#I found them in my phone and wanted to cry

[dilf-docs]

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: I/II

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

*i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

[makeitmingi]

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 13]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.3K

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the scarf around your neck. It was another day of going to Hongjoong's place to do your gardening duties. Also, it was the first time seeing him after you cried in his arms at his mother's grave.

"Gosh, can you be any more embarrassing?" You asked your reflection with a click of your tongue. With a soft sigh, you went to gather your stuff.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

"Coming!" You ran to open the door, thinking it was the chauffeur that was usually sent to pick you.

"Oh! Hongjoong! I was not expecting you." You blinked as he stood at your door.

"I was in the area for a meeting and thought I could come pick you instead. I hope you don't mind, the chauffeur told me what floor you live on." Hongjoong smiled, tucking his phone back into his coat.

"Not at all. I'm about done, please come in. Don't mind the mess." You said, letting him step in.

"Thanks. Take your time." He bowed his head and entered behind you, removing his shoes in the entrance way.

"I have to bring these down, it shouldn't be too heavy." You gestured before running back into your bedroom to get your socks and handphone. Hongjoong looked around the place, contrary to what you said, there was no mess at all. It was a cozy, little apartment, simple but neat.

"That should be everything... Would you like a drink? Sorry I didn't offer you one when you came in." You chuckled, putting your tools together into a tote bag.

"No worries, I'm good. I had a coffee on the way here." He smiled from his seat on your couch.

"We can go now." You said to him.

"Sure, let me help." He took one of the bags that had fertiliser in it, leaving you to carry the light stuff. Your heart warmed at the sight of the Porsche convertible, he must have brought it for you.

"If the things can't fit in the boot, I'll have them on my lap." You told him as he loaded the stuff in.

"We should be fine. It'll be uncomfortable to have things on your lap." Hongjoong said as he arranged the stuff to make space.

"There." He placed the last bag in and closed the boot. After opening the door for you to enter the passenger seat, he closed the door and ran over to the driver's side.

Before moving out of the parking space, Hongjoong put the hood down then started to drive. It wasn't as awkward anymore but you did still feel embarrassed after what happened last time. He saw you cry and you cried all over his probably expensive suit.

"Is it too warm? Shall I put the hood back up?" Hongjoong asked, having noticed the uncomfortable expression on your face.

"No, not at all. You don't have to put the hood back up. I'm enjoying it, don't worry." You shook your head, continuing to look out instead of look in Hongjoong's direction.

"Welcome back, sir."

The intercom voice sounded as Hongjoong pulled up to the gates of the estate before they opened the let you in.

"Although it's such a long walk, the greenery along the driveway makes it such a nice sight." You commented. Hongjoong let out a hum of agreement.

The others must heard of Hongjoong's arrival at the gate because you saw a butler and two maids waiting there for your arrival.

"There are stuff in the back, take it and help her bring it to the back garden." Hongjoong said, coming out of the driver's seat.

"Yes, sir. Right away." They stepped forward to retrieve your items from the boot as Hongjoong opened the door for you. You stood there awkwardly, unsure of what you were supposed to do now. You were still not used to this, you've always done everything yourself without any butlers or maids.

"Right this way, ma'am." One of the maids bowed, leading you into the house. Hongjoong re-entered the car and drove off, presumably to park his car.

"(y/n)! You're here." Mingi grinned.

"Hi, Mingi." You bowed your head, still finding yourself acting formal with the others.

"Have you eaten?" He asked with a tilt of his head, munching on the slice of toast in his hand. You mentally chuckled, imagining all the crumbs he must be dropping onto the ground.

"I have. Thank you." You smiled.

"Good. If you get hungry, ask the chef to make you something, alright? Don't go hungry." He winked and went upstairs.

"Miss, shall we leave the things here?" The butler asked as you stepped out into the backyard.

"Yes, that's fine. Thank you so much for your help." You bowed repeatedly to them. They smiled and bowed back to you before taking their leave. The first thing you did was take your notepad out to check your to-do list for today.

"Good morning, (y/n)." You turned to see Seonghwa standing there, cradling a cup of tea in his hands. He was dressed in a button up white shirt and wide pants, making him look casual but elegant.

"Good morning, Seonghwa. How has your morning been?" You asked with a smile.

"Busy as usual. Have you seen Hongjoong? I heard he went to pick you up after his meeting." He enquired.

"Yeah, he did. He dropped me off out front and I assumed that he was just going to park the car but I guess not?" You giggled as Seonghwa rolled his eyes.

Another thing you learnt was that while Hongjoong kept everyone else in check, Seonghwa kept Hongjoong in check.

"Never mind him then. How has the garden been coming along?" He moved closer to look.

"Hopefully making progress. I managed to move the plants to where they need to be, in the proper soils without having to compete for nutrients. Today, it's laying fertiliser and all that." You explained.

"The plants are in good hands then." He chuckled and you nodded your head. Seonghwa's phone ringing pulled him away, the both of you bowed your heads to each other as he entered the house to answer the call. You let out a sigh of relief, still feeling slightly intimidated by him and his energy.

"Are you scared of Seonghwa hyung?"

"Ah!" You yelped, jumping back and clutching onto your heart, as you came face to face with Jongho. He smiled cheekily at you before straightening up.

"You scared me, Jongho." You let out a sigh as you picked up the trowel that you dropped.

"You didn't answer my question. Are you scared of Seonghwa hyung?" He raised an eyebrow, repeating his question.

"He's a little intimidating... His aura and everything. Like a critique that you want to try and impress...? I don't even know if that makes any sense." You tried your best to explain it to him.

"I get it, Seonghwa hyung has that effect on people." Jongho nodded.

"But you know, we're not that scary. We may seem like we're scary people but we're not." He added.

"I know, I'm slowly learning that." You giggled as you used the trowel to loosen up the packed soil around the plant roots. Jongho watched you take the fertiliser and add it to the soil, using your hands to manually pack it in so it wouldn't be too tight.

Jongho stood there, watching you. He has never met a girl that was willing to get down and have her hands in the dirt. It still amused and amazed him to watch you work.

"Is there anything else you need, Jongho?" You asked, realising he was looming over quietly.

"Nope. Just watching you work, it's rather fascinating and I'm learning something new when I do." He shrugged.

"It's just taking care of the plants. It is concerning that your previous gardeners never did these. But it's not surprising, considering all the mistakes I found." You mumbled the last part.

"You're funny, (y/n)."

"I just don't like that the plants suffer at the hands of someone who is literally paid to take care of them." You sighed.

"I get it, I get it. Don't worry, that guy is gone and we have you now." He smiled.

Although, when Jongho said 'gone', you assumed it meant that the previous gardener was fired. You didn't know that Jongho meant that the guy was no longer alive.

"Ah, Jongho ah. Stop disturbing her and let her work. You should be doing your own work too!" Seonghwa yelled from the glass doors, presumably having finished his phone call. Jongho scoffed, offended that Seonghwa would suggest he was disturbing you. You giggled at their banter, they were really close.

"Well, I'll see you later, (y/n)." Jongho did conceed. You waved as he entered the house to go back to work.

"Alright, what's next?" You stood up, dusting your hands. You went to retrieve the other bag of fertiliser to move to another garden patch. These fertilisers were all personally mixed together by you.

"Grow well." You wished the plant, hoping your custom mix of fertilisers would provide the plants with what they needed.

"Maybe one day, there'll be a compost area here for all the waste." You thought out loud.

"We should, there's enough space." You turned to see Hongjoong standing there with a small smile on his face. He had gotten rid of his jacket and was in a shirt and pants.

"Seonghwa came to look for you earlier. Playing hooky?" You teased.

"Just because I wasn't in my office, he thinks I was out skipping work." Hongjoong rolled his eyes with a scoff.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you would like to have some lunch." Hongjoong said. You straightened up, digging for your phone to check the time. Indeed, it was already a little after noon, you didn't think you spent such a long time doing this.

"Sure, I lost track of time. Didn't know I spent so much time doing just this." You gestured. Hongjoong waited for you before walking back to the house.

"I'll go wash my hands and freshen up." You excused yourself and went to the bathroom to wash your hands and face.

"Ah, (y/n)!" Yunho ran to into you as you were exiting the bathroom. You smiled and waved at him.

"Are all of you working from home today? I seem to be running into most of you and it's only lunch time." You chuckled. Yunho laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"I never know where my brothers are." He admitted.

"I guess you all have different schedules that it'll be hard to keep track. Poor Seonghwa." You giggled.

"Nah, I bet hyung secretly likes to nag us. Him and Hongjoong hyung." Yunho joked, the both of you snickering. Hongjoong watched you and Yunho laugh as you headed over.

When did you two get so close?

"Today is a warm day, you should take more breaks in the shade and make sure you drink a lot of water." Yunho smiled kindly. You nodded and bowed your head. Of course, Yunho noticed that Hongjoong had been looking at your interaction the entire time. But he wanted to rile the captain up more.

"This way." Hongjoong said to you. You stepped into the dining room, it was your first time here since you started working in the estate. Or rather, this was the first meal you've had with them.

Usually, you sit in the living room or garden gazebo to eat. Honestly, it was really intimidating.

"Sit wherever you feel comfortable." Hongjoong gestured.

"Really? Looks like there are assigned seats..." You mumbled to yourself. But Hongjoong gently placed a hand on your back to guide you forward, the seat to the right of the head.

"I sit here, you can sit with me." Hongjoong said. The seat felt like it would be the seat that's occupied for sure.

"Come, (y/n). That's Seonghwa hyung's seat." Jongho entered the dining room, pulling you along.

"You lied!" You pointed accusingly at Hongjoong, who blinked.

"Hwa doesn't care, the others are just trying to make him scarier than he actually is." Hongjoong rolled his eyes. But you were not taking the chance, you moved to sit where ever Jongho and Yunho told you to, which was next to Jongho, opposite Yunho.

"Yeosang hyung sits here but he's out for a meeting so you're good." Jongho said as the butler pulled the chair out for you to sit. You quickly bowed to him and sat down.

"Who's scarier than he actually is?" On cue, Seonghwa walked in, typing away on his phone.

"It's nothing." Hongjoong sighed.

"It's only noon and you're already sighing." Seonghwa raised an eyebrow at his best friend before taking his seat, which was the exact seat Hongjoong had offered you earlier.

"See? Told you." Jongho leaned over to whisper to you and you hummed with a soft giggle.

"Just get lunch." Hongjoong said to the butler, rubbing his forehead.

"Nice to see you here, (y/n)." Seonghwa finally noticed you and smiled at you. You returned the smile and nodded your head then the trays of food came in.

"Lunch is served." The maids and butlers said as they placed trays in front of you. Your eyes widened, this was how you imagined royalty was served their meals. The food was good, regular fare, but plated nicely and arranged on an individual tray. You have never been served like this before.

"Is something wrong?" Yunho asked.

"No, not at all." You forced a smile and picked up your chopsticks. Just then, Mingi came into the dining room, letting out a loud yawn as he stretched his arms over his head.

"Mingi. That's rude." Seonghwa scolded. Mingi rubbed his eyes, a clear sign that he had just woken up.

"Oh, (y/n). You're having lunch here today." Mingi acknowledged as he took his seat beside Yunho. You nodded and swallowed your food.

"Did you just nap since breakfast?" Yunho asked his best friend.

"Dude, I told you I didn't sleep last night so I have sleep to catch up on. I keep having issues sleeping." Mingi said, running his fingers through his messy hair as the butler put his tray down.

"You're too used to doing night stuff, that's why your body clock is having issues adjusting." Hongjoong pointed out.

"I should just be on night shift, I'm only doing Yeosang's work because he's busy taking over San's- Mmph!" Mingi's sentence was cut off as he crumpled over, wincing in pain. He turned his head to shoot Yunho a glare.

"Are you okay, Mingi?" You asked worriedly. Mingi met Yunho's eyes, who shifted in your direction.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just hit my toe against the chair leg." Mingi lied as he began to eat. You didn't notice the sigh of relief Seonghwa and Hongjoong let out.

"If that's not enough food for you, you can always ask for seconds, alright? They always make extras for us." Jongho told you.

"This is more than enough for me. I might not even be able to finish this." You chuckled.

"Is the food to your liking?" Hongjoong asked.

"It's very good. Thank you." You smiled as continued to eat. If the food wasn't to your liking, Hongjoong would have asked the cook to make you something entirely differently.

"Seconds." Seonghwa raised his hand and Yunho did the same, the maid coming forward to get their plates for more food.

"Oh gosh, I'm so full. And I should probably get back to work. Thank you for the meal." You stood up and bowed to the boys at the table, hightailing it out of there before anyone could say anything else. The 5 just sat there, blinking, stunned before turning to their captain at the head of the table.

"(y/n), hold on. Is something wrong?" Hongjoong came out from the dining room right before you could go out the glass doors. You paused in your tracks and turned around.

"No, Hongjoong. Everything is fine." You fiddled with your fingers.

"Was it that awkward and uncomfortable?" He tilted his head. You rubbed the back of your neck.

"It's not any of you... It's just... I'm supposed to be a worker too... Feels inappropriate to be sitting in that fancy dining, getting served like that." You winced.

"Oh, (y/n). There's no need for you to worry about that. You're not a worker-worker... You're my friend, it's different." He chuckled.

"I know, it just takes a while to get used to. I'm not familiar with any of this but don't worry!" You rubbed your arm.

"(y/n), if you're uncomfortable, just tell me. I know it can all be very intimidating. Don't feel forced to do anything." He smiled. The both of you walked out to the back garden together.

"No, I don't feel forced at all. And it's not just that..." You cleared your throat, trying to figure out how to find the words to tell him. Maybe you should just leave it. Telling Hongjoong your feelings might just make things more awkward between the two of you.

"Are you worried about what happened when we went to see my mum?" He asked in a soft voice.

"How... How did you..." Your eyes widened.

"I figured. (y/n), you know I don't care about stuff like that right? I'm not bothered and it doesn't change anything." Hongjoong smirked. You nodded slowly.

"Thanks." You murmured.

"Now come. I think it's finally time for me to give you a proper tour of the place." Hongjoong clapped his hands.

"Don't you have to work? Don't any of you have to work?" You threw your head back with a groan. Hongjoong just laughed and gestured for you to go back into the house for the tour.

"Hang on." You paused and he nodded.

"Take your time." He watched you fiddle with one of the bags you had brought and retrieved what looked like a small white linen bag.

"Mingi! Luckily you're still here. I just remembered that I had this in my bag of gardening stuff. Here you go." You handed the taller the small white bag just as he was leaving the dining room. Both him and Hongjoong looked confused but Mingi lifted the white bag to take a sniff of it.

"It smells good. What is it?" He blinked.

"Dried lavender. I use it as a natural insect repellent for plants but it's very good to help sleep too. Since you said you have trouble sleeping, you can put this by your pillow." You explained.

"Oh, thank you, (y/n). I'll definitely put this by my pillow." Mingi smiled, continuing to sniff the bag.

"I hope it helps." You smiled and he nodded before heading upstairs. You were unaware of the now slightly sulky Hongjoong behind you.

"You didn't have to do that, you know? He's just childishly whining about it." Hongjoong commented. Your eyebrows raised slightly at his words, was Hongjoong jealous?

"I know but I wanted to help since I already have the dried lavender. So I thought why not? It's not 100% effective but it may help just a little so no harm." You shrugged as you followed him up the stairs to see the rest of the house.

"Honestly in our household, almost everyone has trouble sleeping. Not sure if we're just constantly thinking about work or something." He pointed out.

"Oh, really? Well, I don't have anymore on hand now but I'll keep that in mind and bring more the next time I come." You giggled.

~

Series masterlist

[elyxir1zz]

★ — Between the lines - part 10

CW : meanie sevika, artist reader, hockey player vi and sevika, modern au, highschool shenanigans, cheating, sex, dark themes, love triangle, lesbians, quickies

A/N : FINAL CHAPTER SHES DONE

You didn’t go to school for a week after the breakup. Your mom didn’t push you, and honestly, you were grateful for that. Facing everyone felt like an impossible task, especially knowing Sevika was out there, making her single status known. When you finally did drag yourself back to class, it felt like every pair of eyes in the hall was on you. The whispers weren’t subtle either. Everyone seemed to know about Sevika hooking up with random girls all week, and the weight of it crushed you even more.

At home, things weren’t any better. Even a month later, you still clung to her jacket at night, sleeping with it bundled up in your arms like it was a lifeline. Her scent was fading, but you refused to admit it. If you couldn’t have her, at least you had the memories. You told yourself you were starting to get over her. You could think about her without crying—sometimes. But the truth was, the pain hadn’t gone away; it had just burrowed deeper.

Your self-harm started to spiral again. Blaming yourself for the breakup, for not being enough, became a vicious cycle. The day your mom walked in and saw you in the act was a turning point—one you weren’t ready for. You’d forgotten to lock your door, and the horrified look on her face made your stomach drop. She blamed herself, and though you tried to assure her it wasn’t her fault, she wouldn’t hear it. After a long, tearful conversation, she arranged for therapy. You weren’t thrilled at first, but slowly, it started to help. Things weren’t perfect, but the numbness began to fade.

One afternoon, while you were lying in bed scrolling through your phone, your mom called for you from downstairs.

“What?!” you yelled, not bothering to move.

When she didn’t respond, you groaned, tossing your phone aside. Dragging yourself out of bed, you trudged down the hall, rubbing your eyes.

“Mom? What did you—oh.”

You stopped mid-step, your breath catching as you looked down the staircase. Standing in the foyer were Jinx, Mel, and Vi’s girlfriend, Caitlyn. Jinx grinned up at you, waving with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Hey, bitch!” she called out, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

Your mom stood beside them, smiling nervously, clearly unsure how you’d react.

Later, you found yourself standing in your room with the three girls. Jinx was already digging through your closet, muttering comments to herself about your clothes, while Mel and Caitlyn sat on your bed. Caitlyn looked poised and calm, while Mel studied you with a calculating expression, like she was trying to piece you together.

“Sorry, but... why are you here?” you finally asked, tilting your head, arms crossed.

“Prom dress shopping,” Mel said with a small smile, brushing some imaginary lint off her pants.

“This is Caitlyn, by the way,” Jinx added, holding up one of your oversized band shirts against her chest and spinning to look in the mirror.

“Hi,” Caitlyn greeted you with a polite smile.

You blinked. “Prom? Not my thing. Besides, it’s not even a real prom. It’s my junior one, and all we’re doing is crashing the seniors’ party.”

Jinx turned to you, still holding your shirt. “You don’t want to see Sevika?” she teased, her grin mischievous.

“Yep,” you replied flatly, crossing your arms tighter.

Jinx giggled at how quick you were to shut it down, but Mel frowned slightly, leaning forward. “You need to show the school that you’re okay without her,” she said, her voice gentle but firm.

“I am okay without her,” you said sharply, though the defensive tone betrayed you.

The three of them exchanged a look—a silent, knowing exchange that made your stomach twist 

“What?” you groaned, already bracing yourself for whatever plan they had in mind.

You sighed, flipping through the dress rack absentmindedly, the silky fabrics and glittering embellishments barely registering in your mind. Across from you, Jinx was lazily leaning against the opposite side of the rack, twirling a hanger between her fingers. Mel and Caitlyn stood in front of the full-length mirror, holding dresses against themselves, exchanging silent glances for approval.

“What’s the theme again?” Mel asked, turning slightly, a raised brow silently asking if the deep burgundy dress she held was cute.

“Um... prom?” You tilted your head, offering a half-hearted shrug.

“I think it’s masquerade,” Jinx chimed in, shifting her weight on one leg.

“We have to wear masks?!” You groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

“Fun!” Caitlyn giggled, rifling through the racks with renewed enthusiasm. “I’m going for a royal vibe.”

“I like that,” Mel nodded approvingly. “I might go for something regal too.” She flicked through a few hangers before pulling out a deep sapphire gown.

Jinx glanced at you, her usual playful smirk faltering when she noticed the way your shoulders slumped, your fingers idly tracing the fabric of a random dress. “What’s wrong?” she asked, tilting her head.

You sighed, shaking your head as if to brush off the feeling. “Nothing—just... me and Sevika used to talk about skipping prom together.” The words left your lips in a quiet murmur, your gaze dropping to the floor.

Jinx stilled. It was brief, just a fraction of a second, but you caught it—the way her expression froze before she quickly masked it with a grin. “Oh,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, her tone suddenly unsure.

Before you could press her on it, a sharp gasp interrupted the moment.

“OH MY GOD,” Mel practically shouted, causing both you and Jinx to whip your heads toward her.

She held up a black gown, the fabric shimmering under the store lights. It had a thigh-high slit, a corset bodice, and off-shoulder sleeves dusted with delicate glitter.

“This would look amazing on you,” Caitlyn beamed, her eyes full of excitement as she turned to you.

“Oh, I don’t know if that—”

“Too late! Put it on!” Jinx cut in, snatching the dress from Mel and practically shoving you into the dressing room before you could protest.

“Are you sure—” you tried weakly, but she had already yanked the curtain shut.

Outside, Caitlyn giggled as she returned to her own search. Mel’s phone buzzed, drawing her attention away from the dresses. She glanced at the screen, and her expression shifted slightly.

“Who is it?” Jinx raised an eyebrow, still distractedly flipping through the dresses.

Mel hesitated before looking up. “It’s Sevika. She wants to know how she’s doing.”

Sevika’s POV

Sevika never cried.

Not real tears, not since her mother died. Sniffles? Maybe. A glassy-eyed moment here and there? Sure. But never the kind of gut-wrenching, soul-crushing sobs that left a person feeling hollow. Until she saw the look in your eyes that night.

She cried on the ride home. She cried into her pillow, into the darkness of her room, into the loneliness she had chosen for herself. She stopped eating regularly, barely touching the meals she ordered. Instead, she poured herself into the gym, pummeling the punching bag until her knuckles bruised.

And then came the flings.

Random girls. Random nights. Nothing that lasted more than a few hours, just enough to make her feel something—or maybe to feel nothing at all. When she wasn’t with them, she found herself spending more time with Vi, mostly because she knew it meant she wouldn’t run into you.

Vi introduced her to new people. Golden boy Jayce Talis, his genius boyfriend Viktor. Sevika thought Jayce would be unbearable, but surprisingly, he was easygoing. Relaxed. Smoked a little too much pot, which made him tolerable in her book. Mel was there too. The first few times they were in the same room, the tension was suffocating, but eventually, they got over their past.

Then there was Jinx.

Loud. Unfiltered. Chaotic.

She didn’t like Sevika. That much was obvious. But strangely, she didn’t hate her either. She understood why Sevika had broken up with you, even if she thought it was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard.

The group sat in Jayce’s finished basement, a space that looked more like a recording studio than a hangout spot. Jinx, Caitlyn, and Mel were curled up on the L-shaped couch, scrolling through their phones. Jayce and Vi were strumming on guitars, while Viktor tapped lazily at the drum set.

Sevika sat across from them, her phone in hand, her thumb hovering over your Instagram profile.

“Sevika? Sevika!” Vi called out, snapping her fingers. “What is she doing over there?”

Jinx peered over, catching a glimpse of the screen before rolling her eyes. “She’s stalking her Instagram again.”

Sevika jerked her phone away. “Leave me alone.”

Vi groaned, standing up and yanking the phone from Sevika’s hands before she could react. “Hey!”

“We didn’t invite you over just so you could wallow in self-pity.” Vi shoved the phone into her back pocket. “Let’s get your mind off her.”

She scanned the room before her eyes landed on an extra bass guitar propped against the wall. Her smirk widened.

“Can’t you play bass?”

Sevika groaned. “Vi, no.”

Jayce’s eyes lit up. “What?! You play? Sevika, stop holding out on us!” He grabbed the guitar, practically shoving it into her hands.

“I’m not very good,” she muttered, but her fingers found the chords with ease. She hesitated for a moment before playing a complex riff, her movements fluid, practiced.

When she finished, silence filled the room.

Then Viktor grinned. “That was incredible.”

“You should totally join our band,” Jayce added excitedly.

Sevika scoffed. “I graduate in a month.”

Jayce looked disappointed but nodded. “Still, you should keep playing.” He gestured to the guitar.

She hesitated before holding it closer to her chest. For the first time in weeks, she smiled. Not a smirk. Not a fake grin. A real smile.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Then Jinx’s phone rang.

She answered, and as soon as she said your name, Sevika’s head snapped up.

Vi raised an eyebrow. “Still wondering how she’s doing?”

Sevika exhaled, rubbing her face. “I just... I just wish I knew.”

Mel smirked, glancing at Caitlyn.

“What if we took her prom dress shopping?” she suggested.

Sevika blinked. Then, for the first time in weeks, she let out a breath of laughter.

“You’d do that?”

Mel crossed her arms. “I remember when you ripped my heart out. She could probably use some friends.”

Caitlyn giggled. “I think it’s a brilliant idea.”

"You've been in there for almost fifteen minutes! What the hell are you doing, marrying the dress?" Jinx's impatient voice rang from the other side of the curtain.

You stood frozen in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. The dress was stunning—more than stunning. It clung to you in all the right places, the thigh slit daring, the neckline bold. You looked... different. Confident. Powerful. But at the same time, exposed. Vulnerable.

"It's kinda—" you started, trying to find the right words, but before you could finish, the curtain was yanked open.

"Oh my god, I'm sure it looks great—" Jinx's words died mid-sentence as her eyes swept over you. She blinked once. Then twice. "Oh."

You turned quickly, your face heating up. "Jinx!"

"I'm kinda... attracted to you right now," she teased, her voice light but her expression betraying a flicker of something else—something almost genuine.

Your cheeks burned. "Shut up," you mumbled, crossing your arms as Mel and Caitlyn approached.

Mel's eyes widened as she took in the sight of you. "Damn," she said, a slow smile tugging at her lips.

Caitlyn, on the other hand, gasped, her mouth falling open. "Oh my god, it's so sexy!" she practically squealed, grabbing your hand and spinning you slightly so she could see every angle.

You avoided their gazes, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't know... isn't it a bit too much?"

Jinx scoffed, placing her hands on her hips. "Too much? Babe, if anything, it’s not enough."

"You look like a goddess," Caitlyn insisted, stepping back to admire you. "This is the kind of dress that makes people stop and stare."

Mel smirked knowingly. "It’s the kind of dress that makes ex-girlfriends reevaluate their life choices."

You stiffened at that, the mention of Sevika tugging at the part of you that still ached. “This isn’t about her,” you said quickly.

Mel shrugged. “No, it’s about you. And you? You look incredible.”

Jinx nudged your arm. “C’mon, just admit it. You feel hot, don’t you?”

You hesitated, looking back at your reflection. The person in the mirror wasn’t the heartbroken girl who spent weeks in bed. She wasn’t the girl Sevika left behind. She was someone new.

Your fingers brushed against the fabric at your waist, and for the first time in a while, you felt... good. Maybe even powerful.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “I think I do.”

Jinx whooped triumphantly, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “Hell yeah, you do! Now, let’s find you some heels”

Mel grinned. "And a mask to complete the look."

Caitlyn clapped her hands together.

You sighed, sprawled out horizontally on your bed, you scrolled absentmindedly on your phone. Prom was only a few hours away, and you were waiting for your newfound friend group to arrive and help you get ready. You hadn't seen Sevika in a while—maybe your brain had finally started blocking her out, or maybe it was because ever since you posted that picture of your dress on Instagram, Sevika had been actively avoiding you. Every time she caught even a glimpse of you in the hallways, it took everything in her not to crumble, so she simply made sure to never be where you were.

The door to your room suddenly burst open, hitting the wall with a thud.

Jinx yelled out your name, dramatically throwing herself on top of you, her head landing on your back. Mel and Caitlyn strolled in behind her, much calmer but equally amused.

"Are you excited for everyone to lose their minds tonight?" Jinx giggled, tilting her head to look at you upside down.

"About that—I’ve been feeling kinda sick—" you tried, one last desperate attempt to escape prom.

"Shut up. You're going," Jinx interrupted flatly, sitting up and giving you a pointed look.

Mel snickered as she walked over to the bed, flipping her bag upside down and dumping an explosion of makeup products across your sheets.

You blinked at the mess. "What... is this?" you asked, eyeing the chaos.

Jinx grinned, practically bouncing. "I think we got your shade right!"

Caitlyn was already seated in front of your full-length mirror, focused on applying her own makeup with precision. "It took a while," she added, inspecting a palette, "but we did our research."

Mel smirked, settling down beside Caitlyn. You picked up a gel eyeliner from the pile, turning it over in your fingers. A memory surfaced—Sevika, sitting behind you, steadying your hand as she guided the liner along your lash line, her voice low and amused as she teased you for flinching.

You exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away. Jinx, oblivious to your moment of hesitation, was rummaging through your closet, sifting through jewelry and accessories.

"Hey, did you end up renting a limo?" Mel asked Caitlyn, raising an eyebrow.

Caitlyn sighed, rolling her eyes at her reflection. "No. Everything was already booked up by the time I checked."

Before anyone could respond, her gaze flickered to the mirror—and her eyes immediately widened. Behind her, Jinx was standing in only a t-shirt and underwear. But not just any underwear.

"Jinx, what the hell is that?!" Caitlyn snapped, turning around to fully look at her.

Mel, who had already noticed, snorted, covering her mouth as Jinx wiggled her hips side to side. The underwear had giant googly eyes stuck on them.

"Too much?" Jinx asked innocently, her face breaking into a mischievous grin.

You burst out laughing. "Is that how you're planning to seduce Ekko?"

"Obviously," Jinx said proudly, flipping through the dresses she brought. She pulled out a blue dress splattered with rainbow paint—something she clearly customized herself. "And it's gonna work."

Mel shook her head with a smirk. "You're insane."

"Thank you," Jinx chirped, shimmying into her dress without a care.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your vanity, picking up a brush and starting on your makeup, making sure to match it perfectly to your dress. As you focused, you could hear the chatter and laughter behind you, the energy in the room infectious. For the first time in a long while, you felt something other than heartbreak. 

The four of you stepped into the prom venue, the music pulsing through the grand hall. The dim lighting, accented by twinkling chandeliers and fairy lights, cast a dreamlike glow over the crowd. Everyone was adorned in masks, making it hard to tell who was who unless they had distinct features you’d memorized.

Jinx and Caitlyn wasted no time disappearing into the sea of people, no doubt off to find their dates. Mel, however, lingered at your side, her presence grounding you as you both drifted toward the punch table.

"Did Sevika come?" you asked, keeping your voice even, though your fingers gripped the rim of the table a little too tightly. If anyone would know, it was Mel.

She sighed, already regretting what she was about to say. "Yeah, I think so," she admitted, pouring herself a cup of punch. You mirrored her movements, your hand slightly unsteady.

"You gonna talk to her?" Mel asked, not looking at you as she stirred her drink absentmindedly.

You coughed, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover your sudden nerves. "Uhhh—"

"Sounds about right," Mel said flatly, smirking at your hesitation before taking a sip of her drink.

You frowned, guilt creeping in. "Mel... I'm sorry—"

Before you could finish, an arm wrapped around your shoulders. "Literally everyone is staring at you," Jinx giggled into your ear, her voice playful.

You blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of the lingering gazes around the room. People whispered, some admiring, others simply intrigued. You looked breathtaking tonight, and you weren’t used to this kind of attention.

Jinx felt you tense up and immediately reached into her purse, pulling out a tiny shooter bottle. "You want one?" she asked, already pressing it into your hand before you could refuse.

"Jinx, what the fuck," you laughed, but took it anyway, twisting the cap off and downing it in one go.

"Relax!" she cheered, shaking you playfully before planting a quick, exaggerated kiss on your cheek. Then, with a wink, she twirled around and disappeared into the crowd.

You rolled your eyes, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand as you shot Mel an exasperated look. She giggled, raising her cup in mock salute.

The music changed then, shifting from upbeat rhythms to something slower, smoother. The opening notes of a familiar song filled the space, and couples instinctively gravitated toward the dance floor. The shift in atmosphere was almost instant—lights dimmed slightly, and the soft, romantic glow of golden bulbs flickered over masked faces as pairs swayed together.

You exhaled, ready to make some excuse to step away, but then you felt it.

A presence.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was. The heat of someone standing close behind you, the faintest scent of something familiar—something that made your chest ache.

Sevika.

You turned slowly, and there she was. Masked, but unmistakable. The sharp cut of her suit, the way she held herself, the way she looked at you as if the entire world had narrowed down to just this moment.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Hey," she said, her voice low, hesitant.

"Hey," you echoed.

Mel, ever the observant one, smoothly excused herself, slipping into the crowd without a word.

Neither of you spoke for a long second, the air thick with everything left unsaid. The song played on, and people moved around you, but Sevika’s gaze never wavered.

"You look..." she trailed off, exhaling sharply through her nose as if frustrated with herself. "You look stunning."

Your heart stuttered. "Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Can I have this dance?"

Your stomach flipped. For a moment, you considered saying no, walking away before the night could take you places you weren’t sure you were ready to go. But when she extended her hand, you found yourself reaching for it before you could stop.

Her grip was warm, steady.

She led you onto the dance floor, her other hand hesitantly resting on your waist. The touch was light, as if she thought you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you let your hands settle on her shoulder, the music guiding your movements.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

It was easier this way—just moving, just existing in this stolen moment under the soft glow of the lights. Her thumb brushed against your waist absentmindedly, like muscle memory, and you hated how much you missed it.

"Did you—" Sevika cleared her throat, adjusting her grip slightly. "Did you want to skip this thing together? Like we talked about?"

You let out a small, breathy laugh. "I thought about it."

Her lips quirked up slightly, but there was something sad in her expression. "So why didn’t you?"

You swallowed. "I think... I just wanted to prove to myself that I could do this without you."

A flicker of something crossed her face, but she only nodded. "And? Can you?"

Your fingers tightened slightly against her shoulder. "I don’t know yet."

The song was nearing its end. You knew the moment wouldn’t last forever.

"Do you miss me?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

You closed your eyes briefly, exhaling. "Yeah," you admitted, voice just as soft.

Sevika was quiet, her jaw tightening. But then she did something unexpected—she let go of your hand and reached up, hesitating before her fingers lightly traced the edge of your mask, as if memorizing the shape of you.

Your breath hitched.

"I miss you too," she said.

Mel and Jinx leaned against one of the tables, arms crossed, watching the two of you stay frozen in place even after the song had changed. The tension between you and Sevika was so thick it could be cut with a knife, but neither of you made a move to step away.

Jinx smirked, holding her hand out expectantly.

Mel groaned, rolling her eyes as she pulled a folded-up twenty from her clutch and slapped it into Jinx’s palm.

"Loser," Jinx chirped, stuffing the money into her bra with a smug grin.

"I totally thought it was gonna take longer," Mel grumbled, stomping her foot against the ground in mild frustration.

Jinx shrugged, eyes still locked on you and Sevika. "What can I say? The heart wants what it wants."

Mel huffed, watching as Sevika finally—reluctantly—dropped her hands and stepped back, but not before giving you one last look. It was a look Mel knew all too well.

“This isn’t over,” Mel muttered under her breath.

Jinx laughed. "Nope. Not even close."

Sevika exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the night air as she twirled the cigarette between her fingers. The cool evening breeze brushed against her skin, carrying the distant sounds of laughter and music from the prom she had just escaped. Her mask now rested on top of her head, forgotten.

She sighed, bringing the cigarette to her lips, taking a slow drag. The burn in her lungs was sharp, and she coughed, cursing under her breath as she tried to stifle it.

"It's fine. I already saw it," her father’s voice cut through the quiet.

Sevika stiffened slightly but didn’t turn to look at him as he stepped out of the house, the screen door creaking behind him. He lowered himself onto the porch stairs beside her, taking the cigarette when she wordlessly passed it to him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the quiet hum of crickets and the occasional distant car passing by.

Then, his voice broke the silence.

"Listen, I know you're planning on cutting me off as soon as you're able to."

Sevika tensed. Her fingers twitched against her knee, but she said nothing, her gaze locked onto the peeling paint of the wooden steps beneath them.

Her father took a slow drag of the cigarette, letting out a deep exhale before continuing.

"And I get it," he said. "I haven't exactly given you a reason to stick around."

She swallowed hard, jaw tightening.

He sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "But listen… You don’t have to take the scholarship if you don’t want to."

Sevika’s head snapped up, her eyes wide in disbelief.

"What?" she muttered, almost thinking she misheard him.

He turned his head slightly, finally looking at her. "I mean it," he said, his tone unreadable. "If it’s not what you want… then don’t force yourself into it just because you think you have to."

Sevika stared at him, struggling to process his words. For so long, she had felt like her future was already set in stone—a path she had to walk whether she wanted to or not.

But now… she wasn’t so sure.

Sevika’s grip tightened on the fabric of her suit , her mind racing. She had spent so much time convincing herself that the scholarship was her only way out, the only option that made sense. And yet, hearing those words from her father—the man she had been so sure didn’t care—sent a ripple of doubt through her.

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Since when do you care about what I want?”

Her father took another drag from the cigarette, his expression unreadable. “Since I realized I’d rather you hate me for the things I did… than for forcing you into something you don’t want.”

She frowned, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. There was no sarcasm in his tone, no passive-aggressive remark waiting to follow. Just honesty. And that scared her more than anything.

She looked away, her fingers digging into her palm. “I don’t even know what I want,” she muttered.

Her father sighed, flicking the cigarette into the yard. “Then take your time and figure it out. But don’t waste your life trying to prove something to people who don’t deserve it.”

Sevika stayed quiet, the weight of his words pressing down on her. She had spent so much time trying to outrun her past, trying to prove she was more than the mistakes that haunted her. But for the first time, she wondered—who was she proving it to?

Before she could respond, a car parked in her driveway. Your car. You step out and look at her with concern in you eyes

The sight of you made her breath hitch, her heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the nicotine still buzzing in her veins. You were still in your prom dress, the mask hanging loosely in your hand. Your hair was slightly tousled from the night, and under the porch light, you looked ethereal.

Your eyes flickered between Sevika and her father before settling on her, uncertainty clouding your expression. “Hey.”

Her father gave a knowing smirk as he stood up, patting Sevika’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it,” he said, disappearing into the house without another word.

Silence settled between you both as you hesitated at the bottom step. “You left,” you finally said, your voice softer than she expected.

Sevika exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Didn’t think anyone would notice.”

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Of course I noticed.”

She glanced away, guilt twisting in her stomach. “Prom isn’t really my thing,” she admitted, trying to play it off.

You stepped up onto the porch, standing just a foot away from her now. “Then why’d you come?”

Sevika swallowed hard. She could lie, say she was just there for the group, say it didn’t mean anything. But as she looked at you, standing there in that stupidly beautiful dress, she knew there was no point in pretending.

“For you,” she finally admitted.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she stood up, holding out a hand.

“Dance with me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sevika hesitated. “There’s no music.”

You smirked, pulling your phone from the small clutch you carried, tapping the screen before a soft melody filled the quiet night air. A slow song.

Sevika chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

She sighed, but she didn’t resist when you took her hand, leading her a few steps away from the porch. The grass was cool beneath her shoes as you placed a hand on her shoulder, her other hand resting at your waist.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. You just swayed, the dim porch light casting long shadows as the music surrounded you.

Sevika’s heart pounded, her fingers twitching against your waist. “I’m sorry,” she finally murmured.

You looked up at her. “For what?”

“For… everything,” she admitted. “For hurting you. For not—” She exhaled, shaking her head. “For being a coward.”

You were quiet for a moment before squeezing her hand. “I won’t lie… it hurt,” you admitted. “But I think… I get it now.”

She met your gaze, something tightening in her chest. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “You were scared. And maybe… I was too.”

Sevika swallowed hard, her thumb grazing over your knuckles. “Do you think it’s too late?”

“For what?”

“For us.”

Your lips parted slightly, your eyes searching hers. Then, slowly, you smiled. “Only if we let it be.”

Sevika let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, a small smile tugging at her lips as she pulled you in just a little closer, her lips pressing against yours

2 years later

Sevika leaned against her motorcycle, arms crossed over her chest, her sharp eyes scanning the quiet rest stop. The neon light above the convenience store buzzed faintly, casting a dim glow on the pavement. She exhaled, her breath visible in the crisp night air, fingers tapping idly against the leather of her jacket.

The sound of the door swinging open pulled her from her thoughts. You stepped out, grinning, a plastic bag in one hand and a folded pamphlet in the other. The worn leather jacket she had given you still clung to your frame, a sight that made something warm settle in her chest.

“I got a map!” you announced proudly, waving it in the air.

Sevika arched a brow, smirking as she pushed off the bike. “We have GPS, you know.”

You stopped in front of her, unfolding the paper with exaggerated care. “Souvenir,” you corrected, a playful glint in your eye.

She let out a quiet chuckle, reaching over to take it from you. “Let me guess… you can’t read it?”

You huffed, watching as she traced a path with her finger. “We’re here,” she pointed at the middle of nowhere, then dragged her finger to your destination. “And New York is about seven hours that way.”

You sighed dramatically. “That’s forever.”

Sevika shook her head, laughing as she swung a leg over the bike. “Come on, drama queen.”

You slid in behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist and resting your head against her shoulder. The scent of leather and faint cigarette smoke clung to her, grounding you.

“Getting tired?” you murmured. “Can I drive?”

Sevika let out a low laugh, starting the engine. “Absolutely not.”

You pouted, but as the motorcycle roared to life beneath you, sending vibrations through your chest, you tightened your hold on her. The open road stretched ahead, the city waiting in the distance, but for now, it was just the two of you.

@vyvvycg @drinkdawudda @jiungmcvv @half-of-a-gay @savedforlaterr @armyswag93

[heeheesang]

열둘 — she what.

⤷ warnings ! mentions of yn's ex , a little messy

" THERE'S NO WAY I SENT THAT MESSAGE . I DON'T EVEN TEXT LIKE THAT ? " I POINTED OUT AS I READ THE SCREENSHOT ON TAESAN'S PHONE . SCRUNCHING MY FACE AS I LET OUT A SMALL , ' EUGH ' .

" that's what i said . then look at what i found on hyeju's phone . " taesan said as he passed me the phone . a confused look on my face as i saw the phone number , yeah no way in hell that's my phone number .

" i don't get it ? so who's pretending to be me then ?? " i asked as i looked at the number , a number i had saved in my phone . a loud gasp fell from my mouth as taesan's face lit up when he realised i had found out .

" wonyoung ?? but she's so ... she's been so kind to me ?! i help her with the floor and this is what i get from her ?! " i yelled out as my eyebrows furrowed , obviously i wasn't happy . a part of me couldn't blame wonyoung , maybe she was forced to do all these . but a part of me knew she was behind this with the way minju and heeseung have been talking about her .

" and look what i found . another part of her and wonyoung talking . it's a voice message so listen closely . " he said as he held the phone to my ear , voices of hyeju and wonyoung soon appearing .

" i don't get why taesan left me for her ... it's not like she's any better than me ?! " hyeju said over the recording .

" well do you want him back ? i've been eavesdropping to their conversations and guess who i found out about ? yn's ex . he died in a car accident . " wonyoung added .

" no way ? she actually had a boyfriend ?? bet her ugly face made him crash . i mean , who would want a girl like that ?! " hyeju laughed .

" wait i'll send you a picture of her ex . he's pretty hot not gonna lie . the resemblance is pretty accurate ... " wonyoung said as hyeju replied with a hum .

" no fucking way ? is that why she's picking my taesan now ?! oh she is so fucked lol . i have an idea . " was hyeju's last voice recording as the plan of wonyoung pretending to be me initiated .

without me realising , tears had trickled down my cheeks . what did she mean ' bet her ugly face made him crash ' . was i actually the reason that he crashed ? or was she just jealous i had a very good looking boyfriend who was good at heart too ?

" don't cry . you know none of those are true . if he was meant to crash , then he's meant to . i can read you like a book yn ... and you know those words they just said aren't true . " taesan said as he passed me a box of tissues and slid the trash can to my side .

after a few minutes of taesan patting my head and shoulder , i finally stopped crying and focused on the main issue . " well they obviously don't know that we know their plan ... so what're you planning to do ? " i asked as taesan pointed to himself .

" you're literally the main manager , han dongmin . you say your plan and i'll follow . " i deadpanned as he let out a little chuckle , " back to han dongmin ..? i like it . "

" well , we could just bust them . i don't like the idea of me having to stay with hyeju any longer . " he pointed out as he clasped his fingers together and rested his head on them . " you and hyeju ? are you guys a thing now ? "

" no ...? why does everyone keep saying that . i barely talk to her , i take on more full shifts to distance myself from going home , i told her we were just exes and nothing more . " taesan rolled his eyes at the end of his comment as soon someone walked in .

" wonyoung ... anything wrong ? " taesan asked as i was about to get out of the seat and get out but he pulled my wrist and sat me down . wonyoung then opened the door wider to show hyeju standing at the door .

" baby ~ have you seen my phone ? " her voice cooed as i cringed visibly , letting out a soft gag as taesan laughed . taesan waved hyeju's phone in their air as she ran in , kissing his cheeks only to fail miserably when he dodged each and everyone of it .

" can we talk , hyeju ? wonyoung , you too . yn , i'll see you at store front , for lunch later . " taesan said as my eyes widened , lunch together ?! i nodded before making my way out , bowing at the three as soon yells were heard .

ᯤ back | m.list | next

⨾ 𝑝. 𝑡𝑙 — @hooneverse @sol3chu @yourssincerely-mimi @reikaxslvr @petralovesbonedo @enhabooks @mwahvvis @jaerisdiction @rairaiblog @jeonginontopforever @miukidoll

⨾ 𝑠.𝑤.𝑜. 𝑡𝑙 ( open !! ) —@amarecerasus

[misettemisette]

Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and Peaks

Starting over In Madrid

Summary: After moving to Madrid as Real Madrid's new photographer, Nicky can’t seem to take her eyes off the pretty face Misa Rodríguez. But how will she handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her contract strictly forbids dating players? WC: 3K words TW: very suggestive PS: French writer Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking Chapter 4 ➺ Hell Clásico  

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

I was already lying in bed when I got Misa’s text. My pillow was wet and stained with tears mixed with smeared makeup. The bed sheets were a mess from all the tossing and turning as I tried and failed to find a comfortable position. I had planned to take the time to really reflect on what had happened, but the calm introspection I hoped for never came. Instead, I was overwhelmed by an uncontrollable urge to let go, to release the emotions I’d been bottling up for nearly four months.

So, I cried. 

I cried because I didn’t want to feel empty anymore. When I arrived at the Ciudad on my first day, I was still shattered from my previous relationship. My ex had dumped me as if our three years together meant nothing, leaving me to pick up the broken pieces of my self-esteem. But when I looked at Misa that day, something inside me shifted for the first time in months. That feeling had only grown stronger, filling the void within me, even as I constantly reminded myself it was wrong to feel this way.

So, I cried.

I also cried because I wanted Misa so badly it physically hurt. My entire being ached for her in a way I had never experienced before. My heart had soared when I realized Misa felt the same way, though I could hardly believe it. How could someone like her possibly desire someone like me? Yet, she did. Yet, it couldn’t happened. And, so it hurt. Very much.

“Nicky where are you? I thought you’d wait for me 😞” 

Seeing Misa’s message made fresh tears spill over. I had done it, I had finally hurt her. 

After we kissed and she returned to the pitch, the euphoria I’d felt was quickly replaced by a suffocating storm of guilt. I’d been weak, letting her believe there could be something between us, letting her know how much I wanted it to happen myself. And then I ran. I told my boss I felt sick to skip the post-match events. I hurriedly packed up my things and slipped away without telling anyone else.

Now, reading her message, my heart sank deeper. What could I possibly say to her? 

“I had to pack my work stuff. Sorry, I’m home,” I replied, sobbing more. 

A few seconds later, I received, “I don’t understand…” followed by “In fact I guess I do. Adios.” 

I spent the rest of the night crying over those words.

***

Days off after the Clásico passed, and I was back at work. Misa and I were no longer speaking. She ignored me during every training session. Hayley was doing the same, which led me to assume Misa had told her everything. There were no more photo lessons or endless chatting. The job I had once loved so much felt bland without friends, especially now that I had lost them.

And I knew I deserved it, just as much as Misa deserved an explanation. I was preparing myself to give her one. Of course, deep down, I hoped our friendship could return, but it was first and foremost because I had hurt her, and she had no idea why I had acted the way I did. Maybe it was also because I couldn’t bear the way she avoided my gaze at the start of each training session. Her cold indifference felt worst than a punch to the stomach. I found myself craving to talk to her, waiting for the right moment to confront her. But the goalie was never alone, or she made sure she wasn’t, every time I was near. 

Weeks passed, with guilt and loneliness weighing on me more and more each day. Angela couldn’t do much from afar, though talking to her for hours on the phone helped ease my frustration a little. On the other hand, I avoided most calls from my parents, unwilling to tell them about Misa. My mom in particular, had a gift for reading my mood from a simple hello, and I had no intention of letting her know how my attraction to the Canarian goalkeeper was making my life in Madrid far more complicated than I had ever intended.

***

Spring had arrived when the opportunity to tell Misa the truth finally presented itself, or should I say, when telling her the truth became absolutely essential. It happened during a commercial photoshoot for a new sportswear collection. Naturally, Misa had been chosen as the model. I had dreaded the prospect of directing her without having managed to speak with her beforehand, and I had been right to…

The set was a gym corner with a bright blue bench and a few exercise items. As usual, I was assisting the main photographer and his lighting team. Misa arrived on set, her face a mask of unreadable emotion. Her brows were subtly furrowed, and she avoided my gaze, as usual now. She wore the featured sportswear, a neon orange sports bra paired with matching shorts, knee socks, and white sneakers. Predictably, she looked incredibly hot.

She sat on the bench, elbows resting on her knees, waiting for pose instructions. 

“Um, straighten up… turn a bit to the left and… look at the camera,” I stammered.

Misa shifted into the pose with deliberate slowness. Her eyes met mine, and she didn’t look away. My cheeks burned. Her almond-shaped eyes were filled with emotions she was barely containing: hurt, longing, sadness…the mix showing her evident confusion. I swallowed hard. After a moment, she pursed her lips and glanced toward the camera.

“Okay. Stand up, put your hands on your waist, turn your back to us, and look over your shoulder” 

Misa rose gracefully, turning her back to us. The muscles of her tanned shoulders caught the grazing light from the spots. She flexed her arms, resting her hands on her waist, where her so-tight shorts clung to her figure. Her long legs were slightly spread to give her a steady presence while her underexposed profile detached nicely against the background. She was so stunning I couldn’t do anything but stare, heat rising to my face and other unmentionable places.

“Nicky, adjust her hair. We need to see the bra properly,” the photographer instructed. 

I unfroze and stepped forward, each step incredibly slow. As I approached, Misa held her pose, her expression unchanged. Our eyes met again, and I noticed her slight frown as she took a deep breath. I bit my lips nervously. Touching her felt like crossing another forbidden line. Her soft, sweet perfume reached me as my fingertips brushed the skin of her neck and I ran my hands gently across her shoulders, gathering her hair to one side. She stiffened and muttered something in Spanish under her breath.

I tucked a stray strand behind her ear, and she rolled her eyes, her frustration evident. My face burned, partly from embarrassment and partly from the intense heat of the spotlights. I retreated to my spot beside the photographer. He snapped a few shots and seemed satisfied, so I moved on to the next pose.

“Face us. Hold the ball in your right hand, let your left hand hang naturally, and look at the camera,” I said.

The photographer interjected, “Not straight at the camera, it’ll look too forced. Have her look slightly to the right, at you, actually.”

I closed my eyes. For real? I heard Misa stifle a sneer, indicating she had caught the corrected indications. When I opened my eyes, she was staring directly at me, her gaze intense, her fading sneer still on her lips. 

“Nah, it’s not working,” the photographer muttered. “She looks like she’s about to murder someone. Tell her to smile more naturally.”

If Misa heard him, she didn’t show it. Her expression hardened even further.

“Uh… can you smile, please?” I asked awkwardly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Misa’s chest rose and fell as she took deep, controlled breaths.

“What’s…”the photographer started.

“Tengo que salir!” she shouted suddenly, dropping the ball on the floor. It rolled toward us but didn’t hit anything by some miracle. She stormed off, slamming the door to the back room behind her. A heavy silence hung in the air. Finally, the photographer broke it.

“What’s her problem? That was completely unprofessional! I’m reporting this.”

“Calm down,” I replied quickly. “She’s not at her best right now. I’ll go talk to her.”

I timidly opened the door of the changing room. Misa was putting on a jumper, the promoted kit laying on the floor. She froze when she saw me but went back at gathering her stuff without a word and I closed the door behind me. 

“Misa… wait please, I… I have to talk to you…”

“About what? No necesitamos hablar”, she coldly reply while tiding her shoes. 

“I know you were upset because of me, I…”

“Oh, I wasn’t just upset because of you! But you sure did put the cherry on the cake that evening!”

My heart sank again, I tried to gather my courage. “There is something that you don’t know, something I should have told you a long time ago. Please, let me explain!” I twisted my hands nervously. 

The brunette looked up, her hands on her laps, her glance icy. “Vale, te escucho.”

“Not here, I can’t! Wait for me in my office. I have to finish the photoshoot, just give me ten minutes!” My eyes stung as she narrowed hers at me. “Please, Misa!” I begged.

She looked down and sighted. “Vale”, she said, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. 

“Will you really be there?” I urged her, unsure of her response. 

“Te dije que si!” she shouted as she walked out the door without looking back. 

I exhaled in relief, still shaken. Angry Misa was truly intimidating.

When I entered my office, I found the goalkeeper sitting in my chair, looking at her phone. My computer was on, displaying a photo of Hayley, Misa and me sitting on the grass in our favorite corner of the pitch, the three of us laughing hard. I ignored the prickling in my eyes. I had a job to get done. 

Misa’s gaze followed me as I rummaged through the drawers of my desk. I pulled out a folder, opened it, and retrieved a stack of papers clipped together. Grabbing a second chair, I placed it in front of her and sat down. I flipped through the pages until I found the right section and began to read. 

“Employment contract. Clause number 23. To prevent any conflict, the employee agrees not to engage in any form of personal relationship with Real Madrid team members. This clause applies to the current players and staff as well as any future players and staff. In the event of a breach of this clause, Real Madrid reserves the right to terminate the employment contract immediately, including any associated work visa or housing provided by the organization. Real Madrid will not offer assistance with any further administrative procedures for the former employee.”

I set the paper aside and looked at Misa, her face a mix of astonishment and heartbreak. “I’m sorry… I wish so… so badly it could be different.”

Misa leaned back in her chair, rubbing her hands across her face before letting out a forced laugh. "No lo creo! Que pasa en este puto club..?" She blinked and sighed. "Well, that does explain things…”

“I should have told you after the Clásico but…”

“Shh, Nicky please don’t, it’s done”, she said, leaning towards me. Sadness lingered in her eyes now as she glanced at the photo of us on the screen. “I just wish I could rewind and go back to that moment. La Copa de la Reina was still up for grabs… we were having fun together." 

My eyes stung again. "We were. I miss you guys…" 

"And what am I going to do without my awful teacher ?” Misa added softly, a small chuckle escaping her lips. “Maybe we could go back at being friends?” Her warm gaze shone with hope. 

I looked at her fondly, my eyes tracing her face, from her dark brown eyes under thick eyebrows, to her cute nose, and to the dimples framing her smiling lips. 

“Every time you look at me like that, I can only think of how much I want to kiss you Misa," I confessed.  

She smirked shyly, her cheeks flushing as she closed her eyes for a moment before locking them with mine once more. "Only kiss me ?" she dared to ask. 

I gasped at the thought of her body pressed against mine. “Not a chance” I whispered, leaning toward her. Our hands brushed on our lap and without thinking, we intertwined our fingers. Our breathing quickened as our lips parted slightly. Our faces drew closer and closer. “What are we doing?” I vainly asked, my nose grazing hers. 

“Nonsense,” she breathed, her lips hovering just over mine. 

“I’m doomed then,” I confessed, before crashing my lips against hers. 

I kissed her intensely, feeling an odd sense of freedom for the first time. We both knew the trouble we were in, but neither of us could stop. Her tongue brushed my lips, and I opened them, letting her in. I couldn’t suppress a whine, felt a quick worry about being overheard, before I sank back into the kiss.

Misa gripped my neck, making me so needy for more I stood up, leaving my chair, and straddled her. I enveloped her lips with mine again, pushing her against the back of the chair, my tongue pushing deeper into her mouth. Her deep breaths stirred me, and I barely stopped myself from crying out, the last of my restraint holding me back. Misa slid her hands under my t-shirt, caressing my back with her large palms, making my head spin. I buried my fingers in her hair, and she kissed me harder, soft whimpers escaping from her. 

She pulled my t-shirt up, revealing my chest in my bra. The beautiful woman stopped kissing me, pulling me closer, and making me straighten up so her face pressed against my breast. I bit my tongue hard, trying not to moan as she kissed the soft skin there. I was nearly panting, my hands and face buried in her hair, intoxicating myself with her scent and touch. 

Then, three knocks echoed on the door.

We froze. I jumped off her in panic, pulling down my t-shirt as I scrambled back into my chair. Misa quickly ran her fingers through her hair, trying to flatten it, just as the door swung open.

Ana entered, a stack of folders in her arms. She didn’t bother closing the door behind her. 

“Hola, Nicky. Ah! I see Miss Rodríguez is here. Did you call her in to discuss her unacceptable behavior at the photoshoot?" 

Misa scratched her nose, her hand conveniently covering her mouth. I was sure she was hiding a smirk by pretending to be embarrassed.  

"Yes," I replied, perfectly happy with the made-up explanation of her presence in my office. 

“And did she reprimand you severely?” she asked, turning her attention to Misa. 

Misa managed to compose a serious face, thought I caught the corner of her mouth twitching twice. “She did. I apologize for my lack of professionalism. I wasn’t feeling myself. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

“Good. Consider it over, but keep in mind I expect better composure under pressure from a professional athlete, Miss Rodríguez.” 

I saw Misa sink a bit in her chair before she slowly nodded. Ana turned back to me “Nicky I have a lot of things to go over with you.”

The goalkeeper stood up. “I’ll leave you then”, she said and Ana took her seat.

“Yes, thank you, Misa. Now, Nicky, let’s start with the most urgent matter: the trip to Paris next month for the Nations League…”

I tried hard to focus, but all I could think about was how wet I felt down there. 

***

“Hey Misa” I said, calling her from my tiny kitchen later that day. 

“Hola Nicky, cómo estás?” her sweet voice sounded even softer through the phone. 

“Estoy bien y tú?" 

"Bueno. What’s up? Did your boss figure something out?" 

"No, not at all, don’t worry! I… well… we were interrupted earlier, ahah… and I thought we should talk about what comes next…” I began pacing back and forth in the small room. 

“Sí, pero… I don’t know… I don’t risk much myself but I don’t want you to loose everything because of me… We were pretty close of getting caught”. 

“You are probably right…” I sighed. “But how do we fix things now? We’re not exactly behaving like friends do…”

She laughed. “Exacto. Right.” She paused, and I stopped pacing to gulp a glass of water. “Look Nicky, I say we wait until after Paris. I need to focus. It’s not against you but I don’t think I should be distracted by anything else right now. It’ll be a tough game against PSG, I have to work harder. I don’t want another Clásico…”

“I understand. Don’t be too hard on yourself though. You did your best!”

“I didn’t manage to save any penalties… not one out of five.”

“You know better than me it’s the hardest job for goalkeepers." 

"But I want to be the best goalkeeper, the one that can stop them, the one that can make my team win." 

I bit my lip, Misa was putting so much pressure on herself. At the same time, hearing her so passionate moved me. "You will be, I believe in you."

There was another pause “I’m glad we’re talking again, Nicky”

“Me too, Misa. Friend or more, I’m here for you if you need me." 

"Muchas gracias, I’ll see you tomorrow at training." 

"Bye.”

I hung up and gazed at the pink sky of Madrid through the narrow window of my kitchen. I didn’t know where Misa and I were going. I didn’t want to think about it for now. I was just too content to have earned back her trust after the valleys and peaks we’d been through. I took another sip of water, already feeling impatient to see her practice tomorrow, to watch her work toward being the best goalkeeper she could be. 

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

[casdeans-pie]

As we move into the new year I have only this comfort to say:

The more things change, the more they stay the same..........

[i-bring-crack]

Spoilers btw*

Something something Transmigration Crossover AU something something Luo Binghe (Bingge) becomes consumed with the idea of looking through all parallel worlds and dimensions for a Shizun that can love him and take care of him but each world's Shizun either rejects him or is already with some other self that he deems far worse than himself. It gets to the point where he is so far gone that the "Forces Above" have to step in or else he might lead many worlds to the brink of destruction. He has become too overpowered, too insane that the only way to stop this madness is to regress his soul and nurture that it with care so that it doesnt go back to its past state. And in order to make this plan work, the "Forces Above" send out the professionals among professionals (really not but they are the only hope for binghe now) to deal with this son of a virus!

Su Luxia, N1 Transmigrator from the Female Lead System; Song Qingshi, Protector of the World Tree; Abyss, up and coming star transmigrator from the World's Conciousness' Survivor Program; And System Y, new Master System. These four.... people (questionable) will have to find a way to restore Binghe's santity while not creating a complete deviancy from the main plot!

Su Luxia, transmigrated as wife #2653 : Seriously?! I'm good at canon divergence, not canon compliant!

System Y, transmigrated as another canon fodder villain: Why do I get to deal with another murder freak protagonist obsessed with someone older than them?! Well at least this one doesn't read minds.

Song Qingshi, transmigrated as the unnamed 12th peak lord: Can we still bring our husbands here? I miss Wuhuan already ):

Abyss, transmigrated as Ming Fan, pointing to Binghe: If I have to deal with this crybaby more than two seconds without seeing Prince, I will kill everyone in this room and then--

[i-wanna-show-you-off]

just started watching disventure camp today (finally) and I’m already on ep 6. I have (out loud) made the “you a baby quit cussing” joke like. Every single episode at least once. I have SO MUCH to talk about..

more in tags..like spoilers and stuff..

[ilkkawhat]

Heya! Hope you’re doing okay ❤️

well, i didn't cry today (and more importantly didn't cry at work in front of everybody) so I'm taking that as a sign that things are getting better...I hope 😅

[chiistarri]

imsoo normal about guys byw

[pzos-amiserableidiot]

was watching tiktok and a video had the song michael in the bathroom playing and I was vicerally reminded of being in middle and high school and mom always mentioning how much I looked like my dad (his name is michael) and how I slowly was able to start noticing it too and whenever I sang the song it reminded me of him and I felt like we were overlapping too often felt like id never be anyone but a shadow or his mirror and then i began learning i was trans and now the song makes me think of him even more (he’s not a bad dad he tells me he’s proud of me and stuff there’s just two really big moments he unknowingly failed and one long continuous one but he loves me and he’s proud and he supports me and he didn’t mean it and ive learned to make that enough) and the weird flashback I got when I heard that song and overlapping with his face and how if I transitioned I almost fear I’d be his clone and yeah Anywyas banger song

[starpros-sunshine]

Missed the bus which means I won't be able to see her on her birthday fuck my life I guess

[teaboot]

On of the less intuitive things about love, I've found, of any kind, is the importance of needing things.

I didn't realize it until recently, but I've always seen love as something requiring sacrifice, selflessness, patience, and generosity- to ask for nothing is to be the best person I can be, small and quiet and never in the way, always happy and helpful, self-sufficient and present when desired.

It's only as an adult, now, that I'm beginning to see the selfishness of wanting nothing.

I cut my friend's hair in my kitchen the other day. They wanted a trim and I had the skills, so I offered, and was genuinely excited when they stopped hesitating over "bothering me" and took me up on it. It was a peaceful afternoon, and we had tea and chatted for an hour or more.

My brother and I shared popcorn at the movies a while ago. When I came time to pay, I pulled my card out like a wild western sheriff and slapped it on the machine before he could fight me for it first. The satisfaction was delightful.

Someone called me crying on the phone the other day. Kept apologizing for disturbing me at work, talking about how they were bothering me on my lunch break. I was telling the truth when I told them that really, I was flattered and honored and relieved, knowing that if they were hurting I would know, that I didn't have to worry in silence. It felt good to hear them slowly come down, and to know that they knew it would be better soon, and to hear them laugh wetly on the other end. We're getting together for a visit next week.

It's hard to need things, if you've trained yourself not to. It's hard to want things, when you don't know how to want anymore. Trusting people is difficult, and so is relying on them, but I don't know where I'd be without the people who rely on me.

I've heard a lot of people say, "Nobody will love you unless you love yourself". I've had a lot of thoughts about it. It's not right, but it's not wrong, either, I think.

"Nobody will love you unless you love yourself"... I've always taken that to mean, "You will not be lovable until you develop a positive view of yourself as a person".

Now, I think it's sort of inside-out.

"Nobody will love you unless you love yourself"... because nobody can show their love to you in a way that you can accept until you treat yourself kindly, and learn what you need, and what you want, and how to ask for it, and then give that vulnerability away.

Love, for me, is someone I ask for a ride to the airport. Whether they end up doing this or not is irrelevant.

It's not needy, or selfish, or taking up energy. It's giving the gift of being wanted, and needed, and thought of. It's giving someone the security of being part of someone's life.

[bi-writes]

there's only one rule with them--you have to be included, lest you give simon those big eyes that he absolutely fucking despises. (ghoap x f!reader, 18+)

you can't help it, really. you like being the center of attention. no--you need to be the center of attention.

their attention.

even when you're too fucked out to go any longer, someone has to be paying attention to you. simon has found that even when he's too occupied making johnny's eyes roll back in his head, a firm hand tangled in your hair is enough to keep you smiling all lopsided and ooey-gooey warm. a thumb in your mouth, lips against your temple, just a soft touch is good enough to keep you from blinking up at simon all wet and soft-like.

simon even found out that you have a sixth-sense for knowing if simon touched his sergeant when they were deployed. coming through the door, just seeing them, that pretty bottom lip trembling when you meet johnny's eyes because you just know something happened without you.

it's not that you're jealous. it's not that you don't approve. simon knows you're just so delicate. so sweet. you want to be included and noticed, because no one ever had noticed you at all before them, and you just hate feeling left out. you want to know everything about them, and when something happens without you, you feel like you're missing a special piece of them, and it makes your heart drop into your stomach.

"none of tha'," simon says lowly when he sees your eyes well up, all watery and big.

"i'm sorry--" you whine. it takes johnny between your thighs for a full hour before simon sees you crack a smile again.

simon comes up with a nice solution. he doesn't want to see his perfect girl upset anymore. he won't have it any longer. it isn't allowed.

you put the phone to your ear. it's late, and you're a bit sleepy, but with the ringer on full volume, you're always ready to answer the phone.

"h-hello?"

"'ello, baby." your eyes flutter open at the sound of simon's low drawl, and you giggle sleepily. "oi, wot's so funny?"

"nothing," you whisper. "i miss you."

"i miss you more," simon hums. you hear shuffling in the background, a grunt accompanied by a hiss. "say 'ello to our pretty kitty, johnny."

there's some static, and then you hear panting. a gargled cry sounds, one you recognize, and you grip the phone tight as you stare up at the ceiling. you roll over in a bed that's much too big for just you, and you whine a little.

"j-johnny?"

"fuck--ngghh--'m thinkin' aboot yer pussy, bonnie, lemme 'ear it."

you squeeze your thighs together on instinct. you reach for the pillow next to you, the one that still smells like simon, and you bury your nose into it and whine when you hear the distinct sound of skin slapping against skin.

"lemme 'ear it, willnae come unless--"

"johnny," you mewl, sticking your hand under the shirt you wear. it's simon's (the only shirt that fits over your tits), but you're bare underneath, so it takes you no time at all to break open your thighs and stick your hand between your folds. you don't even go for foreplay; there's no need. you are wet enough to dip your fingers just barely into yourself, scooping up a nice amount of slick and spreading it around, frantic enough that when you put the phone on speaker, the slip, slip, slip of your fingers is audible on the other end.

"och--si, she's...aye, she's soaking."

"tha's my girl."

"come...g-gonna come," you stutter, and johnny groans.

"need ye on my face, kitty cat," he pants, "lemme 'ear, closer, bonnie, get me closer--"

you lower the phone down your body, moving your fingers faster, your toes curling as you arch your back and listen to the wet smack, smack, smack of what you know is simon putting his fucking back into it. his groans follow the movements. simon is always a little rougher with his sergeant, always murmuring about how he can take it, not so sweet like our daisy baby.

"coming!" you gasp, and you press the heel of your hand against your clit as you breathe through your orgasm. so fast this time, hitting you from your toes and traveling all the way up, until your nipples pebble and your heart hammers. you bring the phone back up and bask in the glow of it, giggling dreamily as you listen to simon absolutely ruin your sergeant. skin on skin, nasty grunts and filthy curses, hissing and the sounds of things falling over and breaking. you pocket it for later and memorize it now, cooing softly when you know johnny is close.

you talk him until you hear him come, and then you tell simon to eat it off his gloved fingers for you.

"goodnight, kitty cat."

you smile.

"goodnight."

when they come home again, there you are, seated in the kitchen, all big smiles and soft eyes. simon touches a finger under your chin, and you blink up at him.

"olright?" simon asks, and you nod, picking up his other hand to kiss his knuckles.

"perfect."

[davinawritings]

Yandere single dad monster that sees you help one of his children once and decides you will be their new mother.

Warnings: Yandere thought/behavior

Yandere monster takes his twin children to the park so they can run around, expend some of their extra energy, and enjoy the nice weather.

He had been raising his daughter and son on his own since their mother walked out when they were still babies. Having two twin monster toddlers running around was a lot of work, but he loved his children endlessly. He would give them anything in the world and do anything to protect them, even going as far as having tiny tracking devices clipped on to them whenever they leave the house.

He had just been kneeling in front of his son to tie his shoelaces after a long afternoon of playing when he heard his daughter cry out for him. He immediately looks around, frantic, before he finally spots her sitting on the stone pathway and holding her knee.

As he stands and grabs his son in his arms, set to make his way over to his little girl, he watches as a human woman stops and kneels in front of his daughter. 

He can’t hear the words you are saying to her, but he relaxes slightly as his daughter's cries quiet down, and she smiles at you. He begins the walk over, keeping his eyes trained on the two of you, his thoughts running wild as his toddler makes her way into your arms. 

It’s almost comical watching the human woman struggle slightly to lift a toddler that must be half her size at least, but he can’t help the feeling pooling in his chest as he watches you calm and soothe her. 

He can tell you startle slightly as he appears behind you, casting a large shadow over your body. You seem to relax somewhat as you see his son in his arms, seemingly putting together the fact that the little girl you hold must be his.

“I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to impose. I saw her trip, and I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” you say, still slightly nervous about the male, who must be at least three feet taller than you. 

He gives you what he hopes is a reassuring and friendly smile as he says, “No need to apologize. I am thankful that you were kind enough to help my daughter. She seems to like you”. 

He watches you smile shyly as his daughter hugs you tighter. You rub the girls back affectionately as you say, “Well, I am just glad she is okay and happy I could help. I’ll pass her back over to you. I was actually on my way to meet my boyfriend for dinner.”  

He makes sure to mask his disapproval of you having a boyfriend with a smile, gently taking his daughter back from your arms. He reaches out one of his large hands and gently squeezes your arm as he thanks you again. You give his daughter and son a small wave before continuing your walk through the park. 

 Pulling out his phone, he checks to ensure the tiny tracking device he slipped onto your coat is working, relaxing when he sees the little mark moving through the park. He looks at his two kids, happy he finally found the perfect mother for them. 

“Alright, little ones, it’s time to go home. We have a lot of work to do to get the house ready for Mommy to move in.” As he checks your location again, he grins, knowing that you will be his.

His human, his wife, and the mother of his children.

❤️💕🖤🖤💕❤️

Let me know if you guys would like to read more on this! Also if so, do you like me keeping it as a general monster or do you want it to be a specific monster?

[chloeangelbaby]

You don’t love me

Crybaby! Reader x Rafe Cameron

———————————˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊————————————

It had been weeks of the same routine. Rafe was up early, gone all day, and by the time he got home, he was too exhausted to do anything but collapse into bed. You understood at first—Rafe worked hard, and running a company wasn’t easy. But as the days turned into weeks, his absence began to gnaw at you.

Tonight, you’d reached your limit.

You were sitting on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, when the craving hit. You wanted ice cream, something sweet and cold to take your mind off the void of Rafe’s company. You peeked into the kitchen but found nothing that would satisfy you.

“Rafe?” you called, walking into the bedroom where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Yeah?” His voice was tired, his eyes barely lifting to meet yours.

“I wanna go for a drive. We can stop and get ice cream or something,” you said, your tone hopeful.

Rafe sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Baby, I can’t tonight. I’m dead on my feet. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

The casual dismissal stung. “No, it can’t wait,” you snapped, your voice rising. “You’ve been saying that all week! Tomorrow, tomorrow—what about me, Rafe?”

“I’m doing this for us,” he said, his tone defensive. “I’m not saying no because I want to. I’m exhausted, okay?”

You stared at him, your emotions bubbling over. Before you knew it, you were crying, your chest heaving with sobs. “You don’t care! You don’t care about me anymore!”

Rafe frowned, standing up. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“Fair?” you spat, your voice cracking as you stomped your foot. “What’s not fair is you ignoring me all the time! All I wanted was a stupid drive, and you can’t even give me that!”

“Dolly—”

“Don’t call me that!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face. Your words tumbled out in a jumble, barely making sense. “You don’t listen to me! You don’t care! You just… you just—”

You weakly shoved at his chest, your small fists thumping against him as you hiccupped and choked on your sobs. Rafe stood there, letting you vent, his hands hovering as if unsure whether to grab you or give you space.

“You’re mean! And, and… I hate you!” you wailed, though you didn’t mean it.

Finally, Rafe had enough. “Alright,” he said, his voice firm. He grabbed your wrists gently but firmly, holding them still. “That’s enough, baby. Stop.”

But you didn’t stop. “You don’t love me!” you blubbered, your head dropping forward as you sobbed uncontrollably.

Rafe sighed, pulling you into his chest despite your protests. “I love you more than anything,” he murmured, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “But you’ve got to calm down, okay? You’re working yourself up too much.”

“I-I can’t!” you hiccupped, your body shaking in his hold.

“Yes, you can,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Breathe, Dolly. Come on, with me. In and out.”

You tried, but the sobs kept breaking through, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. Rafe scooped you up and carried you to the bed, sitting down with you in his lap. He started rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I just… I just wanted…” you sniffled, unable to finish your sentence.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know, baby. I’ve been a terrible boyfriend lately, haven’t I?”

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice full of genuine regret. “You’re right—I haven’t been around enough. I’ll fix it, okay? Starting tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” you mumbled, your voice small and wobbly.

“Promise,” he said, lifting your chin so you could see the sincerity in his eyes. “And tonight, I’ll make it up to you. We’ll stay up and watch whatever you want, or I’ll run out and get ice cream. Anything you need, baby.”

You sniffled, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Just want you…”

“You’ve got me,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Always.”

Your sobs began to subside, your breathing evening out as Rafe continued to hold you close. You clung to him, your face buried in his neck, finally feeling the comfort you’d been craving.

“Love you,” you whispered.

“Love you more, Dolly,” he murmured, his voice a soft promise against your hair.

———————————˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊————————————-