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cigarettesuga · 2 days ago

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꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀opposites don’t attract, they destroy⠀✸⠀(⠀⠀pjm⠀⠀) chpt. O2

pairing: fuckboy!jimin x too-proud, stubborn, social butterfly!f!reader

genre: college!au, frenemies to lovers, smut, angst, comedy (sorta), slow-ish burn, emotional damage with a side of flirtatious banter, bad decisions galore.

warnings: explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, oral f and m receiving, protected p in v, switch dynamics), language, light angst, emotionally immature behavior, casual hookup history, mentions of possessiveness/jealousy, one angry ex-fling banging at the door mid-orgasm. reader is horny and confused. jimin is horny and emotionally stunted. everyone is very much down bad.

word count: 11.5 k (got a little carried away)

summary: (y/n) tries to pretend that night never happened, but jimin isn’t making it easy. what starts with a closet confrontation turns into a routine of stolen moments and unspoken rules: this isn’t a thing. they aren’t anything. until someone from his past shows up at the worst possible time, and suddenly it feels a lot like something.

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"we're not a thing"

monday came too soon.

the party fog had barely lifted and already (y/n) was back in lecture halls pretending she hadn’t made life-altering decisions in the backseat of a very questionably clean car. her mini skirt was folded neatly in her laundry basket. her phone was muted. and her pride? hanging on by a thread, but still kicking.

she didn’t look for jimin. not on campus, not in her messages, not even in the periphery of the quad where he usually lurked like a lazy predator in low-rise jeans. she told herself it meant nothing. it was nothing. a moment of weakness, tequila, and bad judgment wrapped up in messy kisses and louder-than-necessary moans. it wasn’t who she was.

but denial didn’t stop the nausea from curling in her stomach when she walked into the café and spotted sora already waiting with two iced americanos and that look. the one that said i know something you don’t want me to know.

(y/n) slid into the seat across from her, sunglasses on even though they were indoors. “don’t start.”

sora raised a brow, positively glowing with suspicion. “i didn’t say anything.”

“yet,” (y/n) muttered.

sora smiled, sipping from her straw like she had all the time in the world. “so… you disappeared the other night. at the party.”

(y/n) hummed in response, scrolling through her phone with all the enthusiasm of a corpse.

“you know what’s funny?” sora leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice laced with that teasing lilt that meant nothing good was coming. “park jimin was nowhere to be found either.”

that got a twitch out of her. barely. but enough for sora to pounce.

“i was in the kitchen looking for you when his cute friend—jungkook, i believe—came up looking for park too. said he ‘lost’ him,” she added, air-quoting. “hilarious, i know.”

(y/n) took a long, very unnecessary sip of coffee. “maybe they went to get food.”

sora blinked. “at midnight? during a house party? in his car?”

silence.

“you’re not even gonna try?” sora asked, sounding offended at the lack of effort. “come on. lie to me with some conviction.”

“i didn’t ask for this interrogation,” (y/n) mumbled, pushing her sunglasses up higher. “it was a stupid night, okay? that’s it.”

sora's smile faltered, just a bit. “so it was jimin.”

(y/n) sighed. loud. “sora.”

“you slept with park jimin and didn’t tell me. i’m not mad, just... disappointed. mostly in your taste.”

“it wasn’t like that.” she crossed her arms. “we didn’t—i mean, it was just—fuck, okay, i don’t know what it was. but it’s over.”

“mmhm,” sora said, entirely unconvinced. “tell that to the regret dripping off you like sweat.”

(y/n) groaned and slammed her head lightly onto the table. the iced americano wobbled in warning.

—

the lecture hall felt way too bright for 9 a.m.

(y/n) sat in the back like always, one AirPod in, pretending her iced coffee would bring her peace. it didn’t. everything felt loud—the scratch of pens, the shuffle of backpacks, the tinny buzz of someone’s forgotten phone. her nerves were tap dancing on her spine.

no one was staring at her, but it felt like everyone could be.

what if someone saw her leave the party with him? what if someone heard?

she shifted in her seat, tugging her oversized hoodie lower like that would erase the ghost of his hands on her thighs. the lecture started. something about political theory or the rise of late capitalism—she couldn’t focus. she could barely keep herself from checking the door.

and then it opened.

“sorry, sorry,” came a voice she knew too well now. low, lazy, not even trying to sound sincere.

park jimin strolled in like he owned the air. like he hadn’t made her lose her goddamn mind in the back of his car. like she hadn’t made herself finish all over him and then ghosted the moment she regained lucidity.

he didn’t look at the professor. didn’t apologize again. didn’t even hesitate.

his eyes landed straight on her. and she felt it—like a sucker punch through her spine.

he walked up the stairs of the lecture hall without shame, slipping into the empty seat next to her like this was totally normal and they hadn’t just completely annihilated the “i cannot stand you” consensus within 72 hours.

“morning,” he said under his breath, pulling out a pen he clearly wasn’t going to use.

she stared ahead like she was carved out of salt. “do i know you?”

jimin snorted. “wow. cold.”

“please. i’m trying to learn about... whatever this is.” she gestured vaguely toward the professor.

“capitalist propaganda. riveting.”

“why are you here?” she hissed.

“it’s a class we both take,” he pointed out, barely hiding his smile.

“you don’t even come to this class!”

“i do now.” he leaned in slightly. “you’re very... motivating.”

she kicked him under the table. not hard enough. he just grinned wider.

“you’re really going to act like that night didn’t happen?” he asked, voice dipped just enough to make her clench her jaw.

“what night?” she replied, blinking at him like he was a stranger asking for directions.

his laugh was low, soft, dangerous. “god, you’re mean. no wonder i can’t get enough.”

she hated how warm her cheeks felt. hated it more that he noticed.

“are you going to flirt with me the whole semester now?” she hissed.

“wasn’t planning on it.” he leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, looking disgustingly pleased with himself. “but now? absolutely.”

he was still looking at her. like class wasn’t happening. like she wasn’t actively trying to pretend she hadn’t cried after that orgasm, freaked out, and ghosted him before he could even zip up properly.

she sighed, still facing forward, whispering sharp. “listen, buddy.”

his grin was immediate. oh no.

“oh, i’m ‘buddy’ now?” he whispered back, elbow propped on the desk, body angled toward her like they were in on some hilarious secret.

“whatever you think this is,” she hissed, ignoring the flutter in her chest, “don’t. matter of fact, let’s stop talking to each other. like… ever.”

“aw,” he murmured, leaning a little closer, his breath warm against her shoulder. “so dramatic. and after we shared such a magical night together.”

her eyes snapped to his. “i’m serious.”

“so am i,” he said, smirking. “i was deeply moved. spiritually even. you, on top of me, moaning like—”

“shut up.”

“i’m just saying,” he shrugged, voice maddeningly casual, “for someone who wants to forget, you’re really intense about the details.”

“jimin.”

“you didn’t even take your underwear all the way off,” he said, tone dropping, eyes shameless. “left ‘em hanging off your ankle like a cute little ribbon. drove me crazy.”

she inhaled, sharp and shallow, heart tripping over itself. “god, you’re such a—”

“brat,” he finished for her, tilting his head like he’d just named a constellation. “you were such a brat that night. acting like you were doing me a favor while dripping all over me.”

her jaw clenched. “you’re disgusting.”

“you’re welcome.”

“you’re delusional.”

“mmm, maybe.” he tapped his pen against her notebook just to be annoying. “but you came. hard. and you’ll probably do it again.”

“in your dreams.”

he leaned even closer. “nah. that was real. trust me, babe—I dream dirtier.”

she stared at the board like it held the secrets to teleportation. he smelled like fabric softener and recklessness, and god, he was radiating satisfaction like a fucking smug heater.

“let’s stop talking,” she muttered, finally writing a nonsense sentence just to look busy.

he chuckled, low. “we can stop talking. but if you think i’m not gonna keep looking at your mouth and remembering exactly how you tasted—”

her pencil snapped.

he was still smirking. like he could see the tiny crack forming in her armor. the way her thighs pressed together. the way her fingers twitched like they remembered being tangled in his hair.

she refused to look at him.

refused to let her face betray anything but exasperation.

her pulse, however, was another story.

she leaned just slightly toward him, keeping her tone low and dismissive but sharp enough to pierce. “you know what i think, park?”

his brows lifted lazily, chin resting on his hand, clearly entertained. “can’t wait to hear it.”

she glanced at him now—just a flash, just enough to deliver it like a challenge.

“i think you’re the one who can’t get enough.”

his eyes flicked to her mouth again. she could feel it.

“of what?” he asked, feigning innocence. “your sparkling personality?”

“of me.” she said, too calm. too collected. “i think you’ve spent so much time getting easy girls to fall over themselves for you that you don’t know how to handle someone who makes you work for it.”

jimin blinked, then let out a soft laugh, sitting back in his seat like she’d just told him a bedtime story.

“that’s cute,” he said, dragging his teeth across his bottom lip. “but if i remember correctly…” he glanced down meaningfully, just once, “you were the one on top, baby.”

she crossed her legs tightly. don’t react. don’t fidget. don’t bite your lip like you always do when you’re flustered—

“must’ve been exhausting,” he added. “doing all that work.”

“you’re disgusting,” she muttered again, cheeks hot, throat tight.

“and you keep telling me that.” his voice dropped, warm and slow and honey-thick. “but you’re still thinking about it. you’re still letting yourself remember it.”

her jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the front of the room even though the lecture had long since become background noise.

he leaned in one last time, his whisper a lazy breath against her cheek.

“it’s okay. i do too.”

the class ended with the sharp scrape of chairs and the dull hum of chatter. she was out of her seat before the professor even capped their marker.

“wait up,” jimin said behind her, casual as ever.

“no.”

“you don’t even know what i was gonna say—”

“i don’t care,” she cut in, picking up her pace.

he followed anyway. of course he did. sneakers squeaking faintly with every obnoxious step as he trailed her like some smug, ridiculously hot shadow. they were almost to the courtyard when the worst possible thing happened.

“yo,” came a voice to her right.

they both turned to see taemin, one of those mutual-ish friends that orbited in and out of their shared social scenes—enough to know the dynamics, not enough to know the details.

taemin looked between them slowly, brows drawn together in mild suspicion. “aren’t you guys like… natural enemies or something?”

she opened her mouth to respond but jimin beat her to it, already slinging his arm over her shoulders like they were dating or whatever the hell this was.

“she’s finally being cool,” he said, grinning. “we’re getting to know each other.”

her stomach flipped. heat flooded her face.

“ew,” she deadpanned, ducking out from under his arm. “god, no.”

taemin blinked. “…are you guys okay?”

“do we look okay?” she snapped, forcing a laugh. “he’s just being weird.”

jimin clicked his tongue, hands shoved into his pockets now, watching her like she was an unfolding drama and he had popcorn in his brain.

“i’m not being weird,” he shrugged. “you just can’t handle someone being nice to you for once.”

“you call that nice?”

taemin looked positively lost, glancing between the two like he was watching an improv bit spiral out of control.

“what is this energy?” he muttered, stepping back. “are you two like… flirting?”

“no.”

“yes.”

they said it at the same time.

she glared at jimin. he winked.

taemin made a face. “okayyy. i’m gonna go.”

“great,” she said.

“say hi to jungkook for me,” jimin added absently, already falling into step beside her again once taemin left.

“why are you still following me?”

“why are you still pretending you don’t like it?”

“because i don’t.”

he hummed, low and teasing. “you do. but it’s okay. i’ve got time.”

“well i don’t,” she snapped. “so go flirt with someone else. someone easier.”

he stopped walking then. just for a second. and when she turned to look at him—against her better judgment—he was staring at her like he knew she wasn’t going to say that again.

“but where’s the fun in easy?”

—

the door clicked shut behind her and she barely made it to her bed before letting out a full-body groan, throwing herself face-first into a pillow.

sora, sitting cross-legged on her own bed with a snack in hand and a suspicious glint in her eye, didn’t even blink. “so… how was class?”

“don’t,” she grumbled into the sheets. “don’t do that.”

“do what?” sora asked sweetly, popping a piece of dried mango into her mouth.

(y/n) turned her head just enough to breathe. “act like you don’t already know exactly what i’m about to say.”

sora smiled. “i mean, i did see you storming down the quad with park jimin hot on your heels looking like he just got denied a second round of something scandalous.”

(y/n) groaned again. louder. more dramatic.

“he’s such an idiot,” she declared, sitting up and tossing the pillow like it had personally wronged her. “he literally tried to sit next to me in class, like nothing happened.”

“uh-huh.”

“and then followed me outside like we were in a rom-com. like this is some sort of friends with benefits arc.”

“sounds like someone’s a fan,” sora said, half-smirking.

“can you believe him?”

“oh, absolutely. but babes,” she leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees, “can you believe yourself?”

(y/n) blinked. “excuse me?”

sora raised a brow, popping another mango slice. “you’re really out here acting like this is brand new. like you haven’t been side-eyeing him all semester like he’s an off-limits dessert on a cheat day.”

(y/n)’s jaw dropped. “i have not—”

“you have. and don’t get me wrong, i respect the effort. the whole ‘he’s annoying and gross and i hate him’ routine was very convincing.” sora tilted her head, grinning. “but, like… you disappeared at that party. he disappeared. and now you’re doing a fake lovers-to-enemies-to-lover-again speedrun? baby. be serious.”

“we’re not lovers.” she hissed.

“sure,” sora nodded. “and i don’t binge-watch kdramas at 2am. tell me another lie.”

(y/n) flopped back on the bed, covering her eyes with her arm. “it was just… one time. a mistake.”

“was it mind-blowing though?”

“sora—”

“okay okay fine. not important.” she stood up and stretched, already heading toward the fridge. “but, for the record, he’s been into you since like week three.”

(y/n)’s breath caught. “no, he hasn’t.”

“please,” sora scoffed, grabbing a can of sparkling water. “he literally asked me about you once. like out of nowhere. said, and i quote, ‘what’s her deal?’ with this stupid little smile.”

“…you’re lying.”

“why would i lie for him? i’m team hot girl. always.” she plopped back down. “but also, maybe consider why you haven’t told anyone yet. like… not even me.”

silence.

(y/n) stared at the ceiling.

“because it’s nothing,” she said finally. “it’s not real.”

sora’s voice softened. “doesn’t mean it didn’t feel real.”

(y/n) was still on her back, staring at the ceiling like it held the secrets of the universe—or at least the answers to why her life was currently a mess tangled in low-rise jeans and cocky smirks.

sora didn’t let the silence linger too long.

“okay, fine,” she said, dusting off her hands like she was concluding a business meeting. “we’re calling it: not a thing. whatever happened in the back of that car, totally irrelevant. meaningless. an oopsie.”

(y/n) sighed in relief, eyes still closed. “thank you. sanity has returned to the chat.”

“mm-hmm.” sora took a sip of her drink, then casually added, “just do me a favor and give me a heads up whenever you guys are raw-dogging it in here. i don’t need to walk in and be emotionally scarred.”

(y/n) bolted upright. “i’m not giving you a heads up because i’m not sleeping with him again!”

sora didn’t even flinch. “right. right. of course not.” she stood up and made a show of walking over to crack the window open. “just make sure to air the room out after. i don’t want it to smell like jimin’s cologne and bad decisions.”

“can you fucking not?!” (y/n) shrieked, hurling a pillow across the room. it hit sora square in the back, but she didn’t even turn around—just calmly fluffed the curtain and let the spring breeze roll in like she was a sage preparing the room for spiritual cleansing.

“i’m just being proactive,” sora replied serenely. “your future self will thank me.”

“my future self is going to murder you.”

“only if you survive the next round with your mortal enemy slash backseat boyfriend.”

“he’s not—” (y/n) groaned so loud it could’ve summoned the dead. “you know what? never mind. i’m not even dignifying this with more words.”

“sure, babe. bottle it all up. healthy coping is overrated anyway.”

(y/n) let herself fall back dramatically again, dragging her comforter over her head. “this is my villain origin story.”

“better make it hot. people root for messy girls who look good in mini skirts.”

—

the parking lot, early evening

the parking lot behind the arts building still smelled faintly of cigarettes and burnt espresso from the campus café. jimin leaned against his car, sunglasses on despite the fading light, arms crossed like he wasn’t hiding from the aftermath of the day.

“you’re not slick,” jungkook said, tossing his water bottle into the backseat of tae’s beat-up old jeep. “you keep checking your phone like someone’s gonna text you first. we know you. she doesn’t.”

taehyung snorted, slapping a hand on jimin’s shoulder with dramatic flair. “our boy’s in denial. look at him. he’s twitching like a divorced man waiting on a custody ruling.”

jimin rolled his eyes. “you two need hobbies.”

“don’t dodge,” jungkook said, pointing. “you disappeared after the party. like, fully vanished. poof. i checked the upstairs bathroom, the deck, the kitchen��and you were not making out with that blonde girl from econ like you said you would.”

taehyung raised his eyebrows. “wanna try again, romeo?”

“you wouldn’t believe me even if i told you,” jimin muttered, and immediately regretted it.

“oh?” taehyung leaned in, shark-grinning. “so it is good.”

jungkook’s eyes lit up. “wait, wait—don’t tell me—”

“(y/n),” jimin said, looking off into the distance like it physically pained him to admit it. “the backseat of my car.”

dead silence.

jungkook let out a single, disbelieving laugh. “you’re lying.”

taehyung choked on air. “you got her in the car?!” he pointed at the vehicle behind them. “that car?!”

“hey,” jimin defended, “that car’s iconic.”

“bro,” jungkook said, hands on his hips, “you’ve been flirting with her for what—two semesters? three? she used to pretend you didn’t exist.”

“she still pretends i don’t,” jimin muttered.

taehyung narrowed his eyes. “so let me get this straight. miss ‘you’re disgusting, park jimin,’ climbed into your car, made out with you, and you—what? just let it happen?”

jimin finally smiled. smug, slow. “she undid my belt. i didn’t have to let anything happen.”

“jesus christ,” jk muttered, throwing his hoodie over his head. “he’s so far gone.”

“i’m not gone,” jimin said, too quickly. “we agreed it was a one-time thing. we’re not doing it again.”

tae raised both brows. “and you believed that?”

“yeah.” jimin shrugged. “she said it with her whole chest.”

jungkook rolled his eyes. “okay but like… was her mouth saying one thing and her body saying something else?”

jimin just smiled, and that was answer enough.

taehyung groaned. “you’re doomed. like emotionally wrecked by midterms doomed.”

“nah,” jimin said, reaching for his keys and trying to act like it didn’t matter. “we’re fine. i’m chill. she’s chill. it’s whatever.”

jungkook leaned against the car next to him. “you’re so chill that you nearly murdered a sophomore for asking her what lip gloss she was wearing two days ago.”

“it was a weird question!”

“he was gay!”

“he said it like he was curious,” jimin argued, unlocking his car with a dramatic beep.

taehyung and jungkook exchanged a look. that look said yep. this is gonna crash and burn in HD.

“just promise you won’t write poetry about her when she ghosts you,” taehyung said.

“i don’t write poetry.”

“not yet.”

—

the lights in his apartment were dimmed low that night, nothing but the soft hum of a playlist filling the silence between breaths.

jimin leaned back against his couch, hands resting lazily on either side of him while rowan's perched in his lap, skin warm and familiar, her thighs bracketing his hips like muscle memory. the kind of closeness that’s supposed to feel easy. automatic.

she smells like jasmine and wine coolers, a little breathless from their earlier kissing, her lips dragging slowly down his neck. the TV’s on mute, flickering some stupid action movie he’s not watching.

but his mind’s not here. it’s stuck somewhere in the backseat of his car, under the tight grip of her thighs, the taste of her tongue, the sound she made when—

rowan rolls her hips slightly, grounding him, dragging his focus back with a practiced tug at his belt. “you’re quiet,” she says, low. “cat got your tongue?”

his breath catches, but not in the way she wants. “just tired.”

“you never used to be too tired for this.” she leans in again, hand sliding under his shirt, up the plane of his stomach. she knows what he likes. knows how to unravel him, usually.

but he grabs her wrist—not rough, just firm. “not tonight.”

“what?” she pulls back, confusion quickly hardening into something else. “you’re kidding.”

“i’m not,” he says, sitting up straighter, adjusting the hem of his shirt like it matters now. “i’m not really in the mood.”

rowan stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “you—jimin. you’re not in the mood? since when?”

he doesn’t answer, jaw ticking once, eyes refusing to meet hers.

she lets out a short, humorless laugh. “wow. okay.”

he tries to soften it. “it’s not about you—”

“oh, of course not,” she cuts in, climbing off his lap, pacing the room like she’s trying to burn off something. “because god forbid you ever talk about your feelings like a real person. no, we just... play house until you decide you’re over it.”

“rowan, come on—”

“don’t ‘rowan’ me.” her eyes are sharp now, arms crossed over her chest. “you think I don’t know? that it’s not me you’re thinking about when I’m right here trying to give a shit?”

he opens his mouth, but there’s nothing worth saying. and she knows it.

“i used to think i didn’t care,” she says finally. “hooking up, no strings... whatever. but somewhere along the way i got sick of pretending that i don’t notice when you disappear into your head every time some new girl starts orbiting.”

his silence is answer enough.

rowan grabs her jacket from the chair, slinging it over her shoulder. “whoever she is, congrats. she’s the first one you’ve ever looked miserable about.”

he flinches.

“text me if you ever figure it out,” she adds, voice flatter now. “but don’t bother if you’re just gonna keep using people like placeholders.”

the door shuts harder than it needs to.

jimin exhales, sinking into the couch, staring blankly at the space she left behind.

fuck.

thursday, campus café, mid-afternoon

the dynamic doesn’t shift much. not on the surface.

jimin still winks when she passes him near the quad. still finds her in every lecture like he’s magnetized to her seat. still leans over her desk to ask if she’s “missed him,” even when she’s actively ignoring his entire existence. still flirts like the backseat of his car never happened—or maybe, worse, like it happened and he knows exactly what it did to her.

and (y/n)? she plays her role to perfection. still rolls her eyes like it doesn’t fluster her. still pretends like she’s busy on her phone every time he enters the room. still cuts him off mid-sentence with a deadpan “get a job” or “you talk too much.”

but it’s wearing on her.

like a pebble in her shoe she refuses to take off, the ache builds. he laughs too loud. sits too close. she hears his voice when she’s not even near him and feels her skin tighten. every encounter leaves a trace—of warmth, of tension, of fucking want—and she hates it. hates him.

hates herself more for still dreaming about the way he groaned her name like it meant something.

they’re at the café when it really starts to get under her skin. he’s already sitting with their shared group of friends when she arrives—oversized hoodie, backwards cap, sipping an iced americano like he didn’t just have two girls giggling at his side moments ago.

she tries not to care. really, she does.

but the second he spots her, his smirk shifts into something too smug, too direct.

“hey, trouble,” he calls.

she freezes only for a second. “do I owe you rent now? you’ve been in my business all week.”

he grins like she said something sweet. like he’s proud to be under her skin.

she takes the seat across from him with the most dramatic sigh she can muster.

he just leans forward, voice low so the others don’t hear. “you look tired, babe. been dreaming about me?”

she stares at him. dead in the eyes. “only in my worst nightmares.”

“still counts.”

and god, it does count. because the problem isn’t just the flirting. it’s the way her body reacts to it. the way her skin still remembers his touch. the way her brain short-circuits every time he calls her babe, like it doesn’t make her stomach flip in a way that’s entirely, pathetically real.

she excuses herself early. says she’s got class.

but really, she just needs to breathe.

because no one warns you that the worst part of a one-time thing isn’t the silence after.

it’s the noise that follows.

that night — dorm room, nearly 2 a.m.

the room is too quiet without sora's commentary in the background. no half-watched drama on low volume, no clinking of skincare bottles or gummy candy wrappers rustling. just the dim glow of her phone on the desk across the room and the hum of the mini fridge.

(y/n) sighs.

she’s already flipped her pillow twice. Her sheets feel like they're suffocating her. everything’s too hot and not hot enough. and she can’t stop thinking.

not about him.

not at first.

she groans and throws her comforter off with too much force, sits up with hair falling into her face, that kind of exasperated energy that only comes when you’ve been avoiding yourself all day.

“fuck it,” she mumbles into the dark.

she knows where everything is. bottom drawer. tucked beneath a t-shirt she doesn’t wear anymore. essentials she tells herself are for “emergencies” but deep down she knows that’s code for nights like this—when the ache is sharper than the pride, when her mind won’t stop spinning and the silence gets a little too honest.

condoms. lube. and the toy she’d never admit she owns, let alone uses.

she settles back into the sheets, legs shifting restlessly. not expecting much. just trying to ease something—tension, maybe. frustration. the emptiness that always hits harder when the world slows down.

she doesn't think of him.

not right away.

she pictures something vague, faceless—hands, lips, warm breath down her neck.

but her mind is a traitor.

because suddenly, it is him.

the tilt of jimin’s smirk. the way his voice dropped when he called her brat. the burn of his hands on her thighs. his tongue tracing the rim of her lower lip before pulling back, that damn string of spit, how ruined he looked watching her come undone.

her breath stutters.

and now it’s impossible not to think of him. her hand moves faster. her body knows. remembers. betrays her with every pulse of pleasure that edges in faster than she expects. she bites her lip to stay quiet, frustrated with herself more than anything.

because he’s not here.

but it feels like he is.

and when she comes, it’s with his name almost on her tongue—so close she can taste it, can feel it scraping the inside of her chest as she gasps, her body arching off the mattress in spite of herself.

silence returns.

heavier now.

god, she thinks, one arm flung over her face.

she wishes she could forget the backseat. wishes her skin didn’t still tingle from the memory. wishes he wasn’t the only one who could crawl into her head and take up space like this.

she hates that she let herself go there. hates that it helped.

but most of all, she hates the part of herself that wants it again.

and so the next morning comes along like a blur.

the kind that clings to your skin and gums up your thoughts.

(y/n) wakes up tangled in sheets that feel more like a trap than comfort, body warm and limbs sore, not from anything real—just tension, that pulling-apart-inside-herself kind of tension. her eyes feel tired even though she slept, which feels like a cosmic joke.

she barely touches her breakfast. everything tastes off. her coffee goes cold on the desk while she tries to not think about last night. about her hand. about the way she couldn't stop thinking about his mouth. his voice. how her own body betrayed her for the millionth time.

and now, here she is, wandering campus like a ghost with twenty minutes to kill before her next class. and, of course—of course—she stumbles right into the one person she’s not in the emotional or hormonal headspace to deal with:

park fucking jimin.

leaning casually against a vending machine like it's a prop in some high-budget music video. his hair looks too good for someone who probably just rolled out of bed, silver chain glinting in the hallway lights, eyes scanning her like he's been waiting.

he straightens when he sees her, lips already curling into that shit-eating grin.

“hey, stranger,” he says, voice all syrup and suggestion. “miss me?”

she clenches her jaw. not today, satan.

he starts walking alongside her like they planned it, like they always walk to class together now, matching step for step with that annoying swagger of his, and it’s so casual, so persistent, it makes her want to scream.

“you know, if you’re gonna keep pretending nothing happened, at least try to not look like you’ve been thinking about me all morning,” he says under his breath, tone light, cocky.

“what the fuck is your deal?” she snaps.

and then—god help her—without even realizing it, her hand closes around his wrist, yanking him forward toward the janitor’s closet just a few feet ahead. the hallway’s not empty, but no one’s really looking, so she drags him inside, slamming the door shut behind them, fluorescent light flickering dim and dramatic above.

jimin blinks, more intrigued than surprised.

“wow,” he breathes, leaning against the shelves with one brow raised. “aggressive.”

“you’re insufferable, park,” she hisses, one hand still fisted in the front of his hoodie.

he tilts his head, smug, eyes glinting.

“and yet you’re the one who pulled me into this closet, naughty girl.”

their faces are just inches apart now. the air thick between them. her pulse flares in her throat, louder than the distant sound of footsteps outside.

he leans forward just a little more, enough for his breath to ghost against her cheek.

“starting to think you like me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, infuriatingly gentle.

“in your dreams,” she mutters, though her hand still hasn’t let go.

“oh, baby,” he grins, “you have no idea.”

her brain shuts off before her pride can catch up.

the only thing she registers is heat—white-hot, no-logic, reckless heat—and her fingers knotting in his hair, tugging hard like she wants to punish him and claim him in the same breath. jimin doesn’t even flinch; in fact, he groans like he’s been waiting for this, starving for it, and then they’re colliding like a match to gasoline.

their lips crash—messy, furious, desperate.

it’s not sweet. it’s not romantic. it’s teeth and tongue and frustration, all those near-touch moments exploding into something they can’t take back.

his hands are everywhere, greedy on her waist, thumbs pressing bruises into her hips through her clothes as he backs her up. one quick motion and he flips their positions, and suddenly it’s her back hitting the wall with a quiet thud—his thigh nudging between hers, his lips dragging down to her jaw like he wants to ruin her, here and now.

“fuck,” he breathes, nose brushing her skin. “you taste like trouble.”

she bites back a moan, hands sliding beneath the hem of his hoodie, fingers skating over hot skin. this wasn’t supposed to happen again. she told herself that. swore it.

but now his mouth is back on hers and she’s arching into him like he’s oxygen.

when they finally pull apart, panting, lips swollen, his fingers still curled around her hipbone like he’s anchoring himself, she’s the first to speak—voice low and wrecked.

“we said we weren’t doing this again.”

“you said that,” he grins, forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged. “i never agreed.”

she’s silent for a beat, pulse thunderous in her ears.

“…we can’t keep doing this, jimin.”

he leans back just a fraction, cocky as ever but something softer flickering beneath it.

“then stop pulling me into closets.”

she rolls her eyes but doesn’t push him away.

not yet.

“so, tell me baby girl…” his voice is a rasp, low and sinful against the curve of her throat, the breath of it ghosting over her skin like a brand. “what’s it gonna be?”

her will? shattered. dignity? already hanging by a thread since the moment she tugged him into this cramped supply closet with fluorescent lights buzzing above like a warning. she should’ve stopped this. should’ve walked away.

but her thighs are clenching around his, hips tilting helplessly into the friction he’s giving her with barely any effort, and his hand is sliding up her back under her shirt like he already knows she’s done fighting.

her fingers twist in the collar of his hoodie, dragging him impossibly closer until his body’s flush against hers, chest to chest, breath mingling.

“just…” she breathes, the word hitching when he shifts his thigh just right, “…don’t try to make it a thing. it’s not.”

he laughs, laughs, that smug, infuriating chuckle vibrating against her collarbone like he’s absolutely thriving off her unraveling.

“baby, you’re grinding on my thigh and telling me this isn’t a thing?” he teases, one hand slipping down to grab a fistful of her ass, rocking her just a little harder against him.

a soft sound escapes her throat—half moan, half curse—and she glares at him, nails scraping lightly over his scalp.

“you’re such an asshole.”

he leans in, lips brushing her jaw, smug and warm and terrible.

“and yet, here you are. again.”

her mouth opens, maybe to argue, maybe to deny, maybe to call him something worse—but then he moves his leg just right again and whatever thought she had dies on her tongue.

her head tips back, hand fisting in his hoodie like she hates how good this feels.

she tells herself one more time. just this once. she’ll indulge the ache, let him give her the relief she swears she doesn’t need. and then she’ll get out before it means anything.

easy.

except they both know there’s nothing easy about the way they can’t seem to stay away.

they move in sync like they’ve done this a thousand times before—like their bodies have memorized each other already, which is insane because technically this is only the second time, and yet… the way they stumble together, mouths still tangled, hands feverishly tugging at fabric and skin, you'd think they’d been dancing around this fire for years.

he walks her backward blindly, bumping into a half-dead mop and an abandoned box of old test tubes before her back hits the edge of the desk shoved into the far corner. his hands grip her thighs, warm and certain, and with barely a word he lifts her with ease, seating her on top like she belongs there.

her skirt has ridden up from the motion, flowy and far too tempting, his palms ghosting up her bare thighs beneath it like he’s approaching something holy.

she hisses a breath between her teeth, spine arching slightly when his thumbs press into the sensitive skin just above her knees, gliding higher with every second.

"you're gonna ruin me in this stupid closet," she mutters, half-dazed, looking at him like she hates him, like she wants him, like she might let him ruin her all over again anyway.

he smirks, standing between her legs, his chest rising with a breathless kind of hunger, lips swollen, eyes impossibly dark.

“baby girl,” he murmurs, brushing his mouth against hers, “you already look ruined.”

her nails dig into his shoulders and she kisses him again, like she’s punishing him for being right.

his hands finally slip under her skirt properly this time, finding the place she needs him most. she bites back a sound, burying her face into the crook of his neck, and he swears under his breath, voice gritty with want.

they’re reckless and messy and completely doomed, but right now? right now, nothing else matters but the way her legs wrap around his hips and the heat pooling between them.

"just be quick, i have class next period," she breathes out, fingers already at the button of his jeans like she’s been waiting for this moment way longer than she’ll ever admit.

"mm, yeah?" he murmurs, voice rough, hands sliding beneath her skirt with no pretense this time. "gonna let me fuck the attitude out of you before you go learn about... whatever it is you pretend to care about in that lecture?"

"shut up," she snaps, but her voice lacks bite—too breathy, too desperate. her thighs twitch as his fingers graze over the soaked fabric between her legs. he huffs out a laugh, low and triumphant, pushing her underwear aside like they’re a mere formality.

“god, you're so wet,” he mumbles, more to himself than to her, dragging a finger along her center just to feel how soaked she already is for him.

she closes her eyes for a second, jaw tight, cursing herself internally. this was supposed to be a one-time mistake. it wasn’t supposed to live in her skin, under her fingernails, replaying itself in the silence of her dorm and in the middle of lectures.

he presses in closer, one hand bracing beside her, the other freeing himself without hesitation. her breath catches when she feels him—hot and hard against her inner thigh.

“wait—wait,” he mumbles, one hand flying down to his pocket, fishing around in the chaos of his denim until he pulls out the telltale foil packet. he holds it up between two fingers, brows raised, chest still heaving. "we really doing this?" he asks, a teasing edge to his voice but his eyes are serious, locked onto hers.

she’s already leaning back on her hands, legs parted just enough to answer that for him. “clearly,” she mutters, half breathless, half annoyed at herself.

he tears the packet open with his teeth, all while smirking like the cocky bastard he is. “god, you’re hot when you pretend to hate me,” he says, rolling the condom on with practiced ease, low and slow and watching her eyes flicker down and back up like she’s not affected.

“i don’t pretend,” she throws back, but the way she shifts closer, needy and impatient, betrays her completely.

“sure,” he says, stepping in, one hand sliding behind her knee, the other helping her tilt her hips forward. “keep telling yourself that, baby girl.”

“just shut up and—”

and he’s already pushing into her, swallowing her words with a kiss so deep it leaves her dizzy.

he moves quick, like he’s got something to prove—hips snapping forward as his mouth drags a hot line down her jaw to her ear, voice smug and breathless all at once.

“told you you missed me,” he murmurs, right into the shell of her ear, grinning when she lets out a choked sound that definitely isn’t a denial. “you’re so fucking loud, baby… you want everyone out there to know you’re getting fucked by park jimin?”

her nails dig into his back instantly, eyes blown wide as she glares at him with half-lidded fury. “shut up,” she hisses, but it’s weak, pathetic, and ruined by the moan she barely manages to bite back when he thrusts deeper.

his teeth graze her earlobe, tongue flicking before he whispers again, voice darker now. “then you better be quiet,” he says, smug and slow like he’s savoring every second of her unraveling. “unless you want someone walking by to hear how wet you are for me. shit, you’re gonna get us caught.”

her hand flies to his mouth on instinct when he hits that one spot that makes her clench around him, her other grabbing the edge of the desk behind her like she’s holding on for dear life. he groans against her palm, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he pulls back just enough to watch her crumble.

outside, footsteps echo faintly, the muffled sounds of campus life continuing on while she’s stuck in her own personal chaos—hips jerking against his, skirt bunched around her waist, teeth sinking into her bottom lip just to keep from making another sound.

he leans in again, lips brushing over her cheek, whispering with that stupid grin still in place, “bet you’re gonna be thinking about this all lecture. squirming in your seat like a little brat.”

she doesn’t respond. not with words.

just with another needy roll of her hips that says she hates him almost as much as she wants him.

their foreheads press together, breaths tangled and shallow, like they’re trying to find some rhythm that isn’t just pure chaos. it’s dizzying—the tension, the friction, the way her fingers drag down the back of his neck and how his hand is anchored firm on her hip, grounding them both in the whirlwind they created.

her lip is caught between her teeth, eyes fluttering half-closed, lashes casting soft shadows against flushed cheeks as she tilts her head just enough to meet his gaze. it’s the kind of look that shouldn't be allowed this close—something intimate in all the wrong ways, almost too honest for a hookup they keep swearing means nothing.

her hand moves between them, delicate and intentional, guiding him deeper, pulling herself closer to the edge of the desk, the edge of whatever the hell this is.

he curses under his breath, his hands flexing on her thighs like he’s barely keeping it together. “fuck, baby,” he rasps, voice strained. “you trying to ruin me?”

she breathes out a laugh that turns into a moan, her forehead still against his, lips barely brushing like she might kiss him again—or maybe just needs the contact to stay grounded. “thought you already were,” she whispers, hips rising to meet his with each push, each grind that sends another ripple of heat down her spine.

he pulls back just enough to look at her, their noses brushing, pupils blown. there’s a hint of something in his eyes—cocky, sure, but maybe a little too tender for a boy who swears this is nothing.

but she doesn’t let herself look too long. instead, she rolls her hips again, biting back a gasp, tugging at his shirt like it’s going to keep her from falling apart completely.

outside, the world keeps spinning. but inside the janitor’s closet, it’s just them, breathing each other in like they’re both trying to pretend this doesn’t mean everything.

the warning bell blares down the hallway just as she tightens around him, her face buried in the crook of his neck, teeth pressing into her bottom lip to muffle the sound that still manages to escape as a broken moan. her whole body shudders, her grip on his back turning bruising, and he’s right behind her—biting out her name like a curse and a confession as he comes, buried deep, the condom catching everything, thankfully—though neither of them had said a word about it when he put it on, the motion all muscle memory in the dark rush of it all.

his forehead drops to her shoulder, chest heaving, arms trembling slightly from holding himself upright, both of them clinging to each other like they’ve got anything figured out. there’s only the sound of their panting breaths now, mingled and shallow, a silence filled with nothing and everything.

“jesus christ,” she exhales, blinking up at the ceiling, still half-dazed, still trying to remember what the hell she was thinking pulling him in here in the first place.

“you say that like you didn’t just make me see god,” he mutters against her skin, lips brushing her shoulder, the cockiness dulled only by how out of breath he still is.

she laughs, more incredulous than amused, hand sliding into his hair to push him off her shoulder. “get off,” she says, not even really mad, just… done.

he groans dramatically but obliges, stepping back just enough to carefully dispose of the condom—because for all his chaos, park jimin is still annoyingly responsible. she fixes her skirt quickly, cheeks still hot, her whole body feeling wrung out.

outside, they can hear voices—students rushing to class, lockers slamming shut, someone shouting about being late.

he looks at her with that maddening glint again, like they didn’t just almost get caught mid-thrust on top of a dusty desk. “same time next week?” he teases, tilting his head.

“you’re disgusting,” she mutters, shouldering past him to crack open the door.

“you didn’t say no, though,” he calls after her, voice smug.

she doesn’t turn around. doesn’t give him the satisfaction.

but her smirk is undeniable.

—

and so it becomes a thing—no, not a thing, god forbid anyone ever call it that—but a routine. chaotic, impulsive, and entirely unsustainable, but a routine nonetheless.

monday? janitor closet.

wednesday? a suspiciously long "coffee break" at a near-empty study room on the second floor of the library.

friday nights? depending on the chaos of the week, she’s either pressed up against the backseat window of jimin’s car again or slipping out of her dorm after sora falls asleep to end up at his apartment—hood up, hair messy, pretending she’s just out for snacks if anyone asks.

and it should feel transactional by now—detached. like just bodies moving the way they know how to. but the truth is, they’ve gotten good at this. too good.

they know what makes the other crumble. what to whisper. what to bite. how to push until the other snaps.

and the worst part? the more they do this, the harder it is to pretend they don’t care.

especially when he texts her again on a thursday night.

[park jimin 🐣]: you up? don’t make me beg, baby. i got that playlist you like on repeat.

she rolls her eyes. groans into her pillow. she's alone again—sora is sleeping at her boyfriend’s place for the second night in a row—and the silence of the room is taunting her. she looks at her phone, thumbs hovering, trying not to grin at the stupid little "🐣" next to his name.

she doesn’t need to go. she shouldn't. it’ll only make things worse. the longer this goes, the more tangled it gets. but god—her chest clenches a little at the idea of being near him again. and her body? her body is already making the decision for her, warmth pooling in her stomach, anticipation prickling under her skin.

she bites her lip, taps out a reply, and then erases it.

then writes a new one.

[you]: you literally have a girl on speed dial. why me.

a pause.

[park jimin 🐣]: ’cause you’re the only one who knows how to ruin me right. doors unlocked. i’ll be waiting. don’t wear underwear.

her mouth drops open a bit at the last message, heat flaring up her neck. "fuck you," she mumbles under her breath, already slipping off the bed to grab her keys, hoodie, and curse the way her heart races just thinking of seeing him again.

and the worst part?

she's smiling.

and so she goes.

grumbling under her breath the whole time, hoodie tugged low, hands buried in her pockets like she isn’t marching right into the lion’s den. like her whole body isn’t already thrumming with anticipation, that annoying flutter in her chest doing acrobatics the closer she gets to his place.

the walk is short, way too short.

her feet should’ve turned in the other direction.

but they don’t.

by the time she’s climbing the stairs to his apartment, it’s not even nerves—just electricity. tension. that unspoken thread that's been pulling her toward him for weeks now, winding tighter with every look, every smirk, every shared breath between lectures.

she doesn’t knock.

he told her not to.

when she opens the door, it’s warm inside, soft music already playing—something moody and sultry, like he’s trying to be subtle about how badly he wants her. he’s shirtless, sprawled across the couch, sweatpants hanging too low, remote in one hand and a cocky smile blooming on his lips the moment he sees her.

“you listened,” he says like it’s a victory, head tilting lazily. “you’re not wearing any, are you?”

she shrugs, locking the door behind her, pretending she doesn’t feel that heat creeping up the back of her neck. “guess you’ll have to find out.”

he sits up slowly, eyes raking over her like she’s a gift, like he’s been counting the minutes since her last text. “so generous tonight.”

“shut up,” she says, crossing the room in steady steps. “this isn’t a date.”

“never said it was,” he grins, legs already parting so she can slot herself between them, his hands tugging at the hem of her hoodie. “but if it was… you’d be the hottest date i’ve ever had.”

“you’re such a dick, park.”

he leans in, voice husky against her jaw. “you’re here though, aren’t you?”

and just like that, she’s folding into him, his mouth already trailing heat down her neck, her hands tangling in his hair.

there’s no pretending here. not tonight.

the tension snaps, and the rest of the night unravels exactly how they both wanted it to. raw. messy. addictive.

and neither of them says it, but this feels dangerously close to something.

and god does that terrify her.

but there’s something different tonight. something unspoken in the way his mouth lingers at her neck—not just desperate, not just needy. softer. slower. like he’s trying to remember her skin. like he wants her to remember this.

her breath catches before she can stop it.

she hates how easy it is for him to read her.

"don’t start acting like you care,” she whispers, almost to herself, but his hands are already cupping her waist under the hoodie, thumbs stroking slow circles like he’s trying to soothe something he can’t name.

he doesn’t respond. not with words.

just lets himself be pushed back into the couch, lets her take control—because she always does when she wants to forget. wants to remind herself that this is about lust, not him. that her fingers shaking at the hem of his sweatpants are just nerves, not longing.

she sinks to her knees between his legs, hoodie sliding up her thighs. her fingers hook around his waistband like muscle memory, and god, the way he’s looking at her—eyes heavy, lips parted, chest rising and falling like she’s already got him undone—it makes her heart stutter.

“you sure you don’t wanna call this a date?” he murmurs, voice a little wrecked.

she glares up at him, face flushed, fingers pausing at his waistband.

“say that again and i’ll bite.”

he smirks—broad and smug, head tilting back against the couch like he’s already picturing it.

“tempting.”

and she hates how it makes her grin.

hates that he notices.

hates that he's the one person who can make her feel like this—wanting and wanted at the same time.

but for now, she lets herself fall.

lets the heat in her gut take over.

lets his breathy curses and eager fingers write the rest of the night.

and tells herself, again, this doesn’t mean anything.

even though every part of her already knows it does.

so she takes her time—god, too much time.

her hand moving with that slow, torturous rhythm, dragging along the length of him like she’s sculpting him from memory. delicate, deliberate. she watches him like she’s trying to memorize every reaction, every twitch of muscle, every breath that stutters in his throat.

“baby,” he rasps, voice already ruined, “you’re gonna kill me.”

she hums, feigning innocence, lips ghosting along his inner thigh.

“what, this?” her grip tightens just slightly. one slow pull that makes his head fall back and his hips jerk up involuntarily.

“i’m just being nice.”

“that’s your definition of nice?” he pants, half-laughing, half-desperate. he’s gripping the cushions now like they’ve done something to him, thighs tense, trying not to just grab her and make her move already.

she grins, pleased with herself, dragging her thumb over the head of his cock, circling there with a featherlight touch that makes his hips twitch again.

“mhmm. trust me,” she purrs, eyes locked on his, “i could be way meaner.”

and he believes her.

god, he knows it.

because every time he thinks he has the upper hand, she flips the table with a look, a sound, a move that ruins him completely. and right now? with her on her knees, her lashes low, her touch calculated and slow and addictive?

he’s already gone.

“you’re the fucking devil,” he breathes out, hand twitching like he wants to bury it in her hair. but he doesn’t—not yet. not while she’s looking up at him like that, in control and thriving.

she leans in, kisses the inside of his thigh, teeth grazing skin—just enough to make him curse.

“maybe,” she whispers, lips brushing over him now. “but you’re the one who keeps coming back to hell.”

she takes him—slow, sinfully slow—like she’s savoring something rare, something expensive. the flat of her tongue slides along him first, warm and slick and mean in the way it doesn’t linger. he gasps, his whole body tightening under her like a taut wire, his head tipping back into the couch with a groan that punches straight out of his chest.

“fuck—”

it leaves him hoarse, almost breathless, hands gripping the edge of the cushion like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth.

she doesn’t even flinch, lips parting around him, teasing the tip before sinking lower, letting him in with a depth that makes his thighs shake.

his hips twitch once, reflexive—like his body’s begging without his permission—and she hums in warning, nails dragging lightly down the outside of his thigh. don’t test me, it says.

he knows better. he really, really does.

but she’s being wicked. she’s being wicked, and it’s driving him insane. her mouth is warm, too warm, her pace maddeningly slow, suction deliberate and just shy of messy. the sounds she makes around him have his breath hitching in his throat, and the way she looks—eyelids heavy, one hand curling around the base of him, the other pressing gently into his hip to keep him grounded—is too much and not enough all at once.

he lets his head loll to the side, one hand twitching like he wants to reach for her. maybe he wants to push her hair out of the way just to see better. maybe he wants to hold her there, not out of force, but because he needs to hold something.

his voice breaks the silence, low and ragged:

“jesus christ, you’re gonna ruin me.”

and when she pulls back just far enough to lick her lips and say, “that’s kinda the point, baby,”

he knows he’s already wrecked.

he pulls her up with a grip that borders on desperate, hands digging into her waist like he’s been starving for her. she giggles breathlessly, about to make some clever remark, but he cuts her off by crashing his mouth to hers—tongue greedy, tasting her, tasting himself, and not giving a damn about it.

it’s messy. it’s hot. it’s the kind of kiss that steals reason.

her arms wrap around his neck instinctively, pulling him closer like she wants to crawl inside him, and he moves with her, backing toward his bedroom in a stumbling, heated mess.

they don’t break apart, not for a second.

her shirt get tugged off over her head, as he kicks the door open. socks are discarded like an afterthought, one of them flying god knows where. his fingers fumble with the clasp of her bra, finally managing it with a muttered “fuckin’ finally,” and she laughs into his mouth before tugging his bottom lip between her teeth.

his knees hit the edge of the bed first, and they go down together, her landing on top of him with a gasp that turns into a moan when his hands slip under the curve of her ass.

the room is dim, painted in shadows and the heat radiating off them like static. they’re both flushed, half-naked, panting into each other’s mouths with every kiss, and when he flips them suddenly—pressing her into the mattress, his body fitting perfectly between her thighs—it doesn’t feel like a fuckboy thing anymore.

it feels like want.

raw.

real.

and almost dangerous in how much it’s starting to mean.

and the worst part?

neither of them’s ready to admit it.

his hand fumbles inside the nightstand drawer, already so used to the motion it’s second nature by now—pull, tear, roll—but before he can even unwrap it, she plucks the condom from his hand with a look in her eyes that makes his pulse stutter. a quiet little smirk curves her lips, all confidence and silent challenge.

“let me,” she says, not really asking.

his breath catches when her fingers brush against him—slow, teasing, maddening. the wrapper is discarded in a blink and her touch is precise, practiced, sliding the condom down over him with torturous ease. he curses under his breath, head tipping back against the pillow, fingers gripping at the sheets like he might lose his mind if she doesn’t—

—and then she moves.

shifting on her knees, she turns, giving him her back as she settles over him. her skirt rides up further, and her bare thighs bracket his hips, flushed and glowing in the low light. she doesn’t sink down immediately—no, of course not. she takes her time. dragging it out. one hand behind her for balance on his thigh, the other guiding him as she slowly, slowly lowers herself onto him.

his hands shoot to her hips, jaw slack, an incredulous sound caught in his throat.

“fuck,” he groans, voice strained like it’s being torn out of him. “you’re gonna kill me.”

and maybe she is—because the view is insane, and the way she moves? deliberate, fluid, her back arching just enough to drive him wild.

she glances over her shoulder, her eyes lidded and lips parted.

“shut up,” she breathes, hips starting to roll. “you’ll survive.”

but god—will he?

his mouth goes dry watching her—completely, devastatingly, ruined by the sight. her hair spills down her back in soft waves, swaying with every precise roll of her hips. her spine curves beautifully, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him, like she planned this.

and she probably did.

her head turns just enough for her to look at him over her shoulder, eyes half-lidded, lips parted with a breathless little moan. that smirk is still there—smeared now with something darker, needier—and it’s so smug he could lose it.

“like that?” she asks, voice airy and knowing, one brow raised. she already knows the answer, obviously. she’s just making him say it.

his grip tightens on her hips, barely hanging on, knuckles white. “you’re evil,” he pants, his voice strained and rough, “so evil.”

she laughs—a soft, wicked thing—and moans again, dragging her hips in a slow, taunting circle that makes both of them shudder. she’s so warm, gripping him just right, fluttering every time she sinks down to the base, like her body’s as into this as she pretends not to be.

“then why do you keep calling me over?” she throws back at him, another roll, another moan, one hand sliding up to push her hair over her shoulder again.

“because i’m stupid,” he groans, “and you’re—fuck—insane.”

“mm,” she hums, tipping her head back now, lips parted wider. “glad we’re on the same page.”

and then she drops down harder, hips smacking against him with a loud slap and he chokes, his nails digging into her skin like a silent prayer. and the worst part? her laugh that follows.

because she knows—she knows he’s already gone.

her leg slides up slowly, foot planting on the mattress for better leverage, and god—he feels it. deep. the new angle makes her gasp, her back arching just slightly as her fingers dig into the sheets on either side of her thighs for balance.

“oh—” she breathes out, surprised, satisfied, smug all at once, “there it is.”

jimin curses under his breath, hands flying to her hips again as she rocks down, grinding right where it makes her whimper. she rolls her hips in that angle again, a little slower this time, testing the friction, and she shudders when it hits perfectly again.

he watches her from below, fully wrecked, completely mesmerized by the way her body moves—like she’s trying to ruin him on purpose. which… she probably is.

"you like that?" he manages, his voice low, a rasp barely holding on. "mm, of course you do. look at you."

she shoots him a look over her shoulder, smug and flushed, sweat already beading at her temples. “don’t talk,” she murmurs, breath hitching as she does it again, deeper this time, the sound of her skin on his echoing softly through the room. “just… take it.”

“god,” he growls, hands sliding up her back like he’s not sure where to touch first, “you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

she smiles, that wicked little smile again, completely in control.

“that’s the idea.”

she doesn’t even mean to let go like that—doesn’t plan on it, doesn’t brace herself—but it hits so suddenly, so completely, that all she can do is ride the wave.

jimin’s name falls from her lips like a prayer and a curse, drawn-out and broken as her thighs tighten around him, trembling hard enough that it makes her hips stutter. she grips the sheets like they’re the only thing anchoring her to earth, forehead dropping forward with a choked breath.

her walls pulse around him, soaking and snug, and he feels it all.

“fuck—baby…” he hisses through clenched teeth, jaw tightening as he bucks up into her, losing his rhythm and any remaining sanity.

she’s still moving, slow and instinctive, chasing the last traces of pleasure. the slick sound between them only gets wetter, more shameless, her thighs trembling with each little shift of his hips that makes her twitch.

and then he’s gone too.

he lets out a strained groan, hands locked around her waist, holding her in place as he thrusts up once, twice—deep and desperate—before he stills completely, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as he finishes, unraveling beneath her with a helpless growl.

they stay like that for a second. wrecked. breathless. the only sounds left are the heavy inhales, the soft creak of the bed springs, and the messy heartbeat in both of their ears.

she leans forward just slightly, back still arched, hair clinging to her skin.

“…well,” she pants, eyes still half-closed but lips curling faintly, “that was—”

“don’t say it,” he warns, voice gravelled and wrecked.

she snorts, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “—educational.”

he groans like she’s stabbed him, but his hands don’t leave her waist. not yet.

his tongue moves with a kind of practiced cruelty—confident and devastating, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and loves watching her squirm because of it. every flick, every slow circle, every sudden dip has her gasping, thighs twitching around his head.

the obscene wet sounds echo off the walls of his room, loud and shameless in the quiet aftermath of their earlier frenzy. it’s filthy, the way he licks into her—slurping noises paired with the soft, involuntary please she breathes out without realizing.

her hand flies to his hair, gripping tight, anchoring herself. “fuck,” she hisses when he flattens his tongue and drags it slowly upward, his hands now firm on her hips, holding her still even as she tries to ride his face with every roll of her pelvis.

his groan vibrates against her, and she feels it everywhere.

“so loud for me,” he says with a smug sort of murmur, his voice muffled against her, breath hot and humid. “you’re gonna make me think you like me or something.”

she throws her head back with a frustrated laugh, the kind that comes right before another moan slips out. she hates how good he is at this—hates how her body gives away everything she refuses to say.

“shut up,” she pants, yanking gently at his hair, but she doesn’t push him away. not even close.

in fact, she pulls him closer.

the knocking turns into pounding—loud, insistent, angry.

“what the fuck,” she mutters breathlessly, sitting up and scrambling to grab her clothes from where they’d been haphazardly discarded on the floor. her legs are still shaky, her head still spinning, and now she’s trying to pull her shirt over her head while catching her breath and not thinking about how close she was. again.

jimin curses low under his breath, dragging on a pair of sweats and tossing her the hoodie closest to him, which smells like him in the most annoying way possible. he runs a hand through his hair, already halfway to the door, jaw clenched.

“stay here,” he says, not even looking back as he walks down the hall.

“yeah, that’ll go well,” she mutters, fixing her hair in the reflection of his TV screen, still flustered and pissed off.

he opens the door with that casual swagger he always has—like he’s too cool to be surprised—but the smirk dies instantly when he sees Rowan standing there, arms crossed, face thunderous.

“oh,” jimin says flatly, blocking the entrance with his body. “rowan. didn’t know you were stopping by.”

“clearly,” she snaps, eyes narrowing. “who’s here?”

“no one,” he lies without flinching, but his eyes betray a flicker of guilt.

rowan tries to push past him but he stays firm in the doorway.

“move, jimin.”

“no.”

“why not?”

“because I don’t owe you that anymore.”

that makes her pause—just for a second—but then her jaw tightens. “so you are screwing around. you could’ve just said you weren’t interested anymore instead of ghosting me like a child.”

meanwhile, from down the hall, (y/n) tiptoes closer, barefoot, hoodie too big on her, peeking around the corner just as she hears the tone of rowan’s voice rise.

“wow,” she mutters under her breath, biting her lip. she knows she shouldn’t be listening. she knows. but something about hearing another girl refer to him like he was hers stings.

jimin sighs, running a hand down his face. “i wasn’t trying to ghost you, i was trying to avoid this—you showing up uninvited, assuming there’s still something going on.”

“so there isn’t?”

he hesitates. the worst possible moment to hesitate.

rowan scoffs. “you know what? save it, park. i hope she’s worth it.”

and she storms off, letting the door swing shut behind her.

jimin leans against it for a second, exhaling slowly. “fuck.”

he turns—and sees (y/n) standing in the hallway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

she doesn’t look mad exactly. but she does look... disappointed.

“so that’s your usual type, huh?” she says quietly, no venom in it. just curiosity wrapped in sarcasm.

he blinks. “i didn’t ask her to come.”

“yeah, but you didn’t tell her to stop, either.”

and with that, she turns around, heading back toward the bedroom—grabbing her bag off the floor.

“(y/n),” he calls after her.

“don’t,” she cuts him off, voice calm but distant. “you don’t owe me anything, right? just like you told her.”

he swallows hard, watching her leave, and for the first time in a while, jimin isn’t sure what to say.

quietly, always. cigarettesuga

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moeblob · 3 months ago

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Uno Reverse

#stardew valley #sdv shane #farmer asmodeus♡#asmo going in for a surprise kiss but getting a surprise kiss instead #its what these guys deserve ....#asmo is still my funniest file and i love him so much for so many reasons #like the fact i made him and named him after a demon and not a fish like my prev farmers bc i wanted him to go mining #and fighting and raise those skills since i usually neglect combat #but then the game said mmm no thanks you should be town fisherman!#the fact he was so busy fishing for the town that he got a dino egg mid spring year 1 and couldnt hatch it #because no materials or gold for the coop upgrades bc i was too busy fishing #the fact i named his farm The Damned Farm just for giggling #and then had the lewis being like HOWS THE DAMNED FARM? fuck you too then #he was just genuinely one of the funniest things to ever happen to me ...#also his name having a ♡ on his menu but then an actual heart emoji when others saying his name?#chefs kiss to everyone being soooo flirty while telling asmo that his fish were garbage quality #shane was a delight to see out of order too because it made me really happy they could be messes together ........ it was nice #also the fact asmo is the only reason ive seen every romance chain because he would be so petty #to make the town fall for him after being rude to him and making him their fisherman instead of a farmer #funny demon guy with a cat named Lord so that he can say #funny lil Lord can you believe this? comments

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musical-chick-13 · 12 days ago

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#choosing to believe 'i should tell y that'/'you don't say it but she knows' or whatever the actual quotes were. and NOT having a #Wife Mention anywhere. was because he DID tell her outright that he loved her when they were together. perhaps multiple times :)#yeah yeah I know she wasn't The Love Interest™ for the prev. era & the protagonist of said era was the one onscreen here but it's not like.#about that? it's about the fact that THIS got acknowledged at some point. during this run. despite the fact that it wasn't written by #That Guy. but the OTHER outside-era love interest was just never mentioned as Being Important.#and this happened during the Previous Era too! the one (1) mention of her was about how New Love Interest was a Better Person™#like why. I wonder. is THIS love interest the ONLY ONE who doesn't get acknowledged outside of her story??#I WONDER. WHAT THE DIFFERENCE. COULD POSSIBLY BE.#idk man. I. again. probably wouldn't be so mad if this didn't happen EVERY TIME there was a remotely Flawed™ woman literally anywhere.#(as in 'not intended to be a Relatable Everywoman' and 'doing things/having qualities that are genuinely unpalatable')#I feel like I shouldn't use the anti tag because I know people browse that & I have a feeling I'm the only one with this specific grievance #I have no desire to hear 5000 screeds about how I'm Making Shit Up or being Insane™#(<-remember when someone actually DID call me that over mentioning Shitty Fandom Behavior once? good times.)#mel's petty era #In the Vents #mel screams about fictional ladies again #I think I need to get off this website for a while. so I don't make anymore negative posts #I promise I'm just as tired of my own complaining over this as y'all are #actually. for future blacklisting. if I ever bring this up again and don't want to use the anti tag. you can block/filter:#parasocial tv enemy

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dilf-docs · 5 months ago

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Call It What You Want

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: you and pedro are married, but you've kept it a secret up to the point you sometimes forget there's supposed to be a golden band on your finger. but then you both get cast in your first movie together. the chemistry is off the charts, and it starts to catch upon you: will the lines between shipping and reality finally blur?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (ñom), smut, dry humping, oral (m. receiving) while pedro wears the skirt™️ (welcome to another episode of the writer's barely disguised fetish), p. in v., teeny bit of angst because i malfunction if i don't bring sad vibes to the function, the worst ever attempt of comedy witnessed by human kind, they're so down bad it hurts, jealous!reader, possesive!pedro, reader speaks spanish and may or may not have direct/indirect latino blood somewhere, use of spanglish but no translations ☹️ (boo go do your homework, citizens. that's what u get for making my dieter bravo fic flop BYE), i transcripted two real interviews for this so keep those likes, reblogs and comments up in the air where i can see 'em 🪓🪓

word count: 11,706 words

side note: hello! this is me, sliding my cv to become president of the pedro pascal fics. i'm kidding, just on duty to fulfill another request 🫡 believe it or not, i envisioned something like this but for myself IJBOL we have to keep the delusional levels UP!! i hope this meets ur expectations, it was fun to write :)

part: prev | masterlist | next

"Please welcome, the internet's newest darling, Y/n L/n!"

You walk into the set, cameras flashing bright and the band playing on the back. You hug Jimmy Fallon, and when he notices your body trembling he tells you everything will be alright. So did your manager before you stepped inside, but you can't help the nerves. You've never been this big before, and now it's all coming down together without letting you breath.

You take your seat and so does Jimmy.

"Hello, Y/n. This is your first time here, right?"

"Am I being too obvious?" you snort. The crowd laughs with you.

"Don't worry. It happens, especially when you're so young"

"Oh, please" you blush. "I can promise you there are kid actors who could handle this better than I am right now"

"Kid stars?" he lets out one of his famous cackles. "No need to be humble. You are great! Let's just talk about the year you've had: big breakout roles, ascend to fame, you're rocking it!" the crowd cheers, and you again turn into a flustered mess.

"Yeah, I suppose. It's hard to dimension when you've started as an extra for popular shows, to now being, you know, the main face of projects. But I could get used to it" you smile, "it's been a dream. I still can't believe it sometimes, look- I'm shaking"

The camera pans closer to the hand you're showing to Jimmy.

"Oh my God, even big stars like you get nervous"

"Big star? I wish I could feel like a constellation. I'm feeling more like a red dwarf star, baby"

The whole place bubbles in laughter. You feel better, your manager even giving you a thumbs up from behind the cameras.

"So, Y/n" Jimmy says once the laughter dies. "You just got casted in the upcoming Gladiator II movie, directed by Ridley Scott. How does it feel to be on your first big movie, alongside names like Paul Mescal, Denzel Washington and Pedro Pascal?"

You try to steady your heartbeat. "First of all, I have to say, it's such an honor to work with Scott. I grew up watching his movies. Like, Thelma and Louis is definitely my go-to movie. So, like, getting paired with such a talented cast is as awesome as terrifying" you answer with a laugh.

"Talking about that, you see" he leans closer, like he'll tell a secret. "I've heard things about you and a certain future co-star of yours"

You shift your position on the couch, your ring(less) finger itching. You have to avoid breathing in relief when Jimmy pulls out a picture.

"Oh. My. God"

He stiffles a laugh. No way. Has the room's temperature suddenly gotten hotter? Why is your face burning?

"Will you tell us the story behind this?" he asks, the camera focusing on the picture in question. The audience laughs, and you pray to God this is a nightmare, because it's too much embarrasment for a human to bear.

"Okay" you clear your throat, coughing awkwardly. "For my 25th birthday, I uploaded a bunch of pictures on Instagram, including ones where I was a teenager" you begin to giggle, "So. Um, there was this one, you see, that's, me, in my childhood home's bedroom, and my fans were quick to notice the poster above my bed"

"You mean, this one?" and Jimmy points it out. You cover your face with your palms. "It's a... Narcos poster" the audience laughs as you get redder. "A Pedro Pascal's Narcos poster"

"I know" you groan. "Picture this: me 18, and while my friends had posters of their favorite bands and artists, I was so different because I had a whole ass poster of a crime drama show about the world's most famous drug dealer on my bedroom" you recall with a laugh. "It was hard to explain to my mom. I believe she thought I wanted to sign for the DEA or something. When I told her I was going to be an actress, she was so relieved! She said: Oh, well. You'll die, but of hunger! Not a bullet in your head, at least"

"Oh. I'm so sorry. You proved her wrong though!"

"I did! Don't worry, Jimmy. She's my biggest fan now" you look at a specific camera before saying, "Te amo mami!"

"I see you speak spanish. I sometimes forget" he comments. "You've got one thing in common with Pedro, it seems. Think that'll make working with him less awkward?"

"I just hope he forgives me or I'm capable of moving out of the country and changing names" you giggle. "Pedro, lo siento!"

"Well, that's Y/n L/n, everyone! Pedro Pascal's number one fan" you burst out laughing in shame. "More on her lastest movie after the break"

mandoshoney: tell me i'm not the only one who started shipping pedro pascal and y/n l/n PLEASE can't wait to get content of them interacting ㅤㅤann-gell: mandoshoney y/n's pedro pascal's controversially young gf era starts now! i wonder how the press tour for #gladiatorII will go 🤔 unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they are dating ㅤㅤstarlightt180: unhing3dprincess ptwt can never tweet like normal ppl…wdym you're betting your grandma?!!!?

You were never a fan of secrets.

But then Pedro waltzed into your life with his charming smile and iconic mustache, and before you knew it, you had married him off in some church in California one random sunday morning ("I love you so much, can't wait to marry you, cariño" "If you can't wait any longer, why not now?")

Flash forward, four years later, and you'd think such event would be plastered all over the internet. But there is a reason why only you, family, a selected number of friends and your agents knew: you kept it a secret.

To the world, he was Chile's most elegible bachelor and you were a young rising star. The public loved both of you for the same reasons: charming persona and acting skills. Yet inside the privacy of your home, he was Pedro and you were y/n, wife and husband; he was yours as you were his.

And of course, no marriage is perfect, and your first real challenge is rather funny: you both get casted in your first movie together.

It shouldn't be hard, but it is. Being inside the Gladiator II set during seven months, so far away yet so close at the same time, was torture. You were Rome's empress and he's Marcus Acacius, yet behind the scenes, the actual married couple were you both.

It was hard to pretend you didn't know what he looked like without clothes when he wore his bathing suit, or that you didn't know his favorite food when Paul asked, or acting like you weren't interested in dating when a local in Malta during your trip at the beach asked you out (he didn't know who you were. You were flattered when he called you pretty in such a hot European accent, but then Pedro appeared from seemingly "nowhere" and you remembered what your real favorite accent was. He immediately called you bonita after that)

It was so hard to keep hands to yourself when he walked by you, covered in fake blood. To not think about licking it all over and under his armour. So was to pretend the thought of dry humping him with his Roman skirt on wasn't tempting. Or that the urge to kiss him got harder and harder to fight each passing day, even getting to a point where you would envy Connie for being able to kiss your husband in the open more, a privilege you didn't have.

You were loosing your mental health here. But Pedro was no better.

It was so hard to see you, the Moroccan sun shining over your features like you were an angel. Otherworldly. That he'd see red when you'd finish filming a scene with Joseph, forcing himself to interrupt the small chat you'd engage in after. He too couldn't keep pretending he didn't want to tear off those silk dresses out of your body, and kiss you out in the open like Joseph did.

He almost failed once, cornering you in the hallway of the hotel you were staying. His hot breath lingered on your neck. I miss you, he had said. You felt his hard brush the inner of your thigh. We can't, you whispered in a dragged out voice.

It was hard.

So you gave him your used panties, and you swear you could hear him jacking off in the bathroom of his room, next to yours. He'd screamed your name, and your hand had found it's way to your dripping cunt, doing what he was supposed to do; touching you the way he did. And you came, drowned out moans against your pillow. But it wasn't like when he did it.

But God has heard your prayers.

For the first time in weeks, you're lucky. You find Pedro sitting alone in the cafeteria, his phone in hand. He's still wearing his armour and skirt, not bothering to change for the break. You aren't God's strongest soldier, but you're trying not to go down on him so badly right here and now.

"Hey" he raises his head when he hears your voice, smile adoringly. It only grows wider when he notices you alone. "Thought you'd never get rid of Paul. He's like, stitched to you"

"Same can be said about you and Joseph" you sit across him, and despite most of his tone being playful, there are still hints of jealousy behind. It arouses you deeply, and with this hot summer day above you, your skin isn't the only thing that's getting sticky.

"In case you haven't read the script, I'm his wife" you wink. "Sorry this is how you find out"

He laughs loudly, and God, how have you missed that laugh. Sure, it's been there when you've been out with the cast together, but it doesn't tingle your chest as when you're the cause of it; it feels like it's for you only, and that's what makes it special.

"I miss you so much" he whispers, his hand sliding across the table, finding yours. His thumb carresses your soft palm, and you melt under Pedro's tender touch.

"I do too" you sigh, but it's instantly replaced by what could only be described as a smug face. You lean closer, whispering on his ear, the warm meeting cold. He shivers. "Wanna know something?"

"I'm all ears"

"I just came back from walking. Guess what?No one is 'round here" you lean back against your chair, shit-eating grin on your face as all his body tenses up. "Made sure of it. The trailer zone is empty too"

Pedro gulps, his adam's apple bobbing as his eyes look at you.

"Y/n" calling your name as a warning.

"What? Can't a girl find ways to have her husband all for herself?" you snort. "Please say yes" you let go of his hand, but the free fingers now travel across his broad chest, taunting him. "C'mon, we both deserve a break"

He can't say deny you anything, can he? You know it, he knows it.

Before you register, his big hand engulfs yours as you run across the set. You giggle at his rushed steps, even more when you stand before his trailer and he's fumbling his slippery hands with the doorknob, sloppy movements erratic.

"But you told me to stop" you tease, and he doesn't even let you add more because he's pushing you inside, forcing you with rough calloused hands to a chair and then you to sit over his lap.

"Fuck, babygirl. I've spoiled you way too much" he groans against your lips. "Lo sabes, ¿verdad? Just can't say no to you"

Your eyes darken dangerously, the hunger on them mirroring his own.

"How could you ever say no to this?"

You press your chest against his broad one as your lip bites into his lower one, teasing. Pedro feels his underwear getting tighter when your tongue finds its way inside his mouth, even getting a glimpse of the taste of the strawberries you had earlier before.

He deepens the kiss, and when you pull away to catch your breath, he doesn't waste his lonely mouth and busies himself with the task of kissing your sun-kissed neck, licking and pressing his lips under your jaw. Pedro goes even lower, down until he's reached your collarbone, making you groan a bit under his wet sloppy needy mouth. He's enjoying how putty you are under his intense kissing, fingers in his curls, that have begun to damp under the ablaze of the small space and pleasure that fills the air.

"Kiss me again in my lips" you whine after a while of him teasing you with kisses that get only rougher. "Pretty please, papi"

You cup his face in your hands, and Pedro's back to kissing you in the mouth, tasting all of your insides as he hasn't had in what feels like a lifetime.

"Of course, baby. Missed this pretty mouth" he mumbles in between hot kisses, his now growing boner pressing into you.

"Baby" you giggle. The skirt he's got on may hide it, but your fingers refused to wait, pulling it up. His bulge presses against the shorts he's got under the skirt, and you can feel your pussy and mouth drool. "We have to do something about this big boy" your hands pull down the short, leaving just his underwear on. He's about to remove the skirt, but your demanding hands stops him. "This stays"

His brown concerned eyes make you laugh, but you don't give him time to think about it, rather grinding against his erection. Pedro's breath hitches when he feels your daring movements, bucking his hips against yours.

The friction is addicting, and he captures your lips once again to make you feel what he can't with words: how fucking good this feels.

You keep moving over his aching dick. Your husband throws his head back, groaning in pleasure at the way your hips move against him, knowingly. His hands find their way to your ass under the flowy almost translucent skirt you chose to change in, gripping the rosy skin tightly, hands almost covering all of it.

"You wore this for me, right, cariño? Knew I couldn't say no" he groans, firm hands on your cheeks, the grinding meeting his hips now harsher. "Less with you walking around with this slutty skirt of yours"

You make little sounds he's obssesed with, dripping out of your filthy mouth.

"Fuck" Pedro groans after a while, "I need to have you, mami. Missed you so much" eager fingers make it to your top. He growls, deep within him―guttural, ready to pull it off as he mumbles naughty wife when he realizes you got no bra on, chastising you for a "rushed" plan that seemed planned all along, when a sound cuts through the air.

You both stop.

The sound gets clearer.

It's a knock. A knock at his door.

A knock in Pedro's trailer.

And you are inside. Both.

While you're grinding him.

With his skirt on.

(It's time to build a bomb and kill yourselves off and whoever is stading behind that door)

"Pedro!" a familiar accent calls. Peudrou. It's Paul. "Hey, man. Just wondering if you are here"

He's debating on speaking up when he sees your red face and rising-falling chest before him.

"Answer" you whisper breathlessly. He tries not to groan when he fills you slip out of the spot in his middle while also trying not to think about murdering Paul as soon as he gets out.

Aside from the order, you're unexpectedly quiet, and Pedro quirks an eyebrow at you. He knows you better―you're his wife after all, and if there's something he's aware of, is your inability to loose.

"I'm here" tone clipped and annoyed. But no footsteps backtracking are heard: the Irish man is still there.

You bite your lip, watching the skirt with his legs spread, a sight too tempting. Also, he was still hard, as hard as the task to not go and keep doing your job.

Oh, fuck this shit.

Your devilish hand equals the grin in your face, fingers making their way toward his unattended bulge.

"What are you doing here?" Paul asks, but Pedro's attention has completely deviated, now focused on how they land right over his clothed dick, skirt pulled up by your other hand. "I thought you were at the cafeteria"

"Yeah?" but it comes out strained, yet the younger man doesn't notice or comment.

His hips raise when your fingers press his member, massaging it.

"Yeah" he uses a tone that equals a duh. "You texted me yourself"

Pedro rolls his eyes, wishing desperately he would go away, annoying him just as much as a fly hovering above fresh food. Talking about food, fuck, weren't you hungry? He tried to warn you, holding your wrist, but all resolve was lost the moment you looked in his eyes: he immediately pulled down his briefs, dick sprouting hard.

"Well, changed my mind" his tone falters in between words, member now free from the confines of his tight underwear.

"Are you tired, man? You sound tired" Paul comments on his tone. "Came to rest?"

You spit on your hand, and he gulps.

"Somethin' like that"

You start to jerk him off, leaving little wet kisses and licks just above his dick. Pedro's eyes are hypnotized, glued to every lick of yours across his girth, the spit making your movements smoother. Sexier. Fuck.

"Well, sorry to break it to you but rest time is over. They want us back on set now"

Your tight needy lips are wrapped around his his length and it's so hard to keep the talk normal when he justs wants to yell at Paul to fuck off. Your hand is there too; you are as of help as much as you aren't.

"I'll be there, Paul, just―Fuck!"

But his attempt to cover a moan doesn't go unnoticed.

"Are you alright in there?" he tries to enter, but Pedro locked the door. He's yelling he's fine, but Mescal doesn't sound convinced. "I can't go inside; it's locked. Are you sure you are okay, mate?"

"Didn't want you to take a picture of me drooling on my sleep" he manages to get out in a monotone voice. A real win if you take into account you've gotten to a point where you squeeze under his cock, massaging his balls.

"Smart move!" he chuckles from outside. "I guess I'll see you there"

Pedro covers a moan with his palm as he's throwing his head back in pleasure. He can feel his orgams looming over, minstrations growing sloppier around his pulsating cock, the need to fill your greedy evil mouth with his seed making him sick. He's a simple man: he just wants his pretty wife to fuck his cock silly and come in her mouth in peace. Is that so hard to get this days?

Paul seems to be finally gone as Pedro can't keep containing his grunts anymore, steps moving: until said steps sound closer again.

"Oh, I almost forgot, have you seen Y/n? I can't find her anywhere" it's coming. His orgasm is coming in the absolute worst moment. He can feel you gagging at his hard rock cock, hitting the back of your throat now. Still, your hands don't loose their grip on his cock and skirt, determination filling that sexy little body of yours. It was rather admirable the effort you were putting in this. "Think she went to the beach? She said she loved it. God, that little rebel. Anyway, if you see her, tell her-"

He leans his head back once again, seeing stars. No one knows him like his wife, truly.

The sight of you drooling from your chin, the wet sounds of him fucking himself onto your mouth as your spit-coated fingers pump his girth, you gulping down the precum from his tip, his fingers holding your face roughly by the cheeks...

"Yes, Paul, yes!" Pedro barks, barely hiding the moan that erupts from his ribcage, thick shots of his hot cum hitting your tongue and deep of the throath. "Fuck off and let me get ready"

"Jesus, mate, chill. I'm sorry. See you there"

And Paul Mescal's hovering fly ass is finally gone.

"Poor Paul" you say as soon as you pull off his length, voice raspy as you huff for air. Pedro lovingly cleans rests of your saliva and his cum from your chin as he chuckles at how much audacity, courage and horniness could fit in such a small young body. "You've ruined the friendship"

"You think?" he licks off some as you sit on his lap again, tongue directly on your face. You feel aroused again, but time's up. "It's your fault. That and this"

He points down.

"Just as you used that pretty head of yours to think of the trouble you just made, think of an excuse for Mr. Ridley about the skirt"

at0michips: wait wdym paul is sick??? ㅤㅤl-u-n-a-m: at0michips he's died vnightx: i'm wondering who'll do now the do you even know me interview with pedro now :( i was so excited!!! hope they don't cancel it :( ㅤㅤunhing3dprincess: vnightx i bet my grandma it's y/n ㅤㅤat0michips: unhing3dprincess why do u keep betting ur grandma omg 😭😭😭

"You know what I think would be fun?" Pedro comments while you wait for the interview's set to be prepared.

Tour press has finally begun. That meant you could go home for a while after the filming wrapped, just to be back for the promotion of the film. You were excited of course, the experience new and thrilling. After much needed battery recharging and husband/wife time, you were ready to take over the world.

But then Paul got sick.

Today's interview was scheduled to be him and Pedro, but since he was unavailable, they paired him with you, since you both spoke Spanish (which felt slightly racist in your opinion), and because Fred and Joseph were already paired up for the other.

You leave your coffee, knowing he's about to say something stupid or endearing, perhaps both, brown liquid probably spilling out of your mouth. Or worst, nostrils.

"Tell me"

"What if we left little hints that we're together?" his smile is one of mischief. "Like you could wear my cap, or I could wear a chain with your initial around my neck, like Ryan Gosling did at the Barbie premiere"

"Or as Taylor Swift sang" you counter. "But Pedro, dear, you're underestimating our fans. You don't think they'll match it sooner than we think?"

"Maybe" he agrees. That's just what I want. "What's funny is we're about to do a type of interview where we could blow our cover"

"Maybe" you repeat, "or maybe you don't know all about me as much as you think, Mr. Pascal"

He fake gasps, feigning hurt. "Is this a dare, Mrs. Pascal?"

"No" you try to be mature for once, cutting the banter as much as you'd like to go on and kiss him right there. "Also, remember to answer incorrectly sometimes, you know..."

"There's no way I'm letting you win though"

"Pedro, no seas necio!"

The producers arrive just in time to let you know it's ready.

"After M'lady" he's back to being charming as he is, not as husband charming but just Pedro Pascal charming. The nerve of this guy to do it in front of the LADbible crew.

"Whatever" you grumble, the nerves getting the best of you as you realize this interview may or may not give away more than you've been allowed before.

"Hello, I am Y/n L/n" you present yourself. Wow, the camera is really close. This isn't going to end well.

"And I'm Pedro Pascal"

Hearing his voice soothes you. It's okay, y/n, you got this. "And this is Do You Really Know Me- No wait, it's do you even know me. Okay, let's start again: Hello, I'm Y/n and this is-"

"I don't even know anymore" Pedro jokes, making you laugh. "Do you even know me?" he asks while looking forward, now making the crew laugh.

"This is Pedro Pascal, that'll do" you sigh.

"This is gonna be sad, she's not going to know any of these" he says, but in reality, he's mocking you, the mischief in his eyes glowing as he only looks at you tauntingly.

"Same can be said about you" you tease, "we're like a million years away"

"That's not true!" he gasps, "I watch your every move" punctuating each word. God, you try not to make a face. "I have Google alerts on you"

If he was gonna play, so were you.

"Glad to know I have you alerted" with the sweetest voice ever, seeing how his friendly façade falters for a bit at the tone you've used. You laugh, and Pedro takes the chance to laugh it off too.

After the introduction, they ask one of you to keep score, and you offer yourself because, well, you don't trust Pedro.

"I'll go first" you say. "Which was my first ever role in the industry? As an extra during an episode of Stranger Things, as a voice actor in A dog's purpose" you can't help but laugh, "or as a back-up dancer in Hustlers?"

"In Hustlers?" Pedro inquires in disbelief. "You're telling me you were in Hustlers?! I didn't even know you could dance!"

Lies. You and Pedro sometimes put some bachata and dance in the kitchen. God bless Juan Luis Guerra.

"Jennifer Lopez and I are practically besties" you answer nonchalant.

You know the answer. He does too. But he chooses the last one for comedic purposes.

"I'll go with Hustlers. Now that I'm looking at you, you do have a... dancer face"

"It's okay, you can say the forbidden word. I'll take it as a compliment" you laugh, "you're wrong, though. The answer is Stranger Things"

"No way!" and it sounds as if he genuinely didn't know. Good lying son of a bitch; Jim Carrey on Liar, Liar would've been proud.

"Yes. If you look in the background of season two, on this one episode where Nancy and Steve appear to have broken up during a halloween party, you can see me drinking from a cup on a corner"

"That's so crazy"

"Yeah, I was twenty already, yet playing a highschooler" you giggle. "Wow, time flies by. Anyway, we're both at zero. Your turn"

"What film did my dad not let me see at the cinema when I was, uh, ten years old?" Pedro reads from his card. "Rambo: first blood, The Breakfast Club, Day of The Dead"

"I'm going to base this in the year you were born. Okay, so 1975. Let's see" one of the things Pedro loves about you is that you're like a film encyclopedia, but right now, that'll cost him a point. "They all came out the same year, and they were also R rated. Hmmh, I'll choose The Breakfast Club"

Your analysis was just mindless bragging really. You knew the answer the moment he started reading the question, because the anecdote came during a time he heard you listening to the movie's soundtrack ("Did you know that my dad...")

"You complain about Paul all the time, but you're just the same" he comments. "She's a real competitor, people!"

You flush in embarrasment. "Okay, that's one for me. Next question" you read the card in your hands. "What pet do I own? An orange cat named Louis after my favorite singer, a fish, or a Shih Tzu named after my brother"

The orange cat lives with you both. You're curious as to how he'll answer.

"You aren't naming a Shih Tzu frickin' Fernando" he laughs, so loud, it ends up catching up to you and the crew. "I'll go with the cat"

"That's correct" you lament. "How would you know?"

As if the damn cat doesn't love him more than he loves you.

"I follow you on Instagram" he defends himself. Clever. "We are, um, what do you call it-"

"Oomfs"

"I'm not gonna try to pronounce your made up language. Okay, my turn. Which of these characters I've played in Saturday Night Live? Naughty daddy, protective mom, or weird uncle who has a creepy sneeze" he reads out loud in a confused tone.

This is easy. It was all over your timeline.

"Protective mom" you answer on a beat.

"This isn't fair, that was really popular!" he complains.

"It's still two for me and one for you" you mock. "Now, what is the nickname the internet has given me? I won't give you clues because it's an easy one"

"Easy? You said we were million of years apart and now I'm supposed to know?"

"Well, you seem to manage Instagram so I think you'll be just fine" you tease, and Pedro just wants to rip that smirk off of you. So he caves in first.

"It's people's princess"

"What?!" your eyes grow comically large, shimmering with betrayal as you shout with an incredulous tone. "I can't believe you know" more like can't believe you said it.

"You're royalty! How am I supposed to not know that, internet darling? Besides, told you: I keep my eye on you" and he winks.

This motherfucker. Oh, he's totally sleeping on the couch tonight.

"Talk about internet darlings" your snarky tone comes out, and Pedro knows he's pissed his competitive wife off. "I guess we have a tie. Your turn"

"What are the initials of my full name?" his brows furrow. "I forget. JBPP, JPBP, JBPP"

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you recite. "B, of course"

"But that's too easy, everyone with Google knows it!" but then he's leaning into your ear, whispering in a very low voice to make sure only you hear. "I'll let it pass, though. Love hearing you pronounce my name, mami"

Your face grows obscenely red. "I'm back ahead. Let's see if you can keep up. Okay, here it goes" you read the card, "what is the director I've stated I want to work with? Greta Gerwig, Pedro Almodóvar, or Quentin Tarantino"

"Pedro Almodóvar, no? You said you were jealous I had already worked with him" he playfully nudges you. Too much contact, face hot again. Maybe in group interviews you'll do better, because right now, you're doing a rather poor job at controlling yourself, even as an actor; you can already picture your agent pulling her hair behind the cameras.

"It's Greta Gerwig, actually"

"What?! No way, you told me this!" he grumbles. "This game is rigged"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm still jealous. I just think working with Greta Gerwig is peak womanhood, and I gotta live that. So, Greta, if for some reason this silly video gets to you, call me. I promise I'm not that childish"

"She is" Pedro slips in, "don't call her. So unprofessional" in a mocking exaggerated tone.

"Whatever, you sore looser. Me three, you two. Next!"

"Fine. Which of these songs would I have played at my funeral? My Heart Will Go On, Purple Rain, Nothing Compares To You"

He looks at you, silently pleading you to not answer correctly. Your competitive side screams in agony.

"I have no idea. Why do I feel you've already said it somewhere, though? I'll go with Nothing Compares To You, because the first its too corny for you and the second too epic"

He scoffs, amused at the fact that you did obey, but at what cost? Pedro's well aware his princess can get as competitive, if not worse, than Paul.

"You're saying I'm not epic enough for Purple Rain? Too bad, because that's the answer" you grunt, crossing your arms. "That's right, I am cool enough to have it played. I guess we're tied again!"

"No, you don't loose a point. It's still three to two. This just gives you the opportunity to tie"

"W-wait a minute"

"Settle down" you pat his thigh, "you can still try, handsome"

He gulps when your hand meets his skin, despite the layer of clothes. It's still something that gets him on edge, no matter the years you've known each other. And handsome? You came here for blood.

"Okay, here's your chance: what image of me became trending topic on twitter? An image of me eating a typical dish from my country, an image of me watching Deadpool and Wolverine with glasses while Hugh Jackman's shirtless scene reflects on them or C, me meeting Taylor Swift at the backstage of the Eras Tour"

"The typical dish is tempting" he muses out loud, "but I'll go with the Taylor Swift one because that sounds like something that'd trend"

"You're right" you throw your card. "I'm not complaining though. Best day of my life"

"Does this mean I'm winning?" he beams excitedly. "Oh, in your face Paul! I will finally win something!"

"Slow down, cowboy. There's still some left"

He purses his lips. "Let me have this one thing, would you? Guess not. Here it comes" he starts to read his card, "At school I competed in state competitions, in which sport? Soccer, lacrosse, swimming"

"Swimming" you answer hastily, trying not to think on Pedro wearing tight little swimsuits, as you've only seen him wearing swim trunks.

"Okay, that's dissapointing. Please continue"

"I participated in which play while I was in highschool? Hamlet, The Iliad or Much Ado About Nothing"

You doubt he remembers. The only time it ever came up, was when you visited your parent's house and a photography of you during said play was showed to him by your dad.

"The Iliad, right?" you laugh. The answer is wrong: It's Hamlet. "What? I swear it was that one! It's just you have very..." beautiful is at the tip of his tongue but he refrains himself, "...very greek features"

You can't help but laugh.

"Why of course! This is a face people go to war for"

"I agree" your heart skips a beat, "but I don't think I'll make it that far, if we talk about a war"

"You big fat liar!" you slap his arm playfully. "You've played all sort of characters, from soldiers of all nationalities and places, and like, superheroes, f*****g Joel Miller, even a DEA agent. You at least learned something!"

"Wow, slow down, this isn't a filmography recount" he jokes. Liar, you mouth to the cameras. "Okay, last one: I became a viral sensation for eating what type of sandwhich in LADbible's snack wars: BLT, PB&J, grilled cheese"

You remember the video fondly. Even your brother had sent it to you, along a text that said: Isn´t this your husband?

"PB&J, I win!" you cheer, instantly getting off the chair to do a celebratory dance. Pedro doesn't say anything, just throwing the cards away while the fondness of his eyes betrays him.

pyramiidsf: i want someone to look at me the way pedro looks at y/n mybritishstyle: guys they're just friends 😭 he's like that with all his female co-stars ㅤㅤann-gell: mybritishstyle me when i'm delusional af mandoshoney: where's that girl that's always betting her grandma??? SHE WAS RIGHTFLKRGJ

"Hello, I'm Paul Mescal. I'm here with my friends from the cast of Gladiator II" Connie and you both raise your palms to greet the camera, laughing when you realize you'd done it at the same time, "and we are going to play a game about how well we know each other for Vanity Fair" the irish man introduces the interview you're filming today.

"Did they prompt you?" Pedro speaks up, "or did you just make that up on the fly?"

You laugh a bit too loud, hoping they cut it off in the editing process.

Paul goes first, taking up a card with the first question written on it.

"Okay. Question: What's my least favorite day of the week?"

"Tuesday" answers Joseph once Paul is done reading. "Oh, you're writing it down?"

"Yeah" he answers.

"You just wrote Tuesday" Connie points out, Paul's card on his legs. You laugh along the rest.

"Yeah" he repeats laughing. "I actually, when you said Tuesday" Yeah, he said Tuesday Pedro adds on the background of laughter. "I was like...I'm gonna give everybody a point for that"

"I think I deserve a point for being observant" Connie complains.

Everyone gets a point and Paul moves towards the next question.

"What was the name of my character in Normal People?"

"Connell" both you and Joseph answer, looking at each other before squinting your eyes playfully.

"Callum" Pedro answers out loud at the same time, and you laugh. He clearly had slept when you played it for a re-watch last summer.

"No, you're out" Paul pokes Pedro next to him.

"Connel" Joseph repeats, and Fred agrees to the same answer.

Paul then asks Connie what's hers after he confirms you three.

"Connor?" she asks, confused.

"Incorrect. Three points" while pointing you three.

"You got wrong" he tells Pedro, "Callum's a different character"

"See? You just don't pay attention when you watch things" you blurt out, stopping yourself before adding the with me. It would be harder to come back from that, but so is this as everyone looks at you, even your husband, subtle panic in his eyes. Where the cameras this close? How long had you been silent?

"It's just, quick funny story" you improvise. "Pedro didn't know much about Paul's career, and as I am a fan, I took the time to show him and recommend him your stuff" Paul smiles. "Clearly, my fanatism didn't rub on Pedro but a girl can try"

He laughs, before saying "So the answer is Connell" and you try so hard to remain normal like the energy hasn't shifted.

"He only plays characters with the letter C in the name" Pedro jokes, chewing on a toothstick he seemingly pulled out of nowhere. More laughs follow, and you are so grateful for how he's handling your little metida de patada.

"What's number one on my bucket list?" he asks next, "and don't look at my answer"

The marker is the only sound to be heard, and then Pedro jokingly tries to take a peek.

"No peeking" Connie berates as Pedro laughs.

"You're not gonna be able to see that" Paul replies in an anyways tone.

You repeat the same joke, before Fred blocks you. "Not you too!"

Paul finishes after a while, Connie commenting it was long. Joseph raises his hand.

"Yes, Joseph"

"Is it to see the Great Wall of China?" he asks.

"No, but it's in that-"

"It's close, isn't it?" you interrupt.

"...family of thought" he finishes.

"It's to go and see something" Pedro points out.

"Okay. Rajasthan" tries Connie. "Go to Rajasthan, for a tour"

"Travel to South America" Paul interrupts with the correct answer, "I've never been to South America"

"I'm from South America" Pedro comments, never missing a chance to shout out his dear Chile.

Paul jokes about him getting three points while the rest of you laugh.

"I was born in South America. 17 points for Pedro"

"I want points too" you jump on the joke. "I know Spanish, so I can take you there and avoid you getting lost, mi querido amigo"

"But who was born there?" Pedro counters, "you get no points"

"I think Joseph is the only person who gets a point there" Paul adds, "because everybody just jumped on the bandwagon"

"He said to visit the Great Wall of China" Pedro protests, "which is nowhere near South America"

"It really is not" Connie agrees.

"Qué gente tan tramposa" you complain. "That's unfair. I remove my offer"

"Think about bucket list, and he came up with travel to bit" he tries to reason Joseph's point.

"And by the way, where in South America?" Pedro questions.

"Don't fight, don't fight" pleads Joseph, the calm one. Fred just sits there, enjoying the chaos.

"I want, any, I want to do a big tour of everywhere" Mescal defends himself.

Pedro doesn't back down. "'Cause it's very different"

Paul starts to get angry too. Jesus, men. Competitive men of it all.

"I know it's very different" making an annoyed face.

"Well, different is nice" you intervene, a hand placing in Pedro's left shoulder. "If you stop giving points for free, I'll come with you to the big everywhere tour"

"Alright" Paul agrees. "When's my birthday?" is the next question.

"February" all of you say.

Joseph struggles with the date first, saying seventh, then fourth. Fred tries with ninth, Pedro with eight, and then Joseph starts counting from one to two. Fred counts from eleven to twelve.

"Second" Mescal reveals. "Point to Joseph"

"Oh my God, you guys are good" Connie mentions.

"That's all my questions" and it's time to move on the next one: which happens to be your dear husband, Pedro.

"Paul is like" he brings up while the toothpick dances on his teeth, "Paul is motivated to catch up on points. He's coming for you" to pick on his competitive side as Mescal looks deep in thought.

"He's coming. He's coming" Joseph repeats as Fred laughs.

"What is my full name?"

"Oh! Pedro-" Paul tries in a blink. "Something, J? Jose? Juan?"

"Pedro Pascal, something, something" says Joseph.

"Nope"

"No?"

"Pedro Maria, Jose Maria Pascal" Paul struggles.

Pedro is about to answer when your voice cuts through the air.

"It's José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you recite.

"It indeed is!" he says, smiling a bit too much. "She gets a point"

"Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" your husband repeats in a more english-friendly pronunciation, looking at the camera while toying with his toothpick.

"I said Jose, I said Jose" Paul protests.

Pedro shakes his head. "You said Jose, but then you put it-"

Connie takes Paul's side. "You did say Jose"

"But then you put it behind Pedro which eliminate- which disqualified you" he replies.

Paul gets angry. That sore looser.

"That's absolute bullshit"

"Don't worry mate, the game has just begun" you joke, making the man more irritated. "Think you can get ahead of me?"

"Joseph is still ahead, y/n" Paul counters, still irritated. "Besides, wouldn't it be cheating? You can speak Spanish!"

"So? Not like speaking a language allows you to know every person's name Paul" you mock. He just snorts, despite still being half angry. Pedro is allowed to continue, trying not to make a face at yours and Paul's banter.

"The question is, who is my favorite actor?" he reads. As the cast members laugh, he uncaps the marker with his mouth, and now you have to try not to make a face, thinking about those teeth sinking into your flesh.

Quinn raises his hand. "It's me"

"That you're my favorite actor?"

"Yeah. You said that to me once" the bald man sounds sure of it.

Paul tries to think in the background. So do you. How can you not know this? he must've brought it up at least once.

"Do you remember?" Joseph insists.

Pedro finally remembers. "I said you were- I said I thought you were special"

"Oh" he sounds rather dissapointed.

"And special can mean a lot of things" he jokes, laughing by himself. Fred laughs with you as Joseph makes a face, your laughter turning even louder when you notice Paul all moody, trying to get this point.

"Who's your favorite actor?" Paul asks, "I think we just have to shoot from the hip here guys"

"Marlon Brando?" Connie guesses.

"Is it Harrison Ford?" Fred guesses.

"Let's go with Harrison Ford just because he's my favorite actor..."

You can't believe you didn't know this. You've re-watched and watched so many Star Wars content together. He gives you a brief look, knowing you're embarrased at your lack of answer.

"As a kid?"

"He's most influent, yeah" Pedro agrees.

"What job did I have before I became a full-time actor?" is next.

"Dancer. You were a great dancer" Paul aswers. Both Fred and Joseph repeat it, adding he was specifically a go-go dancer.

"Oh, he is" you add. "Videos of you dancing are lovely. Ever thought of getting back in the bussiness?"

He laughs, what appears to be a light blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Sure, darling. When you ask me to dance, I'll be there"

Nobody comments on this, too busy waiting for Pedro to say yes or no to the answer they believe to be right. But he isn't saying it is. Now you remember why.

"Come on, come on, come on" Paul begs.

"Can any of you guys remember?" Pedro pleads.

They insist that he danced in Spain, then New York, then settle with Spain again, even Pedro confirming so. But it still isn't the answer written on the card, no matter how much the boys insist.

"Connie?" he tries. She just looks confused.

"The answer in the card is-"

"Waiter" you answer. "You were a waiter"

Now you have three points under your belt.

"Why do you always say the answer at last?!" Paul grumbles. "You are cheating!"

"I'm not" you laugh the accusation off. "You just can't accept I'm better"

"Si que lo eres" Pedro agrees. "Es divertido hacer que se enoje Paul"

"What did you say about me? It's not fair, you're probably sharing the answers!" he's still adamant on insisting with the supposed cheating issue, making you laugh.

Now it's Connie's turn, who starts with: "How many languages do I speak?"

You put a puzzled look.

"You speak seven, eight maybe" Joseph guesses. Pauls says she speaks french, "but most likely seven"

Pedro points his finger at him. "Once he gets going, he's on a roll"

"Joe's got it" Connie agrees.

"Paul, end this reign" Pedro jokes. He looks rather frustrated.

"And the bonus points" Connie offers. "Okay, bonus, what are they?"

"This is an emperor's reign" your husband adds.

Joseph answers: Italian. Danish. English. Swedish. French. Spanish. Norwegian.

Connie agrees she speaks Spanish, making you jump in excitement.

"Oh, I didn't know that!" you beam. "Wait, does that mean you did get what Pedro and I gossiped about you?"

"What?" Joseph asks.

"Nada" you quickly correct yourself. "Yo no dije nada"

"Not that much. I just speak a bit of Spanish. I mostly dominate my own language, German and English"

"You blew our cover!" Pedro nags, hitting your bare leg, yet its devoid of anger.

"He needs a bonus" comments Connie, surprised at Joseph.

"This is horrifying" Pedro says when Joseph gets another point and a fricking bonus on top of that. "This is a slaughter"

"Oh, for which film did I have a gym built in my garage?"

Both Joseph and Paul answer the question correctly, saying Wonder Woman. The latter is quick to state they both get that point.

"That's one for me" Paul says, then looks at you. "And none for you"

You stick out your tongue at him as Connie reads the next card.

"If I were to take this cast on a vacation where would I take you?"

"Ibiza" answers Joseph. Connie agrees in Spanish, with a cute and excited correcto.

Your husband feels the need to crack a joke at Quinn's expense.

"Somebody was paying attention to Connie Nielsen very closely during the shooting of this movie"

"Okay. What is my favorite curse word in Danish?"

"Fuck" Pedro tries.

"No"

"Nobody is going to get that, Connie" Paul bickers.

"Oh, I don't know any Danish" you lament.

"At least now you know how it feels" Mescal drops, making you snort. You playfully kick him on the ribs with your shoe.

"It's very simple" Connie gives as a clue. "It's the same word in every language"

"Shit" Paul tries.

"Satan" she reveals.

Everybody is laughing in confusion at that, saying there's no way you could use that.

"Vos Satan!" Connie curses.

Now it's Fred's turn.

"What is my weirdest on-set habit?"

"I haven't noticed you do anything weird on set" Paul tells.

"I have" Pedro interrupts.

They all get on a small briefing about what could it possibly be, that it was weird, and wasn't part of his character, as you ponder. It was funny before, but now Paul is behind you by a point. So think fast.

"Yeah. I would say being yourself" Pedro jokes, but surprisingly, it works.

"Me! Five points for Pedro" he celebrates as you all laugh. "Love Fred. Oh, Fred"

"Oh, oh, okay" he moves to the next question. "What is my favorite reality TV show?"

Joseph tries with Survivor and Paul with Alone. Truth is, you don't watch any show of said kind, only vagely hearing about Love Island.

"You and I have talked about reality TV" Pedro reveals, "It's just that we never identified one"

They keep guessing shows that sound like a foreign language to you.

"You know what's offensive? That I'm the second youngest of this cast and I have no idea what are you all talking about"

"She's not to be trusted" Pascal quips, "can't trust someone who doesn't appreciate the art of reality TV"

You huff, annoyed.

"Is it A&E stuff?" Pedro asks.

"Yeah, it's the competitive cheapskates" Fred answers. "It's people that really save money on everything"

Pedro gets the point because he mentioned the A&E bit.

"There's like this amazing guy that made a stew out of fish bones, and I just thought it was incredible" he shares. Then, moves to the next question. "What is my go-to crafty snack?"

Nobody remembers eating snacks on set, and Fred gives the clue that it's a drink. Joseph says it's a smoothie, and he does remember it but it isn't the answser.

"I'm thinking of something specific. That Emerge-C that you put in the water"

"Oh, that's very good" you agree, so does the rest, even discussing the best colors

"Who in the cast would I ask to bail me out of jail?"

Everyone even Pedro agree its him. Everyone gets a point, yet Joseph remains ahead.

It's Joseph's turn. "What is my favorite sport?"

"Skateboarding" Paul is so quick to answer, earning him two points for both being correct and time.

"What celebrity do I get mistaken for?"

"Daisy Edgar-Jones sometimes" says Mescal. Of course he had to bring her up.

"No, she gets mistaken for me" Joseph jokes. "Yeah, poor Daisy. But I'm writing it down"

"That was the two letters?" Pedro notices. Still, no one gets it.

It's fucking Justin Timberlake. You'd never guess that.

"What is my favorite film franchise?"

You've probaly named all the existing franchises to no avail. You think fo your dad, a huge geek, trying to remember if there is one missing.

"Oh- Lord of the Rings!" you both answer with Paul at the same time.

"C'mon!" his celebration is short lived when he realizes you tied to him.

"What is my favorite British slang word?"

Pedro says it can't be said, but Quinn insists they can, even adding it's his favorite one too.

"We can say bad words? We can say-?" but the camera beeps over it.

The answer is Bellend. What even is that? Joseph feigns sadness and Pedro keeps apologizing, even as you sit on the chair.

"Okay. I'm last"you wiggle your eyebrows with interest. "Let's see. Okay, first question: what did I take from the Gladiator II set?"

"You took something?" Joseph asks on disbelief.

"Why wouldn't I take something?"

"Is it like an item or memorabilia?" asks Connie.

"It's an item" you uncap the marker, scribbling down the answer.

"It's a short word" Fred points out, but still can't provide a guess.

"You took the rings home" Pedro answers. You snap your had on his way, probably obvious. "What? You told me" he says.

Of course Paul complains. "Hey, that isn't fair! He knew the answer before!"

"Well, if you payed more attention to me, you'd know it"

Lies. Pedro knows because it's sitting in the jewelry box inside your house.

"See? I do pay attention" Pedro playfully hits Mescal.

"I could pay you more attention" he looks at you.

"Alright, then do. Ready? Next question: what is my go-to movie? Oh, this is a good one. I'm always changing it, but most of the time I end up choosing the same one"

They all give you a puzzled look as you scribble.

"C'mon, guys! I've said it on interviews before too. Paul?" the man shrugs. "Thought you said you'd pay me more attention. Heads up, you're doing a terrible job so far!"

"Hey!" he protests. "It's not fair if the answer's changing. Give us a clue"

"You didn't give any clues to yours!" you giggle. "Besides, I don't want you to win"

"Hey, that's against the rules!"

"I'd say it depends on the season" Pedro speaks up. You quirk an eyebrow. "Like, if it's changing, I don't think your Christmas go-to movie is the same as your summer one"

"Actually" you smile fondly, "that is true. On summer, it's Mamma Mia. So I suppose, if you can't guess the one, that'll do"

"No" he smiles, cheeky. "I know it too"

"Yeah?" you challenge, "what is it, then?"

"It's Thelma and Louise" he answers, and your heart beats fast.

"How do you know?" Paul inquires. "Somebody was paying attention to Y/n L/n very closely during the shooting of this movie"

Ah, his joke from earlier. Joseph giggles behind him. Karma, he supposes.

"She said it on an interview, guys. C'mon, learn your sources!"

"Okay" you clear your throat. "What movie got me into acting?"

"Thelma and Louise" Joseph tries.

"No" you laugh, "you're just recycling the answer"

"Is it an old or modern movie?" Connie asks.

"Hmh, old" you pause, "just not... I don't know if you'll ever guess it"

"Is it a Pedro Almodóvar film?" you shake your head. "What? You're always mentioning him!"

Pedro looks into your eyes amid the others' discussion, and you can tell he remembers the conversation.

"There isn't one"

You smile, chest pounding at his soft tone.

"That's correct"

"A trick question?!" Paul yells. "I quit"

"When there's just one left?" you tease.

"Yes, because you've been hiding it all the time but no more" he counters, pointing both you and Pedro. You feel the space getting smaller, breaths going from even to noticeable. "You are sharing answers"

You try to make your breath of relief pass as a chuckle.

"I'm not even gonna win, relax. And drop the charges, please. Loose like a man"

"You didn't explain it though" Connie speaks. "What did Pedro mean?"

"While I have many movies that are inspiration to me, they aren't the reason I chose this path. I did it because I saw an Oscar's ceremony when I was 11" you explain fondly, feeling warm at the memories. "I still remember when they handed the award to Diablo Cody for best original screenplay. I don't know, man, it moved me. What it meant for young artists who came from nothing. I guess I wanted, one day, to be the one standing there, for other dreamers to see it's possible"

"Wow, that's beautiful" Connie says.

"Thank you" you get flustered. "Suppose it was worth it, you know, to do interviews about not really knowing my cast mates" and laugh.

"How does Pedro know, though?" Joseph asks.

"We talk a lot" you clear your throat. "Last one: what indie horror movie did I make a small appearence in? I'm feeling generous because it's the last so I'll give you a clue. It's a Stephen King adaptation"

Paul is the first to speak. "You where in a-"

"Yeah but it wasn't such a huge role. Don't make yourself any ideas"

"I have no idea" Connie surrenders. "Other clue, as in how many words?"

"It doesn't even have any words" you laugh. "You give up? It's 1922. Was an extra as well. Made me think Netflix had my name highlighted in the extra call sheet, because I did so many minor and background roles during that year. Grateful, though, because now I get to be Rome's empress and not fortune teller or highschool #6"

The interview ends, and the camera may or may have not captured the last seconds, Pedro's gaze fixated with you the entire time.

elysyannemimi: we all saw that right? GET PEDRO AND Y/N IN A ROMCOM ❗THEIR CHEMISTRY IS INSANE❗ at0michips: love paul and y/n so much 😭😭 gimme enemies to lovers RN ㅤㅤbobgirllll: at0michips wait what if paul and y/n are secretly dating 😳 ㅤㅤann-gell: bobgirllll quick question are u dumb unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they're married. it has to be. trust me ㅤㅤstarlightt180: unhing3dprincess BESTIE U ARE BACK

You arrived in London today. The premiere will be in a few days, and things have been, well, hectic.

Lux couldn't stop talking all the plane ride, but your mind kept going back at the email your manager had sent you before you had boarded the plane.

It's catching upon you, read the haunting message. Attached below, a TMZ article that claimed a regular church attendee had seen you both getting married. It also used a lot of the noise fans had been making on social media, connecting dots or just hyping up the undeniable chemistry. It ended with a little paragraph saying it was obvios, and they're just hoping you'd confirmed it.

You came to realize you didn't care about it anymore. Sure, the pushing around annoyed you, but the thought of still keeping your marriage under wraps feels pointless now. Why wouldn't you shout to the world how in love with your husband you are?

Yet, when you arrive at the hotel, you keep the same protocol of arriving after Pedro, who has already checked in with two keys, claiming its for him and his sister, while you ask for the key to Lux's actual room. After you swipe cards with her, you head over the room you'd be sharing with your husband.

His face appears in your frame, everything happening quickly.

"Get inside. Now"

Your body is dragged inside the hotel room, not even giving you time to swipe the key for yourself.

"Pedro!" you exclaim, between surprised and confused. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Did you read it?"

"What? The article?" your tone is filled with annoyance. "Yes, I did. Why?"

"What do you mean why?" he snaps, voice raising higher. "Don't play dumb with me. You know fans have fuelled the rumors, and tabloids have started digging every corner in fucking California"

"So, what? You're acting as if people finding out is the worst thing in the world" you roll your eyes.

"It is, yes!" Pedro bursts out, caving in to the stress.

It feels like you've been hit across your face.

"Excuse me?" you seethe, hurt etched all across your features. "Would it be the worst thing in the world to admit you're married to the person you supposedly love the most?"

"I love you, y/n. It's just-"

His voice softens, trying to reach for you, yet you pull back, his hand falling to his side in an akward manner. He sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"I love you" he repeats, sounding much more sure this time.

Your frame seems smaller as your voice comes out hoarse, filled with emotion, appearing to be in the brink of tears:

"Then why do you act like you're embarrassed of me?"

He hates himself for making you feel this way, making you think things that aren't true.

"I don't. Never" he emphasizes. Then, tries to reach once again when you move a little bit closer to him, recognizing that's your way of letting him know you're ready. "You're the most precious thing in the world to me, don't ever think the opposite" then he sighs, heavy. "I'm just scared"

You silently ask him to explain, rubbing his thumb soothingly across his tattoo.

"You're so young, and I'm, well- I know we're aware of it, but people are cruel and the press is ruthless. I don't want to see your name dragged across the mud because you decided to marry me. Your career is starting, and I'd never forgive myself is something happened to you because of me. Not trying to make this about me, yeah? But this industry is fucked up. You've work hard to get to where you are, and it'll be unfair if you'd loose it. I'm scared because us..." he wavers, words trailing off. "I want us to be. I wouldn't want to live in a world without you, i-it would kill me not to have you be my wife"

You desperately want to kiss off the worry on his face, but let him finish.

"N-not saying our love is weak, or anything! That a couple of opinions or tabloids will- you know? Just, I-I don't want them to break us apart. Mi vida, you're the light of my life. Please, forgive me, I-"

He feels his throat closing up, words failing to come out. You sense the grip on your hand to be stronger, immediately letting loose of it.

"Hey. C'mere" your voice is tender, allowing him to bury his face in your stomach as you comb his messy curls with your fingers. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere"

He lets himself melt under your touch, his mind loosing itself in the soft of your digits and your perfume up his nostrils. He's again breathing normaly, hands now hugging your waist.

"There you go. Better?" Pedro nods, still not being able to talk. "That's okay, take all the time you need. We have all day"

"Do we?" he raises his view, his eyes soft yet there is something else to the brown shade.

You hum as to nod. "We agreed to join Lux for dinner. It's barely 1pm"

"Tell me you're thinking it too" his voice cuts throughout the air, boucing off the tapestry on the walls.

You laugh, nervously. "I don't think I do"

"Hmmh, I see" he stands up, towering over you. "You sure you don't?"

"You sure you want this?"

Before you know it, his lips capture yours in a passionate kiss, cutting off all words to be said. What a waste of air, anyway. You are quick to reciprocate, whimpering against his lips.

Pedro picks you up like you're as light as a feather, his arms flexing as he carries you and places you on the bed, frame hovering over yours. He breaks the kiss to breath, but you're pulling him back in, his hold on your hips tighter and the wet spot in your panties wetter.

"Look at you, pretty baby. So needy" he whispers against your face, hot breath lingering above your lips. "And mine. Mía. Only mine"

"I am, yes. Yours only. Need you so bad right now, papi" you answer in a rush. "Now shut up and fuck me"

"Con gusto" he chuckles darkly, "gotta keep the wife happy"

"Happy wife, happy life" you recite, stripping him off of his plain shirt, revealing his toned torso, bulging biceps defined by the movements. You gulp. "Fuck, papi. Gotta thank Marvel for this. I love all of your versions, but I can work with this too" you dreamily stare at him, your hands cupping his face.

He strips the rest of his clothing, but a cute blush adorns his cheeks.

"Yeah, well, it's Scott's fault too"

Your impatient fingers reach the middle of your panties to rub your clothed pussy, letting out a sound that darkens his hazel orbs.

"Fuck that guy" you mutter. Pedro laughs.

"Thought you said you loved the guy"

"Until I learned what he said about your body" you groan, still rubbing. "Connie told me"

His hands now travel to remove your clothes, almost ripping them off.

"Who cares? I just want to fuck you now" he breathes out, practically drooling at the sight of your damp panties. "Lemme take this off too"

He unhooks your bra, seeing the hard nipples. The urge to lick them is so bad, but his desire to fill you silly to the brim is stronger.

You see his hesitation, which is why you grab him by the neck to pull him in for a kiss. He kisses back fiercely, labored breaths as he struggles to focus on your lips, his wet mouth darting to your jaw, neck and collarbones. His hands roam all over your body, needy.

"Gotta be inside of you, mami. Can't wait any longer"

"Then stop waiting" you plead, tugging at his boxers with urgency.

Seeing you so cockhungry, lips parted and pupils blown wide makes his hard dick twitch with anticipation.

He mutters a labored fuck, aligning himself to enter your sticky folds. Pedro enters your tight pussy with a low groan, burying himself deep inside of you, used to his length by now. You're basically begging for it, nails digging and eyes supplicating.

He can't deny you anything, can he?

A messy whine leaves your widened mouth as you adjust, pleasure mixed with pain.

"Mhmm" you moan.

"Mhmm what?" he mocks. "You asked for it. Now take it, cariño"

He thrusts deeper into you, watching in awe how his dick enters your pussy; it was always perfectly, your pussy made for him.

"You're drippin' baby" his rough voice caresses your cheek. He kisses the are, giving a lick to the sweat starting to form. "S'fucking tight too"

You move your hips towards him, trying to augment the friction. The overstimulation starts to cloud your sense, reducing you to a whiny mess as you grip his steady arms.

"I can't think of anything but you, baby" he confesses between grunts, "filling up your pussy to the brim, you dripping with my seed for days"

You moan at the filthy words.

"Love how you take my dick, amor" stretching you as Pedro moves in and out. "S'made for me"

"Yes" you moan, skin slapping sounds bouncing off the walls. "Fuck, I love your dick..."

His pace picks up, and it comes to a point where he's just fucking you silly, his grip on your hips surely to leave a bruise as you keep spilling obscene sounds of pleasure from your lips.

"Your pussy's mine, yeah? No one else gets to have you like this"

"N-no, just you, Pedro. My h-husband" you manage to squeeze, more moans vocalizing the pleasure you felt with each thrust, his big dick inside of you moving in a a steady rhythm, making your eyes roll back further and orgasm closer.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, and he finds impossible to resist the urge anymore, licking the sensible skin and hard nipples, your hands moving to his back, scratching him harshly, both chasing your release.

"Please!" you whine out loud, not caring how desperate you sound.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

But your husband knows you, so he indeed starts to fuck you harder, heavy breaths and slippy kiss noises hanging in the spaces between each thrusts. He pants with every motion of his dick, a knot forming on his belly.

"Shit, baby. I think I'm gonna cum. Gonna come so hard"

"Do it. I'm on birth control, remember?" you groan, feeling your high approach as well. "Fill me up, please. Give me all your cum"

Your bodies move as one, precise thrusts hitting exactly that sweet spot of yours repeatedly, chasing your orgasm. For a brief moment, your eyes lock with his and then he's saying:

"I love you, y/n. So much"

Your heart skips a bit, his dick twitching inside as his gaze glimmers with adoration and possesiveness, teeth grazing your skin with marks for him to call you his.

"I love you too, Pedro. More than you know"

A final thrust is delivered. Fuck, feels so good you think you hear him say. Just like promised, he fills you with his release, shots of his thick, warm cum inside your sticky walls. You follow soon, back arching, toes curling, and both head and eyes rolling back. Pedro falls on top of you, his broad body collapsing over yours, as you both pant hard, trying to steady your pulse and breath. He then removes himself and positions you to be the one on top now, lazily throwing the covers over your bare bodies. We need to shower, you said, but he argued you'd do it later before going out.

"I needed that" and you happily hum in agreement at your husband's dragged out words.

Your head falls and rises, with the movement of his chest, silence settling on the previously filled with sex noises room. That until he speaks up:

"One day, I'm gonna fill you up so good until you have my babies, mami" he murmurs, just then realizing what he said. But you snuggle closer, hand and legs drapped over his bare body. You look at him closely, seeing nothing but certainty on his eyes.

I choose you. I'll always choose you.

"Whatever it is with you" your nose brushes his, a small sweet kiss on his lips, "I want"

His eyes shine, probably with tears or the glow of affection.

"Let's do it"

"What?" you look into his eyes for any sign of doubt, bull all you see is love. "Pedro, are you serious?"

He nods. "Wouldn't you want that?"

You feel the corner of your lips pull up.

"Never have I wanted anything more"

poppysplayground: Y/N AND PEDRO RED CARPET DEBUT AT THE LONDON PREMIER OF GLADIATOR II WTF I JUST WOKE UP ptwt is in SHAMBLES mostannoyingbillioner: UM HELLO pedro showing up with two hot women on his arms LUX GIMME A CHANCE pompeiianbollockr: WAIT WDYM THEY ARE MARRIED?!??! ALL THIS TIME?@?#? HOW???! NEED BIGGER CAPS TO SCREAM I'M GOING INSANE at0michips: that article better come out now or i'll burn the TMZ building ann-gell: not me thirsting for a married man 😭😭😭 how they kept this a secret for so long?? we should've noticed ㅤㅤunhing3dprincess: ann-gell i did. knew betting my grandma was the way all along ㅤㅤpyramiidsf: i'm gonna start betting my grandma too

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora

#dilfistwrites #gladiator II #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #taylor swift #reputation #call it what you want #paul mescal #call it what you want series

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 30 days ago

Text

cw - stepcest, aged up stepbrother!megumi, dead dove, mdni

< prev | next >

you guys have to trust me on this one ok?

stepbrother!megumi who doesn’t bat a single eye when his barely-there dad tells him that he’s moving two women into their place.

stepbrother!megumi who’s been working extra shifts at his job to save up enough money to move out as soon as possible anyway.

stepbrother!megumi who begrudgingly makes room for his supposed new stepsister that’s coming to live in his room.

stepbrother!megumi hypothesizes that his dad might stay with this new woman for like a month until he gets bored or the money runs out and dumps her.

stepbrother!megumi whose eyes subtly light up as soon as you walk into your new shared room with him.

stepbrother!megumi who didn’t say word. he didn’t introduce himself or even ask for your name, but he helped you move your very limited stuff inside.

stepbrother!megumi finally speaks to you after a week of silence. he asks for your name. it actually shifts into a full conversation. he’s never enjoyed talking in the past, but it feels easy with you.

stepbrother!megumi finds himself smiling as you two bond over shared music tastes, movies, and books. he’s never felt so comfortable around someone before.

stepbrother!megumi who is of age, but he’s not old enough to drink yet. when he learns your a bartender, he starts coming to the bar.

stepbrother!megumi has a stamp on the back of his hand, marking him as a client to not serve alcohol to, but that’s okay. he’s not there to drink anyway.

stepbrother!megumi who watches you work while sipping on water all night. he just wants to make sure nothing happens to you during your shift.

stepbrother!megumi doesn’t hesitate to grab up the first guy who tries to hit on you and gets too handsy. this isn’t megumi’s first fight. he’s been taking down bullies since elementary, but he’s never been in a fight as an adult.

stepbrother!megumi gets put in cuffs that night as an all out bar fight starts after he handled the guy who tried to touch you.

stepdad!toji who mockingly chuckles as you two watch stepbrother!megumi be released from jail the next morning. it took toji pulling a few strings, but the charges were dropped.

stepdad!toji’s laugh vanishes as he watches the way your arms wrap around megumi. his jaw clenches as he sees his son return the affectionate embrace.

stepdad!toji doesn’t believe in god because what kind of god would make him want to compete with his son… for his own stepdaughter.

do you trust me enough for a part three..?

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah @iamrgo

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kenyummy · 3 months ago

Text

✰ 05. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 05. your closed-off heart.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: avoidant attachment damian is canon to me okay. it's canon to me... </3 also pretty long chap idk how many words but it's a bunch

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

The sky has fallen to an ashen black by the time you've all settled down and watched a fun game show together; so different from the ones back home.

After those hours of catching up—you've made sure to be careful with your words and not mention anything about any alternate universes. You can't—not with that lingering stare behind you, after all.

Whether they realised your avoidance of the topic or simply didn't think to bring it up—you were glad the rest of your friends never even hinted at it once, either.

Now you were back, sitting on the couch under a low, flickering light and cuddled up beside Johnny and Franklin.

"Franklin..." Your voice is low. Said boy is cooped up to your side, snoring softly as he drools onto you. You avert your gaze toward Sue and Reed. "How's his... mutation going? It's pretty rough being so strong so young."

Johnny glowers at the sight of Franklin so attached to your left arm—even though he's just as close, if not closer to you than his nephew is. If he were sunken any farther into you, he'd practically be in your lap.

Sue sighs, pressing her palm against her face with an exasperated look. "After that whole incident with Annihilus, his power has been developing so drastically, we aren't sure on what may occur next. He's so... he is so strong. We asked the Professor about it, and his only advice was for when we believe we cannot properly help him develop, to send him to his school."

Reed slinks his hand into his wives', gripping tightly. "But I don't think it'll come to that. Franklin... is a good kid. I don't believe he will ever lost control of himself, not like the Professor is afraid he will. Regardless—he's doing fine, and that was the reason we took him with us."

The mood is sunken, a little bit quieter as you rake your nails over Frankin' scalp—gently. Such a power so young—you remember the first time you were told this young boy was creating pocket universes under his bed at three. Two years later, and he's developed the abilities comparable to that of a god.

To be so incredible is a blessing—but for a child like Franklin, it can feel like a curse often times. You would know, you think solemnly, palm falling over his cheek.

Ben sinks into the dented couch, leaning back with a knee crossed over his leg. He breaks the silence with ease and that lovely Yancy Street accent, "That, and we didn't wanna let Tony babysit again."

"Oh yeah," Johnny grimaces. "Last time he was left alone with Frankie, he made him a suit and he flew all the way to the Carribean!"

You slap a hand over your mouth, turning to Johnny and laughing, "I heard about that! Didn't you nearly get sunk by Namor and his Atlanteans?"

Johnny hisses and looks to the side—the tips of his ears alighting with a flicker. You reach up and pat out the flame, brushing his hair back as he hides his face from your view.

Judging by the smug, knowing look Sue shoots her younger brother, you assume he was pretty annoyed by your pampering.

Despite this, the mood has become lighter. You aren't worried about what may happen in the future, or what could possibly go wrong with the young child beside you.

"Don't even mention him, or any bad guy—" Johnny slumps down, head reeking back dramatically. "I'm going stir-crazy not being able to get out and fight 'em."

Ben gives him a pointed look, "brows" furrowing, "Yer sounding less stir-crazy and more batshit mental. Ya gotta get out more."

"Tell that to him!" The blonde juts his thumb towards Reed, who simply averts his eyes. "He's the one who said we can't be seen in this unknown place."

"Yeah, it's a shame, isn't it?" You cross your arms. "While you're all resting here, I have to go out and fight crime all day. Lucky me."

Johnny raises his hands in defence, "Yeah, you are lucky. I'd kill to get out and get some action. I'm tired of being cooped up in here all day like the world doesn't need me."

"Don't go getting a big head, Johnny." Sue frowns. "This world has survived fine without you. I'm sure it'll live even without you, as well."

Johnny and Sue start to bicker in the traditional sibling fashion—shooting the other glares and mocks, all the while Reed seems to be deep in thought. (And as always, Ben is simply enjoying the scene in front of him).

"Actually..." Reed speaks up—catching the attention of everybody in the room with ease. "Perhaps... it could be a good thing to go public. It would give us an easy way to collect materials we need if we could go out and use our powers freely."

"... Reed? You can't be serious—" Sue blinks in shock.

Ben slams his two rocky fists together, "Hell yeah! It's been a minute since I said my favourite line—"

"—It's clobberin' time, we know." Johnny shakes his head. Ben simply shoots the matchstick a glare.

"That aside; it'll help us make that..." Reed hums, glancing at you for a moment, "That very intricate device we'd been needing to create. The last one was created by the combined nature of me, Tony, and Hank—so making it alone may provide more difficult, but absolutely not impossible. Not much tech to work with, either... this might take a while..."

Sue places a hand on her husbands shoulder, and he seems to break out of the strange mumble he reduced his voice to. "Thank you, Susan. But yes—given we collect the right resources and I have time to work on this, we should be able to remake it."

"That's great!" You smile, grin brightening. You could go home! You could actually go home! Not sure when—but soon couldn't come soon enough. "You guys can fight alongside me, and now this! This is great news!"

"Eh ... I already told you Reed was making some of that crazy tech stuff, didn't I?" Johnny shrugs, resting his head to the side. "Besides—It's Reed. Why wouldn't be tinkering with some weird invention?"

"... Thank you for the vote of confidence, Johnny." Reed murmurs, eyes falling to the side. "If we want to make something as intricate as... that, from scratch, we'll definitely need the most brilliant minds helping."

"Ah... yeah. Too bad Tony isn't here, huh? Hank, too. They'd be a real help." You smile sadly, looking to the side.

"Actually, [name], I'd rather like you to look over some of the teleporters with me. Give your opinion on what I should do with what I have."

"R... really?" You look up at him with sparkly eyes. "You really...?"

He nods, smiling. You bite down on the insides of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning madly—instead, you opt to rushing over and wrapping your arms around his neck, jumping up and down.

"Thank you! Yeah, I'd be—" You pull back, coughing with a flushed face. "I'd be totally honoured. Yeah. Um—I promise to not get any webs on them this time!"

"I'll take your word for it," Reed chuckles. Happiness practically bursts out of your chest at the recognition from the smartest man in the world.

Perhaps you were more than you gave yourself credit for—and way more than what that family gave you credit for.

You sit back down and Franklin crawls back into your lap, snoring softly. Johnny attaches himself to your side and keeps a warm arm snug around your shoulder, smiling down at you.

The warm fuzzy feeling pools down at the bottom of your stomach and each time you laugh, you feel your heart grow fonder.

You had never felt so at home in this strange place. These four—these five—this was your family, and you'd never feel otherwise.

Damien feels a tug in his chest. More than a tug, actually—it's like a rope has tied a noose around his ribs and is rattling them repeatedly.

He's biting down so hard on his lips and the inside of your cheek that blood seeps from between chapped lips. He chews them raw—not even noticing the pain.

He hadn't even realised when he pulled his katana out from its holster on his back. He hadn't realised when he gripped it so taut his knuckles turned a milky white. He hadn't even realised when his eyes zeroed in on the sight of you cuddling up with that dark-haired boy.

Allowing him close to you—clinging to your arm so pathetically and pressing his face against your stomach as if he'd done it a hundred times over and acting like you're his older sibling or something stupid like that—

Damian steadies his erratic breathing. Unscrunching his face, but he cannot seem to stop glaring daggers. Even when he makes eye contact with that man—Reed, he believes you referred to him as—he does not tear his sharp gaze away.

You stare so tenderly at the young boy (younger than Damian is. By a few years or so, most likely). You cradle his cheek in your hand with such love it makes your actual brother, your blood brother, feel sick to his stomach.

Raking your fingers through his hair like you'd never done with your siblings before. Holding him close like you wished to protect him from the world and all the horrors within it.

How could you possibly hope to protect this... Frankie, when you cannot even protect yourself? The scarring left from the bullet still lay on your shoulder, a ghostly reminder of how you became victim to the evil this city holds.

A reminder to Damian on how he must protect you now. As his duty.

In this cruel world, you have lost to it—and yet, you choose to coddle others? You choose to keep others safe and close to your heart, but never your family?

His heart is lit aflame with rage. His jaw is taut and clenched tightly—feeling his teeth grit beneath his tongue and his mind fizzle with boiling anger. He hadn't felt this irrational in so long. Not until...

He doesn't remember ever seeing you in a such a light. He doesn't remember seeing you.

But now he does—and now, he feels so much fuming ferocity. Watching you send the softest of smiles to him and allowing him to feel your soft, untainted touch.

(A touch not tainted by years of relentless crime fighting—a silky grasp that could only be given by that kind of regularity Damian had never known).

Much earlier, he had realised you were that vigilante he met so long ago. That spider-like fiend who seemed to have those never-endingly sticky webs.

This is why you'd been skipping classes so often, and why he never saw you around. That's why he hadn't seen those pitiful eyes be directed toward his two, barely there elder brothers, after each and every violent patrol.

That is why you have become so distant. So far away—Drake had described it. Damian didn't bother to listen because he didn't care enough to.

That doesn't matter. In the end, none of it matters. Not to him. It didn't change his image of you.

He hadn't known you long enough for it to shift in any way—nor had he ever tried to. Despite this, he is content. If this new version of you is all he will ever know, then so be it. This will be his you—the sincerity in your touch and the love in your eyes.

(Yet, never seen toward him).

He has little time to ponder and brood. Before he knows it—the glass door is sliding open and, on that balcony, he is no longer alone.

You hesitate for a moment before speaking. "Damian?"

He blinks. He is not used to hearing his name from your mouth in anything but a furious tone. Yet, despite this—it is anything bur the saccharine way you told that Franklin he's your favourite—

"Damian. Why did you follow me?" You demand, voice more firm than your question-like tone before.

You stand before him, arms crossed under your chest and a hard expression on your face. Stern. Like a real older sibling. He had never seen you make that kind of face before.

(For whatever odd reason, he feels small again. Like lowering his head and apologising for something he had not even done—you've never had that sort of effect before).

... And yet, despite all he's acted like in the past; in this present moment, he doesn't know what to say to you. Very uncharacteristical.

(For that Franklin, it came so easy. Like running up to you with those stupid googly eyes was the most regular thing to him. Damian doesn't believe he will ever be able to feel as normal as that).

Fortunately, he manages to scrounge up some words to say like it was a board game. "I... happened to catch you swinging here. In that ridiculous costume and to your even more ridiculous friends."

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his words. He notices it so wholly that it strikes deep into his chest. Why are you so dissatisfied with him? Why does it make him so unfathomably upset?

"One, my costume is cool. Two, my friends aren't ridiculous. Don't talk about them like that." Your tone is upset.

All these strong emotions hit him like a freight train and suddenly he doesn't know how to speak properly. Don't look at him like that. Why are you so kind to that other child, but you are so cruel toward him? It's unfair. Absolutely unfair.

He must've been quiet longer than he realised. Clutching the bottom of his cape tight into his blood-bathed grip, practically shaking. He must look so utterly pathetic for you to offer him menial pity.

(Just like you used to—except now it feels like a wave crashing against the shore, covering the burning lava stones in a cool tide).

"So, you know, then?" You glance downward at Damian after pinching your temple. He breaks his eye contact with the concrete and looks back to you. "That I'm that spider hero."

...

"Yes. After seeing your school bag webbed up, it was far too obvious."

You glance downwards once more. To the strap wrapped around his shoulder, connected to your bag. He tries to shuffle it discreetly behind him, but he knows you've spotted it when a smile crawls onto your lips.

Gritting his teeth—yet this time he does not feel that same blaring anger as before—he decides that hiding it was useless and opts to shove it into your arms roughly, before he can even think.

"The leather is crumpled. You need a new bag," He says, matter-of-factly. You grasp onto the leather with wide eyes; gaze shifting from it to him.

"... I know. It's been like this..." You aren't exactly sure on how long, exactly—but you're sure it's been... "For a while. I'm used to it."

Damian pauses, eyes narrowed and lips turned down into a sneer. He's practically offering, and yet you still deny? You pretend everything is fine and you are strong.

...

You lean down the slightest. "... Still. Thanks for considering me."

You almost can't believe you're thanking this younger brother for the bare minimum—but from what you've seen, that bare minimum isn't seen much in your household. (Especially towards you).

Despite this... you have always had a soft spot for kids. You ruffle his dark hair and he practically squawks, slapping your hands away like it burnt.

He recoils back, hissing, "Who do you think you are?! Don't patronise me!"

You chuckle and move back, brushing off your hands. He watches that action like a hawk. "... Are you going to tell them?"

"TT. About your little side hobby playing dress up?"

You want to point out how he does the exact same thing. But you don't, because you know it will lead to nothing good.

Damian sneers, turning his head to the side, "I don't care for what you do in your spare time. As long as I do not have to be there to save you every time."

"Fair enough. This can be our little secret, then." You nod. "... You can go now. I'm just going to suit up and sneak back in."

"Is that what you have been doing for the past several weeks?"

"Guilty as charged," you shrug, pressing on the necklace pendant sitting comfortably between your collarbones. "If nobody notices, then I don't think it's that big of a deal. I mean—"

He watches in fascination as the minuscule robots crawl over your body and form into the familiar Spidey suit.

You tuck your hair in as the mask forms. "—Most of them are barely home to begin with, and it's not like Bruce has spare time to be worrying about this."

... "Don't you mean father?"

You stare at him weird. "What?"

"You called father Bruce." His eyes narrow furthur.

"Oh. Right." You must've become accustomed to not saying father. Uncle Ben was the only father you'd ever had, and it wasn't like you were going around calling him that, since you know—he was your uncle. "Yeah. That's what I meant."

Damien doesn't reply this time. He throws on the hood of his costume, turning his back toward your costumed form.

You walk back inside into the dimly-lit room, engulfing those people in warm hugs you'd never spared any of them before.

He leaps off the roof and swings away into the night, face unreadable; mind consumed with little crime and more thoughts of you.

Perhaps he was... wrong about you. Less helpless, but still just as weak. And a lot more confusing. Unfair. So much confliction.

Though, he feels his chest beat strangely warm when he tousles his hair back to its regular style.

Swinging in through the window in your room and with one click on your necklace, you land flat on your heels.

Peering around, you hum at your empty, dark room and change into a pair of pyjamas.

It's been a day or two since you'd eaten here. Usually you'd go around as Spidey and picking up some takeout as you swing back home, or go to Harry's house for some dinner (since Norman had taken a strong, un-evil liking to you in this world).

But today, you'd been too wrapped up to even think about dinner. You'd missed the familiarity of Sue's warm cooking but you hadn't even thought to ask while you were there. Damn.

It's way too late to go out and get something now. Crap. You really got ahead of yourself, didn't you?

You put on your pair of fuzzy slippers, and swing open your door. It's late, so most of them should be out on patrol.

You'll probably only run into Alfred, at best. You can live with those kinds of odds.

You walk down the stairway and towards the kitchen (it took you a bit—learning the ropes of this place was harder than it looked). Your steps sluggishly drawl across the floor as you yawn.

Being Spidey sure was tiring. Post-patrol naps were always the highlight of your week, but you could never do it on an empty stomach.

As quietly as possible, you begin to rummage around in the larger-than-life fridge. Fruit, condiments, almost all ingredients than actual food.

You groan. You hate rich people. Aunt May always used to just buy a bunch of pre-cooked meals whenever she was away—you'd become so accustomed to it.

Maybe there were leftovers? ... Do rich people even keep leftovers? You slouch down at the thought.

You open a few drawers just to find a pile of spinach of all things. Then fruity flavoured drinks. Some more vegetables. Lots of vegetables. A child's waking nightmare.

"There's a pack of pizza pockets in the third drawer in the second row."

You barely even react, hand already inching for the drawer. You open it, and find it. You hum.

Your sense acts up when you hear footsteps approaching—you glance over your shoulder to see a man you have not previously met before, but have seen.

That blob of red—that figure you saw before everything went black and when a bullet was lodged in your shoulder. It was him.

A white tuft of hair in the middle of his forehead and a jaded expression. A red helmet under his arm and a pizza pocket in the other hand.

It was undoubtedly him.

"Jason..." You try your hardest to not make it sound like a question.

His expression remains unchanged. "[name]. You... your shoulder is all healed up already."

You glance at your exposed shoulder. There is barely any visibly sign of a wound ever being there. Perks to a healing factor—well, you heal. Downsides to a healing factor—people start asking questions.

"It didn't hit me too deep... and Bruce got me the best hospital stuff, too." You put the pizza pockets on a plate then stuff it into the microwave. The beep resounds in the quiet as you lean back on the counter. "Guess I got lucky."

"Didn't feel so lucky when you were bleeding out in my arms, did you?" His eyes narrow and you think you may have said the wrong thing. "What the hell were you even doing out at that hour? What the fuck were you thinking?"

Oh, I was just dropped in from another universe and switched places with Wayne-ie here. No biggie.

Yeah, no way in any of the layers in hell. Facing Galactus head on feels like a safer task than telling him that. You shake your head, trying to formulate a proper excuse.

"I was hanging out with my friends. Lost track of time."

His eyes widen at your sheer audacity to say that—then, his brows furrow and he steps forward, "Don't give me that shit. You never go out past ten. Bruce won't let you. We drilled it into your head you'd die out there. And look—you nearly did. Don't you dare sit here and lie to me, [name], because I swear to God—"

Your jaw clenches and you have to hold your hands behind your body—pressed against hard granite—to stop yourself from pushing him back.

You hiss, low and tense, "What do you know? You'd never stay long enough to find out."

You remember flipping through that diary. The words getting scratchier and the paper getting more crumpled as you went on.

"You'd never stayed longer than a few days. You'd never even looked at me even then."

As you became older, you became hateful.

"You could see Dick. You could hate Tim. And despite everything, you could bring yourself to like him. You even tolerated Damian."

But you also became sad. Increasingly so. So miserable, trapped in that newborn skin you'd never truly seemed to break out of.

"I didn't care that you killed people. I didn't care that you never stayed for long. I didn't care that you hated Bruce."

So lost, so desperate for that touch you'd received so long ago; you never really grown up, had you?

"I didn't care that you'd never stay for him. For Dick. For any of the others."

So bitter. It's no wonder you'd never talked to them. It's no wonder—

"But damn it, Jason—"

"I really thought that you could've stayed for me."

—that he's staring at you in such horror.

None of this came from your heart. This entire speech was scripted on a piece of paper—by a version of you who felt so much pain and hate for those who abandoned you so easily.

But... looking at his expression now—you think it's something he needed to hear. Something that couldn't be left unsaid any longer. All the feelings pent up in them (in you, one could say) and the words they were to afraid to speak aloud. The words you were not afraid to say.

His lips parted, eyes wide as he doesn't reply. How can he? What could he ever, possibly say?

That he was doing this for your own good? That he never wanted you to see the man he had become? To never want to sully that image of that older brother who played tag with you when you were younger?

How does he tell you about the bullet he put through the skull of the Penguin goons with smoking guns he'd found minutes after he saw you bleeding out in a dirty alleyway? He couldn't possibly tell you about that.

How could he ever tell you that this was all for you—when you were hurting so badly?

(Hurting without him? Had you missed him all these years, so terribly? The thought brings some sort of twisted satisfaction. Sick reassurance. That, despite everything, you still loved him).

How could Jason Todd ever show you that he cares without destroying everything he was before? The answer was simple to him—he can't. He thought you knew. He thought—

...

Now, everything doesn't feel so simple. His sunken eyes search all over your face in frantic motions. Your eyes are so blank, and you don't even look to be feeling anything.

Are you tired? Of this? Of him? Just what did that bullet do to you?

The beeping of the microwave catches both of your attention before he has a chance to say something he will likely regret.

You turn your head to the side, and slip away from where he had cornered you against the granite. "Pizza pocket's done."

You glance his way, and he feels pathetic. Absolutley, spectacularly pathetic. "... Want some?"

You sit in incredibly uncomfortable silence, chewing on the food. At least it was good. Familiar.

Clearly there was a lot to discuss between the both of you. ... Jason and this other you, at least.

(Or was it you, the one who was shot? You could never truly tell).

There's so much to say, so little time. Jason could never stay, and definitely not around you. All these years—this world's you thought he hated them. Despised them.

Now, his expression feels like the complete opposite. Longing.

You shove the rest of the pizza pocket into your mouth, wiping off the stray greasy cheese off the corners of your lips.

"I meant what I said earlier." You clarify, as if he needed it. "And I don't appreciate you only getting on my ass after all this time, only when something bad happens. You don't get to do that. That's not how this works."

You gesture between the two of you and his heart feels like its been stabbed with the sharpest of knives.

Then, it twists.

You were always his favourite. The sweetest. The little kid he'd once held so dearly and near his heart. Until that heart stopped and turned into the deepest black, poisoned and compromised.

How could he ever risk poisoning you, too?

He wanted to keep you safe, and somewhere, somehow—he came to the conclusion that the only way you'd br safe is if you were away from him. Kept at a distance. Staying at arm's length.

Now, he isn't sure he was ever thinking of how safe you'd be. Not when he'd seen you, light-headed and bleeding. Not when you were practically dying in his arms and he couldn't do shit except kill those stupid fucking goons; because what is he good for if not revenge?

"I miss the old days," you say. But there's a distinct lack of emotion in your voice. As if it wasn't even you who was saying this. "But to hang onto them forever—when will we ever move on?"

...

He doesn't know. He doesn't think he can. Those are the only memories he has of you. Of himself.

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling his heart pound and stomach feeling sick. This sort of uncanny, soul-consuming feeling—it only ever happened whenever he would look at you.

Eyes blurry and vision failing him, he wants to go. To run. But at the same time, he wants to keep you close. Make sure nothing will ever happen again. Make sure you never feel that pain again.

His head is going to split. He doesn't know what to do.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His hands sink into his hair, and his jaw is clenched impossibly tight.

"I just..." His voice is quieter than he wanted it to be. Shakier. Almost timid. He feels like a boy again. That same child you'd stare at so reverently. He doesn't know when he was beginning to forget that. "I just wanted to keep you safe. That's all I ever wanted."

You're almost tired of this. Pissed off. Is that all they say? Is that really all they say to tell you why they'd kept you so far away? The distance was all-consuming. You'd noticed it in the first week you lived here. You couldn't even begin to imagine that kind of "love" all your life.

"Then, you were doing it all wrong." You say, simply. It sounds like you know. Like you have experience. Like a wise old wizard who'd "seen it all before". "I'm not incapable (truly, you are not) and my life is my own. Keeping me safe isn't trying to keep everything the same, like it is as it was."

He lifts his head from his hands when your chair pushes behind you, screeching across wooden boards.

"I'm sorry you had to find me like that. But... you don't get it. You don't know..." You swallow. "You don't know enough about me now to judge whether I need protecting or not. You never did."

... You're right. He never did. He still doesn't. Jason never watched you grow up. He never got the chance to see you go through your awkward teen years. Get your first boyfriend. Scare the shit out of him. He didn't get to hang out with you and get ice-cream after school.

He never got the chance to do anything of these things. Not with you. Never with the one most dear to him, and his small, dark heart.

But that could change. Starting now, he could change. He would. He could. He will. For you.

He stares, eyes blankening. Then, they fill with something dark. A nervous shiver runs down your spine and your sense starts tingling in the back of your mind.

He speaks, low and steady. The shakiness is gone and you're not sure what went on in his head—but he sounds so sure now. So certain.

"Then, I will."

It's not a threat or a claim—but a withheld promise. The heaviness of it weighs down on you, and you aren't sure whether you should feel safe or scared.

He gets out of his chair and walks over to you. Unconsciously, you hold your breath, blood running cold as he stalks closer. That huge imposing frame that (probably) used to hold some semblance of comfort toward you; now terrified you to the bone.

His big hand rests atop your head, and ruffles your hair. "Starting now, I'll get to know you again. Then, everything can go back to normal."

... Did he even listen to a word you said?

He sends you a smile as he leaves the top of your head a tangled mess, slipping on his helmet and walking away.

You're left alone, heart pumping wildly in your chest and your brain throbbing with that buzz. Every sense and nerve on full alert—you sink down into that chair and pull your knees to your chest.

You think you may have bitten off a bit more than you can chew.

taglist: @hello-bina @cosmosluckycharms @1abi @yhin-gg @insideoutjulie @bluepanda08 @omnivirgo @vanessa-boo @dind1n @welpthisisboring @lunaetiicsaystuff @marsmabe @atanukileaf @findingjaxx @4mrplumi @bunniotomia @lostsomewhereinthegarden @bat1212 @gaychaosgremlin @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @randomlyappearingartist @cxcilla @spidermanluvr444 @cruzerforce4256 @mybones537 @xjesterxjacksx @nirvanaxx1942 @djpuppy-kittens @br33zy-blizzardz @moon0goddess @0sunnyside01 @mei-simp @redsakura101 @the-dumber-scaramouche @wizzerreblogs @lovemiss-vale @deathbynarcisstick @allycat4458 @wonmyheart @luckyangelballoon @one-piecelover @hartwyrm @horror-lover-69 @maria-trisha @4rachn3 @galaxypurplerose @duskeras @coffeeaddictxd @lithiumval @kaz-playz

taglist is closed! sorry!

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twomanyfandomshelp · 1 year ago

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I SWEAR, I SWEAR THAT I’M A GOOD KID, GUESS I’M GOOD FOR NOTHING AT ALL!!!

This is something that Luke haters just don’t understand. Did he have his faults? Yes, but he was also JUST A KID! Just like Annabeth, and Percy, and Bianca, and Nico, and Zoe, and Charlie, and Selina, and Clarisse, and literally any other demigod we meet. They were all JUST KIDS. There desperately needs to be a god of therapy who can come down to Camp Half Blood and Camp Jupiter and help these kids work through their EXTENSIVE trauma. Luke has, at the very least: PTSD, abandonment issues, survivor’s guilt, daddy issues, mommy issues, child neglect, child abandonment, and parentification (being forced to take up the role of parent as a child, usually occurs in older siblings where the parents work all the time, but in this case it was Luke having to raise Annabeth because she ran away from her toxic home life).

I also think it’s really interesting to think about how Percy might have gone down the same path if it wasn’t for Luke.

Percy resents a lot of the god’s choices, but he realizes that you can’t just repeat the toxic cycle and expect things to get better, you have to break the cycle in order to bring about positive change. By the time Luke came to this revelation, it was already too late for him.

If it wasn’t for Percy seeing the way that Luke responded to the god’s treatment of demigods and realizing that Luke had the right ideas but was going about it the wrong way, I genuinely think he would’ve gone down the same path Luke did. Heck, in the main story he understands why Luke does what he does, why he makes the choices he makes, and he empathizes with him, but he realizes that Luke is using the wrong methodology, falling back on the standards of the old world instead of creating a new, better world for all demigods.

Percy out of all the demigods has the most reasons to hate the gods. And yet he chooses to fight FOR them because he knows that if he has to choose between Kronos and the titans or the gods, or Gaea and the giants or the gods, the Olympians are the lesser of two evils, and he knows he actually has a chance to change things with the Olympians in charge.

Percy is also one of the most influential people in the godly world. He’s saved the world more times than I can count, a lot, and I mean A LOT of the gods and goddess really like him and have gone out of their way to help him, his father would do literally anything he asked of him in a heartbeat (side note, do gods even have hearts? In the literal sense not the psychological/metaphorical), and many gods and goddesses consider him a friend. Not a demigod to be used as a tool or puppet, but a friend. That is so incredibly rare in this world. Both the Greek and Roman camps see him as a leader, someone powerful, someone to follow. Camp Half Blood and Camp Jupiter both see Percy in a godlike way, they see him as an honorary god even though he turned down Zeus’ offer of immortality! He has relationships with both the Egyptian mythological world AND the Norse mythological world through his friends, Sadie and Carter, and his girlfriend’s cousin, Magnus and his rag tag gang of einherjar and valkyries respectively.

If this boy wanted to start a revolution against the gods, they wouldn’t last one fucking day.

NOT TO MENTION HE IS LITERALLY THE MOST POWERFUL DEMIGOD TO EVER EXIST!!! He has control of storms, supposedly Zeus’ domain, he can cause earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, when the earth is supposed to be Hades’ domain, and he can control LITERALLY ANY LIQUID INCLUDING BODILY FLUIDS!!! If he wanted to, he could kill anything or anyone that stands in his way with a single thought.

And his girlfriend? She may not have any magical powers, but she is so smart that she could probably plan an uprising against the gods that they wouldn’t see coming and it would work. That’s why is so scary when Luke tries to win her over to Kronos’ side, at least for me. Because any team that has Annabeth’s intelligence, battle strategy, wisdom, and quick-thinking combined with Percy’s raw power and absolute loyalty and devotion is literally guaranteed to win. Not to mention the countless demigods that would follow them, whether because they were friends or because they looked up to them so much. I don’t think Percy and Annabeth realize the power that they hold. They have so much more power than they realize, they could bring the world to its knees so easily.

Oh my gods, this got so much longer than I intended. I need to post more Percy Jackson stuff, clearly I have a lot of feelings about this than I realized and I need to out them somewhere since my only friend who enjoys the books is only on the Titan’s Curse. It’s gonna be a while til I can talk about all this with her.

luke is such an empathetic character because uncle rick just gives us a boy who's grown up feeling abandoned by his father, who he also deems responsible for essentially losing his mother. he loses one of his best friends because her very birth is seen as a mistake to the gods, and the very best zeus can do for her as she gives her life for her friends is to turn her into a tree. he becomes the best swordsman at camp, he successfully completes his quest, he's good, he's a good kid, and STILL he doesn't get so much as an acknowledgement from his father. he may be 19 during tlt but he has been a KID throughout all of this and he is desperate. of course he made the choices he did. it was ALWAYS going to happen.

#i swear i am not trying to be a luke girlie #there's just so much narrative angst to chew on #there is no 'i could fix him' or 'i would join him'#no. you are the audience. he is doomed to follow this path and you are doomed to watch him and be unable to stop him.#character doomed by the narrative my beloved #charlie bushnell's luke my beloved #luke castellan #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #prev tags #oh my gosh this got so freaking long #guess I’m in my pjo feels tonight #I can write all of this in less than 30 minutes #and yet I can’t find the motivation to work on the essay that was literally due 3 weeks ago #adhd problems #i think #we’re pretty sure #I just haven’t been officially diagnosed #but that’s a whole other conversation #honestly #dark!percy #dark!annabeth #are so compelling to me #because I could see it happening #they’ve all been through way too much #it’s a shock it took until Luke for a demigod to rebel and raise an army #strong believer that if it wasn’t for Luke #Percy would’ve turned against the gods #idk what else to tag

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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 !

- gojo satoru x reader // zen'in naoya x reader

in the wake of your scandalous divorce, you fall into the arms of emperor gojo satoru. for a while, you believe you have found love… until it becomes clear that your new husband is scheming behind your back! love, marriage, divorce… are you doomed to go through this path the second time?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, marriage of convenience, explicit smut, pregnancy

note: loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress. this is the second part of remarried empress au trilogy! wc. 9.2k ! thank you so much for your love in the first part🩵 but as of now, TAGLIST IS CLOSED so i'd appreciate it if the comment section won't be flooded with asks for tags :')

credit header goes to @/mongsanghwa in twitter!

prev. all hail the empress | last. long live the empire

general masterlist | series masterlist

Heavens, help me... I love her too damn much!

For Gojo Satoru, love was once an abstract concept. At first, he thought it was admiration, or a sense of obsession—

But on the day he watched you become Zen’in Naoya’s bride, Satoru realized it was much deeper than that. It felt like the sharpest sword had pierced straight into him and lodged itself there.

And then, years later— as if hearing his prayers, you became his. Since then, his life was perfect, because he wasn't lying when he said that you were everything he wanted in life.

Yet in a twist of fate, that same sinking, horrific feeling washed over him... as he watched the pagoda he built for you engulfed in flames.

You were there. Satoru felt himself staggering as he took in the mortifying sight. You and his unborn child are inside!

He didn't waste a breath as he dashed towards where you were, crushing everything in his path in the process, but just as he was about to enter the scorching temple—

“Satoru, no!” Suguru grabbed him, restraining him with his own body. “Get back!”

“No!” he screamed at him frantically. “She is there! Suguru, let go—!”

And then the worst happened, as the pagoda completely crumbled into a heap of rubble. Satoru's breath was knocked out of him as he faced the reality that he couldn't save you in time. And he felt like losing his consciousness as he wheezed, and thrashed in Suguru's hold.

It was all too much for him to comprehend as he struggled against the devastation before him.

How... did this happen? You were happy. You were about to welcome a child into your lives! The two of you really were...

SEVERAL WEEKS PRIOR

Your husband is trying to use you to wage a war... against your homeland.

You secluded yourself in your study, trying to make sense what you just overheard.

In a broader perspective, Satoru's actions could be constituted as national defense. If he perceived the Eastern Empire as a threat, then countermeasures were indeed necessary. But if not...

Regardless, it was not the very idea that blew you, but how he planned to use you to sway sentiment in your former country, to weaken them.

Is that what he's been aiming all this time? You felt like a hypocrite to question this since you too were using him. But these days, you were certainly not using him—you were falling in love with him.

It was strange, because you were supposed to be furious if that was his intent from the start. Yet what you felt right now was profound sadness, possibly even denial and heartbreak. You kept thinking how there must be another explanation—

“Sweetheart, hello~!”

You were startled when the door to your study was suddenly flung open, and the man from your thoughts strode in with a broad grin, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil.

"Satoru." You fixed him with a genial smile, even as nausea churned within you. Straightening your skirts, you looked up at him.

"I've been told you haven't been well, and Shoko said you've seen the physician," Satoru frowned, his long fingers cradling your face as he half-sat on your desk. "How did it go? What did he say?"

"Oh..." you clammed up, feeling at loss. "He said..."

Your dashing husband tilted his head curiously, bright eyes softened, worried lines etched on his face were so clear... and despite your conflict, you didn't have the heart to deny him this news.

"I'm with child." This time, your smile was genuine as you pushed back your intrusive thoughts. "Satoru... I'm carrying our child."

For a full ten seconds, Satoru was stunned, staring at you with a blank expression, his lips slightly parted. "H-huh...? Child? A... baby?"

"Mm-hm. A living baby."

"O-oh..." Satoru blinked his eyes rapidly—looking at your face, then your abdomen—before his expression broke into absolute wonder, broadly grinning. "T-that's... oh— it's—!"

To say he was speechless didn't cut it as he stuttered, messed his hair, pinched his own cheek, becoming restless yet looking so incredibly giddy—

"My queen!" Satoru suddenly lifted you and spun you around midair. "My beautiful wife—!" before gently sitting you on the desk and burying his face in your skirts, hugging your waist tightly. "Good lord, I'm— I'm so—!"

It hadn't truly dawned on you until now that you were going to become a mother. Witnessing Satoru's unabashed reaction as he nestled his face into you… nearly brought tears to your eyes.

Right in this moment, you didn't entertain any other thoughts. You were deeply moved by your husband's overwhelming excitement for your baby. And the realization that, despite Naoya's accusations—

Satoru looked up at you the second you sniffled, and he immediately drew you closer, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Hey, no tears, yeah?" He rested a hand on your jaw, his eyes sparkling with utter adoration as he gazed at you. "This is wonderful. We're going to be parents. This child... a part of you and me—we're going to bring them into the world."

You tugged his collar close and brushed your lips against his. And he responded with equal fervor. You yearned for this closeness with him.

. . .

But still in the back of your head, that lingering, buried fear whispered—

Is the man who adores you this much... capable of hurting you to the same extent?

With your bare bodies pressed closely, and you under him, Satoru could sense the rapid beat of your heart. And in return, you felt the heat of his palms against your skin and the tremors in his breath.

Yet now, in your marital bed, it quickly became clear to him that you, who were usually so composed and collected, were nervous. Satoru couldn't suppress the smile spreading across his face even if he tried.

"This is far from our first time, Empress." His coy smirk taunted you as he littered kisses along your jawline and chest. "What are you so jittery about, hmm?"

"Ah..." you let out a soft sigh as he sucked your breast with his mouth. "N-nothing... you're mistaken."

"Hmm... not confessing? Right..." He then grabbed the generous mound of your other breast and fondled it, making you squirm and moan.

But in the midst of this eroticism, suddenly your mind was thrown back to—

“That’s why I have her here.”

"Satoru," you breathed out, catching his hands. He looked up to you in slight surprise, thinking that you wanted to stop.

But he was in for a plot twist when you first pushed him, then flipped him underneath you, straddling him and capturing his lush lips, yanking his hair in the process.

"Whoa— hey..." Satoru held your hips, visibly startled but clearly enjoying your sudden whim, snickering. "My queen—ohh— you're a sight to behold, on top of me."

He grabbed the flesh of your bottom, sinking his fingers into it and pulling you forward. You let yourself be moved until your thighs were next to his ears.

Suddenly, it was, at once, the most peculiar experience—the greatest confidence boost you had ever received, and the hottest thing he had ever seen.

"You're so damn wet already," your husband nipped your inner thigh playfully as he observed your folds, and you gasped. "Are you ready?"

In response, you slammed yourself onto his face because, right now, you were in a less than forgiving mood.

"You look good under me," you darkly retorted, but then you choked on your own breath when your husband started licking your folds messily with his tongue.

Satoru smirked at the sound of your breathless noises, responding by lapping even more fervently. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tightening their grip on his scalp as you began to grind yourself against his face.

"You a-are really n-nasty!" you moaned, voice breaking at the feeling his sinful tongue parting your opening. "Maybe y-you have lied to me… all th-is time."

Satoru furrowed his brows in slight confusion, and perhaps a bit of annoyance, as he pinched your clit in retaliation, causing you to draw in a sharp breath.

"You're— awful!" but contrary to your claims, your face contorted with pleasure as the tight coil in your belly spasmed. "How m-many women... h-have you beguiled like m-me?"

He almost laughed into your ass. Literally. If being called awful was the price for pleasuring the most beautiful woman in the lands, then Satoru would be happy to be that horrible person every day of his life.

But then, you suddenly shifted on top of him, no longer positioning your hips in his face, and he quickly caught your face, crashing his lips against yours so both of you wouldn’t part for even a second.

"Nobody else," he murmured, wet lips and tongue ravishing yours, so much lust glistening in his eyes. "I'm all yours— forever." Just as he whispered it amidst pants, he groaned when your hand sneakily went to his very hard length.

And firmly grasped it. He got swollen just by tasting you and hearing your noises earlier. He growled, and against his senses, he pushed you down to lodge it inside you, penetrating and splitting you apart in one go.

“Ah—! Satoru— it’s too…!” you babbled breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders, feeling his huge cock pulsing inside your tight walls.

“Your fault,” he rebuked, eyes narrowing into darker shades, rigorously moving his hips against yours as he sat up. It was impossible to hold it in any longer, he could feel it already.

He tensed up, adjusting his position, so close to losing it inside you, and when he heard your dirty mewls and felt you shudder—reverberating through his body too—Satoru gripped your waist tighter, groaning, holding you in place to release his load inside you with precision.

Your body gave in as well, releasing at the same moment his cum burst inside you. Your vision blurred as the nastiest of moans escaped you, yet you felt so safe as your husband caught you in his arms.

. . .

"Are you okay?" Satoru asked worriedly after you rolled off him in the aftermath of your bliss. "Do you feel sick?" Your unfocused eyes met his, and he looked panicked, pulling you closer. "Shit, did I go too far? I shouldn't have, especially with the baby still in the early stages..."

"I'm... okay," you croaked, trying to reassure him. "Just tired..."

Heaving a relieved sigh, Satoru pecked you in the lips.

"Am I... a mess?" you leaned on him with a blissful smile, feeling his cum still trickling out between your legs.

"Yeah... My beautiful mess, that is." Satoru chuckled, reveling in the state of your disarray. "Soon enough," his hands traced your skin before settling on your tummy, a fond smile curving his lips. "Our baby will grow here."

"Yes—" you replied, placing your palm over his. "Do you... want a boy or girl?"

A boy would be the much sought-after prince, and you fully expected him to favor it, until to your surprise, Satoru lightly hummed and pressed a kiss on your belly button.

"Does that matter? What's important is you deliver them safely and they're healthy," he chuckled. "A princess will be nice... she'll turn out to be as lovely as you."

"But the heir has to be a prince..."

"Nah. I can always amend the succession norms. I'm the emperor."

And you giggled next. Seeing how free you looked, Satoru thought you were the woman overturning his skies and stars, and you truly are—as now you are the mother of his own flesh and blood, his future empire.

There will be a nation-wide celebration for you. Satoru insisted it was a must, and he would invite dignitaries from neighboring empires and kingdoms as well.

Including the Eastern Empire.

. . .

“Your Majesty. I... bring a gift and an invitation from the Western Empire.”

Naoya clacked his heel on the carpet, casting a sharp, yet uninterested look at his aide.

“There will be a celebration for—” the poor man gulped uneasily, faltering as if he could foresee how his emperor would react. Naoya scowled.

“Spit it out.”

“The former empress’ pregnancy, Your Majesty!”

“What...?” At that moment, he snapped his head towards him. It felt like everything he had ever known came crashing down. “Y/N...?”

That can’t be possible. For many years both of you had failed. That was why he took that maid and divorced you. No, upon reflection, it was never truly his intention to divorce you—he had wanted you to raise that child if you couldn't bear one.

But then you completely ignored him and had an affair with Gojo Satoru. He was furious. He couldn't bear the disgrace of it all, so he went with the divorce, if only to assert some control. However, the joke was on him, as you ultimately fled with Gojo entirely.

But if you aren’t infertile... Then, what did that make him?

Numerous thoughts ran through his mind. Was it possible that it was his child instead of Gojo’s? How many months had it been anyway?

...or could it be that he is the one who is—!

“No...” he muttered, frantic, taking sharp breaths. “Absolute rubbish!”

The aide stared at him in fear, as Naoya appeared unhinged now. But soon, that fear gave away to pity, as the emperor trashed his desk and howled in frustration— but contrary to the expected fury, Naoya looked like he was mourning, evident by the way he flung everything but the very portrait from his coronation day.

Of him and you. Even after that disastrous divorce, he had never taken it down from the wall of his study. Now, Naoya was staring at it, a multitude emotions clouding his eyes.

This man, just as the aide had always thought, has thrown away the only good thing he has in his life.

“Are the invitations sent already?” Satoru asked with a blooming smile, rolling the yarn out of his cat’s reach as the poor kitty grappled to catch it. “And how are the preparations going?”

“Banquets are usually handled by the Empress, but you really go out of your way and do it instead,” Suguru shook his head, unamused by the added workload it brought him, especially considering his disinterest in festivities.

“They’re all sent, some of them responded—before you ask, Naoya hasn’t— and I’ve cascaded the preparation to Shoko, since I have no clue what to do about it.”

“Well, not that I care if he’s going to stay sour and wants his name tarnished in the daily papers as a bitter ex-husband…” Satoru shrugged, petting Sugu-chan as the cat purred contentedly. “He is tactless, he very well might be.”

“You really want to spite him, don’t you…” Suguru sighed. “You even sent him a note. It was unnecessary.”

“He was the one hurling curses at me and my empress first. I’m just returning the favor.”

The note in question was of lines after lines of flowery nonsense about gratitude and whatnot. Satoru imagined Naoya's vein would burst after reading his card.

“I’m happy for you, Satoru.” As exasperated as Suguru was, his smile was genuine when he said it. “A royal baby, huh...”

"Suguru." The emperor's voice suddenly dropped an octave, surprising him. "What about the placement of the totem I told you the other day?"

The abrupt shift in conversation made Suguru visibly uncomfortable, and again, they were back to this topic.

"You're seriously going to do this?" the duke asked, almost in disbelief. "Satoru, you're going to become a father. You have everything already. This will lead to war one way or another, and—what if the Empress finds out? How do you think it'll make her feel?"

However, Satoru's gaze was cold as he dismissed most of Suguru's tirade. There was a chill in his expression that made his longtime friend inwardly questioned who the man before him was.

"I'm asking you. Have you done it or not, Suguru?"

"You're going to put a curse on a whole village, Satoru."

"I told Zen'in Naoya the moment I got Y/N, that it would mark the beginning of his downfall. I'm making good on that promise."

Suguru pressed his eyes shut to calm his fury. Morally, what Satoru did was wrong, but politically, this was the art of war. Suguru purely opposed to this out of consideration for you.

Few understood Satoru's actions as well as Suguru did. He might understand, others like you and Shoko wouldn't.

"Just remember, when the Empress catches wind of this, she's going to resent you," Suguru warned. "No matter what your reasoning might be."

Satoru's upper lip curled upwards, his eyes bereft of light, narrowing with indifference.

"Unless you never tell her, that is of no relevance."

Love... has he ever loved you all this time?

Naoya had never been confronted with that question or pondered it, simply because he never considered love existed within the context of something as grand as monarchy.

You were chosen because you were well-bred and well-versed in the arts of nobility. You were indeed the epitome of an ideal empress, a fact evident throughout your tenure.

But...

"Naoya!" you yelled at him and caught his hand. "You're a fool! Why did you keep doing that!?"

It was a long-buried memory, when you were still in your teens, around the time you were just made the crown princess. His hands, bruised and bloodied, and you tended to them.

"I'm not weak, you know," he sullenly barked. "I have to train to be stronger."

"You definitely have to train, yes... but you have to take breaks!" you retorted angrily.

"Why do you care so much anyway?" he snapped back. "It's not like your hands that are injured."

And that moment, you were suddenly almost in tears. Naoya never understood why.

"Don't cry." But his instincts told him to make you not cry. "Don't cry. I'm fine, see?"

. . .

Zen'in Naoya jerked awake from his slumber, realizing he had forgotten what his dream was, that it was still the late afternoon, and he was still in his study.

All he felt was that nostalgic feeling, and it intensified when he glanced up... only to see his coronation portrait on the wall.

It was almost as if you were still here. You were incredibly stunning, he had to admit that. Why hadn’t he realized until just recently?

The way your crimson dress flowed out, and that thin, serene smile on your face... you were a picture-perfect empress, and that was not an exaggeration. No one could measure up to you—

"Your Majesty~!"

Especially not Hanabi.

"Your Majesty, the princess has started holding her head up!" Hanabi, now no longer dressed in rags but rather in one of your dresses, excitedly remarking, "Soon, she will start to—"

Naoya's gaze fell on her dress. He recognized it instantly. That specific deep, vibrant shade of red with serpent-like waistband. It was one of his gifts to you for your birthday. "Why are you wearing that?"

"Huh?" she seems perplexed. "Oh this... I thought it looks pretty..."

But to her surprise, he suddenly flared with fury. "That isn't yours, you dullard," he spat out.

Her expression sank in heartbreak as he continued with his venomous speech. "Know your place." His words cut like a blade. "And I keep telling you, a princess is of no use to the throne!"

Hanabi fought to hold back the tears, because not only had he insulted her, worse still, he showed no interest in their daughter. "She is still of your blood, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice trembling.

"I told you, I only want a heir." His sneer caused her eyes to widen in shock. "Other than that, I won't care."

"Your Majesty, please—" Hanabi was desperate for him to acknowledge their daughter, when she caught sight of your ethereal face on the wall.

He still hasn't taken it down. It made her eyes twitch, and her own anger to rise.

"The former empress..." she stared at your picture resentfully. "You still have her here. We never even have our portraits painted..."

Naoya's icy gaze leveled at her without a hint of sympathy, despite the woman standing before him being the mother of his child.

"Why do you look at me like that?" Hanabi asked, tears spilling from her eyes. "You used to care for me when you thought I would bear you a son. Even if it's a daughter, she deserves love too, doesn't she?"

In the last five years, she had come to know that the emperor wasn't always this manic person. He used to be gentler, or at least not as vindictive.

And she never truly wanted you to be cast away like that. She looked up to you, admired you from up close, and meant it when she said she would carry your legacy as best as she could.

"Are you dumb?" Naoya barked. "I told you to know your place!"

...yet why? Why are people in this palace so harsh to her?

“I wish you luck on that, Hanabi. Beware, the emperor is fickle…”

Your unkind eyes, Naoya's disdainful stares even after she gave birth to his child... She didn't even care about becoming the empress anymore. She just wanted a happy life!

"If it was the former empress' child... even if it was a princess..." Hanabi turned to him with determination even amidst her pitiful tears. "You wouldn't cast her aside just like you do now with my daughter, would you, Your Majesty?"

Naoya's gaze, devoid of emotion and filled with blatant disinterest more than anything, shot through her, hurting her more than if it was filled with fury instead.

The lack of warmth in his stare made her feel like being looked through rather than being seen. As if she is that insignificant.

"Leave," he ordered coldly next, turning his back on her.

And there is her answer.

Hanabi had been your maid for five long years. She knew who you were, what you stood for, and your whole demeanor. Yet, despite her best efforts, she could never emulate you in the same way, could she?

. . .

"My lady... don't you know that the former empress is with child?"

Once again, Hanabi felt the sting of ice when her lady-in-waiting delivered the news.

"Empress... Y/N?" she whispered. "How...?"

You were stripped of your titles here, and yet you still remained a queen somewhere else. Hanabi might have won Naoya's favor, but now she was losing it while you had another emperor's affection.

Not much had changed about you. You still occupied the highest seat a woman could possibly attain. Whereas she...

"But she is barren!" she turned to her confidant then, almost in disbelief.

"Evidently not. Emperor Gojo has proven that."

How nice. A part of Hanabi wanted to congratulate you because she knew of your sufferings—how much you longed to hold a baby from your womb in your arms.

How unfair... But another part of her couldn't help but despise you. Because even in your absence, she still had to live in your shadow. Because you, who had lost everything, regained it all so easily.

"And my lady... Emperor Gojo is going to throw a banquet for this occasion next month. You are expected to attend it."

"Sweetheart, you asleep?"

One night, several weeks later, just as you were about to drift off to sleep, you felt the sheets shift as Satoru slipped into bed beside you.

Though you didn't turn to face him, you felt his warm hands wrap around your waist from behind.

"Satoru... you're back," you murmured sleepily.

"Mm-hmm," he whispered, pulling you closer to his chest and burying his face in your hair, taking in your scent. "Shoko told me you've been in your bedchamber since breakfast. Are you okay?"

"I get queasy if I walk too much, so I've been lying down all day... But don't worry, the physician said it's normal in early stages of pregnancy."

His grip on you tightened, as he caressed your belly. "Hmm, naughty baby. I'm sorry I wasn't here..."

"Where were you?"

For days now, he had been away, and you hadn't really questioned him. You had your guesses though—

"I was overseeing the construction of a new pagoda," he said softly, kissing your neck. "For you, actually."

That was so unexpected that it made you open your eyes fully. "What— for me?" Building pagoda was definitely not a small affair. Usually it was for religious purposes.

"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby. It's expected to be completed before your celebration banquet."

The tower would be the testament of his love for you and your unborn child. Despite yourself, your heart swelled with overwhelming warmth.

"You're so silly... why do you spend the tax funds for that?" you brushed off the faint heat in your face, not daring to look at him still.

"Whatever I wouldn't do for you?" he cheekily retorted, chuckling.

You had never felt this cherished before, and this time you were certain—you were more than ready to fall in love with this man.

But he... is planning to use you, isn't he?

"Satoru." You shuffled to turn and face him, causing him to crack his lidded eyes open. You gazed at him, placing both of your hands on his face, caressing his face softly.

You're so kind to me. I appreciate you for that. You wanted to tell him various things, but the darkness in your heart ever since overhearing his exchange with Suguru made it hard for you to do so.

"Mm? What is it?" he drawled with a small smile, leaning into your touch.

“You... love me, don't you?”

His bright eyes found yours then, sharp and steady. An impossibly fond smile graced his lips, as if finding what you said the most natural thing there was.

“Throughout heaven and earth,” he proclaimed, his voice steady to match his eyes. “Yes, my queen.”

...then you would trust him, if only just for this moment. The genuine sincerity in his eyes, the raw authenticity in his words... it all felt too real.

And so, even when you were well-aware of the bitter possibility of truth, you leaned in and kissed him, giving yourself to his touch as his hand slipped inside you.

And soon, came the day of the lavish banquet solely held to celebrate your pregnancy.

You were seated on your throne, dressed in a stunning aquamarine gown. The skirt of the dress was full and flowing, spilling onto the floor in a waterfall of shimmering fabric. Upon your head perched your crown of diamonds, glinting beneath the light, and your ceremonial veil to make you look as queenly as you could possibly be.

Everyone would agree that you were a sight to behold, and that you were worthy of every praise possible.

"Many congratulations to you, Your Majesty."

"This is a splendid news! A royal baby!"

"To think that the emperor has settled down... sniff, how long have we been waiting for this...? We almost gave up."

You almost giggled at the way Archbishop Yaga wiped his tears with a handkerchief as he presented you with his gift.

Despite your initial reservations, you enjoyed the festivities more than you expected. You had opposed the idea at first, finding it quite unnecessary, but Satoru had pouted for three long days until you eventually relented to appease him.

Speaking of him, he was equally dressed to impress, looking every bit as an emperor he was in an exquisite aquamarine military uniform and robes. Despite engaging in conversation with Earl Nanami, he kept a watchful eye on you, stealing glances in your direction to ensure you were well.

You nodded at him, and he threw you a wink. You smiled.

Everything was truly going well... until the herald announced:

"Prince Megumi and Royal Consort Hanabi from Eastern Empire!"

There was suddenly a hush over the crowd as the two made their entrance. You stilled, looking at the figure responsible for your checkered life—

Hanabi was starkly different since the last you saw her at the courthouse during your divorce. Her dress was now a vibrant shade of burgundy red, reminiscent of a gown you once wore. Gone was her air of humility, replaced by a display of extravagance befitting a noblewoman.

She is no longer your maid, but Naoya's consort. There was no trace of the woman who once served you. You were actually impressed, as she could actually shape herself into the image of a royal consort.

"Empress." However, your attention quickly shifted to Naoya's nephew, and once also your ward, Megumi, as he bowed before you respectfully. "Congratulations."

A fond smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you regarded the young prince who had once been a very shy individual. It reminded you of the days spent with him just to get him out of his shell.

"Thank you, Megumi."

"Diamonds suit you far better than golds do. I wish only for the best for you, Your Majesty."

It warmed your heart, really. Using that reference to your gold crown from your time in the Eastern Empire, you could see how much Megumi truly understood your position and bore no resentment towards you.

Could the same be said for Naoya though?

Right after you received his gift—an ornate box that seemed oddly familiar to you—Hanabi suddenly blurted out:

"So, fate has smiled upon you. Congratulations Empress Y/N." She kept that soft, meaningful smile on her face as she offered her felicitations.

Ever since her arrival was announced, something about her demeanor had bothered you. There was a subtle emptiness that seemed to linger in her gaze.

"Thank you," you responded, and that was when you noticed it. There was never any celebration for the birth of her daughter and Naoya, only a passing announcement.

And so, you added. "Congratulations on the birth of the princess too."

You could have sworn her expression fell for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure and bowed her head to you.

For a while, you lost sight of her in the crowd, feeling quite comfortable in your dais. Soon after, Satoru returned to your side, and the herald announced:

"Attention! His Majesty the Emperor's gift for Her Majesty the Empress!"

You looked at Satoru questioningly, and he gave you a dashing smirk before turning to the crowd.

"Thank you, all of you, for joining us to celebrate this joyous occasion." The way he carried himself and the sheer confidence he exuded was mesmerizing, you couldn't deny how it made you swoon. "I've been infamous for many things, and I'm sure the tales have spread far and wide. So please, allow me one more gesture with you as the witnesses."

The crowd giggled at his words, and you finally spotted Hanabi among them, quietly assessing the scene.

Your husband turned to you, a soft smile on his face.

"This is for you my empress— my lovely queen. Words can't describe how elated I am to know that now you bear our child." He took your hand and pressed a kiss on it. "And it's only fitting that I praise you along with the skies and the stars."

A footman arrived and presented a pearly box. Satoru opened it, revealing a necklace inside. The centerpiece was a large, flawless diamond surrounded by smaller, perfectly cut stones of the same kind. No matter how you saw it, it was truly a work of art, meant to captivate and dazzle anyone who laid eyes on it.

You let out a gasp. "This..."

Satoru grinned, picking up the jewelry and preparing to place it on you. "Nothing much. Just a little trinket for you."

"This is not just a 'little trinket'!"

Your banter elicited another round of snickers from the audience as Satoru fastened the necklace around your neck. The moment he did, the crowd erupted into applause.

"Actually, my real gift is the new pagoda in the royal gardens, built in honor of the Empress," Satoru stated effortlessly, grinning unabashedly. "Feel free to stop by later, everyone."

To the ton, for him to gift you with something so sacred was the height of extravagance. Some of them wondered how you had managed to turn the elusive emperor into someone so devoted to you.

And a few... might be harboring ill will against you for it.

. . .

Later that night, you were sorting through the gifts you had received throughout the day.

"I don't understand, why would you give an expecting woman this?" Shoko picked apart a manuscript that was the gift from Archbishop Yaga. "Who would read this?"

"I wouldn't, but I'm sure Duke Geto would," you replied, and soon the two of you were giggling together.

From jewelry to ornaments, you were pleased with all the gifts presented by the guests from day one. While most were given out of formality, it was heartwarming to imagine your baby seeing all these someday.

Your attention soon turned to the box Megumi handed you earlier—Naoya's gift.

You were intrigued, because what could your spiteful ex-husband could possibly give you? And you immediately reached over to open the lid to find...

"What's that?" Shoko asked as your eyes widened in slight surprise.

Inside the box was an intricate gold and ruby necklace. One you knew well. The very one you wore during your coronation as the Empress of the Eastern Empire.

Years ago, Naoya himself had chosen this piece for you, and now he was gifting it to you, again?

“From now on, it’s going to be me and you, Empress.”

Reliving years of your marriage with him wasn't easy. You two were childhood sweethearts, and had been happy in the beginning. You couldn't pinpoint when things began to fall apart, but suddenly Naoya turned into such a person you didn't recognize altogether.

Seeing this relic made you nostalgic, and before you realized it, you touched it, trying to get a better look—

"Ah—!"

Suddenly, a sharp, unexpected pain shot through your abdomen. You instantly dropped the jewelry, letting it crash to the ground, and clutched your lower belly.

"Empress! What happened?!" Shoko rushed to your side in an instant, holding you up, and you whimpered.

"It hurts—!" Your breath hitched, as a seemingly invisible knife gutted you from inside. The intensity of the pain was overwhelming, leaving you gasping for breath. "Shoko, please—"

And before you could even scream or think, the pain blindsided you and your vision titled, before blacking out completely.

First came the warmth, then a reassuring squeeze on your hand. As your consciousness returned, you felt groggy, with your surroundings sharpening into focus.

The first thing that became your main focus the moment your eyes fluttered open was Satoru's face, a mixture of fright and relief etched across his features.

"You're awake..." He breathlessly muttered, sitting on your bedside, interlacing his fingers with yours. "How do you feel?"

"Sa...toru..." your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, and as soon as he heard you speak, he exhaled sharply, pulling you into a tight embrace.

"Heavens, I—" he let out a long sigh, his breath hot against your neck. "I'm so glad... you are..."

"What h-happened to me...?" you were feeling feverish and a dull throb was pounding at the back of your head, before the shock of it all dawned on you. "B-baby...! Our—!"

"Baby is okay too, don't worry," Satoru assured, pulling away from you to gently touch your cheek and squeeze your hand. "Both of you are fine for now..."

The horror that you might lose your baby shook you to the very core. Your vision blurred with the threatening onset of tears.

"Wh-at happened to me, Satoru...?" you asked again as he wiped your first falling tears, your heartbeat sounding so loud in your ears. "I-I was just..."

His expression took on a sudden shift, as if a dark cloud had passed over his face.

"You came into contact with a cursed object," he stated, his eyes hard as he locked onto yours. "You were cursed, Y/N."

"What...?" You were rendered speechless, feeling your body starting to shake. Cursed object? Your past coronation necklace?

Naoya was trying to curse you?

"It's okay, I'm here now, yeah?" Satoru's voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, grounding you in the present. "Look at me. Hey, look at me." he repeated, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours with intensity.

“I’m here. I’m here with you. Nothing—absolutely nothing—will touch you so long as I’m here.”

But in that moment, your mind was so overwhelmed with fear for yourself and your unborn baby that you couldn't fully grasp the magnitude of the mess unfolding before you, and you just cried in his arms.

Feeling your feeble fingers fisting his robes and your inconsolable tears staining his collar, Satoru gritted his teeth.

“This won't happen again,” he whispered into your hair, feeling his rage simmering as he felt the tremors of your sobs against his chest. “I swear, I won't let anything like this happen again.”

To Satoru, that was more than enough to justify all his subsequent actions. Putting a curse on his empress essentially amounted to an act of beginning a war.

And it also meant he no longer had to operate behind the scenes.

“Keep them in Clock Tower. No contact. Only food and water at designated times.”

Satoru's icy gaze on the captain of royal guard compelled him to hastily comply with the order, before his eyes landing on the map of the entire continent.

In response to the incident that befell you, he issued orders for open hostility along the eastern and western borders. Soon after, he would formally declare his intention to go to war.

So close. He was so close to achieving his end goal.

. . .

"Satoru!"

Several days later, Suguru burst into his study, visibly outraged. He clenched his fists, looking as if he was about to throttle him altogether.

"You—" he heaved a harsh breath. "You have gone too far!"

"What are you talking about, Suguru?"

"Is cursing the entire winery village not enough for you?" This was the first time Suguru had been this furious with him. "Did you really have to massacre the neighboring district as well?!"

"They have placed a curse on my empress." It was so easy for him to say it. "Anyone who dares to harm her shall die."

"You can direct it at Zen'in Naoya! Not the innocent civilians!"

Satoru remained silent, neither shaken nor enraged, and he had finally had enough.

“Are you even sure it’s because the empress is cursed?" Suguru challenged. In his view, this farce had been going on too long.

“No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”

You were informed, days later.

“His Majesty has placed the prince and royal consort of the Eastern Empire under strict watch in Clock Tower.”

Clock Tower was essentially the prison where they kept war criminals. Learning that Satoru had confined both Megumi and Hanabi there left you aghast.

After some days of bedrest and getting better, you realized that the entire situation still didn't make sense to you. As hateful as Naoya was, harming you would do him more harm than good. Eastern and Western Empires stood evenly matched in military power, and hence, a conflict between them would bring devastation to both sides.

And moreover, you knew for sure was that Megumi was definitely not the one responsible for this. He was just a boy!

You had to let him out somehow. You had to talk to Satoru about this.

Or at least that was what you thought when you came close to his study.

“Are you even sure it's because the empress is cursed? No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”

You stopped on your tracks—stunned into place, to be exact.

“And you’ve struck gold when she did because her influence will provide you with greater advantage.” Suguru scoffed then, lightly shaking his head with a sneer. “Love? How laughable. All these years, you are planning your warpath, how could you claim you love her when you're trying to ravage her homeland without even considering the impact it would have on her?”

It felt like whiplash. Geto Suguru's voice had your feet rooted to the spot, causing all your doubts to resurface and sizzle in an instant. The very question you had tried to avoid, it was suddenly shoved in your face.

What... will Satoru say? Your heart thumped so loud in your ears it made you almost stagger. He couldn't possibly. He simply couldn't. All his actions... they reflected his affection for you and you believed it because you felt it yourself too.

But Satoru's next response was—

“Even when she is derided as the devil, I will bring an end to the Zen’in line in this lifetime.”

And a part of your heart withers then.

The tips of your fingers trembled, finally taking in everything that you had tried to ignore for the past few weeks. It all caught up to you in one overwhelming rush.

Suddenly, it felt as if something inside your chest was torn out and held up for you to see.

"I'm telling you, that day will come sooner than you think, Satoru." Suguru's voice broke through, his frustration palpable. His words snapped you out of your reverie, and you took a step back, retreating to the safety of your study.

The first time you felt utter hollowness wrecking you was when you had suspected that Naoya might have taken Hanabi to his bed. The feelings overwhelming you now were eerily similar to how you felt back then.

Only in this case…

You had used him first, and if he used you in return... you couldn't fault him.

But isn't it still a bitter truth, even when a mutual transaction is very well within his rights, to know that what you believe as love may apparently not really be the case?

Love... of course, he loves you.

Of that, he was certain.

But at the same time… he had his ambitions.

Destroying the Eastern Empire. Was it so wrong that he wanted it? Didn't you want this as well? After all, Naoya had spurned you for a lowly servant and made your life hell, didn’t he?

Satoru strolled through the halls and made his way to your study, where the sight of you, so pretty and regal in your seat, greeted him.

His beautiful, graceful wife and empress of his nation. For so long, he had desired you, and now here you were, perched within his walls. His heart couldn't be more full— his life is complete already.

"Sweetheart, hey... how are you feeling today?" an adoring grin was visible on his face as he approached you. "Does the baby give you trouble today?"

You didn't answer though, and didn't look at him either. It was quite strange, Satoru thought.

"What's wrong? Is there something—" And when you finally turned to him, the look in your eyes was so eerily cold it almost gave him a chill.

"Release Megumi from your dungeon," you told him with a strained tone. "And return him to his home empire."

The smile on Satoru's face vanished that instant.

"I can't do that."

You rose from your seat, facing him. "He is just a child."

Satoru regarded you with a stern look. “That child you speak about is a prince of the Eastern Empire. He has committed a great crime against you.”

“Naoya didn’t do it.” Your steely gaze was unflinching. “He might be senseless, but he isn’t insane enough to deliberately go into a war he might possibly lose.”

Satoru's eyes darkened at your words, as you stood before him with determination. The way you were so adamant somehow took him aback. “How... could you defend him? He has wronged you!”

It was one question you had expected, and you had the answer ready.

“Even if he has, I could never wish doom upon my own homeland, Satoru. I’ve lived most of my life there, I did a great deal of things there— even if you harbor some sort of misguided contempt or just bloodthirsty enough to lay ruin to Eastern Empire, I refuse to be the puppet for your schemes!”

There it was. You had said it. Everything would crumble once again just like your previous marriage.

Satoru was staring at you in slight disbelief, his eyes gleamed with something that you couldn't really pinpoint. Anger? Disappointment?

“Your life was in danger, as was our unborn child’s. Don’t you care about that—!” he actually had to stop to catch his breath. “Don’t you care that our child nearly didn't make it?”

“And? You must have thought it was the perfect grounds for declaring a war?” but you didn’t relent and questioned him with a scoff. “And afterwards, you would try to use me to gain defectors from Eastern Empire, is that it?”

You saw the flash of surprise in your now-husband's eyes right when you recited his words, but you weren't about to hold back any longer now.

“Now you’re using my safety to justify your actions,” you hissed, feeling like suddenly you understood what all of this was. “You’re quite cunning, Satoru. I’ve heard everything—you will do anything to bring an end to the Zen'in lineage! You won’t even consider the repercussions of my reputation being tarnished across the lands!”

“Is that even important now?” Satoru gritted his teeth to suppress his irritation. “You have been cursed. Do you honestly think I would let them get away with cursing my empress? How could I, who seek to protect you, be more vicious than whoever in Eastern Empire who cursed you with that necklace?”

“You’re doing this for your personal gratification!” you exclaimed. “It is never about me. You’re just a warmonger!”

The moment those words left your lips, Satoru stilled. His gaze on you faltered, and you could’ve sworn hurt flashed in his face.

“Just how low… is your opinion of me?” he asked, his tone dropping, eyes devoid of emotion. “You jump into conclusions only after overhearing something in a passing and yet you know for sure Naoya wouldn’t harm you—” he clenched his jaw.

“You… really loved him, didn’t you?” he asked with a sardonic smile. “I know it already. You won’t ever be able to do the same for me. You can’t even trust me.”

You were rendered speechless. Despite your doubts of him, hearing this still felt like a slap in your face.

Won’t be able to do the same for him? No. That’s not true. You are—

Satoru let out a defeated laugh and ran his hand through his hair, leaving you uncertain whether he was amused or heartbroken by your lack of response.

“It’s funny, how I have loved you for so long... but apparently the woman I believed to have even a semblance of affection for me doesn’t even exist.”

It felt like that one part of you that was capable of feeling love had been stabbed once again.

To say this out loud hurt you deeply, unbeknownst to him. You didn’t mean this at all, still it was what came out of you, out of spite—

“In the end, we’re just using each other. That’s all we amount to.”

Satoru bitterly snorted, finding your accusation so unfair to him.

“How cruel is it that I’m the only one who has to prove this love to you? What about you? You’re terribly, horribly selfish!”

You stayed silent, looking away, caught between the scorching knives that seemed to twist your heart and conflicting emotions in it, uncertain of what to believe anymore. And you didn't really know what heartbreak was like before—

“It has been really exhausting, and I don’t want to bother anymore.”

When his gaze next met yours, dark and piercing, you realized he was no longer the same man who once promised you love and devotion.

“You're free to believe whatever truth you wish. But remember, even if you are my wife and the empress of this nation, should you commit any transgressions… I won’t hesitate to accuse you of treason, Empress.”

You have committed treason.

Satoru had conducted investigation of the sorts just to prove his point. And yet days later, no direct evidence pointing towards Megumi or Hanabi were found in that cursed necklace.

Punishment for treason is imminent death. You were well-aware of that more than anyone, but your consciousness wouldn't allow it if Megumi had to be hanged due to Satoru's antagonism.

"Your Majesty, your kindness knows no bounds," Megumi said, dropping to one knee before you and lowering his head in the throne room. Satoru had chosen not to grace any of you with his presence, leaving you alone to bid farewell to both Megumi and Hanabi.

Since then, you hadn't spoken with him, nor had he visited your chambers. It was as if he considered you nonexistent at all.

And it is really only a matter of time before he finds out.

But at the very least, you were right. It was never Megumi. That boy was fond of you, he could never. So, you shifted your gaze on the woman next to him.

"Royal Consort Hanabi. A word."

It was the cue for everyone else to exit the throne room. Now, you were faced with this woman once again, and yet one thing remained the same— you were still towering over her.

"Why did you do it?" Your calm gaze betrayed a quiet anger that was unmistakably clear. All because of this woman. It was beyond you, how despite having left your past life behind, she had somehow managed to taint your new one as well.

Hanabi looked away, a hint of shame coloring her features. "Your Majesty knows, so why do you spare me?" she asked quietly.

"How preposterous of you to think that I have spared you," you scoffed. "All this time, have you learned nothing at all from standing by Naoya's side?"

She flinched, visibly making herself smaller at your unforgiving tone, still, she dared herself to meet your eyes.

"Can I ask... why you never consider it as Emperor Naoya's doing?" she seemed more confused more than anything, even as her lips wobbled. "The two of you... you don't really hate each other, so why...?"

You didn't want to dwell on why Naoya had chosen that specific piece of jewelry to return to you. If anything, you'd consider it his final parting gift and be done with it.

But the naivety of this woman was astounding. Someone like her wouldn't last long in your seat. You let out a sigh, torn between feeling sorry for her or not.

"You have much to learn about court affairs, Hanabi. And do not think this is an act of mercy. Sending you back to Naoya is a punishment in itself—you know that by now."

Hanabi trembled where she stood, her breaths were shallow, and her hands shook slightly as she struggled to maintain composure in your presence.

Realizing it was futile to continue the conversation, you decided to conclude it.

"Know that I will never forgive you for what you have done to me." Your sharp eyes squared on her, the cold ire in your tone making her shudder.

In all the years Hanabi had known you, you had never appeared more fearsome than you did now, adorned in silks of deep blue hues, with that crown of diamonds gleaming in your head.

Then, as if sealing her fate, you delivered these parting words:

"You've always coveted what I have, and sooner or later, that will be your downfall."

The palace felt suffocating for you. After sending Hanabi away, you took a walk in the gardens, followed closely by your ladies-in-waiting.

Good heavens, what have you done? You definitely didn't regret saving Megumi, but no matter how, you had committed a great crime against your own empire. A sentence would loom over your head!

And what about your baby? Would Satoru execute you while you still had his child inside you?

The very thought made your vision tilt, and you had to lean on the wall for support. Your ladies-in-waiting were immediately clamoring against each other.

"Leave," you commanded, trying to catch your breath while doing so. "I'll… take some time to rest here."

It took you a moment to realize you had reached the pagoda that Satoru had commissioned for you. This was your first time visiting it. The structure was magnificent, towering in height and adorned with exquisite decorations, leaving you in awe.

"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby."

You wanted to cry. His voice, soft and smooth, conveyed those words so easily to you. He really loved you, didn't he? What made you so unsure about that undeniable fact?

And now you had broken his heart.

Your hand reached for your belly. Though hidden by your dress, you could distinctly feel that it had become firmer these days, holding the product of your love with Satoru.

"I'm sorry, baby..." you whispered, heartbroken. "I didn't mean to drag you into this too..."

You felt nauseous, your breaths come in short pants, and you felt a headache coming. It didn't really register to you that you had crashed into the candle table, before you collected yourself and ventured deeper inside.

You just wanted a sense of peace and quiet. You would think more later, and right now, the darkness inside felt like a comforting lull for you to rest.

. . .

Or at least that was what you had intended, until you looked back and saw the swirling inferno creeping through the halls.

It didn't take long for Satoru to figure out you had really orchestrated Megumi's release.

More than his wounded pride, it was the searing pain of realizing that you truly believed he was only using you for his own benefit. It felt like an insult to everything he had done for you.

Why couldn't you see that? Just how hard is it for you to understand?

And now that it had come to this... what did you expect from him? Should he really make good on his word and punish you? It tore his heart to even consider it.

However, what was worse was… did you think he was really capable of that too?

Amidst his heartache, suddenly he heard loud commotion from outside his study, yells and cries of help— and it roused him from his thoughts that he came out of his study, only to come right into a familiar face.

"Anyone! Anyone at all!" one of your maids was running, sobbing and hysterical. "Her Majesty! Please help Her Majesty!"

"What is all of this ruckus?" Satoru demanded, catching the maid by the hand, as she stuttered in tears.

And then, everything came crashing down with the next words.

"The Empress— is trapped inside the burning tower!"

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melminli · 5 months ago

Note

I LOVEDDDDDDD your Thanos “bang bang bang” post and it made me very curious abt how they know eo and stuff and like I’d love to read more about it in general if you don’t mind. It’s so great and I love your writing <333 have a fun day / night 🫶🏻

BANG BANG BANG ll

summary - thanos was always just such an easy person to argue with. you really hated the guy and that was something that was never going to change, even if your life was on the line and it fucking was.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 1.8k

contains: violence, angst, death, drug use and addiction, dark content - just usual squid game stuff really

a/n: ty so much! this turned out kinda freaky but that is because thanos is a freak so, i didn't really have a choice.

prev. | next. | masterlist

There was an eerie silence among all the participants for the first few seconds after the first death happened. The realization of what this meant for everyone present slowly sank in, and you thought that maybe the crazy man with all his screaming, wasn't quite as crazy as you originally thought. The real madman was probably the person somewhere upstairs or - you didn't know exactly where, but you knew that they were watching you.

“Don't move!” His voice shouted again, but this time with a completely different force. It may be that this was the most logical conclusion one could draw from what had just happened, but some seemed to throw all logic out of the window as soon as the fear of death hit. It only took one person to panic to set off a domino effect and from one second to the next loud gunshots could be heard, following the fearful screams of one person after another. The participants were being slaughtered like frightened animals in a cage, what kind of sick game was really going on here?

You too began to tremble as you looked down at the floor, dissociating and trying to ignore your surroundings as best you could. You had to stop yourself from flinching when the person right next to you was killed, even as you felt his still warm blood covering your cheek, even as a small river of it started pooling around your foot. You were most likely going to leave a trace of him all over the ground as soon as you started walking again - whoever he was. It didn't take very long for everyone who had moved to be shot, maybe half a minute - and yet it must have been the worst half minute of your life so far.

“Don't you dare move,” Thanos said in a voice you weren't used to hearing from him. “I'm serious, don't make me mad.”

You just looked at his back from behind, with a tense posture while you tried to regain control of your breathing again. Finally, there was complete silence on the pitch again. Even if it wasn't an entirely welcome silence.

The voice from the loudspeakers began to speak again and you already knew that this would be a voice that would haunt you in your nightmares. “Let me repeat: You can move forward while the tagger shouts, Green light, red light. If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated.”

Ah, so that's what you meant with eliminated. A bit literal but no biggie! The game continued, but no one really dared to move a muscle even when the puppet looked away. You then saw Thanos shift slightly out of the corner of your eye and noticed that he was pulling his cross necklace out of his t-shirt. Safe to say, that you could barely believe what you were seeing right before your very eyes. You've got to be kidding me, they took everything we had from us, but he was allowed to keep that old thing? “Are you seriously going to take that stuff now?” you whispered in disbelief but didn't really judge him for it. You were this close to just laughing out loud at the absurdity of the scene, but you didn't.

“You don't have to be jealous, sweetheart,” he replied with slightly shaky hands as he stopped his movement abruptly when the doll finished talking. He just stared longingly at the colorful pills in front of him. “I don't mind sharing with you, you know that.”

You sighed inwardly at the thing you were about to do. You had been clean for maybe about three years by now and quitting drugs of any kind overnight was fucking hard - definitely one of the hardest things you had to do in your life. On the other hand, your life was still as shitty as before, the only difference being that you were now consciously depressed and unhappy, so who cares? You could die every second anyway. “Thanks.” you just said after taking the pill out of his hand and threw the thing as quickly as possible in your mouth as soon as the doll looked away. Yeah, you were the biggest hypocrite on earth, old news.

It only took maybe a few seconds after that for you to feel the effects of the pill and then finally, all the stress started to dissipate. Your muscles relaxed, all the shouting about whatever felt like a soft pillow hugging you and the weird laying positions of the dead around you suddenly seemed incredibly funny. These were really strong pills, you could practically feel your whole body tingling. “Why are they all suddenly forming a line?” you asked with a grin and Thanos just hummed, not knowing the answer himself. “No idea, but watch this,” he said and waited until the puppet had turned towards you to push the person next to him, causing everyone in front of them to fall over too. “Ding! You lost,” he told them while wiggling his eyebrows and smirking after he watched them get shot.

You didn't even try to stifle your laughter at the scene. “You really are such an asshole.” you replied, shoving him aside this time after the doll averted its gaze. You then ran away as fast and as far away as you could so that he couldn't take revenge on you for what you had just done. However, you quickly stopped moving with both hands in the air as soon as the girlish voice emitted red light as if you were surrendering to her. You stifled your grin and pretty much failed when you noticed a slightly older woman standing relatively close to you. “Hey, are you trying to hide behind me to use me as a shield?” you spoke out without moving your mouth much and watched as she began to sweat more after you realized what she was doing. Still, she didn't pay you any further attention. “And now you're ignoring me too?” you spat out annoyed and grabbed her by the arm when you were free to move and pulled her in front of you against her will.

She tried to fight you off but you forced her further forward while she tried to defend herself. “You're older than me, aren't you ashamed of yourself?” You asked her and stopped walking before the robot's face turned towards you.

Number 57, who was still resisting your grip, stumbled a little to the side when you suddenly let go of her. She was about to howl in delight when she noticed how everyone else stood still. “No…” she mumbled out fearfully. “It's because of that bitch! I didn't -” she tried to defend herself to someone as she looked around the room, but her head caught the bullet before she could even finish her sentence.

“I may be a bitch, but at least I'm still alive.” you sang to her dead body on the floor before running past her. You didn't know how much time was left, but you had almost made it to the finish line anyway. You stopped with your back to the robot girl this time and it didn't take you long to spot the purple hair in the crowd. “Su-bong!” you shouted his name, since you had somehow gotten separated while running. You waited until he yelled back with a what?! “Last one there, gets fucked in the ass!” you yelled out without any shame or filter and saw his facial expression turn serious at the challenge. “Let's Go!”

The whole game went by relatively quickly once you took the pill from Thanos. It was actually quite fun, you thought to yourself as you both jumped around like two crazy people with grinning faces, waving your arms around wildly. I know it's not socially acceptable to say this, but I fucking love doing drugs! It was like everything around you was happening in slow motion and all the decisions you made felt foggy, like you didn't even realize what you were doing.

You loved being this person, it felt great to forget everything and just - not think. “I have won! No, really! You crossed the line two steps after me, I saw it!” you exclaimed before Thanos could object to a single thing. “Didn't anyone else see that?” you exclaimed in disbelief as if the others weren't busy staying alive while watching several others die right before their faces. You didn't care about the looks they gave you as you waved your hand. “No, they definitely saw it. I won.”

Thanos just gave in with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I'm getting fucked in the ass which is gay, very funny.” he just mumbled to himself annoyed, and continued to avoid your gaze, but couldn't help grin again when you slapped him on the shoulder laughing. “Hey, why did we stop doing all this again?” he asked you when he couldn't remember the reason. All he knew was that he hadn't had this much fun in a long time, even though he knew that he always had a great time with you - no matter what.

You laughed. “Oh, that's because you promised me that we'd both get clean together, and then you spent the money I gave you for rehab on more drugs behind my back.“ you laughed along with him, even if Thanos frowned a little at the memory and you started to smile forcedly after remembering again how he had betrayed you. “Or what was it again? Was it something about that Youtuber you told me about…” you mumbled to yourself obliviously, feeling any sense of happiness begin to fade. You finally gave up, the details weren't that important anyway. “It doesn't really matter though, right? In any case, you used the money for something else, whatever it was. Even though you knew how hard I worked for it - hell, I didn't even eat most days to scrape it together, man.” you stated while you looked him in the face, even though he averted his gaze from you. “That's just fucked up dude.”

Exactly. You actually hated being this person. You might not remember it right now, but you would as soon as the effects of the pill wore off, which hopefully wasn't soon. You really hoped it wasn't soon, because you didn't want to be aware of anything that had happened today.

next.

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kunareads · 3 months ago

Text

if i believe you | chapter one

a bride adorned

clan head!satoru x reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 1k

content: it's your wedding night! no smut, angst

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

your wedding had been beautiful.

ornate silks, golden light, the scent of incense. satoru had taken it all in stride, hands loose at his sides like he had nothing to prove. and when he turned to you, the weight of the gojo clan on both your shoulders, he only smiled as he took your hands.

he had squeezed your fingers once as the vows were spoken, just enough to get you to meet his gaze. and before you knew it, it was done.

and now, you wait.

the room is silent, save for the faint crackle of candlelight. shadows flicker against papered walls, stretching long and soft over the sheets where you sit, waiting.

your hands are folded neatly in your lap, resting over the embroidery of your wedding robes. you’re still dressed. the thought hits distantly, like you’re observing yourself from the outside.

why are you still dressed? should you have undressed first? would that have made this easier?

the thought of him undressing you feels too large, too intimate, too much. but it must be done.

you inhale, willing your mind into stillness.

you’re a wife now. you have a duty.

the door slides open.

he steps in, his presence swallowing the room. satoru gojo, your new husband. his robes are looser than before, the outer layer gone, revealing the sharp edges of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat. his white hair is slightly tousled after the long day, but the tilt of his head and the lift of his brows suggest amusement.

“you look like you’re waiting for an execution,” he says.

your fingers twitch in your lap. “i—” you pause, unsure how to answer. you are waiting. just not for an execution.

he rubs the back of his neck as he steps further into the room. the candlelight softens his features, makes him look younger, though you know better. satoru is anything but soft. he’s the head of his clan, the strongest, the one elders bow to in quiet reverence. or fear. he’s a man with power, with authority, and now he’s your husband.

you belong to him.

the thought isn’t scary. it’s not even unwelcome. it’s just a fact.

you straighten your spine, pressing your shoulders back as he reaches the foot of the bed. he watches you, blindfold off, something unreadable in his gaze.

you fold your hands tighter. “would you like me to—”

“no.”

the word is immediate. sharp.

you blink.

you’re so stiff, so still. like you’re waiting to be moved into place. or for something to happen to you.

satoru knew who you were before you married him, knew what kind of family you come from, knew how they would’ve raised you. but knowing it and seeing it are two different things.

he exhales heavily, raking a hand through his hair. “you’re—” he stops himself, shakes his head, and mutters something under his breath before sitting next to you.

you don’t flinch at the dip of the mattress under his weight, but something inside you goes very still. your heart beats in your throat.

“i…” you try again. “i know my duty.”

his head tilts, white lashes lowering as he studies you. then, almost lazily, he leans back on his palms.

“yeah?” he asks. “and what’s your duty?”

you swallow. this is a test, you think. maybe you just have to say it plainly, strip it down to the bare truth.

“to be a good wife to you,” you answer. “to—”

you force the words out, staring down at your hands. “to submit to you.”

his stomach turns. fuck. the back of his neck feels hot.

silence stretches between you. when you finally look up, his expression is unreadable. his mouth quirks at the corner, but it doesn’t look like a smile.

“they teach you that at home?”

you nod.

he hums, something distant in the sound, before sitting forward again. his hand lifts, and for a moment, you think he might touch you. might push you down into the sheets, might cup your jaw, might—

instead, his fingers brush the beading on your robe. the slightest pressure, knuckles grazing your sleeve. a test.

you don’t move. you stay perfectly still. a statue, waiting to be sculpted into whatever shape he desires.

he pulls his hand away. wrong.

“is that what you want?” he asks.

your mouth opens, then closes. want. what a strange word to use.

“it’s my responsibility.”

satoru’s jaw ticks as he sits back again.

you don’t know what you want, he thinks. you’re just repeating what you were told. he could do anything right now, and you’d just take it. he can’t stand it.

for a moment, neither of you speak. you feel like you’ve failed a test you didn’t know you were taking.

then, he shifts, reaching for the ties at his wrist, untying them slowly. you brace yourself.

this is it. this is when it happens.

but he only loosens the fabric, then moves toward the pillow and lies down at the very edge of the bed. just like that.

you blink at him.

he stretches an arm under his head, gazing up at the ceiling like the moment has already moved on. “go to sleep,” he says.

you don’t move. your pulse is loud in your ears. “but—”

“go to sleep, please.”

you stare at him, confusion twisting in your chest.

this isn’t how it was supposed to go. you were prepared. you were willing. why didn’t he—

your stomach twists. a new thought takes root.

you turn away, pressing your hands into your lap. your voice is quieter when you speak again.

“did i do something wrong?”

for a moment, nothing.

he wants to reach for you, to offer something—comfort, maybe? but if he touches you now, if he gives you even that, he doesn’t know how you’ll take it.

finally, he looks at you. his gaze softens, almost tired. “no,” he says simply.

and then, with finality, he turns on his side, his back to you.

you don’t move for a long time. you sit, still and quiet, staring at a flickering candle. it sputters once, then it dies. the room feels colder for it.

only then do you finally lie down. you keep your hands folded over your stomach. you stare at the ceiling.

you don’t sleep.

neither does he.

883 notes · View notes

nadvs · 2 months ago

Text

the power play (part two)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

“There’s no way I just heard you right,” Lyla says. You look at your best friend through your phone screen, her mouth agape.

A moment ago, she called to invite you to her dorm room to watch movies. That sounds much better than the nerve-wracking plans you’ve already set for tonight.

“You did,” you laugh.

“You’re going to party,” she repeats, “with Rafe.”

“Yup,” you say. You set your phone down on your bed as you rifle through your closet. You’re already dressed, but you need to do something to expel your nervous energy.

You agreed to put on this farce yesterday. Now that you said it out loud, it’s setting in that you’re really going through with this.

“Back up,” she says over the phone behind you. “How did this happen?”

“We’ve gotten to know each other over tutoring. He asked me out. I said yes.”

“You actually like him like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” she replies.

You try to ignore the guilt that’s sitting on your shoulders. You’ve never lied to her, to anyone, like this.

But while she is your best friend, the bond she has with her twin brother is untouchable. You doubt she’d keep the truth of what you’re doing from Beck.

You settle back on your bed, picking up your phone.

“Well, I hope you have fun,” Lyla says with a chuckle, clearly surprised by your behavior. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“Thanks,” you say meekly. You’ve never been on a real date. You’re not sure how convincing you’ll be on a pretend one.

A text notification appears, making your stomach turn with nerves.

It’s Rafe.

There in ten minutes.

════════

You haven’t stopped talking since you got in his car.

Rafe glances over at you when he stops at a red light, a minute away from the student house at the edge of campus.

“We have to be believable, right?” you ramble on, growing uneasier the more you think about it. “Wait, will this look bad if anyone in the tutoring program finds out I’m dating you? It’s not like they ever said we can’t see the people we tutor, but if–”

“We can call this off,” Rafe interrupts. If you’re going to be a nervous mess, he’d rather not do this at all.

You cross your arms, staring ahead at the traffic light. It turns green.

“No. I just want to be prepared,” you say. “You’re sure he won’t be there?”

Rafe drives forward. He’d told you that most of the guys on the hockey team show up to these parties, but Beck usually skips out.

You’re hopeful he attends, but it may be better to ease into this before having to worry about convincing Beck just yet. Rafe is certain his ex will be there and you feel less pressure at the thought of having to trick one person instead of two.

“Pretty sure,” Rafe replies.

He doesn’t get why some athletes are so high-strung about partying. He parties every weekend and his game is just as solid.

It worked so well with Emma. He liked that she chased fun and had a careless approach to life that made him feel like if he spent enough time with her, he could, too.

“Okay,” you heavily sigh. “We’ll only have one person to fool, then.”

“Don’t take it so seriously, alright?” he says. “It’s just a party. We’ll show up, look like a couple, and leave.”

You nod, trying to picture how you should act tonight. You’ll hold Rafe’s hand. You’ll hug him. You’ll pretend like he’s charming, like he’s someone you can’t stop thinking about, instead of the cold person you know him to be.

“No kissing,” you say hurriedly. You’re not about to waste your first kiss on Rafe Cameron.

He snorts a laugh.

“Not a problem,” he says.

════════

The house is humid and crowded and loud. The bass is so heavy that you can’t make out the lyrics.

You’d thought touching Rafe would only be for show, but as he pushes through the foyer, you cup the inside of his elbow, using him as an anchor.

He greets a few guys once he gets to the living room. Some are familiar, hockey players you’ve seen before.

Rafe introduces you. By the way you’re clinging onto him as you greet his friends, he can tell you’re still on edge, but hiding it behind a big smile.

He leans down to speak close to your ear, and you realize since you’d only ever sat together before, you’d never noticed just how much he towers over you.

“I’m getting a beer,” Rafe says. “Do you drink?”

“Not usually,” you reply. “But I’ll take one.”

════════

On Rafe’s way back to you, he sees her. Emma’s in the crowd, smiling and dancing.

He still doesn’t get how she could throw it all away. They had so much fun together. He forgot about all the bad shit when he was with her. And then, all of a sudden, it was over.

He returns to find you chatting with Isaac, the team’s goalie. You thank Rafe for the drink, taking a sip and doing an awful job at hiding how much you hate the taste, and pull him into the conversation.

“Did you know he’s a music major?” you say, pointing to Isaac.

“Yeah,” Rafe says stiffly, still reeling from seeing his ex. “We’ve known each other for two years.”

“It’s so cool,” you say, unbothered by Rafe’s prickliness. “What kind of music are you most interested in?”

You continue to chat with Isaac, who’s clearly happy to be on the subject. Your nerves are stable now that you’re distracted by a genuine conversation.

Once there’s a lull, you turn to Rafe, clinking your beer against his, feeling like yourself again.

“Kind of late to cheers you now, but cheers,” you say.

“Do you talk everyone’s ear off?” he asks.

“I try to,” you reply with a grin, handing him your drink. “And now I need to go to the bathroom.”

════════

As you walk through the hallway to head back downstairs, a shelf crammed with books catches your eye. Unable to curb your curiosity, you wander into the bedroom to inspect the colorful spines.

You realize you lost track of time when a harsh voice interrupts your reading of a book’s back cover.

“You serious?” you hear behind you.

You turn to see Rafe at the door, two beers in his hands. You must have been gone so long that he had to come look for you.

“Oops,” you giggle. You cross the room, taking your drink back. “Thanks. I just wanted to check out the collection.”

“I didn’t bring you here to read,” he says sharply.

“Jeez,” you say, brows furrowing. Emma had said he was mean. She wasn’t kidding. “Why are you being grumpier than usual?”

Rafe exhales a sigh, but it’s not frustrated like usual. It’s wobbly. Almost sad.

“She’s here,” he murmurs.

Your heart sinks. She’s here. And you left him alone.

You beckon him into the room, shutting the door to avoid anyone overhearing. The music is muffled now, your senses mildly blurred from the alcohol.

“I didn’t mean to get distracted,” you say softly.

You gaze up at him to see that the hard, angry exterior you’ve grown accustomed to is gone. Right now, there’s a glimpse of softness, of genuine heartbreak.

You realize you only really heard Emma’s perspective on the relationship. You hardly know Rafe’s.

“She really did a number on you, huh?” you ask.

He only looks to the side, quiet and tense. You point to the desk by the window.

“Let’s sit,” you say.

“We don’t have to get into it,” he groans.

You settle on the desk’s surface.

“I should have some background information, don’t you think?” you say. “Humor me. I’m a decent listener. Way better at talking, but...”

You smile. Rafe is sure he’ll never understand how someone can be this damn perky.

Once he can tell you’re not letting it go, he shifts to sit on the chair, looking up at you through slitted eyes.

“How long were you together?” you ask.

“Few months.”

It's a little less impossible to picture Rafe as a boyfriend now that you see his guard down by half an inch. He must not open up all that much. You assume that’s why the breakup is hitting him so hard.

“Did you meet here at school?”

“Yeah.” He thinks back to when he’d sparked a conversation with Emma the first weekend of his sophomore year. “Things were good, but then she…”

He stops talking. He’s being pathetic. The night she ended things has been on a loop in his head. They were both drunk, at a party just like this one, arguing like they always did, when she said she was done with it, with everything.

That was a month and a half ago and he’s still a wreck.

He can’t help it. He’s always felt like a bottomless pit of a person, and Emma helped fill the void, made him feel like he was worth something.

Now that what she gave him is gone, he’s back to emptiness. To the constant reminders of how unlovable he is.

You stare at him. It’s obvious in the pain behind his stare, the tightness of clenched fists, that she broke his heart.

“Was it unexpected?” you ask.

He nods.

“Did you talk to her downstairs?”

“No,” he says. He pinches the bridge of his nose, pain radiating in his core. “This whole thing is stupid.”

“It’s not,” you say. “And as your tutor, I have to tell you that stupid is a bad word.”

He flashes you an unimpressed glare. The tables have turned between you, dropping you into the role of the one who needs to be confident and reassuring.

“It’ll be fine,” you say, your tone lighthearted. “You just have to look like you’re having fun with your new girlfriend, who you’re completely infatuated with and who you would never yell at for innocently reading the back cover of a book.”

Rafe looks towards the bookshelf he found you standing next to, guilt pinching his chest. He’s always hated it about himself, how he snaps first and thinks later.

“Any chance you saw Beck?” you ask.

“No.”

“Okay,” you say. You chug the rest of your beer and wince once the bottle is empty. “That was gross. Let’s go.”

════════

It takes a few minutes to catch Emma’s eye from across the noisy, inebriated crowd.

You’re standing in the corner of the living room facing Rafe, your arms on his shoulders like he instructed you to do. Once her gaze is on you, you cock your head.

“She’s looking,” you say.

The combination of witnessing Rafe’s heartbreak and drinking the bitter alcohol has loosened up your nerves. The man standing across from you may be rough around the edges, but he has a heart. And he gave it to someone who shattered it.

While you might not know much about their failed relationship, seeing his pain up close is enough to make you want to help.

You step a little closer, the room’s heat pressing on your skin.

“Did you start Pride and Prejudice yet?” you ask.

Rafe’s eyes sweep over your face, his big hands settling on your hips.

“Don’t tutor me right now.”

“We’re supposed to be flirting, so we have to talk about something,” you reply. “It’s a really good book. A love story if you’re into that.”

He grimaces.

“Well, it explores other themes, too.”

You notice Emma’s still looking right at you, and this time, Gabby is standing beside her and staring daggers, too.

“Hey, is it possible to get drunk off of one beer?” you ramble. “Or is it just placebo?”

“Get closer,” he tells you impatiently.

“Right.”

You slide your hands around the back of his neck and pull him down into a hug, his cheek pressed on yours, the aroma of crisp aftershave drifting over you.

“I should limit myself to half a beer next time,” you say in his ear, faking a smile.

“Lightweight,” he replies.

You act like you’re scanning the room, as if you’re meeting Emma’s eyes by chance, and when you see her cold stare, you squeeze him tighter.

“She looks really mad,” you tell him.

Rafe smirks, his chest grazing yours. It feels good knowing he still has an effect on his ex. If she was really over him like she said she is, she wouldn’t care. This is the taste of power he needed.

He slides his hands to the small of your back, languidly dragging up the curve of your spine.

If he was a guy you like, if he was Beck, you’d be a nervous mess right now. But this is methodical and calculated. It’s easy to flirt with someone when it’s fake. There’s nothing on the line.

In the corner of your eye, Emma whispers something to Gabby and they disappear into the crowd. You pull back and slowly slip your hands off of Rafe’s shoulders to pat his chest.

“She left and she wasn’t happy,” you say. “You’re welcome.”

════════

When you think about last Friday, it’s like you’re recalling a story you heard about someone else, because it can’t possibly have been you.

One drink had you completely uninhibited. You’ve never been so close to a man before, and there you were, holding Rafe against you, murmuring in his ear, acting like two mutually interested people at a party, when in reality, you’re both always at least a little annoyed with each other.

As you sit in the study room, waiting for him to arrive for your tutoring session, you’re unsure if it’ll be awkward to look him in the eye after all that happened between you.

“Hey,” Rafe coolly says when he comes in.

“Hey,” you reply.

“Beck asked about you.”

You perk up, completely distracted from whatever you were just feeling.

“What?”

Rafe settles in his usual spot, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips, clearly proud of himself for thinking of this ruse in the first place.

“The other day at practice,” he says. He pulls out his laptop. “He asked me if you and me are hanging out.”

“And?”

“I said yeah, but it’s all fake.” He gives you an impatient shrug. “What do you think I said?”

“Ha ha,” you say flatly. “His sister’s my best friend. He must’ve heard about us from her.”

You were convincing when Lyla asked you about how your date went the next day, telling her that you had a great time with Rafe. She’s still surprised at the mismatched pair, but she’s trying to be supportive.

Rafe notices the subtle frown on your face as you pull his laptop forward.

“Did he say anything else?” you ask.

“No.”

“He’s asked his sister and you about me,” you say, “but he won’t talk to me himself. If he wants to check in on me, he should. I mean, I’ll definitely lie and say I’ve been doing great, but still.”

You try to shake away the thought. You hate how much you still care, how much his years of flirting with you just for everything to end the way it did have hurt you.

“Have you heard from Emma?” you ask.

Sorrow seeps into you when Rafe’s eyes lose their brightness. You shouldn’t have asked.

“She’s trying to act like she doesn’t care,” you try to console him. “You’ll have the last laugh.”

You swiftly change the subject, finding the file he was supposed to fill with a first draft. There’s hardly anything. You suck your teeth with a disappointed tsk.

“Rafe,” you say. “You need to come here with more written down.”

“What the hell am I supposed to write about a love story?” he grumbles.

“I already told you there are other themes in this book,” you reiterate. “Let’s go through them.”

════════

The next evening, you’re leaving the library after a study session when your phone vibrates with a text. It’s Rafe, letting you know that the team is celebrating a win at an off-campus bar and that you should come.

Imagining yourself walking into the bar and seeing Beck and acting the same way you did at that party feels impossible. A little part of you is worried last weekend’s display was a lucky fluke.

You reply to him as you walk deeper into the cool spring night: I have readings to do.

When ur done then?

You stare down at your screen, uncertain and nervous. It was easy when you had Emma to fool. You were confident she’d have some sort of reaction, seeing that it was her ex-boyfriend you were cuddling up to.

But Beck might not even care. And that’d hurt.

You eventually come to the conclusion that it’s worth a try. Beck damaged your pride. You want to undo some of that damage. And you didn’t start this just to back out.

You text Rafe: I’ll call you when I get there.

════════

Half an hour later, your name flashes on Rafe’s phone. He stands from his place at the table, all other seats taken up by teammates and girlfriends, and he makes his way to the entrance of the bar.

Even though you’re just someone he’s pretending to be into, it feels good to have a person come to a party just for him again. Emma used to always tag along for these things, back when she was the constant in his life.

“Hey,” he answers your call.

“Meet me at the front,” you say on the other end. Rafe finds you at the door, your arms crossed, your lips pulled into an awkward smile.

“I didn’t want to come in alone,” you explain. He puts his phone back in his pocket, eyes travelling over you in confusion. Why are you back to being nervous?

“Loosen up,” he says.

“I’m trying,” you breathe.

“Just follow my lead,” he says. “Act like you don’t care that he’s here.”

Rafe offers you his hand and you take it, feeling his slightly calloused palm against yours. You keep your gaze on the floor as he takes you into the loud bar.

He doesn’t give you a chance to think. He gets to his seat and pulls you onto his lap. You try your best to act like this is something you’ve done before.

You drape your arm around his shoulders, looking down at him, finding a sense of reassurance in his striking blue eyes as his lap warms the underside of your thighs.

“Casually sitting on your lap,” you mumble. “This is normal for us. Totally normal. Who needs a chair? Not me.”

Most of the group is in lively conversation. Some people don’t even notice your arrival. But Beck does.

You offer him a small smile from across the table, the sight of him making your stomach flutter. He nods in greeting, unreadable.

Rafe’s hand rests on the side of your bare thigh, fingers splayed over your cool skin, right where your skirt ends.

“You’re cold,” he says, loud enough over the music, quiet enough that only you can hear him.

His muscles start to tighten as his thumb brushes over the swell of your thigh.

It’s instinct. He can’t control that he’s getting worked up. He has a pretty girl on his lap. It’d be weird if his body didn’t have some sort of reaction.

“Yeah. It’s cold out,” you reply.

“How’d you get here?” he asks accusingly.

“I walked.”

“Walked?” he repeats. “By yourself?”

“Campus security can only escort me through school property,” you say. “I was on my own for like, two minutes.”

“Don’t do that again,” he says, quieter now. “I’d never let my girl walk alone at night.”

You tilt your head, frustration bubbling up inside you.

“Let?” you echo, brows furrowed.

He stares at you with hard eyes, forcing himself to push past the irritation of what you’re implying — that he’s controlling. He heard it from Emma before. She never understood that he was trying to protect her.

You’re supposed to be happy to see each other, not arguing. And he needs to get you back for pissing off his ex the other night. And it’s a good idea to get his hand off of your leg for his own sake.

His touch is featherlight when he cups your cheek. Your eyes soften with appreciation. He’s putting on this show for you, forcing your tense conversation to look sweet, and it makes you a bit more relaxed.

His ex is nowhere to be found, but he’s being affectionate with you, holding up his part of the deal. You can only hope this is working on Beck. You’d spent years seeing him with girls; he’d never seen you with a guy.

“I would’ve picked you up,” Rafe says stiffly, his tone mismatching his gesture. “If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t be cool with knowing something could happen to you. You said we have to be believable, yeah?”

You study him under the dimmed, warm lights, your heart racing from feeling Beck’s presence at the other side of the table.

“So, it’s like you… feel responsible for my safety or something?” you ask.

The stress digging in Rafe’s shoulders fades into a relief he wasn’t expecting. It’s uncommon for him to feel understood. He felt it at times with his ex, but she hardly ever tried to see his side, calling him too much.

As if he needed the reminder. He knows he’s too much.

“Yeah,” he replies.

“I’ll tell you to come get me next time.”

He lowers his hand, resting it on your leg again. This time, though, he makes sure to only be touching your clothes, making no contact with your skin.

“How was the game?” you ask.

“We always beat Hatfield,” Rafe says.

“How many penalties did you get?”

“I don’t count.”

“I wouldn’t, either,” you say. “You’re in the sin bin a lot.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smile that tells you he agrees, but that he also won’t change a thing.

“How’d you know that?”

“I came to a lot of games last semester.”

“You should probably start coming to them again,” he says.

He’s right. If this were real, you’d be coming to the rink to cheer your boyfriend on.

“It’s kind of hard for me,” you admit.

Rafe grimaces in the impatient way he always does, wearing that look that implies whatever you just said is silly. You lick your lips nervously, leaning even closer to him to explain.

“I used to go to all of his games,” you say, hushed. “All through high school, too. Sitting behind the home bench just reminds me of all the time I wasted thinking he liked me, too.”

You pull back. Rafe stares at you for a moment. Despite your differences, you really have been hurt the same way. You both saw a future with someone who gave you a glimmer of hope just to shut you down.

He doesn’t usually care enough to make someone feel better. Right now is different.

“Then sit behind the sin bin,” he says. “Count my penalties for me.”

You laugh. And when you notice Beck’s eyes on you, it feels really good.

You think back to what Rafe said, to act like you don’t care. You notice Isaac a few seats away and greet him with a hello and a smile, then meet Beck’s gaze.

“How was the game?” you say casually from across the table.

“Good,” Beck answers. “It’s cool to play with Marcus again.”

“Oh, right,” you say. Marcus was a mutual friend in high school who now plays for Hatfield, a college a town away. “Did you get to talk to him?”

“Not really,” Beck replies. “What’s up with you? It’s been a while.”

It’s irritating to hear him say that, as if the distance between you wasn’t all because of him. You used to talk to Beck all the time, until he unexpectedly drove you away.

You shrug, hoping you don’t give away how hurt you’ve been.

“Not much,” you say. You look at Rafe, willing yourself to flirt with another man in front of the one who broke your heart. “This one guy I’m tutoring has been taking up all my time.”

“Sounds rough,” Rafe says.

“Yeah,” you play along, “but I’m very patient.”

“You are,” Beck says. “I wouldn’t have survived last semester if it weren’t for you.”

You force another smile, meeting Beck’s gaze again. You don’t like the reminder of all the time you spent helping him with school, pining for him, hoping he pined for you, too.

Rafe looks between you and Beck as you continue to chat. There’s an obvious history between you two, a tone that only old friends could have, but the exchange is stiff.

It’s clear, at least to him, that there’s something you two aren’t talking about.

════════

Once the night ends, you get into Rafe’s car. He turns the key, the engine roaring to life.

“That was great,” you murmur sarcastically as you put on your seatbelt. You meant it to come out as a joke, but your voice has a strain to it.

It would’ve been amazing if Beck stared like Emma did the other night, but he didn’t. You feel rejected all over again.

“I think he knows us both well enough to know we can’t really like each other like that,” you say. You watch the bar’s neon sign blink in the passenger side mirror as you try to ground yourself. “Oh, well. We tried.”

Rafe highly doubts he caught on. There’s no world where you’d two be a couple — you’re irritatingly chatty and wear your heart on your sleeve, the complete opposite of Rafe and what he looks for in a girl — but while Beck kept a cool facade, his glances at you weren’t skeptical. And they weren’t platonic, either.

He puts the car in drive, anxiety gnawing at him as he pulls out of the parking lot. It sounds like you’re about to call it quits all because of a false assumption.

“He fell for it,” Rafe mutters. “And he was jealous. You’re crazy if you think he wasn’t.”

You were hoping that Beck would be convinced that you’re fine after what happened between you. That maybe he’d regret the way he handled things. But you never thought he’d actually be jealous. Why would he be if he never liked you in the first place?

“Then I guess I’m crazy,” you tell him, “because to me, he didn’t seem to care at all.”

Rafe scratches his jaw, exasperated.

“You ever think that maybe he’s just not transparent like you are?” he says after a beat.

You look at his profile, the passing streetlights washing over the planes of his face.

“Transparent?” you echo. “So, I… gave us away?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Rafe says gruffly. “You’re convincing with my help, but without it, you’re damn easy to read. He’s not as obvious as you. If you looked hard enough, though, you could tell that he really didn’t like that you were sitting on my lap.”

You stare ahead at the darkened street. From your first tutoring session with Rafe, he had you figured out. You mentioned Beck and he caught on to whatever gave you away.

You’ve been able to pretend you’ve been fine, that your heart has been kept intact. Rafe is the only one who saw through it, from the moment he sat down next to you in that study room. He has a knack for reading people.

“How do you do that?” you ask, studying his features once more.

“What?”

“I’m not easy to read,” you say. “Nobody else has picked up on how upset I’ve been over him. Not even my best friend. But you called me out right away. How are you so good at seeing through people?”

Rafe’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. It’s a loaded question.

He spent his childhood hyperware of what unhappiness looks like in people, desperately clinging onto his dad’s fickle approval since he can remember. It never left his system. It turned him into a man trained in recognizing the slightest change in someone’s mood.

He could even sense when Emma was falling out of love with him. She said he was paranoid when he called her out on it, but he knew he was right.

After you spend your life starving for approval, wanting someone to see every side of you and decide that you’re worth loving, it’s second nature to make note of the signs that they’re writing you off. And to lose control when you beg them not to.

He swallows hard. You simply mentioned how observant he is and his mind is spinning now. You stripped back a layer, peeling at a part of him he pretends doesn’t exist.

It’s another thing about you that he’d never want in a real girlfriend. You’re doing what you did the other night when you asked about his ex. You’re prying.

“Just am,” he finally replies.

The tension is nipping at his bones, the memories flooding back with no mercy. Emma never dug at him like this. It’s part of why he liked her so much. She didn’t make him look at these sides of himself.

“Riveting,” you say, rolling your head to the side to look out the window. “Well, you don’t need to try to make me feel better, okay? You can give it to me straight that he doesn’t like me like that.”

“Did you register anything I just said?” he scoffs.

“Now you know how I feel when I’m tutoring you,” you joke, unaffected by his brashness like usual.

“He asked me about you the first chance he got, remember? And he was awkward as hell tonight. He cares. He’s just the type that’s desperate for everyone to think he’s a good guy, so when he’s jealous, he tries to hide it.”

You mull over his words. You’ve only ever thought the world of Beck, until he abruptly distanced himself from you and made you almost certain that he’d been conciously leading you on for years.

To think of him as someone preoccupied with being liked feels accurate. He always keeps the peace, possibly in an effort for approval.

The idea that he did feel something for you, that he does, is a dangerous type of hope you’re well acquainted with. It makes you feel better that someone else sees what you’d seen for years.

Rafe’s words, albeit curt, bring you relief. Beck must feel something that he never wanted to act on. And he might want to act on it now.

“I guess I’m just so used to overthinking about him,” you admit. “Thanks.”

Rafe is silent. Irritated. Tense. You didn’t want to believe all that Emma had told you that night at the rink, but most things check out. He’s moodier than you could’ve expected.

“You okay?” you ask.

He’s doing it again. He’s hardly offering any insight on what he’s thinking, shutting you out. Your dynamic feels unbalanced now, considering how much you’ve told him.

Rafe comes to a stop in front of your building. He’d do anything but admit why he’s so good at reading people. It’s a burden, a reminder of the desperation that’s lived in him ever since he was a child.

“We’re here,” he states flatly.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. Despite everything, you don’t have it in you to be angry at him. Not after he helped you so much. Not after he tried to console you in his own abrupt way.

“Rafe?”

“What?”

You stare at him until he gives in and looks at you, wearing yet another grimace.

“I’m not technically going through a breakup, but if anyone kind of gets what you’re going through right now, it’s me,” you tell him. “I vent to you a lot. It’s cool if you want to vent to me, too. This is all an act, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. That’s all. Thanks for the ride.”

You step out of the car and shut the door, leaving Rafe with the disquieting realization that if he’s going to keep doing this with you, he’ll have to accept the fact that you probably won’t stop prying.

next >

author’s note it’s not a fic by me if rafe doesn’t have daddy issues…

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#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic

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missadangel · 24 days ago

Text

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 10: Here Without You

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Chapter Summary: As you try to heal from your heartbreak, you find out that Harry is leaving NYC. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 9,2k, ANGST, LONGING, HURT, jealousy, love, feelings, fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, dirty talk, stuck in elevator (sorry for the cliche or not sorry) authors note: changed the main moodboard according the rest of the story hope you like :) Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

"I don't know what happened… It was just after midnight. At first, I thought you had come back early since you told me you’d return in the morning. When I opened the door, I was so shocked and heartbroken that I froze for a moment. It was her. She was drenched from the rain outside—not just a little wet, but completely soaked, as if she had walked through the downpour. She was wearing a black trench coat, expensive high heels, and diamond earrings, a necklace that hinted she had just come back from some fancy event, but everything was drenched. I initially thought her face was wet from the rain until I realized I was mistaken when I heard her uncontrollable sobs...

...She was shaking from crying so hard. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her and asked what was wrong. I let her in, but she remained silent, only sobbing and crying. I figured she would eventually calm down and share what was wrong, but she didn’t. She cried for so long that I ended up scolding her, worried that something was seriously wrong. She’s a strong woman, someone who has cried before, but this felt different—her tears took me back to the time she lost her mother. I panicked; you can't imagine how long it took to bring her out of that state. She was just 14, a teenager, and the grief was overwhelming. I didn’t know how to help her now that she was in such a state again. When she finally got her sobs under control, I thought she would explain, but instead, she asked..." Zoe let out a deep, troubled sigh, filled with frustration.

“She asked, ‘Can I stay here for a few days?’ and that was that.”

John propped himself up on his elbow, studying Zoe's face in the dim light. “So, she didn’t tell you what made her so upset, what brought on the tears?”

“No, not a word.”

“What could have happened between them? They seemed so happy together.”

“I can’t say for sure, but whatever it was, it feels pretty serious.” Zoe sat up in bed, looking troubled. “John, she didn’t even bring her suitcase. Can you believe it? And she wandered the streets for hours dressed like that. I don't know what that Castillo did to her, but the next time I see him, I'm gonna kick his ass.”

John lightly brushed her back. "Chill out. Maybe we shouldn't jump in just yet. Once she feels better and gets her head straight, she’ll tell us everything. This is all new—she just broke up. Let's give her some space."

"John, it's been three days. She hasn't stepped out of her room, not eating anything, and I'm going out of my mind with worry. I really think it was a bad idea for her to date him. I mean, he’s a billionaire, and they just don’t really fit together, do they? What do guys like him know about people like us? We always end up getting hurt in the end, right? They can throw around millions to deal with their issues and feel better, while we’re stuck in our small apartments, still having to drag ourselves to work the next day, no matter how we feel sad."

“Zoe, baby, I’m not a fan of Harry, but I think you’re being a bit unfair. He does seem to care about her; he even introduced her to his family. That's a big deal for a guy like him—it's kind of like the first step before tying the knot."

Zoe frowned at him. "I don't fuckin' care. My cousin is crying in the next room because of him, and she means more to me than anything else. From now on, we officially hate Harry Castillo, period."

John sighed and shrugged. “Alright, whatever you want. I’ve hated him before, so it won’t be too hard for me,” he said with a smile. “Should we start by unfollowing him on Instagram?”

Zoe rolled her eyes, grinning back at him. “You silly goose.” She wrapped her arms around him and planted a kiss on his lips.

"What do you mean he didn't come out of the bedroom?"

"I'm telling you, he said he didn’t want to come out. He handed me these documents and said, ‘You know what to do, get it done.’"

Maria examined the documents Oliver had mentioned, this time with greater scrutiny.

“How the heck did that fucker even sign these?”

Oliver crossed his arms. "I have no clue. Like I said, Harry didn’t mention anything."

Maria narrowed her eyes in thought. "This is really bizarre, Ollie. The day Alan signed these, Harry broke up with his girlfriend—the one he loved so much he was practically ready to propose—and locked himself in his bedroom."

“Yeah, it’s odd,” Oliver agreed. “But these documents are pretty detailed. Look at this clause—here, it says Party A will voluntarily withdraw from all lawsuits.”

"How is it that, after all that plotting to take Harry down, he suddenly signed these overnight and gave up? I need to figure this out."

"Maybe, but now’s not the time. I have to head to the company right away," he said, taking the documents back from Maria and carefully placing them in his briefcase.

As Maria slowly approached Harry's bedroom, Oliver noticed her.

“We should go together,” he warned. “Leave him be; he needs some space."

Maria shook her head, deep in thought. She wanted answers to the whirlwind of questions racing through her mind, but she had to push them aside for now and concentrate on the task at hand. She grabbed her coat and bag, ready to leave, when she spotted Harry's phone on the counter.

Glancing at Oliver, who was walking through the hall toward the elevator, she quickly picked up the phone. She was desperate to find any clue about Harry’s situation, consequences be damned. Knowing the screen lock, she dialed it in and unlocked the phone. She immediately launched the messaging app. The last message was from you, accompanied by a smiling photo of you at the fair.

"Sopapilla pie is a hit at our booth today. Thanks for the idea, ol' man."

She let out a sigh and went back to the main screen, freezing when she saw a message from an unregistered number sent at 10:29 last night. Shock coursed through her—it was your photo taken in the lobby of Alan's hotel. The caption below was even more alarming:

"It’s an interesting feeling to have a man’s most prized possession. Yes, I’m talking about your girlfriend, Castillo."

"Son of a bitch," Maria murmured. "Now it all makes sense.”

“John!”

Zoe’s worried voice jolted John awake. He rubbed his eyes and squinted in her direction, still half-asleep. “Zoe, are you okay?” he mumbled.

“I’m fine, but she…” Zoe glanced back, her concern clear.

John quickly moved to her side. “What happened?” he asked, running a hand through his messy hair, stepping into the living room.

As they walked in, the warm, sweet smell of freshly made pastries filled the air, catching John off guard. He was even more surprised by what he saw.

“This happened,” Zoe said, pointing at you.

You had just placed a stack of pancakes on a plate and set it on the table, and when you noticed their shocked expressions, you tried to ignore, lightening the mood. “Come on, guys. Breakfast is ready—I made pancakes.” you said, forcing a cheerful tone.

Zoe and John exchanged glances, looking both confused and hesitant as they approached the table. While you went to grab the syrup, Zoe sat down and stared at the food you’d prepared. When you returned, you felt their eyes boring into you.

“Stop looking at me like I’ve killed someone in front of you and start eating,” you muttered, taking your own seat.

John grinned at your joke, reaching for a pancake. “They look delicious—”

But before he could take a bite, Zoe slapped his hand, causing him to drop it. “Seriously?" She turned to you. “You’ve barely said a word in days, and suddenly you decide to make pancakes?”

Zoe’s straightforward personality usually didn’t phase you, but today it felt like a punch. You took a deep breath and drizzled syrup on your pancake, keeping your voice even. “I thought it’d be nice to do something for you since you’ve put up with my grumpy face for days.”

Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out, feeling a tightness in your chest when you saw it was the shopkeeper calling. Noticing Zoe's steady gaze, you slipped into the kitchen to take the call.

“Can I eat now?” John whispered to Zoe. She rolled her eyes at him then turned her gaze, watching you.

After the call, you rejoined them at the table, feeling heavy with what you needed to say.

“Who called?” Zoe asked, curious.

“The owner wants to meet today to finalize the lease. If I don’t go, he’ll rent it to someone else,” you said, your eyes fixed on the table. “I need to tell him I can’t do it.”

Zoe leaped up. “Are you kidding? Do you really want to throw away all the hard work you’ve put in? This is your dream for fuck sake.”

"We can handle the first month's rent, but I'm really concerned about the second. What if the shop's income isn't enough to cover it? Plus, there are still more supplies we need to buy. I'm just not sure if I can manage all of this," you admitted, meeting her gaze.

Harry would rent the shop on your behalf, and by the end of the month, you’d settle the payment between the two of you. That was the arrangement, but it all became complicated clearly because of the last incident that occurred between you.

That’s when Zoe asked the question you’d been dreading. “What happened between you two?”

There was a long silence, and you knew they were waiting for an answer, but you just weren’t ready.

John broke the quiet, finishing off his last pancake. “Girls, I can help with the second month's rent.”

Zoe turned to him, looking surprised. “But your audition is coming up.”

He shrugged. “I’ll catch the next one. This is way more important. Auditions can wait.”

“No!” Zoe shot back. “No one gives up on their dreams. You’re going to that audition, and you…” she said, pointing at you, “are going to open that bakery. As for me, I’ll work in your shop, serving customers the desserts you make, and I’ll keep the tips. We’ll probably argue about it too. Yes, my dream is that simple—so what?”

You smiled at her.

"Look, everyone was amazed at the fair, raving about your desserts and bakery. You did an amazing job, girl. They can’t wait for you to open the shop. We’ll make this happen together. We don’t need anyone else's financial support. We’ve been doing just fine on our own, and we’ll continue to do so," Zoe said confidently.

You nodded, feeling a burst of determination. “We will make it work.”

Zoe reached out and wiped a tear from your cheek. “Now tell me everything, because you can't really let it go if you keep it inside. I know you well.”

You sighed, tears started to flow harder.

John stood up. “I think I'd better go to work now,” he said, kissed Zoe on the cheek, and then touched your shoulder. The pancakes were so yummy. And as for the other thing, Zoe and I are here for you, no matter what. I really believe your bakery café is going to shine in Manhattan. But I do have some worries about the other shops in the city; I’m not sure if NYC is quite ready for it all yet,” he said, grinning.

“It better be ready,” Zoe said. “Because we're coming in roaring.”

“Thanks, guys,” you said, smiling at them both. “Appreciate it.”

John waved to you both as he walked out the door and left the apartment.

“Alright, now I want to hear all about it,” Zoe urged, her eyes fixed on you. You felt the urge to share, but a wave of shame washed over you.

“I’m really sorry, but I’m just not ready to talk about it yet, Zoe. So please don’t ask.” You sighed. “But I promise you, regardless of how things unfold, I will open that shop,” you declared, pledging not only to her but also to the determined spark within yourself.

The following day, after breakfast, you and Zoe were busy compiling a list of essentials as you prepared for the shop's opening day. Meanwhile, John was watching the news on TV when a mention of Harry's company made you freeze.

“It appears castillofunds.co has pulled itself back from the brink of bankruptcy. This significant turnaround seems to have eased market tensions, with the company's shares rising again. Speaking to our cameras, castillofunds.co CEO and billionaire Harry Castillo—”

John turned off the TV with a sigh, and an awkward silence fell over the room. You returned to your list, trying to shake off the impact of what you had just heard.

“They managed to save the company so quickly; I wonder how they managed that,” Zoe remarked, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

You kept writing, even as your hand trembled slightly. “Oven,” you sighed. “I think a functional oven might be too small. An industrial one would be more suitable for our 200-sq-ft kitchen, but we could also look into commercial options to save space. Then we can decide with how many levels we’ll need.” You spoke as if hearing his name hadn't affected you, though deep down, you felt your heart tighten. You knew that adjusting to this would be difficult, but you had to push through it.

Later that evening, after a long shopping trip to the supplier, you and Zoe returned to the shop. As you tallied everything up on the list, you checked off items one by one. You had set your sights on opening during the weekend, and by then, everything needed to be in order. The busy schedule had become a welcome distraction from the painful memories that lingered in your mind.

However, as you walked down the street to head home, your heart sank once more when your phone rang.

It was Valeria calling.

You hesitated to answer, but curiosity got the best of you. She asked you to drop by her house. What could that be about?

Had she heard about your breakup with Harry?

You really didn’t want to go, yet knowing she couldn’t leave the house, you decided to visit since her place was close to yours.

When you arrived at Valeria’s house, memories flooded back, and anxiety washed over you. Your heart still ached and you missed his face dearly, you weren’t emotionally or mentally prepared for this encounter. Yet, you suspected he wouldn’t be there—after all, he was busy with the company these days. It seemed absurd to think he’d be waiting for his ex-girlfriend at his mother’s house, especially one he was still angry with.

Valeria spotted you as you walked in, and to your surprise, she opened her arms and hugged you tightly.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, stepping back to scrutinize your face. “You look so pale, dear,” she remarked, gently touching your cheek. “Just like him,” she added with a frown. “What’s going on?”

You sighed, frustrated at how unprepared you felt to answer that question. She took your arm and guided you to the couch, settling across from you. “Harry returned this a few days ago,” she said, showing you the ring.

Your heart clenched at the sight, yanking you back to that night. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “Valeria, it doesn’t matter what happened. It’s just... it’s over.”

“But you two were so happy together. What changed so suddenly?” she pressed, concern etched on her face. “If I could just get out of this house, I'd go and kick his 42-year-old ass, but I'm stuck here because of this damn illness."

“Maybe this is better for both of us,” you murmured, though the words stung as you spoke.

Valeria frowned, reaching for your hand, holding it firmly. “How can this be better for both of you, dear? I may not see my son often, but I know him. If he loved you enough to bring you here, he won’t let you go easily. I saw it in his eyes—something I haven’t seen in a long time. You care deeply for him too. A love like that is rare; don’t lose it.”

“Valeria, you’re right. However, when the person you love is also the one who broke your heart, healing can feel almost impossible.”

Just then, Sofia walked into the living room. “Maria is here,” she announced, her eyes landing on you, filled with a mixture of sympathy and concern.

Moments later, Mia dashed into the room, nearly tackling Valeria with a hug. “Valeria!”

“Hey, cariño,” she said, spreading her arms wide for the embrace.

As Valeria stood up, you and Maria locked eyes, both taken aback by the unexpected meeting. You glanced over her shoulder, relieved to see that only they had arrived.

You definitely weren't ready to see him yet.

Mia hugged you tightly. “There you are too.”

“How’s it going, Mia?” you asked.

“Not so good,” she said with a frown. “Why don’t you come by Uncle Harry’s place anymore? Did you break up?”

You felt a lump in your throat.

“Baby, how about going to swing in the garden?” Maria suggested, trying to change subject.

Sofia took Mia’s hand. “Come on, sweetie, I’ll push you on the swing. And then we can check the little pot for strawberries and see if they’re ripe.”

“Yes, yes. I want some strawberries!” Mia clapped her hands, full of excitement.

You watched them head into the garden with a smile, then turned back to Valeria. “I should probably get going. Our bakery opens this weekend. I know you can't leave the house, but I wanted to invite you anyway.”

“I wish I could, dear. I hope you have a ton of customers,” she said, giving you a warm hug.

“Thanks so much.”

“We’ll come with Mia,” Maria chimed in with a smile. “She was super curious about the bakery anyway."

"Totally, I'd love to have you both."

"I’ll walk you to the door.”

"Sure." You nodded and said goodbye to Valeria. Once you reached the door, Maria finally broke the silence. She looked like she had something important to say.

“I know everything,” she said, catching you by surprise.

You looked at her, bewildered.

How did she find out?

“Did he tell you?” you asked, feeling a surge of anger at yourself for still finding it hard to say his name.

“No, Harry’s pretty quiet these days. All he says is 'yes,' 'no,' or 'okay,'” she joked, but you looked down at your feet, unable to laugh.

“Look, I’m really sorry. This is all my stupid husband Gerardo’s fault and mine. He’s been drinking and gambling since the divorce stuff came out. He’s done this before, but losing that much in one night in Vegas and then stealing from the company—that was all Alan’s doing. I met with him that day to work out some sort of payment plan, but of course, he refused. All he cared about was Harry, trying to play him and turn him against his friends. His final move was you; that one hit him hardest.Even if the company crumbles, he had you by his side; you were there for him, you know. But once you turned to Alan, he likely experienced a profound sense of loss, as if something truly valuable was slipping away from him.

“Are you saying I’m at fault here?” you probed.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I hate that we let that motherfucker win. The reason I requested some time from Alan was to have the opportunity to finish him off.”

“What do you mean?”

“Alan is a drug dealer. I’ve been trying to prove it, but he’s too slick with hiding his tracks.”

"Are you sure? How are you going to figure that out by yourself anyway?"

“If he’s got people backing him, then so do I. I’ll make sure he pays for everything he’s done, for every tear my daughter has shed because of her dad.” Then Maria pulled you in for a hug. “Thanks to you, we didn’t get kicked out of our house and the company stayed afloat. I really appreciate it. However you can’t underestimate how tough this must be for Harry. But I believe your love can pull you through."

“If it had, he wouldn’t have said those things to me.”

"I have no idea what he said, but he was probably super hurt and pissed off. Anyone would lose it after seeing that pic and the kind of message that jerk sent."

“Message?”

“You didn't know?”

You recalled that moment; you only saw the photo, not the message.

Maria pulled out her phone to show you the screenshot she had taken from Harry's phone.

That asshole, send both a photo and a disgusting message to Harry.

And he promised you he wouldn’t. You could feel the frustration building up for ever getting involved with him.

Seriously, why did you even trust that fucker in the first place?

“Maria, are you really sure he’s a drug dealer?”

“Yes, and money laundering is part of the equation too. My friend at the OCCB has been after him for ages, just waiting for him to slip up."

You stood there, stunned.

Secret meetings in his penthouse or at that restaurant where the waiters always seem to gossip—yeah, you brushed it all off because he didn’t really matter to you. But you never thought it could actually be this serious. “I want in on this. I want to help take him down,” you said, feeling determined.

Maria’s eyes widened. “What the... Are you serious? This is way too risky. What can you even do? No, no, you need to stay out of it, especially after everything he's already put you through.”

Well she was right; you were no longer his employer. And you really didn’t want to get close to him—no closer than a hundred inches.

“I just hope the police can figure this out so he pays for what he’s done.”

“He will, don’t worry.”

You sighed. “Anyway, it’s getting late. I need to get ready for the opening. I’ll see you this weekend.”

She nodded. “Okay, we’ll be there,” she said, smiling back at you.

As the opening day approached, the hustle and bustle intensified, but everything was finally in place. The signage was up, all business documents were ready, and the cake and bakery display cabinets were stocked. Tables, chairs, cutlery, crockery, and the cash register were all set, along with cupboards and everything else necessary for a smooth operation. Early that morning, you arrived at the shop with Zoe and John to start preparations.

After hours of baking freshly made pastries and designing decadent desserts, you finally sank into a chair, sweat glistening on your forehead. Glancing at the wall clock—its hands creeping toward opening time—you felt a wave of relief wash over you; every last detail had finally come together. With a shared spark of anticipation, you and Zoe stepped outside to flip the "Open" sign for the first time. The thrill of possibility raced through your veins, the fulfillment of a dream that had burned brightly for so long. Yet, a nagging feeling of bitterness lingered, as something didn’t feel quite right, and you knew exactly what it was.

You always pictured this day with him by your side, but now it’s clear he’s missing, and no matter how hard you try to pretend ignoring that reality, you can't escape it, and the pain just lingers.

The opening attracted a crowd—Zoe, some mutual friends, and even Melanie, who surprised you with her presence. Dressed more conservatively than usual, she managed to deliver a decent speech, though her forced demeanor gave you pause. Valeria couldn't attend, but she called to congratulate you and sent a beautiful bouquet through Sofia, for which you were grateful to have as well. Everyone was gathered—everyone, that is, except him. His absence weighed heavily on your heart, and surrounded by laughter and smiling faces, you felt more alone than ever. No matter the anger or pain you felt toward him, a part of you ached for his presence; you realized you needed him.

If the crowd hadn’t been so thick, you might have caught a glimpse of him in the street, watching from his car. You could have seen the way his eyes, filled with longing, would search for you in the sea of faces, but you were oblivious to his presence.

Amidst the bouquets of flowers arriving, one arrangement caught your eye. A stunning mix of pink roses and peonies—your favorites—was clearly crafted by someone who knew you well. You picked up the card, it read, 'Congratulations on your grand opening. H.'

Your instincts kicked in, and you scanned the street, but he had already disappeared. A small smile crept onto your lips, grateful for his kindness, yet the pain of his absence only deepened. Memories of his last words replayed in your mind, stinging deeper with each recollection.

"Hey!" A familiar voice snapped you back to reality. It was Oliver, who came over to embrace you.

“Thanks for coming,” you replied, mustering a smile.

He returned your smile, and for a moment, you both gazed at the bouquet of flowers. “He wanted to do one last thing for you before he leaves,” Oliver murmured.

“Before he leaves?”

Just then, Maria, who had spotted Oliver from a distance, rushed over. "Who's leaving?"

"Harry," Oliver said. “He has a flight to Paris at 10 PM.”

“Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

"He didn't want me to. He’s still upset with you, Maria."

"You should have told me anyway! I thought he was staying for a few months. Why’s he in such a rush?"

Oliver’s gaze shifted to you. Your heart tightened as you noticed the sadness in his eyes.

“Damn, he’s doing it again. He’s leaving just like he did before, isn’t he?”

Oliver exhaled sharply. “I’m afraid he doesn’t plan on returning this time, He then handed you a large envelope. “He asked me to give you this.” Your heart raced as you opened the envelope, curiosity piqued. As you pulled out the contents, both you and Maria stood in stunned silence. The documents revealed that he had transferred over 56% of the company’s shares into your name, accompanied by the deed to his penthouse and several other crucial papers. Notably, there was a handwritten note that read, 'If you won’t be in my life, I don’t need any of this.'

“He’s giving up the company?” Maria wailed in disbelief.

"Yes. He transferred the company shares to her, as you can see, and entrusted the day-to-day management to the board of directors. Additionally, he put a new policy in place to safeguard the company ahead of the upcoming court case. He plans to take the helm of the subsidiary in Paris, where he has previously made investments with private equity."

Maria was furious. “Fuck, Harry. He can’t just leave like this. We have to do something to stop him."

“I agree, which is why I came here,” Oliver said, fixing his gaze on you again. “His flight is in about an hour.”

You struggled to respond—your brain was buzzing.

Maria turned to you with pleading eyes. "You need to stop him. You’re the only one who can do it. He won’t listen to me."

Oliver gave you a similar look. “He won't listen to anyone else, but if he sees you, maybe he’ll change his mind.”

“She's not going anywhere!” Zoe exclaimed, clearly having overheard the entire conversation. She approached Maria, her anger palpable. "She's already been through so much, and now she’s just supposed to beg him not to leave?"

While inside the shop, everyone was reveling in the opening party, outside, a very different scene was unfolding.

You gently touched Zoe’s shoulder. “Zoe.”

Maria ignored her and locked eyes with you. "I’m not saying this for the company's sake, I swear. I think of Harry as my brother and you as my sister. Look, I know you still care about him. If not stopping him from leaving means saying goodbye to Harry forever, can you really live with that?."

Deep down, you already knew the answer. The thought of not speaking to him again loomed large, and while separation might seem bearable with him still in the city, the impending reality of him being miles away—perhaps forever—was a crushing weight on your chest.

"Please, don’t let him leave like this," Maria pleaded.

“You don’t have to do this,” Zoe insisted.

With tears welling in your eyes, you replied, “Yes, I do.”

As the taxi rolled to a stop at the airport, you instinctively checked your watch—9:54 PM winked back at you. A wave of urgency washed over you, making your heart race as if it were caught in your throat. The relentless questions clawing at your mind—what if you couldn't reach him in time?

What if he had already slipped away?—stirred a palpable dread within you. Bursting through the glass doors, you stepped into the cool, crisp night air. Your eyes were immediately drawn to a sleek jet, its metallic skin glimmering under the harsh airport floodlights, poised for takeoff. Nearby, a black Mercedes loomed, its polished surface reflecting the shimmering lights of the tarmac. A rush of relief flooded your veins—it hadn’t all slipped away yet; the jet was still grounded, holding the promise of a chance.

You moved in closer and spotted him just behind, slowly ascending the steps of the jet. Without hesitation, you took off running. “Harry!” you called out, your voice ringing out like a desperate plea for help.

For a moment, he stood frozen, eyebrows raised in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe the voice he had longed to hear was actually there. Slowly, he turned in your direction. Everything around you faded away, and you felt a magnetic pull towards him, your eyes locked together. When you got close enough, you could feel the heat radiating off him. Realizing how much you missed him hit you like a punch in the gut. Looking into his deep brown eyes, glistening in the light, you struggled to keep the tears at bay. He was wearing a caramel blazer and black pants, his dark curls dancing in the breeze.

Neither of you dared to speak for a while, unsure of what to say, yet the emotions in your eyes told a different story. You finally took a deep breath, breaking the silence. "You were just going to leave? Without saying goodbye?"

He looked away, then back at you. "I thought you wouldn't want to talk to me anymore, or maybe you'd even slap me again," he said with a faint smile.

"I wanted to, especially in my dreams."

He nodded slightly, a smile lingering, though a hint of sadness crossed his face.

You held out the envelope. "This isn’t who Harry Castillo is. The man I know wouldn’t just run off like a coward. He would face his mistakes head-on and work to make things right."

His expression hardened as tears glistened in his eyes, on the brink of falling. "I’m just a foolish man who didn’t value the woman he loved and lost her love."

Gazing into his eyes, you could see the regret reflected there, and you struggled to hold back a sob. "Maybe," you whispered softly. Sniffling, you handed him the envelope. "Take this back." He hesitated before reaching for it. "Your mother, your friends, and your company need you."

He glanced at the envelope in his hand. "What about you?" he asked then, looking deeply into your eyes.

You searched for the right words, a tear sliding down your cheek slowly. "You were right about what you said. I shouldn’t have gone to him, but my love for you blinded me to everything else. I was willing to sacrifice everything for your well-being, even my own self. I see now that it was a huge mistake." You exhaled with a shaky breath. "I guess when you put someone before yourself, you can end up making some pretty foolish choices. Even if nothing happened, I felt terrible. It wasn't the right thing to do."

Harry frowned, the corners of his lips turning up slightly. "Nothing happened?"

You shot him a glare. "Why are you smiling?"

He grabbed your shoulders. "Why didn't you mention that earlier?"

You pushed his arms away in frustration. "What difference does it make?"

"It makes a huge difference."

With a troubled sigh, you turned your gaze down. "You don’t understand. When I went there, I accepted everything; I was ready. All I could think about was you. I threw aside my pride. But now I see how big of a mistake that was. How could I have done something like that? I've never felt so ashamed in my life." You sobbed, tears flowed freely now.

He stepped forward, wrapping you in his arms. "You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. It’s that bastard who should be ashamed. I’m truly sorry for how I reacted. I was consumed with anger, and knowing he touched you... I wanted to kill him.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. "Yeah, you were angry— so angry that you didn’t care how I felt.”

"You’re right," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret as he averted his gaze. "But we can leave this all behind us. We can get through it together," he added with a glimmer of hope.

“I'm sorry, Harry, but I don’t think I can,” you said resolutely, wiping away the tears that streaked your face and pushing back the whirlwind of feelings within.

His frown deepened as he looked at your eyes, clearly surprised and perhaps even more hurt than before.

"I loved you so much that I lost myself, my dreams, and what I truly wanted. When I made that choice, I believed wholeheartedly that our love could overcome anything, but I was mistaken. It didn't."

He gently cradled your face in his hands. "Give me a chance—one opportunity to show you that we can overcome anything together."

“Harry,” you whispered, holding his hands tightly. "I can't. I don't know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself or forget everything, but I can't do it now."

His brown eyes glistened with tears as he saw the determination mixed with hurt in yours. He had hurt you more than he realized. "It wasn’t cowardice that led me to want to walk away," he said, his voice breaking slightly as he withdrew his hands. "I was aware of the pain I caused you, and I thought your life might be better off without me. I wanted to step back and let you move on."

You shook your head. "No matter how angry I get with you, no matter how much you hurt me, my world means nothing without you in it, Harry Castillo." A small, bittersweet smile crossed his lips. "So don’t go anywhere. Embrace your responsibilities, and then maybe we can revisit this conversation later."

He nodded with resolve. "As you wish. But I promise, this time, I will make things right.”

“What do you mean you’re not together?”

Zoe asked one morning as you both arrived at the bakery.

You glanced at her while tying your apron. “I told you, there’s nothing between us.” She moved closer as you poured flour into the kneading machine.

“Nothing? My ass! Girl, you went to the airport and brought him back. I just don’t understand how you ended up in the ‘let’s stay friends’ mode.”

“We decided to talk about it later.”

“You’re going to talk later? That's not a good idea I'm telling you. One must be blind not to see the attraction between you. How can you stay away from each other with that kind of chemistry?”

“Can you pass the sugar?” you asked, brushing off her question.

She fetched some sugar from the sack and measured it into the machine. “Fine, but this is silly. I don’t get why you’re acting like this when it’s clear you both really care about each other. You guys are nuts.”

You chuckled; in a way, she was right.

It felt good that Harry hadn't disappeared and that you still had the chance to bump into him on the street and chat, even if he wasn't your boyfriend anymore. The attraction was undeniable, but staying apart for now would probably be better for both of you, wouldn’t it?

After baking all the pastries, as you prepped the cake batter, customers began trickling in. You’d hired another waiter since you and Zoe were struggling to manage the shop. He was a friend of John’s, around your age, a little clumsy, but he was the only one you could find who was willing to work for cheap. Zoe was showing him the ropes. Maybe someday you’d get someone with more experience, but for now, you were just focused on keeping the shop afloat.

Fortunately, business was booming more than you had anticipated, and you were confident it would only improve. Your mind was always churning with ideas for new recipes.

“Here we go,” Zoe grumbled.

You looked up to see what had caught her attention. She was staring at someone sitting at a table outside. You recognized him instantly, even with his sunglasses on—the way he sat, his tailored suit, that gleaming wristwatch, and that grin. He waved at you, and you couldn’t help but let out a sigh.

It had only been two days since you last spoke at the airport. As he promised, he had taken over the company and moved back into his penthouse. But what was he doing here in your shop? You fought the impulse to smile and walked over to him.

“Good morning, sunshine. Your bakery is lovely,” he said, glancing around.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

“Just trying to order breakfast.”

You crossed your arms. “So you’re here as a customer?”

He leaned toward you, removed his sunglasses, and smirked. “Exactly.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What would you like?”

He scanned the menu. “What would you suggest, chef?” he said, pointing to the title next to your name on the name tag of your apron.

“Well, it depends on how hungry you are. If you’re really hungry, I’d recommend the classic American breakfast—your choice of any two eggs with either sausage or ham, served with roasted potatoes.”

He made a thoughtful face. “Sounds good, but it’s not really an egg day for me,” he said, continuing to read. “I think I’ll go with the Croissant Parisien Ham and Cheese. If I’d been in Paris this morning, that’s what I’d have eaten.”

You jotted down his order. “Hmm, would you rather be there?”

“No, I’m happy and lucky to be right here.”

You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile. “Would you like juice or coffee with that?”

“Espresso Vaniglia—I want to try that,” he replied.

Your smile widened.

You knew he loved vanilla, and you had talked about bringing that coffee to life together. “Our signature drink: Vanilla-flavored coffee with espresso and velvety steamed milk, topped with a light foam—you'll absolutely love it.” He grinned in response, recalling that conversation. “I’m sure I will.”

“Your order will be up shortly,” you said, smiling, taking the menu back.

“I can’t wait.” His eyes followed you until you turned away and headed inside. It wasn’t until he ran into Zoe’s scrutinizing gaze that he finally looked away.

“What does he want?” she asked.

“Breakfast,” you replied casually.

“Yeah right," she mumbled. "And by the way, John’s agency called; they accepted the offer we discussed last time; they want some of our pastries for the meeting,” she said happily.

“Hey, that’s fantastic. I’ll prep those orders right away. Can you take Harry’s order?” you asked as she poured kvass into a cup.

"I can't believe I'm serving breakfast to your ex-boyfriend, whom I wasn't too fond of until just two days ago."

“That rich-looking guy is your boyfriend?” Nick asked, staring at you in disbelief.

You shot Zoe a glare. “Ex-boyfriend. But that’s none of your business. He’s just a customer, nothing more.”

“Yeah, right, keep saying that,” Zoe quipped, picking up the tray.

"Get back to work," you said to Nick as you headed inside to the cold storage area to grab the couverture chocolates for the orders.

“Here’s your order, Mr. I don't plan to apologize I'm just here because I enjoy teasing,” Zoe mumbled, placing Harry’s order from the tray onto the table.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"Oh, I meant to say Mr. Castillo." she replied with mock astonishment.

Harry smirked. "First, you're mistaken; I already apologized. Second, I'm not here to tease anyone."

"Then what’s your purpose here?"

"I came for breakfast," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee.

"So you apologized, huh? If that's the case, why hasn’t anything changed between you two?" she seemed to be musing.

"We're still working through our issues."

"Hm, so that’s your approach."

“Harry! Oh my God, is it really you?”

They both turned at the sound of a high-pitched female voice. Zoe was taken aback as a tall blonde woman rushed over to Harry, wrapping her arms around his neck happily.

"Is this how you working through your issues with your ex-girlfriend, Mr Castillo?"

"Zoe, it’s not what you think. Don't go spreading any nonsense to your cousin." Harry was trying to wiggle free from Stella's hug. Zoe simply shrugged and walked back inside. Harry gently pushed Stella away. "What are you doing here?"

Stella frowned. "I got back to New York yesterday and I was surprised to see you. We haven’t talked in ages," she said as she settled into a seat across from him.

"We can talk later," Harry replied, glancing nervously toward the kitchen. "Can you please leave?"

“Wow, you’ve become so rude. You used to be nice to me,” she retorted.

Harry swallowed hard when he noticed you coming out of the kitchen, making your way to the counter to talk to Zoe. "Well, that was then. I'm a rude man now. So, just go, leave,” he said, waving her off with his hand.

But it was too late; you had seen everything. When you realized that Stella was even more stunning in person than in the photo, you nearly dropped the tray of freshly baked donuts.

Harry stood up and Stella left, walking away angrily. You went back to work, trying your best not to let it bother you.

As Harry entered, he approached you directly, but not before Zoe shot him a dirty look while delivering another order to a customer. “We just crossed paths,” Harry said, glancing at you nervously.

You looked at him, rolling your eyes. "Why are you explaining yourself?"

"I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea."

“I really don’t care, Harry. You can move on,” you replied.

He sighed.

"Because I’m moving on too," you countered, looking him in the eye.

Harry placed his hands on his hips. "What does that mean?”

"It means she's seeing someone now," Zoe chimed in, appearing beside him and winking at you.

You shot her a puzzled look but quickly regained your composure, realizing what she was hinting at. "Zoe, cut it out."

"Just tell him about Theo," she insisted, nodding discreetly toward Harry.

Theo was a friend of John from the talent agency. You only met him once, focusing on work, but Zoe had told you how much he liked you.

"I think you just made that up, ladies," Harry said smugly. "Are you really planning to take revenge like this?"

Suddenly, your feminine side kicked in defensively. "Why? Can’t I move on with my life? Do I belong to you or something? Theo’s a nice guy; I was just delivering these orders. You’re welcome to come see for yourself if you don’t believe me," you said, turning away.

"Okay, I’ll come with you," he said, catching you off guard.

"Wait, you’ll come?"

"Yes, let’s get this sorted. I noticed you don’t have a delivery guy, so how are you going to manage on your own?" He pulled out his phone and called his driver as you and Zoe exchanged nervous glances.

Shit.

You were in trouble now.

On the way to John's agency, Harry kept throwing questions at you, but you managed to dodge them all. What could you even say? You didn’t know anything about Theo yourself. This car ride was awkward enough, and you were kicking yourself for bringing up that Theo lie in the first place.

Damn jealousy.

When you finally got to the agency, you opened the car door and looked over at him. “Thanks for the ride.”

He hopped out, looked back, “Don’t move,” before heading around to your side to take the package from your hands. You got out and said, “You don’t need to come in; I can handle it.”

“At least let me help with that; it’s heavy,” he replied, walking toward the building while you kept pace with him. “Aren’t you late for work?”

“I run the company, remember?”

“Show-off,” you rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile.

Upon entering the building, the receptionist informed you that you needed to head to the twentieth floor. Harry stood next to you beside the elevator door as it ascended from the lower levels, glancing at the digital display. “You should go on ahead; I just need to get to the 20th floor.”

“I doubt that Theo guy is here,” he said, scanning the area.

“He’s probably upstairs,” you replied, feigning confidence.

Just then, Harry's phone rang. “Crap, I’ve got to take this.”

“See? I told you, the elevator’s here. You should go,” you urged.

He carefully handed you the package. “We need to talk about this Theo thing later.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your cool. “Okay, but I have nothing to hide,” you said, dismissing any nerves he might have felt.

The elevator dinged as it reached your floor, and the doors slid open. You couldn't believe your eyes—inside was a bunch of really good-looking guys, all dressed to impress.

It must be audition day or something.

They smiled at you and made room as you stepped inside, turning to press the button for the 20th floor. One of the men beat you to it and offered a charming smile.

“Why are they all so attractive?” Harry muttered, irritation lacing his voice.

You waved to him just as the elevator doors began to close, but he quickly stuck his hand in to stop them. He stepped back inside, looking at someone nearby. “Could you move back a bit?” he asked, reaching around you to press the button to close the doors, his arm lingering behind you.

“What are you doing?” you whispered.

“Nothing."

“I can carry your package if you’d like,” one of the men offered, grinning.

“It smells amazing,” another chimed in.

“Thanks,” you said, returning their smiles.

Harry, ever the protector, took the package back from you. “I’m carrying it.”

“You look a bit too dapper for a delivery guy.”

“If you ask me, that guy looks like that billionaire guy Harry Castillo,” one of them joked.

All the men turned to scrutinize Harry's face, laughter bubbling up from the group. “No way, why would a billionaire be delivering packages?” one of them chuckled.

You chuckled softly as you looked at Harry, who gave you a playful wink.

After a rather odd ride to the 20th floor, you delivered the orders.

When you bumped into John and Theo, you had a quick chat. You intended to tell him that nothing could happen between you. However, to your surprise, Zoe called him on your way here and made things sound much worse than they actually were.

As a result, you ended up promising to go out to dinner with Theo.

Just great.

Harry was waiting for you by the elevator when you returned, the next ride down completely empty. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye as the elevator descended, and you couldn’t help but gaze back at him.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise, and the elevator lurched to a stop. The lights flickered out before turning red. Instinctively, you grabbed Harry’s arm. “What’s happening?”

“Just relax; it’s probably a malfunction,” he said, calmly pressing the emergency button. You listened as the staff assured him they would resolve the issue shortly, but that reassurance did little to quell the panic rising in you. “Hurry, please!” you called out over the loudspeaker.

Harry wrapped his arms around you, and you found solace resting your head against his chest. “It’s okay, baby,” he murmured, gently stroking your hair.

Then it hit you—you were clinging to him, and he called you 'baby'.

Damn.

You quickly pulled back when you felt his lips brush your head.

What the hell?

Shouldn’t you still be upset with him? After all, you weren’t together anymore.

“Sorry, I just panicked,” you said, embarrassed.

“No worries,” he said with a grin.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you snapped, turning your gaze away.

But on the contrary, he moved closer, locking his gaze onto you. In the dim light, the red hue accentuated your features, giving off an irresistibly seductive vibe that was hard to ignore.

Raw.

The way your body quivered under his penetrating gaze revealed a deep-seated longing, a desperate yearning for his touch that sent shivers through your very core.

Intense.

In that moment, just the two of you existed, where feelings entwined with time; a storm of emotions and desires raged within you, turning your thoughts into a chaotic battlefield of longing.

Dangerous.

A flicker of fear danced in your chest, the unsettling realization that the instant his fingers brushed against your skin, you would surrender utterly, yielding every fragment of your being to him without reservation.

Harry leaned against the elevator wall, his hand just inches from your face as he bent down slightly. The intensity of his stare made you swallow hard.

"Please. Don’t," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, yet your body betrayed you, yearning for his touch.

But he did, closing the gap as he leaned in toward your lips.

"Just a kiss," he whispered gently, his warm breath mingling with his familiar cologne, his tone filled with tenderness that sent shivers down your spine.

Shit.

You were barely able to stop yourself from throwing yourself into his arms, and he certainly wasn’t making it any easier. His hand traced along the side of your neck and settled over your heart. A sly smile crept onto his face as he felt it racing. "I think you want this too.”

"I don't, uh, we shouldn't, don't you, um, this is not--"

You tilted your head back, hit the wall before you had time to finish your sentence, and before you could breathe, his tongue was in your mouth. The kiss enveloped you in a tantalizing mix of heat and passion, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. It sparked a fire deep inside, awakening a desire that only such a moment could fulfill. This kiss swept over you like a tidal wave, leaving you both dizzy and exhilarated. You found yourself trapped, so trapped—pulled helplessly between fierce desires and an aching longing and a rock-hard super-hot ex-boyfriend. You let out a yelp when your ass slammed against the cold steel of the elevator wall, but you didn't care; you were way too far gone now.

You both moaned when he pressed his full weight against you, pinning you against the steel wall, his hands slid down your waist, under the hem of your dress, to your hips and gripped them tightly. You pulled away from the kiss, gasping for breath, desperately trying to stop him but he seized the moment. Wasting no time, he moved on to your neck, licking, sucking the spot where you were most aroused, a spot he now knew too well. Just like he knew the fastest way to get you wet immediately.

Fuck.

It felt wrong, yet it was also dangerously hot.

You had to stop him or there was no turning back…

Just then, you heard the elevator door slide open, and the lights flickered back to life, causing both of you to freeze. You glanced at each other, stepped back, and quickly tidied your clothes and messy hair. The technical staff offered you nervous smiles. "I hope you're both alright. We sincerely apologize for the technical issue."

“We're fine,” Harry replied, licking his lips as he adjusted his shirt collar, while you smoothed out your dress, your face burning.

As you stepped outside the building, the shock of what had just happened still lingered. You broke the silence as he drove you back to the bakery. “Listen, what just happened there—will stay there, alright?”

“I can still taste you on my tongue, baby,” he said with a chuckle.

You shot him a glare. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he replied, laughter bubbling up from him.

When the car stopped in front of the shop, you opened the door, glancing at him before stepping out. “Like I said, it never happened. There’s nothing between us, got it?”

“Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

“Hey,” you snapped, raising your finger at him. “Just say 'deal' or I’ll never talk to you again.”

He sighed dramatically. “Okay, okay, it’s a deal.”

“Great. Thanks for the ride,” you said as you closed the door behind you.

“My pleasure,” he said, grinning.

He found himself laughing all the way to work, the memory of those electrifying moments in the elevator replaying in his mind like a favorite song. The rush of adrenaline coursed through him, making him feel alive once more.

It was amazing to be back with you, especially after he thought he might have lost you for good. For the first time, he truly felt grateful.

Now, he had a purpose: to win you back.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

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5sospenguinqueen · 4 months ago

Text

Please, Please, Please | Max Verstappen x Singer! Reader

Summary: What do you do when your ex-girlfriend moves on with another guy? Become needy and pathetic. But, when the guy brings you to tears, Max knows it's his time to save you from further heartbreak.

Warnings: barry keogan (i couldn't find any other men with her that worked), swearing, toxic relationships, pathetic max

Requested: yes by many of you on the previous part

Faceclaim: Sabrina Carpenter (she was used on the last one and yes, she's used a lot but I stole her song and her job so I'm also stealing her face)

F1 Masterlist

prev. || next.

part 4 will be the last part so it may seem a bit rushed but i didn’t plan anything else. sorry! these just seem to be getting worse as well, so i’m also sorry about that

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maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by danielricciardo, liamlawson30 and others

maxverstappen1 a good effort from the team to start on the front row tomorrow 💪 let’s keep pushing tomorrow 🇺🇸

6,633 comments

user1 twitter is claiming that max and kelly broke up

user2 okay but i actually can’t function until i know if max is free from kelly once more

user3 max please tell us if you and kelly have broken up

user4 i need max and kelly to be done forever this time

user5 is it true that you broke up with kelly?

→ maxverstappen1 yes. now can we focus on the race

→ user6 @/yn_ln this means you can give him another chance

→ user7 why would she want to after he ran back to kelly

(comments have been limited)

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yn_ln just posted

liked by mclaren, actorbf and others

yn_ln surprise! if you have any questions, you can refer to my new single please, please, please 💋

13,850 comments

user8 the two of them are so cute

jennaortega i’ll give you all the kisses

→ user9 i wouldn’t. not with all the men she goes through

→ oscarpiastri whoa now, there’s no need for that

user10 don’t get me wrong. i’m loving all the new music. but my heart can’t handle all the new layers to this drama

landonorris okay, little miss hollywood. that music video just proved you’d never do well in a film

→ yn_ln oi, i act better than you do, mr hilton

→ hilton we’d be happy to have you both

user11 ew, so she went from a hot motorsport driver to a subpar actor?

user12 wait, what? this wasn’t supposed to happen. she’s gone off script. max is single now, they were meant to be getting back together

→ user13 she’s not his back-up plan. plus she’s way out of his league

user14 don’t you think you might be putting strain on her new relationship? i doubt her new guy likes to see everyone preferring the old guy

→ user15 hopefully that means he’ll leave and we can get her and max back

user16 has anyone checked on max?

(comments have been turned off)

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yn_ln just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, verstappencom and others

yn_ln how to lose a cake in 10 minutes

16,334 comments

alexandrasaintmleux the most beautiful birthday girl

→ francisca.cgomes this dress is going to live rent free in my head

→ yn_ln thank you for letting me show you both twenty different dresses

→ alexandrasaintmleux just wish you were taller so we could steal some of them

→ yn_ln can’t believe you’d do this to me on the day of my birth

→ oscarpiastri technically your birthday is tomorrow. this was just your birthday party

→ yn_ln thin fucking ice, piastri

user1 guys guys guys. verstappencom liked this. i repeat verstappencom liked this

→ user2 okay but that’s not max

→ user1 but it’s an advocate for max so

landonorris dicaprio wouldn’t want you anyway. you’re too short

→ yn_ln i’ll make my boyfriend fight you

→ landonorris i’m not scared of your polly pocket boyfriend

→ mclaren you can’t say stuff like this publicly, lan

→ user3 i swear none of them actually like her boyfriend

→ user4 showing their support for max. he’s the only person who matches her beauty

user5 no but the hand in the dress is somehow cute and hot

→ user6 not with that guy. it should be max

redbullracing happy birthday to our favourite popstar

replies

user7 what do you mean she had to pay for her own birthday meal on her birthday because her boyfriend wouldn’t

→ user8 not even wouldn’t but flat out refused

→ user9 streets are saying it’s because he’s broke. not exactly like he’s raking in the job offers

user10 so this man is lucky enough to get a chance with THE y/n l/n, then he refuses to pay for her dinner, and then he yells at her?? all on her birthday???

→ user11 he’s punching above his weight and clearly that angers him

→ user12 especially with the way she looked in that yellow sparkly dress today

user13 someone clearly isn’t very smart. she writes a song for him - the first one she’s written recently that isn’t about max - and he does exactly what the song asks him not to do

→ user14 how dare he try to embarrass our queen by yelling at her in front of so many people

→ user15 i’m starting to question if our girl does have good judgement. how could two men do this to her?

→ user16 definitely doesn’t have good taste

user17 the audacity to yell at her in a restaurant of people, and then continue to do so after you were asked to leave because you were yelling at her

user18 and if i said i saw max verstappen pass them in the street, stop and turn, and start defending her, then what?

→ user18 he was literally yelling at this man whilst holding a crying y/n behind him, and rubbing her arm soothingly

→ user19 we’d say you’re full of shit and have no tangible proof

→ user20 this could be true because he was hanging out with charles and some of the drivers. and i just know alex sm got on the phone to her boyf and begged him to send the love of y/n’s life to save her

→ user19 pics or it didn’t happen

maxverstappen1 posted a new story yn_ln posted a new story

landonorris replied to maxverstappen1 i recognise the birthday girl's dress

landonorris replied to yn_ln who’s the 3rd person 👀 → wait why wasn’t I invited

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dazais-guardian-angel · 2 years ago

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SO WHERE THE FUCK IS SEASON 5 ENDING???????????

Chapter 110 is 13 pages long welcome to hell!!! so in a lot of ways this is just more fuel for a theory that I've had for a few weeks now, that's only gotten stronger with each recent season 5 episode, which is that the last episode of the season is gonna end on 110, and that Asagiri/Harukawa and Bones have been collaborating to make this happen, specifically because it's a major turning point that would be the only good place to end the season on.

When we started getting especially long chapters again (like from 25-35ish pages, with the exception of 107.5, the last two being some of the longest we've ever had), at first I just assumed that Asagiri/Harukawa got freed up from some other obligations they'd been having to cause the extremely short/half chapters, like promotional stuff for the anime/Beast movie, or working on light novels. But then 109 happened, with the "supposed" death of Dazai, and heavy emphasis at the end on how literally everyone is at their lowest point right now, and I got to thinking. 11 episodes is a strangely specific number for an anime season -- why not 12, or 13, or even 10, like you'd usually see? Why have we gotten suddenly gotten two 35 page chapters out of nowhere, that's almost unheard of at this point? They're both beautiful chapters, don't get me wrong (as always), and maybe A/H simply just didn't want to cut them in halves because they felt like the full emotional impact wouldn't hit/that there were no good cutoff points in them, but you can't deny that it's surprising, after all the shorter chapters we've been getting. Why has the anime been going at such insanely breakneck pacing for the most part ever since around the Sunday Tragedy chapters, even more so than it has in the past? So much so that it feels dangerously close to overtaking the manga?

Well, maybe, just maybe, it's because..... Asagiri decided a long time ago that whatever happens in 110 is the only point that feels "season finale"-worthy enough, in an arc that still isn't anywhere close to being completely wrapped up, and so both the manga and the anime have been specifically coordinated to reach that part within 2 and a half weeks of each other?

I've seen a lot of people now think season 5 will end with 109, and as much as my sadistic side would find that hilarious, I honestly don't think they'd do that and realistically don't want it to happen; it'd be so cruel to cliffhanger the anime for years like that, and just doesn't feel like a season cliffhanger BSD would do, a series that is ultimately hopeful and uplifting. Seasons 2 and 3 had a positive, conclusive ending; the only reasons seasons 1 and 4 didn't was because they're technically not really full seasons of their own, and are more like the first cour of another "season" that also came out that same year (seasons 1 and 2 both aired in 2016, so they're more like one big season, and seasons 4 and 5 have both aired this year, so they're also more like one big season, again taking into account how episodes 12 and 50 are not satisfying finales like episodes 24, 37, and hypothetically, 61, are). I really can't see season 5 ending with Dazai and Fukuzawa's supposed deaths, Sigma being unconscious and maybe close to death, Atsushi being vulnerable and limbless again, everyone we love still vampires, and the entire world being basically doomed; that's just too depressing and not like BSD at all. However, having said that, if it doesn't end there, there really isn't any good place to end the season before that, either, that feels in any way satisfying or like a finale at all. And so, to me, that only leaves after 109: chapter 110.

I think things are really gonna turn around next chapter. Like I said, everyone is at their lowest point right now, it cannot possibly get any worse, the framing of Dazai, Fukuzawa, and sskk at the end of 109 is telling us that; this is the time for the heroes to finally start winning again, with Aya being so close to pulling out the sword, and for all the thematic reasons other people have talked about to death that I don't need to go into here again. This upcoming chapter being so short again makes a part of me wary of 110 being "the one", so to speak, I won't lie, but at the same time, it's very possible that it needs to be that short because that's all the final episode of the season will be able to reasonably fit in, since it's already gonna be VERY close if they do make it all the way to 109. And at the end of the day, I don't doubt at all that Asagiri and Harukawa can make these the most monumental and game-changing mere 13 pages ever if they wanted to; a chapter does not at all need to be extremely long in order to be an important and impactful one, even if short ones we've gotten in the past haven't felt the most important.

An additional thought I've had, though this is much more crack territory than all this already is, is that since we know from Anime Expo that a Stormbringer movie at some point is highly likely (judging from Asagiri's reaction when someone brought it up), it's possible that chapter 110 and thus the final episode will involve the long-anticipated return of Verlaine and/or Adam, or at least some other major reference to Stormbringer, that would naturally and smoothly lead into a Stormbringer movie to explain things to people who haven't read the novel. It would make a lot of sense, especially since the s4 OP has the Old World sign behind Chuuya, which might be a hint that this has been in the works ever since seasons 4/5 were first in planning with Asagiri. We also know that Dazai and Chuuya's voice actors apparently struggled to record their lines together this season, which probably relates to 101 and possibly 109, but it could be 110 too.... I could be very wrong, as I'm no expert on this kind of thing, but I kinda doubt they would bring Chuuya's actor in for just the vampire growls, and Asagiri placing heavy emphasis on Chuuya's importance this season in that one interview gives me the impression that he's talking about much more than just 101/109. But that's the least solid evidence I have, that's just mostly based on vibes I get.

So basically, I think a lot of factors -- the unusual episode count, how close the anime is to catching up to the manga with three whole episodes left, the seemingly arbitrary recent chapter lengths, and the climactic events of 109 -- can tell us that 110 might be a very, VERY big deal. Again, there's of course no way this arc is anywhere near close to being finished, with so much left to address and resolve, but since it is currently incomplete in the manga, unlike the previously adapted arcs, if the anime was going to adapt it at all, they'd have to find a place that feels satisfying enough to end this season, knowing there won't be more anime for a long time after this, and so I think they specifically planned for that, from both Bones' and A/H's sides. 10 episodes might not have been enough to reach that point, but 12 or 13 might have been too many it wouldn't have been if Bones actually decided to slow down and let the story breathe the way it needs to, but this post isn't meant to criticize the anime, so maybe 11 was just right. And maybe Asagiri and Harukawa specifically pushed to make recent chapters longer than usual, in order to make sure that the manga reached the story content in 110 the monthly release right before season 5 was to end.

Is this just copium? Absolutely. Am I going to look like an absolute clown in two days when this post ages like milk? Probably. But the evidence is There, so let me just enjoy my delusions until Sunday, okay 🥂🫡

#THIS WAS NOT AT ALL WHAT I EXPECTED #THIS IS THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I EXPECTED #THE OPPOSITE OF OKAY!!!!#NEW COPIUM LEVEL MAX UNLOCKED: WE'RE GOING TO CHAPTER 111 #AIN'T NO WAY WE'RE ENDING HERE DAWG #I JUST CAN'T BELIEVE IT #KYOUKA-SUPREMACY YOUR PREV TAGS ARE YOU GONNA BE RIGHT............ IS THE ANIME GONNA OVERTAKE THE MANGA #IF THAT HAPPENS I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD I'M LAUNCHING MYSELF OFF A BUILDING TOO #WTFFFFFFFFFFFFFF #ASAGIRI DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE MAKE ME TUNE IN TO STUDIO BONES' CLOWN SHOW TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IN MY FAVORITE MANGA!!!!!!!#IS THIS THE ULTIMATE KARMA FOR COMPLAINING ABOUT THE ANIME BECAUSE IF SO IT'S NOT FUCKING FUNNY 😭😭😭😭😭😭

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euphoria-looney · 3 months ago

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Who Said Money Can't Buy Happiness?

Yan!Batfam x Neglected!Reader

m. list|prev|next

"Three things don't play about myself, my money, or my man. Mention one of them and best believe I'm gon' be at your head." 'Neva Play' by Megan Thee Stallion ft. RM

Divider Creds: @selysie , @lil-liaa and @bernardsbendystraws

This plot was inspired by @niwaart, @mimiiiiiiiiisstuff, and esp @coldilikeit

Oh crap, I'm still here.

Despite what manhwas tells you, being sent back in time is not fun. There is no technology, no social media, and I'm being literal here. I've regressed, and the social standards are so goofy. I shouldn't complain too much; I got a high title for reincarnating.

This sucked. I thought that was all a dream yesterday, this can't be happening to me.

Well, I have 500,000 gold coins, which makes me one of the richest people in the world.

Imagine this currency: copper, silver, and gold.

Since I've woken up, I might put the plan that I had in my mind into action.

Let's see if this is just like the movies.

I clapped my hands, and my magic started working. It was getting me ready, brushing my hair, changing my clothes, and applying skincare!

Why did I struggle so hard with the maids yesterday if it was this easy?! I guess that part was on me, but let's be honest, I did no wrong, so that mistake didn't happen.

A person knocked on my door, opening it to see a butler.

"Pardon me, princess, but I had been misguided by the other employees here and have arrived late, from today onwards, I'll be your butler."

I looked at him up and down, almost having a stroke, tell me why he looked like Aldira. My secretary? Though I did tell that biggie if I was going down, he'd come with me.

"No offense, you seem diligent at your job, but why am I not having a maid?"`

"All the maids were too afraid to become your personal assistant, and I took the position, I hope you don't mind that"

Damn, why are you so blunt?

"Your name?"

"Aldira's, Your Highness."

The way he carries himself and how he acts, on top of that, the name, why if I didn't know any better, he sounds just like my Aldira in my past life.

No, that is absurd.

Aldira's POV

For the longest time, I've had only one friend stick to me since we were at least teenagers.

My parents were strict and expected nothing but the best from me, from my grades to my activities and the future path that would await me.

My parents were at best middle class, and that I'm grateful for, don't get me wrong, but if I wasn't as intelligent as I was I would have never gone to Gotham Prep, got in with a scholarship, and excelled.

Unlike those dramatic shows or novels, I was not bullied for being the smartest in the school or being too poor to be one of them, instead, I would be what students admired and compared to.

Many people talked about me positively, and I carried an image that was something every parent would want.

But every time I checked the scoreboard, there was one person behind me in terms of rank, [name] Wayne. Though she went by [name] [last name] for some odd reason, one I would not figure out until later on.

The way we went was goofy, it wasn't cliche or anything. We had been invited to the same study group and my parents believed it would be a good opportunity to build connections with the upper class.

The study session turned boring quickly though and I was left doodling to myself while everyone was studying or asking me to help until I saw a pencil tap my journal making me lift my head to face her, [name].

"You read 'I Became the Male Lead's Adopted Daughter' too?"

That shocked me, how did she know that... is she a stalker?

Her eyes kind of pointed to my phone where the notification of a new chapter upload of the said manhwa popped up.

"Yeah, you read these types of stories too?"

"Sometimes."

And we hit it off from there.

"Can you believe some of the girls are saying we're dating?" I sipped on my black coffee as she drank her matcha latte.

"Wasn't it Parcilla, the girl who has a very weird crush on you?" She questioned me, making me nod.

"You biggie, that means I might be the next target to be bullied because of your fan club, nah, I'm too amazing to be the one bullied."

I slapped her upside the head from that comment.

Don't be fooled though, because behind her laid-back personality, she had a huge ego that could make anyone want to beat her up, she just never expresses it so she's easily likable and I enjoy that personality of hers.

Flash forward and we both have jobs and have monthly meet-ups.

I was busy typing away for my report on a report for my job as manager of a high-end company, of course, I couldn't complain. The salary was good, and I was able to save up for my family to get out of Gotham and head to another part of the world, they urged me to go but then I wouldn't be able to hang out with [name] which I know was a stupid reason but long-distance relationships were neither of our thing.

"Ugh, at this point these imbeciles won't give their report in time for our next meeting and we'll have to push it back to next week or something," I grumbled before hearing the timer go off indicating it was time to take off our face mask.

"Why don't you come and work for my company?" I heard her get up.

"Work for your company?" I repeated.

"Yeah, I mean it's non-profit, comes with many benefits including good insurance that fully works and not half-assed you, and it's triple your pay rate." My eyes widened at that preposterous claim.

"Besides, I need an assistant or secretary, it'd help me a lot." I went over to her and stole the tea that she made and took a sip.

"Fattie."

"IT'S TEA!"

"MY TEA THAT I MADE! YOU SAID THAT YOU DIDN'T WANT ANY!"

And I agreed and they're not lying when they say working together makes or breaks a relationship, as our friendship just grew even more.

Then one day on our hangouts she recommended a new novel to me.

"'I stole the loving family of the Villainess'? Now... the girl I know has no good stories at the moment, but what is this?"

"It's so bad that you want to continue reading the story. And I'm also a little biased since one of the characters has my name."

"No way."

"You want to bet?"

So I read it. And wow, she was not kidding. Also, how the hell did they incorporate her bearing a saintess into this?! As if it wasn't absurd enough...

So, while texting her what she wanted to eat while heading to our shared apartment, an out-of-control truck hit me and before I knew it I was in the story.

Talk about cliche and I arrived at the scene when [name] would shove Serena off but [name] was acting out of character making up some new dialogue, great, it's an even bigger cliche, someone reincarnates into the Villainess, bet she's going to end up forgiving everyone that was rude to her though.

Typical.

After the party and everything, Alfred, our head butler, asked us which one of the maids would volunteer to be Princess [name]'s new assistant. Since no one was going for it, I applied. I mean, the pay rate was great, and I've done my fair share in the retail industry, I know how to deal with goofy entitled customers.

So, why does she seem so familiar? I can't put my finger on it.

What if that's my [name] from my other life?

No, that's absurd and too fictional to work.

Heading to the dining room with my butler close behind, I eventually arrived.

"You're finally here big sister!" Serena's voice interrupted the wholesome family in front of me. Seems everyone had their fill already.

"You're late. Again, how disappointing." Palmola's voice was a sharp knife cutting through the silence that had developed.

"Well, I won't ruin your moods for too long, I have an appointment that I can't miss, so I'll just take this." I whisked away my breakfast and called for my new assistants to prepare a carriage for me.

"And where exactly?" Bruce demanded.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know you cared about where I go and return from." I scrunch my face before heading off.

"I am your father [name]."

"Your majesty, the only people in this room who are talking are the Emperor and a princess, not father and daughter."

Aldira opened the carriage door, allowing me to step in before going in himself.

"May I know where you're headed today, Your Highness?" The coachman asked.

"The mine at WestFord."

"The mine that has been empty for years? Why, my lady, why would you ever need to go there?

"Exploring."

I'm taking a gamble on this and meeting John Constantine before purchasing it.

I sent him a letter before heading to bed last night and got a reply.

'It would be an honor to sell this cavern to you, Your Highness.

Sincerely,

Duke Constantine.

Well, it was more detailed than that but that's the premise of what he wrote back.

Stepping off the carriage I arrived at the cave. I noticed the Duke.

"Your Highness, how are you doing this fine morning?" He reached out a hand for me to shake.

I took it, his grip firm before I pulled away as did he.

"No need for small talk, it seems this cave would be fine."

"Your Highness, don't you think you're being too rash?! We haven't looked yet!" Aldira came in front of my face frantically.

"I have a hunch. But do me the honor of looking around before I seal the contract."

He didn't need to hear another word before rushing in, before coming out and began making calculations with his magic.

"At best this cave should settle for 45,000 gold, right Duke Constantine?"

"Indeed, young man, Your Highness, would you mind that price?" He asked me before I nodded.

Pulling out a contract, we both read the terms and conditions before signing our names, making our names and the contract glow, making the contract finalized with no loopholes and in no way to break it unless both parties agree.

"What powerful magic you have, unlike the rumors."

I shrugged, fanning myself, “There are things many people didn’t know about me, but what does it matter? Why should the public know anything about me?” I questioned the Duke.

He chuckled to himself before shaking his head.

“No, not at all, Your Highness, everyone has things they’d like to keep to themselves after all. May I inquire if you will attend today’s coming-of-age celebration at the Acentro Twins?” The last event we went to that became a topic that’s still being talked about most times [P!name] would stay home while the rest of her family went, worsening her reputation.

Which doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t that make it better?

This world is so hateful of my girl.

“Indeed, it would only make sense to. Well, if that’s all I should be off, I have no time to waste, after all a lady needs her time to get ready.” I walked back to the carriage, and Aldira followed me close behind.

The Marquis family, the Acentro. Known for being great in the business world, and even better for their swordsmanship abilities. Recently, the daughter of their house decided to go against society's customs and do archery. But that got overshadowed by the canceling of my engagement.

She and her brother are both very cunning and intelligent, from what I heard, so their coming-of-age ceremony will be huge, last I checked. It would be good if I made relations with them.

“Aldira, you'll be attending the ceremony with me, no?”

He looked away from the windows and nodded, “Yes, your highness.”

I just can’t shake the feeling that he’s from another world like me, my Aldira.

“Aldira, you seem to know a lot about business, where do you come from?”

This seemed to catch him off guard as he didn’t respond right away like he usually does.

“Somewhere far, is all. One that is rather advanced but I think it’s gone now.”

“Have you ever heard of someone named ‘Batman’? Silly, right? But that weird name just came to me.”

Batman, Gotham’s vigilante superhero. My good-for-nothing father slowly started acknowledging me after I left the manor. It’s quite uncanny how, in both lives, I still have him as my father, though that could be said for my entire family in this world except my Palmola and Serena.

That made him shocked, eyes widening, looking into mine, like he was thinking over something.

“Are you [name] [last name], Your Highness?”

“Depends, will you still make me coffee in the morning if I confirm that I am, my dear secretary.”

At that, he practically lunged at me, wrapping his hands around my waist, his head laying on my lap, this would be a terrible position to be in. I patted his head and was also relieved about the revelation, but it was kind of obvious.

“Holy crap, this was not a cliche I expected.” He pulled away, holding onto my shoulders.

“Tell me about it, do you think there are other reincarnations in this world?” He shook his head.

“My system tells me that I’ve located the only other reincarnation in this world, I knew it was you, I just didn’t know it was my [name].”

“System?” I asked.

“Yeah, did you not get one, I have one that shows my stats and has a quest for me to do.” This is too many story plots for me to handle.

“No, this is crazy, anyway of that system getting us home, though?” Aldira shook his head at that, making me slouch in my seat.

I scoffed, “This has been one crazy day that I did not expect.”

“Your Highness, we have made it home.” I heard the coachman announce. Aldira helped me down. Back in this miserable place, right after I left it in my previous life. Thoughts and prayers in the chat guys.

I decided to take a fat nap, setting an alarm before waking up to this monstrosity.

Maids running around like there was a killer on their backs, and were getting outfits and attire ready, crazy how I got no help at all though. By the time I got myself ready and was finishing the touch-ups on Aldria’s, I spotted my family in a family set of clothes all matching.

It was expected though so nothing I should worry about.

“Wouldn’t this just cause more scandals for you [name]? We’re matching right after your broken engagement.” Aldira scolded me but didn’t back away from receiving my help.

“Don’t kill the mood, Al, just look at how cute we are matching.”

He could only sigh, massaging his forehead, but behind that was a small smile.

What could interrupt this wholesome moment, how about the buffoons behind me?

"Don't you think you've done enough damage to the family, imagine? First the engagement and now your outfit? Matching with a common servant?" Damian scoffed.

"It's called, My entire family decided to choose an outfit and left their 4th princess out of it, but still included the peasant girl. Or did I leave the part where I had a matching outfit?"

"We didn't- I just- You shouldn't speak to your little brother that way, young lady, have some etiquette.'' Palmola inquired.

"Right. My brother."

Barbara coughed into her fist.

"Well, we'd like to inform you that Serena might just be attacked riding alone so she'll have to retake your spot.

"That's fine, I wasn't planning on going in a carriage anyway, too bumpy for my taste, and wouldn't want to leave Aldira alone." I pinned our matching jewelry on his suit and brushed dirt away from his outfit.

"Anything else?" I turned to face them. Some looked hesitant but Palmola took the lead and left. Walking with grace to the carriage.

"How do you feel about teleportation? I'm not one to be late to an event."

"Would love to try it, die wanting to try it, let's do it." Aldira bluntly stated.

"If we die, you can't blame me."

"On second thought-," I snatched his hand before we got teleported.

Arriving at the front of the line, I fixed my outfit.

"That was not bad, great even." No side effects, why yes, magic truly is a blessing phenomenon. Aldira also looked fine, so it seemed I managed this spell just fine, but is anyone surprised? It's me, after all.

The guard standing there nearly jumped out of his boots and bowed lowly. "Welcome, Your Highness! Ehem, Entering her Highness, Princess [name] Wayne!"

"You see that, Al? Even in this life, I'm too important and pretty to ignore."He deadpanned at me.

"That's because you're a very, and I mean very controversial princess. In a bad way. Remember how the original princess got executed because she was rude to the peasant MC?"

"That's why I hated the novel so much, duh. I still can't believe we're stuck here," I was exasperated.

The murmurs that were once stuck in regular conversations go into gossip, between the fact that I arrived without my family once again, and that my attendant wasn't a female but rather male.

I arrived before the twins and got my gift from my special storage.

For Artemis, a bow and arrows, and Apollo, a lyre.

"What an incompetent girl! The gifts are switched." A woman scoffed

"A woman holding a bow, please, what a mockery." A man grumbled.

The twins examined the gifts before looking back up at me.

"A bow?" Artemis grinned at me with a raised eyebrow.

"And a lyre?" Apollo added.

"Indeed, I hope you guys enjoy it, I picked it based on what I believed would suit you guys." I curtsied before going down to the ballroom.

"They play a huge part in the novel in the business industry, not only that, Artemis is known for being the best huntress of the time and years later, with Apollo also being skilled in the music industry and known for understanding how to use a bow and arrow to.

Why, it'd be a shame if we let this opportunity slide to not get on their good side and eventually have them cooperate with us, my dear Aldira." Aldira only gave me a plate of food and started making one for himself.

"Yes, while you're acting like a mastermind over there, honey, how about we eat food before I pass out from the amount of stress I've accumulated." I took his and my plate and put it away on our separate table.

"Can't, dancing in a few moments, can't throw up on the dance floor, and you, being the lucky guy of the night, are joining me."

"We didn't know how to dance back at our high school dance." I flicked my hair back and accidentally hit him in the face.

He coughed out some of the hair from his mouth and squinted at me.

"Our 'dances' that we did were scandalous for their times and even more if we do it here." He's so dramatic.

"Announcing the Waynes, the moonlight of the kingdom!" that door entrance guy announced.

"Look it's Serena, her outfit makes her look so different but she fits right in!"

"I want that outfit too! So chic and cute!"

"She might as well be the fourth princess rather than-"

"Shh!"

Aldira takes another bite of his food and can't help but grit his teeth. This world was just like the last one he was in, how he was still mad when the oldies from their modern time switched their tone on you once you built your multi-billion company on your own.

Before his attention was snatched away by you again, like always uncaring, which was one of the reasons he had admired you, not only because you were his friend.

"That's what makes it fun, Al, don't be a party pooper." Just then the orchestra started, I dragged him away from the food he just got for us and reached the dance floor.

It was just slow steps, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm.

"Look, isn't that her?"

"Dancing with... a butler."

"Do you think..."

The chorus soon came along and I was twirled a few times by

Aldira, before gliding in between his legs and making a swift recovery, twirled some more before he dipped me to the ground, our faces close, our bodies closer to each other and the song finished.

(Dance scene summed up, creds to the idea: @randomlyappearingartist)

"See, I told you this was fun." He could only sweatdrop and sigh before pulling the both of us up and escorting us back to the food.

"D-Did you see that?"

"Didn't she just divorce Prince Connor?"

"You don't think..."

"What other reason, and the look she gave that servant."

"There's no mistaking it."

I finished my food and stretched out of tiredness, "Man, I wonder what got this event in a stir..." I mumbled.

"We have to schedule a meeting with the twins soon, by the way, I have to get them into my business if I want it to blossom." Aldira nodded before telling me that he was off to get more food.

"Well, I'm going to the balcony, I was feeling claustrophobic with the amount of people crowding the room.

I was on the balcony waiting for Aldira to come back soon after grabbing another plate of food. Behind me was an approaching Grand Duke of the North with signature black hair and red eyes. His outfit's color base was black with red being the secondary base, gold details that showed off the title and golden buttons, a fur coat surrounding his neck, and the cape down to his heel.

Grand Duke Isnwalt, Onyx Isnwalt. He played a major influence on the world, both feared and respected, but didn’t become a main lead but rather just an important figure in the world. I think Serena interacted with him once but her love interest got jealous and dragged her away from him, and he didn’t think much of the interaction other than that it was weird.

“What do I owe the pleasure of meeting the Grand Duke of the North, Sir Isnwalt?” I turned to him and curtsied.

“Right now you and that butler of yours are the talk of the ball, with your dance moves from earlier, surely you would know why I approached you.” He swirled his champagne in his glass, and a deep chuckle accompanied his words.

“Why I wouldn’t say the dance was all that interesting.” I tilted my head back at him. He put his glass down on the balcony ledge and focused his attention back on me, both of us just staring back at each other before he finally spoke.

“That butler of yours… he’s interesting…” I had to turn away and let out a little stifled laugh. Never saw that coming.

I heaved a deep breath in before turning back to him.

“I-is that so?” I pinched my thigh from laughing again.

“Indeed, not like any other person I’ve ever met, would you mind letting me meet him?” Maybe it’s the way he’s so straightforward about it, or maybe it’s because he’s so serious about it, but it’s making me laugh. But I can’t- I have to hold it in.

Be who you are for your pride~

“I’ll have to think on that, Grand Duke Onyx” I spread my fan out placing it in front of my face. “For you see my butler is very important to me and we have so little time to be separate from each other as he’s such a hardworking servant to me.”

Just then, with great timing, I would say Aldira's showed up, and the Grand Duke approached him, holding his hands and giving the kiss to the tip of his fingers before staring at him.

I took a sip of my champagne, basking in the romance.

"Oh..." Aldira looked shocked before quickly pulling away. He awkwardly laughed before pulling away.

"What the hell.." Aldira scrunched up, making Onyx chuckle in a deep tone, and, what hold on is that blush coating his cheeks?

"You're not like anyone I've ever met before, you're... different, (fine shyt) darling. And you smell rather... sweet."

Wait hold on...? Smell? I feel like I'm forgetting a huge thing about this novel.

Aldira shivered from hugging himself and turned to look at me for help, making me step in.

"Aldira, This is Grand Duke, Onyx Isnwalt. An influential personal worldwide who has contributed very much to our kingdom, and has been labeled the lady and gentleman killer."

He was jaw dropped before whispering in my ear.

"Man idgaf about who he is, I'm getting harassed."

I pulled out my fan, which was my new favorite thing to do now, and whispered back.

"I understand and was going to ask for business cooperation and use you as a guinea pig, but we don't have to... unless..."

Onyx coughed into his fist, making both our attention go to him.

"Dear..."

Aldira hesitated before replying. "Aldira..."

"Aldira," He said slowly before smirking to himself.

"May I have the honor of inviting you to dinner with me? Tomorrow at the Brits Restaurant, anytime you'd like.

"Look, I appreciate the gesture-"

"50 gold as compensation for your troubles"

Aldira hesitates but his greed overcomes his thoughts and he accepts.

I felt like I was interrupting something until Aldira turned around and tugged on my sleeve. "Can we go now?" I smiled and nodded before going to the break room.

"So, how was that?" He deadpanned at me.

"Not fun." He laid his head on my shoulder but then we saw a woman with pink hair looking lost.

I approached her, making Aldira's sag down.

"Are you lost, miss..."

“Oh! Starfire, Princess of Tamaran.” I curtsied that she was Dick’s fiance.

“Prince Richard's fiance.” I stood up and looked at her.

“You know him?”

“I am a citizen of Wayne's Kingdom.” I played it off.

“My escort and I could take you to him.” Aldira stood up and walked next to me.

“We can?” I elbowed his stomach.

“Yes, we can.”

As we made it forward, you could see the picture-perfect family, a girl in the center of their attention laughing, with a cute little giggle.

“Ehem” I coughed into my fist.

“[N-name] I wasn’t-” Serena started… I think she has the wrong impression on why I’m here.

“Not you, you” I directed my attention to Dick

“Your fiance has been waiting for you, big brother.”

“Big brother? But he only has four? And if you're not the three I've already met you must be the youngest... however, you’re not the blonde girl with blue eyes." Starfire asked, though not in a mocking way but geniuen curiosity.

This was a major plot point in the future that [name] goes batshit crazy on.

However, I could feel my eye twitching, it's laughable how they treated her despite her position it's almost like they forgot who decided to shoot the load creating her, and if weren't for the fact she was got embarrassed everyday it's the fact that those incompetent nincompoop contributed maybe it's the fact that they favored a peasant over her.

It's hard, not to feel a little annoyed by the display, almost enough to chuck glass on the ground and shove it down their throat till you shred their voice box.

...

But I could never do that, I'm too nice, too kind.

Some were waiting for the drama to unfold, what's next would [name] grab Serena's hair then leaving one of her family members to take Serena side like always, throw a tantrum, or something most.

Others were excited to gossip about the scandal of this entire event.

Most were watching with interest.

Then [name] made a move, slowly turning around and slightly titling her head.

“What did you just say?” [name] directed her attention to Starfire.

Most were sweating, some were ready for the inevitable…

Anyway, this is more of a filler chap. Then anything but hey we got some new characters! Might make something that has face claims for my ocs, idk.

Did you like? 😏

Spring Break has arrived so guess who will be working their booty off (probably).

Anyway taglist. Hopefully I didn't forget or mispell anyone.

Also, send in a request in stuff and hopefully I get to them!

@kittzu @charlenexoxo1 @bat1212 @silverklaus @sillysealsies @roseytheteacup @iliveinyourwallsrat @cozmie @tomoyaki @cynniee @jsprien213 @kore-of-the-underworld @anonymoushehehehe @ninihrtss @devia @fanficloverlol @masterradd-28 @aigenarated @welpthisisboring @h-ib @diemdurantia @alishii @random4137 @totired0-0 @00hellohello00 @sh4rk-k1d @shadowytravelerlover @r-u-s-s-i-a-h @paperhermits @ocean-mochi @simpingpandas @crazycaoticsimp @candlejuice @twismare @itsberrydreemurstuff @delias-stuff @shycreatorreview @randomlyappearingartist @not-aya @c4xcocoa @midnightgrimoire @time-shardz @narcisolefay1 @ryuushou @animerules898

#platonic batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #batfam x neglected reader #yandere batfam #batfam #neglected reader #platonic yandere batfam

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