#I think he would love announcing his age in the conversations too

[walkingnearfoxes]

Meet-and-Greet (Homelander x Reader)

You have a run-in with a disguised supe at VoughtCon. It goes better(?) than expected.

Warnings for smut, incels, and pre-season 1 Homelander.

VoughtCon.

It’s your first time going to the annual convention. When its location was announced to the public, you and your friends worked tirelessly to afford tickets and pay rent simultaneously. It wasn’t every year that Vought chose your home city as the base for its biggest convention, and you couldn’t miss the chance to see the Seven in person.

The Seven. The idea of being in the same building as the world’s most famous superheroes was unbelievable. You wouldn’t call yourself a Seven fanatic, but you certainly did well when bar trivia was on superhero lore. No one could blame you for that. Vought did an excellent job making their heroes appear larger than life, and while you weren’t sure you would ever have the confidence to speak to one of them, being in the same space as them was more than satisfactory. 

The convention halls are as glorious and overwhelming as you expected them to be. Beautiful booths line the main room in aisles upon aisles. Vendors sell products ranging from Seven plushies to hero-shaped soap to personal devices that make you glad for the convention’s 18 and older age restriction. It is all devastating to your bank account, but a wonderful sight to behold. Your friends had registered you all for a few panels throughout the day, but you’re sure the booths alone would be enough to entertain you.

At some point, you and your friends accidentally separated. They were entranced by a company selling dice, and you lost them in a sea of A-Train cosplayers. It wasn’t too horrible a fate. You would see your friends regardless at the first panel in an hour, giving you plenty of time to peruse VoughtCon at your own pace. Your steps eventually land you at a booth that crafts teas personalized for each Seven member. 

You pick up one of the bags of Homelander tea. Stars and stripes decorate the b; his name is written in bold red letters across the packaging. Underneath his name is the tea description - a crisp black tea with red hibiscus, vanilla, and clove. 

“Would you like a sample?” The vendor, a woman dressed in a stunning Queen Maeve cosplay, walks up to you with a smile. “That’s our bestseller.”

“I can see why,” You say warmly. “It sounds delicious. Would love a sample, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course!” She beams and turns to grab a sample from behind the booth. She carefully hands a tiny cup out to you. “Should be the perfect temperature by now.”

You take a sip. Sure enough, it tastes heavenly. You detect the vanilla first, then encounter the harsher clove. The notes blend perfectly with the hibiscus. It all cultivates into a smooth, strong cup of tea. You let out a slight hum of pleasure as you smile back at the vendor. “Damn. That’s good.”

She opens her mouth to answer, but a man beside you cuts in. “I really think the vanilla  was the wrong call.”

You blink and turn to face this conversation intruder. He is one of the many Homelander cosplayers you have encountered today, but one of the least impressive. The padding to the suit is obvious and uneven; his biceps look unnecessarily large while his legs have lost all muscle mass. His blonde wig looks stringy. Worst of all, he is giving the vendor a look that says he knows his opinion is correct. Maybe said arrogance would be more at home on the real hero, but on this half-assed version, it looks pathetic.

The vendor, bless her, smiles politely at him. “What would you change? We’re always open to feedback.”

“Get rid of the vanilla completely,” The man says, a sentence you never thought could be said so pompously. “It’s too soft. Add something like…cinnamon. More powerful.”

“Jesus Christ,” You mutter, earning a snort of amusement from a man beside you.

Cosplay Homelander takes this reaction as an invitation to speak to you. He turns to you, his hands on his hips in an obvious imitation of the real hero. On him, it’s more akin to a pouting child. “The strongest man on the planet needs something more interesting than vanilla.” He declares.

The vendor shoots an apologetic look towards you as other people come up to the booth. You smile and wave her off, allowing her to go and cater to more polite customers. This leaves you with Homelander Lite. You could probably walk away, but this man is just asking for a confrontation - and you’re in a good enough mood to provide.

“Did you actually try the tea?” You ask him, holding up your tiny sample cup for emphasis. “It’s really good.”

He scoffs. “I don’t have to try it to know it’s wrong. He needs something more complex.”

You tilt your head. “You speak for him?”

Another chuckle from the man behind you.

Fake Homelander sputters and then waves his hand. “Look, I know Homelander. He’s the fastest and strongest man alive. He broke the sound barrier when he was seven-”

“Six.”

Your interruption brings him to another stumble. His jaw drops as he looks at you. “E-excuse me?”

You shrug. “If you’re going based on canon, Homelander is six in Origins. Not seven. Remember the scene in the train yard?”

You can see each gear screeching to a halt in Diet Homelander’s head. Before he can muster up a retort, the man behind you makes his presence known. He stands beside you, arms folded across his chest as he stares at the younger man. “I think you should just walk away, buddy,” He tells him. “Can’t recover from that.”

Deflated Homelander looks between you and the man, his cheeks as red as his cape. With an incoherent and aggravated mumble, he storms off. You watch him trail away with a smile of satisfaction; sure, it would have been better if it hadn’t taken another man to get him to leave, but you’ll take the small victory. You turn to the more pleasant stranger. “Thanks for the backup.”

The man grins. He’s dressed in light jeans, a red shirt, and a blue cargo jacket - one of the few people here not dressed as someone else. “Not a problem. That was fun, he says, looking down at the tea still in your hand before looking back up at you. “So. Big Homelander fan, huh?”

You smile back and shrug. “I know enough not to embarrass myself at a con.”

He laughs. “Clearly. For the record, I like the tea too. I think it’s just perfect.”

You look closer at the man’s face. A baseball cap covers most of his hair, but you can still see some blond strands. Even in the hat's shadow, his eyes are a striking blue. You frown, your gaze drifting to one of the massive Homelander banners hanging from the high ceiling. The resemblance is…uncanny. When you look back at the stranger, his smile has turned downright devious. “Darn. You caught me.”

You clutch your sample cup so tightly you’re surprised it doesn’t crack under the strain. “You…no. You’re not…”

The man glances around the two of you. When he seems satisfied no one is listening or watching, he meets your gaze again - and this time, his eyes are a simmering red. You can feel the heat from where you’re standing. You don’t have time to gasp before he blinks them back to normal with an impish smile. “Yeah. I am.”

Your brain short-circuits. You want to ask questions. You want to apologize for existing in front of him. You want to flee. But all you can manage is a quiet voice that sounds nothing like your own. “You…look different without a cape.”

Homelander barks a laugh. “Oh, I think I like you.” Without looking, he takes the cup from your hands and tosses it into the nearest trash bin. “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. He immediately turns and begins walking down one of the aisles. You walk after him in a daze. He seamlessly bends through the crowd, no one wise to the fact that the leader of the Seven is brushing past their shoulders. Even without their knowledge, he is effortless in carving a path for himself through the crowd - and, by extension, you.

Homelander finally leads you to another, much quieter branch of the convention center. He guides you through one door, and then another, before you’re in a silent hallway. You realize each door has a name of one of the Seven on it. No security, but who would try to startle a supe? Homelander stops in front of the door with his name, The Homelander, written in bold red. He opens it with a quiet hum and steps inside. When you hesitate at the threshold, he turns and looks back at you. He looks confused at first, then settles on an amused smile. “Come on. I don’t bite unless you ask.”

Your breath stutters a moment, and by the quirk to his lips, you’re sure he heard it. You step inside anyway.

Homelander’s makeshift dressing room for VoughtCon is a maze of color. In one corner, a pile of gifts from fans has grown tall enough to rival your height. You spy dozens of bouquets, wrapped packages, letters, all yet to be opened or read. A vanity sits in the opposite corner with a mirror, various trunks and, of course, the suit. His classic suit is hanging on a black mannequin without a head, a startling contrast to the real man who led you here. The reds, whites, and blues are somehow twice as vibrant as they were on any of the cosplayers. As you admire it, Homelander removes his hat and tosses it onto the vanity chair. He brushes a hand through his hair before turning to face you. Without the cap, there is no doubting who he is. You’ve seen that stare on screens, banners, and countless pieces of merchandise. You never thought you’d find it staring back at you.

Homelander studies you briefly. “What’s wrong? Never been invited backstage before?”

You huff a laugh that sounds much squeakier than your usual laugh. “Uh…no. First time.”

“First time,” Homelander repeats in an amused murmur. He steps closer, and you resist the urge to move away. There’s something so contradictory in his presence. You find yourself wanting to go to him and run all at once. He seems to notice the inner conflict and shakes his head as if easing frightened prey. “Relax. Your heart’s pounding like a little rabbit.”

Right. Homelander can hear your nerves. You take a slow breath and look at the gift tower as a distraction. “That’s awfully impressive.”

Homelander laughs and turns to look at it, his hands falling to his hips. You remember the poor comparison to him the two of you had chased off outside. “Ah, the adoring fans. It’s a shame I can’t read through all of them, but…it’s nice to see.”

Something about those words seems to ring hollow, as though he doesn’t fully believe what he’s saying - like it’s something he’s rehearsed. You watch him for a moment before his gaze falls back to you. He notices your stare and lets out a huff of laughter. “What?”

“Why are you in disguise?” You ask, gesturing to his outfit. If you ignore the knowing glint in his eyes, he looks more like a soccer dad than a hero. “Do you do this a lot?”

 Homelander shakes his head and tugs off the jacket. His arms are strong, but he’s leaner than you expected - especially with his suit standing like a voyeur behind him. “These conventions can get real stale after a decade or two,” He explains. He turns to place the jacket alongside his hat, carefully draping it over the head of the chair. “Sometimes it’s nice to see who your real fans are.”

“And invite them back to your dressing room?” You ask with some revived humor.

Homelander doesn’t answer immediately. He instead takes the time to blatantly look you up and down. You feel a familiar heat in your stomach flicker as he steps back closer to you. This time, seeing the growing hunger across his face, you can’t help but take an unconscious step backwards. Your back hits the wall, and he follows to lean dangerously close to your face.

“Like I said, these conventions get stale,” He purrs softly. “And lonely.”

A million thoughts fight for power inside of you at once. You wonder how often Homelander has done this with other women at other conventions. You confirm with yourself that he and Queen Maeve broke up a year ago, so it isn’t an affair. Are you really moments away from hooking up with the Homelander? It can’t be real. You must be caught in a vivid imaginary scenario and will be back in the vendor aisles any second.

Then, his hand reaches out and takes your forearm. He squeezes gently, and any rational thought in you begins to flatten. His thumb brushes over your smooth skin in a circle. “What do you say?” He asks, his voice dropping further. “Want a more intimate meet-and-greet?”

It’s an awful line, but surely someone of his stature is allowed those lines more than most. You finally smile. “How could I say no?”

“You couldn’t,” He murmurs back, and presses his lips to yours. At first, his kiss is gentle. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the curves of your lips. You give yourself to it readily, returning the kiss with a sweetness that cuts a smile into his mouth. Then, when he decides he has you, he becomes hungry. He slips his tongue greedily into your mouth and takes control of the kiss as his hands reach up to cup your face. His hands are warm against your cheeks, and you can’t help your soft moan of approval. You taste his tongue, and can’t help a quiet laugh. He feels it and pulls away a bit, looking almost insulted. “What?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s just…you actually kind of taste like vanilla.”

Homelander blinks, blinks again, and then slowly smiles. This smile is different than his others. For a split moment, it isn’t guarded. “Well…ain’t that ironic?” He murmurs, then eagerly leans in to kiss you again. You respond by resting your hands on his shoulders, pressing tenderly on the tight muscles. He growls against your mouth, an animalistic sound that curls between your legs. One of his thighs slides between yours. It pins you in place against the door, and with a slight nudge, he puts pressure against your crotch that makes you gasp against his mouth. He chuckles and pulls away to begin dotting kisses along your neck. “Sensitive,” He murmurs between kisses and little nips. “Been a while, sweetheart?”

It may have been, but that doesn’t sound very sexy. “You’re just good at this,” You answer instead.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Homelander’s smirk is plain against your skin, even as he bites down hard. You gasp at the surprise of his sharp teeth, but he immediately soothes away any pain with a tongue circling slowly over the mark he’s left. He sucks down delicately, and it only leaves you wondering what else that mouth is capable of. He pulls back and looks at your neck to admire his handiwork. “There. A little souvenir for ya.”

You huff a laugh. “A badge of honor.”

“Knew I liked you,” He growls before kissing you hard. He doesn’t break away from the kiss as he hands nimbly finds your pants and undoes the button. He shimmies them down your legs - and your panties along with them - with a practiced ease that again makes you wonder how often he’s pulled this little trick. If he keeps touching you like this, you can’t bring yourself to care much. You aid him by arching your hips and kicking the offensive materials to the side with a little shake. Homelander wastes little time then in kissing his way down your body. He ducks his head underneath your shirt, and you feel him playfully nip above your belly button before his hands find the backs of your thighs. “Up we go.”

Homelander hooks your thighs over his shoulders. Your back is pressed against the door now, your weight entirely on him. The leader of the Seven is on his knees before you. Despite knowing the man is capable of holding up airplanes, a flare of anxiety grabs you. You curl your fingers in his hair - an action that makes him unabashedly groan - and whisper. “You don’t have to-”

“I don’t have to what? Eat you out?” He looks up at you from between your legs with an arched brow. “You’re a fan. You should know I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

You don’t have time for a reply before he’s licking a long stripe up your cunt. He groans first at your taste, but your moan of pleasure is quick to follow. Just like his kisses, he starts slow. He takes the time to know your taste and what flicks of his tongue make you twitch in his arms. He eats you out like he has all the time in the world. His hands eventually wander from under your thighs to your ass, squeezing your cheeks with a possessiveness that would frighten you if you weren’t so aroused. He’s vocal, frequently moaning and slurping at you like you’re his dessert. It leaves your legs shaking, and he hasn’t even sped up. Your clit throbs, and you whimper. “Homelander, please…”

He fully stands up, one hand still on your ass while the other presses to your stomach, pinning you easily to the wall. He’s now merciless against your clit, sucking with a relentlessness that has you spazzing against his hold. He’s inhuman with the way he works you. You forget everything about where you are, that several supes in this hallway can almost certainly hear your moans. All you know is that you might lose your mind if you don’t come soon.

And then he stops.

You let out a loud whine of disapproval before you can stop yourself. Homelander laughs, easing you down to bring your trembling legs around his waist. He coos at your expression. “You look like a kid that dropped their ice cream one.”

You squirm, but his one hand on your hip is enough to keep you still. “That was cruel,” You whisper, your voice hoarse.

“Oh, you have no idea,” He murmurs, and kisses you gently. He tastes like you, and you can’t help but groan before he pulls away to speak against your lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you come. But you’re not coming without me.”

He kisses you again. You can hear him unbuckle his belt and shuffle his jeans down. Instinctively, you tense. He shushes you, turning to brush his lips against the side of your face. “Relax, babe. Just gotta…” He whispers as he slowly thrusts into you. His cock pushes into your sopping heat inch by inch. You let out a strangled gasp at how he seems to press at each delicate point inside you. As he bottoms out, he throws his head back with a sigh of relief. “There we go…”

He’s thick, a stretch that would have been painful without his diligent prep. Instead of pain, you can’t think straight. You have never felt this full in your life. Your breath comes out in gasps, and when your eyes lock with his, he grins. “First supe dick, huh?”

You let out a shaky laugh. “First supe dick.”

“Well, hang on tight,” He murmurs. His hands cradle your hips as he thrusts up, pushing you up against the door. Your eyes fall shut, but his gaze never leaves your face. He goes harder as he feels your body adjust until he’s fucking you against the door like it’s his last night on this Earth. His hands are surely leaving bruises against your hips, but you relish it. Your head falls back in bliss, a series of moans spilling out you have no control over.

“God, so many sluts out there would kill to be where you are,” Homelander hisses against your ear. “You’re like a glove on my cock, fuck. Take it. You’re fucking mine now.”

It’s unclear if he means for you to hear all of this rambling. He mumbles most of it against your neck, and you’re both too far into this to make much sense of anything. It doesn’t matter. You orgasm regardless, your voice suddenly gone as it vibrates through your body. Homelander gasps against your skin as your cunt clenches down on his cock, and he immediately follows you in climax - as if he had been waiting for you to finish. He finishes inside of you, and it nearly triggers you to a second orgasm with how full you feel.

There’s a knock on the door.

Every muscle in your body tightens, but Homelander doesn’t move. His head is still buried against your neck as he calls out an agitated reply. “What?”

“We’re on in 10, Homelander,” The Deep’s voice calls from the hall, caught between amused and nervous. “But…uh…take your time.”

“Go away, Deep,” Homelander growls, still inside you.

You hear feet quickly walking away, but you still don’t move. Homelander initiates the move for both of you, slowly returning your feet to the ground. His hands remain on your hips as he chuckles and kisses your jaw. “Well…I’m not usually one to wham and bam, but looks like we’re on a time crunch.”

He lifts you off of his cock and deposits your feet back on the ground. He steps away from you to grab your discarded pants and underwear, tossing them to you lazily. “Hurry up.”

You listen, feeling half-drunk. Your underwear is soaked through, and you wince lightly as you pull your jeans over your shaky legs. Only when you’re fully dressed and straightening out your hair do you realize your phone isn’t in your back pocket anymore. You look up. Homelander is holding it and typing away. He looks at you with a smirk as he hands it back to you. “That’s where I’m staying tonight. Room code’s attached. I’ll be there around eight.”

When all you can do is blink dumbly at him, Homelander snorts and takes your shoulders. “Guess we have to save the banter before the orgasms, huh?” He easily spins you to the door, and pats your ass. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You open the door with your phone in hand, stepping outside back into the hallway. You turn to look at him again in your continued daze. “See you.”

Homelander winks, then closes the door. The last thing you see is him walking towards his suit.

You walk in a trance through the forgivingly empty hallway and find your way back to the convention center's main hall. It’s emptied a bit without multiple panels going on, and it isn’t long before one of your friends spots you. She runs up to your side in a hurry. “Dude, where have you been?! We’ve been looking for you!”

You blink. “I, uh…got a bit sidetracked.”

“By what…” Your friend trails off, eyes widening as she spots the hickey on your neck. She laughs. “Oh. That kind of side mission. At a con? You dog.”

Your lips twitch into a smile. Would she even believe you if you told her? 

“Give me the details on the way,” She says, taking your hand and pulling you towards another hall. “I don’t wanna miss Homelander’s opening remarks.”

You can’t help but bark a laugh. Right. You’re going to be sitting through a panel led by Homelander with his hotel room on your phone and his come soaking your underwear. 

Your friend sees the look on your face and gives you a curious look. “What?”

“I’ll explain later,” You say with another laugh. “Come on. Let’s hear what the All-American man has to say.”

[mostlyghostlyy]

The age-gaps and flaunting is SO perfect. Imagine how scandalous it would be. Going out completely covered in teeth marks and hickeys. Imagine being in public with him like that and just running into anyone you know. He would purposely be awful and embarrassing

You guys are all reading each other's minds 😂

He would thrive off embarrassing you in public. I’d imagine he'd be a big fan of PDA, but not the cute hand-holding or arm around your waist. It would be more of the tongue in your ear and teeth on your neck. Constantly clinging to you, nails digging into your sides. He would pretty much just be your shadow, hugging you from behind. You would have to learn to move as one, very rarely do you go out and he’s not attached at the hip. He marks you up pretty well, and thrives off the attention he gets when you wear low-cut shirts. He enjoys showing you off, pretty young thing you are. 

If you run into someone you know, it's not a good time for you. He will do everything in his power to fluster you and gross the other person out. He would be an absolute menace! He would be oddly possessive if the person was someone who he deemed as a threat. If he stepped away, and you started talking to them, he would come up behind you, brush your hair back and begin sucking on your neck. Nibbling at the flesh enough to make you gasp, lines of drool stretching between your skin and his mouth. Your acquaintance should be sufficiently horrified by that. You could just see the disgust in their expressions, the conversation completely stopped now. For finishing touches, Dale would start moaning, his hands coming up to grope at your breasts. They would make some excuse about having to leave and you would never see that acquaintance again.

If it was a family member, I'd imagine it would be more shameful. Kobble is not the type of man to bring home to meet the parents. Like maybe your family member sees you out in public and comes up to greet you. You can tell they keep glancing at Dale strangely, and they seemed to be repulsed by the bites and marks littered on your skin. If it were me, I would want to minimize the contact as best as I could. Dale would pick up on that and make it even worse for you. He would introduce himself as your “lover” just to see the soft pity in their eyes as they look at you. Pulling back your hair so they can get a better look at the impressions, eager to show off the insinuation of what you let him do to you. It riles him up to see you shrink away from his touches, and try to cover what you can with your hand. All the more embarrassing if the relative is prudish, older or asks how you got those imprints. He will make lewd implications of how he made them, and how you sounded during the process. Relishing how your gaze drops to the floor, and your face starts burning crimson.

[vividly-vermillion]

✴︎ THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BITTER FRUIT

જ⁀➴ You're Toji's new girlfriend and his son comes back home to live with you two after dropping out of college. Of course, Megumi had to develop a crush. You're far too young for his shitty dad anyways...

ﾉ including: Megumi (mentions of Toji)

ﾉ cw: dark content I guess, not necessarily stepcest since you're just the new girlfriend/fiancé of Toji, Megumi is in his 20s, unprotected sex, cheating on Toji, fingering, handjob, consent check, blowjob, cum eating, reader getting called Mommy once on accident.

ﾉ wordcount: 1.6k

ﾉ info: so yeahhhh this happened 🫣 if it's not your cup of tea please just scroll on.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED

Toji prided himself on having a girlfriend just two years older than his own son, showing you off like a great trophy wherever he went. The way you were so self-sufficient, working hard and making enough money so he wouldn't need to do anything except keep you happy made this ten times better. You had no reason to complain; he kept the house somewhat clean while you worked and you got your guts rearranged every single night, screaming his name like a lewd prayer as you came around his cock for the fifth time. Stress seemingly evaporated when his head was buried between your thighs after a long day or when you're fucked entirely dumb.

Your little stress relief almost got cut short when he announced that his son needed to move back in since he got kicked out of college. It would only be temporary, but the first time you two actually met, the tension was thick enough to cut it with a knife.

“Your... fiancé?” Megumi asked, eying you up and down while his father's hand rested on your inner thigh, just below where your skimpy little dress ended.

“Yeah. She's so good to me, I can't just let her go because of the little age gap." He mused, a wolfish grin spreading over his lips. Toji was well aware of the fact that you're young enough to be his own daughter, but he couldn't help himself when you were so naive. The rest of the conversation he was zoned out, remembering how good it felt to have your little virgin cunt wrapped around his fat cock for the first time and how you whimpered, begging him to stay the night after, which he didn't.

Megumi gave you a slightly disgusted look before taking a deep breath upon seeing how awkward this situation was for you as well and if it's love, he won't stand in your way.

“But I don't need to call you mom now... right?” He asked, feeling his stomach flip when he heard your giggle, looking from his dad to him, before you shot him a little grin.

“No, of course not! But you can always call me mommy.” You hummed in a teasing way, giving him a little wink that made his cheeks heat up. He excused himself shortly after, wanting to unpack his bags, but in reality, he couldn't get your words out of his head - he could call you mommy? Did you mean it the way he thought?

Before the youngest Fushiguro realized it, he found himself thinking of you constantly, his fist wrapped tightly around his aching cock while he was under the shower, imagining you were there with him. Late at night, when Toji and you were so sure that Megumi must be asleep already, you got impaled by your soon-to-be husband once more, the tip of his cock repeatedly kissing your cervix while his hand was wrapped around your throat to keep your noises somewhat down, but Megumi heard it all. The walls were far too thin to overhear your cries of pleasure, begging him to go harder, begging for sweet release and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

He should be disgusted, hearing his dad having sex should repulse him, but instead his hand wandered down to his hardening bulge, imagining you were begging him to go harder. This torture went on for weeks and you mostly ignored his existence, being friendly to him whenever you two ran into each other. Your damn smile didn't leave his head however, wondering if your lips feel as soft as they look, if your lipstick will leave stains around his shaft, showing off just how eager you were to take him - would you even take him fully? And before he knew it, the tent in his pants was starting to build. In a desperate attempt to hide the situation, he put the couch pillow on his lap, his gaze not once leaving the far too boring movie you picked out.

Grinning to yourself, you asked your future husband to get you another glass of water, knowing far too well why the pillow found its position on the young Fushiguro's lap. Without a word, you walked over where your phone was charging, bending over nicely to tease Megumi further, knowing he would see your bare folds flashing if he looked over. His cheeks were bright red when you sat back on the couch, smirking at him.

“Enjoying what you're watching?” You asked him innocently when Toji came back with your drink and he nodded, gulping visibly.

“Never thought you're into those shitty romance movies,” Toji teased his son, entirely oblivious to what went on the minute he left the room. You cuddled up to Toji again when he sat down, throwing the fuzzy blanket over the both of you to make it more comfortable and of course you two would be this disgusting. Tojis hand was resting between your thighs, rubbing small circles on your bundle of nerves, snickering to himself because you were already drenched, figuring it must have been the anticipation of his touch - not even in his wildest dreams would he have thought that you got turned on by his son watching your little cunt when you bent over. Although it wasn't very audible over the movie, Megumi still picked up on the sound of your slick while Tojis fingers were buried knuckle deep in your heat. Oh, how he wished it could be him touching you like this right now.

The second the movie ended, he went back to his room, punching the wall in frustration, wishing nothing more but to bend you over and sink his length inside of your sweet core, but all he had was that image that's now burned to his brain, folds all pretty on display and glistening with arousal, already staining your thighs with your slick while he angrily fucked his own hand, but no matter how much he spat on it, he was sure it could never compare to your velvet walls fluttering around him.

“Gumi?” You asked through his locked door, gently knocking on it, and he stopped dead in his tracks, his hand wrapped tightly around his shaft as he groaned in annoyance.

“Go away!” he called out, sounding pissed, which made you giggle further.

“Can you let me in?” You asked persistently and knocked again, which made him throw his pillow against the locked door.

“What do you even want? Get lost,” he called out again, his eye twitching when he heard your delicate hands meet the wooden door once more in a gentle knock. Angrily, he wiped his spit-covered hand off on his sheets and pulled his pants up on the way to open the door, swinging it open aggressively, but his angry gaze softened upon seeing you so vulnerable and all alone.

“Can I come in?” You asked again, sounding sweet, but there was mischief clouded behind your eyes. Megumi simply stepped aside, a silent invitation before closing the door behind you again.

“What do you w-” he stopped talking when you got on your knees, pawing at his pants.

“I sent him to get me my favorite ice cream from the other side of town... We have 30 minutes,” you explained while batting your lashes and against all better judgment, he nodded, letting you pull down his pants and underwear in one go.

“Oh shit,” you whispered in awe. Megumi’s cock was even thicker than his dad's, but this only made you drool, quickly wrapping your hand around him, causing him to twitch uncontrollably.

“You want this too, right?” You asked sincerely, worrying you were just reading into the situation, but the way he started to gently buck his hips into your hand was answer enough, gently wrapping your lips around his tip as your tongue collected the precum that gathered there.

“So naughty... I know you were jerking yourself off to me... You're a lot louder than you think,” you hummed to tease him as you started sucking him off slowly.

“Fuck... this is even better,” he moaned out upon feeling your lips wrapped around his cock - he surely wouldn't last long.

You bobbed your head up and down his shaft, your jaw hurting from how big he was, but the moment you nestled your nose into the little stubbles at the base, he kept your head in place just like you expected him to, feeling him twitch violently on your tongue. Your hand rubbed soothing circles onto his thigh, eyes looking for his, in an effort to let him know that he could let go. Your eyes were filled with so much lust and a softness that matched with the gentle caress on his thigh.

He whimpered your name, his cum shooting down your throat, which made you gag. Once Megumi was finally done, you pulled back, taking a deep breath after being denied oxygen for the duration of his orgasm.

“You were such a good boy for me, letting me taste you,” you hummed, pressing a kiss to each of his hip bones before licking his dick clean from the remnants of cum, his eyes glazed over with adoration.

“This is our little secret, right? Your dad doesn't need to know,” you whispered, pressing a final kiss to the corner of his mouth and he nodded.

“Yes, mommy,” not even realizing he called you that, but it made you giggle.

“Mommy? Maybe I do need to take care of you a little more often, hm? Bonding time with your stepmom?” you teased before leaving his room to smoke a cigarette, not letting Toji taste his son's cum on your tongue.

[ordinary-barbie]

they say, "keep your friends close," but you're closer.

summary: Saxon should be your enemy—Piper hates him, and he's got all the qualities you can't stand. Still, you're drawn to this man...and it turns out he wants you too.

pairing: Saxon Ratliff x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

tags: language, au where Piper goes to a different college and has a different major, enemies to lovers, reader has curves, slight age gap, unprotected p in v sex, cowgirl position, doggy style, fingering, cunnilingus (f receiving), multiple orgasms, usage of pet names (sweetheart, baby, babe), usage of good girl, Saxon being an asshole but also down bad for reader

note: fic title inspired by the song enemy by Charli XCX.

18+ only, minors DNI!

When Piper asked if one of her college friends could come home with her for her senior year spring break, Saxon hadn’t thought much of it at first. His little sister always had a stick up her ass, being an English major and all, and he assumed that the people she surrounded herself with at the University of Georgia would be equally insufferable. One Piper Ratliff was bad enough, so Saxon would steer clear of the Ratliff mansion for the week.

That all changed when Piper came home an hour earlier than expected.

Saxon was in the dining room, going over some business shit for his dad when the door swung open. “I’m home!” Piper announced.

Saxon swiveled his head towards the front door, curious as to who Piper could’ve possibly brought home. You shyly stepped into the house, accepting Piper’s help with your bags, and Saxon took the opportunity to get a better look at you.

Fuck, you were actually…hot. His eyes raked over your figure, examining your curves, your nice rack, and that ass…

Saxon forced himself to think about business expenditures so he wouldn’t pop a boner right then and there.

“Hey Piper, why don’t you introduce me to your hot friend?” Saxon asked, smirking.

Piper rolled her eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

Saxon sauntered over to you, a cocksure grin on his face, and you froze in your tracks. Did Saxon look like the total frat boy douche that Piper described him as? Yes. Was he also so hot that you were internally melting in his presence? Well, duh.

“I’m Saxon,” he introduced himself, his voice dripping with arrogance.

You gave Saxon your name before quipping, “You must be the fuckboy brother I’ve heard so much about.”

To your surprise, Saxon laughed. "You're a feisty one, huh?"

You wrinkled your nose. "Try not to cream your pants, Ratliff," you deadpanned.

"Can't make any promises, sweetheart," Saxon replied, trying to look casual and not like your dry-humored insults were making his dick twitch. Girls never talked to him like that, like they absolutely hated his guts. You seemed like you would be a challenge—and Saxon loved a challenge.

Piper glared at Saxon. "If you could not be a total creep towards my friend, that would be awesome."

Saxon rolled his eyes. "Chill out, lil sis! I didn't know it was a crime to flirt."

Piper sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Don't you have work to do or something?"

Saxon chuckled. "Nah, this is way more fun," he said, his tone full of smugness.

"Whatever, let's just go upstairs," Piper said, itching to exit the conversation. You happily obliged, grabbing your bags and following Piper up the stairs without glancing at her older brother.

Saxon let his gaze follow you as you walked upstairs, focused on the curvature of your ass. The way he saw it, he was in the best possible situation. Your hot, mouthy self was going to be here for a week, and the more he hung around, the more opportunities there would be for you to be mean to him. Plus, he would annoy the shit out of Piper in the process. It was a win-fucking-win.

Saxon forced himself to get back to work, but his mind couldn't stop drifting to you. He pulled out his phone and did something he thought he'd never do—look up Piper's Instagram. Once he found it, he immediately went to her following list, grinning when your handle came up after he put your name in the search bar.

Your profile was set to private, which somehow made you even hotter. Saxon sent a follow request, then sat back and waited. Five minutes later, his phone pinged twice.

@/yourusername has accepted your follow request.

@/yourusername is following you!

The corners of Saxon's lips curled up into a smirk. Oh, this week was going to be fun.

-

You honestly didn't know what was wrong with you. It was bad enough that you allowed Saxon to follow you on Instagram, but then you just had to go and follow him back.

His bio was dry—just Saxon, 25, Duke alum—and his grid was exactly what you expected. There was Saxon, posing with a bunch of other douchey frat bro types in board shorts on a yacht. Saxon in a golf cart, flipping the camera off. Saxon in a bar, drinking beers in a Duke basketball jersey.

And yet...his account was weirdly appealing. You hated to admit it, but Saxon had quite the magnetic presence about him. You just couldn't look away. So you hit the "follow" button without a second thought. He was annoying as fuck when he opened his mouth, but you still thought he was hot, and life was too short to forgo the pleasures of following hot guys on social media.

"I'm so sorry about my brother," Piper apologized. "I swear, his sole purpose on this Earth is to antagonize people and drink protein shakes."

You smirked. "It's all good; I can handle him."

Piper snorted. "Oh, I believe you. But hopefully, he won't be bothering us too often."

-

The following day, you were awakened by a roaring buzzsaw's lovely sound. Nope—it was more like a blender. It was still obnoxiously loud, however.

You grunted, hopping out of bed to freshen up for the day and investigate. You ambled down the stairs, casually dressed in a vintage Georgia Bulldogs tee and shorts. As soon as you glanced into the kitchen, you spotted the perpetrator—Saxon.

"Morning, sunshine," he chirped, sounding way too chipper for...7 in the morning.

"Is it really necessary for you to make whatever concoction that is so early in the morning?" you snarked.

"Early bird gets the worm, babe," Saxon replied. "Gonna chug this protein shake down and hit the gym. You in?"

"I would rather eat dirt," you bluntly replied. Saxon chuckled, getting a glass out of one of the kitchen cabinets.

"Do you always have this much of an attitude, or am I special?" Saxon teased, finally shutting off the blender.

You rolled your eyes. "Saxon, you're already entitled and privileged enough. You don't need any special treatment from me."

Saxon still had that damn smirk on his face as he poured his shake into a glass. You wished you could wipe that look off his face. Guys like him were nothing new—rich douches who acted like they owned the world and expected everyone to fall at their feet.

(You ignored how he made your heart beat faster and caused a growing ache between your legs.)

"So what are you and my sister getting up to today? You gonna sit around and talk about how much you hate the patriarchy?" Saxon snickered before chugging his shake.

"You think you're hilarious, don't you?" you drily replied. "We're gonna go chill with Lochlan today, maybe go see a movie or something."

"Saxon gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. "Without me? That hurts, ___."

You shrugged. "Figured you would've fucked off to somewhere else. Don't you have to get day drunk at the country club later?"

"Not today. I already have 'annoy Piper and her hot friend' penciled into my calendar, and that's an appointment I can't miss," Saxon retorted.

"Do you always antagonize your sister's friends like this, or am I special?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Saxon grinned smugly at you, an amused glint in his eye. "You're definitely special, sweetheart."

-

Saxon had become a constant fixture at the Ratliff home this week. If Tim and Victoria had been home to witness this, they'd have been shocked. Saxon was usually content doing his own thing, preferring to hang out with his friends or whatever fling he'd bedded that night. But suddenly, he was very interested in spending quality time with his siblings, and it was all because of you.

You were surprised at Saxon's constant presence, but you'd be lying if you said it was unwelcome. You found that you actually enjoyed bantering with Saxon; it felt good to have a guy give as well as he got. He was definitely insufferable, but you would sorta...kinda...maybe actually miss him when it was time to head back to Georgia. (But only as a sparring partner. Piper may have been the one who wanted to become a lawyer, but you were the one who loved a good back-and-forth.)

It was Tuesday now, and you and Saxon had the place to yourselves. Lochlan was at school, and Piper was visiting a friend in Charlotte. You were lazing on the couch, watching a random game show, when Saxon ambled over, flopping down next to you.

"We should go out on the boat today," Saxon said casually.

You turned away from the screen. "Yeah, I guess we could go when Piper comes back."

Saxon chuckled. "Nah. I was thinking just the two of us."

"Me, alone on a boat with you? Oh goody, I've always wanted to get thrown overboard," you quipped.

"C'mon, I don't bite—unless you're into that kind of stuff," Saxon responded, his eyes drifting to your chest. Of course you had to pick this time to walk around without a bra on, not that he was complaining at all.

"Fine, I guess it wouldn't be terrible to get out of the house for a few hours," you conceded.

Saxon looked like the cat who got the cream. After four days, he would finally have you all to himself. The tension between you two crackled in the air—he knew you had to be feeling it, too. Saxon wasn't used to working for a girl's attention, but he actually enjoyed playing the long game with you. He knew it would be worth the wait in the end.

-

You hated to admit it, but you thought the boat life was pretty fun.

It was a beautiful day for sailing, and the water looked crystal clear. Saxon was a not-terrible boat driver, which helped. You sipped on your peach vodka High Noon, feeling utterly relaxed.

"You're staring," you muttered to Saxon, noticing how he constantly snuck quick glances at you while driving.

"Just making sure you're having a good time. You're quieter than usual. I don't know if I like that," Saxon joked.

You smiled—an honest-to-God grin—and Saxon felt his heart stutter momentarily. Fuck, as if you couldn't get any more beautiful. As fun as it was to rile you up, he needed you to smile like that at him again.

"I'm having a good time, really," you assured him, taking another sip of your hard seltzer. "You're not being a giant ass for once. I think I like that."

Saxon laughed, light and airy, and you felt your chest grow warm. What was happening? Were you actually feeling...affection? For Saxon, of all people?

Oh, you were in trouble.

-

After an afternoon of sailing, drinking, and banter, you felt sleepy but content. You took a nap as Saxon drove home, leaving the older boy alone with his thoughts. He had initially planned to get you out on the boat and maybe charm you enough for you to let him give you some head or at least finger you, but Saxon found himself having fun just talking to you. You'd opened up more throughout the afternoon, telling him your interests and hopes and dreams and shit, and Saxon actually asked probing questions to get to know you better.

Fuck, this was becoming more than just a horny crush for him. He was actually catching feelings. What would he do once the week was over and you returned to school?

Piper was going to kill him, but Saxon didn't care. He needed you.

-

Piper had texted you saying she was going to spend the night at her friend's house, which made Saxon secretly grateful. The last thing he needed was his sister fucking nagging him when he finally decided to make a move on you.

You and Saxon ended up having dinner with Lochlan, ordering in some Thai food from a local place. Lochy was a sweet kid, very soft-spoken but nice. Saxon enjoyed ribbing his brother, but he actually listened to you when you told him to lay off Lochlan a little bit.

After Lochlan went to bed, you busied yourself in the kitchen, putting the takeout containers in the fridge and washing up silverware. To your surprise, Saxon helped you, even volunteering to dry and put away the forks and spoons. You didn't know what had gotten into him today, but you weren't complaining.

Once the kitchen was clean, you and Saxon parked yourselves on the couch. Saxon stretched out like a cat, putting his feet in your lap, but you couldn't bring yourself to push him off. You liked having him so close to you.

"What are you thinkin' about?" you questioned, seeing how Saxon was lost in thought, like he was trying to decide something.

"Honestly? I really want to kiss you right now," Saxon admitted.

Anticipation swirled in your gut. "So do it then," you snarked. "What are you waiting—"

Saxon sat up, pulling you into his lap and kissing you deeply. And shit, his lips felt amazingly on yours. He lightly bit at your lower lip, eliciting a moan from you. His hands roamed over your body, caressing everything he could get his hands on: your tits, your ass, even your thighs, so soft to his touch.

"My room. Now," Saxon grunted, his erection straining against his pants. He led you by the hand up the stairs and into his bedroom, which thankfully wasn't close to Lochlan's—the last thing you needed was your crush's younger brother being able to hear y'all through the wall.

Saxon pinned you against the door, nipping at your neck. You whimpered before taking the chance to grind against his clothed erection. Saxon grunted, his eyes darkening with lust.

"Condom?" he asked breathlessly.

"I'm on the pill," you replied, smirking at him.

"Fuck, you're amazing," Saxon moaned, picking you up and tossing you onto the bed.

The two of you quickly shed your clothes, eagerly getting tangled up in each other. Saxon slid two fingers inside your pussy and was absolutely gleeful to see your juices soaking his hand. "Holy shit, baby. You're soaked."

He continued to finger fuck you with one hand while using the other to play with your nipples. He wrapped his around a nipple and sucked, the sensation of his hot mouth on such a sensitive area driving you crazy.

Feelings of pleasure swirled in your mind, and before you could warn Saxon, you were cumming all over his fingers.

"What a good girl," Saxon marveled, licking your essence off his fingers. "You may be a sourpuss, but you taste so sweet."

He laid you on your back, muttering about how he had to taste you from the source. You weren't expecting him to be incredible at eating pussy—it was always a miracle when a guy even managed to find your clit. But Saxon ate you out like he was competing for a fuckin' Olympic medal. You tried to keep your moans as low as possible, but fuck, Saxon was too good with his tongue. He found your clit with ease, licking and sucking at it like he was dying of thirst.

Your legs were shaking. You couldn't believe that Saxon Ratliff was making you feel so good. "I'm gonna cum again," you muttered, clamping your thighs around Saxon's face as you orgasmed.

Saxon looked up at you, his face shiny with your cum, grinning devilishly.

"Sweetheart, this pussy is amazing," he purred. "I already know you're gonna feel incredible. Just get in my lap and ride my cock."

You climbed into Saxon's lap, slowly sliding yourself onto his cock. You groaned at the sensation, relishing the way his cock was stretching your walls.

"Goddamn, you're so tight and warm," Saxon muttered.

You bounced up and down on his dick, riding him like he was a bucking bronco. Saxon's eyes rolled back in his head, and you felt smug about making him feel this good.

"Ugh, yes baby, feel so good on my cock," Saxon praised, shutting his eyes for a moment. "Fuck! Can't wait to fill up your tight pussy with my load."

You felt yourself clench at Saxon's absolutely filthy mouth. "Yeah? You want my warm cum, sweetheart? Need me to stuff you full?"

You whimpered, your brain short-circuiting. Saxon chuckled darkly, pulling out quickly and making you pout at the loss of his dick.

"What's the matter, baby? Missing my cock already?" Saxon teased, patting your cheek condescendingly.

"Saxon. If you don't start fucking me again, I'm going to kill you," you grumbled, not in the mood to play games.

Saxon leered at you. "Get on your stomach. I wanna fuck you doggy." Your favorite position—you guessed some men were good listeners after all.

You turned over on your stomach, ass up in the air for him. Saxon smacked your butt, enjoying the way it jiggled before he pushed himself in, causing both of you to groan again. He grabbed your hips, fucking you roughly and deeply. You felt like you were going to make an indent in Saxon's mattress after this.

Saxon groaned, loving the pornographic moans he was forcing out of him. He truly didn't give a fuck about anyone else in the house or the neighborhood hearing you at this point. You felt absolutely incredible, and his balls were just aching to unload inside you. But first, he needed to make you cum one last time.

He took one hand off your hip and found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, small circles. "You can come for me one more time, right? Be my good girl," he encouraged you. You gasped, coming undone yet again for him.

"Baby, I'm close," Saxon warned, continuing to pound into you. "Gonna fill you up so nice and deep."

With a grunt, Saxon came, his cock twitching inside you. You whined at the feeling of his cum filling you up—so warm, sticky, and thick. You felt like a stuffed-up cannoli.

Saxon slowly pulled out, lazily watching the way his cum leaked out of you. He let out a sigh before collapsing next to you. "Fuck. That was even better than I expected," he said, taking a minute to catch his breath.

You shook yourself out of your daze, feeling fucked out and tired but in the best possible way. "That was good," you admitted. "Really good."

"Hope you know you're not getting rid of me now," Saxon teased, pulling you against his chest. "I think your pussy put a spell on me or some shit."

You agreed—you definitely wanted to do this again—but you worried about Piper's reaction. "What about Piper?" you asked nervously.

Saxon shrugged. "She's an adult. She can get over it."

You couldn't help but giggle. "Okay then. Let's go get cleaned up."

-

When Piper returned from Charlotte, she had to pinch herself. There you were, relaxing on the couch—in Saxon's lap. You were idly scrolling through your phone while Saxon rubbed circles on your upper thigh.

"What happened while I was gone?" Piper puzzled. She'd seen your Instagram stories of you hanging out with him on the family boat, but she didn't expect it to lead to...whatever this was.

"We unexpectedly bonded," you replied, smiling coyly.

Saxon smirked at Piper. "You're not going to have a stroke over this, are ya, sis?"

Piper shook her head. This was an absolutely bizarre situation to wrap her head around, but if Saxon was really the one who made you happy...

"Just be good to her, all right?" Piper threatened her brother.

Saxon stared at you fondly, stroking your cheek. "Obviously. I'd be an idiot to fumble a girl like this."

[kamaluhkhan]

anti-curse

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of apollo!reader

summary: whether he knew it or not, percy jackson made the world a better, brighter place — and you intend to protect him, no matter what path the fates leads you down. fuck prophetic dreams. the future wasn't written in stone.

warnings/disclaimers: mentions of typical demigod things (battles, weapons, etc.); this is set during the heroes of olympus series so roughly follows that plot + features the seven demigods; mainly inspired by book!percy (dark hair, sea green eyes) bc that's the one i fell in love w growing up; characters are aged up from the book (reader + percy are meant to be 21-22 y/o) bc i imagine there was more time between prophecies/series....anyways, please enjoy <3

when you first met percy jackson, he almost shot you through the chest with an arrow.

given that apollo is your godly parent, you often found yourself at the archery field, which happened to be one of the first stops on percy’s tour of camp half-blood. after that first mishap, your other half-siblings were, understandably, too scared to let percy try again — frankly chiron seemed a bit hesitant as well — and you could sense that percy felt disheartened. so, you flashed the boy a reassuring smile before giving him a few pointers and a second chance. when he smiled back at you, you felt a fluttering in your stomach that told you percy jackson would be more than a little important in your life.

archery still wasn't percy's strong suit, but your gut feeling turned out to be true. you and percy had dealt with a lot since then — a handful of quests, several prophecies, more than a few near-death experiences, a titan war, and, maybe worst of all, high school. you couldn't imagine getting through any of it without him by your side, and you knew the feeling was mutual.

so, you were entirely anticipating that percy would be hurt by your announcement during dinner. 

“no way that’s happening.” percy laughs, as if he can’t believe you’d suggest something as ridiculous as not having him accompany you on your quest. he remains unfazed, takes a sip of his electric blue coke before gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “come on, sunshine. have something to eat.”

the nickname sends your heart into a frenzy as you sit next to him. you and percy had never been anything other than friends, but sometimes....sometimes you look at his dangerous ocean eyes and wind-swept dark hair and it makes you blush. sometimes you consider the way his laughter fills you with warmth and his smile holds a thousand memories, the way he teases and winks at you and you decide that he makes your world so much brighter. sometimes you remember how sarcastic and thoughtful and loyal and reckless he is, his heart of gold and unpredictability of the sea. and you start to think that maybe possibly you'd fallen in love with your best friend.

that was not the issue at hand, though. you summon your favourite food and drink, but don't particularly feel like having either. percy returns to his conversation with hazel about how the two of you would drive up to montauk after you finally got your license, any time either of you needed to escape your reality, even just for a night. you'd sit on the beach, stargazing and roasting stale marshmallows and wishing to stay there forever. hazel seems to think that sounds like a nice escape, and percy promises that once the eight of you fulfill this prophecy, you'll all go to the beach house together, which makes hazel break out into a grin.

you can't help but smile at percy who loves his friends, who has loved you for so long. that feeling is quickly replaced by a pang in your chest that reminds you what's at stake. from the corner of your eye, you notice annabeth across from you, who looks at you like you’re a puzzle she can’t quite solve. you're trying to hide it, but if anyone can read you better than percy, it's annabeth. she knows something is weighing on your mind. you briefly lock eyes with jason, who you had gone to earlier for help, from the other side of the room, where he sits between piper and frank. 

if you weren’t so distracted, you would have been able to enjoy dinner. the eight of you — all demigods of the current great prophecy — hadn’t been all together in a while, and it was nice to share a meal aboard the argo ii despite the reality of why you’d all been traveling together. leo had equipped the ship with magic plates and cups, and with the lively jokes and stories filling the air, you could almost imagine it was an ordinary summer evening at camp. you could almost forget that tomorrow, you had to go on a quest to rescue apollo and artemis from python, a monster so powerful your father barely defeated him thousands of years ago. you could almost ignore the impending war with gaea and the giants, and the doomed fate of the world if you were to fail. the one thing you could no longer ignore, however, is the gut feeling you have about the fate of the boy sitting next to you if your quest is to unfold the way you had first planned it. 

you clear your throat, an attempt to interrupt the group's conversations. 

“i was serious earlier,” you declare. “you’re not coming with me, percy. jason is.”

the smile percy had on his face fades. his eyes are filled with concern and disbelief, as he glances at you. “i – i don’t understand.”

"percy,” jason jumps in carefully, aware that he’s treading through dangerous waters like you had warned him. “y/n and i were strategizing earlier and it seems to make the most sense, given our powers combined." 

percy shakes his head. “but — but you can’t just make last minute changes. we’ve already got everything set. right, valdez?”

leo shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of chicken before responding. “i don’t know, man. i’m no expert in quests, but it seems like i’m not the one who should be deciding this.” leo looks at you, and you nod gratefully.

you've been on edge since last night, and to calm your nerves you fiddle with the gold chain around your neck. it was a gift from your father: a necklace with a music note charm that can transform into an electric guitar or a bow and quiver. thankfully, you hadn't had to need both at the same time.

“it's up to me. and i want leo and jason to come with me.”

“then i’ll come too,” percy's voice remains calm, but insistant.

“isn’t there that thing about quests usually being done in threes?”

“that is true, piper,” percy agrees. he tilts his head towards you, like he's calling on you to remember. "exceptions have been made, though. like that one time with zoe." that had been years ago, when demigods from camp half-blood and hunters of artemis joined forces. five had been sent out on a quest, but only three came back. you shiver at the thought.

"or my quest through the labyrinth," annabeth recalls.

"but won't that also change our other plans, though?" hazel asks.

"not necessarily," you pipe in, your voice more assertive. "if jason and percy just switch. no harm done."

"we're not interchangeable," percy grumbles.

"hera sure seemed to think so!" leo searches the room for positive responses to his joke, but the most he gets is a half-hearted laugh from frank. "too soon?"

you take a deep breath. "it's not a big deal, really."

"it kind of is," percy counters. "you've never gone on a quest without me."

"you've gone on quests without me," you point out.

"that's...that's different."

"why? because i'm so weak that i need the son of the sea god to protect me at all times?"

you're giving percy the coldest stare you ever have. he hesitates to hold your gaze.

"you know that's not what i meant," he sighs.

"then what did you mean?"

percy looks at you, his eyes and tone softer. “look, sunshine, let's just stick with the plan, alright? we can just —”

“gods, you never listen, do you?" you finally snap. "you're not coming! i don’t want you there, percy!”

percy stares at you, stunned. you look around the table, and everyone looks back at you, wide-eyed. they weren’t used to this side of you, your sudden outburst not fitting in with your usually sunny disposition. 

“well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” leo jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, with less than ideal results.

“you saw something in your dreams, didn’t you?” annabeth realizes. 

her conclusion makes you freeze.

demigod dreams are always significant, carrying vivid images of monsters, messages from friends or enemies. some children of apollo like you had visions of the future — pseudo prophecies that are supposedly set to unfold given the path you’re on. technically, you weren’t supposed to share your visions, something about messing with fate or destiny, but that didn’t mean you had to accept the way things were. 

what you saw in your dreams last night, what might happen to percy, made your blood run cold.

you would defy all the laws of the universe and divine rules if it meant you could protect him. so fuck the path the fates are attempting to lead you down, and fuck prophetic dreams. you refuse to let percy die. no matter how frustrated you’re acting towards him in this moment, you know he would still do the same for you.

you figure that the future isn't written in stone, right?

either way, you're willing to challenge destiny for percy jackson.

without answering annabeth, you get up from the table and take a deep breath, carefully avoiding percy’s gaze. 

“i go with leo and jason, or i go alone.” your voice is steady, fighting the heavy beating of your heart and tears caught in your throat. “either way, i leave in the morning.” you exit the mess hall before anyone — before percy — can protest.

[queenshelby]

The Peaky Role (Part 17)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad

The set had been feeling different for the past few days since you returned to filming and, each time you glanced at Cillian, a weight settled in your chest, the air thick with unspoken words as you both clearly took some time to reflect on your most recent choices in life, none of which were merely casual decisions.

Despite your best efforts to return to normal, there was some awkwardness between you and your best friend's father now and it was uncomfortable, making you worry about how this would affect the filming and, more importantly, your friendship with Nina who was set to arrive on set with her young sister next week.

Despite this, however, your first week back on set passed in a blur.

You were busy filming and, whilst you had some awkward interactions with Cillian, such as exchanging perfunctory conversations that felt more like carefully constructed scripts than genuine exchanges, you both managed to keep things professional while staying out of each other’s way.

By the time Friday came around though some others on set had picked up on the distance between you and Cillian. It was a distance that had not been there before and, as it became known that Cillian was getting divorced from Danielle, everyone just assumed that his change in mood, even towards you, was due to the breakup which simply took a toll on him.

You caught whispers exchanged by the crew and cast relating to Cillian's failing marriage, the sharp undercurrent of curiosity buzzing in the air, and it was Shaheen, in particular, who caught on quickly that there was something more going on beneath the surface. There was something between you and Cillian and she wanted to know what it was.

***

One day, she observed you staring into the distance during a break, her knowing eyes scanning your face. "Everything okay?" she asked, her voice carrying that maternal concern that made you want to simultaneously confide everything and retreat.

"Yes, I am fine," you replied, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just thinking about the scenes for the evening," you lied, and her raised eyebrow suggested she didn't quite believe you.

Despite being an actress, you were a terrible liar and the tension in the air hummed like a live wire.

"It's really just a long week," you replied, the corners of your mouth turning up slightly when you realised that she was suspicious.

Shaheen crossed her arms, studying you. "Alright, I won't annoy you with anymore questions but just know I'm here if you need to talk," she said before turning her head and watching as the new cast member strolled in, which is when the energy in the room changed.

***

The Irish man, who was cast to play Thomas Shelby's son as well as one of your many lovers in the movie, entered with an easy grin, the energy around him shifting almost instantly.

He had a confidence that drew all eyes, and you couldn't help but feel a spark of intrigue as he approached.

"Hey, I'm Barry," he announced, extending a hand, eyes glinting with mischief. "And you must be Y/N, right?" he asked, flashing a charming smile that lit up his handsome face.

"Yeah, that's me," you replied, shaking his hand, feeling warmth radiate from his touch.

"Nice," he grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've heard good things about your acting, so I am looking forward to working with you," he said politely, and you smiled, feeling a flicker of excitement at his enthusiasm.

"Glad to hear it," you replied, sensing Cillian's gaze from the corner of your eye as he appeared on set, his expression hardening momentarily as Barry gave you one of his signature smiles. "And… uhm, I am looking forward to working with you too, although our first scene later today is somewhat awkward," you blurted out, causing Barry to chuckle, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Yeah, I love how they schedule these scenes on the first day we work together," Barry teased, leaning against a nearby crate. "What were they thinking?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "I don't know, but's quite the introduction, isn't it?" you thought out loud and Barry chuckled again, seeing the humour in the situation.

"Jupp," he thus said. "It's the perfect way to break the ice," he winked, the playfulness lifting your spirits right before you noticed Cillian watch the exchange from the sidelines, arms crossed, jaw tense.

Barry caught sight of him, and his smile widened, unfaced. He didn't know the extent of your connection to Cillian but had heard from Steven Knight that he was your best friend's father, thus assuming that he might be somewhat protective of you.

This, however, did not deter Barry from being flirtatious at all and, if anything, it even spurred him on as he turned on the charm. He thought it would be funny to edge Cillian on while you, however, felt a little trapped, caught in a tension that thickened the air.

Barry was known to be a bit of a womanizer ever since his career took off and he split up from his last girlfriend who was not much older than you and you wondered whether it bothered Cillian that you seemingly got along with him.

Going by age alone, Barry was a much more appropriate match for you and, even though you had absolutely no interest in him, seeing Cillian's jealousy from afar made you suppress a smile.

It made the corners of your mouth twitch upward slightly as you glanced back at Cillian before Barry caught your attention once more, noticing your somewhat awkward interaction with Cillian.

"Looks like you've got a personal bodyguard back there," Barry remarked, gesturing towards Cillian with a playful smirk. "So should I back off?" he asked, feigning a mock-serious expression as he took a step back, hands raised in surrender.

Cillian's jaw tightened, eyes narrowing but he remained silent, watching the exchange unfold with a simmering intensity that made you wonder what exactly he was thinking.

"Do you mean Cillian?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at Barry. His grin widened.

"Yeah, your 'bodyguard'," Barry teased, leaning closer, a playful smirk dancing on his lips but, instead of laughing at his comment, you swallowed hard, the pit in your stomach tightening.

"No, it's not like that at all. Cillian is just... protective," you quickly clarified, glancing over your shoulder. "We've known each other for a while, and...," you began to explain, nervousness creeping into your tone, but Barry interrupted.

His grin widened, clearly unfazed. "Relax Y/N, I was just trying to make a joke. I know that he is your friend's father, so I was just messing about," he clarified, which is when you realised that Barry's nature was just that. He was naturally flirtatious and charming, while enjoying a good laugh.

"Right," you laughed, but the knot tightened in your stomach, which was not the kind of reaction Barry expected. He tilted his head, studying you, his grin fading just a notch.

"I suppose I see you on set in an hour then?" he asked, arching an eyebrow with a playful glint.

"Yeah, definitely," you replied, forcing a smile, your thoughts still lingering on Cillian's watchful gaze and Barry nodded, turning to gather his things, before walking away, wondering what had just happened.

***

An hour had passed since you met Barry for the first time and, as you were getting ready for your final scene of the day, nervousness began to set in.

Your last scene for the day was also your first scene with Barry where your character manipulates his character to sleep with her as part of a revenge plot against Thomas Shelby and, whilst there was no more than a kiss that is being displayed on screen, you felt a knot tighten in your stomach.

"You've got this!" Shaheen encouraged you as she noticed your nervousness, but you still did not feel ready.

"Right," you thus replied, pacing slightly as you adjusted your costume and, unfortunately for you, when you finally stepped onto the damp cobblestones, preparing for your next scene, you caught sight of Cillian standing amidst the crew, his arms crossed, brow furrowed.

When he caught your eye, his expression shifted to one of tight-lipped concern, a look you couldn't decipher.

"You good, Y/N?" Shaheen's voice broke through your thoughts, her gaze steady, eyes flickering between you and Cillian, curiosity igniting a spark in her tone.

"Yeah, just... thinking," you replied, forcing a smile while your chest tightened at the sight of Cillian. "I thought, you know, this was a closed set," you whispered, leaning into Shaheen's ear as you adjusted your costume nervously.

"Not unless you've got your clothes off, so no, this isn't a closed set," she teased, her grin infectious as she nudged your shoulder.

You shot her a sidelong glance, feigning irritation but failing to suppress a grin.

"Right, of course," you mumbled as Steven Knight called for you.

"Are you ready Y/N?" His voice boomed across the set, commanding attention. You squared your shoulders, pushing the nerves aside.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you replied, stepping into the light on set as Barry was already adjusting himself in front of the camera, relaxed and confident.

"I can do this," you whispered to yourself as you slid into character, trying to embody the vibe of the sullen lover.

"Alright... here we go," Steven called out, his voice slicing through the tense silence of the set.

You exchanged a quick glance with Barry, who smiled with encouragement, also noticing your nervousness just before the director called 'action'.

As soon as the director called 'action', Barry began his dialogue and, as the scene progressed after two takes, you also found yourself lost in your character, momentarily forgetting about Cillian standing there, watching you both.

But then, when Barry suddenly pulled you into a passionate kiss, your heart raced - not from thrill, but anxiety.

"Cut!" the director barked, breaking the spell that hung between you and Barry.

Cillian's glare pierced the air as you stepped back, warmth pooling beneath your skin.

"Y/N, I need to see some passion in those eyes," the director called, his brow furrowing in frustration and you noticed an audible sigh of frustration from Cillian.

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of discontent passing over his features.

"Again, Y/N. Show me the fire," the director urged, impatience creeping into his voice. "Whatever you did during your scene with Cillian two weeks ago, I need you to bring it!"

You nodded, determination coursing through you before you inhaled deeply, focusing on the moment.

"Let's do this," you declared, stealing a glance at Barry and, immediately, his playful smirk returned, and the energy crackled between you both.

"Right, back in character," he winked, and the world narrowed to just the two of you.

After a handful of repeats, you still felt the tension though but not from the script, but from Cillian's palpable frustration lurking at the corner of the sound stage. It mounted like a tempest.

It was obvious to you that he wasn't frustrated with your performance though but, rather, the sheer fact that you were kissing someone else.

For a seasoned actor, this kind of thinking was completely irrational though and, yet, Cillian's brow furrowed deeper with each take until, finally, the director called 'cut' again.

'Take five,' he then announced which, for a scene like this, was not unusual, but it was then when Cillian, as an executive producer, interrupted, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the set.

"Steven, I think we need to rethink that scene," Cillian's eyes pinned on the monitor, intensity radiating from him.

"Why's that?" Steven turned, surprise flashing across his face.

"It's just not necessary," Cillian replied, unwilling to meet anyone's gaze, his tone final and for everyone to hear while you bit your lip, a flicker of fear rippling through you.

"Just let it flow, Cillian," Steven replied, waving him off. "It's key for the character dynamics," he explained before noting the character's manipulated nature.

Cillian's eyes narrowed, frustration twisting his features. He disagreed and was ready to voice his concerns.

"With all due respect, Steven, this scene feels overdone. We don't need another cliché to tell the story," he said which is when Barry chuckled lightly, glancing between them, but tension hung thick in the air.

"Well, I am sorry, but you are wrong Cillian. We need this scene," Steven said and, soon enough, the scene shifted back into focus and you prepared for another round, yet every time Barry leaned in, the heat of the moment flared, only to be extinguished by the weight of Cillian's gaze.

By the time the director called "wrap," you felt drained, the emotional rollercoaster of your character resonating in stark contrast to the knot in your stomach. You stepped away, desperate for air, only to find yourself wandering towards the coffee station.

As you grabbed a cup, the corner of your eye caught Cillian again, observing you from a distance, the intensity of his presence drawing you in like a moth to a flame. But beside him loomed Shaheen, light-heartedly chatting as you approached.

"I screwed up, didn't I?" you asked her as you poured the coffee, tension coiling in your gut.

Shaheen chuckled, sipping her own drink. "You didn't screw anything, and Steven said he got what he needed in the end, even though it took eight takes," she chuckled, rolling her eyes while Cillian's narrowed eyes shot daggers towards Barry across the set.

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[jallerentrags]

Better than him.

James Potter x Reader, based on 'Boyfriend' by Dove Cameron.

James Potter thought of himself as a lucky man.

He had everything he wanted: Good grades, good friends, a good life. The only thing he wanted, which he worried he might never have, was you.

Y/n Cassiopeia Black, twin sister to the elusive and handsome Regulus Black. But despite being at the same school, and being best mates with your older brother, the space between the both of you was almost impossible to cross. You were cold and indifferent - sticking with your friends and Regulus - and avoided James like the plague. You rarely spoke, supposedly scorned by his theft of your older brother, and when you did converse, it was usually under the watchful eyes of Charles Nott, your betrothed.

At the age of 16, you had been auctioned and sold to the highest bidder, wrapped in his vice like grip. James watched from the side-lines as the eyes that used to shine like her brother's name-sake, faded.

He had tried to become besotted with Lily, a beautiful and intelligent girl, but it was futile. Your power over him was strong, his urge to move on with Lily too weak. But a strong friendship between the Head Boy and Girl did blossom, so James ended up ranting to Lily about his situation.

“James I don’t know what to say. Y/n is one of the most prized girls in school and her circle is small. Your best bet to get her attention is to ask Sirius to introduce you,” Lily paused to brush her long hair out of her eyes and behind her shoulder with a thoughtful look, “Of course, that’s if she’s willing to speak to Sirius, I don’t think I’ve seen them together since last year.”

James sighed. He already knew that you had closed yourself off after losing your brother, and he grimaced thinking about how hurt you must feel. He knew that Sirius was still mourning his loss as heir to the House of Black, and heard him crying at night when his ache for his little siblings grew too heavy.

“I know,” James fiddled with his glasses, face heating up. “Maybe it’s best if I just leave it. It’s a pipe dream that a girl like that would ever go for a guy like me.” James moved to pick up his books from the library table and head to his dorm, mood low. Lily gasped and slapped his hand away.

“Definitely not! I remember Remus telling me that you two were completely smitten and oblivious to it despite belonging to rival houses. The James Potter should definitely not give up this easily,” Lily’s brows were lowered in an expression of seriousness, her lips thin, “I’ve got an idea. You know the Christmas Ball is this weekend?”

Of course James knew the Christmas Ball was this weekend. The whole school had been preparing for it since it was announced early November, a night of bliss and relaxation to temporarily ignore the deteriorating state of the outside World. James’ parents had already sent him his dress robes, and he saw that last Tuesday you had received a large parcel in the mail which he guessed must of been your dress.

“Yes, but I don’t see why that matters? She’ll be going with Charles. He proposed in August.” James spat, anger lacing into his words. Lily merely rolled her eyes and huffed.

“So? Steal her away! Ask her to dance and charm her! I’m sure it won’t be that difficult, it’s not as if she’s in love with Nott,” Lily placed her hands on the table and leaned towards him, “She’ll definitely leave him for you, she’s always been sympathetic towards muggle-born’s and I heard her talking about how she wishes she didn’t have to marry Nott. Give her a reason, Be her reason, and she’ll leave her supremacist family and be with you.” James scoffed and leaned back in his chair, watching as Lily reclined also.

“I don’t think it’ll be that easy. She loves Regulus and she fits the role as ‘Slytherin’s Princess’ perfectly. I don’t want to put myself out there for her if she’s already too far gone.”

“Believe me. She’s not. People don’t look at each other like you two do.” Lily smiled at him, certainty blazing in her emerald eyes, “You could be her new beginning, and I really think she wants that. She loves Regulus and she always will, but I know that he would value her happiness and I doubt that she wouldn’t love to have a reason to escape,” Lily’s hand reached over to James’ and clasped it, “I really believe that you two would work. I want to see you happy James, please trust me.”

James’ lips formed a smile, and he felt hope blare in his chest. If Lily, the smartest girl he knew, believed that he stood a chance, then he had faith. He squeezed her hand and stood up, collecting his books and shoving them into his bag.

“I trust you, now watch me get my girl.”

————————————————————————-

The Great Hall looked beautiful, you thought, as you entered. The ceiling showcased a clear starry sky, and the decorations shone and sparkled in the candle light. Ice sculptures decorated the corners, and 12 great circle tables surrounded a square dance floor and far off, adjacent the teachers table, was a long buffet and drinks table laden with Honeydukes delights and crisp pumpkin juice. Charles, your financeé, gripped your hand tighter and dragged you to a table with his friends, only slightly admitting how beautiful you looked in your F/c gown. Charles' friends briefly acknowledged you (with a few appreciative eyebrow raises) before ignoring your presence entirely. Across the room, you spotted your older brother and his friends, who hadn't seemed to notice your entrance just yet. Sirius looked remarkable like always, a classic example of the Black families striking looks. Even Remus looked quite handsome in his robes, and Peter had cleaned up nicely. Admittedly, you thought, James looked incredibly good in his robes and had caught your eye as soon as you entered the Great Hall. His robes were tailored to his fit physique perfectly, and his hazel eyes shone with excitement. Although he hadn't managed to tame his hair, you secretly appreciated how well it framed his face.

"Admiring the blood traitor, Y/n?" Rosier, one of Charles' close friends, scoffed. You turned back to the table, missing James' look your way, and shot a smile in Rosier's direction.

"Of course not," you replied, entangling your arm from Charles' grip, "But you have to admit that he does look very enjoyable in his robes." you smirked, watching as Charles' face contorted into a sneer. He made to grab for you, already muttering about your incompetence with an extremely angry look on his face. He wrapped his hand around your arm hard, pulling you close enough to whisper in your ear. Despite being pulled into his side, his body still angled away from you, like you didn't matter at all. From across the hall, you wondered whether it looked like it was a lover's embrace. It was anything but. You spared no love for Charles, and it was no secret. Rosier and the others all sniggered, slurs tumbling from their lips and their faces a mixture of disgust and outrage.

"Y/n, you should watch your mouth. You don't want people thinking that you agree with your mutt of a brother, do you?" Charles asked, his face settling into a blank stare. Your brows lowered and your lips curled, before quickly schooling features once more. You simply hummed, avoiding Charles' eyes. "Now run along to Regulus. I'll come to you when I need you." He unwrapped his hand from your arm and pushed you away, before turning back to his group. You wondered through Hall, greeting friends, before making a bee-line for your twin. The dancing had begun, a light tempo that sent couples soaring over the floor. You watched in admiration, the way they held each other, looking into each others eyes like no one else existed, souls mingling and stretching across the floor. You wished you could be swept along the floor, lost in the steps and the feel of your partners hands. The partner you imagined never had the Nott green eyes and cigar scented yellowed palms, he always had the face of your older brother's best friend.

From behind you, you heard somebody cough to catch your attention, and you turned on your heel to come face to face with James Potter, watching his already huge smile grow wider. His hands were in his trouser pockets, his body angled towards you so completely that you couldn't even acknowledge other's brushing up against you.

"I can't believe we're finally alone, I've been trying to catch you since you arrived, you look so beautiful," James revealed, blush drifting across his cheeks, "I almost went back up to the dorm."

"Well that would've been a shame, Potter" you smiled back, easing towards him, "I was hoping to see you on the dance floor."

James laughed, a sound that sent shudders down your spine and took his hand out of his pocket to push up his glasses that had fallen down his nose. "What are the chances? I wanted to see you on the dance floor too," James squared his shoulders and cleared his throat "Everyone's dancing, yet you aren't, somebody that I know is stuck by dance fever frequently, and he's not with you," James leaned forward and smirked, "the Universe must of divined us, little Black, it looks like we're destined to dance together tonight."

You could almost see the thoughts fly across his face as he grabbed your wrist before you could even object, pulling you towards the dance floor. The music had changed to a sweet, mouldable beat, sweeping partners across the floor in unique waltzes and dips. James positioned you on the floor, a large hand leaving a burning touch on you waist and the other slipping into you awaiting hand as you breathlessly laughed. Your hands fit together perfectly, just like his hand rested so perfectly on the curve of your waist. He started leading, smiling down at you as though you placed the stars in the sky, a twinkle in his bespectacled eyes. You followed readily, returning his smile and placing you hand on his shoulder, heat building and spreading under your dress at your close contact.

You were flying, soaring, just two people in a sea of revellers. You didn't slip from his gaze, totally unfettered, lost in him. You never stumbled, never faltered, you recalled every conversation, every lingering glance, every lasting touch, knowing you were utterly enthralled. James looked the same, captivated by your presence, stuck in your energy. You saw the words bubble in him, and your heart soared when he stopped biting his tongue.

"Y/n," he whispered, drawing you closer, his face a picture intimacy, "I could be a better boyfriend than him," you sucked in air, but didn't draw from his arms. James tightened his grip on your hip as you looked deeply into his eyes, "I could do all the shit that he never does," he flared his fingers against your waist, "I'll stay up all night for you, I won't quit. I'm thinking that I'm going to steal you from him," he dropped his head to press against your forehead, your joined hands tight as you still manoeuvred around the floor, "I could be such a gentleman, plus all my clothes would look so good on you." You slowed to a stop, dancers fluttering around you as you ended up at a loss for words, mouth agape and your heart singing. "I could be so much better for you than him."

"James..." you unlaced your joined hands, already missing his touch, as he stared at you desperately. You knew that everything he said was true, and James was nothing if not an honest man. He made you smile, kept you safe, always thought of you as the prettiest girl in the room. You were in love with James Potter, but it wasn't as easy as that. You had to worry about your brother, Regulus, and the future of your family. While your parents were definitely not kind and nurturing, they were all you had. You didn't have James Potter to whisk you away if Sirius didn't allow him too. You wanted James, more than you'd ever want Charles and his prejudice. Your eyes watered, and you suddenly felt lost.

"I don't need to tell you twice all the ways he can't suffice, he wouldn't care about your happiness, or your dancing or your smile," James' unwavering hope warmed you, cocooning you in a safety net when you felt like you were falling from the Astronomy Tower. James wanted to be your new beginning, your second chance. He wanted to cuddle you on cold nights and to show you the beauty of the muggle world and all its secrets, "If I could give you some advice, baby, I'd leave with me tonight." His desperation slipped from his face, replaced with a confident smirk, as if he saw your facade melting, as if he could see you melting in his arms, as if he knew that you were going to choose him, just like you would every single time.

"You'll help me get through it?" you asked, and James immediately knew that you meant the sparking fall out between you and your parents, and the Nott family. James took your face in his hands, love shining in his eyes, before placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

"I'd give you my heart if you asked, darling, of course I'll help. Besides, what's another Black sibling in my house? if your brother comes I'll have the full set." you shared a laugh, biting back the tears that threatened to spill.

"You'd like that." you said between laughs.

"I'd love it." he answered, leaning back and taking your hand in his once again. He led you back off the dance floor, both of you blushing madly and smiling merrily. Towards the left of the hall, you spotted James' friends watching you both intently, glasses raised. Lily Evans seemed particularly excited, emerald eyes aglow with excitement as she waved enthusiastically and gave James a thumbs up. Sirius and Regulus stood further away, small smiles on their faces as they watched their little sister walk out of the hall with the resident trouble maker. No complaints rose up their throats, just unbridled joy for their sister who finally looked happy. James and Y/n didn't look at anyone else as they left hand in hand, not even at a furious Charles Nott, whose hands were balled in tight fists. They ignored the open mouthed stares and muttered remarks, completely absorbed in each other.

The next day, Charles would arrive at his dorm to an owl waiting by the open window. Tied to his leg was a envelope, and Charles reached for it immediately. Ripping it open, he tore the piece of paper out and dumped its contents on his bed. Gleaming back at his sneering face was the ring he gave Y/n when he proposed, and scribbled on the letter was one sentence:

'I suppose you were right Charles, I do have a taste for blood-traitors.’

- Y/n Black and James Potter

[cameronspecial]

Dad!drew and readers kid wants a sibling, so drew and reader have THE conversation

Can We Really Do It?

Pairing: Dad!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Suggestion of Sex at The End

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

Anything Megan wants, she gets. There are boundaries, of course; however, if it is within his power and she is being good, Drew makes it his mission to buy it for her. Today, the little girl comes home from daycare wanting something that her parents can’t just pick up on a run to the store. “Mommy, I want a baby brother,” Megan announces nonchalantly, focusing her attention on eating her snack. The hand drying off a glass freezes, “Why do you ask, Baby?” Megan shrugs and stares at the carrot in her hand. “Stephanie has one and she gets to play with him at home all the time, so I want one too. Can we go to the store tomorrow to get one? I have been a good girl,” she suggests. Y/N sighs and sets the glass on the drying rack, “Unfortunately, Baby, Mommy and Daddy can’t just go to the store and get one. I will have to talk about it with Daddy and if we decide to get one, then it could be a while until we get one.” When her daughter doesn’t reply right away, she knows that Megan has already moved on from the conversation. “Okay, can we play outside after snack?” Megan innocently asks, kicking her legs while she eats the vegetable. 

———

As Y/N returns to her bedroom from the adjoining bathroom, Drew starts taking off the decorative pillows his wife insists on keeping. She joins him at the head of the bed and fluffs their pillows. “So…” she begins, eyes remaining on her task. “Meg asked me about getting a baby brother.” He pauses his actions, getting into bed beside her. “And do we know why she is asking for one?” he pries. She snuggles into his side, “Because Stephanie has one and Meg wants someone to play with.” Drew nods along with her explanation. “I see. I mean… We always talked about wanting more kids. The question was always when,” he reminds her. She leans her head back to rest against the headboard, “We did, but is two years too early? I mean, we always said we would wait until she starts school to start trying.” “That is true. You and your sister have a two-year age gap and you guys turned out fine,” he says. 

“We aren’t my parents though, so it is more so what we are ready for. I love Megan. But sometimes she can be a lot and if we have another kid, we would need to deal with both.”

“Yeah, we would. I’ll be honest. I think that we can do it. We are great parents and we have so much love to give. Maybe another kid would be good for us. However, having a baby affects you physically, so if you aren’t ready to go through that again, then I am perfectly happy to wait.”

Her heart squeezes at his consideration of her needs. Being pregnant was hard, yet the reward of getting to be a parent made it worth it so the pregnancy wasn’t her issue. “I’m fine with the pregnancy. It’s just… Can we really do it?” she thinks out loud, tracing the skin on his forearm. His lips find her temple, “I mean… Can we physically have sex to have a baby? I’m going to say yes considering we did it last night without the baby-making part.” She gives him a shove at his joke. “Be serious. Do you think we can do it?” she chuckles. His smile turns to a straight line, “I do. And in the instant that we think that we can’t, we will have each other to rely on.” She takes a second to process what he is saying and makes her decision. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VIII

— i love you, it’s ruining my life

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.3k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and depression. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, here's the next part!! happy reading <3

masterlist!

Pedro hadn’t expected his career to take another sharp turn so soon after The Mandalorian. The call he received that night in January, while lying in a dimly lit hotel room in London, still felt unreal. Hazy, thanks to the Ambien coursing through him, but real enough to make him sit up in bed after the line went dead.

Something big was coming, and he could feel it in his bones. It would change everything—if things weren’t already good enough as they were.

A few weeks later, he was back in London to film The Bubble. Everything seemed to blur by—filming, meetings, and the quiet rhythm of his life with Julia. He hadn't expected to fall into a relationship so effortlessly, but here he was.

She was a producer he’d met during a project in Budapest, though nothing had happened between them until months later.

Late November, to be exact. By then, things had shifted.

Pedro was never good at deciphering if someone liked him or not, and maybe that was why, when she suggested coffee, he didn’t think twice. She was lovely—kind in a way that didn't feel overwhelming, and he liked the way it felt safe, uncomplicated. When she reached for his hand, the world didn’t spin beneath his feet, and that was comforting. It was normal, and maybe that’s exactly what he needed.

After that first coffee, there were more—turning into casual dinners, casual sex, easy conversations, and eventually, a steady progression toward something more.

By December, things had gotten serious, though Pedro still sometimes woke up disoriented, feeling as if he was living in someone else’s life. Julia kept him grounded. And though it wasn’t the kind of love that made him lose his breath, it was steady.

One morning, in early December, he woke to find a message from you. You’d mentioned him in an upcoming Vogue interview, a brief nod to his help in keeping you sane during those first chaotic months of the pandemic. Your publicist thought it might make a fuss for a while, and you didn’t want him to wake up and think someone had died or something.

Nothing too big, P, just the usual storm. Call when you’re back in the States. Miss you.

Pedro stared at the message for a long time, debating. You’d always known everything about him. Every high, every low. But now? There was Julia to consider. He sat on the edge of the bed, Julia still asleep next to him, the London sky a dull gray through the curtains. He’d thought about telling you about her for weeks—maybe he should’ve before New Year’s—but it was easier to let the conversation slip away.

Until it didn’t.

That night, at Oscar’s New Year’s party, when you found out about Julia, he could see it in your eyes—the hurt, the shock, the confusion. You didn’t say much after that. Just told him you hoped he was happy, and if he was, that would be enough.

But it didn’t feel enough.

Not then, not now.

•••

Back in London, the routine of it all began to suffocate him. He spent his mornings reading lines, drinking bitter coffee, and answering the inevitable buzz of questions about his relationship status. He didn’t care to comment. He didn’t want to make it official in a way that felt like another announcement to the world. His job was to act, not live his life on a stage. Still, the headlines rolled out, and his relationship with Julia became another topic of conversation.

The days passed in a blur, but something bothered him. You had gone silent. Completely. Not only from his life but from social media, from the public eye, from everywhere. He called on your birthday. Oscar had mentioned you hadn't planned anything for the day, not that he knew off, and Pedro found himself standing on the cold balcony of his hotel room, dialing your number with a strange urgency.

You picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

Your voice sounded far away, thin and almost unfamiliar, like a melody he had forgotten.

“Hey.”

There was a beat of silence, a pause where recognition should have clicked into place. Instead, you sounded distant, hesitant.

“Oh. It’s you.”

His lips twitched into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, it’s me. Did you delete my number?”

A soft shuffle on the other end, like you were shifting in place, caught off guard. “No, uh, I just picked it up without looking who it was.”

He leaned against the railing, gripping the phone tighter as if it could bridge the distance between you. The cold metal beneath his fingers bit into his skin, grounding him, though your absence felt like it was growing by the second. "Happy birthday, mi amor."

“Thank you, Pedro.”

The way you said his name, the clipped tone, made something stir in his gut, but he shook it off.

“You doing anything? I heard you didn’t have plans.”

“Nothing really, maybe over the weekend,” you replied, but there was a softness in your voice that didn't match the words, like you were choosing them carefully, holding something back. “I know you’re in London; that’s why I didn’t—”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t call,” he interrupted, leaning against the cold railing. His free hand found his hair, fingers tugging at the strands, trying to steady the unease creeping in. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been... You know how it is.”

Another long pause. For a moment, all he heard was the faint rustling on the other end, like you were curled up somewhere small, the space between you both stretching impossibly wide. He didn’t notice the silence for what it was—didn’t notice the way it wrapped around your words, cloaking the pain underneath.

“I do,” you whispered. It wasn’t an agreement; it was resignation. "Listen, I have to go. Say hi to Julia for me."

You hung up quickly, the words leaving him cold. The last part stung in a way he wasn’t expecting.

Days turned into weeks, and though you stayed in touch here and there, your conversations felt different. Lighter. Less personal. He tried not to let it bother him, but it did. The less he tried to think about you, the more you occupied his thoughts, living in the corners of his mind where you had always been. It felt like torture, the way your presence always lingered even in your absence.

When Pedro finally posted about landing the role of Joel Miller, the flood of congratulations came pouring in, but only one comment left him reeling.

So happy for you!!! You’re gonna kill it.

It was from you. Simple, encouraging, and yet it twisted something inside him.

His birthday arrived not long after, and he found himself back in LA, where his friends greeted him with a backyard party under the stars. Sarah held a cake with a single candle, and as everyone cheered, Pedro smiled, but there was an immovable weight in his chest.

Later that night, after the crowd had dispersed, he and Julia escaped upstairs to his room. They ended up half-dressed, tangled on his unmade bed. She smiled at him afterward, her gaze hazy with affection. “Happy birthday,” she murmured, running a hand down his chest.

Pedro wanted to stay in that moment, to let it be enough, but his mind wandered. He had that feeling of wanting to be trapped in one place, wanting to dig his heels in. It didn’t need to matter that that reality was waiting for him outside the door. It didn’t need to matter that you hadn’t called.

April 11, 2021

London, England

Pedro’s mood had been darkening for weeks now, but if Julia had noticed, she didn’t say a word.

She’d taken on a slew of new projects, coming home late most nights, leaving him to his thoughts and the silence that clung to their flat like fog. Pedro found himself pacing the empty rooms when she was gone, unsure where to place himself in her absence. He felt the weight of insomnia closing in again, the recognizable ache behind his eyes making the hours stretch painfully long.

That day, however, his focus had shifted. He was set to present Best Foreign Film at the BAFTAs, and his stylist had dressed him in a Prada tuxedo coat, a crisp white shirt, and skinny-fitting suit trousers. He looked sharp, elegant even, and for the first time in days, Pedro felt something close to confidence.

He and Julia arrived at the event together, but they didn’t pose for pictures side by side. Still, photographers captured fleeting moments—Julia holding his hand as they stepped out of the car, a quiet laugh between them under the canopy of flashing cameras. By the next morning, their images were all over social media, sparking the inevitable buzz about their relationship.

Pedro ignored most of it.

Two days later, while sharing a quiet breakfast in a cafe with Julia, he opened Instagram out of habit, and your face appeared.

There you were, standing in the middle of some forest, your expression serene. The caption read: Surprise. A new album drops at midnight. In isolation, my imagination ran wild, and this is the result—stories and songs that flowed like rivers. I hope you love it.

The post had already gathered thousands of likes and comments, and Pedro’s chest tightened as he stared at the screen. The timing of it all was almost cruel, but it was the impact of your sudden reappearance that left him reeling. You had vanished from the public eye for so long, and now, with no warning, you were back.

That night, Pedro lay awake next to Julia, the persistent itch of insomnia dragging him out of bed. He moved quietly so as not to disturb her, slipping his earbuds in as he stepped onto the hotel balcony. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled up your new album. He hesitated for a moment, but he pressed play anyway.

For ten songs, Pedro was transfixed. Your voice wrapped around him, haunting and familiar, weaving tales of heartache and isolation. There was a rawness to your words, an unflinching honesty that pierced through the midnight air. He listened intently, picking apart the lyrics, wondering if they were about him, if the pain you sang about was shared between you. It felt like an open wound, and yet he couldn’t stop listening.

Each song was a confession. Each melody a letter never sent.

When it ended, Pedro sat in the dark, overwhelmed. The emptiness gnawed at him, and all he wanted was to call you, to talk, to hear your voice. But he didn’t.

A couple of weeks later, he found himself shamelessly googling you again, hoping for something—an interview, a post, anything—but there was nothing. You had gone silent after the album drop.

No promo, no press. Just the music and then nothing. He congratulated you once, a brief message saying how beautiful the album was. You replied with a simple, “Thank you. It means a lot.”

That was it.

July 10, 2021

Alberta, Canada

Pedro arrived in Alberta at dawn, the skies painted in soft hues of pink and orange. The cab ride to the hotel was quiet, his agent and hairstylist riding with him as they prepared for the long months ahead. Filming for The Last of Us was finally starting, and though Pedro was eager to begin, a deep nervousness tugged at him.

Julia hadn’t come with him this time, staying back in London for her own work. She promised to visit, but Pedro wasn’t sure how often. In her absence, he felt that familiar loneliness creeping in, the kind that terrified him, mostly because it left him alone with thoughts of you.

He checked into his room and sat heavily on the sofa, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes until his vision blurred. He needed to eat, to call his family, to ground himself in something, but instead, he grabbed a beer from the mini fridge and settled back into the couch. His fingers hovered over his phone again, the compulsion to check your Instagram pulling at him like a bad habit.

But, like always, there was nothing.

Your only other post had been a month ago, thanking your fans for the love on the album. He had messaged you a couple of times—small, inconsequential exchanges that left him unsatisfied. He didn’t know what he was searching for in those brief interactions, but whatever it was, it felt futile.

Then, ten minutes later, like a sign from the universe, you shared an interview. A video with you talking about your creative process. Pedro couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed his laptop, another beer, and settled in.

As he watched, he couldn’t help but stare at you. You looked radiant, sitting across from the interviewer in the backyard of your California home. The conversation was easy at first, touching on the album’s success, but then it turned more personal.

"The pandemic was really rough, and also life in general, I guess," you said, your voice quiet. "I found myself post-breakup, isolated in a cabin in Calgary, and writing was all I had. But the inspiration wasn’t just from that breakup. It came from years of… things."

The interviewer asked gently, "You mean the breakup with your most recent ex specifically?"

"Yeah," you replied, your eyes dropping for a second. "It wasn’t entirely about that. I pulled a lot from my imagination, I guess. The lines between fantasy and reality blurred, and I found myself writing from perspectives that weren’t always mine."

Pedro’s heart clenched.

"There’s a song on the album," he continued, "the final track. It’s haunting. You sing about being hurt by someone you love but being unable to let them go. Can you talk about that?"

You paused, taking a breath before you spoke. "It’s a quiet resignation," you said. "That person and I, we hurt each other, but I love them. So, I guess that’s it. It felt like the right way to end the album."

Pedro’s world stilled. He realized, in that moment, what he had been searching for all this time. He had wanted confirmation, a sign that you still loved him. And with every word you spoke, you gave it to him.

Filming for The Last of Us began a couple of days later, and though Pedro threw himself into the work, your voice lingered, ghost-like, at the back of his mind. Days turned to weeks, and as production moved into September, the physical toll started to wear on him. He spent long hours on set; the Canadian cold started biting into his bones. Bella, his co-star, became a bright spot, their energy infectious, and though they bonded quickly, Pedro felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.

In the early mornings, when the world was still asleep, he would take walks to clear his head, the cold sunlight grounding him. Julia came to visit now and then, joining him on these walks, but they often ran out of things to say. He could feel the quiet disintegration of their relationship, like watching ice slowly melt into water. He didn’t know what they were holding onto anymore.

•••

When October rolled around, Pedro’s schedule clashed with the start of The Mandalorian’s third season, and it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to join the production on time. His agents scrambled to find a solution, but when Pedro’s stunt double was suggested as a replacement for the early scenes, he was left with an odd sense of detachment. And when his agent told him it had been your suggestion, something in him cracked.

The anger simmered for weeks. He felt foolish and abandoned, wondering if you had pushed him away to keep your distance. But then, just as the resentment began to harden, you showed up on set with two coffees in hand, flashing him a smile. "One iced caramel macchiato for me and one large quad over ice for you," you teased.

Pedro blinked, startled. He hadn’t expected your warmth. "Thanks," he managed, taking the coffee.

"You’re welcome," you replied brightly. "We missed you here."

"Did you?" he said, a hint of sarcasm slipping into his tone. "Because I heard it was your idea to keep me away."

Your expression twisted into confusion before you laughed. "I was just trying to make things easier. You were still filming, and I figured rushing back here would be a nightmare for you. I wasn’t plotting anything."

Pedro felt a wave of relief wash over him, mixed with the faintest trace of regret. "Well, in that case, I missed you too."

•••

For two seasons, your character hadn't seen his without the helmet. Today you were shooting the scene where, out of necessity, he reveals his face to you. It was written as a pivotal moment in your characters' relationship.

The moment the director called action, the air on set felt different. It wasn’t the usual hum of crew members shuffling in the background or the low murmur of cameras whirring. Instead, a heavy, almost sacred quiet descended, blanketing everyone as the scene unfolded. Pedro’s mind mirrored that stillness, a sudden and unnerving hush. It felt like everything outside of this moment ceased to exist, like time itself had bent inward.

And then—nothing. No words. No script. Just you, standing so close to him, your face inches from his, hands cradling his jaw.

You widened your eyes, a silent prompt, urging him to speak, to remember his lines. But all he could do was stare. He hadn’t been this close to you in months, hadn’t felt the warmth of your touch or the soft presence of your breath in what felt like a lifetime. His throat tightened, his words trapped somewhere deep inside. He knew the scene needed to move forward, but for one fragile moment, all he wanted was to keep you there, locked in this pocket of stillness, as if holding onto you would stop everything else from slipping away.

You read him, like you always did. You settled in, your hands still on his face, fingers pressing gently into his skin as if anchoring him. Then, softly, you filled the silence with a line—one that Pedro was sure wasn’t in the script, but it was perfect. You carried the scene, leading him back into it, your voice becoming the tether that pulled him out of the stillness and into motion. Pedro blinked, refocusing, forcing his body and mind to follow your lead as he finally delivered his line.

The scene moved on, but something lingered, thick and unsaid.

When filming wrapped for the day, the tension still simmered. You caught him at the edge of the lot, your expression unreadable as you approached him. Maybe you'll ask him why he froze like an idiot during that scene, or maybe you'll just walk past him without a word.

Instead, you simply asked, "Dinner?"

Pedro couldn’t say no. He never could when it came to you.

You ended up at a small sushi restaurant tucked away from the chaos of the city. The space was warm, softly lit, a sanctuary from the noise of the outside world. Pedro sat across from you, picking at a piece of sashimi, trying to focus on the conversation but finding it hard. You talked about the year you’d spent away from the spotlight and how you’d pulled back from everything.

"I mean, I’m doing this because I signed a contract," you said, lightly joking, but your eyes flickered with something that gave you away. "Disney has snipers; you know how it is."

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Pedro chuckled, though he could hear the sadness in your voice, the weight behind your words.

"If I could’ve gotten out of it too, I would have," you added, your tone quieter, more reflective. "I guess I just needed to slow down. I’m tired of it all."

"You even skipped the Oscars," Pedro replied, taking a sip of his drink. "That's how you know it's serious."

"Yeah, I love the Oscars. Excellent champagne."

Pedro watched you closely, wanting to dig into your words to pull apart the layers of exhaustion and sadness you were burying beneath the surface. He wanted to offer you some kind of comfort, to tell you that he understood—that he, too, had been feeling the weight of it all. But the words caught in his throat. Instead, the two of you ate in silence, the kind of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable but spoke volumes.

There was something about being with you, even without words, that felt…right.

Later, as he lay in bed, his mind kept returning to you, to your confession. He wondered what you weren’t telling him, what you were holding back. But as much as he wanted to reach out to ask, he couldn't.

The next morning, Pedro was on a flight back to Canada. The weeks that followed blurred into a rhythm of cold, grueling days on set and long, sleepless nights. He threw himself into The Last of Us, trying to lose himself in the work, but no matter how hard he tried, thoughts of you crept back in. You were there, always, lingering in the corners of his mind, and Julia could sense it.

She didn’t say anything at first, but Pedro could feel it—the slow unraveling of their relationship. It wasn’t sudden, like a crash or an explosion; it was quiet, a gradual dissolution. Every day, a little more slipped away. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from this relationship, from this life they had built together. Did he think they would buy a house, start a family? Had he ever really seen himself in this life with her, or was it just easier to disappear into hers?

Finally, Julia said it. Brightly, almost too casually. "I think maybe we’re done."

Pedro didn’t fight it. He didn’t have the energy. "Yeah," he murmured. "I think that was my fault."

•••

Christmas and New Year’s came and went in a blur. Pedro went to Chile for a few weeks, seeking the comfort of home, of family. There, surrounded by his siblings and nephews, he found a brief pause, a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a while. But even in the warmth of his childhood home, memories of you still haunted him. He saw you in every corner, heard your laughter in the echo of the hallways.

One night, after too many glasses of wine, he called you on a whim. It wasn’t about anything important—just small talk, catching up. You sounded good, better than the last time you spoke, but there was a distance in your voice, a kind of finality that made Pedro’s heart sink. For some reason, he didn’t tell you about his breakup. He kept that part of his life hidden, not out of secrecy but because it felt irrelevant at that moment.

What would it change? What did it matter?

You didn’t talk much after that. Your silence felt deliberate, not like a missed connection but a closed door. It was as if you were telling him, without saying it outright, that this was where it ended.

In the days that followed, Pedro did his best to push you out of his mind, but it didn’t take long for the thoughts to creep back in. They always did. Anger. Sadness. Regret. They whispered in his ear, insidious and unrelenting, reminding him of what he had lost, of what he could never quite hold on to.

February 7, 2022

Los Angeles, California

The suitcase lay open on the bed, half-packed, with clothes spilling over the edges like an unspoken reflection of your mind. Each item you folded and placed inside felt heavy, as if carrying pieces of the last year with you. Taylor sat cross-legged in the chair by the window, scrolling through her phone while talking, but her words barely reached you over the noise in your head.

“I’m surprised you said yes, that’s all,” she said, her voice light with curiosity. “You’ve basically been a hermit for a year now.”

You laughed softly, your hands smoothing over the fabric of a sweater. “I needed the break, you know that. ”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push yet. You were grateful for the acceptance, even if you knew she was waiting to bring it up again, the same way she always did.

“One day, you’ll tell me what really happened,” Taylor continued, her voice taking on a familiar teasing edge. “You'll tell me what had you sulking at home like a sad Victorian poet for a whole year.”

You folded another shirt and placed it in the suitcase before responding, “I’ve told you countless times. Nothing happened other than…he got a girlfriend, and I stayed out of the way. That’s it.”

Taylor squinted at you as if she didn’t quite believe it, her eyes narrowing with the kind of suspicion only a close friend could afford to show. “Aha,” she said slowly, drawing out the sound.

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

“I wasn't sulking,” you admitted, trying to keep your tone light. “I was…relaxing. It was my year of rest and relaxation.”

She chuckled at that. “Good one, smarty pants."

Outside, a breeze rustled through the palm trees, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of LA traffic. You imagined the street below, the shuffling of photographers leaning against their cars, lighting cigarettes, and murmuring to each other. They had become a permanent fixture, appearing gradually over the months, staking out your house like ghosts waiting for you to return to life.

It never ceased to surprise you how much people cared about what you did off-screen. You couldn’t just let your work stand for itself. No, you had to prove yourself over and over again, reminding the world that you were still an asset, still someone worth admiring.

You shrugged, half-smiling, but there was something sad in it. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m only doing this because I've been dying to work with this director, and it’s a closed set. Once those eight weeks are up, it’s back to my hermit status.”

Taylor shook her head with a dramatic sigh. “So we’re missing the Oscars again this year?”

You threw a pair of socks at her, chuckling. “Seems like it.”

But inside, everything wasn’t as lighthearted as your words. Last year, you’d taken a step back from the spotlight, and while you didn’t want to attribute it to the hurt you were feeling over Pedro, the truth was, it had everything to do with him. Well, at least a huge chunk of it. It hurt not to have him. It hurt to see someone else kiss him, hold his hand so freely, so easily. The pain wrapped itself around you like a second skin.

The world expected you to bounce back, to emerge from this self-imposed exile with a smile and a perfect soundbite. But the truth was messier. You had spent a year nursing a heart that hadn’t fully healed. You loved Pedro in a way that still hurt, in a way that sometimes made you feel like a child who didn’t understand why they couldn’t have the one thing they wanted most. You wanted to be the bigger person, the one who could let him go gracefully, but instead, you had hidden.

You were blue all the time. Some days were okay; some days you barely got out of bed.

There were moments it felt paralyzing. The weight of the world outside your window, the expectations, the love you still felt for him—all of it crushed you. Some days, you simply couldn’t move. You stayed curled up in the safety of your blankets, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It wasn’t long before someone intervened. Your PA was that someone.

She didn’t push you at first. She’d just knock on your door, leave food outside, and ask if you needed anything. You’d spent three weeks in your room, moving only to get water or occasionally sit by the window.

One afternoon, Renata came in and found you in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. She placed a sandwich she brought on the counter and looked at you, her voice careful, but firm. “You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you,” you replied simply, taking a sip of water.

“No, you know what I mean. A professional. It’s okay if you don’t feel…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.

“I’m fine,” you said, starting to walk toward the stairs.

“You’re not going to eat?” she called after you.

“Not hungry, but thanks,” you mumbled, disappearing into your room again.

But Renata didn’t let it go. She pushed gently, week after week, until finally, you let her schedule an appointment. She promised not to say anything to anyone, especially Taylor. You didn’t want to worry her.

The word depression had seemed too big to say aloud, too heavy, but that’s exactly the word your psychiatrist had used.

“You’ll need to take these every morning,” he said, handing you a small prescription bottle. “And it would be good to write how you feel. Keep track of things.”

You sat there, legs crossed in an oversized chair, staring at the prescription bottle in your hand.

•••

You watched from the sidelines as Pedro continued to rise, landing roles in The Last of Us, becoming the face everyone adored. You were thrilled for him, of course, but the distance between you felt insurmountable.

The only interaction you had was through a comment on his Instagram post, and even then, you weren’t sure if it meant anything. You didn't dare to call him on his birthday; you didn't want to stain his day with sadness. Every time you looked at your phone, tears threatened to spill. You felt as if the moment he spoke into the phone, you might collapse.

He's better off; he might not even notice.

The album you dropped in the spring had been a release of every emotion you hadn’t been able to speak aloud. Each song was laced with love and loss, heartbreak and longing; every note was a confession you’d never let yourself voice. You wondered if he listened to it—if the lyrics registered with him, if he knew they were about him.

That same week, you saw photos of him in London, holding her hand. You cried yourself to sleep that night.

The months passed in a blur of avoidance. You busied yourself at home with anything you could find that didn’t involve thinking about him. You did the one interview your publicist insisted on. It was with Zane Lowe; you liked him, so it was mostly okay. You found yourself talking about the songs you wrote during that time. As you listened to your own words, you realized that the music had given you a voice when you felt silenced by heartache.

It was a bittersweet realization.

By October, filming for The Mandalorian had loomed on the horizon, and when you found out Pedro was still tied up in Canada, you suggested beginning production without him. It felt easier that way, like a reprieve. But when he finally arrived on set, the connection between you two still crackled beneath the surface. There was an unspoken understanding in the way he looked at you during that intense scene—the one where your character saw his face for the first time. He froze, and you wondered what was running through his mind—what thoughts had stopped him from continuing.

You hesitated, but after the scene wrapped, you found yourself asking him to dinner. It was a slippery slope. You could pretend you were okay all you wanted in the brief moments between takes, offering coffee and smiles, but no one saw right through you like him.

Still, you asked. It was a small gesture, just a way to extend the fragile thread of connection between you, to hold onto him for a little longer before he left again.

But you’d learned how to stay in your lane. You’d learned how to love him from a distance, how to let him be happy with someone else. It was an act of love, really—letting him go, stepping aside to give him the space to live a life that didn’t include you. At least that’s what you told yourself.

Taylor’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “Do you think you could be a hermit in Greece next? I could use a vacation.”

May 29, 2022

Los Angeles, California

Between promoting The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent and wrapping up the final scenes of The Last of Us in Canada, he had little time to do, well, anything else really.

It was late May, just after the Star Wars Celebration. He’d worn a blue two-piece set that felt more like pajamas than anything formal, which was fine by him. Comfort was the priority these days.

But something was missing. You. You hadn’t been there. Out of everyone from the cast, you were the only one absent, and that absence settled like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

"She’s just taking time off," he’d tell himself, repeating the words like a mantra. “She’s probably busy; she's okay.” But the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave him alone.

Pedro had even caved one evening, calling Taylor. It had been late, after a full day of press, his voice rough from interviews and late-night whiskey. He had only meant for it to be one drink. But then he thinks back to the fact that you've plagued his dreams every night this week and that there was a song he kept hearing repeatedly that reminded him of you, and one drink had turned to three, and now here he is.

“Taylor?” He had sounded more vulnerable than he intended. “Is she... I mean, everything’s okay, right?”

Taylor had reassured him, of course, her voice patient, telling him you were fine, that you just were busy. Pedro wanted to believe her, but it gnawed at him. Something felt off.

He still woke up some mornings with the urge to tell you something, a joke he heard or a weird dream he had.

•••

By August he found himself in Spain, the arid heat of the desert sinking into his skin as filming for Strange Way of Life began. The project felt like a strange departure—something raw and gritty, something that required his full attention—but even then, in quiet moments between takes, his mind wandered. He’d sit in his trailer, his phone in hand, thumb hovering over your contact name, but the messages stayed unsent.

The days passed in a blur of rehearsals, early morning call times, and late-night script revisions. He spent his downtime with Ethan, exchanging stories over beers. But there was a quietness to Pedro that hadn’t been there before—a missing piece of him he couldn’t quite place.

•••

November 22, 2022

Miami, Florida

The night was sweltering; even by late fall standards, the air was thick and humid. Pedro was grinning, wearing a loose-fitting animal print shirt that made him feel playful, like he was stepping into some exaggerated version of himself for the evening. Lux was by his side, vibrant as always, their laughter mingling with the clink of glasses as they arrived at a wine event.

But it didn’t take long for Lux to notice the shadow that hung over him.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, side-eyeing him as they sipped their drinks by the bar.

“I’ve been busy,” Pedro answered vaguely, swirling his glass and watching the amber liquid catch the light.

“Sure,” Lux replied, smirking. “And when are you both going to stop being idiots? It’s getting tiresome, hermanito.”

Pedro nearly choked on his drink, laughing in surprise. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Lux’s voice was matter-of-fact, cutting through his defenses with that typical bluntness only siblings could pull off. “You and her. It’s obvious. To everyone.”

Pedro sighed, leaning back against the bar, the Miami night buzzing around them. “It’s not that simple.”

Lux raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re both so afraid of what might happen that you’re stuck in this limbo. It’s ridiculous. Why let it get this bad?”

Pedro stared into his glass, her words echoing in his head.

"Because I love her," Pedro finally admitted, his voice quieter, weighed down by the truth. He stared down at his drink, swirling the ice around the glass. "I love her so much I’m willing to let her go."

Lux didn’t say anything.

Pedro shook his head, a bitter smile playing at his lips. "I would only hold her back. I know her so well. She’d sacrifice things just to be with me, and I can’t let her do that. I would only hold her back. She deserves so much better."

Lux tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “And what if what she wants is you? What if she’s out there feeling the same way, thinking she’s the one who isn’t good enough for you? Do you ever think about that?”

Pedro let out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. "Of course I’ve thought about it. Every day. But what if I’m wrong? What if she gives up things she shouldn’t for me? I can’t let her do that, Lux."

Lux leaned in closer, her voice gentle but firm. "Maybe it’s not your decision to make. Maybe she deserves the choice. Don’t you think it’s a bit arrogant to assume what’s best for her without even asking?"

Pedro met her gaze, feeling exposed. “I just... I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t want to ruin her life.”

Lux smiled, but it wasn’t pitying. It was knowing, soft around the edges. "You’re not ruining anything by loving her. But keeping it to yourself? That’s where the damage is, hermanito. You think you’re protecting her, but all you’re doing is pushing her away. And trust me, that hurts more than anything else."

He had always been so afraid of losing you, so terrified of not being enough, that he hadn’t even realized how much distance he had created.

Lux’s voice softened again, the words cutting through the noise in his mind. "She deserves better, Pedro? Maybe. But who says you don’t deserve her, too?"

a/n: please like, reblog and comment! i love reading your thoughts!! next part will be posted in a bit ;) aaaand something might be happening ;)

[holyhaech]

VDAY PROMPT #5 FOR RIKU PLS???? I LOVE YOUR WORKS AAHHHHHH <3

young luv

basketball player!maeda riku x fem!reader (wc 1.2k)

about this fic: fluff, slight angst, childhood friends to lovers, non-idol au, high school au

you two met on the neighboorhood playground. hitting it off in the sandpit immediately, like all 6 year olds do.

you never thought you two would be inseparable. he probably didn’t think so either.

you were always rambunctious, loud, and a tad obnoxious. you don’t know why he wasn’t put off by your antics, as many of the other kids were. not that you minded, he was stuck with you from that moment forward.

to put it simply, the young japanese boy had no idea what was coming when he befriended you.

from all of the shared first days of schools, to moments together at recess, you two were best friends from the start.

you didn’t think it would last as long as it did, presuming he would eventually tire of you.

but he was fascinated by you from a young age.

the way you could light up a room, the way people would run to you for advice.

he could only dream of it.

after the awkward braces, voice cracks, and growth spurts, came high school.

he played a little bit of basketball in middle school, but he’d never dedicated himself to it.

before the start of his freshman season, he practiced all day in preparation for tryouts.

he was aiming to make varsity, for you.

the school year resumes and tryouts take place. you don’t think much of it, of course he’s gonna make the team. this is riku maeda we’re talking about! anything he put his mind to, he could achieve.

when the announcements start listing off the names for varsity, you look at him knowing his name has to be on the list.

“for freshman, we only have one player who passed tryouts for varsity….RIKU MAEDA!”

you’re in homeroom when it happens, so you can’t exactly congratulate him immediately.

once the bell rings, you find him outside your classroom with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him wear.

before he gets a chance to speak, you smother him in a hug.

“YOU DID IT!!! I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!”

he pulls back from your suffocating embrace and plants his eyes on the ground shyly.

“…thanks.” his usual meek demeanor returns, but still retains the wide grin he met you with.

that’s the start of it all. the shy riku you once befriended at the sandpit was on his way up in life. well, in his high school career, at least.

the years pass by and you slowly start spending less and less time with your best friend.

riku gets busy with basketball, you get busy with student council.

he smiles at you from the sidelines. he knew you were made for student council, the way you commanded attention was natural. you deserved everything that came to you.

except a slowly drifting friendship. you never deserved that.

every time he went to talk to you in the hall, some random player from the team would interrupt you two. or worse, a popular girl from another sport.

you always loved riku, that part never changed. the only difference is that now everyone loved riku.

it’s now hit senior year, and you two have gone separate ways.

you still try to support him! going to a home game or two a month, but he’s too wrapped up in everything else to notice you now.

and y’know what, it’s okay. you’re just happy your little riku has grown out of his shell.

it’s weird to still think of him as “your” riku. you two haven’t had a full conversation in almost 4 months. but who’s counting? definitely not you, hahaha.

you go to the home game for this month and sit toward the back like usual. you watch as the girls in the audience ogle him, once again, like usual. you get that same feeling in the pit of your stomach, is it jealousy? it can’t be, you two were always just friends, nothing more. you sit back and watch the game mindlessly

before you know it, the buzzer goes off signifying the fourth quarter has started.

riku’s on fire, as expected since he has the most experience on the team. all is going well until he goes to make a dunk.

he makes the dunk, that’s not the problem. when he comes back down, he lands on his ankle with a crack followed by a painful scream from the young man.

you’re the first one to stand up, rushing to the court.

“RIKU ARE YOU OKAY?” you shout, running down the bleachers.

he can only respond with a frantic shake of his head, tears welling around his eyes.

once you're by his side, the coach lets you sit by him as the paramedics arrive.

he buries his head into your shoulder as you hold him in the hospital bed.

“sorry for crying like a wuss.” he mutters through a sniffle.

“riku you snapped your ankle in half, you’re allowed to cry.” you reassure him.

“sorry for rushing to you, i should’ve asked one of your friends.”

“you are one of my friends. you’re my best friend.”

“i didn’t know you still thought of me.”

“of course i do! i’ sorry for ignoring you all the time, i got caught up in this basketball bullshit and lost sight what matters.”

“riku it’s okay, basketball’s matters ten times more than me.”

he pulls back to look at you with his eyebrows furrowed.

“that’s not true.”

“which one gets you scholarships dude?”

“that doesn’t matter.”

after a beat

“you’re the only thing that matters.”

you look at him with your eyes widened.

“really?!” you ask, shocked.

“yeah, really.” he responds sincerely

“i thought you’d forgotten about me.” you admit

“what? how could i forget you?” he asks geniunely

“i don’t know, we don’t talk and the only time i ever see you is at your games.”

“this is all their fault.” he facepalms.

“who?”

“the underclassmen on the team,” he sighs, “this is going to sound really, really, really, stupid, you’ll have to bare with me.”

you sit there for a moment before nodding your head.

“okay, go ahead and spit it out then.”

“i told the kids on the team that i have a crush on you and i didn’t know what to do about it so i asked for their advice and they told me to act like a nonchalant dreadhead? whatever that is. basically they said if i act nonchalant you’d fall in love with me and..yeah.” he admits, ashamed

“well, you’re right. that is really, really, really stupid. but i have something else that’s even stupider.”

“that’s not a word.”

“do you want me to tell you or not?” you sigh.

“yes.” he shuts up.

“i stopped talking to you as much because i have a crush on you and i was jealous of all the girls who would talk to you.” you admit

“whoa.”

“yeah.”

“sounds like we’re both stupid.” he responds

“sounds like it.” you agree

“so what do we do now?” he asks

“i don't know, don’t people usually date if they like each other?”

“oh yeah, right.”

“so…..”

“OH!” he realizes.

“yn ln, will you go on a date with me?

“yes i will, riku maeda.”

“i don’t know when it’ll be though, my ankle still hurts like a bitch.”

“we’ll figure it out.

my love's so young.

a/n: hi! thank you for all your kind words!! i'm sorry for posting this over a week after valentine's day! i hope you enjoy anon. this was written to young luv by stayc!

[minus-plus-zer0]

Catching Him in His Celebrity Disguise

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader ♡ Tags: Aged up

There were only a handful of people walking around the park, even though it was such a lovely day outside. You had a small lunch packed in your bag and you headed over to your favorite bench to eat when you realized a certain man was already occupying the space.

He wore a baseball cap that couldn't fully flatten his blonde spikes that poked out from all sides. His face mask obscured his expression and his tight black shirt showed off his fit body quite well. He briefly whipped off his sunglasses to see his phone better. You approached him and sat down, and when you caught his red eyes, that's when you knew you were in the presence of the Pro Hero, Dynamight.

He caught the flicker of realization on your face. He silently panicked for two reasons. One, you recognized him. Two, you were the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen.

"...Dynamight?" You must've looked like a deer in the headlights.

"...Hi?" You could tell he was shocked too.

"Oh, you're much more awkward in person! Haha! That's so cute! I'm such a big fan!"

"Lower your voice!" Dynamight said through gritted teeth, pulling off his mask to reveal his slightly pink face. "I just wanted some peace and quiet out here, don't announce my presence to the world!"

"Sorry!" Your hands flew up to your mouth. "Is it okay if I sit here? I really love how secluded this spot is. Though, I don't really mind if you're here."

"You're already sitting," he said, furrowing his brows. "Keep sitting if you want, I ain't gonna stop ya..." He glanced at you, nervously. "Do ya come here all the time?"

"Yes! But I have never seen you here before." You dug out your small lunch box from your bag. Most of your food was homecooked, sweet to the taste, and pink. Bakugou wrinkled his nose at the sight. "I didn't think you liked this city. You're always complaining about it on the news, which makes me kinda sad since it's my hometown."

"I didn't mean that shit!" Bakugou cried, putting his phone away. "I say bad things about everyone, everywhere. Don't take it personally."

"Well it's very nice of you to clarify that!" You started munching on one of your pink macaroons.

"Do you like it here?" he asked. "You think I do a good job of protecting your hometown?"

"Yeah, obviously! You saved my favorite bakery last week!"

Bakugou looked thoughtfully into the distance of the park, recalling the scene. "I remember that shit. The owner gave me such a big hassle for not defeating the villain before they wrecked the front entrance."

"Well they were able to recover anyways. I swear their food is really good, you should really go sometime!"

"You wanna go with me?" he asked, his head turning a little too quickly.

You gulped down your macaroon. "...As a date?"

"No! I--I don't fucking know! You wanna go or not?"

"Calm down. I'm only teasing you, hero. I'll go with you, okay?"

"You could've just said that from the start!"

A few nearby civilians peeked at your increasingly loud conversation and Bakugou shut up immediately, keeping his head down. You giggled.

Bakugou didn't speak until they fully passed by. "Can't believe you're laughing at me. I'm one of the top Pro Heroes of the damn country, and you're laughing at me!"

"You're not a top Pro Hero right now, are you?" You poked his cheek. "You're just an ordinary, aggressive guy hiding in plain sight."

"I am anything but ordinary."

Bakugou's stomach growled loudly. He grasped the offending thing like he could hide the noise.

"Poor hero! You must be so hungry. Here, I have some grapes you can eat!" You took out a grape from your lunch box, offering it to him. He popped it into his mouth.

"Thanks," he said between chews. "You sure you don't mind sharing?"

"I would never mind sharing with you," you said, handing him another grape. He gratefully accepted it. "You're the hero this country needs. Your face is all over our TVs when you come here to save us. And... well... you're even prettier in-person to boot."

You hid your face a little when saying that, but you wanted to take a chance to say it to his face while he was still here. He averted his eyes too. You hoped you didn't make him uncomfortable, or maybe just the right kind of uncomfortable in a good way.

You took out another grape. "Besides, you can make it up to me on our next date, alright?" You held out the grape for him.

Instead of taking it with his hands, Bakugou took the grape with his teeth from your fingers. You almost gasped.

"Tasty," he said, chewing with a smug grin. Your mouth was still agape. "Do you hand-feed all the other Pro Heroes you meet?"

You couldn't believe he just did that. He was so bold. But you wanted to be bolder.

"...No, just you," you said, your heart racing. You took out another grape. "Want some more?"

Despite his smugness, his voice was a little wobbly when he said, "Keep 'em coming."

On that day, Bakugou got to meet his belated first love.

Years later, you and Bakugou happened to pass by the same park bench in the same lonely park. You clung to Bakugou's arm, holding his hand as he strut around in public like he was on top of the world. He always felt like that when he had you around.

You pointed at the bench and elbowed Bakugou. "Look! This is where we met, right?"

"That's why I fucking brought ya here," he said, kissing your temple. "Was wondering if you'd recognize the damn old thing.

"You're such a romantic," you said.

Bakugou led you over to the bench and sat down, with you cuddling up beside him.

"You never visit this park even though we live close enough," you murmured.

"That's 'cause I wanted to take you back here with me," Bakugou said. "I've always made sure the city kept this place nice though. After all, this is our spot."

"Yeah, our spot."

[celestialgallaghers]

White Mustang

First part of a short series I’m working on YAY. This is just the set up so no smut in this one but I PROMISE there will be later <3

Saturday | Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday

Summary: You were younger then, and it was only a crush. Something harmless born in the long hours of a studio summer. But now Noel’s here, newly divorced and quieter then you remember, sharing a house on your family’s holiday. He’s more distant, harder to read, and somehow even more gorgeous with age. Suddenly the feelings you thought had faded are back in full force. But he’s still off limits… isn’t he?

Word count: 2.2k

Prelude—2014

You’d only just finished uni. Following in your fathers footsteps as a sound engineer. You’d been hovering on the fringes of the music industry, unsure of your place in it, until your dad offered to let you shadow him for the summer. You’d jumped at the chance.

You weren’t naive. Opportunities like this were rare. If you were going to be taken seriously, you had to prove you weren’t just someone's daughter tagging along for a summer lark.

But there was another layer of pressure you hadn’t anticipated. The artist your dad was working with was none other than Noel Gallagher. That alone was enough to make you feel completely out of your depth. If you fucked up, that was it. You’d never live it down. 

Now, standing outside the studio door with clammy palms and a racing heart, you couldn’t quite name the feeling twisting in your stomach. Maybe it was the weight of expectation. Maybe it was the sheer nerve of wanting to prove yourself in a space where women, especially young women, were still fighting to be heard. Or maybe it had something to do with him.

You exhaled and pushed the door open.

Inside, your dad and Noel were hunched over a screen, mid conversation. You hovered in the doorway, unsure of how to announce yourself, until your dad looked up and grinned.

“Oh, there you are, darling,” he said, waving you in. “Noel, this is my daughter.”

Noel glanced up and your stomach dropped. His eyes were sharper than you’d expected. Intense. Then he smiled, and his face softened in a way that made it hard to look away.

“Ah, so this is who I’ve been hearing about,” he said, standing to shake your hand. “Lovely to finally meet you.”

You cringed inwardly, already imagining whatever embarrassing stories your dad had shared, but kept your face neutral. His hand was warm, slightly calloused. You could only hope yours wasn’t too sweaty.

“Yeah. Just finished uni. Trying to get my foot in the door,” you managed.

He chuckled, releasing your hand. “That so? Well, we’re glad to have you. Your old man’s been raving about you. Can’t wait to see what you’re made of.”

Your cheeks burned, but you forced a smile. “Promise I won’t get in the way. Just here to observe and learn.”

“No better way to do it,” he said. “But don’t expect us to go easy on you just ’cause of who your dad is. If you want to learn, you’ve got to get your hands dirty.”

Your dad chuckled and nudged you gently. You nodded, heart still racing, then turned your gaze back to the soundboard, trying to study it.

He gave you the grand tour. You followed him and Noel through the rooms, absorbing the layout, the gear, the atmosphere. Your dad tossed out tips, instructions, bits of technical wisdom, and you tried your best to commit every word to memory. But occasionally your gaze would drift towards Noel as he tossed in anecdotes. You liked hearing him talk about normal things. It made him feel more real. Less like a name from the tabloids, more like a person.

When the tour ended, your dad stepped away to take a call, leaving you and Noel alone in the hallway. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed loosely.

“So,” he said, “what do you think of the place?”

You smiled. “Honestly? Bit surreal. Feels strange to actually be in a studio instead of just reading about them.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Feels glamorous until you’ve spent twenty straight hours in one room hearing the same guitar part loop over and over. Still, when it all comes together…it’s magic. That bit never gets old.”

You nodded slowly. “I want to feel that. The magic part.”

He held your gaze. “You will. If you’re serious about this and stick it out, it’ll come. And when it does, you’ll be hooked.”

Before you could respond, your dad reappeared. “Right. Let’s get to work.”

That was the start of everything.

The days blurred into weeks. You settled into a rhythm and slowly, you carved out a space for yourself. You watched. Learned. Listened more than you spoke.

Sometimes Noel would catch your eye and instead of brushing you off, he’d invite you in.

“What d’you think?” he’d ask, spinning slightly in his chair to face you.

At first, you stumbled through your answers, not wanting to offend him in any way. But he always listened. And when he agreed with you, he’d flash a grin and say, “Nice one.”

You’d spend the rest of the day trying not to flush with pride.

Bit by bit, the nerves faded. You started holding his gaze instead of looking away. You began to see him not just as a rockstar, but the person beneath. He was funny. Charming. A bit cheeky, but genuine. 

The crush crept in before you could stop it. Watching him work, seeing the softer side to him as he laid down a track, how his eyes would spark when something finally clicked. You were doomed from the start.

It was harmless really. A silly, one sided thing. A product of too many hours in a small space with someone magnetic. You’d never act on it. He was married. You’d met his wife once. She was lovely. And he clearly adored her.

You weren’t delusional. But sometimes, when he sat a little too close, when the banter tipped just slightly into flirtation—you’d wonder. Just for a moment. If maybe there was a spark. One small enough to be dangerous.

One of those moments came when your dad stepped out and left you in charge. The album was nearly done, just a few finishing touches left, and he wanted you to run things solo for a bit.

You were fiddling with some settings, trying to trust your gut. Failing miserably. Every decision felt too bold or too safe and you kept undoing your own changes.

“Leave it,” came Noel’s voice behind you.

You turned, startled. “Leave what?”

“That filter,” he said, stepping in closer. “It’s good. You’re overthinking it.”

“You think so?”

He gave a lazy shrug. “I know so.”

You hesitated. “I just… I don’t want to screw anything up.”

“You won’t,” he said, tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve got taste. Trust it.”

Your stomach fluttered. Stupid.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

He dropped into the seat beside you as you restarted the track. His presence was too much. Too close. You kept your eyes on the screen, trying not to read into the way his knee almost brushed yours. When the song ended, you glanced at him.

He gave a short nod. “Not half bad.” Then, noticing your hand hovering like you were waiting for permission, added, “Alright what d’you think needs changing?”

You bit your lip, hesitated, then tweaked the bass and nudged his vocals up just a touch. “It’s strong. I think it just needs a little more bite right here.”

Noel leaned in, peering at the screen with you. “Yeah,” he said, nodding again. “I see what you mean.”

He stayed close, his shoulder nearly brushing yours. His fingers reached across the screen as he pointed to another section. 

“Let’s tweak the equalizer there,” he said, voice low. “See how that sounds.”

You could barely hear him over your own pulse. All you could feel was the warmth radiating off him. The faint scent of his cologne. None of it should’ve made your breath catch like it did. But it did. 

His focus stayed on the screen, oblivious to the effect he was having on you, as he adjusted the sound, the music playing softly in the background. You shifted in your seat, becoming aware of just how much of an effect he was having on you. The pulsing heat that had settled between your thighs was unmistakable.

That was new. And it was pathetic. The way your body responded to nothing more than closeness.

God, you needed to get laid. That was all this was. You were clearly touch starved and now your brain was confusing proximity with intimacy.

You were already planning which pub to hit after work when his voice broke through your thoughts.

“Y’alright?”

You blinked, cheeks warm. “Yeah. Sorry. Think I’m gonna head out a bit early today, actually.”

His brows lifted in faint surprise. You rarely left early.

“Something up?”

“Just drinks with some girlfriends,” you said quickly, forcing a casual tone. “Been cooped up in this studio too long. Think I need to hang out with people my own age for once.” You added a weak laugh, as if that would explain everything.

He laughed. “Sick of spending all your time with old gits like me, then?”

You smiled, gathering your things. “Nah, you’re alright. Just need a proper night out.”

“Fair enough,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You should enjoy yourself. You’re young.”

And that’s what you did.

You danced. Drank. Let loose. Ended up in a stranger’s bed. It wasn’t romantic or meaningful, but it gave you the release you so clearly needed.

Come Monday, you returned to the studio bleary eyed, craving tea. Noel was already in the kitchenette, leaning against the counter and waiting on the kettle.

“Morning,” he said.

“Mornin’.”

“Good weekend?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Yours?”

He shrugged. “S’alright. Nothing too exciting.”

You nodded, rifling through tea bags, but felt his gaze linger. 

“You alright?” he asked, tone unreadable.

 You blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

“Dunno. You look tired.”

You glanced at him sharply. “Cheers.”

He smirked. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart kicked anyway.

“Long weekend,” you muttered, reaching for a mug.

He tilted his head, then nodded to your neck.

“What’s that?” he asked, voice dipping into something amused. 

You blinked. “What’s what?”

He nodded again. “That.”

You tugged your hair forward, cheeks flaming.

Shit.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

He didn’t drop it. “Doesn’t look like nothing,” he teased. “Looks like a love bite to me.”

You stiffened, arms crossing, embarrassment quickly bleeding into defensiveness. “Yeah? So?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, the grin still there but softened. “Alright. Just making an observation.”

“Yeah, well, it’s none of your business,” you snapped, sharper than intended.

His smile faded slightly. “Didn’t say it was. Just… be careful, yeah?”

The moment stretched too long. The kettle whistled, and you moved to pour your tea with more focus than necessary. “I can handle myself.”

Then, quieter, “Just don’t say anything to my dad, alright?”

He nodded. “Course not.”

You were quieter than usual that day. The tension hadn’t gone away. If anything it was worse now. It was as if your body, freshly reminded of how good the touch of another person felt, had become traitorous. Every glance Noel threw your way now carried the risk of some twisted fantasy springing to life in your mind. You hated it. Craved it.

You were slightly embarrassed at how you’d overreacted. You’d projected your frustration—at yourself, your crush—onto him like it was his fault for seeing something you hadn’t tried hard enough to hide. Maybe a small part of you had wanted him to see.

You kept your hair down for the rest of the week. Always tugging at it, adjusting it, trying to pretend it wasn’t about him. But you felt him noticing. Or maybe that was just your imagination. Either way, it was impossible to think clearly.

By the time the mark had faded, so had the weird, charged silence between you. Things settled. He joked with you again. Gave you space when you needed it. You followed his lead. But that heat low in your stomach never quite cooled. And you kept wondering what it would’ve felt like if it had been his lips on your skin. His teeth.

You hated how easily the thought came.

The album was nearly done. The mood in the studio shifted to something celebratory. On the final day, Noel pulled you into a hug, unprompted, catching you off guard.

His body was warm against yours. You tensed automatically, breath catching. Then just as quickly, he pulled back, clapping you on the back like it hadn’t meant anything.

“Thanks for all your help. Couldn't've done it without you.”

You laughed, trying to tamp down the rush of heat to your cheeks. “I really didn’t do much. But it’s an incredible album. Really. Congrats.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” He pointed at you, dead serious now. “You’ve got a good ear. Real good. You’re gonna go far.”

You blinked. It wasn’t just a pat on the head compliment. He meant it.

And for a second, you couldn’t help but look at him. Really look. At the man who, all this time, had treated you like someone worth listening to. Like your thoughts mattered. Like you weren’t a temporary fixture in the room. He saw you.

Something in your chest tightened.

“Thanks,” you said, quieter now.

His gaze lingered. Just a second too long. Not overt, but enough to make your stomach twist. There was a softness in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. Unreadable, and maybe not even meant for you. And then he nodded, like he’d said everything he meant to say, and turned away.

You watched him go, some part of you aching a little. Not for anything that had happened, but for everything that hadn’t. Everything that couldn’t.

You were going to miss him. More than you probably should.

[feyhunter78]

I’m actually DYING for part 14 of the Dreadful Need of the Devotee, like my pain is clinical and your writing is the only thing that will cure me 🙏

No rush of course, I’m just in love with this story!! (But please, I need it badly)

I got you babe!!!! Enjoy <3

Chapter Fourteen - Ser Arthur Dayne has returned to court. Ch 15

Jon sits in Tyrion’s solar, the small table that sits between you all laden down with breakfast foods and teas. He is seated across from Tyrion, while you are seated next to Jon across from Ser Arthur, your soon-to-be good-father.

Introductions had gone well, you complimented his father, he complimented you, your betrothal was announced, and Jon had to keep himself from kissing you. The joy that radiated from you was so intense, he could not help but smile like a lovesick fool. But now, now the doubts begin to creep in.

If he had been told at the age of two and ten, he would be sitting with his soon-to-be wife a Lannister, the Imp Lannister and Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning who was also his true father, Jon would not have believed whoever spoke such things to him. Truly he would have thought them playing a cruel joke, but now he sat in that very position wondering if it would all be revealed a horrid prank. A test to see how much the bastard boy could be convinced to believe.

You place your hand atop Jon’s where it rests on his knee, your brows furrowing in concern, and he waves you off, focusing on the meal set in front of him. You and him often broke fast together, and it was not too uncommon for your father to join the both of you, but this time it was different.

“Lady y/n, your father tells me you are a talented seamstress.” His father says, cutting into his sausage, his eyes, those dark purple eyes, so like Jon’s in the right light, observe you with an oddly formal air.

“I am, in fact the tunic Jon is wearing this morn is one I made myself.” You say, gracing Jon with a smile so bright it rivals the sun, and he turns further towards you following it as crops do, ever reaching, ever seeking your warmth and light.

His father hums in acknowledgement, examining every stitch of his tunic. “It is well-made; and the embroidery is quite detailed. It is not what one would think a sworn sword would be given by his charge.”

“He is my champion, seen as an extension of myself, I would never leave my chambers in rags, or dull, dreary clothing, so why should my sworn sword?” You say, taking a sip of your tea, sizing the man up.

“An interesting perspective.” His father comments, his eyes flickering to Jon.

“I suppose so.” You respond, dabbing your mouth with your cloth napkin.

“She is also a wonderful dancer.” Jon adds, unsure of his place in the conversation. He has never before been privy to these situations, and it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

“I am only wonderful because I have such an excellent partner that allows me to keep my skills sharp.” You smile prettily at him, and he watches the mask slip into place, you are attempting to charm the father by charming the son.

“They are a most excellent pairing, even Robert before he oh so tragically passed said they would make a good couple.” Tyrion says, spreading strawberry jam onto a thick slice of bread.

If I were not a bastard. He said we would be a good match if I was not a bastard. Jon thought bitterly.

“It pains me to know my son had love within his grasp for so long and could not claim it, I would soon see that rectified.” His father says, pulling a folded letter from his pocket. “I have kept this for you, it is a signed statement from the septon that presided over your mother, and I’s wedding. It was quick, not the lavish affair I would have wished to give her, but it was true in the eyes of The Seven.”

Jon feels you lean into him, reading the letter along with him.

“I fear it will not be enough. Aunt Cersei tore up Uncle Robert’s will, what if someone does the same to this?” You ask.

“Your Uncle Robert was dead he could not defend his will, but Ser Arthur is here, in the flesh.” Tyrion says.

Jon folds the letter and returns it to his father. “When would this take place? I would like to inform my siblings; they should not hear it from strangers or gossip.”

“They know, Lord Stark told them and Lady Stark once I had confirmed Ser Arthur was alive and wished to see you.” Tyrion assures him.

Jon pokes at his eggs, the yolk running, yellow-orange liquid tainting the white outer edges. He is glad the truth is known, but will this change how they see him? Will little Arya no longer trust him, will she keep him at a distance as Sansa had now that he is revealed as an impostor, a stranger? And Robb, his brother, will he still call him by that name, will he still hold the same love for him? At least Lady Catelyn will no longer have reason to hate him, he is not proof of her husband’s indiscretions, but his love for his sister.

“Where does Jon fall in the line of succession for Starfell?” Y/N directs the question towards his father, bringing him out of his gloom-stricken thoughts. “I know Lord Edric Dayne is your eldest brother’s son, but he is still a child close to Arya’s age, and your sister does not yet have children, does this not make him third after you?”

His father smirks and leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Do you wish him to be second?”

You mimic his posture, voice deadly calm, face unreadable. “I do not condone the murder of children, even if it would catapult Jon to heir of Starfell. I was merely asking a question.”

His father laughs, the sound warm, boisterous, filling the room as he leans back in his chair. “Your father has taught you well, lioness. But yes, Jon is third, if Edric, Seven forbid, were to die then I would take the seat, and Jon would follow after me.”

“We need not worry about that though, he will be by my side at Casterly Rock, is that not right, Father?” You hold your position, eyes still on Jon’s father.

“I have not yet heard word back on our family’s succession, your grandsire still holds out hope that Jaime will leave the Kingsguard and return home.” Tyrion drawls, before taking a sip of his tea.

“But he will not, and even if he did, would it not be shameful?” You venture, stirring your own tea with the tiny spoon provided.

“We shall see what options lay before him when our new king takes the throne, he could take Jaime’s head.” Tyrion says, his eyes on his bread, he has still not taken a bite, Jon feels confident that Tyrion will not be eating this morn.

“I am sure Robb will be merciful to Uncle Jaime, perhaps he could send him to the Wall? As loathe I am to think of him being sent far away, I imagine his skills would be of good use there?” You turn to Jon for confirmation.

Jon’s stomach churns, he wishes to tell you the truth, that it matters not what Robb thinks. “Yes, they are always in need of skilled and hearty men.”

“Oh, and then we could visit him, could we not?” Again, your question is directed at him, and he fights back the bile rising in his throat. He did not like this new weight, this new secret he must keep from you.

“The Wall is a long journey, even from Winterfell.”

“No journey is too long when it comes to family.” You say, dismissing his spoken worries with a smile and a wave of your hand.

“Little lion, perhaps we save our travel plans for after the new king arrives?” Tyrion suggests, seeming unfazed by the half-truths that roll off his tongue.

“Of course, Father.” You say, giving him a smile and tucking back into your breakfast.

Jon cannot eat, he can barely swallow. He wants to tell you the truth, wants to throw you over his shoulder and run, run all the way to Winterfell and hide you there until all this chaos has subsided.

“I think a wedding in Dorne is completely out of the question Ser Arthur, do you really believe people would attend a Lannister wedding that is not held at Casterly Rock or the Red Keep?” Tyrion says, pulling him back into the conversation that had proceeded without him.

“But it is not a Lannister wedding, it is a Dayne wedding.” His father smiles, sending Jon a wink.

“My daughter is a Lannister, in the eyes of Westeros it is a Lannister wedding, and truly it must be held at Casterly Rock, gods know the Red Keep has seen enough weddings.”

“House Martell will not attend if it is at Casterly Rock, which means Myrcella will not attend.” His father reminds Tyrion.

“Father could it not be held somewhere more neutral? I so want Myrcella to be able to attend.” You ask, looking at him pleadingly.

“I am sure once the new king comes into power, the Martells will not hold the same anger towards our family as they once did.” Tyrion reassures you, reaching across the small circular table to pat your hand.

Yes, because all who they hold anger towards will be dead. Jon thinks solemnly, guilt eating him alive.

“I will trust you then.” You say, before turning to Jon’s father. “Ser Arthur, are there any marital traditions that you would like us to observed for the wedding?”

He thinks for a moment, resting his hand on his chin, the dark stubble so like Jon’s but flecked with gray. “There are none that come to my mind at the moment, but I will think on it and if any return to me, I will inform you.”

“No bedding ceremony.” Jon says, he will fight for this, not only to spare you the brutality, but as an apology for the secrets he must keep.

“I will not argue with that.” You laugh, picking up two strawberries and handing one to him as you bite into the other one.

Jon takes it from you, his teeth breaking the delicate flesh, the sweet juice tasting like ash on his tongue.

The look upon Cersei Lannister’s face when his father steps into Highgarden’s Great Hall, is enough to make Jon forget why he is even standing before the royal family. His father wears a cloak of lilac, the white sword and falling star crossed in the center proudly displayed, Dawn strapped to his side. His curls are cleaned and styled, his beard trimmed, his armor and boots shining. When he takes a knee bowing his head to Tommen, Jon does the same, feeling a flicker of excitement when their knees hit the floor at the same time. Perfect synchronicity.

“Ser Arthur?” The startled exhale of his father’s name escapes Ser Jamie’s lips before he can stop it, his conflicted expression betraying far more than simply shock. There is grief, rage, longing, and confusion all whirling within Ser Jamie’s widened emerald eyes.

“My King, I have come to ask that you legitimize my son. I have brought the parchment signed by the septon that married myself and Lady Lyanna Stark. Jon is not a snow, he is a Dayne, my trueborn and only child.”

Tommen does not move, does not speak, he looks at Margaery who has her hand in her grandmother’s.

“Let us see this parchment.” Lady Tyrell says, holding a wizened hand out.

His father rises, and Jon does as well, watching as he delivers the paper to Lady Tyrell, who shares it with Margaery.

“You were thought dead Ser Dayne, why did you not return to King's Landing to take up in the service of your new king when my husband ascended to the throne?” Cersei asks, her jade eyes alight with rage, sparking like wildfire.

“I was badly injured at the Tower of Joy and was unable to make the journey for many years.”

“Unable to make the journey and to retrieve your son, it seems.” Cersei drawls, skimming the parchment, then handing it to Ser Jaime.

Jon can see how his hands shake, the color draining from his face.

“I was told Lord Stark treated him kindly, as if he were his own son, it was better for him to remain there than at the bedside of a nearly crippled man.” The shame that colors his tone clearly tugs on Tommen’s heartstrings.

He has not dared to think what his life would have been like if he had lived with his father. All he knows is he would not have met you, and he does not consider that much a life at all.

Tommen clears his throat, looking at Margaery once more, she nods.

“Ser Dayne, you swore an oath, Kingsguard cannot marry or have children.” Cersei cuts in, stepping forward, her head held high.

Jon bites his tongue hard. The irony in her statement…

His father fares better, nodding his head towards her, his tone steady. “I am no longer a whitecloak, I lost the right to that title when I aided Prince Rhaegar in stealing away my dear Lyanna. I am only a knight of the realm now, Queen Mother.”

Tommen goes to speak, surely in agreement with his mother, but Margaery puts her hand on his arm and leans down to whisper in his ear.

Jon tries not to fidget, tries not to look at you, you who sits beside your father, dressed in a well-tailored gown the shade of pomegranates, your hair swept away from your face, a golden pendant around your neck. He will ruin it all if he looks at you.

His father puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“In honor of my queen’s nameday I will grant her request. Ser Jon Snow, you shall no longer be a Snow, but a Dayne, Lord or Ser Jon, whichever you would like, of House Dayne, son of Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning.” Tommen says, smiling brightly when Margaery plants a chaste kiss of thanks to his cheek.

His father gives his thanks, bowing low. Jon follows his example, keeping his expression grateful but neutral as they return to the sidelines, ducking behind the crowds of nobles as Tommen and Margaery begin to leave the hall. It is only when they have disappeared from view that his father embraces him, crushing him to his chest.

Jon returns the embrace, joy running wild through him.

His father pulls back, a wide smile on his tanned face. “My son, oh, it is good to say that aloud, to say it where anyone can hear. We must celebrate, do you have a preference for wine? ”

“No, Father.” Jon tests the word out, rolling it on his tongue, it feels strange but pleasant. “I do not.”

His father smiles. “We shall soon fix that, but first, you must return to your duties, no?” He jerks his head towards you.

Jon nods. “I must.”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain

[annovaz]

"CAUGHT IN YOUR GRAVITY"

pairing: sunghoon x Jake's cousin/Gym crush!reader

word count: 1,4k (for the time it took to write this you would think i wrote at least a 100)

genre: smut, fluff, angst, neighbors-to-lovers, best friend's cousin, little bit of everything lowkey

Summary: Sunghoon has a little gym crush on the girl who always catches his eye—only to find out she’s Jake’s cousin. When summer heat and lingering gazes turn into something more, things get complicated…

Warnings: language, sexual tension, jealousy, heated arguments, smut, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, soft confession, slight angst, possessive!Sunghoon, jealous!Sunghoon, (dw hes sweet tho) confident!reader, sunbathing and ogling, frat party setting, Heeseung being a player, minor alcohol consumption, all characters are of age.

a/n : guys its my first time writing and i feel like this is kind of bad so if it is pls tell me so i can delete it lol, i dont think writing is my thing. anyways i rlly hope u guys enjoy it tho bc i worked hard on this,

love u all (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Sunghoon didn’t do crushes, or relationships for that matter.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself every damn day.

He was disciplined, focused on his studies ( you'd be surprised to see his friend group), and spent two hours in the gym every evening. He never skipped leg day and never let distractions ruin his arrangement—until she walked in.

Tight gym shorts. Fitted top. Confidence dripped in every step she took.

And the worst part? She didn’t even glance his way.

Sunghoon wasn’t the only one who noticed her either. The entire gym seemed to pause whenever she walked by, men sneaking glances, some too obvious for his liking. She was the kind of girl everyone wanted to look at, but no one dared to approach. Too untouchable. Too out of reach.

But that didn’t stop Sunghoon from looking.

It started with curiosity—the way she moved with ease like she belonged there. Like she actually knew what she was doing. He saw the way she pushed herself, the sweat dripping down her back, the way she bit her lip when she concentrated. And then it became an obsession.

He adjusted his own routine to match hers, subtly timing his sets to steal glimpses in between. Sometimes she caught him. Smirked. Kept going, unbothered.

Fucking hell.

So imagine his shock when he walks into Jake’s house with his parents on his side for the family dinner and finds her sitting at the table, smiling like she owned the place.

“Sunghoon, meet my little cousin, Y/N,” Jake announces proudly. “She just moved back from Cuba, so treat her well.”

Sunghoon nearly chokes on his drink.

Jake’s cousin?

The girl he’d been lowkey (highkey) ogling for weeks?

No fucking way.

She turns to him, lips curled into an amused smirk, and says, “You’re staring.”

Jake laughs, slapping Sunghoon’s back. “Dude, what’s up with you?”

Sunghoon clears his throat, forcing his eyes away. “Nothing. Just—uh. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh?” Her eyes glint with something unreadable. “You look familiar.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her smirk widens. “Maybe from the gym?”

Shit. Busted.

Jake’s mom beams. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Sunghoon practically lives at the gym. Maybe he can show you around.”

Y/N tilts her head. “I think I’m doing just fine on my own.”

Fuck, she was cocky. Sunghoon felt something tighten in his chest.

Dinner is a blur. Family chatter, laughter, and praise are thrown at the kids. Jake’s parents gushing about how he and Sunghoon grew up to be such handsome young men. Meanwhile, Sunghoon’s focus is elsewhere—on Y/N, her amused glances, the way she sips her wine with a smirk, completely aware of the effect she has on him.

She’s a natural at charming the family, effortlessly slipping into conversations, making even the older relatives laugh. He can’t help but admire the way she carries herself—so sure, so unbothered. So fucking beautiful.

And every now and then, their eyes meet across the table. Lingering. Silent.

Summer is hotter than usual.

Or maybe it’s just because Y/N lives right next door.

Sunghoon finds himself outside more often, mowing the lawn shirtless, lifting weights in the yard, knowing full well she’s sunbathing just a few feet away. Her tiny bikini leaves nothing to the imagination. He tries not to look, but he fails miserably.

What he doesn’t know is that she’s watching, too.

They exchange subtle glances, but never words. The tension simmers between them, neither acknowledging it nor acting on it. But it lingers—silent, electric, undeniable.

One evening, she catches him hunched over a car, shirtless. “You work too much,” she teases, leaning against the fence separating their yards.

Sunghoon wipes the sweat off his brow. “And you tan half-naked too much.”

She laughs. “Jealous?”

He smirks. “Just saying, you’ll burn one day.”

“Guess I’ll need someone to rub sunscreen on me.”

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t respond.

She tilts her head with a cheeky grin. “No volunteers?”

Fuck. She was dangerous.

Jake throws a frat party.

Sunghoon should’ve known it would be trouble.

The music is loud, the house is packed. He’s talking to Jay and Jungwon when he notices him. Heeseung. Leaning a little too close to Y/N, whispering something in her ear. She laughs.

Sunghoon sees red.

Storming over, he grabs her wrist, pulling her aside. “What the hell are you doing?”

Y/N yanks her arm free, narrowing her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Heeseung? Seriously? You know what he’s like.”

She crosses her arms. “And why do you care?”

“Because I—” He stops. Runs a hand through his hair. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You’re not my boyfriend, Sunghoon.”

That stings more than it should. He clenches his jaw, staring at her. Then, in a split second, he’s kissing her. Hard. Desperate. Possessive.

She kisses him back just as fiercely. Hands roaming. Clothes shifting. He picks her up and sets her on the counter.

"fuck," he looks down at her figure on the counter, raking his eyes down her body. "you're perfect"

Y/N grabs his face and pulls him in roughly for a kiss. Sunghoon's hands travel down her body and rip her tight shirt off. Y/N lets out a small gasp, watching as he grabs at her chest, leaving marks all over her neck and torso. His kisses slowly move down her stomach to the waistband of her miniskirt. He looks up to ask her for permission, but Y/N's already grabbing at both her skirt and panties.

"Please, Sunghoon, I need you so badly," she said between little gasps. Sunghoon leaves soothing kisses on her inner thighs. "Shh baby, let me take care of you"

He finally faced her bare cunt, his breath hitting her core. "You smell so sweet," he said before placing a kiss on her pussy, causing Y/N to let out a moan.

"God, Park that feels so good." she moans, throwing her head back as his tongue focuses on flicking her clit. Her hands move down to Sunghoon's scalp, pulling on his hair, causing him to let out a little moan into her pussy.

"I can't get enough of your pussy, I could stay down here forever" He mumbles in her cunt while inserting two fingers in her hole.

The continuous kitten licks and the pumps in and out of her pussy drive Y/N over the edge. She feels the knot forming in her stomach tighten as she arches her back into Sunghoon's mouth, letting out a lewd moan and riding out her high.

"Sunghoon, I need you inside me, right now." Y/N orders as she pulls him up for a kiss, tasting herself on his tongue. " As you wish, my princess," He says unbuckling his belt.

When his cock finally springs free, Y/N finds herself admiring the length and girth, grabbing it and jerking slowly. Sunghoon groans but lets her set the pace. When she glances up at him, eyes full of mischief, he decides he's had enough and turns her over on her stomach.

"God you drive me crazy," He whispers in her ear, leaving small kisses below her ear. "Tell me how much you want my cock baby," he said while teasing her hole.

"So much, please Sunghoon, please fuck me now." she sobs out in desperation, pushing her hips back to get an ounce of friction. His grip tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her breasts, his hips jerking forward roughly, both letting out wrecked moans in relief. His cock is sucked in her warm cunt as it kisses her cervix. She matches his rhythm and meets his hips, his cock going impossibly deep.

Sunghoons grip on her tightens like he's trying to ground himself through the pleasure, moaning her name like a mantra.

"Shit - fuck, I'm gonna-" Y/N's voice breaks as she nears that high again, body shuddering, moving her head to kiss Sunghoon. "c'mon baby, cum with me, let go." reaching a hand down to circle her clit, he keeps eye contact as they unravel together.

After, as they catch their breath, he presses his forehead against hers. “You’ve had my attention since the moment you stepped into that gym, I've been yours since then,” he murmurs. “Not just because of how beautiful you are. But because you’re kind. Fierce. Stubborn as hell.” He chuckles. “You drive me insane, Y/N.”

She smiles, fingers tracing his jaw. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, will you be mine as I am yours?” he asks, gazing into her eyes with a hopeful look.

"of course, I will dumbass, I would've been yours from the start if only you had said the word." She smiles at him cheekily, fingers brushing through his hair.

"Now that I've got my answer" he lifts her up, smirking, “let’s bring this to the bedroom.”

She laughs, kissing him again. “Lead the way, Park.”

Thank you for reading ♡

[starkerscoop]

I just put out a SoulMate au Prompt!

On your birthday, as soon as you hit a certain age, you get to see a glimpse of your soulmate and possible clue as to who they are. And it repeats every year on ur birthday.

Maybe for the first several years Tony never saw anyone. So maybe his soulmate wasn't 18 yet. But then 5 years turn into 10, 15, 20 ( how many u wanna age him up to) so he thinks he doesn't have one.

Tony is getting ready with his friends and tailor, and he goes to check himself out, and he doesn't see himself. He sees Peter.

Now could know him already or not. Peter could be Spiderman or not!

I think it would be a fun idea!

- WinterSpiderPurrs

I know it's been almost two full years but here it is! Thank you for the prompt :)

also on ao3

Tony sighed, running his hands over the burgundy suit he was trying on. It didn’t sit right on him—too stiff, too impersonal—but he could imagine someone else wearing it. Someone standing beside him, fingers laced with his, accompanying him to his birthday party.

Someone he still didn’t have a face for.

Every year, his birthday arrived with the same disappointment. No vision. No glimpse. No confirmation that there was someone out there meant for him. At first, he had told himself his soulmate just wasn’t old enough yet. But as five years turned into ten, then fifteen, then twenty, the hope had faded.

Now, he wasn’t sure he had a soulmate at all.

Loud laughter from the waiting area pulled him from his thoughts. Tony’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t want Rhodey or Happy catching on to the turmoil written all over his face. Forcing himself to turn away from the noise, he faced the full-length mirror instead.

The suit looked just as wrong as it felt.

With a huff, Tony started to turn away, only for a flicker of movement in the glass to freeze him in place.

His breath caught.

His reflection was gone.

Instead, staring back at him was someone else.

Unruly curls, wild and windswept. Pale wrists wrapped in what looked like homemade gadgets, their design so unfamiliar that even Tony’s mind struggled to piece them together.

He leaned in, heart hammering, trying to get a better look—

And just like that, the image vanished.

The mirror once again reflected nothing but his own dissatisfied expression and the burgundy suit he suddenly wanted to set on fire.

Tony blinked.

Once. Twice.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

He had a soulmate.

For the first time in years, something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in his chest, pushing aside the loneliness he’d grown used to carrying.

He didn’t say anything to Rhodey or Happy, who were still waiting for him to pick a suit. This was his, and his alone, to process.

But suddenly, picking out a suit felt meaningless. What did it matter? There was someone out there for him. Destined for him.

And Tony was going to find them.

Tearing off the suit, he pulled his own clothes back on, leaving the discarded fabric crumpled on the floor. He didn’t bother fixing it before striding out to his friends.

“I’m calling off the party,” he announced, cutting off their conversation.

Rhodey blinked. “All the guests have RSVP’d.”

Happy frowned. “And you love parties. Especially your own.”

Tony shrugged, impatience flickering in his eyes. “I’m a reformed man. I’ll take you two to dinner instead.”

Dinner would take less time. He had more important things to do now.

Rhodey and Happy exchanged a weird look, but Rhodey just sighed. “Whatever you want, Tones. It’s your day.”

Tony threw an arm around each of them, steering them toward the exit. They were halfway down the street when the first scream rang out.

They stopped cold.

Panic rippled through the air, the distant sound of chaos surging closer.

Tony’s hand hovered over his watch, instincts taking over.

Something was happening.

And for the first time, his gut told him it might be more important than any fight he’d been in before.

Across the street, a crowd scattered in all directions, their screams echoing off the towering buildings. Something—or someone—had sent them into a panic. Rhodey and Happy instinctively flanked Tony, scanning for the threat.

A car alarm blared as a sedan was flung sideways, skidding across the pavement before slamming into a fire hydrant. A geyser of water erupted, drenching the road. Through the chaos, Tony caught sight of the culprit—a metallic-armed thug in a makeshift exo-suit, stomping forward with all the grace of a wrecking ball.

“Great,” Tony muttered. “Guess it’s work mode now.”

Before he could activate his nanotech, a blur of red and blue shot down from above.

Spider-Man.

Tony barely had time to register the hero’s arrival before the kid launched himself straight at the armored thug, webbing his wrist and yanking hard. The thug snarled, trying to shake him off, but Spider-Man was already flipping over his head, landing a precise kick to the back of his skull.

Rhodey let out a low whistle. “Gotta hand it to the kid. He knows how to make an entrance.”

Tony grunted, eyes narrowing. He’d seen Spidey in action plenty of times before, but something about this moment held him captive. The way the kid moved—fluid, confident, impossibly fast—it felt... familiar.

Then he saw them.

The wrist-mounted devices.

Tony’s stomach dropped.

No way. It couldn’t be.

His mind reeled back to the vision in the mirror—pale wrists, odd gadgets strapped to them. They were different from his own tech, but unmistakably homemade. He had brushed it off at the time, too consumed by the shock of finally seeing his soulmate at all. But now, standing in the middle of a crumbling city street, watching Spider-Man weave between blows, it hit him like a freight train.

His soulmate might be standing right in front of him.

He had no proof, no way to know for sure. But the possibility lodged itself in his chest, refusing to be ignored.

“Tony,” Rhodey barked, snapping him out of it.

The thug had finally shaken off Spider-Man and was now barreling toward them, arms raised.

Tony’s hesitation shattered. Whatever this was, whoever his soulmate turned out to be, he’d deal with that later. Right now, he had a fight to finish.

He pressed his watch. The suit deployed around him in an instant.

“Let’s dance,” he muttered, launching into the fray.

The thug roared, slamming his exo-enhanced fists into the pavement, sending a shockwave rippling through the street. Cars bounced, windows shattered, and the force sent bystanders scrambling for cover.

Tony barely had time to react before Spider-Man shot out a web, yanking him backward just as a streetlight came crashing down where he had stood.

“Seriously, dude? Watch your step!” Spidey quipped, twisting midair before planting both feet against the thug’s chest. The force of the impact sent the villain stumbling, but he dug his mechanical fingers into the asphalt, stopping his fall with brute strength.

“Appreciate the assist, Webs,” Tony called, sending a repulsor blast at the thug’s exposed side. The villain barely flinched.

“Yeah, no problem!” Spider-Man shot a line of webbing to the thug’s wrist, yanking hard to throw him off balance. “But maybe next time, let’s not fight guys built like refrigerators?”

The thug growled and swung wildly. Spidey ducked, flipping over the attack, but the villain anticipated it this time. With terrifying speed, he reached up and caught Spider-Man mid-air, gripping him by the torso with a crushing force.

Spider-Man yelped.

Tony’s heart clenched.

“Gotcha now, bug,” the thug sneered, squeezing tighter. Spider-Man struggled, arms pinned to his sides, legs kicking.

Tony didn’t hesitate—he fired up his thrusters and shot forward.

But before he could reach them, the villain’s other hand gripped the edge of Spider-Man’s mask. In one brutal motion, he ripped it clean off.

The world seemed to slow as Tony took in the face now exposed to the open air.

Brown eyes wide with alarm. A mess of curls he instantly recognized.

Tony’s breath caught.

It was him. The same face he had seen in the mirror. His soulmate.

Something in Tony shifted, like a key turning in a lock he hadn’t known was there. A fierce protectiveness surged through him, drowning out everything else.

His soulmate was in danger.

And Tony Stark did not let the people he loved get hurt.

Before the thug could tighten his grip, Tony fired a concentrated repulsor blast straight at his wrist. The exo-enhanced metal cracked under the impact, sending a jolt through the villain’s arm. His grip faltered just enough.

The kid took advantage.

Despite the pain, he jerked his legs up, planting both feet against the thug’s chest and pushing off with every ounce of strength he had. The force ripped him free from the villain’s grasp, sending him tumbling through the air.

Tony was there in a second.

He caught the kid before he could hit the ground, arms wrapping securely around him as they hovered above the street. The kid gasped, chest rising and falling rapidly, dazed from the lack of oxygen.

Tony tightened his hold.

“Gotcha, kid.”

The boy blinked up at him, eyes wide and unfocused. Tony could see the moment the realization hit—his face flushed slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

Tony didn’t either. His mind was racing too fast.

This was his soulmate. But he had no idea who he was.

And that was something he was going to change.

[theemporium]

Congrats on 10k! I absolutely love your writing! It always makes me feel warm and fuzzy 💕

I was wondering if I could request violet fluff 💜 prompt #31 with James Potter? Thanks so much, hope you’re having a great day 🥰

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

31. “I’ve been in love with you since the day we met."

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James Potter honestly thought he was losing his mind.

He liked to pride himself over the fact he was good with people: talking to them, understanding them, observing them. He was a social butterfly and fairly empathetic, and he could talk to a brick wall and somehow still make it one of the most entertaining conversations people have ever witnessed. 

He tended to thrive in social situations, basking in the attention when the spotlight was on him. He was never made for the shadows or outskirts. He was made to be the person someone could always rely on in public, the one who could change the conversation when needed or keep things from becoming stagnant and awkward. 

But all of those skills felt redundant and useless when it came to you. 

Because, here’s the thing—James is, like, ninety-nine percent sure that you aren’t doing it on purpose which honestly makes the whole thing worse.

James Potter is not a subtle man. Far from it, if anyone is concerned. He is open with his feelings and wants and desires and dreams. He wears his heart on his sleeve and he wears it proudly. And he has been flirting with you since day one. 

And you flirt back. He swears you flirt back. Hell, despite the way they mocked how lovesick and besotted he was, even his friends were sure you flirted back because that was the only way to describe your banter. It was flirty and teasing and, on some occasions, mimicked that of an old married couple.

But just when James thinks he is finally getting somewhere with you, you pull a total one-eighty on him and he is left thinking that you are unaware of it all. That maybe—just fucking maybe—you are oblivious to James’ obvious and unsubtle attempts. 

He is also pretty sure you don’t realise that half of your hangouts with the boy were his attempts at asking you on a date. 

And he was losing his goddamn mind. 

It’s almost ironic that all it would take was a potions assignment for things to come together.

“It’s a simple potion, there really shouldn’t be any mistakes or problems,” Slughorn announced as he wandered through the room, his robes swishing behind him with each step. “If you have any problems, just ask but this potion should be easy for your age.”

And the thing was, yeah, it was pretty easy. James looked at the instructions and it was something he could have done with his eyes closed if he really wanted to. 

But Remus wasn’t in class today, instead deciding to take the day off with the full moon having just passed. And your usual partner wasn’t in either. And now you were partners together and you were really pretty and, honestly, James couldn’t be blamed for being a little distracted. 

He also didn’t know that fucking up the potion would turn it into an accidental truth serum. 

In fact, he didn’t even realise until the two of you were too busy laughing at Slughorn demanding the two of you go to the bathrooms to clean up, halfway down the corridor when he turned to look at you and just blurted out the words before he could stop himself.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

You paused, shoes squeaking against the floor as you looked at him with wide eyes. “What did you say?” 

And before he could even try to come up with an excuse, he was talking again. “I said you’re pretty. Because you are. I always think you’re pretty but you’re prettier when you laugh.”

You blinked. “You really think that?”

“Of course I do,” James retorted, almost snorting a little at the incredulous tone of your voice. “I think you’re one of the most gorgeous girls in this world. It’s why I flirt with you, like, every day.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Oh.”

“I’ve been in love with you since the day we met,” James continued because he couldn’t really bring himself to stop. “And I really want to kiss you all the time. I just don’t know if you like me back or not.”

“I do,” you blurted out, but there was a smile on your face—even if it was a little shy. “I do like you back. And I want to kiss you too.” 

“Sweet,” James grinned and then, because he was a man of action and promises, he closed the distance between the two of you. 

His warm palms cupped your cheek, his body pressed against every inch of your own before he kissed you. It was dizzying and slightly surreal. It made your head spin when his tongue swiped over your lips before exploring your mouth. It made your knees buckle when a low groan sounded from the back of his throat.

But it was everything the two of you wanted and more. 

And yeah, maybe James Potter was going to lose his mind if this was how good it felt to kiss you.

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