already told me,” You teased, nudging his side with your elbow.

He sighed dramatically, then reached out and hooked a finger through your jacket’s collar, tugging you a little closer.

“Okay then,” he said, voice soft. “I’ll walk with you. Can’t have you getting lost on the way to a pizza place.”

You raised a brow. “Harry Castillo, breaking his own rules?”

He smirked. “Sue me.”

A week slipped by like it was nothing. Every morning without fail, the bell above your coffee shop door would chime around 9:15, and there he’d be, Harry Castillo, sunglasses perched in his hair, stupidly charming grin in place, ordering the same vanilla iced latte you pretended to roll your eyes at every time.

And then you’d message each other throughout the day. Stupid things. Memes. Complaints about work. The occasional voice notes of him humming some old ‘80s song in traffic. You tried not to overthink how easy it was, how natural it felt to have him around in this quiet, steady way.

Until Thursday.

You were wiping down the counter, half-distracted by a message you were about to send him, when the door opened and in walked someone else, a tall, polished-looking woman you vaguely recognized from other times, she must be Harry’s assistant.

“For Mr. Castillo,” she said politely, not even glancing at the menu.

You felt it. That tiny, dumb pang in your chest you weren’t proud of.

“Sure,” you smiled, acting cool as ever while making his drink. “Tell him he’s a coward.”

The assistant blinked. “Sorry?”

You grinned wider, slid the cup across the counter. “He’ll get it.”

She gave you a confused little nod and left.

And sure enough, around thirty minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Harry ☕

Did you just call me a coward through my assistant?

You smirked down at your screen, thumbs flying.

You ☀️

Well, if the shoe fits. What happened to my daily sunshine?

It took less than a minute.

Harry ☕

Miss me that much?

You bit your lip, shaking your head like an idiot in the middle of your own shop.

You ☀️

Not even a little.

And for some reason… you knew he was smiling too.

Your phone buzzed again, this time, not a message.

Harry’s name lit up your screen, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you answered.

“Well, well, look who decided to remember how phones work,” you teased, leaning your hip against the counter.

His chuckle came through the line, warm and familiar. “Alright, alright, you made your point. I deserved that.”

“Damn right, you did.”

For a beat, neither of you spoke, and then his voice softened a little. “You busy tomorrow night?”

You raised a brow, even though he couldn’t see you. “Depends. Why? You need someone to make fun of you again in front of your mom?”

He laughed. “Tempting. But no. I’ve got this business thing, a party, really. Bunch of people I don’t care about, free champagne, probably awful music. Thought maybe you would like to come with me.”

You pretended to think it over. “Hmm. So basically, you’re asking me to be your emotional support human while you schmooze rich people.”

“Something like that,” he agreed, and you could practically hear the grin in his voice. “But also cause I want you there.”

Your chest did that annoying tight thing again.

“It’s a job thing and everyone is taking their partners with them and you are mine, so…”

“It’s a job thing, really. Everyone’s taking their partners, and you’re mine. So…” He let the sentence hang, warm and unspoken.

You smiled, feeling a mix of nerves and something else you weren’t quite ready to name. “Alright, Castillo. I’m in.”

“Good,” he said, voice grinning through the line. “See you tomorrow, darling.”

You smiled at the pet name.

“See you tomorrow, Harry.”

You slipped your phone into your pocket, still smiling at the way he’d said “darling.” The warmth lingered longer than you expected.

Just then, the café door swung open with a burst of energy.

“HARRY?!” a familiar voice called out, loud and unmistakable.

You looked up to see Claire, radiant and glowing, stepping inside, fresh from her honeymoon

“Claire?” you laughed, walking to hug her “How was the honeymoon? How is Chris?”

Claire smiled warmly, returning your hug. “Good, good. Chris is back at work already. But now, Harry? Who? As in Harry Castillo, Chris’s groomsman? His boss?”

You blinked. “Wait, what?” you said, pulling back to look at her. “Harry is Chris’s boss?”

Claire let out a laugh, linking her arm through yours like she was about to spill the juiciest piece of gossip. “What? You didn’t know who he is? That man owns half of this city’s businesses. Restaurants, bars, hotels, real estate. Castillo Group? Ring a bell?”

Your mouth opened, then shut again. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head, grinning. “Nope. Chris has worked under him for like three years now. He’s this insane mix of ridiculously rich and weirdly private. I’m honestly surprised he’s hanging around here every day.”

You just stared at her for a second, your brain tripping over itself. Harry. Castillo. You’d spent the last week teasing him about his extra shots of vanilla syrup and calling him an idiot, and he owned half the city?

“I need to sit down,” you muttered, reaching for the nearest chair.

Claire giggled, clearly delighted. “Oh my god, you really had no clue.”

“Not a single one,” you breathed out, half-laughing, half-panicking.

You sat down hard in the chair, your mind racing. Claire was still watching you with that gleeful, nosy-best-friend grin, and it hit you — shit. The agreement. The one where, for whatever ridiculous reason, you and Harry had agreed to fake date for these business things. And now here was Claire, freshly back from her honeymoon, connecting dots you hadn’t planned on anyone connecting.

Your stomach twisted. You had to lie.

“So…” Claire sing-songed, leaning on the table. “Are you guys…like… together?”

You forced a casual shrug, heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, uh… yeah. We’ve been… seeing each other.”

Her eyes widened like saucers. “Since when?!”

“Just after your wedding, really,” you said, keeping your voice light, hoping she wouldn’t hear the slight tremor. “We ran into each other a couple times and… it kind of just happened.”

Claire squealed, grabbing your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I was gonna,” you lied smoothly. “But with you on your honeymoon and… we’ve been keeping it quiet, seeing where it goes, you know?”

Claire beamed at you like you’d just handed her front-row tickets to a scandalous rom-com. “This is wild. I mean, Harry freaking Castillo. And you. I love it. You have to tell me everything.”

Claire pulled out a chair like she had no plans of leaving anytime soon, eyes bright with excitement. “Okay, how did it start? Who made the first move? Was it like, sparks-flying, slow motion thing?

You let out a nervous laugh, trying not to visibly panic. “Honestly… it was more like… he loves the coffee from here.”

Which, technically, wasn’t a lie.

Claire grinned. “Ugh, that’s so you. God, and I just knew he was flirting with you at the wedding, he had his eye on you the whole time.”

You swallowed hard, hoping your face wasn’t betraying you. “Yeah, well… we’ve kind of just been hanging out, keeping it low-key.”

“And you’re into him?” she asked, nudging your elbow with a teasing smirk.

You hesitated, because the answer was complicated and you weren’t even sure what counted as fake or real anymore, but you covered it with a casual grin. “Yeah… he’s actually… really great.”

Claire’s whole face softened at that. “Well, I’m happy for you. You deserve someone good, you know?”

And damn it if that didn’t sting a little.

You smiled. “Thanks, Claire.”

Before she could dig for more, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, a message from Harry.

Harry ☕

 Chris is already planning our wedding.

You smirked and quickly typed back.

You ☀️

 Claire’s too. You owe me.

You slid your phone away just as Claire sighed dreamily. “God, imagine if you actually married Harry Castillo.”

You laughed a little too loud. “Yeah… imagine.”

Claire arched a brow at your reaction, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh my god — you like him.”

You scoffed, grabbing a dish towel from the counter to busy your hands. “I don’t.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, leaning back in her chair like she’d cracked some unspoken code. “You’ve got that dumb grin people get when they’re catching feelings.”

You shot her a look. “Claire, we’ve been ‘dating’ for like five minutes.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she sing-songed. “That’s how it starts. Next thing you know, you’re moving into his ridiculous penthouse and adopting a designer dog.”

You couldn’t help the way your lips twitched into a smile. “First of all — if anyone’s getting a dog in this scenario, it’s me. And second, it’s not like that. We’re just… taking it slow.”

Claire softened again, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “Hey, look — I’m not trying to tease too much. I just… you deserve to be happy. And maybe this is good for you, you know? Something unexpected.”

You swallowed, throat a little tight because maybe it was. And maybe it scared you half to death.

Before you could answer, your phone buzzed again.

Harry ☕

Also, just so you know, I’m definitely getting you a huge portion of French fries tomorrow after the party. Can’t have my date starving.

You bit your lip, the flutter in your chest way too annoying for your liking.

You ☀️

I’m holding you to that, Harry.

Claire grinned knowingly. “That better be him.”

You rolled your eyes, slipping your phone into your pocket. “Shut up and tell me about your honeymoon already.”

And for now, you let yourself breathe.

The next day blurred past in a mess of deliveries, inventory lists, and your staff pestering you about whether or not you were actually dating the Harry Castillo, something Claire apparently hadn’t wasted a single second spreading around.

By early evening, you’d finally escaped into your small office at the back of the coffee shop, drowning in paperwork you’d been avoiding all week. The hum of the café outside was distant through the closed door, and for a while, it felt peaceful.

A soft knock pulled you from your numbers.

“Come in,” you called, not looking up, assuming it was Celine with one of her million shift questions.

But the voice you heard wasn’t hers.

“Hey.”

You looked up, and there they were. Those soft, impossibly familiar brown eyes you could not stop thinking about no matter how many times you told yourself you shouldn’t.

Harry leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a coffee cup, from your own café, no less.

For a second, you couldn’t even get your brain to function.

“What…what are you doing here?” you asked, setting your pen down and quickly trying to look less flustered than you felt.

He grinned. “Had a meeting nearby. Figured I’d stop by, check if my favorite coffee shop owner was still alive… and maybe see if she’s still free for tonight.”

You swallowed. “I am.”

His smile softened, and for a beat, neither of you said anything. Just the quiet hum of the café and the low buzz of your heart thudding too hard in your chest.

Harry stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him. “You look good, by the way.”

You snorted, gesturing at your slightly messy bun and sleeves rolled up past your elbows. “Yeah, peak fashion.”

“Always,” he teased, before his voice dropped a little. “I missed seeing you here this morning.”

Your heart gave an annoyingly hopeful skip. “You sent your assistant again.”

“Biggest regret of my day,” he admitted, his grin tilting to something softer, something that made your breath catch.

“I’m actually came here to give you this” he said, walking towards you.

You blinked down at the glossy black Versace bag he held out to you, its gold lettering practically gleaming in your dim little office. Your stomach dropped.

“No,” you said immediately, holding your hands up like it might bite. “Harry, absolutely not.”

He laughed, unfazed by your reaction, and stepped closer, setting it on your desk anyway. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s Versace!” you hissed, like saying the name too loud might summon the fashion police to haul you away. “I—no. I’m not taking that. What even is it?”

“Relax,” he chuckled, leaning a hip against your desk, looking entirely too smug about your flustered panic. “It’s just something for tonight.”

“Harry, I have a dress,” you insisted, even though technically it was more of a safe option you pulled out for weddings. Nothing Versace-level. Nothing dating Harry Castillo-level.

He raised a brow. “Humor me.”

“Harry—”

“Look,” he said gently, his voice softening. “You’re doing me a favor by coming tonight. This is just… me saying thanks. I saw it, thought of you. That’s it.”

You stared at him, at those unfairly warm eyes and the sincere look on his face, and damn it if you didn’t feel your resolve wobble.

“…I’m still mad about this,” you grumbled, snatching the bag off the desk and earning a wide grin from him. “Besides you had been lying to me.”

“I can live with that, and we can talk about it tonight.” he said easily. “Pick you up at eight.”

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you alone with your paperwork, a dangerously fluttery heart, and a Versace bag you absolutely should not open, but already knew you would.

You stared at the bag like it might self-destruct, then sighed, dragging it closer with one finger.

“This is such a bad idea,” you muttered to yourself, but you were already pulling the tissue paper aside.

Inside was a slip of silk — no, satin — in a deep midnight blue that shimmered when it caught the light. It was elegant, simple, but devastating in the way only something stupidly expensive and perfectly chosen could be. You ran your fingers over the fabric, cursing under your breath.

Of course he would pick something like this.

Of course it would be exactly your style.

And of course your stomach would do a whole dumb somersault over it.

You shook your head, stuffing the dress carefully back into the bag before you could talk yourself into trying it on in your office like a deranged person.

Your phone buzzed on the desk.

Harry ☕

Hope you like it. And if you don’t, though, you’re wearing it.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile, and typed back.

You ☀️

You’re an actual menace, Harry.

A second later:

Harry ☕

Yeah, but I’m your menace tonight.

And god help you , you were so completely screwed.

You shoved your phone in your pocket before you could grin any wider, grabbed the Versace bag, and slipped out of your office. Celine caught sight of the bag immediately and narrowed her eyes.

“That better be for me,” she called.

You didn’t answer, just shot her a look and muttered, “Don’t start.”

And as you locked up that night, you tried, truly, sincerely tried, not to think about the way Harry Castillo made you feel like maybe, just maybe, none of this was pretend anymore.

The night settled around the city in a blanket of warm lights and cool air, the streets humming softly with the kind of buzz that made you feel alive but also… absolutely on edge.

You stood just outside your building, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, arms wrapped around yourself even though it wasn’t cold. The Versace bag swung gently at your wrist, and you tried not to let your nerves show on your face, though you doubted anyone was paying enough attention to notice.

Except, you knew one person would.

You checked your phone again. No new messages, but the last one from Harry sat there like a tiny bomb in your inbox.

Harry ☕

On my way, sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

You took a steadying breath, glancing down at the dress in the bag again. You’d slipped it on before, just to make sure it fit. It had hugged your frame in a way that felt unfair. It made you feel like a version of yourself you didn’t quite recognize — a little too soft, a little too exposed, but undeniably… beautiful.

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted Harry to see you like that.

A black car slowed to a stop at the curb, the passenger window rolling down. And there he was — messy hair, that infuriatingly charming half-smile, and brown eyes that somehow made you feel seen in a way you weren’t used to.

“Hey,” he called, voice low and warm. “Get in, gorgeous.”

You let out a breathy laugh, because damn him. “Stop being so smooth, it’s exhausting.”

“Can’t help it,” he grinned, leaning over to push the door open for you. “It’s a medical condition.”

You slid into the car, heart rattling in your chest. He looked over at you, taking in your makeup, the soft waves in your hair, and the way your lips curved even when you tried to keep a straight face.

“You’re nervous,” he said, not as a tease, just a fact, quiet and careful.

You shrugged. “A little. This whole… thing. I’m not exactly used to pretending to be someone’s plus one at a business party.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he reached over, his hand covering yours on your lap.

“You don’t have to pretend anything,” he murmured. “Just be you. That’s all I want tonight.”

And god, why did that make everything worse and better at the same time?

You gave a small nod, meeting his gaze. “Okay.”

The car eased to a stop outside one of those ridiculous glass-walled buildings uptown — the kind where the valet was in a tux and the guests stepping out of luxury cars looked like they belonged on magazine covers. You stared out the window for half a second longer than necessary, steeling yourself.

Harry climbed out first, moving around the car to open your door like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held a hand out to you, palm up, and you hesitated for just a second before placing yours in his.

His fingers curled around yours, warm, steady, certain. The touch sent a quiet current through your skin, but you forced a casual smile as you stepped out.

“You ready for this?” he asked, leaning in, voice for your ears only.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, smirking up at him.

The lobby was all polished marble, soft golden light, and the distant sound of a jazz trio playing something smooth and expensive-sounding. People were already milling around with champagne flutes in hand, and you could feel a few heads turn as you and Harry stepped in.

And then, he didn’t let go of your hand.

In fact, his grip tightened slightly as he guided you through the room, stopping to greet a few people, nodding here and there, that easy confidence radiating off him like he was made for this kind of setting.

To anyone else, it probably looked effortless.

To you, well, it was a little infuriating how good he was at this.

At one point, a woman in a sleek black dress and sharp red lipstick approached with a bright smile. “Harry, darling. And who’s this?”

You opened your mouth, not quite sure how to introduce yourself in whatever fake arrangement you were in, but Harry beat you to it.

“This is my girl,” he said easily, tugging you a little closer with a glance down at you that made your stomach tumble. “She’s the best thing I’ve had the good fortune to stumble into this year.”

The words knocked the air out of you for a second, because he said it like it wasn’t a line.

Like maybe he almost meant it.

You managed a polite smile and shook the woman’s hand. The rest of the introductions blurred a little after that, though you kept catching Harry’s thumb brushing the back of your hand, little grounding touches that felt way too natural.

When you finally had a moment alone by the bar, you looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “My girl, huh?”

He grinned, leaning in close enough for only you to hear. “Could’ve gone with ‘darling’ again, but figured I’d keep you guessing.”

You tried to look unimpressed. Failed miserably.

“Smooth, Harry. Real smooth.”

And as he reached for two glasses of champagne, handing you one, he murmured with a crooked smile, “Perhaps, I’m not pretending as well as I thought I’d be.”

You barely had a chance to process the weight of those words — I’m not pretending as well as I thought I’d be — before a familiar burst of laughter snagged your attention from across the room.

You turned your head and there they were. Claire, in a gorgeous emerald green dress that made her glow, and Chris, looking sharp in a navy suit, his arm around her waist as they chatted with a small group of people.

Your stomach did a little flip.

“Uh oh,” you muttered, leaning in toward Harry so only he could hear. “Incoming.”

Harry followed your gaze, his lips quirking up when he spotted them. “Ah, the newlyweds.”

As if on cue, Claire’s eyes landed on you, and her whole face lit up. She nudged Chris, whispering something, and the two of them made a beeline toward you.

“Look at you two!” Claire practically beamed, pulling you into a quick, excited hug, then stepping back to eye you both with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “God, you clean up well. And together? This is unfairly attractive.”

Chris laughed, shaking Harry’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder. “I didn’t know you were bringing company tonight, man.”

“Would’ve been a crime not to,” Harry replied smoothly, his hand finding yours again like it belonged there, fingers threading through yours with ease. “Wouldn’t survive this kind of crowd without her.”

Claire’s gaze darted down to your joined hands, then back up to your face with a knowing smirk.

You gave her a look that said be cool, but it only made her grin wider.

“So how long has this been going on?” Claire asked, leaning in, teasing but genuinely curious.

You opened your mouth, brain scrambling for the number you and Harry had joked about before, but before you could answer, Harry spoke first.

“Since your wedding” he said, squeezing your hand gently.

You barely had time to register Harry’s answer before a small crowd pulled him and Chris away, laughing and talking loudly as they got drawn into a conversation with some other guests. You were left standing there with Claire, feeling suddenly a little out of place in your heels and dress.

Claire nudged you gently. “Well, that was smooth.”

You smiled, grateful for the distraction as you chatted with her about her honeymoon and how married life was treating her. The room buzzed with chatter, clinking glasses, and soft music — a perfect backdrop for what you hoped would be a low-key evening.

Then, out of nowhere, a light tap on your shoulder startled you.

Turning around, you found yourself looking up at a man with a charming smile and confident eyes, clearly trying to catch your attention.

“I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room,” he said smoothly, voice low. “You have the kind of smile that could light up this entire place.”

You glanced at Claire, who was watching the scene with amused eyes, then turned back to the man, forcing a polite but firm smile.

“That’s very kind of you,” you said carefully, trying not to encourage him.

Before the man could continue, a strong presence settled beside you. Harry’s hand slid easily over yours, his gaze sharp and protective as he looked down at the newcomer.

“Excuse me,” Harry said, voice calm but clearly warning, “she’s with me.”

The man’s smile faltered as Harry’s eyes locked onto his, the unspoken message clear.

“Oh. Right. Of course,” the man said quickly, backing away with an awkward chuckle.

Harry’s jaw relaxed, but his hold on your hand remained steady, grounding you.

Claire leaned in with a grin. “Well, that was fast.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling the heat of Harry’s closeness settle around you like a shield.

“Thanks for the rescue,” you murmured.

Harry’s eyes softened as he squeezed your hand again. “Always.

Harry’s hand slid from your fingers to your waist, pulling you just a little closer, his body warmth seeping into you. Your breath hitched, heart fluttering as you were about to let yourself fall for this protective side of him, when out of the corner of your eye, you saw her.

Lucy.

She stood across the room, wearing a stunning black dress that hugged every curve, her raven-black hair cascading perfectly over her shoulders, and those icy blue eyes scanning the crowd like a queen surveying her kingdom. Everything about her, her confidence, her presence, hit you all at once.

Suddenly, the closeness between you and Harry felt less sweet and more like a calculated move. You realized then that Harry wasn’t doing this just to keep his family off his back. No, this was personal. A game. A way to get back at his ex.

Disappointment flooded your chest, thick and sharp.

You gently pulled away from him, smoothing your dress and forcing a steady breath.

“I… I need to get some air,” you said quietly, trying not to let the hurt show.

Harry opened his mouth, but you didn’t wait for his response. You turned and walked toward the door, your mind spinning with thoughts you hadn’t expected to feel tonight.

An hour passed like slow, heavy waves crashing over him, and Harry still hadn’t found you. The party’s noise throbbed behind the walls, but inside him, everything was quieter, empty in the worst way.

He finally stepped outside onto the balcony, the cool night air biting at his skin. His eyes scanned the dim space until they landed on you, sitting alone on the ledge, wrapped in your arms like you were trying to hold yourself together against the chill.

You didn’t look at him at first, just stared up at the dark sky as if searching for answers in the stars. Harry’s heart clenched, and without a word, he crossed the distance and sat down beside you, careful not to crowd your space.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy with everything left unsaid. After a moment, Harry’s voice came out soft, almost hesitant.

“Hey”

You finally looked at him, eyes reflecting the distant city lights. “You lied to me.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You said all of this was about your family but the truth is, you wanted to get back at Lucy fore leaving you and I’m the revenge gun.” You added.

Harry’s eyes darkened, guilt flashing across his face before he quickly masked it with something softer.

“I never wanted you to feel like that,” he said quietly. “You’re not some pawn in my past. You’re... you’re not that.”

You pulled your arms tighter around yourself, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“But that’s exactly what it felt like tonight. Like I was just a way to get back at her.”

Harry looked down for a moment, then met your gaze again, earnest and raw.

“I—yes, I omitted that information.” He confessed, “But getting to know you…It has been so—so magical I-.”

You let out a shaky breath, unsure if you were angry, hurt, or just exhausted.

“I’m not mad.” You said calmly, “But I’m disappointed. You lied about this and you lied about who you are too.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t tell me you were a billionaire either.”

Harry blinked, a slow, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair again, the vulnerability slipping through for a moment. “I didn’t think it mattered. I wanted you to like me for me, not my bank account.”

You studied him, the weight of the night pressing down on you, but beneath it all, a flicker of something softer.

“You think that low of me?” you asked, kinda hurt by that.

Harry’s face fell the second the words left your mouth — like you’d knocked the air right out of him.

“No,” he said quickly, stepping closer, his voice rough with regret. “God, no. That’s not what I meant. It wasn’t about you. It was about me. About… how people usually are with me. I didn’t want to risk it being the same with you because you’re—”

He stopped himself, swallowing hard, his eyes searching yours in the low light.

“You’re different,” he finished quietly. “You scare the hell out of me in the best possible way. And I’ve been so terrified of messing it up, I already did.”

Your chest tightened, your arms still wrapped around yourself, and for a second you weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or pull him close. Maybe both.

“I’m not some charity case you get to parade around, Harry,” you said softly. “I’m not a revenge plan. I’m not something you use to prove a point to an ex. I’m a person.”

“I know,” he said, stepping even closer, his hand hesitating before gently brushing your arm, as if testing if you’d let him. “And you deserve better than what I did tonight. I swear to you… none of this feels like a game to me anymore. It hasn’t for a while.”

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing in the cold night air, trying to steady the storm inside you.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or what it could be. But if you want this plan to keep going, you need to be honest with me. No more half-truths. No more omissions.”

Harry nodded, the weight of your words settling between you like some fragile, unspoken truce.

“I can do that,” he said, voice low, sincere in a way you hadn’t seen before tonight. “You deserve that. Hell, you deserve more than that, but… I’ll start there.”

His hand lingered at your arm, fingers grazing your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you drift any farther from him. You didn’t pull away this time, though your heart ached with a mix of too many things you didn’t have names for.

After a long, quiet moment, you huffed a breath, a ghost of a smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself. “You realize Claire is never letting me live this down if we go back in there together.”

Harry’s mouth curved into a crooked smile, some of the tension easing from his face. “I’ll take full responsibility for that.”

You arched a brow. “Including when she makes a slideshow of our imaginary honeymoon?”

He laughed, and it was soft, real — nothing polished or smug about it. “Even then.”

A beat passed. The cold didn’t sting as sharply now. The city lights flickered in the distance, and his eyes never left yours.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Let’s finish what we started. But this time… you’re honest with me. Every step.”

“I promise,” Harry murmured.

Harry glanced at you, noticed the way your arms were still wrapped around yourself against the cold, and without a word, shrugged out of his jacket.

“Here,” he murmured, draping it over your shoulders with a tenderness that made your heart ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You inhaled instinctively — it smelled like him. Warm, expensive cologne and something inherently Harry beneath it.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your fingers brushing his as you pulled it tighter around yourself.

He lingered a second longer, his hands hesitating at your shoulders, as if debating whether to say more, to touch more. But instead, he just gave you a soft, crooked smile.

“You know,” he said quietly, “even when you’re mad at me, you still look beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes, though a reluctant smile pulled at your lips. “You’re dangerously close to losing jacket privileges.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Noted.”

Another silence fell, but this time, it felt… different. Not heavy with things unsaid, but fragile in a new, tentative way — like a beginning neither of you were quite brave enough to name yet.

After a moment, you exhaled. “Come on. Let’s get back in before Claire starts a betting pool.”

Harry grinned at that, and for the first time in what felt like hours, the knot in your chest loosened just a little.

He held the door open for you, his hand grazing your lower back as you stepped inside, light, unassuming, but enough to remind you he was still there.

You stepped back into the warmth of the party, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses wrapping around you like a familiar, chaotic blanket. But it wasn’t the glittering lights or the music you noticed first. It was her.

Lucy.

She was standing near the bar in that slinky black dress, her arm looped through some guy’s, but her blue eyes were locked on one person.

Harry.

You saw it plain as day, the possessive flicker, the bitterness she couldn’t quite hide behind her practiced smile. And something inside you, some heady cocktail of defiance, adrenaline, and maybe the tiniest hint of revenge, surged to the surface.

Without giving yourself a chance to overthink it, you reached out, grabbed a fistful of Harry’s shirt, and tugged him down to you.

His eyes widened in surprise just a beat before your lips crashed onto his.

And damn it if it didn’t feel electric.

The world around you blurred, the music, the people, even the cold ache of what had happened an hour ago, all of it drowned under the warmth of his mouth on yours. He hesitated only a second before his hand cupped the side of your neck, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness you weren’t ready for.

It wasn’t a fake kiss.

Not the kind meant to sell a lie.

It was something else.

When you finally pulled back, breathe a little short, you caught the flicker of shock and unmistakable jealousy in Lucy’s face.

Good.

Harry’s gaze searched yours, his thumb brushing your jaw like he couldn’t help himself. “What… was that for?” he murmured, his voice low and a little breathless.

You smirked up at him, chest still pounding. “Just reminding someone what she lost.”

His grin spread slow and crooked, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous and unguarded. “God, you’re something else,” he whispered.

You shrugged, though you could feel your pulse hammering in your throat. “Come on. Let’s go to grab some champagne.”

And for the first time that night, it felt like it was your game now.

Harry chuckled under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe you — or maybe like he was starting to realize he didn’t want to stop believing in you. His hand found yours again, this time with no audience, no pretend, no reason but because he wanted to.

“Lead the way,” he murmured.

You tugged him through the crowd toward the bar, your smirk lingering just long enough to catch the storm brewing in Lucy’s eyes. It wasn’t even about her anymore, not really. It was about you. About reclaiming a night that had made you feel small, powerless, and used.

The bartender raised an eyebrow as you slid two fingers across the counter. “Your best champagne,” you said, grinning. “On his tab.”

Harry laughed, leaning in close, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, feeling the spark in your chest catch fire, “but you like it.”

A minute later, two crystal flutes of something bubbly and outrageously expensive were in your hands. You raised yours toward him, chin lifting. “To terrible ideas.”

Harry clinked his glass against yours, his gaze never leaving your face. “And to hoping they turn into the best ones.”

You swallowed a smile, the warmth of the champagne chasing the last of the cold from your skin. But you knew this wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

Because even as you let yourself lean into the ridiculousness of it, the party, the pretend, the kiss that didn’t feel so pretend anymore, you could still feel Lucy’s stare like a needle in your back. And deep down, you knew you’d only made things more complicated.

Some time later, the night had dulled into that sleepy, glittering haze that parties get when they’ve gone on too long — the music softer, the conversations blurring together, the champagne no longer crisp but heavy in your veins.

Harry had gotten swept away by a group of older men in tailored suits, half business partners, half family friends you didn’t know and didn’t care to. You caught his eyes a couple of times across the room, his expression apologetic, but you just waved him off with a small smile. It was fine.

You and Claire ended up perched on one of those ridiculously overpriced velvet couches near the corner, away from the crowd, both of you leaning into each other like you were back in college again, sneaking out of classes and eating junk food on your dorm floor.

Claire sighed dramatically, resting her head against yours. “If one more man over forty-five tries to explain crypto to me, I’m throwing myself into that champagne fountain.”

You snorted, eyes heavy-lidded, tipping your head to rest against her shoulder. “Wake me up before you do. I wanna see that.”

“Okay.”

A comfortable quiet settled between you, the room spinning a little too warmly, the lingering scent of expensive perfume clinging to the air. You let your eyes flutter shut for a minute, feeling Claire’s steady breathing and the distant hum of voices.

“Hey,” she murmured after a while, nudging you gently. “You okay? You’ve been… quiet.”

You gave a small shrug, not opening your eyes. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

She hummed knowingly. “You know he’s into you, right? It’s not just about Lucy.”

Your eyes flickered open then, and you turned your head just enough to look at her. “Claire—”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s a goner.”

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck. “I don’t… I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

Claire smiled softly, squeezing your hand. “You’re living a little. About damn time.”

And before you could say anything else, a familiar hand brushed your shoulder.

You glanced up to find Harry standing there, eyes only for you, his tie slightly loosened, hair a little messy, looking like the man everyone in the room wanted a piece of — but right now, it felt like he only wanted you.

“Sorry I disappeared,” he murmured. “Stealing you now.”

Claire grinned, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. “Go. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up a little unsteadily as Harry’s hand settled on your back. His palm warm, grounding.

“Everything okay?” he asked quietly.

You gave a small smile. “I want to go home.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, concern flickering across his face. His hand didn’t leave your back as he leaned in a little closer, voice soft enough that only you could hear it over the hum of the party.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Without another word, he threaded his fingers through yours, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before gently guiding you through the crowd. You caught Claire’s knowing smirk from the couch as you passed, mouthing text me later before you disappeared through the doors.

The night air hit you in a rush, cool and sharp against your skin. You breathed it in like a balm, finally free from the thick press of the party, the expectations, the eyes.

His hand lingering at your back as he walked you toward the car. Neither of you said much. You didn’t need to. The silence was different now, not heavy, not awkward. Just… quiet.

When you reached the car, he opened the door for you, watching you slide in before joining you on the other side. The driver asked where to, and for a second, you hesitated.

But then Harry spoke, his voice low and certain.

“To her place.”

You glanced at him, and he met your eyes, a softness there that made your stomach flip.

“Only if you want me to,” he added, quieter now, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

You exhaled, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips.

The car pulled away from the curb, the city lights blurring past the window, and for the first time that night, you let yourself lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. He pressed a kiss to your hair, and neither of you said another word the whole ride home.

…….....

When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of your building, you sat up a little, rubbing your eyes as the exhaustion of the night caught up with you. Harry climbed out first, rounding the car to open your door like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand reached for yours again, steady and sure, and you let him help you out.

As you reached your front steps, he lingered behind you, hands in his pockets, a soft smile playing at his lips.

“You know,” he started, tilting his head as he looked up at your place, “you haven’t shown me your place yet.”

You let out a tired, slightly amused breath, glancing over your shoulder at him. “It’s pretty modest.”

He shrugged, that easy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good. I’m sick of penthouses and marble bathrooms.”

You smiled, shaking your head as you pulled your keys from your bag and unlocked the door. “Well, don’t get too excited. The fanciest thing in there is probably my coffee maker.”

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice low, something softer threaded in it as he followed you inside.

The warm glow of your little apartment welcomed you both. It wasn’t much, cozy couch, a few mismatched frames on the walls, books stacked where they probably shouldn’t be, but it was yours. Lived in. Safe.

Harry took it in, the way you half expected him to make some kind of teasing comment about your thrift store throw pillows or the crooked bookshelf, but he didn’t. He just smiled.

“I love it,” he said quietly.

You hung up your coat, his jacket still around your shoulders. “You want some tea or…?”

But before you could finish the question, he crossed the room, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek.

Your heart gave a helpless tug in your chest.

“Harry?" you whispered.

And before he could overthink it, he closed the space between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted like exhaustion and honesty and the quiet promise of something you weren’t quite ready to name yet.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, like neither of you wanted to be the one to pull away first. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, holding you there like maybe this was exactly where you were meant to be all along.

When you finally parted, breath mingling, foreheads nearly touching, you managed a wry little smirk, your fingers still gripping the front of his shirt.

“You’re breaking rule number three,” you murmured against his lips, your voice soft and teasing, but there was no hiding the way your pulse fluttered.

Harry chuckled, low and rough, his thumb brushing your cheek again. “Yeah,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours. “I’m starting to think I want to break all of them.”

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[cafelattaes]

all my heart | geum seongje

summary: a glimpse into what loving geum seongje looks like—messy, soft, deeply yours. and after all these years, he still has all of your heart.

pairing: geum seongje x fem!reader

genre: romance, slice of life

word count: 5.1k

first.

you and seongje had been together for a while now. you'd somehow made it through that rocky stretch hand in hand, and now here you were, college students at different schools, in completely different rhythms of life, but still orbiting each other.

at first, everyone had an opinion. they had plenty to say when you started openly seeing the mad dog of ganghak high. but after a few months, the noise died down. there was simply nothing left to say. you weren't going anywhere, and neither was he.

your parents had been the hardest. not surprised, really. they weren't strict about dating, never hovered too close. but the night they saw him for the first time, walking you home, eyes dark, cheek split, knuckles raw, it was written all over their faces. alarm. disappointment. a hundred questions they didn't want the answers to.

he looked like every bad decision a parent warned their daughter about.

still, they didn't try to tear it apart. maybe because you've never given them a reason not to trust you. you were a good daughter. they hated the idea of him, hated the way he looked at you like the world owed him blood, but they didn't interfere. not yet. not unless they had to. you could feel it hanging in the air though. one day, they'd say they wanted to meet him officially. and when that day came... well. you'd deal with it.

college life came with its quiet perks. one of them being the blessed indifference of your peers. no whispers. no curious stares. no one cornering you to ask what you saw in "that guy". people mostly kept to themselves, and for the most part, you liked it that way. you were finally able to like him without feeling like you owed the world an explanation for it.

which is why it threw you completely off when he showed up. out of nowhere. again.

you had told him you were going out with your friends, just a casual hangout after class. you hadn't bothered to mention where, because you didn't think you needed to. it wasn't like you were hiding anything. but it turned out you didn't even need to tell him. somehow, seongje always found you. like he had a sixth sense for when you were around other guys. or a tracker. you still weren't sure which one it was.

and this time, he didn't just lurk from afar like he sometimes did. he walked straight into the middle of your day and picked a fight. literally.

he didn't like the look of the guys in your group. or maybe it was just the fact that there were guys. you could tell he had already made up a story in his head about who they were and why they were there, and that was enough for him to square up like it was high school all over again. you tried, really tried to pull him aside, to talk him down, to tell him that he was blowing things out of proportion, but he didn't even look at you. like your voice didn't matter once his temper had already started rolling downhill.

and to make things worse, it turned out the guys in your group did have some kind of history with the union. not deep, but enough to make seongje grin like he'd just been handed an excuse on a silver platter.

the tension cracked. words were exchanged. chairs were scraped back. and you stood there, stuck, watching the day spiral while your friends looked at you with wide eyes and quiet apologies.

one of the girls leaned over to whisper, "sorry... the guys shouldn't have egged him on."

but all you could do was shake your head, eyes still fixed on seongje like you were trying to make sense of how quickly things had unraveled.

"no," you muttered, jaw tight. "i should be the one apologizing."

because he came uninvited. he started it.

and it wasn't just the fight, it was the way he completely brushed off your voice when you told him to stop. like your presence wasn't enough to make him pause. like your boundaries came second to whatever score he thought he had to settle. you knew how seongje was, violent, impulsive, always bristling with the urge to break something, but he wasn't supposed to treat you like noise in the background.

he didn't need to protect you from anything today. he just needed to respect you. and right now, he didn't.

the doorbell had been ringing for ten minutes straight.

you'd muted your phone after the fifth message. then came the calls. then knocking. then the doorbell again, rhythmic like he was playing a game. you didn't have to check to know who it was. no one else was that annoyingly persistent. eventually, your patience snapped, and you stormed to the door just to shut him up.

he barely looked relieved when you opened it, like he expected you to slam it in his face instead. his phone was still clutched in one hand, unread messages stacked like unfinished apologies. his hair was a mess, his jacket crooked, but his eyes were locked onto yours.

"...can i come in?"

you didn't answer. just stepped aside.

you didn't say anything as you walked back in either. didn't acknowledge the way he followed you like a puppy that didn't know where to sit. his mouth opened, maybe to try something stupid, but when you shot him a look over your shoulder, he shut up for once.

he settled on the couch. quietly. which was almost suspicious.

you turned, intending to retreat to your room, but the second you passed him, he hooked a lazy finger into your belt loop. the tug was gentle, but it halted your escape. you huffed, glaring down at him, but he didn't even look fazed. he just pulled you in.

you didn't resist, though you did sigh in disbelief as he shifted you onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. his arms wrapped loosely around you waist, then his forehead came to rest against your shoulder.

no smirk. no cocky remark. just stillness. he stayed quiet, but it wasn't peace.

it was tension. his arms were around you, but his jaw was clenched. you could feel it, he was holding back, like if he spoke, the wrong words would come out. again.

you sighed and stared straight ahead. "we already talked about this."

his fingers tightened a fraction around your waist. "...i know."

your throat tightened. "i already told you not to pull that shit again, seongje."

"...i know."

you pulled back, just enough to look at him, and he didn't meet your eyes. that alone annoyed you more than the words. it was like he was agreeing just to make it stop. like this whole thing wasn't serious, like he hadn't embarrassed you in front of your new friends, ignored you when you told him to stop, acted like you didn't matter in the middle of it all.

"if you're gonna talk like that," you said, voice sharpening like a blade, "then don't talk to me at all. and don't bother showing up if you're just gonna ignore everything i say."

that landed.

you felt it immediately, the way his arms stiffened around you, the sudden cold edge that cut through his expression. his head lifted slightly, and when he looked at you, his eyes had lost that sheepish desperation.

not angry at you, not quite, but he was frustrated. at the situation. at himself. at the fact that this wasn't going his way. seongje never liked not getting what he wanted. and right now, what he wanted was you to forgive him without making him feel small.

but he wasn't stupid. he knew what would happen if he pushed you again.

you'd gone silent on him before. days of unread messages, no answers, no sightings. it drove him halfway mad.

he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't let that happen again.

"...fine." his tone came sharp, his voice clipped. "i won't do it again."

you narrowed your eyes. that tone—like he was doing you a favor.

you stood up.

he grabbed your wrist before you could walk away, firm but not forceful. he didn't pull, just held.

then, in a voice that barely registered above a breath, he said, "i'm sorry."

you froze. he didn't look at you when he said it. his head was lowered again, gaze locked somewhere near the floor. his grip loosened slightly, as if expecting you to pull away. as if he'd already braced for the worst.

you didn't say anything.

you were still pissed. but still... there was something about the way he said it.

he did not apologize. not to anyone. he didn't believe in it. thought it was dumb. weak. but ever since he met you, he'd been doing a lot of things he never thought he would. giving in. holding back. trying.

and right now, it was written all over him, the struggle, the resentment, the need.

you didn't melt, not entirely, but something in you softened. just a little. because you knew what it took for him to say that word. and how much it killed him to be the one begging to be forgiven.

you stayed still. not because you didn't hear it, but because you did. because it sounded so unlike him that you needed a second just to let it settle in.

then with a quiet motion, his hand slid gently around your wrist, then your waist, coaxing you toward him until you were standing between his knees. he wrapped his arms around your hips, slow and steady, and leaned his head against your stomach.

not a word. just his arms, warm and solid. his forehead pressing into your shirt like he was waiting. not demanding, not begging. just waiting for you to forgive him.

you let out a long sigh, loud enough for him to hear. you weren't ready to let him off easy, not when you had every right to be upset, but you also weren't cruel.

your hand moved slowly to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, rubbing at his scalp in small, deliberate strokes. that was all he needed.

seongje exhaled deeply, almost in relief, and pulled you into his lap again without a second's hesitation.

his forehead met yours, eyes locked on you with something softer than guilt. apology. maybe even gratitude. you could feel it, the way he was turning soft for you, even if he didn't know how to hold it. his rage never vanished, it just curled its way into something quieter.

your hands came up to cradle his face, fingers pressing gently into his cheeks. "i'm serious." you said, tilting his face toward yours so he couldn't look away. "you don't get to pretend like nothing happened. you have to actually try."

he didn't answer. didn't agree, didn't joke. just leaned in closer, and closer, waiting.

you didn't make him wait long.

the kiss wasn't rushed or hungry, it wasn't sharp like most of what existed between you. it was slow and careful. his mouth brushed yours like he still thought you might pull away. you didn't.

he sighed into your lips like he needed the kiss to steady him. and maybe he did.

when you finally pulled away, the kiss still warm on your lips, you let out a breath. not with frustration this time, but something gentler. something that settled deep in your chest.

you stared at him, eyes tracing every detail like you were trying to memorize him all over again. the dark lashes that curled a little too perfectly, the stubborn cut near his cheekbone, the beauty mark under his eye.

"you've got such a pretty face," you murmured, brushing a thumb across his cheek. "makes it easier to forgive you."

that was all it took. seongje flushed so fast it was almost impressive. his whole face went red, the color kept crawling down his neck and all the way to his ears.

"fuck off," he blurted and shoved you off his lap.

you stumbled backward with a yelp. but he was just as quick to shoot his hand out, fingers curling tight around your wrist to yank you right back in.

"fucking—stay still," he muttered, flustered beyond repair. he crushed you against his chest like a feral cat with its prey. his heart thudding hard against your ear, giving away everything he wouldn't say out loud.

you wriggled a little in protest, not really trying to escape. "you are so infuriating," you muttered, breathing out a laugh despite yourself. "you're lucky i love you."

you felt him stiffened. he didn't respond right away. just slumped forward, pressing his forehead against your shoulder like he couldn't take it. like those words short-circuited something inside him.

every single time you said it, he folded like a paper.

his breath faltered against your skin before he bit you. sharp and sudden, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. you jerked against him in surprise, only to feel the swipe of his tongue over the spot like an apology.

"fuck," he rasped, voice rough. "stop saying shit like that."

"like what?" you asked, breath catching. you were still reeling from the bite.

he scoffed, but it was weak. almost like he choked on it. "you know what it does to me."

"so you want me to stop?" you tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet your eyes. "really?"

he didn't answer, didn't have to. because the look on his face said everything. the ache in his eyes, the way his mouth pressed into a tight line, the way his hands were still gripping your shirt like he was terrified you'd slip away if he let go.

"we're getting sidetracked. you can't just bite me and hope i'll forget."

he scowled. "worked last time."

"it didn't," you lied.

he narrowed his eyes. "then why aren't you yelling anymore?"

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "you are the worst."

eventually, he leaned in again. pressed his forehead to yours like he didn't know how else to be close. like saying sorry with words still felt foreign, but this, this closeness, he could do. you smiled.

"you're so adorable sometimes."

"shut up," he hissed through clenched teeth, burying his face into your neck to hide what little pride he had left. his arms coiled tighter around your waist, every inch of his body pressed close like you were the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

god, he belonged to you in ways even he didn't understand.

you ran your fingers through his hair, rubbing slow circles until his breathing evened out. he melted further, practically boneless in your arms. it would've been funny if it weren't so stupidly endearing.

it was that time of the month again. and like clockwork, seongje was at your beck and call.

it was funny, really, how he responded to your cramps like it was a code red emergency every time. he didn't hover exactly, but he was always there. like a shadow. like a guard dog. like someone who had once made a silent promise to never let you suffer alone, even if the enemy was just your own hormones.

it was during the early months of your relationship, back when everything still felt too new. seongje had texted you one saturday morning, casually demanding your presence like he always did. as usual, he expected you to say yes.

instead, you replied with, 'not in the mood'.

it was short, not your usual way of responding to him. well, unless you were upset.

his call came seconds later.

"what the hell do you mean, not in the mood?" his tone sharp, offended, as if the very idea of you turning him down was a personal attack.

you didn't even flinch. just lay there in bed, clutching your stomach. "i'm on my period. i have bad cramps," you answered, voice flat, tired, unbothered.

then there was silence. total silence.

you pulled the phone away from your ear to check if the call had ended.

"hello? still there?"

"...yeah." his voice was lower now. unsure. "i'm here." he paused. "is there... anything i can do?"

you would've laughed, only if you weren't doubled over from pain. it was obvious he didn't know how to react, probably regretting all his impulsive dramatics from three minutes ago. his brain spiraling now that you dropped a truth too real and too biological for someone like him to handle without mentally imploding.

"no, you don't have to do anything. i'll see you next week once i stop dying."

you had imagined him on the other end, slack-jawed and helpless. no cocky comebacks. no pushback. just stunned silence as he tried to process that there were some things he couldn't fix by throwing fists.

but it turns out he had a way of surprising you.

later that same day, he'd shown up at your doorstep. no warning, no messages. just him, standing there with a plastic bag in one hand, a pint of your favorite ice cream in the other, and the most unconvincing attempt at indifference painted across his face.

you blinked at him, confused. "what are you doing here?"

"well," he muttered, eyes darting away. "didn't say i couldn't show up."

his tone was clipped, almost sulky, but you could see the way his eyes flickered nervously, scanning your face like he was bracing himself for rejection. he stood there stiffly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. ready to bolt if you said the word. instead, you let him in.

you spent the afternoon on the couch. he kept his distance, which was weird, suspiciously well-behaved. seongje didn't like giving you space. physical contact had been his default setting ever since he stopped feeling awkward about it. but that day, he was stiff as a board, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the tv like he was forcing himself to focus on the movie.

you didn't comment. just accepted the ice cream and slowly ate it beside him in silence.

and after a while, once the worst of the cramps dulled, you quietly shifted closer and tucked yourself against his side.

"thanks," you murmured, lips brushing the sleeve of his shirt.

he didn't say anything. just exhaled, and finally let his arm wrap around you. not possessively, not urgently, just enough to keep you close, careful not to press where it hurt.

it was the first time he took care of you like that. the first time he showed that he could. it became a routine ever since.

and now, he was still at it.

seongje was sprawled on the floor in front of you, leaning against the coffee table with a bag of heating pads and snacks. he reached up to hand you a warm bottle wordlessly, brows furrowed like he was the one in pain.

"you look like a kicked dog," you mumbled from your cocoon of blankets.

"i feel like one," he grumbled. "you act like you're dying and i'm just supposed to watch?"

"i am dying."

he rolled his eyes but didn't argue. instead, he sat back and stared at the tv, clearly bored. his leg bounced. his fingers drummed.

"wanna fight?"

you didn't even look at him. "no."

"not even verbally? i could call you something mean."

"you could leave."

"or i could stay and be annoying."

"you already are."

he smirked because you were talking. which meant you weren't mad at him for hovering. slowly, he crawled onto the couch, ignoring your half-hearted attempts to push him off. when he finally wedged himself beside you and laid his head in your lap, you sighed.

"i didn't forget your favorite dessert this time."

"that's called being decent."

"it's called caring, brat."

you snorted. "say that again. i dare you."

he sat up halfway, looking like he might say something bold, but thought better of it and flopped back down.

"don't die. i'll get bored." he muffled.

you laughed quietly. when you leaned down to press a kiss to his temple, his eye twitched, like his brain malfunctioned.

"what now?" he asked suspiciously.

"nothing," you said, lips curving into a soft smile. "i just really like you."

he grunted, annoyed. but the red tint in his ears said everything else.

you both weren't doing anything particularly special. just walking. trees lining the path had turned shades of amber, rust, and gold. seongje walked beside you, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders loose, completely at ease.

it was nice. quiet. comfortable.

and maybe that was why it hit you.

you blinked up at the sky, pale and moody in that late-autumn kind of way, and suddenly felt it settle in your chest—that ache. the one that always came with change.

"we're graduating soon," you murmured without meaning to.

he glanced at you, squinting against the sun. "yeah?"

you hummed. there was no need to elaborate, but your brain wouldn't stop there.

soon you'd walk across that stage. soon you'd be holding a degree in your hands. and what then?

what would you be without exams, without early morning classes, without the label of student tied neatly to your identity like a tag?

what would you do?

what would you be?

would everything change?

you didn't mean to spiral, but—

your eyes flicked toward seongje again. he was half a step ahead now, kicking at a stray pinecone. wind caught the ends of his hair, curling them against his cheek. his profile was all sharp lines and shadows, beautiful in the way he always was, aggressively so.

and just like that, it steadied you.

there was a time you thought you wouldn't make it past the first year. too different. too messy. too much history clinging to his name, and too much doubt hanging in the air.

but now, years later, here he was. still beside you. still loud and reckless and impulsive, but softer. only for you. not always, not overtly, but in the little ways that mattered.

he was still him. but somehow, better.

you didn't notice when your steps slowed. he did.

"you good?" he asked, brow quirking.

"yeah," your voice cracked on the word, embarrassingly emotional. you cleared your throat. "just thinking."

"that's dangerous," you let out a breathless laugh.

"do you ever think about how far we've come?"

he stared at you like you just asked him to solve a math equation. "from where?"

"from where we started."

he rolled his eyes. "you hated me when we met."

"you deserved it."

"no arguments there."

you smiled. "but still. you're here."

something passed over his face then, brief, unreadable. but then he was looking away, jaw shifting like he didn't know what to do with the way your words made his chest feel tight.

you reached out and took his hand.

"thank you," you said.

"for what?"

"for everything."

"you're acting like i'm gonna die tomorrow."

you huffed. "you're impossible."

"and you're sappy."

"only when it comes to you."

he made a face, looked away quickly. you caught the tips of his ears turning pink.

maybe it was the way the sunlight filtered through the orange leaves. or maybe it was just the clarity of a moment where nothing else seemed to matter. but you felt it again.

the weight in your chest. but this time, it wasn't fear. it was peace.

with him, the world felt a little less terrifying. a little more manageable. like no matter what the future threw at you, how uncertain, how intimidating, how vast, he'd still be beside you. loud and annoying and occasionally stupid, but there.

yours.

you linked your arm with his, casual like it meant nothing. then you leaned your head against his shoulder. he didn't say anything. just bumped you gently with his arm.

you two kept walking.

but that was everything you could have asked for.

you were making something simple for the two of you, moving around the kitchen with that quiet ease he'd grown used to. the soft clinks and rustles of your movements, it filled the room like background noise he never wanted to lose.

it was the way your presence still settled into his space like it was meant to be there. even after all these years, it still caught him off guard sometimes. how much of his life had quietly shaped itself around you.

he'd never tell you this, wouldn't even admit it if you pried it out of his skull. but somewhere between the convenience store runs and moments he found you sleeping on his shoulder, something in him had slowed down.

he knew then. fuck, he knew. that this was it for him. that there was no one else, and there wouldn't ever be.

and if he wanted to keep you, if he wanted to deserve that kind of peace, then he couldn't keep living like none of it mattered. something had to give.

not because you asked him to. you didn't, even when he was at his worst. you never looked at him with disappointment, never threw his mess in his face like you could've. you saw him. took him as he was, back when he was still half-feral and too wild to sit still for anything except your voice. that was the thing. you loved him without conditions. and that's what made it worse.

because no one ever asked him to be better. and now he wanted to be. just for you.

so he started small. stopped smoking around you the second he realized you didn't like the smell. you never said anything, but then he noticed the way your nose crinkled slightly when he leaned in too close. you still held his face, kissed him like nothing was wrong. but that was enough. he wanted you to want to be close.

he stopped picking fights for the thrill of it. started actually thinking ahead. he still cracked jaws if someone touched you or looked at you the wrong way, but he wasn't out for blood just to feel alive anymore. not when he had you. not when you made him feel alive more than anything else.

he had something better, something real.

he didn't say anything at first. just watched you from the couch, arms draped across the backrest, hair messy, shirt still wrinkled from sleep.

you were just making breakfast like you sometimes did when you stayed over.

but goddamn, he could barely breathe just watching you move.

there were some moments, fleeting and unpredictable, when the weight of how much he loved you knocked the air straight out of his lungs. when his body didn't know what to do with the feeling, and his heart felt too small to hold it all.

this was one of those moments.

he got up without thinking.

you didn't notice him watching. you were too focused, hands moving with quiet intent, your eyes fixed, lips set in that soft line you always wore when you were busy doing something.

he hovered nearby, restless, pacing, almost like he didn't know where to put himself. until finally, he reached for you, curling his fingers gently around your wrist.

you looked up, and there it was again.

the second your eyes met his, the entire world silenced. your lips parted, breath hitching, because that look in his eyes, it always made you want to cry.

he was looking at you like you were the whole damn world.

and you were.

"something up?" you asked in a quiet voice.

he didn't answer. instead, he gently took your hand, fingers a little clumsy, a little too tight, and interlaced them with his own, like it was the only way he could keep the feelings from spilling out of his chest.

and then, with a quiet breath, he brought your joined hands to his lips.

he kissed your ring finger.

slowly. tenderly. reverently.

not like someone touching skin. but like someone touching a vow.

your breath caught.

he held your gaze. "i don't want anything that doesn't have you in it."

his voice was low. rough. not quite steady. his eyes flickered, not with fear, but something close to desperation. like the feeling was too big, too much, and he didn't know how to bleed it out except through touch.

and you understood.

it was all there. in the way his fingers clung to yours, in the way his lips trembled slightly as they brushed your skin, in the way he looked like he'd shatter if you even thought of letting go.

his face became blurry, but you blinked it away.

you just smiled softly and pressed your forehead against his. "good," you whispered. "you're the only one i want to do this life with."

he exhaled, slow and uneven, like your words reached somewhere deep in him that he didn't let anyone else near.

being with him was never easy. there were days he'd withdraw into himself, frustrated with things he couldn't name. times when you wouldn't understand why he shut down, or lashed out, or made things harder than they had to be.

there were arguments, silence, sometimes it hurt, and it took time to come back from that.

but love like yours and his was never meant to be easy.

it was raw. unforgiving in its honesty. and undeniably real.

you never regretted a second of it. not even the ugliest parts.

and maybe—

maybe he didn't have a ring now. maybe it was still hidden in a drawer, still waiting for the perfect moment.

maybe he'd already gone to your parents, awkward and twitchy and sweating like a fucking idiot, asking for your hand even though the very idea of "asking permission" made his skin itch.

maybe it was the first time in his entire life he had ever felt that afraid.

maybe they'd said yes.

they'd seen it, eventually. what you saw. what he'd become for you. what he would always be.

and maybe, just maybe, he was going to give you that ring on your graduation. when the future is right in front of you, when you'd already proven to the world and each other that you could survive it.

but for now, this was enough.

your forever didn't need a clock.

because he knew that he'd keep loving you like it was still the beginning. like every day was the first time you made his chest hurt just by looking at him.

even when life got dull. even when things slowed down. you'd still have all of him.

always.

[paxaz535]

DOUBLE (DATE) TROUBLE

nika x reader + pazzi

nika and paige somehow makes it a competition in the cabin

(i’m not sure if this type of stuff makes people uncomfortable so if it does, please don’t read it nor comment negative things about it)

w: nsfw , smut , squirting , competitive sex , fingering (sorry if i missed any)

ꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬꙬ

Nika:

yo

You:

you’re literally sitting next to me.

Paige:

girl hush and read the texts

you disliked this message

Azzi:

don’t worry gorgeous

paige is right next to me too unfortunately

but what is happening rn

Paige:

so me & nika cooked up a little surprise…

Nika:

we’re going on a double date

pack for the weekend pls

You:

you couldn’t just say this out loud?

Nika:

no cause azzi still needed to know

Azzi:

paige could’ve just told me too??

Paige:

okay but like

where’s the drama in that

we booked a cabin btw. for the weekend.

you’re welcome.

Nika:

we’re also going out tonight

so dress hot

pls & thanks

Paige:

especially you, [ ]

You:

why am i catching strays???

Paige:

girl… you stay dressing like it’s laundry day

You:

you cannot be talking paige

Nika:

enough. both of you.

Azzi:

yeah hush 🙄

Nika:

just be ready.

You:

fine i guess

Azzi:

what she said 👆🏽

⸻

You and Azzi had the same idea: get ready together, pre-game, and unpack a little chaos of your own before the real trouble started.

You were packing your overnight bag while Azzi sat on your bed zipping up her makeup case, already dressed in something tight and black and unfair.

“Why do you think they planned all this?” you asked, holding up two swimsuits and deciding to pack both.

Azzi shrugged, sliding a small bottle into her bag. “No idea. But they’re definitely up to something. Paige’s been smiling like a Bond villain all day.”

You raised an eyebrow when you noticed something peeking out of her duffel. “Wait. Is that what I think it is?”

Azzi froze. “Girl,” she said slowly, “you know we don’t do secrets.”

You pulled your bag open. “Then look what Nika wanted me to bring.”

You revealed the wand and Azzi’s jaw dropped.

“That’s literally the perfect one,” she whispered, reaching out instinctively. “Where’d she even find that?”

“She sent me the link like three days ago,” you said, laughing. “Didn’t even ask. Just, ‘buy this.’”

Azzi was still inspecting it when she suddenly smirked. “Since we’re doing show and tell…”

She unzipped a side pocket and revealed hers—smaller, sleeker, pink.

You blinked. “That’s adorable. Is it even real?”

Azzi laughed. “Don’t let the size fool you. Paige used it on me last week and I literally couldn’t walk after.”

You choked. “Oh, you freaks.”

“She’s always horny,” Azzi muttered with a blush, zipping her bag shut again. “Like, I’ll just be trying to eat cereal and she’s over here licking syrup off her thumb.”

You cracked up. “Can’t blame her. She did bag a baddie.”

Azzi smacked your arm, laughing too. “Shut up.”

Just then, your phones lit up at the same time.

⸻

Fantastic Fags (4/4)

Nika:

come outside

like now

Paige:

for real. don’t take forever.

You:

shut the hell up

Azzi:

here we come dumbasses

⸻

You both grabbed your bags and headed downstairs, wheeling them across the lot. You could hear Drake playing from the car even with the windows rolled up.

You knocked on the trunk. It popped open.

You tossed both bags inside, already spotting Paige’s duffel and Nika’s battered gym bag. You and Azzi split, each circling opposite sides of the car.

You climbed in behind Nika. She had on a loose black button-up, baggy jeans, clean Air Forces. Her jaw was tight. Hands steady on the wheel.

Paige was in the passenger seat, one leg up, white jeans and black New Balances. The grin on her face was criminal.

“Finally,” Paige said, turning just enough to check you both out. “Damn. Took y’all long enough.”

“We didn’t even take ten minutes,” Azzi said, closing her door. “Relax.”

“You two look good,” Paige added innocently.

Nika glanced at you through the rearview. “That dress…” she hummed.

You smirked. “You got something to say?”

She didn’t even blink. “You’re something else.”

You smiled, pulling out your phone. “Azzi—get in this selfie.”

She leaned in close, her cheek warm against yours. You snapped a few shots—one soft smile, one sticking out your tongues, one where Paige flipped off the camera from the front seat.

You looked too damn good not to document this.

-

The restaurant was almost too nice.

Dark oak floors. Dim lighting. A private corner booth tucked away behind a partition of sheer curtains. You clocked the vibe the moment you stepped in: they picked this place on purpose.

You slid in beside Nika without question, her hand immediately resting on your thigh. Azzi settled in beside Paige, who was already leaning back like she owned the place.

“You two act like you run this restaurant,” you murmured, scanning the gold-embossed menu.

“We do,” Paige said.

“Basically,” Nika echoed, her thumb tracing slow, thoughtless circles on your skin.

A server dropped off water, menus, and bread. You hadn’t even picked a drink yet and Nika’s hand was sliding higher beneath the table.

“Really?” you whispered, shifting in your seat.

“You wore the dress,” she replied without looking at you. “You knew what this was.”

Across the booth, Azzi shifted a little too quickly in her seat. Paige’s hand was under the table too, resting comfortably on her girl’s bare thigh, from the look of it.

“So… what’s the occasion?” you asked, trying for nonchalance.

“Celebrating us,” Paige said, reaching for a breadstick. “And because y’all been good lately.”

Nika leaned in, her voice low. “Mostly.”

You gave her a side eye, then flicked your gaze to the tablecloth as her fingers dragged higher. “You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

She smirked. “Only if you’re loud.”

Azzi slightly choked on her water, the words catching her off guard. The server returned for orders. You picked salmon. Azzi went with scallops. Nika ordered short ribs, and Paige chose rare steak with zero hesitation. Before they even left, Nika added, “We’ll also take the molten lava cake for dessert.”

“Bold of you,” you said, arching a brow.

“I know what I want early,” she said, her voice smooth as her fingers slid between your legs.

You nearly choked on your water.

Azzi made a sudden sound across the booth, a soft gasp that she barely swallowed down. You glanced at her—her cheeks were flushed, her hand now gripping Paige’s under the table.

Paige tilted her head. “Everything okay over there, baby?”

Azzi nodded quickly, breathing through her nose. “You’re such an asshole,” she whispered, almost fond.

“You’re welcome.”

Nika’s fingers finally found what they were looking for, pushing your panties aside with slow, teasing ease. You clenched your jaw, heart hammering in your chest.

“You’re soaked already,” she murmured. “Damn.”

“You’re crazy for doing this here.”

“You didn’t say stop.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t. Across from you, Azzi’s mouth fell open again, head tipping back for half a second before she caught herself.

You reached under the table and squeezed her knee. You good?

She mouthed, no, bitch, and tried not to laugh.

Nika slid one finger inside you, and you tensed. The pressure, the heat of her touch—it made your head spin. You grabbed the edge of the table to steady yourself, praying your voice didn’t crack if you had to say anything aloud.

“You alright, love?” Paige asked, looking right at Azzi.

Azzi nodded. Her voice was breathy. “Mmhmm. Just… great.”

“I bet.”

The server returned with your food. Nika’s hand vanished like it had never been there. You had to sit back like you weren’t seconds from collapsing. Your salmon looked perfect. You didn’t taste a single bite.

Paige fed Azzi a piece of steak with her fingers, slow and deliberate. “Open.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but obeyed. Her lips closed over Paige’s fingers, eyes fluttering just for a moment.

“Good girl,” Paige whispered.

Nika watched them, then leaned toward you with that smug grin she wore too well. “Think we’ll be louder than them tonight?”

You stared her down. “You’re gonna have to prove it.”

—-

The car ride was quieter now.

Not silent, but charged—like everyone was conserving energy for later. The city lights had faded behind you. Trees took over the view, a blur of shadows in the headlights as the road twisted deeper into nowhere.

Azzi was curled up against the window, legs tucked under her, eyes closed but not asleep. Paige’s hand was resting on her thigh again—innocent if you didn’t know better. If you hadn’t seen what she was capable of with just two fingers and a dare.

You shifted in your seat, trying not to think about how warm your skin still felt under your dress. Nika’s hand was back on the wheel, one arm draped loosely across the top of her seat. You could feel the weight of her glance without even looking.

“You alright over there?” she murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

“Yeah,” you said, staring out the window. “Just thinking.”

“About dinner?”

You gave her a look. “About what’s next.”

Her smile was slow. “Good.”

Paige cut through the quiet, glancing over her shoulder. “There’s a liquor store up here—y’all wanna stop?”

Azzi made a sleepy noise. “Do we need to?”

Nika shrugged. “We brought wine.”

“But do we have tequila?” Paige asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I feel like you just want to watch us suffer,” you muttered.

Paige grinned. “Is it working?”

You leaned forward between the seats. “Fine. Get your stupid tequila. But I’m not doing shots.”

“Liar,” Paige said, already signaling to turn off the road.

—

The cabin came into view half an hour later—three stories tall, tucked back in the woods, windows glowing warm against the dark. You blinked as the driveway curved upward, revealing a full wraparound porch, twinkle lights strung across the railings.

“Okay,” Azzi whispered. “That’s sexy.”

“You’re welcome,” Paige said again.

“You keep saying that like we didn’t agree to this,” you shot back, climbing out as the car came to a stop.

Nika was already grabbing bags. “Just say thank you.”

You rolled your eyes but followed her up the steps, your overnight bag slung over your shoulder. The air smelled like pine and smoke and something a little colder than it had any right to in late spring.

Inside, the cabin was even nicer. High ceilings. Leather couches. Stone fireplace. One long hallway that branched off into bedrooms. You dropped your bag near the entry and turned slowly in place, taking it in.

“Dibs on the room with the balcony,” Azzi said immediately.

“You don’t even know which one that is—” you started.

“She does now,” Paige interrupted, already hauling their bags down the hall. “C’mon, baby.”

Azzi blew you a kiss as she disappeared after her.

Nika was behind you again, close enough that you could feel the heat of her body against your back. “Let them have it,” she murmured. “Ours is downstairs.”

You turned, brows raised. “There’s a downstairs?”

She gestured toward the far corner. A narrow staircase led down into the dark.

You followed her without a word.

—

The basement suite was ridiculous. A king-sized bed, low lighting, even a fireplace in the corner. There was a private bathroom and a walk-in shower you could probably fit all four of you in—though that was not happening.

Nika dropped her bag by the door. You stood in the center of the room, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands.

“So… this is where you planned to murder me?” you teased.

She stepped up close. “Murder’s not the plan.”

“Mm. Just death by orgasm?”

“Something like that.”

You didn’t get a chance to laugh—her mouth was already on yours.

The kiss was deep, steady, demanding. Her hands found your hips, pulled you in. Your fingers curled in the front of her shirt. The fabric was soft, but her chest was solid beneath it, and she kissed you like she knew exactly how this night would end.

“I want you naked,” she muttered against your mouth.

“You’re so romantic,” you breathed.

“You’re gonna be loud,” she whispered.

Before you could answer, there was a distant knock—light, fast, unmistakable. Then Azzi’s voice, muffled through the floorboards:

“Shot time, sluts!”

You groaned, pressing your forehead to Nika’s shoulder.

She sighed. “Cockblocked by friendship.”

You grinned. “Story of our lives.”

Nika let you go with one last squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go prove we can hold our liquor better than Paige.”

“Oh, I can,” you said, flipping your hair. “Question is—can you still finger me under the table after three shots?”

Nika just smiled. “Try me.”

-

Upstairs, the girls had already claimed the kitchen.

Paige was behind the counter lining up shot glasses with the precision of a bartender and the chaos of a demon. Azzi was on the barstool closest to her, legs crossed, phone out, taking pictures of the bottles and making a playlist on the fly.

“Where the hell were y’all?” Paige asked, not looking up.

You slipped onto the stool next to Azzi. “We were bonding.”

Azzi snorted. “You were definitely sucking face.”

Nika opened a cabinet, found a bag of chips, and tossed it on the counter. “You jealous?”

“Maybe,” Azzi said, stealing one and crunching loudly. “Depends how long it lasted.”

“Thirty seconds, tops,” you muttered, reaching for a glass. “Y’all are good at timing.”

Paige poured the first round—clear and menacing. “This one’s for arriving. And surviving the restaurant.”

“Barely,” Azzi added, glancing at you with a little shiver.

You raised your glass. “To being the hottest people in the state.”

“Cheers to that,” Paige said, clinking against everyone else’s.

The first shot hit hot and immediate. You grimaced, licked your lip, and grabbed the chips.

Azzi tilted her head toward the living room. “Y’all wanna play something?”

“Truth or dare,” Paige said immediately.

You groaned. “You’re so predictable.”

“I’m so fun,” Paige corrected, already walking toward the couch. “Get your hot asses over here.”

—

Fifteen minutes in, the vibe had shifted.

You were buzzed, warm, draped sideways across the arm of the couch with your legs in Nika’s lap. Azzi was on the floor between Paige’s knees, her head tilted back onto her girlfriend’s thigh. Every dare got a little bolder. Every truth cut a little deeper.

“Alright, alright,” Paige said, pointing at Nika. “Truth or dare.”

Nika cracked her neck. “Dare.”

Paige smirked. “Make her moan.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

“She didn’t say how,” Azzi added quickly, already smiling like a menace.

Nika met your eyes, slow and steady. “C’mere.”

Your stomach flipped. You sat up, your whole body on high alert. Nika pulled you gently into her lap, one hand resting on your outer thigh, the other trailing up your spine.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she said quietly, voice for your ears only. “Just trust me.”

You nodded, heart racing.

Her lips brushed your neck—barely there. Then her tongue flicked just under your jaw, and your body lit up.

She didn’t say anything else. Just mapped out every soft spot behind your ear with her mouth, slow and devastating, while her fingers danced higher up your thigh. You exhaled hard—just once—but it came out embarrassingly close to a moan.

“Shit,” you whispered.

“Say it,” Nika breathed, teeth grazing your pulse.

You bit your lip. But it was no use.

“Fuck,” you moaned softly, hand tightening in her shirt.

Across from you, Paige held up both hands. “There it is.”

Azzi clapped like it was a game show. “We have a winner!”

You rolled off Nika with a laugh and a flushed face, flopping back onto the couch.

“Payback’s coming,” you warned.

Paige leaned down to whisper something in Azzi’s ear. Whatever it was, her girlfriend’s face went red instantly.

“I hate you,” Azzi muttered.

“You love me,” Paige corrected. “Now—truth or dare?”

Azzi sighed. “Dare.”

Paige held out her hand. “Panties. Now.”

Azzi blinked. “You’re so annoying.”

“You’re so slow.”

You and Nika exchanged a look as Azzi shifted on the floor, clearly debating. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she reached under her dress, hips tilting up just enough, and slid them down.

Lace. Pale pink.

She smacked them into Paige’s hand. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Paige said, tucking them into her back pocket like a trophy.

You were halfway to calling her a menace when Nika leaned close again. “You wanna tap out?”

You shook your head. “I’m so locked in.”

—

It didn’t last much longer.

Someone—Azzi—yawned. Someone else— Nika suggested you all wrapped it up.

You dragged your bag to the basement, drunk and sore from laughing, adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin. Nika followed close behind, slower this time, just watching you move.

“I haven’t forgotten that moan,” she teased, locking the door behind you.

You smirked. “You wanna hear the loud version?”

Her eyes darkened. “Bet.”

You didn’t even make it to the bed.

She had you against the wall before your shoes were off—hot mouth, stronger hands, the scent of cedar and wine and want all around you. You were already soaked. She already knew.

And right around the moment she dropped to her knees—right when her tongue slid over you for the first time—

you heard it.

A sound through the ceiling. Faint. Distant. But unmistakable.

A whimper.

Then: Azzi’s voice, high and pleading.

You froze.

Nika pulled back just enough to glance up, then back at you. Her lips were shiny. Her grin was pure evil.

“Round one,” she whispered.

You bit your lip, legs shaking already. “Oh, it’s on.”

Azzi. High-pitched. Fragile. “Please, Paige—”

Nika’s mouth pulled back from between your thighs, her breath warm, tongue glistening. “You hear that?”

You nodded slowly, heart hammering. “She sounds…”

“Destroyed. my twin is putting in work,” Nika finished, a cruel little grin tugging at her lips. “Think I can top it?”

You barely managed to speak. “You can try.”

She reached up, gripped your waist, and flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing.

“On your knees,” she murmured, voice low and warm in your ear. “Ass up. Head down. Let them hear you.”

You moved without thinking—body already aching, slick between your thighs, your hips rising toward her like you were on strings. You felt her behind you, lining up, the fat tip of her strap pressing slow and deep between your folds.

She filled you in one stroke.

You gasped—loudly—gripping the sheets like they could save you from being split in half. She didn’t stop. Her hand slid up your back, palm flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you down as she began to thrust.

Slow at first. Measured. Like she was trying to make you feel every inch.

“God—Nika,” you choked.

She groaned behind you. “Fuck, baby. Listen to yourself.”

You didn’t need to. You could feel yourself. Dripping. Clenching. Squirming.

And she picked up the pace.

Fast. Deep. Merciless.

Her hips slapped yours with every thrust, filthy and rhythmic, the kind of sound that made it obvious to anyone listening what was happening. You heard another cry from upstairs—Azzi again, breathless and high-pitched, like Paige had her on the edge and wasn’t letting go.

Nika leaned over your back, dragging her teeth down your shoulder. “She’s not gonna last much longer.”

You whimpered.

“Will you?” she whispered.

Then her hand moved between your thighs, fingers stroking your clit in tight, practiced circles while she pounded into you from behind. You screamed, biting into the sheets to muffle it, but Nika just laughed.

“No, no, baby. Let them hear how messy you are.”

She shifted her angle and found that spot—deep, devastating, relentless.

Your whole body started to tremble.

“Nika, I—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” she hissed. “Let go. Give it to me.”

Her fingers pressed harder. Her thrusts turned brutal. The sound of her hips slamming against your ass echoed off the walls. And right when you thought your body might snap from the tension—

It happened.

Your orgasm tore through you like a wave, violent and sudden, and you screamed into the mattress as your whole body gushed—wet, messy, unrestrained.

Nika stilled.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

You collapsed forward, shaking uncontrollably, your thighs soaked, the sheets underneath you darkening fast.

“Holy shit,” Nika said again, almost laughing. “Did you just—?”

You turned your face enough to look at her, still breathless, dazed. “Don’t. Say it.”

She leaned over, kissed your spine, grinning like the devil himself. “I win.”

From upstairs came a long, keening moan.

Then silence.

You and Nika stared at the ceiling, both breathless.

Then you laughed—hard.

“Okay,” you wheezed. “You might’ve won.”

She kissed your temple. “We’ll see about tomorrow.”

-

You walked into the kitchen on shaky legs, Nika’s oversized t-shirt barely covering the curve of your thighs, your hair an unapologetic mess.

Azzi was already at the table, hunched over a cup of coffee like it owed her money. Her hoodie was on backwards, her bun was crooked, and she looked like she had seen God.

“Morning,” you said casually, voice just a little hoarse.

Azzi glanced up. Froze. “Oh my god,” she muttered. “Don’t even start.”

You tried to hide your grin. Failed. “Start what?”

She pointed at you accusingly. “You’re walking like someone who squirted on cotton sheets.”

You choked on air. “Azzi—”

“I heard it. The moment it happened. It was like—” she made a dramatic gesture with her hands “—Niagara Falls. Above. My. Fucking. Head.”

Your face burned. “Bitch.”

Paige strolled in then, shirtless, smug, and holding a cold water bottle to the side of her neck. “Sounds like somebody lost the bet.”

Azzi groaned. “I did not lose—”

“You begged like you lost,” Paige said sweetly, leaning down to kiss the top of her girlfriend’s head. “And then you said ‘thank you.’ Like four times.”

Azzi slid lower in her seat, hoodie now practically swallowing her face.

Nika stepped in behind you, fully dressed, smug in a clean black tee and gym shorts like she didn’t absolutely wreck you eight hours ago. She kissed your temple and headed straight for the coffeemaker, completely unfazed.

“You alright, babe?” she asked, pouring you a cup.

“Define alright,” you muttered.

“You sounded amazing,” she said, like she was talking about a podcast episode.

Paige was frying eggs now, flipping them with one hand like she owned the place. “You sounded like you were dying.”

“I was,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “I think I transcended.”

Azzi made a wounded sound. “Same.”

“But we won,” Nika said, sliding a mug in front of you.

“Oh my god, she’s still talking about it,” Paige muttered.

“I made her squirt,” Nika replied, sitting across from her. “She flooded the sheets. We had to sleep with a towel.”

“Nika!” you slapped her thigh under the table.

“Don’t be shy now,” she whispered with a smirk.

Paige rolled her eyes. “That’s cute. But Azzi was sobbing.”

“I was not sobbing,” Azzi said into her mug.

“You begged like someone in a CW season finale,” Paige said said.

Azzi gave her the finger without looking up.

Nika just leaned back in her chair, sipped her coffee, and nodded at the plate Paige was loading. “Extra eggs for the losers?”

“Funny,” Paige said. “I was gonna offer you hashbrowns out of pity.”

The tension was light, teasing, crackling under every movement. Smirks. Side-eyes. Paige licking syrup off her thumb. Nika casually resting her hand on your thigh again under the table.

You glanced at Azzi.

Azzi glanced at you.

Both of you knew: the score wasn’t settled.

You sipped your coffee. “So… what’s on the agenda today?”

Nika tilted her head. “Swim. Hike. Destroy each other again later.”

Paige nodded. “I’m down.”

Azzi sighed. “God help us all.”

You smiled into your mug.

Let the games continue.

[imnotinvisivis]

@oripoke @bo-beanies Why was i just this object for you to use, abuse, and then leave for dead on the streets? Like i was garbage? There TLDR is that you knowingly, and willingly, abused and controlled and autistic and mentally ill person; a close friend of years you knew was autistic; you stole my assets and safety, traumatized me, then left me on the streets to die. In the beginning, there were days I literally could never put my phone down because I was 24.7 comforting bean. Id have to hide and be quiet in the bottom room, just to talk to Rory on the phone for a few minutes, or bean would get would get wildly upset at me if they saw. I couldnt even take my phone out in any way or say the wrong things, because i knew what would happen, and i was terrified. Id do everything you asked even when it hurt me. And yet, when i freak about the extreme trauma you cause me, doubled with my brothers abuse- when i did it,

you lied and sent abuse and abanonded me, lying about safety and so many promises. Id have stayed by your side for months until you felt better, and you knew that, but either of you talking to me for 2 minutes was too much effort, no matter how badly i needed it and how much i communicated this, you just ignored it

I was always there for both of you, even when it radically hurt me. I tried so hard to keep bean happy, for MONTHS, but when it was my turn to need help i was abandoned, hated, tossed away like I was nothing, and mocked. Of course i snapped. You have no idea how much pain you put me in, to be starving, to be on the street with an infection, to lose my cat. Everything just got worse. My disorder is not something i can control. After 7 months of hell i was still not a person to you i was just an object or a toy for you to use. Why talk to this thing now, why bother? I was just a pet for you two to keep and torment

The pain was too immense for me to handle, each month it just got worse. It hurt so badly. I cant describe it and i wouldnt wish it on even the most evil soul. It's agony. No human deserves what i had to go through- nobody.  Hard drugs couldnt even make it better. It was both mental and physical hell. Do you know how painful my med increases were, too, but i still did them because thats what you told me to do? I STILL listened and trusted you because i cared. I got therapy, too. And you still treated me like dirt, and im the one that has to pay for it in the hospital, in debt, in isolation and immense pain. Im the one that has to pay for all the trauma, pain and suffering that I had no control over, and didnt start. Then you parade my dead name, and accuse me of things I did not do

I did everything you both asked of me even when it was hard, contradicting and confusing. Id never asked either of you for ANYTHING. Not ever. All I asked for was to talk, to help me with this stupid fucking disorder, but after everything I went through and how hard I tried and everything i suffered. Instead of being there, instead of responding to the only thing ive *ever* needed from either of you, you radically hurt me, then left me to die. TWICE

You may not believe this, but i don't. Want. To. Be. Like. This. I didnt choose to have this disorder, i dont choose the attacks that happen, and when i attempt suicide its *NOT* for attention like you scream at me. Its to make. The pain. Stop. Its so immense, the only thing that goes in my head is "stop, make it stop, please make it stop" and i try and escape from my body to make the suffering end. There's no other way to escape your own mind but to die. And drugs, which I've gotten even further sick for abusing, but nothing else fucking helps

I dont WANT to be like this. You all act like its a choice i made, and that's what you abandoned me for. I cant control my panic attacks. I dont control the disorder i got from my brothers abuse. i dont *WANT* to talk to any of you ever again or even think about you ever again. But that's the thing about mental illness, its crazy because it is, and when I said it wont fucking let me.... i mean IT WONT FUCKING LET ME. Could you ask a schizophrenic person to stop seeing demons?? "Like hey dude,  just stop seeing them. Have you tried just stopping?" I know pea had fun mocking me, and you all had a good laugh, "lmaooo you couldn't even not do it for a single day"- i didnt choose to be like this. And when i needed your help, so incredibly desperately. You were gone at the drop of a hat; the first time i ever had a panic attack i couldnt handle alone. How cruel is it that bean has panic attacks on the daily and gets comforted for it, and you all did this to me for my very first one i couldnt stop. Rory told me he loved me more than hes ever loved anyone, he told me i could always talk to him if i was hurting, he told me it was okay, he reassured me he was there for me and that it was completely okay.Rory, you told me it was okay. You did. Then you disappeared without even saying goodbye. After 7 months of confusion, not understanding whats going on or whats even happening to me or where ill sleep the next day. Living the way I was living. Constantly hurt and abused and hungry and infected, mourning everything i lost. You can never give me back my cat, or the opportunities i lost, my trans health care, my savings. You cant undo the immense pain I've felt and you cant reverse the trauma you've caused

Yes, I hurt you too. I did fucked up things, too. But not. And I repeat. Not until after 7 months of this mental and physical torture. I couldnt take it anymore

And I *still* kept trying. I *still* am. BECAUSE THATS WHAT YOU TOLD ME TO DO. My meds are at 220mg and excruciating, therapy is so incredibly confusing, but im still doing it even if i desperately dont want to. But you two can torture me, because you didnt want to talk to me for a few minutes, and explain what I didnt understand. Instead you left me in the dark. While you were both going to *another* con just moments later, and sleeping comfortably, and going to parties and weddings; i was still in the hospital, in incredible pain, for an incredibly long time, from events you directly caused. Do you understand the mental toll it does on a person when you have no one, and i mean NO ONE, and no where to go, with the situations I had to face..do you know what that does to a person? I went to hospital to hospital, reaching out, just more and more confused, just more and more hurt.

While im going through all this, as if im not a real human being behind your computer; besides peas ranting the only things i recieved are "man my notifications" "man this sucks" "Yeah I hate it" like im an "it" a toy or a thing. Parading my dead name is a close contender, but its the amount of lies that hurt me the most.I did not do revenge porn and post it on porn sites, I dont know where the hell you think you're doing making up something that serious. I did not ever have any kind of conversation with Rory OR Bean, I did not fake being in a coma for 2 weeks, I was very much fucking out, though I did decide to end my fandom in self harm. It's true i was in the hospital, but I told them i never woke up. You see how Im telling the truth, even when its hard? Why cant you? Im not afraid to tell the truth.Communication and honesty are human things. My attempts have been very real and very painful, I made myself take pictures and I have the fucking discharge papers from every single one, because I've been telling the truth and can PROVE IT. I did so much I didnt want to do. I went through so much I didnt want to. You broke my boundaries and abused me, i gave up so much of myself and my safety and my life for you, and it was okay. But im now the criminal, your boundaries > my life. Your notifications>my human life.

Nobody's reading this, nobody gives a fuck, im never going to hear anything other then "maaaan this is so shitty, we destroyed his life and his mental and his job and his healthcare and we almost killed him with our neglect....but maaan hes really clogging up my notifications and that makes him the most evil, horrible, awful and disgusting person in the world. Let him die so I can get some quiet." And "Urgh omg I cant believe i have to post this". That's all it ever is. That's all its ever going to be. You hide behind an interent wall, pretending not to see what you did to my body, my person, and my life

falling star, show me what you really are

[zstartrixxx]

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 '𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐔, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍'.

ʳᵉᵐᵐᶦᶜᵏ ˣ ᵛᵃᵐᵖꜝʷᶦᶠᵉ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: 𝐘𝐄𝐒 | 𝐍𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: If being loved by a vampire means carrying eternity within you, what you have with Remmick is incarnate: his poison lives in your flesh, you are blood of his blood, a creature of his making. And because you are a part of him—a fragment that broke free and passed into you, sometimes even a sliver of his ancient soul trapped inside that dead body—everything you feel, he feels, and vice versa. Fleeing the imminent extinction of these lands, you and Remmick seek refuge in each other once more, bound together. Eternally, for he would never let you sever this tie—unless he were dead. Past and future memories knot inside you. Here, now—all blood and teeth—you fuse with your maker, your sacrament, your eternal groom. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: this particular piece was a deeply interesting and special writing experience for me: not only did i get to explore the hivemind concept, but i also played more freely with language and the essence of remmick as a character. so let me make one thing clear: it’s never my intention to distort the film’s canonical portrayal, but rather—through poetic license combined with the possibilities of fanfiction’s universe, PLUS the way i’ve absorbed and interpreted the character—my version of remmick (at least in my fics) might not be as literal as the original script. that said: here we have this scenario with a wife, which i initially imagine takes place before the film’s events, but the specifics of when, how, and where she was transformed are entirely up to your interpretation (before his arrival in the us in 1911? somewhere between the early or late middle ages? the modern era? europe, asia, or africa... let your imagination run wild ;) i’ve also paraphrased/incorporated certain very specific lines and moments from the film. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +16 CONTENT. i think there's a lot of angst here and reader melancholy, so keep that in mind. use of some words in gaelic, i had to resort to good old google, if there is something wrong please tell me. remmik here it's (super) protective, almost toxic; hivemind concept explored, lots of internal dialogue, some gore (explicit description of blood and bruises), vampirism (blood consummation), and a slight sexual innuendo thrown in. 𝐖𝐂: 6k for whoever is going to read it, a great read! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖬𝖨𝖢𝖪 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳

"turn to me, and love me like you lacerate; just hold me down like i don’t need air." (air, shedfromthebody)

Your skin burned like Hell itself, which was kind of funny to think about: back when you were human, you loved spending your days under the hot sun, lying on the grass in the late afternoon and gazing up at the cloudless sky, where strange shapes would form just for you. You wasted away the days at the lake, naked, floating between water and sunlight, between cold and heat, simply existing.

Now, all you could feel was the searing pain ripping through your skin, sizzling in your ears like meat in a frying pan. Weak, you tried to run, but your legs wouldn’t obey, and your feet tangled with every step across the dry land, scattered with dead corn leaves. The rustle of the leaves irritated you, but what truly drove you mad were the screams echoing from behind, drowning out any coherent thought, merging with the heavy air that entered your lungs that no longer breathed. And that felt like a death sentence: not only the sun was paralyzing you, but also the distorted sounds that confused you, like a wounded animal, utterly disoriented.

You stopped in the middle of the cornfield, glancing around, trying to stay grounded, trying to reconnect the thread of thought between the two of you, searching through the suffocating haze for Remmick’s voice, calling him with panic and urgency, desperate for him to come save you. You looked at your shoulders: raw, scorched, smelling the acrid scent of burnt flesh rising from your own body. You shut your eyes, trying to find him, your voice lethargic: “Remmick… Remmick.”

Your vision began to darken, your body no longer felt like your own—it felt like it was floating, detaching, as if your soul—or what was left of it—was slipping out of you. Just like you’d felt a piece of yourself dying the last time you glimpsed sunlight through your human eyes, maybe ceasing to exist in that land would feel the same. All you had to do was slowly close your eyes, embrace the darkness once again, surrender to the searing fire that would extinguish you—and that would be it. You opened your eyes slowly, staring at the mighty sun before you: scorching, like your mother’s hugs, your grandmother’s kisses. Like Remmick’s grip when you were still human. Your entire body burned, tiny flames piercing through you, tears of blood trickling from your eyes. How long had it been since you felt even remotely human? All you had to do was give in, speak the one name that echoed in your mind, etched into your blood.

Remmick.

In poison and blood, within you. He was you and you were him. Remmick.

‘—Remmick, if you can hear me one last time, know that I—’

“Got you!” his voice came, rough and wounded, behind you. Firm hands grabbed you by the waist, your body partially covered by another, pressed against Remmick’s rigid frame. He whispered against your ear: “You’re safe, mo chroí (mu khree / my heart). Come with me.” He pulled you even tighter against his scorched body, shielding you like a protective shell, guiding you with quick steps into the heart of the cornfield. In the distance, the furious screams of some villagers echoed behind you. But despite the world turning into hell around you and everything seeming like the end, you felt safe in his arms.

Remmick looked back, staggering, using his sharp senses to search for any possible escape for the two of you. His left eye was swollen from the punch he took, combined with the sun’s deadly effect, and even with limited vision, he managed to find a way out from the horde chasing you.

You couldn’t stay upright. The sun’s weakness made it feel like your bones were nothing but dust beneath your scorched flesh. Tears of blood stung your eyes and soul, or whatever was trapped inside that immortal body, sharing a collective mind with Remmick and so many others before you. It longed desperately to escape this life and finally rest. But Remmick wouldn’t let that happen—oh no, let the pagan gods or the Christian God himself punish him with the harshest tortures if he did. You could feel that wrathful pain mixed with ancient rage flowing from him, harshly projected in flames and poisonous blood from him to you, as he nearly threw himself on top of you like a (scorched) leather jacket just to protect you. Madness. The voices grew longer, more indistinct, the hateful chorus fading, as Remmick, with his one good eye, searched for shelter.

Then, as if by magic, fate, or just the luck of some devil who still wanted to see you both wander through God's vast lands, there it was—a house beyond the edge of the cornfield. The perfect shelter. ‘Living food, darkness... —Remmick, don’t get your hopes up.—’ you thought back, replying to your creator’s voice with a sarcasm that didn’t quite match the moment. As always, he laughed—loudly, though the laugh came with dry, desperate gasps. He laughed. Even all fucked up, more than you, sizzling in pain and crying in despair to stay alive, he still found humor in his own misery.

“You’re getting real cheeky, huh, my little thing?”

“You’re the one who taught me to be like this, Remmy,” you managed to say, despite the bitter taste of blood rising in your throat—extremely unpleasant when it was your own blood boiling inside you. Remmick glanced over his shoulder, noticing for now that you were safe. He looked forward again, at what seemed like a mirage of a desolate wooden shack, dark, with the door and windows shut. It looked uninhabited to you. ‘—Love, don’t be so hopeless. Of course, there’ll be someone in there to be dinner. Or rather, lunch, given the time.—’ his voice cut through again, tugging you sideways, his hot and battered hand grabbing your forearm, where deep layers of your dermis were starting to show, making you let out a faint whimper. Remmick gave you an almost hurt look, immediately releasing his grip.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine. What’s a squeeze compared to almost melting under the sun, right?”

“You’re something else...” he muttered in disbelief, though his voice was laced with distress and anguish—a soft hint of the pain he was enduring. —If he died, you’d go with him by extension, in the worst possible way.— That was what was running through his disturbed mind, making you wonder whether you’d ever have a happy ending under those conditions. Remmick quickened his pace, and you followed beside him, feeling like the path to the house was more of a road to Hell than a material refuge. You were starting to believe it was a mirage and the Devil was waiting on the other side to welcome you both into his lap. ‘—Pathetic, darling. Pathetic.—’ ‘—Just like you, sweetheart.—’

Remmick ignored your retort, dragging himself up the steps, changing his expression as he began to shout for help. A wounded animal, fatally injured, a hoarse rasp clawing out of his throat, begging for help, pounding on the door with force. The sun’s haze was poisoning him—and therefore you—draining what little strength was left, forcing your bodies to absorb the foul smell of rotting flesh; even if your lungs didn’t breathe, they still had the cursed privilege of smelling. And even as supernatural beings, defying all human logic, you were still condemned to be inside those fragile bodies, exhaling the scent of flesh, blood, bone, thick saliva, venom, and a unique perfume your walking corpses carried. Not decay, but something more… floral? And that specific scent, like night-blooming jasmine in a graveyard or a dried rose in your garden, grew stronger as the mortal flesh imprisoning your immortal soul deteriorated.

Remmick kept pounding on the door and maybe—just maybe—with a little more effort, he’d become the first vampire to break the universal law by forcing his way in without being invited. He looked at you, distressed, his expression one of real pain. You pulled away from him, walking to a window layered in thick dust, wiping it with your palm. The cold, gritty surface scratched your sensitive skin even more. You peered inside and confirmed: ‘—There’s no one. It’s empty.—’ Remmick looked at you, almost dumbfounded, hearing your inner voice. He turned to the door, where simply twisting the doorknob opened it. The air inside was cold and stagnant, dust and mold, old wood and moth-eaten fabric, with an unwelcoming scent—but still, it carried that unmistakable smell of an uninhabited place. No human warmth or familiar energy.

Remmick was so relieved he dropped to his knees, like a devout soul who, tired of resisting sin, finally accepts divine punishment in good faith—arms open, body surrendering as he let himself fall into the house. You stood beside him, watching with a mixture of mercy for the poor wretch who was suffering, and with that sharp pain—hating, in a way, to share with him the memory and the collective sense of it all, because his pain was also yours.

Remmick crawled inside. You followed him, on your feet—weak, but standing. You looked one last time outside, toward the distance beyond the cornfield, where, by some divine mercy, those who had hunted you seemed to have gone. Just above, the burning afternoon sun pulsed like a condemning god, seated upon his sky-blue throne, mercilessly casting down his punishments upon you, poor wicked creatures.

You shut the door with a long groan, echoing the moan of the vampire now lying delicately at your feet—a strange sound between a whimper and the whine of a frightened dog. His hands were stretched above his head, face pressed to the floor, writhing from side to side, somewhere between fragile and furious at being forced into such a wretched state.

Through your mind, you could feel him tearing:

‘—These monsters will pay. As soon as the sun sets, I’ll hunt them one by one, haunt them in their homes, show them my wrath and my cruelty. Blood, blood… blood.—’

Your mind was now lapsing into a time far older than you, to a moment when Remmick’s humanity had been broken by the vampire’s curse—when the strangers came and took his land, his name, his faith. His prayers were converted, and all he saw before him were silver crosses and plaster Jesuses while he was taught the Lord’s Prayer. All of it disturbed you deeply. He clung so tightly to his roots that it made you feel everything: the fire of the scorched land, the spilled blood, the faithful ones he later killed one by one, the lands devastated by plague and by gold.

You closed your eyes, trying to impose your memories over his—to interrupt the bond that was bigger than either of you. You tried to think of blooming gardens bathed in sunlight, lazy afternoons of picnics and reading under trees, nights of endless dancing and joy.

Remmick stopped thrashing. His shoulders stilled, and his whimpers faded as he was slowly filled with his own memories, gradually regaining his strength and sobriety. He propped himself up on his arms—once feeble and lethargic, with bones eroded and flesh still scorched by burns—then raised himself and looked at you, a crooked smile forming on his lips:

“You’re always taking care of me, a aingeal.” (ah ang-yal | my angel).

“I was just trying to make you stop with those nightmares disguised as memories. I’m aching all over.” Your voice was somewhat harsh, despite your weakness, as you leaned your body against the wall, between the door and the window, where dust managed to dimly filter the sunlight. You were safe from the condemnation of the light.

Remmick rested his head. A look of sadness, lit by the darkness in his pupils, stirred something in your heart that no longer beat.

“I can’t let go of who I once was… even after all these years, there are pains that scar between our flesh and our soul, binding us to them forever…”

“I know. I know—” you smiled, somewhere between honesty and levity, trying to stay upright, feeling your body pulse and bleed, crying for healing. Remmick was in considerably better shape than you, even in his sorry state—his cotton shirt filthy with mud and dust, torn and bloodied from burned flesh; his pants tattered, shoes worn through, one bruised eye set into cadaverous skin with a polished hunger. He was enduring. The dark gifts made him far stronger than you. “—I’m just not in the best condition to relive those pains with you, not when mine are a little too real right now.”

Remmick nodded, drinking in your words, staring at you with glowing, coppery-red eyes—dim yet luminous—finally seeing your pain. His face twisted with worry and a flicker of anger as he staggered closer:

“Mo ghrá geal” (muh grah gyahl | my bright love), ��they really hurt you, didn’t they…”

Then, Remmick recalled the grim scene when one of the townsfolk had found your hiding place—a house just as old and decrepit as the one you now sheltered in. The two of you were lying there together, side by side, entwined like tragic lovers, waiting for death—and maybe that had been part of the attraction, for just a few more seconds in that eternal rest, and you would have had a truly tragic end. Remmick remembered the moment the light from a blocked-out window was smashed through and the burn that followed. He opened his eyes instantly. You were still locked in your unshakable sleep when they grabbed you by the arms. He had fought men wielding torches and harvest tools. Then you saw it through his eyes: your body being pulled away—a blur. And you felt his fear and desolation as he fought off the frantic villagers to try and save you.

Then the man’s voice rang out again, clear and strong, a wounded hand touching your face with surprising gentleness:

“We almost didn’t make it out of there… If it had been closer to sunset, not a single one of those bastards would’ve made it—”

“Remmick.” His name traced your lips and tongue, thorny like the man himself. “They’re not to blame for acting the way they do—just like we, flawed murderous animals, once acted. They too have the right to want to destroy us. Wasn’t it you who taught me that human truth? That’s how we lived before we perished. That’s how we’ll go on existing, as long as we do.”

“Existing.” He clicked his tongue, and a sudden shadow passed through his eyes. For a second, his mind grew too clouded for you to read, to hear—but the visceral rage boiling in his venomous blood, oh, that you felt, bitter as it burned your dry throat. Dryness began to crack your lips. It weakened your warm body even more and made you feel the dark delusions start to crawl through the corners of your mind; that’s what happened when you weren’t fed—no matter how exceptional your self-control was, and even if you could resist without the human liquor for days, when you were in that state of true death, your body nearly collapsed.

Remmick dragged his pitiful, suffering gaze across your face. Around your minds, words in ancient Gaelic spun like ancestral chants—he was thinking about something beyond you.

His hand slid up to your face, grabbing your hair from behind, gripping it as he gently pulled it back, exposing the soft, burned, but still velvety skin of your neck. The cradle of your sacred blood—from where he had once drawn your human warmth into himself and given you, in return, the venom that turned you into him. And even though your heart no longer beat as before, when he first heard it, and your blood wasn’t warm enough to quench his thirst anymore, it was the vampire’s opium.

Remmick always thought of that comparison when he grazed his fangs lightly against your skin before penetrating it to anesthetize himself in your ecstasy:

‘—Your blood was sweet and warm when your heart throbbed between your ribs. But now, with my lymph and the poison of my being, it tastes better—bittersweet, undead. Our blood.—’

It made you moan and whimper.

Your hands pressed against his chest, palms open, trying to push him away from you:

“Remmy, are you sure about this?” you looked at him uncertainly, trying to find in him the assurance for the act.

Remmick didn’t answer you with words—not the kind spoken aloud:

“As weak as we are, there’s no one here, my love. Either we drink from each other, or we die like strays in this godforsaken place. Feed on my blood before you cease to exist…”

It wasn’t a request anymore by the time he was already pulling you closer to expose your neck, pressing his rough lips and sharp teeth against you, piercing the skin like needles.

Remmick held onto this belief that he didn’t need to ask much of you, because as you were one mind, everything he wanted was what you desired too.

Your eyes closed as you felt your flesh torn by his fangs—hard against your skin, like a stiff piece of leather being pierced by a sharp knife—until it reached where the blood, crawling weakly through your body, began to emerge in thick sobs, filling his mouth with your syrupy, bloody liquor. You were consumed by the burning and the sensation of ecstasy the act gave you, your body floating in the hands of the man who groaned with primal pleasure at being nourished by your life source.

Remmick also held the belief that since you carried his seed—that divine-profane gift of eternal life within your blood—through the consummation of acts and the laws of an ancient soul, you were part of a whole that pulsed with life. His life, yours, and those who would come after you both, all connected through that cursed and blood-stained lineage.

You squirmed restlessly in his hands. His claws were already out, tangled in your hair, scratching your waist as he held you as close as possible, bound to his pleading kiss.

Remmick whispered to you in thought:

“Mine, mine, mo mhianta (muh vee-an-tah / my desire), my life, my blood…”

—like a prayer, a rosary he recited bead by bead, his body burning as he inevitably felt his venom enter you. 

“Remmick—” your voice was pure wine of death, your nose the iron scent of flesh, your mind a stupor of souls that preceded you, strange voices you had learned empirically, faintly recalling the vampire Remmick who crushed you between teeth and acid; “—I think that’s enough, my love.”

Remmick let out an exasperated groan that vibrated against your mark, sucked a final portion of blood vigorously, licked the flesh slowly, then rose, revealing his face intact and free of wounds, his chin smeared with your crimson iron honey, eyes shimmering like copper pearls between iron and bloodlust. He smiled at you—there was heavy panting from paused lungs, a fresh breath, an almost spiritual renewal of his being.

“You are so delicious, blood of my blood, that it’s impossible not to want to drain your last blessed drop.”

He laughed—cursed and amused—raising his wrist to his own lips, biting it as if biting a pomegranate that exploded between his teeth, flesh and juice dripping at the corners of his mouth already stained with your blood; he extended his open wrist to you like bread to the dying, an offering to his god, waiting with generous eyes burning in the insane passion of his soul for yours.

His mouth salivated with the yearning to take it for himself, to drink from that wine that intoxicated you once and every time you drank it—in nights of lust where you feasted on the delights of the flesh, it intoxicated you.

There were sparks in your chest that burned from Remmick’s venom in your body, making you remember when he took you for himself, forever; Remmick appeared like a chorus behind you, chasing you through the darkness of forests and ancient buildings, ruins of nights wandering without meaning, inviting you to let him enter you repeatedly, giving him what he wanted, feeding the beast with your youthful joy, the beating heart—that which he had lost centuries ago, perhaps millennia. Life.

And once, proving that his love for blood and pain was greater than all lust or pleasure given to you, he offered you his ultimate love: he penetrated you with teeth and curses, buried memories imposed on you, suffocating you, watching you die before him, rot like a flower once beautiful and vibrant, now dry and hardened. Watching you rise with bright eyes and his bestial thirst, laughing and dancing with him, celebrating your new self. Or was it a piece of him, while you were trapped between so many layers of the one who created you?

And yet there you were, looking at him with veneration and anguish, taking his wrist with your misshapen fingers, claws that extended in excessive knots, placing your mouth against the torn hole that poured that offering of his flesh.

Oh, Remmick had your flavor too.

Sweet death he exhaled, primal sex and poisoned wine.

Feeding you slowly, bringing through that damned mortal sap your salvation.

You felt yourself revive, whining softly against his wrist, looking with complicity as Remmick watched you with the pleasure of pleasures on his face: parted lips, arched brows, eyes sparkling with desire and ardor. You smiled back, returning that passion, a hiss escaping from his mouth, pleasure bending between the memories shared through blood. His mouth detached from the bite’s embrace, a dull snap of flesh pulling away, the vampire’s blood dripping in sticky, thick drops like a whip on the wooden floor, a small pool of that iron blood separating you both.

He tilted his head back, satisfied, with a jubilation of pearl-ruby teeth, saying full of himself:

“Now we’re better!” He laughed between his teeth, while you felt his blood slide through you, healing the stigmata on your skin, slowly and pleasurably renewing you—him crawling between your bones and flesh, burrowing deeper into you as he pierced you with those eyes.

Remmick drew closer, your hands returned to normal, fingers caressing your now-soft skin, leaning down to kiss your lips with the sweetness of his honey staining them crimson, whispering through your mind:

‘—All we need now is rest, and once night falls, we can celebrate this moment together.—’

Eternal promises. As always, typical of him.

You welcomed him with open lips, tongue caressing his, you and he merging—blood and saliva, venom and the growls from the depths of your thirsty throats, your hands tangling into each other, desperate grips of bodies that loved each other through finite eternity.

…

In your dreams — or in that cathartic state of complete darkness of rest — all you had in your mind were the outlines of dreams of humans who had wandered through the eternities beside Remmick. You were a peasant in Irish lands, an English priest with golden teeth, a mathematician in Arabia, a physician from Prussian soil, a single mother prostituting herself in the streets of Whitechapel; everything and everyone. You were a pagan elder turned faithful parish priest. A hopeful young woman turned the vilest of executioners. Everything and everyone — and him.

Him.

Emerging in red, blue, purple, and black, from the shadows, blood dripping from his chin, stealing souls and stories like a devoted collector, a historian digging through pages and pages for what might fill his own gaps. Remmick pulled you by the hand like a savior — or a beast. That blurred in the shadows and forms, as he brought you into the light.

The light of consciousness, of being awake, of knowing night had finally fallen and you could once again wander among humans.

You opened your eyes with a sharp blink, seeing through a timid penumbra lit by a single candle — who knows where the hell Remmick had found it — exhaling, while he gently caressed your face, the tip of his finger tapping lightly against your nose, a serenity on his face that, under the warm golden light, almost seemed human. You smiled, rubbed your eyes, and let out a vocal exhale — a human habit you’d kept not to feel so detached from your nature — wetted your lips, surprised by the nudity of the man sitting at your side on that old bed, hard mattress, rickety frame that had served perfectly for your rest.

At the window, beyond the drawn curtain, a few wooden planks nailed to keep sunlight out were now opened, allowing the pale-silver glow of a Full Moon to shine on you. Between the bluish-gray mingling with the candle’s yellow-red, his slender and muscular body — shaped by the years when he was just a man of the land, using his bare strength — stood naturally before you.

His face, smiling at you tenderly, was damp, drops of water clinging to his nose, ears, and chin. A scent of dried flowers and soap wafted from his pale skin. His voice was soft:

“Come with me, a aingeal,” (ah ang-yal | my angel), “let’s take a bath to wash off this infernal day.”

Laughter spilled from both your mouths — irony mixed with ease — as his hand gently pulled you up, guiding you barefoot across the wooden floor, echoing down a narrow hallway toward what must have been the bathroom. Remmick nodded toward the wooden bathtub. Beside it, atop a chair, several candles were stuck upright with their own melted wax, casting a flickering light beside the moonlight that poured silver through the window.

“I cleaned it a bit before using, fetched some water from the well, and luckily found some flowers and a dried-up bar of soap lying around. Seems like the people who lived here left in a hurry — there’s still canned food and clothes in some closets. Let me help you!”

He placed the candle on the chair and undressed you, slipping off your dress and tossing it aside, smiling at your nudity, placing his hands at your waist as if admiring a statue sculpted by his own hands — a creation of his creation.

“Sit down. I’ll bathe you...” he said in a velvet tone, guiding your body into the cold water, which wrapped around your skin as he began to rub it with water, fragrant flower petals, and diluted soap.

And there you sat, still, watching him care for you — though you knew well what he was thinking.

‘—The hunt, the revenge against those who inflicted pain on us and—’

“Remmy…”

Your hand found his, pulling him from the depths of his thoughts, gripping the hand that tended to you, “...stop, at least for now. Just think of something else.”

“What else could I possibly think about?”

“In other things, I don’t know, think about music, about dance, about me...”

“I don’t need to think about those things because they’re already in me, darling. It’s almost a pleonasm, as that old professor we ate once said, remember?”

“The one we ate? What an absurd thing to say!”

“Sweetheart, seriously?” Remmick tilted his head to the side, a mischievous little smile playing on his lips. He stopped rubbing the dried blood off his neck to look at you with cynicism. “You, of all people, who loves sinking your teeth into those juicy necks that show up for us!? You, blood of my blood, my own creation, poison of my poison who...” he paused, narrowing his eyes, his voice coming out in a thin whisper, “loves sinking those pretty little teeth of yours into the most unusual places!?”

A daring finger touched your lips, slipping between them, lightly scraping your canine with its nail. You stared at him calmly, studying him in that unashamed nakedness, amused by you. Rolling your eyes, you pushed his hand away from your mouth.

“Pathetic. That’s what you are sometimes.”

“I love you too, my darlin’.” He chuckled through his teeth, returning to wiping the bloodstain from his skin, focusing on the act. Even in that silence made of voices loudly spoken, your minds were speaking through images, memories flowing back and forth in a stream of consciousness, undulating like the water that surrounded your body, tracing that eternal conversation you both had. Deep down you knew he wanted to go out hunting, to get drunk on fresh human blood, and then return to this shelter, take you in his arms and possess you in the most animalistic way possible. But on your end, you still felt his venom lingering through your body, the blood that had served as both nourishment and healing still casting a haze over your senses. Ancient blood from someone who had lived so long it carried stigmas. Strong, dense, defiled, concentrated.

Remmick finished scrubbing you, stood up from your side, and left the room, staying outside for a few minutes, leaving you immersed in the water and the moonlight. Thinking. For a moment, your mind seemed to detach from his, floating through the corridors of your own being—you saw yourself among humans, walking barefoot, feeling that burning thirst in your throat, the bile of anger tormenting you even as your melancholy made you ethereal; sucking foreign blood, capturing life stories for yourself. Remmick reached out a hand to you—a claw—with the ghastly smile of all the dead, always whispering to you: “Mo mhianta” (muh vee-an-tah / my desire), in your mother tongue. Remmick… Remmick. The one who created you and now was you too, part of your desires, part of your life, part of your soul. Would you ever be able to break away from that guiding thread? From the one who offered you both death and life? Would you be able to disconnect and be just… you?

Remmick emerged from the darkness of the house, carrying a bundle of clothes in his hands, wearing a pair of soft-fabric pants, his torso still bare. He smiled with those secrets he could hide from you between his lips:

“No, I believe that if one day you no longer belong to me, I’ll probably be dead.”

“Reading my thoughts again?”

The question was practically rhetorical, laced with a certain bitterness you couldn’t hold back. Standing before you, the vampire handed you the clothes.

“I am them. Even when you try to escape through the corners of your thoughts, I’m there.” Remmick smiled, sharp teeth glinting, a suggestion shining in his eyes like a beast ready to kill.

“Come on, love, the night is a child crying to be fed.”

“Smartass,” you hissed through your teeth, rolling your eyes. When you rose from the bathtub, your eyes suddenly caught sight of two figures approaching in the distance. Remmick didn’t even need to be warned—he was already spying from the corner of the window, his thoughts starting to hiss like a rabid wolf growling, thirsty for blood and slaughter. He turned his face toward you, a sharp smile while his eyes tiled the blood of the defeated. His tongue was a blade between needle-sharp teeth:

“We shall have a special feast, my love!”

…

The house was dark.

Its scent was of dust and stagnant wood, dry and moldy. In the background, you could catch the smell of melted wax. No noise. When that couple stepped into the house, shotguns in hand, eyes wide with fear, all they wanted was to play heroes for the little town—hunt the monsters that had been parasitizing the area and receive applause for their brave deeds. Fueled by fear and pride, they wanted to hold in their hands the heads of those two who had earlier been hunted and, for some reason, had disappeared; and there they were, in that shack abandoned for weeks—maybe months—eyeing each other with unease.

The woman said, glancing around the first room, a lantern serving as a flashlight:

“I don’t think it was a good idea to come here at night…”

“Nonsense, woman—we’ll catch those monsters before they go messing around with anyone else,” the man shrugged, walking toward the hallway, the woman right behind him—until she heard a little noise beside her, at the open door.

The man kept walking, oblivious to his wife, heading toward the back of the house, finding a side room with its door ajar—he pushed it open the rest of the way with the barrel of the shotgun, the wooden door creaking slowly, revealing a bed.

And a woman lying on it, back turned. Naked.

A shiver ran down his spine, his breath grew heavy, heart pounding against his ribs, and beyond all that, a wicked voice called him to approach her—that nest of lust and desire. Ignoring his partner, he let curiosity and depravity take over. He lowered his weapon, step by step, now close to the woman’s body, his hand trembling as it reached toward her, while the other held the lantern swaying noisily at his side, its yellow light flickering across the sleeping body.

“Have mercy on me!”

A high-pitched scream came from deeper in the house. The man startled and turned, dropping the lantern to the floor, where it shattered and sparked into flames. He raised his weapon again, spinning around—only to find a man behind him.

Eyes glowing with an inhuman red glint.

A macabre grin stained with blood painted his chin, his neck, his bare chest.

A rustle behind him made his knees weaken with fear; a cold gust of air fed the fire now licking at the wooden floor. He looked over his shoulder and saw you awake—eyes just as luminous as the monster in front of him, thick saliva dripping from your chin.

As he tried to scream, a hand clamped over his mouth—metallic blood flooded his tongue.

A tear welled up in his eye.

The vampire’s voice in front of him rasped out, bestial and raw:

“Shhhh… Shhhh… Don’t cry now. Didn’t your mother teach you it’s wrong to mess with someone else’s woman?”

And he laughed—demonic—gripping the man’s throat, nearly choking him, as you remained behind, salivating for the living blood pulsing through his arteries. Remmick looked at you from the side, tilting his head, his voice undulating between the three of you like a serpent shaking its venom:

“Darling, your wife was delicious! I hope you taste just as good for my wife!”

The man screamed with all the air in his lungs, while Remmick offered him up like an animal for ritual slaughter—offering him to you. And you took him from behind, draining him with the ease of mortality—no pity, no hesitation.

Remmick watched you with affection and admiration, something growing inside him with the euphoric pleasure of a successful hunt. When you finished draining the man, his corpse now at your feet, he held out his hand to you.

You took it, letting him lead you out of that room to the front of the house, where the open door allowed the silvery light to touch your naked body, your face covered in scarlet—just like his. Remmick cupped your face in his hands, looking at you with his soul reflected in your eyes:

“My girl, how do you feel?”

“Perfect. Just a little… overwhelmed. I think it’s the thrill of the hunt.”

“Good—” he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips in a wet, filthy kiss—saliva and blood, soft tongue brushing pearly teeth. When he pulled away, a string of bloody spit still connected your mouths.

“—'Cause now, you’ll let me take care of you, darlin’. The way you deserve.”

You felt him penetrate you through the soul, his hands pulling you close into the kiss of the dead upon your lips, speaking to you through your minds:

‘—Let me take care of you, darling, let me take care of you, let me show you how good I can be for you…—’

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: maybe it deviated a little from the initial concept of the request (idk), but this one was by far one of the fanfics with Remmy that i enjoyed writing the most, it's side-by-side with my fanfic involving priests, religion, Christian guilt, vampirism, remmick and other little things…

[boygirlctommy]

3 YEARS SINCE CTOMMY DIED... GOOD LORD

[egophiliac]

ENG PLAYERS I BESEECH YOU

I have been informed that you guys are getting part 4 of episode 7 tomorrow, which means we are FINALLY going to get the official romanization of Revaan's name, somebody please tell me because I need to know what it is.

like, yes, it's probably just Revan/Levan, but look, I'm sitting here with my finger over the button of all these Laverne and Shirley jokes and just waiting for the opportunity to deploy them --

[seedsofwinter]

Used to be publishers wanted traditional manuscripts between 25k - 90k words but mostly 60k to 75k. Depending on the genre you could get away with 100k - 120k. And 150k was unsalable. The thought was there had to be something that you could cut at that length 😅 (I was a late '90s-'00s teenager with a literary agent and an unsalable 150k ms, so... I been there.)

Then it all changed. And we started seeing especially Young Adult novels in the 150k range, with duology or trilogy potential. Or more! YA became the hot ticket, and everyone was starting to write them or at least *say* their novel was YA. (Some of the mss I looked at where the protag was literally an adult dealing with adult stuff istfg.)

Nanowrimo (back in the day) made it so loads more people than before had 50k rough drafts, and those often got editing and expanded before they were sold or thrown online. It wasn't unusual to watch a 50k draft fill out to 100k-200k.

There was the rise of ebooks and ereaders; because of huge advancements in tech designed specifically to carry all your books in one handy piece of technology rather than printed and bound. Which made the word count of a book a bit irrelevant for less traditional stories in particular. Or otherwise you were reading book serieses like they were one story because you *could*, they were all right there.

And of course, fanfic in general is an unchecked wealth of "I'm writing basically an entire season of a show in one story, get ready for 500k+ words." But you couldn't tradpub that in one bound book.

So yeah... I agree that "size of a trad pub novel" shouldn't be called short and sweet 😂 I'm just also realizing why some readers have (unknowingly) trained themselves to think that way. It's kinda fascinating to think about!

fanfic authors b like ‘haha this chapter got a little out of hand it’s a little longer like 60k words’

babes that’s a novel. you wrote a novel.

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[xxplastic-cubexx]

you open my Super Important Documents and its just pictures of charles xavier

[anna-scribbles]

you know all of those movies and shows about princesses and twins and twin princesses and swapping places etc etc. well miraculous ladybug is actually also one of those shows, it is just told from the angle of “what if the twin princess was your mom and she gave you so many issues”