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slutzforbueckers · 3 days ago

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can you write about paige and yn are on holiday tg but they aren’t fully together just teasing each her but when paige sees her in a bikini tanning for the first time she starts acting up leading to smut

Vacation — p.b x fem!reader

pairing: paige buckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut

synopsis: you and some of the team go on a week long vacation together to start off the first week of summer, and finally the tension between you and paige couldn’t get any thicker.

‎ ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

by the time you arrived at the rental house, everyone was extremely agitated with each other. it wasn't on purpose though, the traveling had just made you all annoyed with everyone and everything. you all just needed a moment to relax from the travel and then you could come back together and socialize.

thankfully when you were finalizing the plans of the trip and confirming the rental house, you all looked at the pictures to determine your bedrooms. it was a great idea, to pick the rooms beforehand, and everyone had settled on a room except you and paige. it was down to the last two rooms and you had laid claim on the room you liked more, the only problem was that paige liked that room better as well.

you both argued over the room for nearly 30 minutes and yet you still didn’t come to an agreement. so, now that you’re finally at the house you had no choice but to come to an agreement.

“paige! i called dibs on that room first and you know it!” you yelled at her, your hands balling into fists at your sides. even though you had called the room first and you should’ve been able to just walk in and put your things away like you planned, paige still wasn’t letting up on getting that room.

“i don’t care. im taking that room.” she shrugged her shoulders. the only reason she wanted that room was because the view was good, and maybe because you wanted it and she loved fucking with you.

sarah, jana, azzi, and morgan had all filed away to their rooms, ice and kk stood in the kitchen watching you and paige argue. they leaned on the marble counter eating a bag of tru fru they picked up on the way.

“i don’t know why they’re even arguing,” kk snickered, shaking her head and snatching the bag of tru fru away from ice.

“right, they’re just going to end up in the same room anyway.” ice smiled and nudged kk when she noticed how close you and paige were standing. you were toe to toe, looking each other up and down as if you were sizing each other up.

there was no real heat behind your eyes though, just lots of unspoken words and admiration. you and paige never fully acknowledged it. yeah there had been a few times you almost kissed and times you’d gotten drunk and couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, but other than that you both tried to keep things team friendly. anyone could see the feelings between you two, it was so obvious with out you looked at each other. when you and paige were in the same room anyone that was there could feel the tension between you.

you weren’t sure what was stopping you and paige from being more, you were both two adults that clearly had feelings for each other. you thought maybe it would throw off the team dynamic, things might be weird with everyone else, neither of you realized it but the whole team was rooting on you two being together.

kk and ice left the kitchen, kk cleared her throat as they walked past you two. paige took her eyes off of you and watched the two girls leave, she had been so engrossed by you that she hadn’t realized they were still around.

“i want the room, p.” you said, keeping your voice stern and holding your ground. you raised your eyebrows and crossed your arms, waiting for her argument. paige bit her bottom lip, her hand making contact with your waist for a solid second before she pulled it away.

“fine, take the room. you know where ima be at the end of the night.” at with that she picked her bags up and headed to find her room. you turned on your heels and stared at her until she disappeared behind a wall. you couldn’t understand why her words had your body heating up. you and paige sleep together all the time as best friends, some nights when you’re not together you find it hard to sleep. so why did it feel like her words had a different meaning?

˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

after you all relaxed from the travel angst you decided it was time to go out. you all had different things you wanted to do and since none of you could actually decide on what to do, you decided you’d go down to the boardwalk where there were plenty of things to do. it kept the peace between you all if you could all go do your own thing while also having the beach as a common area to meet back up.

you were all standing in a small circle at the beach going over where you would be, which of course you demanded you do so you knew where everyone was. they all called you the mom of the group, next to azzi. you just wanted to make sure no one got lost, especially the freshies.

“make sure you check in, please. don’t make me come hunt you down.” you looked at all of them with a very serious expression, you had already made a groupchat with all of them so you could send a check in text every thirty minutes. they all rolled their eyes but there was no real annoyance behind it, well only a little. “oh! before you go come put sunscreen on.”

paige was already standing behind you with the sunscreen in her hand, knowing that would be your next demand.

“okay, mom.” sarah said, grabbing the sunscreen from paige. she passed it along to jana. the bottle had made it around the entire group and back to you. soon enough everyone left and it was just you and paige left on the beach, you had told her to go and do something but she insisted on staying with you. the sun was shining bright and it was perfect for you to tan and that’s what you planned on doing for a while.

paige sat down on the towel she had spread out and watched as you took off your bathing suit cover and discarded it on top of your bag. she couldn't take her eyes off your body, the light pink bikini looked perfect on you. her eyes roamed up and down your body, taking in all your beauty, and she could almost drool.

yes, she knew you were absolutely breathtakingly beautiful and she knew she had some feeling for you that were behind friendly but this just sealed it. she wanted you and she didn't know how, but she was going to have you at some point.

being to absorbed in staring at you, she didn't hear you calling her name, not until you bend down and waved your hand in her face. she met your eyes and cleared her throat. "what?"

"i need you to put sunscreen on my back, i can't reach." you handed her the sunscreen and laid stomach down on your towel. you noticed her face had turned a bit red which made you scrunch up your face. paige squirted a bit in her hand and rubbed it together before spreading it across your skin, trying to keep herself from staring at your ass. "did you put any on? you're red."

"no im not." paige scoffed and looked away, she definitely was red but it wasn't because she hadn't put on any sunscreen. not that she was willing to tell you that. she sat back on her heels when she finished rubbing it into your skin.

"you definitely are." you laughed and sat up, reaching for the bottle. "now lay down so i can get your back."

she did as you said and laid on her stomach, you moved to straddle her back. you did just as she did but as soon as your hands landed on her, you could feel her tense up. as you ran your hands across her skin she tensed up more and suddenly it clicked it your head. the tensing, the blushing, and the staring all made sense now, seeing you in your bikini had her all worked up. you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t egg her on.

“relax, paige.”

“fuck- i’m trying.” she groaned, moving her head so her forehead rested on her crossed arms under her head. she wasn’t sure why she was acting like this, you were still the same as always and you were still just her best friend, so why was she acting like she’d never seen a girl in a bikini before?

you snickered as you retracted your hands and slid off her body. paige let out a sigh of relief when she felt your body leave hers.

“stop laughing, it’s not my fault you’re so heavy.” she flipped the conversation to teasing to distract you from what you already knew. paige lifted herself up on her forearms and turned her head to look at you.

you let out a gasp and placed your hand on your chest, your mouth dropping open in shock. “no you didn’t!”

paige shrugged her shoulders with a smirk on her face. you let out a scoff and reached into the sand, grabbing a handful of sand and throwing it at her back. now it was her turn for her jaw to drop, she looked between you hand-- that still had remains of the sand-- and your face that held a proud smile.

"you're gonna regret that." she shook her head, starting to sit up. your smile faded and it only took a second before you were jumping up and running away from her. paige jumped up and started to chase you, calling your name the whole time. you laughed and kept running. a ball got kicked in front of you, causing you to come to a halt so you didn't trip. paige caught up with you and grabbed you from behind.

"paige!" you laughed as she lifted you off the ground, her arms tight around you and holding you against her so you couldn't wiggle out. paige turned you around and started walking straight to the ocean. "wait! wait! no, paige- you better not throw me in there!"

"i told you i'd get you back, ma." she laughed, walking further into the water. she was about knee deep but she still had a tight grip on your body, she wasn't going to let you go just yet. you were still kicking your feet and yelling at her to take you back. "hmm, beg me not to throw you in."

"why would i-" you started but quickly stopped when you felt her loosen her grip. "okay! okay! please, paige! i don't want to get wet! please, i'll give you what ever you want, just take me back to the beach!"

paige hummed in content and turned around, walking out of the water and setting you down on the sand. she ignored the icky feeling of sand sticking to her feet. you turned to face her with a scowl on your face and your arms crossed over your chest.

though you acted like you were upset with her, you knew you weren’t. you loved those moments with her, the moments where you could see a glimpse into the window of a relationship. you loved how playful she could get but how she also knew when to stop before going too far.

you didn’t have to beg for her not to throw you in the water—not really— if you expressed to her that you really didn’t want to be thrown into the water she would’ve taken you back immediately. you could trust her with your life, she would never intentionally do anything to hurt you and you knew it was mutual.

“that was so not funny.” you shook your head at her. paige laughed and shrugged her shoulders, reaching out for your hand to walk you back to your things so you could finally relax and tan like you initially intended.

paige had been watching you tan for nearly an hour. well, not the whole hour, she had looked away to watch people and read a book. for the most part, though, her eyes had been trained on you. she looked over your body, biting her lip at how perfect you looked. you had rotated onto your back a few minutes prior and she had a clear view of your face.

she thought you looked perfect, your skin sunkissed, lips pouty and perfect. all she could think about was leaning over and pressing her lips against yours. it had become such an overwhelming thought in her head to the point she couldn’t even pick up her book and read anymore.

she wanted to reach out and run her hand over your exposed stomach. she wanted to decorate your body with hickeys to show everyone that you were hers, not that they didn’t already know. she wanted you, all of you, and she had finally made up her mind that she was done pretending she didn’t.

“you’re staring again.” paige nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard your voice, her eyes immediately moving away from your thighs and up to meet yours. she opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out but a choked noise, she shook her head and looked away. you folded your sunglasses and set them aside. “i’ve been watching you stare at me for the past hour.”

“you’ve been awake this whole time.” she looked back at you, her cheeks getting red knowing that she had been caught. she tried to deflect but she was still just as embarrassed. “that’s creepy.”

“says the one that got staring.” you laughed, sitting up and reaching for your phone. you quite enjoyed the fact that she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you, it made you feel good knowing that she liked what she saw. you tossed your phone to the side after checking the time and crawled forward to lay yourself over paige’s lap. “i’m getting hungry, p.”

“we have reservations at 7:30.” she looked down at you and pushed your hair out of your face. it was only 4pm so you still had hours to go before your dinner plans, you weren’t sure you could wait that long.

“i’m hungry now.” you pouted, batting your lashes at her. paige’s eyes were drawn to your lips as you pushed them out into a pout, her thumb twitched as she taught the urge to trace it over them.

“c’mon, i’m sure we can find something in the meantime.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“oh my gosh! tomorrow can we do absolutely nothing.” jana groaned when you all walked through the door of the house. you all had just gotten back from having dinner and the day was finally over, you could all go to your beds and relax for the rest of the night.

“i agree, everything was fun but im ready to sleep.” morgan shook her head, falling down onto the couch dramatically.

“well, you are all free to do whatever. i’m about to shower and head to bed, i love you all and goodnight.” you closed the front door behind you and locked up. you didn’t give anyone any time to ask you anything and went straight to your room. once you made it to your bedroom, you immediately starting to undress. you kicked your heels off to the side haphazardly and went to stand in front of your dresser so you could look in the mirror.

you ran your hands down your sides as you rotated slightly to look at your body. you thought you looked pretty good tonight, the black dress you had on adorned your body and accentuated your curves perfectly. just as you reached back to try and unzip your dress there was a knock on the door.

you let out a exhausted sigh and gave whoever was there permission to enter. you turned around to watch the door open and paige walked in, the annoyance in your body washed away as soon as she walked in. you should've known it would be her and you didn't mind that it was her. you always wanted to be around her, no matter how socially drained you were.

paige sauntered in and fell down on her back onto your bed, she stretched her arms out beside her and spread her legs. you stared at her for a minute, your eyes glued to the slip of skin that showed under her shirt when she raised her arms. you found herself wishing you could see more than just that bit, your skin starting to get hot at the thought. you forced yourself to turn around and busy yourself, deciding that taking off your jewelry would work.

paige sat up in the bed and leaned forward, resting her head in her hands on her knees. her eyes roamed up and down your body, taking in the backside of you and trying to memorize all your curves. she wished she could be the one to unzip your dress, she wished she could run her hands over your body and feel you for herself... she wished she could do more than just stare.

of course, you caught her staring at you and you figured you might not have been the only one to think you looked good tonight. you watched her watch you for a minute or two, you wanted to enjoy the way you could see the lust in her eyes.

just as you opened your mouth to speak her eyes met yours in the mirror. it was like the air in the room got 10x thicker the longer you stared at each other. in that moment you knew you couldn't deny what was happening between you two. you both knew that there was no point in denying it anymore, not when you looked at each other the way you did.

paige decided that she was tired of the distance between you and she finally stood up. she held eye contact with you the entire time she walked up behind you. you placed your hands flat on the dresser and took a deep breath as she invaded your space.

she hesitated for a second, mentally battling herself, before she reached up and slid her hands around your waist. she kept a small space between you just incase but she had a feeling you wouldn't pull away, and she was right. it was quiet, the only sound you heard was your heart thumping in your chest.

"you looked good tonight. so damn good." she broke the silence between you. paige ran her hand up your back and pushed your hair all to one side, exposing the right side of your neck to her.

"thank you, paige." your voice was merely a whisper. you almost didn't want to speak at all, scared she would be able to hear the shake in your voice. paige ran her fingertips over your warm skin, causing a shiver to run through your body and goosebumps to erupt on your skin. "you looked good too."

she only hummed in response. it went quiet again and suddenly her hands weren't on you anymore, your body went cold from the absence of her. she took a step back but she was still in your reach. you turned around to face her, your eyes scanning her face to find some type of answer to what was happening.

you weren't sure what had came over you but before you knew it you were reaching out and grabbing her by her shirt, pulling her into you and cupping her face. her hands immediately fell to your hips, lowering her head to you as she pulled you flush against her body.

you leaned into her and let your lips brush against hers, your eyes closed as you both breathed against each others lips. it was like all the times you had imagined this moment happening were playing out in your head. when it happened, it happened. you finally connected your lips fully and kissed her hard, paige returned it with more force. her hands grasped at your waist and tightly.

you both let all the built up emotions you had for each other out in that very moment. you kissed and grabbed at each other life you were each others oxygen. the kiss was messy and perfect all at the same time. paige ran her hands around your body and cupped your ass, she pushed you back until you were pressed against the dresser.

"can i take this off, please?" she pulled away from your lips to look at you, her hand moving up your back to grab the zipper of your dress. you wouldn’t say no to her, not when you’ve been wanting this for the longest. you weren’t even sure you could say no to her, not when her voice was so breathy and desperate.

you turned around and presented your backside to her, slightly leaning over the dresser and pressing your ass into her. paige bit her lip to suppress the moan wanting to leave her. she took her time with tugging the zipper down, her eyes being drawn to every inch of your skin that was being exposed.

if it weren’t for the excitement running through your body keeping you warm you would have shivered at the cool air on your back. once she got the zipper all the way down she gently pulled the dress down and let it fall to a pool around your feet. paige leaned down and pressed her lips to your back, her hands wandering on your body, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to touch so she touched everything.

“paige,” you whimpered, your head tilting to the side as she started to kiss your neck. she let out a hum of acknowledgment as she cupped your tits through the lacy black bra you were wearing. “is this- is this just the alcohol? are we gonna regret it?”

paige paused, she stood up straight and turned you around to face her. “we didn’t even have much to drink. i want you, y/n, i’ve wanted you for a while and i know you want me too.”

“i do. i’ve wanted this for a long time, wanted you.” you expressed. paige scanned your face, staring deep into your eyes to make sure you were telling the truth. there was a moment of quiet between you as you both stared into each others eyes. you couldn’t take it anymore, now that you knew for sure the feeling was mutual you didn’t want to waste anymore time.

you fisted her shirt and started to pull it over her head. paige stood there and let you take her clothes off until she was only in her sports bra and boxers. once you had tossed the clothes aside she was back on you, lips crashing into yours and her hands grabbing at your body. you did the same, you took the chance to run your hands up and down her abs, like you’ve wanted to do for a while now.

paige nudged your legs with her knee until you got the hint to spread them. she slotted her knee between your thighs and used her hold on your hips to start grinding you down on her tensed thigh. the friction between your legs had you gasping against her lips and eventually you started to move on your own, grinding your clothed cunt against her.

you could feel your slick drenching your panties and you knew you were probably leaving a trail on her thigh, not that she minded anyway. you pulled away from her lips and laid your forehead against her shoulder. “paige, i need more.” you whined, grinding down on her harder.

“fuck,” she let out a breath as she looked down at your body rocking on her thigh, her fingernails dug into the plush of your hips before she swiftly lifted you up in her arms.

“m’gonna make you feel so good, baby. don’t know how long i’ve been waiting for this.” she mumbled as she turned around and walked you to the bed, she gently laid you down and hovered over you. “can i do that? can i make you feel you good?” she spoke against your lips.

“yes-yes please, paige.” you exhaled, your lashes fluttering slightly. she softly kissed your lips before she started to kiss further down your body. while she kissed your neck she reached under you to unhook your bra, you arched your back a bit to help her.

once she got your bra off she immediately attached herself to your tits, her mouth closed around one of your harden nipples and her fingers gently toying with the other. after a few seconds she switched to give the other the same attention. you ran your fingers through her hair, grabbing a fist full and slightly tugging at it.

you’re eyes shot open at the sound of the low moan that came from her, you looked down at her to see her already looking up at you. paige bueckers liked getting her hair pulled and that fact made your stomach flutter. “didn’t know you were into that.”

“i’m into a lot.” she admitted, descending down your body. once she got to your hips she sat up and hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down you legs and tossing them to the side. she cursed under her breath and bit her bottom lip when she saw how wet you were. you whimpered at the cool air you were exposed to when she ran her hands up the back of your thighs and push your legs up and apart.

she was spreading you out for her to see and you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t like the almost predatory expression on her face. she looked like she wanted to eat you alive and you weren’t sure you would stop her if she tried. eventually she leaned down and pressed a few kisses to each of your thighs before diving straight into running her tongue through your folds, humming and closing her eyes at the taste of you.

under any other circumstances she would have teased you and kissed your body more before jumping straight into eating you but she had been wanting this for so long and now that she had it she didn’t want to waste any time.

your hips bucked into her face when she wrapped her lips around your clit and gently sucked. you tried to keep your moans to a minimum since there were other people in the house. so you bit down on your lips in efforts to keep quiet.

you could tell when she really started to get into it, she switched between flicking her tongue on your swollen clit to gently sucking to running her tongue through your slit. she eventually added her fingers into the mix, pumping two long fingers into your sopping cunt. the sound your pussy was making combine with the sound of your moans was music to her hears.

your back arched from the bed and you brought your hands up to pinch your nipples. paige was eating your out like she was starved and your cunt would give her the nutrients she needed, she loved the way you tasted better than she had imagined.

“fuck paige! mmph— shit, you’re so good at this. don’t stop please—“ your moans weren’t the only ones sounding out in the room, paige was moaning just as much as you. you reached down and gripped her hair again, tugging at it harder than she did before.

you were starting to thrash around as you felt yourself getting closer and closer, your hips stuttered trying to pull away and get closer at the same time. paige wrapped her arms around your thighs and pulled you into her, using her strength to keep you flush against her.

“m’gonna cum- fuck, m’cumming paige” you couldn’t help how your moans got way louder, you were sure everyone had heard you by know but you couldn’t care less in that moment. your body tensed up as your orgasm crashed down on you. paige worked you through it, still working her mouth and fingers, and she didn’t slow down either. eventually you were starting to get overstimulated and started to push her head away. “okay, okay! that’s enough for now.”

paige pulled away from your cunt with your juices dripping down her chin and fingers. she looked up at you and smiled teasingly, tilting her head to go along with it. “is it though?”

“yes it is.” you rolled your eyes with a laugh, falling back into the pillows with a sigh. you were loving the post orgasm bliss, eyes glazed over and low. you thought that it had to be the best you ever had, or maybe it was because it had been awhile since you last came at the hand of someone else. paige kissed her way up your body until she was level with your face, she held herself up by her fist and stared into your eyes. you reached up and cupped her face, wiping your mess off her face. “i can’t believe we did that.”

“me neither. i’m glad we did, though.” she leaned down and pressed her lips on yours, slipping her tongue into your mouth so you could taste yourself on her tongue. you wrapped your arms around her neck to hold her against you as you deepened the kiss.

you were finally ready to go again but the sound and feeling of paige’s phone sounding off over and over made you both break away from the moment. paige groaned and sat up, looking behind her and grabbing her phone she had left on the bed when she first came in.

you watched as she unlocked her phone and looked at the text. she she snorted and shook her head, her eyes locking onto yours and you gave her a curious look. she turned her phone around to show you the string of messages from the group chat you made.

sarah

okay well that was disgusting

🤮🤮

omg!! my poor virgin ears!!!

y’all are NASTY

azzi

i think it’s nice they finally realized they’re practically in love with each other

sarah

azzi please…

you shut your eyes and pushed the phone back to paige, sinking into the pillows and letting out a long groan as the embarrassment started to sink in.

“oh. my. gosh.”

‎ ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

a/n: so this actually took way longer than i expected and im not a fan of it tbh.

taglist: @jnkbueckers

#m speaks #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers x fem!reader smut

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solxamber · 2 days ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Speedrunning Marriage Fraud || Ace Trappola

You get isekai’d as the heroine in a romance novel, but instead of dreamy suitors, you’re stuck with a yandere cryptid, a billionaire with no impulse control, and a knight who thinks he's in a Shakespearean tragedy (and more).

Your solution? Commit marriage fraud with your best friend, Ace Trappola, and hope no one asks for a marriage certificate.

Series Masterlist

You should have known better than to leave your apartment. You should have listened to your instincts, that deep, primal voice that told you the outside world was a dangerous and unforgiving place. But no. You just had to touch grass.

It had all started with an innocent desire for fresh air. You had gone to the park, found a nice spot, and opened the novel that a colleague had given you—probably as a form of psychological torture disguised as a gift. From the summary alone, you knew it was going to be a lot, but you had no idea just how much your soul would suffer.

The heroine was a noble who clearly did not want to be in this story. Every single page was filled with her staring off into the void, giving half-hearted responses to the five men vying for her attention, like she was a protagonist who hadn’t realized she was in a romance novel yet.

And the love interests. Oh, the love interests.

The (Discount) Yandere Viscount (who had never heard of stealth)

His idea of "obsessively watching over the heroine" was lurking in the shadows like a particularly uncoordinated cryptid. Every single time he tried to “stalk” her, he tripped over his own sword. At one point, he dramatically whispered, “I will protect you… wait, don’t run!” before faceplanting into a bush.

2. The Childhood Acquaintance (who was delusional)

This man had spoken to the heroine exactly once when they were both six years old, but somehow convinced himself they were soulmates. He carried around the same handkerchief she had given him more than 15 years ago like it was a sacred relic and refused to take no for an answer.

3. The "Genius Strategist" Prince (who had the IQ of a raisin)

The man had already planned their wedding, their honeymoon, and the names of their three children within four minutes of meeting her. When she told him she wasn’t interested, his brain blue-screened and he simply repeated, “Ah, you’re just shy.” No, sir. She is not shy. She just isn't interested.

4. The Brooding Duke of the North (who was a caricature of a chaebol heir from a K-Drama)

He believed love could be bought. He once gifted her a solid gold chair because “only the finest furniture is worthy of your presence.” He bought an entire carnival just so she wouldn’t have to wait in line. At one point, he threw money at a random tree, and you weren’t even sure why.

5. The Drama King Knight (who needed to calm down)

He was so powerful but refused to use his strength unless it was for dramatic effect. He got scratched by a cat once and collapsed into the heroine’s arms like he had been mortally wounded. His sword had the power to split mountains, but the only time he ever drew it was to dramatically point at the moon while monologuing about destiny.

And the villainess? She wasn’t even that bad. Compared to these five disasters, she looked like a sensible person.

Somehow, despite all odds, the heroine chose Ace Trappola, her childhood friend, which you had to respect. That was the one good decision this novel made. But just when you thought there might be some semblance of satisfaction—an assassin appeared out of nowhere (sent by the villainess of course) and killed her.

That was it. That was the ending.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you weren’t sure if it was grief for the heroine, sheer frustration, or physical pain from how hard you had been laughing at this disaster of a novel. It was the most ridiculous, nonsensical, brain-cell-destroying thing you had ever read. You could feel your neurons committing arson inside your skull.

You snapped the book shut and decided that was enough stupidity for one day.

It was time to go home.

As you trudged back, your brain still processing the absolute war crime of a plot you had just read, you heard it.

A faint rumbling.

A presence.

And then—

“OUT OF THE WAY, SONNY!”

A blur of gray hair and unholy speed tore through the park, the sound of wheels screeching against pavement like a demonic banshee’s cry. You turned your head just in time to see a grandma on rollerblades, moving at a velocity no elderly person should legally be able to achieve.

For a split second, you locked eyes.

And in that moment, you knew.

You were not surviving this.

Before you could even process what was happening, she collided into you full force, sending you into a full aerial somersault before you crashed into the bushes like a ragdoll. You barely registered the thundering roar of her departure as she continued skating into the sunset, leaving you for dead.

Now, as you lay crumpled in a bush, your body feeling like it had been hit by a sentient freight train in orthopedic shoes, you had to accept the consequences of your actions. The world had punished you for your hubris.

She. Didn’t. Even. Stumble.

Your body ached, your limbs refused to move, and as darkness crept into your vision, your last conscious thought was, How is a senior citizen more sturdy than me…?

And then, everything went black.

The first thing you noticed upon waking up was the suspiciously pleasant smell. It was fresh, like lavender and high society, with a hint of expensive tea and wealth you’d never personally known.

Your groggy brain latched onto the first thought it could process:

Damn. Hospitals really upgraded their budget.

Then, half a second later, a much more terrifying realization hit you.

Oh God. The ambulance bill.

Your eyes snapped open in unfiltered financial terror, hands clutching at the sheets as you prepared to calculate your medical debt down to the last miserable cent. You were already accepting your fate as a lifelong indentured servant to the healthcare system when—

The ceiling was too ornate. The bed was too soft.

And there was a man sitting beside you, holding your hand.

Your breath caught in your throat as your vision sharpened. Red hair. Heart earring. A cocky smirk, even in his sleep.

You knew that face.

You knew that godforsaken face.

This wasn’t a hospital. This wasn’t even your world.

Somewhere in the heavens, a cosmic entity was laughing as you stared at Ace Trappola, the very same Ace Trappola from the cover of the book you were reading before you got absolutely trucked by a grandma on rollerblades.

Your will to live immediately evaporated.

This couldn’t be happening. This was not real. There was no way that the trashy dumpster fire of a novel you barely got halfway through had decided to swallow you whole and spit you out as its heroine. You were a victim of circumstance. You hadn’t even wanted to read the book. Your colleague had shoved it into your hands with a laugh, saying, “It’s so bad, you’ll love it.”

And now? Now you were going to die in it.

While you were still reeling from this existential horror, Ace stirred beside you, stretching like he’d just taken a refreshing nap instead of being complicit in your suffering.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” he said.

You almost threw up in real time.

NO. NO, HE DID NOT JUST SKYRIM YOU.

Before you could even begin to unpack that offensive introduction, Ace leaned back in his chair, regarding you with an amused grin.

“Man, you were out for so long,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself at your expense. “We were starting to get worried.”

He paused, then snickered. “Not that I can blame you, though. You got knocked out real bad after Sir Drama decided to pick you up and carry you across a puddle—y’know, because chivalry—and then you started struggling and he, uh…” Ace coughed, failing to smother his laughter. “He might’ve… dropped you on your head.”

Your soul left your body.

The sheer force of your disgust, fury, and resignation compressed into a singularity of unparalleled despair.

You had already suffered a head injury in this world and it hadn’t even been five minutes.

Meanwhile, Ace—clearly unbothered by your silent mental breakdown—casually reached out and ruffled your hair like you were some kind of small animal.

“Try not to scare everyone like that next time, yeah?” he said, standing up with a stretch. “Anyway, I’ll let you rest. See ya, drama queen.”

And just like that, he walked out.

The door clicked shut.

And you were left alone.

You sat there for a full minute, staring at the ceiling, dead inside.

Then at the overly luxurious furniture.

Then at the mirror across the room.

You knew what you would see before you even looked.

White nightgown. Perfect noble lady bedhead. The very same reflection that haunted you from the novel’s terrible cover.

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaled, and let out the most guttural, primal scream into your pillow.

This was real. This was happening.

And worst of all—

You were about to be pursued by five of the worst men to ever disgrace the literary world.

Tears pricked at your eyes.

You needed a plan.

You needed a way out.

You needed to reject them.

You needed to survive.

With renewed determination, you wiped your tears, hardened your heart, and began plotting your escape.

The moment you accepted that you were, in fact, trapped in this flaming disaster of a novel, you immediately went into damage control mode.

Step One: Gather Allies.

Your first course of action was to round up every single sane person in your immediate social circle—which, in this case, meant the heroine’s original friend group. You weren’t sure how well they’d take this, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

So, within the hour, you managed to corral Ace, Deuce, Riddle, Cater, and Trey into a private room like some kind of organized intervention.

They were all staring at you expectantly.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the sheer stupidity of what you were about to say.

“Listen,” you began, voice firm. “I need help. Serious help. I am being actively hunted by five of the worst men to ever exist, and I need to figure out how to reject them before I end up dead in an alley.”

There was a pause.

Riddle, bless his soul, was the first to react.

He patted you on the back, nodding solemnly. “Finally,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you to grow a spine. It’s about time.”

You blinked. That was the most support you had ever received in your life.

Meanwhile, Trey and Cater exchanged amused glances, Ace looked way too smug for comfort, and Deuce was already looking at Ace like he was onto something.

“You need to get rid of them?” Trey asked, as if he were merely discussing pastry ingredients.

“Yes,” you stressed. “Immediately.”

Riddle hummed in approval. “Good. Then let’s strategize.”

You, Riddle, Trey, and Cater huddled together like you were planning a war campaign.

Ace and Deuce, on the other hand, were having a separate conversation entirely.

A conversation that consisted of Deuce elbowing Ace repeatedly while Ace sat there, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Then, with the casual arrogance of someone who absolutely had an ulterior motive, Ace stretched his arms and leaned back.

“Y’know,” he drawled, cutting into your very serious rejection plan, “we could make things way easier if you just tell ‘em you’re already taken.”

You stared at him. “Excuse me?”

Ace smirked. “You'd just need a fake lover, right?”

“…Yes?”

He shrugged. “I could do it.”

The room went silent.

Deuce’s face twisted into an undisguised scowl of "That's not what i meant." Riddle raised an eyebrow. Trey hid a knowing smile behind his hand. Cater was visibly entertained.

You, on the other hand, were experiencing about five different emotions at once.

On one hand, Ace clearly had a crush on the heroine—for you. Which meant using him for this felt slightly scummy.

On the other hand, game was game, and survival was survival.

And you were not above exploiting every advantage you could get.

“…Alright,” you agreed, shoving your morals into a dark abyss.

Ace grinned like he’d just won a bet.

Deuce looked one second away from committing homicide.

And just like that, Operation “Escape Horrible Men” was officially underway.

The first lunatic to cross your path was, tragically, the childhood acquaintance—if you could even call him that. This was a man whose entire personality was built on a single act of kindness you had allegedly performed when you were six, like some kind of feral pigeon imprinting on the first human to throw it bread.

He had the look of a man who had been living exclusively off delusions and a diet of unattainable dreams, and you could already feel your soul attempting to evacuate your body at the sight of him.

It all started when you, Ace, and Deuce were having a perfectly nice day at the market. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and you were engaged in the kind of casual battery that only true friends participated in—swatting at each other, shoving, stealing food mid-bite, and slinging arms over shoulders like a group of rowdy idiots. It was peace. It was joy. And then he appeared.

Like a cockroach that had survived a nuclear apocalypse, he inserted himself into the conversation with an ease that defied all reason, his hand creeping onto your waist as if that was something people just did.

The audacity. The sheer gall. The unmitigated temerity.

On instinct, you physically rejected his existence. You shoved him off with enough force to make a statement, then slammed your heel down on his foot. You were not the original heroine. You did not believe in suffering in silence. You believed in equal opportunity violence.

But this man—this absolute buffoon—had the mental resilience of a particularly dense brick. He simply did not process rejection.

You walked away. He followed. Like a stray cat you accidentally fed once, he clung to your side, ignoring all signs that he was unwelcome.

You showed Deuce a cool charm for his sword; he inserted his completely unsolicited opinion.

You cracked a joke to Ace; he forced out a laugh like you had told it for his benefit.

At one point, you were fairly certain he was just mimicking your breathing patterns to convince himself you were soulmates.

Alright. You had tried being civil. Time to be petty.

You turned to Ace with the kind of dramatic flourish that only came with years of consuming terrible romance novels, throwing yourself into his arms like some damsel in distress. Ace, to his credit, took exactly one second to process before he immediately understood the assignment.

He leaned in close, breath brushing against your ear like he was whispering something scandalous, and you, in turn, made a show of gasping, clutching his shirt like he had just recited the most romantic poetry in existence.

Then he hand-fed you a pastry.

It was too much. Too intimate. Too stupidly effective. You let out a little dreamy sigh, delicately biting into the pastry like it was a love declaration and not just your breakfast. Ace, ever the performer, brushed a crumb off your lips with his thumb.

Deuce, at this point, was convulsing with laughter in the background, nearly choking on his own spit.

But the acquaintance? The parasite? The man who had lived the past decade of his life under the assumption that you were his? He was seething. His face was twisted like he had just swallowed a whole lemon rind and all.

Time to twist the knife.

You turned to Ace with the most lovestruck expression you could muster and, in a voice dripping with sugar and malice, cooed, “Darling, when are you going to propose? I simply cannot wait to be engaged to you”

Ace visibly blue-screened for a moment. You could hear the Windows error noise in real-time. But he was nothing if not quick on his feet.

In a devastating move, he took your hand in both of his, looked into your eyes like you personally invented the concept of love, and murmured, “My love, I’ve searched the entire kingdom for a ring that shines as brightly as your eyes, but nothing has been worthy of you yet.”

That was it. That was the final blow. The childhood acquaintance physically recoiled, his reality shattering like fragile glass, his world crumbling like an over-soaked sponge cake.

“You’re… dating?” he whispered, trembling, as if he was the protagonist in a tragic opera.

You and Ace turned to him in perfect synchrony, all wide eyes and lovesick smiles, and in the most disgustingly sweet voices you could manage, declared, “We’re soooo in love~”

He ran away crying.

It was magnificent. It was euphoric. You turned to watch him flee, skidding into the distance like a wounded deer, while Deuce collapsed against a stand, wheezing.

And then, just for a moment—barely a second—you caught Ace watching you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then he smirked, slinging an arm around your shoulder like nothing had happened.

One down. Four to go.

The invitation to the ball had arrived with the pomp and circumstance of an execution notice.

You had already survived assassination attempts (by fate and by your own refusal to engage with the five unhinged men vying for your hand), but now you were being asked to waltz? Like some graceful noble lady who had spent her entire life twirling through candlelit halls and not someone whose idea of “dancing” was flailing in the kitchen at 2 AM while waiting for instant noodles to cook?

You tried to tell yourself, maybe the original heroine’s muscle memory will kick in.

It did not.

You attempted a single spin in your room and promptly tripped over the hem of your dress, landing face-first into the carpet with all the elegance of a sedated goose. The reality was undeniable—you needed help.

Unfortunately, Deuce and Riddle, your two best hopes for structured, competent lessons, were drowning in their official duties. That left you with Trey(thankfully), Cater, and Ace.

Ace. The man who claimed he could “totally waltz” but then proceeded to move like he was dodging invisible potholes. He swore he was just "freestyling," which, sure, was a thing people did—just not in 18th-century ballroom dancing.

Trey, ever the responsible elder brother figure, took pity on your plight and offered to teach you. You gratefully accepted, placing your hand in his, and the two of you began to move across the floor. Or, rather, Trey moved and you decimated his toes with every step.

Ace, watching from the sidelines, looked like he had been personally wronged by the universe.

His jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed. His grip on his drink? White-knuckled. If he had been any tenser, his soul might have ascended on the spot.

Cater, in contrast, was having the time of his life.

Sipping tea like a smug little gremlin, he watched the spectacle unfold with the kind of amusement normally reserved for reality TV drama. He did not care that Ace was clearly dying inside. In fact, it was making the tea taste better.

Meanwhile, Trey suffered.

He suffered so much.

You stepped on his foot. Again. You stepped on it without intent. Without malice. But with the weight of a hundred failed dance lessons.

“Ah, you’re getting there,” Trey said with the patience of a saint, even as he subtly tried to guide you away from his crushed toes.

Ace twitched.

The evening ended with you being marginally better at dancing and Ace looking like he had been force-fed an entire lemon tree.

The next day, you arrived at Ace’s estate with the singular goal of dragging him into town for shenanigans.

Instead, you were met at the entrance by his butler, who, with a knowing wink that immediately put you on edge, informed you that Ace was “currently practicing” and that you were "free to go in and see for yourself."

This, of course, set off all your mental alarms.

You pushed open the door just a crack, peeking inside, and what you saw nearly short-circuited your brain.

There, in the middle of the room, was Ace Trappola.

Dancing.

With a coat hanger.

He held it like a real partner, moving across the floor with surprising grace, his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips pressing into a frustrated pout whenever he missed a step.

You felt something unfamiliar rise in your chest. A warmth. A flutter. A sense of being deeply, irreversibly touched.

You immediately squashed the feeling. Crushed it under your heel like a bug. Incinerated it. You refused to let sentimentality win.

So, naturally, you cleared your throat and went straight for the teasing.

“Wow, Ace. I didn’t know you and the coat hanger were so close.”

Ace startled so hard he nearly dropped the poor inanimate object.

He turned to you, face flushing an almost adorable shade of pink, before scowling and attempting to play it cool.

“I—this—I wasn’t practicing for you or anything!” he scoffed, crossing his arms as if that would somehow erase the memory from your brain.

“Oh, of course not,” you said, nodding sagely. “You were obviously training to impress the coat hanger.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed the back of his neck. Refused to meet your eyes.

“…You wanna practice together?”

And that was how you found yourself dancing with Ace in the dim glow of the evening light, his hands warm against yours, the two of you laughing every time you stumbled.

It was awkward. It was messy. It was weirdly fun.

And somewhere in the background, Ace’s butler was already reallocating the estate’s budget for your wedding.

You had successfully survived the dance.

This was, by all accounts, a miracle.

There had been no toe-crushing disasters, no tragic falls, no wardrobe malfunctions that would have made the noble ladies clutch their pearls and whisper about you for decades. Not even a single case of you flinging your arms out too enthusiastically and smacking a duke’s son in the face.

You had defied fate.

And it definitely helped that your partner had been Ace—as much as that bruised your pride to admit. He was annoyingly decent at making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet, even though he kept smirking the entire time like he was waiting for you to say something ridiculous like "Wow, Ace, you're so talented and charming and handsome, what would I ever do without you?"

You would rather perish.

So, once the dance ended, you immediately excused yourself and found a nice, solid chair to collapse into. Ace, good little fake boyfriend that he was, offered to get you both drinks, which was a very convenient excuse for you to not be near him for five minutes.

And that was when the Genius Strategist Prince swooped in.

You did not see him approach. You did not sense his presence. It was as if he had teleported into existence like some eldritch being fueled purely by narcissism and misplaced confidence.

One moment, you were sitting peacefully, and the next—

He was there.

The cursed arm wrapped around your shoulders. The infuriating smirk. The unbearable arrogance wafting off him like overpriced cologne.

Oh, this was bad.

"You looked quite beautiful on the dance floor tonight," he murmured, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. "Almost like a queen-to-be."

This man had the audacity—the sheer, unholy nerve—to look at you like you were supposed to giggle and blush at that line instead of chewing through your own tongue in an effort not to commit a crime.

You had one option.

You fled.

You simply stood up and walked away, directly towards the only person in this cursed ballroom who could save you from this richly perfumed disaster of a man.

Ace.

Ace, who had perfectly timed his return with two glasses of something that was hopefully strong enough to erase the last ten seconds from your memory. Ace, who took one look at your expression, saw the absolute horror trailing behind you, and immediately understood the assignment.

Without missing a beat, he wrapped an arm around you.

Possessive. Protective. The very image of a devoted fake lover.

You had never been so grateful for his dramatic streak.

The prince, who had followed you like a particularly persistent case of food poisoning, bristled.

"Remove your arm," he commanded, his voice low and sharp.

Ace did not remove his arm.

In fact, he pulled you closer, tilting his head just slightly in a way that perfectly balanced smugness and challenge.

"Why should I take my hand off my partner?" he asked.

You, who had spent your entire life developing a survival instinct specifically for escaping situations like this, felt the distant whisper of a self-preservation alarm. That was still the crown prince, after all. Ace was many things—irritating, reckless, an absolute menace—but he was not immortal.

Fortunately, before you had to say anything, help arrived.

Across the ballroom, Riddle nodded.

To your left, Deuce gave a subtle thumbs-up.

The plan was in motion.

Phase One

From the far end of the ballroom, Trey, the royal chef, emerged, balancing an enormous cake on a silver tray. It was a towering, masterful creation—a true work of art, layers stacked high, delicately sculpted sugar decorations shimmering under the chandelier light.

A cake that, in mere moments, would be used as a weapon of mass destruction.

Trey took one fateful step.

Tripped (As planned)

And the entire cake, in all its elaborate, multi-tiered glory, toppled over.

Straight. Onto. The. Prince.

Ace immediately shielded you from the debris. His hand was firm on your back as he turned you slightly away from the chaos, and when you glanced up at him, he was grinning.

Smug. Smug. Smug.

Something in your stomach did something.

You ignored it.

The prince, meanwhile, stood there in horrified silence, cake and frosting dripping down his very expensive, very now-ruined clothes.

And then came Phase Two

Deuce, moving with the "concern" of a man who absolutely knew he was about to ruin someone’s life, rushed forward.

"Your Highness," he said earnestly, holding out his own coat, "you should remove your clothes."

The entire ballroom went silent.

The prince, still picking fondant out of his hair, turned slowly.

"What?"

"You’re covered in cake," Deuce explained, voice so painfully genuine that you nearly choked.

The prince, who absolutely would rather die than undress in public, refused.

Which was unfortunate. Because Deuce, bless his heart, did not take no for an answer.

He grabbed the prince’s jacket.

And pulled.

The ballroom collectively inhaled.

Because underneath—where there should have been the broad, powerful shoulders of a “warrior prince,” where there should have been toned muscle sculpted by years of battle and strategy—

Was nothing.

Not just nothing—an outright betrayal of physics and expectation.

The prince was built like a malnourished Victorian ghost.

His coat—once the source of his so-called “strong, masculine presence”—had been heavily padded. Not just lightly stuffed, but outright engineered to create the illusion of bulging biceps and warrior-like stature.

Biceps, it was now evident, larger than his actual head.

The ballroom gasped.

The prince, red-faced and humiliated, did what any reasonable man would do when faced with public disgrace.

He ran.

You, Ace, Deuce, and your co-conspirators high-fived.

And the next morning, Cater, journalist extraordinaire, published an excruciatingly detailed article titled:

"From Brawn to Busted: The Prince’s Muscle Mirage!"

2 down. 3 to go.

It had been a regular morning. A peaceful morning. A morning where you had intended to do nothing more than descend the stairs like a normal, functioning member of society, have breakfast, and not make a complete spectacle of yourself before noon.

The universe had other plans.

One moment, you had been confidently stepping forward, and the next—

Betrayal.

Your foot had missed the step. Gravity, that treacherous, fickle force, had seized its chance. You had plummeted like a sack of potatoes launched off a moving carriage, limbs flailing, dignity abandoning ship before you even hit the floor.

And then you hit the floor.

Hard.

Ace, your beloved thorn in the side, had stood over you, blinking, until you groaned and weakly waved a hand to signal that you were probably not dead.

And that was when he had completely lost it.

He had laughed for ten minutes straight. A full, wheezing, tears-in-his-eyes, struggling-to-breathe kind of laugh, slapping his knee like an old man who just heard the funniest joke of his life. The servants had peered around corners in confusion. One poor maid had whispered, "Should we call a doctor?" Not for you. For Ace, because he was about to rupture a lung.

"You're fine," he gasped out eventually, still giggling like a goblin. "It's just a sprain, right? But your ego— oh, your ego is never coming back from this one."

And that was how you had ended up here.

Ace had decided—without your input, without even a semblance of human decency— that you were now a particularly large handbag.

He carried you everywhere.

There was no logical reason for this. You could still walk. You had one (1) slightly messed-up ankle, you were fine. But Ace, seeing the opportunity to be the worst person alive, had simply hoisted you up like a particularly unruly sack of flour and declared, "Guess you're stuck with me, huh?"

And he had not put you down since.

Which led to your current predicament.

You had planned to meet Riddle, Trey, and Cater for tea in the gardens, because you were a person of class and refinement, not some gremlin carried around like stolen treasure. But did that stop Ace? No. Of course not.

The three of them had been waiting peacefully in the garden, cups of tea in hand, enjoying their serene afternoon—

And then Ace had strolled in, with you draped over his shoulder like a particularly expensive piece of luggage.

Silence.

The kind of silence that one might expect after watching a clown cartwheel directly into the king’s court.

Trey looked concerned. Riddle looked like he was going to spontaneously combust. Cater, to absolutely no one’s surprise, looked entertained.

And you? You had given up.

"You could just let me down, you know," you muttered, swatting at Ace’s shoulder in what you hoped was a dignified manner, though it probably looked more like a dying fish flopping around.

Ace grinned, because of course he did. "Nah. Too late. You’re furniture now."

You scowled. "Then put me near the table so I can actually reach my tea, you absolute menace—"

Ace ignored you completely.

He dropped into a chair, still holding you.

This was your life now.

Trey, who had likely woken up hoping for a quiet afternoon, cleared his throat and asked, very diplomatically, "So… sprained ankle?"

"Tragic accident," Ace said, like he was recounting the tale of a fallen soldier. "There I was, just minding my own business, when—boom. Disaster. Absolute catastrophe. They will sing songs about this one for years."

"You were laughing," you deadpanned.

"And now I'm grieving," Ace shot back.

Riddle, who had quite frankly had enough of both of you, massaged his temples.

Meanwhile, Cater, who had pulled out his camera at some point, was taking photos.

"This is gold," he muttered, already plotting his gossip column.

And then, just as you were mid-swat, trying to smack the smirk off Ace’s face while he cackled like a heathen, Riddle sighed under his breath, voice heavy with exhaustion and despair.

"They're so obvious," he muttered. "Sevens save us all."

Trey nodded solemnly. Cater just grinned.

It had been a perfectly normal day.

Which, of course, meant disaster was imminent.

You were standing in the grand hall, sipping a totally normal, non-poisoned cup of tea (probably), when you felt it. That eerie, spine-chilling sensation. The distinct, unsettling awareness that you were being watched.

Slowly, you turned your head.

A pair of glowing eyes peered at you from behind an indoor potted plant.

You sighed. Loudly. "Viscount, I can see you."

"Tch," the Viscount hissed, stepping out of his entirely inadequate hiding spot. "So perceptive… as expected of my fated beloved."

As if to ruin the illusion entirely, he tripped on his own cape and had to grab onto the plant for support. The entire thing tipped over with a thunderous CRASH.

Silence.

A servant slowly turned to look at him, unblinking.

The Viscount, sprawled across the floor, cleared his throat. "Pretend you did not see that."

You rubbed your temples. "What do you want?"

He rose to his feet dramatically—or at least, he tried. His foot got tangled in his cape again, and he had to do an awkward little hop to untangle himself before he could finally regain his dignity (what little he had left).

"I have come to confess," he intoned, "the depths of my undying love for you."

A dramatic wind blew through the hall. (Despite the fact that all the windows were closed.)

You braced yourself. This was going to be painful.

"From the moment I first laid eyes upon you," the Viscount continued, stepping forward (but nearly tripping over a rug). "I knew that you and I were bound by fate."

He gripped his chest. "Your beauty, your grace, your ability to evade me every time I attempt to watch over you from the shadows… truly, you are like a rare and precious bird, always just out of reach!"

"You mean because I run away every time you try to talk to me?" you deadpanned.

"Exactly!" he said, passionately. "Such a clever game of cat and mouse we play!"

You stared at him. He stared back, completely serious.

Cater was, once again, taking pictures of this entire trainwreck. Deuce had just pulled out a chair, grabbed a snack, and was watching like it was a soap opera.

"But no more!" the Viscount declared. "Today, I shall break this cycle and claim my rightful place at your side!"

He took a bold step forward—

—and promptly slipped on the fallen leaves from the potted plant.

There was a moment of absolute silence.

Then—THUMP.

He faceplanted straight into the marble floor.

Cater wheezed. Deuce actually fell out of his chair. Riddle was muttering something about public executions. Trey looked like he was reconsidering his entire life.

But the Viscount?

He slowly pushed himself up, nose bleeding, expression unfazed.

"A minor setback," he rasped, wiping the blood off his face with his own cape like some kind of tragic war hero. "Love… is pain."

You exhaled deeply. "Alright, you know what?" You straightened your posture, voice heavy with overwhelming sorrow. "My dear Viscount… if only you had come to me sooner."

His breath hitched. "You mean—?"

"If only fate were kinder," you continued, placing a hand on your chest. "If only my heart were not already…taken."

Fake gasps echoed through the hall.

The Viscount staggered. "No… it cannot be!"

"I am afraid so," you whispered. "For I… I have already pledged my love to…"

You spun dramatically—and pointed straight at Ace.

Ace, who immediately choked on his drink.

Ace, who had agreed to fake date you but was now staring at you like you had just struck him with a bolt of divine judgment.

Cater’s camera zoomed in on his expression.

You turned dramatically, seizing Ace’s arm with a grip that could bend steel. "My darling fiancé, my heart, my sun and stars!" you declared, throwing yourself against him like a maiden in distress. "Forgive me for not introducing you sooner—this is my betrothed, Ace Trappola!"

Ace made a sound like a cat getting drop-kicked across a room.

"WHAT."

The Viscount looked like someone had just run him through with a broadsword.

"I know," you said, voice trembling with unspeakable woe. "It seems impossible. Unthinkable. But love, my dear Viscount, is a force beyond comprehension. Who are we to fight against fate?"

Ace was still making distressed noises. Riddle looked like he was five seconds away from committing homicide.

"No—no, this cannot be!" The Viscount staggered back, clutching his chest like he had just been mortally wounded. "You would choose him over me?"

You gripped Ace’s collar, pulling him until your foreheads nearly touched. "How could I not?" you whispered. "Look at him. Look at his—his, um. His face!"

Ace mouthed: WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?

"His personality!" you continued, wildly grasping for reasons. "His—his unparalleled ability to be so Ace-like at all times!"

"I hate every single word coming out of your mouth," Ace muttered.

"And most of all," you gasped, voice hushed. "The way he carries me when I sprain my ankle. A true gentleman. A man among men."

The grand hall erupted into chaos.

Ace visibly short-circuited. "I— WHAT??"

Cater's hands visibly shook as he tried to keep taking pictures. Deuce had fully dropped his snack. The Viscount let out a dramatic, heartbroken wail.

"Engaged?!" the Viscount gasped. "But how? When?!"

You clutched Ace’s hand tighter. "Last night."

"LAST NIGHT??" Ace screeched.

You shot him a look. Ace, whose entire face was on fire, gulped and quickly switched tactics.

"Aha… aha… yeah, totally!" He threw an arm around your shoulders, grinning through his existential crisis. "We got engaged last night! Super romantic and all that! Just me and my beloved—" his voice cracked, "—who I love so much!"

You patted his chest reassuringly. "See? True love."

The Viscount staggered back. His entire world was shattering. The intensity of his emotional turmoil was so strong that he tripped over his own cape again and went tumbling down the nearby staircase.

It took twenty entire seconds for him to hit the bottom.

More silence.

Then, from below: "Love… is pain…"

Ace, still holding you, whispered, "What did you just do to me?"

You turned, smiling sweetly. "I just made you my fiancé, Ace."

Ace felt faint. His heart had been going a normal amount of fast when he agreed to fake date you, but this? This was illegal.

Meanwhile, Cater was already writing the next article.

The night had started so normally. Just you, your expensive, holy-grail skincare routine, and the unwavering determination to emerge from this ritual looking like a Renaissance painting come to life. You had your headband on, your fluffy robe wrapped around you, and the greenish-white sludge of your face mask setting into a crusty layer of beauty and self-care.

Then Ace Trappola happened.

He kicked the door open like he was the protagonist of a spaghetti western, took one look at you, and lost his entire mind.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" he gasped, immediately doubling over in laughter. "Oh my god, you look like a haunted doll."

You did not hesitate. You lunged at him like an apex predator.

And despite all his athleticism and street-rat reflexes, Ace had not been prepared for an attack from a fully masked-up, vengeance-driven individual armed with a whole tub of premium skincare.

"WAIT—NO—"

It was too late.

You straddled his lap, pressed his shoulders down onto your bed, and slathered the mask onto his stupid, laughing face with all the delicacy of an artist painting their magnum opus.

"See?" you said sweetly, coating his nose with a dramatic flourish. "Now we’re both glowing."

Ace wanted to talk back— wanted to make a joke, to tell you off, to do anything but sit here like a dumb, frozen idiot while you cupped his face, held his chin so gently, and smoothed the mask over his cheekbones like he was something precious and breakable.

And he was losing it.

Your legs were slung over his lap. His back was against your bed. Your hand was on his jaw, tilting his face however you wanted. And Ace, the very same Ace who laughed at every romantic in the kingdom for being cringe and stupid, was about two seconds away from throwing his dignity out the window and leaning into your touch.

Because all he could see, smell, and feel was you.

Your voice kept going, rambling about something stupid and inconsequential—some royal drama, a new gossip column, your thoughts on different brands of facial cleanser—but Ace couldn’t process a single word because his entire stupid, traitorous heart was screaming at him to just—just—

The revelation slammed into him like a meteor. A deadly, world-ending, history-changing impact that reduced his brain cells to rubble and left behind only the smoking wreckage of a man who was well and truly screwed.

This was not a platonic feeling.

This was the opposite of a platonic feeling.

And yet, instead of saying anything, instead of introspecting like a sane person, he just let you keep talking, let himself bask in the feeling of your fingers on his face, let himself sink into the sheer stupidity of his predicament.

By the time he could regain enough motor function to think about moving, it was too late.

You had both somehow, inexplicably, fallen asleep.

The morning arrived with the unmistakable sound of high-pitched giggles.

You cracked open a single bleary eye, your body heavy with sleep, and—oh.

Oh no.

Ace was snuggled up against your arm, his face relaxed in a way you had never seen before. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be found, replaced by something painfully soft and vulnerable.

His hair was a mess, sticking up in ridiculous angles, but somehow, it made him look even cuter. His cheek was squished against your shoulder, his arms curled slightly around yours, one leg lazily slung over yours like he had every right to use you as a makeshift pillow.

And the worst part?

It wasn’t even weird.

It felt… right.

And that was when it hit you.

Like a meteor. Like an act of god. Like the universe itself had conspired to wait until you were at your most defenseless before smacking you in the face with one singular, undeniable truth.

You were in love with Ace Trappola.

You. Loved. Ace.

How unfortunate.

You had half a mind to violently shake him awake, make him take responsibility for making you feel this way—but then he muttered something in his sleep, something unintelligible, and shifted closer, pressing his nose against your arm.

You stopped breathing.

The maids were still standing at the door, watching, waiting for you to react.

You slowly raised a hand.

And, with the elegance of a queen issuing a decree, you waved them away.

Five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

The Duke of the North was an annual disaster. Like a migrating bird that exclusively flew south to be annoying, he only visited the capital once a year—and every single time, it was to do one thing: propose to you.

This would have been flattering, except for the fact that you had been rejecting him since the dawn of time. Yet, for some reason, he was deeply convinced that, one day, you would simply change your mind upon seeing him standing there, brooding dramatically in his tailored, imported-from-a-country-that-doesn’t-even-exist coats.

He did not take rejection well.

Of course, you never answered his letters. Why would you? His correspondence was a tragic novel in real-time, each letter trying and failing to sound aloof, with absolutely zero success.

"I suppose you are busy, as I am also very busy, thinking about extremely important things, such as war and finance and not at all about why you have not replied to me in the last six months." "Should you choose to acknowledge my existence, I will, of course, consider taking time out of my incredibly packed schedule to respond (though I have already cleared next Tuesday for you, just in case)." "It is of no consequence to me whether you reply. However, I have sent my fastest courier, so you may want to respond before he breaks his legs trying to reach me before nightfall."

Pathetic.

And now, as expected, here he was again.

And as always, he came prepared.

This time, he had doubled down on his "love can be bought" philosophy.

A solid gold chair—because “only the finest furniture is worthy of your presence.”

An entirely new breed of horse, bred specifically for you, because "standard horses are beneath you."

A fleet of ships. Why? No one knew. You were not a sailor. You had never even been on a boat.

Riddle, who had been an unfortunate witness to this entire spectacle, had been slowly turning redder and redder, not out of anger, but out of sheer secondhand embarrassment. He looked like he was debating whether to intervene or let natural selection take its course.

Meanwhile, the villainess, who had been throwing you dirty looks since the Duke’s arrival, stood nearby. It didn’t take long for you to realize why—she liked him. She wanted him.

You turned to face her. Slowly. Deliberately.

Your expression said: “Lady, I don’t even want him.”

Her expression said: “You lying harlot.”

And before you could even think of clarifying that you had no interest in this walking gold reserve, the situation somehow got worse.

Ace appeared out of nowhere, grabbed your hand, and, with the audacity of a man who had never once in his life considered the consequences of his actions, declared with full confidence:

"Oh, sorry, we already got married."

Riddle choked on air.

The Duke froze, mid-proposal, like a glitching NPC in a poorly coded game. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were about to say something but his brain was actively refusing to process the information.

"You," he said hoarsely, like someone had just stabbed him in the chest. "What?"

You nodded solemnly, forcing yourself to look as heartbreakingly sincere as possible. "We even have a dog," you said.

Ace, who had waited his entire life for a bit like this, effortlessly raised the stakes.

"Two dogs," he added, gripping your hand even tighter.

You smiled sweetly, as if recounting precious memories of a long and happy marriage. "Three, actually."

The Duke’s breathing audibly shortened.

Riddle buried his face in his hands and muttered, “Oh my god, make it stop.”

"WHAT?!"

Ace sighed, the weariness of a devoted husband weighing down on him. "We also have six kids."

The Duke, who had already been dangerously close to a stroke, seemed to visibly glitch.

"SIX?! BUT IT HASN’T EVEN BEEN A YEAR!"

Ace, seeing an opportunity and deciding to go all in, dramatically gestured at a group of stray cats on the street.

"There they are," he said, with the utmost conviction.

The Duke followed his gaze, slowly, hesitantly, as if he already knew he was about to regret it.

There, on the sidewalk, were six very dirty, very chaotic stray cats.

One of them, making full eye contact with him, immediately started hacking up a hairball. Another was biting its own tail, because it had seemingly forgotten that it was attached to its body. A third was somehow climbing a wall upside down, defying both gravity and logic.

The Duke completely lost his mind.

"YOU—YOU HAVE—YOU’VE BIRTHED FELINE OFFSPRING?!"

Riddle made a strangled noise. His entire body convulsed with the effort of holding back laughter.

Ace did not hesitate. "Yeah, we just love them so much," he said, as if this were a completely normal and factual statement. "Fatherhood changes a man, y’know?"

"Don't forget our youngest," you added helpfully, pointing at a cat stuck in a flower pot.

Ace wiped an imaginary tear. "That's little Gregory. He's the smart one."

At this point, Riddle was not even trying to stop laughing anymore. He had completely given up, his usual decorum shattered beyond repair.

The Duke, however, looked like he was experiencing all five stages of grief simultaneously. His face twisted into pure devastation. He opened his mouth to say something, then immediately closed it, shaking his head in silent agony.

And then, without another word—he left.

Ace, smug beyond words, turned to you, grinning. "That went well."

Riddle, who had just witnessed a full-scale psychological takedown using nothing but sheer absurdity, wiped a tear from his eye. "You two are insane," he muttered, shaking his head.

Ace didn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the evening.

Ace doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

He’s always liked you. A little.

A manageable amount. A totally ignorable amount. The kind of dumb little crush that normal people have. The kind you lock in a box, throw into the ocean, and then blow up the ocean for good measure.

But then you woke up from your fainting accident and became his worst nightmare.

Because somehow, in that brief unconscious state, you became ten times more interesting. More chaotic. More fun.

You met his sarcasm with even faster comebacks. You encouraged his bad ideas. You had absolutely no self-preservation. You went from exasperatedly tolerating his nonsense to actively participating in it, and it was the worst thing you could have possibly done to him.

Because now?

Now he’s the one barely keeping up.

You match him perfectly—step for step, disaster for disaster. If he’s instigating, you’re escalating. If he cracks a joke, you one-up him. When he nudges you in the ribs, you shove him into a bush.

And when you grab his arm, lean in close, and whisper, "Hey, let’s cause some problems," his brain just shuts the hell down.

He’s so ruined.

And the thing is?

Ace has done this to himself.

Because when he suggested pretending to be your lover, he genuinely thought it was a great idea. A genius plan, even.

He’d fake it, get it out of his system, and then tragically move on once you found someone else.

Except now he’s holding your hand in public.

Now he’s whispering in your ear just to make you laugh.

Now he’s calling you ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’ and ‘my love’—and you play along like it’s a game, and every time, his heart detonates like an unstable potion.

At this point, if you actually fell for someone else?

Ace thinks he might literally die.

No, really. He would simply perish. Collapse. Expire. He would crumple to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been violently severed and haunt the castle as the world’s most bitter, lovesick ghost.

Cupid was somewhere, rolling on the floor, wheezing.

The other day, you smiled at him for too long, and he forgot how to walk and almost tripped.

You called him ‘Acey’ once, and he almost bit through his own tongue.

One time, you said, "I feel safest when I’m with you," and he blacked out for a full thirty seconds.

You took a sip from his drink the other day, and he had to go lie down.

And now you’re standing beside him at some stupid jewelry stall, pointing at a necklace with that gleam in your eyes, and Ace is staring at you like an absolute idiot.

He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you look under the market lights.

How he’d buy you every single piece of jewelry in the damn kingdom if you asked.

How his entire soul is in shambles because he’s standing next to you thinking, "Oh no. I actually, genuinely, idiotically am in love."

Ace Trappola, Ace ‘Fake-Dating-Was-A-Good-Idea’ Trappola, is staring at you thinking:

"Oh, Trappola. You absolute dumbass. You’re in love."

And then you turn to him, all bright-eyed and smiling, and ask, "Ace, do you think this would suit me?"

And he almost chokes on his own tongue.

Because yes.

Yes, it would suit you.

So would every other necklace in existence. So would a crown. So would the title of Supreme Ruler of the Universe, if he could somehow get that for you.

But instead of saying that, he just shoves his hands in his pockets, tries to look normal, and mutters, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. If you like it, just get it already."

And you laugh.

And Ace Trappola is never going to recover from this.

The worst of the lot finally appears.

You had dealt with the Brooding Duke who thought love could be purchased, endured the Prince who wept into his lace handkerchief at every rejection, and even managed to shake off the Yandere who believed true love was an elaborate chess game. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for the Drama King Knight.

He stood before you in the garden, his impractically long cape billowing in the completely windless afternoon, because he had, no doubt, hired a peasant to stand just off-camera fanning him.

His sword—which was capable of splitting mountains but had only ever been used to dramatically point at celestial bodies—glinted in the sun. He looked at you with eyes that had definitely rehearsed this exact expression in the mirror for three hours.

"Fairest of all," he said, already halfway through a monologue you did not want to hear. "I have braved the perils of—"

You sighed dramatically, cutting him off. "A single brush of your hand might shatter my frail mortal bones."

The Knight visibly trembled. His gauntleted hand hovered in the air like he was about to faint. "You’re right… I must protect you. From myself."

Riddle, standing beside you, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. Do that. From very, very far away."

And for a moment, it seemed like that would be enough. The Knight turned away, his cape swishing dramatically. You could practically hear the imaginary background music swelling, the curtains closing, the credits rolling.

Then he whirled back around. God, why do they always whirl back around?

"But if I cannot be with you in body," he declared, voice shaking with raw emotion, "then I shall remain by your side in spirit. Our souls, forever entwined. Our hearts, eternally wed!"

You blinked. "What."

"Yes!" He threw an arm toward the heavens, pointing at the sun like he was about to challenge it to a duel. "We shall be together in spirit! No matter where you go, I shall always be watching! Always waiting! Like the moon follows the tide, I shall—"

Alright. You had tried to reject him normally. You had been reasonable. But clearly, reason had no place here.

Riddle sighed. "Do whatever you're about to do. Just… make it quick."

You nodded grimly. If this was how it had to be, then so be it.

You squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and clutched your chest like a woman stricken with a terrible, unknowable curse.

"No," you whispered. "You don’t understand."

The Knight faltered. "Understand… what?"

You threw an arm over your eyes. "I am cursed! Any man who loves me shall be turned into a… a… a goose."

Silence.

The Knight blinked at you. He opened his mouth. Closed it. His sword, which had been dramatically trembling in his grip, clattered to the ground.

"A… a goose?" he repeated.

You solemnly nodded.

And then, as prearranged, Deuce rushed off to fetch the goose.

The Knight looked between you and Deuce’s retreating figure, his expression one of dawning horror, like a man realizing he had proposed to a person who was actually an eldritch horror in disguise.

Deuce returned, struggling slightly because the goose had absolutely no interest in being part of this nonsense.

But this was not just any goose. This was the Emergency Goose.

Ace, hiding behind a tree like the gremlin he was, gave you a solemn nod.

Deuce carefully lifted the goose, revealing the final touch—the little red heart painted onto its cheek.

Riddle rubbed his temples. "I hate that you were prepared for this."

"This," you declared gravely, "is Ace."

The Knight reeled. "No. That… That cannot be!"

The goose honked.

"Yes," you continued, "he loved me once. And this was his fate."

A perfect beat of silence.

And then, from behind the tree, Ace whimpered, "Save me."

The Knight—a man who had once stood before a charging wyvern and laughed in the face of death—let out a shriek so bloodcurdling it startled every bird within a five-mile radius.

And then, cape billowing, he turned and ran.

Not a noble retreat. Not a dignified exit. No. Full-speed sprint. He shoved a confused maid out of the way. He leapt over a market stall. A small child pointed and laughed as he fled, but the Knight did not slow down, because his heart—once so full of love and poetry—was now full of terror.

Terror of you.

Terror of your goose.

Terror of the idea that at any moment, he too might sprout feathers and begin honking at the moon.

You, Ace, Deuce, Riddle, and the goose watched him vanish into the horizon.

A long silence followed.

Deuce set the goose down. The goose, finally free from its obligations, pecked him on the shin and waddled off.

Ace emerged from behind the tree, cackling. "Did you see his face?! Bro really thought I turned into a goose!"

Riddle sighed the sigh of a man who was simply too tired for this nonsense. "You two are the worst people I have ever met."

"You love us," you said.

"I do not."

Ace slung an arm over your shoulder. "You totally do."

Riddle turned on his heel and stormed off in the opposite direction.

But you saw it. You absolutely saw it.

A single, fleeting twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

Freedom. Sweet, unshackled, unburdened freedom.

No more men in capes dramatically reciting poetry at you. No more gold furniture being delivered to your doorstep. No more wild-eyed knights trying to prove their devotion by fighting literal bears in your honor. No more deranged suitors appearing at your window like particularly uncoordinated bats.

You were free.

And yet—

As you stood in the gardens, bathed in the golden glow of your well-earned peace, you felt… unsettled. Uneasy. Almost—upset.

Which made no sense. You had spent months rejecting these lunatics. You had faked engagements, lied through your teeth, orchestrated elaborate hoaxes, and weaponized a goose. You had done everything in your power to be rid of them, and it worked.

So why, in the face of your glorious victory, did you feel like you'd lost something?

And then, like a lightning bolt to the brain, it hit you.

Ace.

This meant no more holding hands in public to “convince” people. No more cheek kisses for the sake of believability. No more stupid, infuriating, wonderful Ace, grinning at you like you hung the damn moon.

It was over. Your fake dating/marriage/engagement (depending on the day and the level of your theatrics) had served its purpose.

And now it was gone.

The realization hit like a carriage crash.

You were an idiot. A complete, utter idiot.

Because somewhere between the first fake kiss in front of a suitor, the first time he laced his fingers through yours, the first time he winked at you like you were his favorite person in the entire world, you had fallen for him.

And now, standing in the wreckage of your successful campaign of repelling suitors, you realized that it was either confess right now… or take this to your grave.

Your horribly embarrassing, entirely unavoidable, painfully obvious feelings for Ace Trappola.

Ace is happy for you. He really, really is.

You’re finally free. No more unhinged declarations of love from men who have the self-preservation instincts of a lemming. No more dodging elaborate marriage proposals like a rogue in a dungeon raid. No more looking over your shoulder, expecting some cape-wearing lunatic to be reciting poetry in your honor.

Most of them think you’re taken. One thinks you’re cursed.

It worked. You’re safe. You’re free.

So why does Ace feel like he’s the one who lost?

He was kind of hoping it would take longer. Just a little bit. A few more weeks, maybe. Another month, if he was lucky. Because every day you had to pretend to be his meant another day you were in his arms. Another day he got to hold your hand in public and call it necessity. Another day he could press a kiss to your cheek without consequences. Another day of you being his.

And now? Now it was over.

And he doesn’t know how to go back.

How is he supposed to just… be your best friend Ace again? How is he supposed to look at you and not wonder what it could’ve been? How is he supposed to stand beside you like nothing has changed when everything has changed for him?

Because now, every time he looks at you, he just wants to grab you and kiss you until you’re the only thing he can taste. He wants to pull you close, whisper all the things he never let himself say. He wants everything.

But most of all, he knows—knows deep in his bones—that if you ever fall for someone else, it will destroy him.

He has to confess right now or take it to his grave.

You’re running like a madman. Like some kind of deranged romantic heroine who’s just realized she’s been in love with her childhood friend all along. Your dress is catching on every stray branch, your hair’s a mess, and you probably look like you’ve barely survived a war. But none of that matters.

Because Ace is running too.

You see him, just as wrecked as you, his coat unevenly buttoned, his hair windswept, his face flushed and frantic like he’s been sprinting for miles. And maybe he has. Maybe you both have—metaphorically and literally.

You skid to a stop, panting, staring at each other like two idiots who have finally realized the answer to a question they should’ve known all along. Ace looks at you, his breath shuddering, his eyes wide and teary like he can’t believe you’re actually here. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that you’re both half out of your minds with feelings, but you throw caution to the wind.

You’ve survived up till now on sheer audacity. Maybe it can take you further.

So you kiss him.

And for a second, there’s nothing. Just the stunned stillness of the world as you close the distance, pressing your lips to his.

And then he’s grabbing you, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His hands are tangled in your clothes, your hair, desperate, shaking, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone. He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, like he’s terrified it’s all a dream and any second now, he’ll wake up.

You pull away for air—and he chases after your lips, stealing another kiss before you can even take a full breath.

This one is deeper, slower, but just as desperate. It’s like he’s pouring everything he’s ever felt into you, like he’s afraid to stop, like he’s trying to tell you everything he never could with words. And you get it—because you feel the same way.

When he finally pulls back, breathless and shaking with emotion, you press one more soft kiss against his lips, and then you say it.

“I love you.”

Ace lets out a watery laugh, his forehead dropping against yours as he grins like a fool. His eyes are shining, and he cups your face like he can’t believe you’re real.

“What took you so long?”

And then he kisses you again.

The morning after your dramatic, borderline cinematic love confession, you and Ace walk into the usual meeting spot grinning like absolute fools.

You’re both trying to act normal, like the world hasn’t completely shifted on its axis, like Ace hadn’t kissed you breathless under the stars, like you hadn’t confessed to each other in a moment so romantic it could’ve been a grand finale scene in a novel. But normalcy is impossible because the second you walk in, hand-in-hand, everyone immediately knows.

Riddle, the most composed of the group, simply pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales sharply, and mutters, “Great Sevens, finally.” His tone is not congratulatory—it is the tone of a man who has suffered for far too long, who has borne witness to the sheer idiocy of your mutual pining and is just relieved that he no longer has to endure it.

Trey, ever the calm and collected one, gives you a small, knowing smile and nods. “Congrats,” he says simply, because Trey has probably seen this coming since the very beginning. He is the type of man who could predict the weather based on the way the wind blows and has likely bet money on this exact outcome.

Cater, on the other hand, reacts as expected.

“LET’S GO, MY MAN!” he hoots, high-fiving Ace so hard that Ace actually staggers backward. “Finally out of the friendzone, huh? This is a historic moment. A certified win.” He’s already pulling out his camera, preparing to document this for the masses, and you barely manage to swat it away in time.

And then there’s Deuce. Sweet, exhausted Deuce.

He doesn’t cheer, or exclaim, or even try to congratulate you. No, Deuce just sits there, staring at the both of you like he’s just been freed from an unspeakable burden. Like he’s been carrying the weight of Ace’s obliviousness and denial on his shoulders for so long that he no longer knows what to do with himself now that it’s over.

“I don’t have to hear him deny his feelings anymore,” Deuce whispers, voice thick with emotion. “I’m free.”

Ace shoves him.

And as your friends start heckling you, teasing you, yelling at you to get a room, you turn to Ace, grinning at him as he grins right back.

And in that moment, you can’t help but think back to the mysterious, rollerblading grandma who is the reason you even ended up here. The woman who defied all logic and physics, who sent you hurtling into this world with nothing but sheer willpower and questionable urban transportation.

You close your eyes, sending a silent thanks to her.

She was a real one.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #ace trappola x reader #ace x reader #ace trappola #twst ace #twst ace x reader #ace #trash novel chronicles

698 notes · View notes

5sospenguinqueen · 2 days ago

Text

Toy Cars | Fernando Alonso x Mum! Reader

Summary: Fernando boasts about his step-sons to anyone who will listen. So, when you realise you want more, he's confused why your little family is no longer enough.

Warnings: angst, slight age gap. i pictured reader about 35

Requested: no

just a short one compared to the others

F1 Masterlist

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fernandoalo_official just posted

liked by astonmartinf1, aussiegrit and others

fernandoalo_official not been an easy weekend so far but it’s made easier when one of my favourite people is in the paddock

14,114 comments

jensonbutton but i’m not working this weekend?

→ lance_stroll we all know i’m his other favourite person

→ fernandoalo_official no, the twins are

→ user1 step dad nando has my whole heart

→ yn_ln mine too!

user2 a hug from fernando would heal me

→ user3 a hug from y/n would heal me

yn_ln weekends where i get to see you are my favourite

→ user4 i will never be normal about these two

→ user5 it’s the fact that he watches the f2 races because it gives him an excuse to hang out with y/n

astonmartinf1 our favourite couple

user6 need fernando to win now that he’s had his good luck hug

yn_ln just posted

liked by jensonbutton, lance_stroll and others

yn_ln back on track for the twins. both my boys did a wonderful job with high position finishes… oh and they were visited by an enthusiastic fan 😉

5,343 comments

fernandoalo_official i’ll be getting you in one of those karts next

→ yn_ln that’s going to take a lot of convincing, nando

→ fernandoalo_official i can think of a few ways, mi vida

→ landonorris ew

→ user7 mi vida!! i will never be normal about these two

aussiegrit how’d he get his hair that tall

→ astonmartinf1 it’s so full of secrets

fa_alonsokart calling the boss an enthusiastic fan is such a power move

→ user8 the fact that he let her and didn’t comment on it tho

lance_stroll they'll be taking his seat soon enough

user9 love how supportive fernando is of his step-sons

→ user10 he literally started a karting school so that he could help their karting careers

→ user11 the dad that stepped up

user1 what’s your favourite fa14 fact? mine is that he fell in love with y/n l/n, realised she had twins and immediately started enacting project alonso

→ user2 no because the twins were 11 when he met them and now they’re 15 and looking at f3 seats

user3 this is what i’ve been saying. fernando doesn’t just love y/n, he loves her children just as much, if not more

user4 fernando alonso puts all other step-dads to shame because he is always there for them, no matter how busy his life is

user5 i really need fernando to hurry up and propose because that is his family

→ user6 yes! he needs to make project alonso official by giving them all his last name

→ user7 and then more babies!

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comments

user8 why was this the cutest thing said by anyone ever. like those are his boys

user9 wait, so does this mean he doesn’t want kids?

user10 the way he cut that interviewer off because that his family whether they share blood or not

→ user11 i read it as he didn’t want to talk about it any more because he doesn’t want more kids and maybe he and y/n haven’t talked about it yet

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yn_ln just posted

liked by kellypiquet, alexandrasaintmleux and others

yn_ln an empty house for the week makes me realise that i miss hearing about cars

2,343 comments

user1 aw are the flowers from fernando?

kellypiquet max keeps trying to convince me to get another cat. don’t let him see this

→ maxverstappen1 too late

user2 wait, why isn’t she spending summer break with nando?

→ user3 because he’s on holiday

→ user2 without her?

→ user4 they don’t have to spend every minute together. he’s allowed to have a break

user5 guys, y/n and fernando don’t follow each other anymore?

→ user6 i thought you were lying but then i checked and it’s true :(

→ user7 oh that captions hit extra hard

user8 no because her entire life is racing and now that it’s not there, she realises she misses it

→ user9 she misses him

user10 i’m so confused. they were so in love like two weeks ago. what happened?

user11 no because i can’t imagine seeing fernando without y/n

user12 is he still going to support the twins?

user13 but you were supposed to get married to fernando and have lots of little alonso’s

→ user14 maybe one of them didn’t want that

→ user15 can’t imagine it being alonso, he thinks the world of the twins

→ user16 true. he does mention them in almost every interview

user1 when i remembered f2 were racing this weekend, i was so happy because that meant yn and nando content and then i remembered they’d broken up

→ user2 all the tweets on here are tearing my heart out as well

user3 they’ve not spoken to each other once today

user4 yes she walked straight past him but there’s clips of her entire face crumpling as soon as she’s past him

→ user5 yes! i saw that. her colleague had to usher her into the garage before she started crying

user6 the fact that fernando spent the entire time watching her though

→ user7 even when people were talking to him, he was full on staring at her

→ user8 brokenhearted lover boy made no attempts to hide it

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

Baby Fever Angst Series

Love that I mentioned request for Esteban once and I already have 5 requests 😂 I didn't realise there was that much love for Ocon considering I can never find any fics for him

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prettyangellllll · 2 days ago

Text

Your fuck buddy rafe finds out you have breeding kink

Pairing: fwb!rafe cameron x soft!reader

Warnings: breeding kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk rafe being cocky

---

The phone rang at an ungodly hour, cutting through the silence of your bedroom. You glanced at the screen. It was Rafe.

You didn’t even hesitate. The agreement was simple—no strings, no expectations, just a call when one of you needed the other. You weren’t expecting anything deep or emotional. You just knew what you were walking into.

Pulling on your hoodie and slipping into the nearest pair of jeans, you left your apartment in a rush, your heart already racing for reasons you weren’t entirely sure of.

Rafe’s house was only a few minutes away, but by the time you stepped inside, you felt like you’d been standing on the edge of something you couldn’t pull back from. The door was unlocked, as usual. You pushed it open without knocking.

“Door’s open,” his voice drifted from somewhere deeper in the house, a tone you recognized as his usual cocky, casual self. You didn’t need to look at him yet to know the posture—the one that said he owned everything around him.

You stepped into the living room, your eyes locking on him as he stood by the couch, a drink in hand. He looked like he always did—laid-back, confident, too damn handsome for your own good. The only difference tonight was the dark glint in his eyes that made your heart skip.

“You’re here,” Rafe said, a smirk playing on his lips as his gaze traveled over you, lingering for just a second too long. “Always so eager. You really can’t stay away, can you?”

The words stung, but you didn’t respond. You never did when he teased you. Instead, you swallowed, trying to calm the rush of warmth that was spreading through your body. He wasn’t even touching you yet, but you could feel the pull of him like a magnet.

“I didn’t call you here for small talk,” Rafe continued, taking a step forward, his eyes never leaving you. “You know what this is.”

You nodded, your throat tight as you looked up at him, trying to maintain your usual calm. But Rafe always had a way of making you feel small—no matter how hard you tried. His presence had a way of swallowing you whole.

With a subtle shift, Rafe reached out, pulling you close. His hands slid under the hem of your hoodie, the warmth of his fingers against your skin causing a shiver to ripple down your spine. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You look so sweet tonight. You know I can’t resist when you act all innocent like this.”

You blinked, heart pounding. Innocent? You weren’t sure if that was how he saw you. But in this moment, you felt anything but innocent. Your mind was clouded with the desire to be close to him, to be used by him, the way you always did.

But tonight, things felt different. It was almost as if he was waiting for something.

“You still like this, don’t you?” Rafe asked, his voice low and dangerous, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers moved lower, brushing the waistband of your jeans. “Tell me you do. Tell me how much you want me.”

You swallowed, your pulse racing, but when you finally spoke, it was barely a whisper, “I want you…”

“Yeah, I know you do,” he muttered, his hands sliding beneath your jeans, pushing them down just enough for him to feel the softness of your skin. ��But I think there’s more you’re hiding, doll.”

Your eyes widened, a flicker of panic rushing through you. But before you could speak, his fingers dipped lower, brushing against a place you hadn’t expected him to go. The shock of his touch sent a jolt through you, your body instantly reacting, but you held back your gasp.

Rafe’s smirk widened, as if he could read you like a book. “I know exactly what this is. You like being bred, don’t you?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the heat of shame flooding your chest. You were embarrassed, humiliated even, but at the same time… the thought of him using you like that made your body ache in ways you couldn’t deny. You tried to look away, to hide the flush on your face, but his grip on your chin forced you to meet his eyes.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he demanded. “Tell me you want it. Tell me how much you need me to fuck you like that.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the truth hung on the tip of your tongue, and when he pressed against you, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I need it,” you whispered, the words escaping your lips in a breathless rush.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his hands tightening on you. “That’s what I thought.”

He pushed you back onto the couch with a gentle yet commanding motion, his hands quickly stripping you of your clothes. The speed of it had you gasping, but you didn’t fight it. You never did when he took control.

Rafe loomed over you, his eyes drinking you in like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. “You don’t get to be shy now,” he growled, his fingers sliding into you with a practiced ease that made you gasp. “You’re mine when I want you, doll. And right now? I want you.”

You closed your eyes, your heart racing. It wasn’t just the physical connection anymore. It was the way Rafe made you feel—like you were his, even when he wasn’t here. And right now, you couldn’t help but want everything he was about to give you.

Rafe’s breath was heavy above you, his fingers working with a sure, experienced touch as he stretched you, preparing you for what he had in mind. Every movement of his made your body react, whether you wanted it to or not. It was like an invisible thread tethering you to him, and you were powerless to fight it.

“You feel that?” he asked, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s me getting you ready, doll. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? Don’t be shy. You can’t hide from me.”

You could barely form words, your body so consumed with need that all you could do was nod, desperately trying to catch your breath. His thumb brushed your clit, sending a shock of pleasure through you. Your whole body stiffened at the sensation, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan.

“You like that,” Rafe observed, his grin widening as he leaned down to kiss you, his lips tasting like whiskey and something darker. “You like being touched like this. But you also like being filled, don’t you? You like when I make you mine.”

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your pulse pounding in your ears. The words were more than you could handle, but they also sparked something deeper in you. Something you couldn’t suppress. Your body craved him in a way that left you trembling.

“I—” You started to speak but couldn’t finish the sentence. You were too embarrassed to say it aloud. But Rafe wasn’t going to let you off that easily. He wanted to hear you say it.

“Say it, sweetheart,” he demanded, his voice a dark, teasing whisper. “Tell me what you need.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the warmth of his breath on your skin almost too much to handle. Finally, you managed, “I need you to—please… I want you to—fuck me like that.”

A satisfied chuckle rumbled in his chest as he positioned himself between your legs, his body brushing against yours. “I knew it,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips as he slid inside of you. You gasped, your body arching instinctively to meet him. The stretch was almost overwhelming, but the heat of his skin against yours made the discomfort fade quickly, replaced by an overwhelming need for more.

Rafe’s pace was slow at first, savoring each movement as he drove deeper, but it didn’t take long before his rhythm became harder, faster, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“God, you’re so tight, doll,” he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours. “You feel so fucking good. Do you like this? Tell me you like it.”

“Yes,” you whispered, barely able to breathe. “I like it, Rafe. Please, don’t stop.”

The grip on your hips tightened, and you gasped as Rafe picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic, harder. You could feel him everywhere, your entire focus consumed by the feel of him inside you. The way his name fell from your lips—shaky, breathless—only seemed to drive him further into madness.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his lips grazing your ear. “You’re mine now. All of you. And I’ll make you beg for more.”

His words were dark and possessive, and they sent a thrill straight to your core. You couldn’t stop the moan that left your throat, the shame of your desire quickly giving way to pure need. You didn’t care anymore. Not when he was like this. Not when he was all you could think about, all you could feel.

Rafe’s movements became more frantic, more desperate. His grip on you was almost bruising, but you didn’t care. You wanted him—needed him—just as badly as he needed you.

“Don’t hold back,” he growled, his voice rough. “I know you want it. Come on, let go.”

The tension in your body coiled tighter, your stomach tightening as you felt your climax building. You were so close, so close to unraveling. And Rafe knew it. He could feel the way your body responded to him, the way your walls tightened around him, and it drove him wild.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin as he pressed harder into you. “I’ll give you everything you need.”

And then, with a final thrust, you came undone, your body shaking as the pleasure took over. Rafe’s name slipped from your lips in a breathless cry, and as you clenched around him, he followed you, the warmth of his release flooding you, his grip on you never loosening.

He stayed there for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, his body still pressed against yours. The room was thick with the aftermath, and you both just lay there for a few moments, your heartbeats slowing as the haze of pleasure faded.

Rafe pulled away, but he didn’t let go of you. His eyes locked onto yours, dark with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Good girl,” he muttered again, his fingers brushing your cheek. “You did so well for me tonight. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you responded. You’re mine when I want you, doll. And I always want you.”

You were breathless, your body still recovering from what had just happened. But there was something inside you—something about the way Rafe looked at you that made you want to stay, made you want more, even if you knew it was dangerous. You weren't sure what this was, but in this moment, you didn't care.

Rafe had you. And you were more than willing to let him take everything he wanted.

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angelfic · 20 hours ago

Text

never let me go.

PART TWO ➺ series masterlist

[jason todd x reader]

summary — you’ve returned to gotham after a few years away, having left as soon as you could to escape the constant reminders of your deceased best friend, jason todd. you expected to be haunted by the ghost of him the minute you stepped foot in the city, but certainly not like this — the city you call home has much more in store than you could have imagined. warnings — childhood best friends to lovers, mentions of death + mourning, angst, mentions of blood + violence a/n; this is going to be very slow burn (if i can help it) btw. thank you for all the love so far + lmk your thoughts <3

The drive up to Wayne Manor always feels like entering another world. The chaos of Gotham fades behind you, replaced by the quiet, eerie stillness of Bristol that might be relaxing for most people. You always find yourself unsettled when you make the drive alone, your ears ringing with the silence and lack of Gotham’s noise pollution that you need to be calm.

You’re starting to think there may be something wrong with you, especially considering how you used to yearn for nothing more than to leave the place. But, like you do with most things, you push this to the back of your mind to psychoanalyse another day. Far, far away in the future hopefully.

The road winds through thick forest, the canopy of gnarled trees overhead casting ominous shadows in front of you. Now it feels more like home, you think to yourself.

Your mom’s car is sturdy enough, but getting old and the wear and tear from over the years has you slowing down as the cracked pavement gets bumpier. It’s an old road, rarely used outside of visits to Wayne Manor, and Bruce has other, faster ways of making his own trips. You’re suddenly glad for the caution you have while driving that you definitely didn’t possess when you were younger as a fox runs out onto the street and you brake suddenly. You jolt forward slightly, one hand gripping the wheel and the other reaching next to you to prevent your bag from falling off the seat, contents threatening to spill out.

The fox glances over at you for a split second before scampering off and you nearly laugh to yourself, the deja vu hitting you like a truck.

“Come on, just keep going. Faster, come on—”

“Jason, shut up!” you shout, palms getting sweaty on the steering wheel where his own cover yours in an attempt to help you steer. “If you don’t can it, I swear to God, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? You gonna turn this thing around, sweetheart?” he asks, raising a brow. “Oh, wait, you can’t— because you don’t know how to reverse.”

If you weren’t so focused on the road ahead, you’d probably hit him for being so cocky. You knew this was a bad idea from the start. When your mom had come home from the night shift and tossed her keys on the counter before going to bed and immediately knocking out, Jason had shot you that look. It screamed trouble.

Fast forward to now, where you’re sorely regretting your short-lived burst of spontaneity and trying to control your feet which are hovering awkwardly between the gas and the brake.

Jason is slouched in the passenger seat like he’s got all the confidence in the world, grinning at you and totally unbothered by the fact that neither of you are supposed to be here.

Legally, neither of you can drive. But being Robin, he now possesses quite a few skills that most people your age don’t have. Bruce had long since taught him how to drive a car for emergencies and he was now great at it. He’d driven you guys out of Gotham and towards Wayne Manor, insisting it was time to teach you and that it’d be easier where there are hardly ever any cars.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” you mutter, fingers gripping the wheel tighter when he lets go and allows you free rein.

Jason simply laughs at your misery, tipping his head back against the seat. “Okay, first of all — you’re being dramatic. Second, wouldn’t you rather it be me teaching you, instead of some old guy who overcharges?”

“I’m seriously debating the old guy right now,” you grumble, ignoring his offended scoff. “What the fuck, Jay! This road is not straight.”

“It’s straight,” he insists, sitting up again to actually resume teaching you. “You’re nowhere near the edge, relax.”

You listen to him, loosening up a little and realising he’s right. You haven’t drifted in a while, and you are going in a pretty straight line. You won’t admit it, but it is kind of thrilling. The hum of the engine, the way the tires respond beneath you and the peaceful sense of freedom you have surrounded by nothing but trees and Jason. You test out the gas by pushing a little harder and speeding up, partly wanting to feel more control and partly so Jason doesn’t hound you about it.

“See, what’d I say?” Jason says, leaning back again and lightly nudging you. “You’re doing great…”

A flash of fur darts in front of the car and your breath hitches.

Your hands jerk the wheel, tires screeching against the pavement from the speed you were going at and you swerve hard to the right.

Jason slams one hand against the dashboard, his other arm reaching across your front to stop you going through the windshield, despite the fact you have your seatbelt on. “Fuck—”

The car skids to a stop, inches away from a tree. The animal — a raccoon, you realise with wide eyes — scurries off into the bushes, blissfully unaware.

You sit there, trying to remember how to breathe. From the corner of your eye, you see Jason’s shoulders shaking and you realise with horror that he’s laughing.

“Holy shit,” he wheezes, wiping at his eyes. “I really thought we were dead for a second.”

“We almost were!”

“Hey, you didn’t hit it. That’s a win!” He turns to you and grasps your by the arms, shaking you slightly and releasing the tension in your shoulders from where you’re all coiled up. “And do you really think I’d let anything happen to you?”

Jason smiles at you, but his eyes are concentrated on yours, his gaze unwavering. He’s trying to talk you off a ledge, but you don’t need it, not really. You know he’d never put you in actual danger.

Still, you groan, dropping your head against his shoulder and hiding your smile. The adrenaline still hasn’t left. “I hate you.”

“Nah,” Jason replies, easily. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, the other resting against your back and rubbing soothing circles. His voice is teasing, but warm. “You don’t.”

No, you think to yourself. You don’t.

Your mom has kept the same car since then, and you’ve never really wished for her to change it until you remember things like that.

You’re startled to realise that the wrought-iron gates of Wayne Manor loom ahead. They rise high, wrapped in ivy, intricate and imposing. Their black metalwork centres around the ‘W’ emblem which gleams in the daylight.

You get out your phone to text your arrival, but the security system whirs to life before you can, a camera adjusting overhead. Alright then.

The gate unlocks, swinging open slowly and deliberately and as you drive forward, the massive house rises up to greet you.

Your chest feels tight.

The manor towers over you, cutting sharp edges against the bright, clear sky. The windows glow faintly, but it’s a cold kind of warmth. Too big and grand for too few people.

When you park in the circular driveway, Alfred is unsurprisingly already waiting at the door for you and you try and control every muscle in your face to not physically wince with guilt.

“Miss,” he greets you, stepping aside to let you in. His voice carries the same steady patience as always, but there’s a flicker of something accusatory in his expression as he raises a brow at your appearance. You deserve worse, considering you’ve been avoiding these visits for months.

“Hey, Alfred,” you say, offering him a sheepish smile as you step past him. He takes your coat before you can insist you don’t need him to. You should be used to these things considering the majority of your friends happen to be the adopted children of a billionaire, the billionaire’s butler and, arguably, the billionaire himself. If you’re getting technical. Unfortunately, your less than privileged upbringing seems to be so completely engrained in you, and you still bristle at the rich people antics. You step back awkwardly. “Long time, huh?”

“Quite.” He gestures for you to follow him into the house and you obey, falling into step beside him. Despite the mildly reproachful tone, he seems pleased to see you. “I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten the way.”

Wincing, the excuse falls from your lips before you can even process the words. “I’ve just been so busy with work—” As soon as you say it, you’re grimacing, because this is Alfred you’re talking to.

If he had a nickel for every time he heard the same words from the inhabitants of Wayne Manor, he’d be able to buy his own Wayne Manor. Twice over. So, you at least have the grace to cut yourself off.

You sigh, turning to face him properly. “I’m sorry,” you say, injecting as much sincerity as you possibly can, because you are. And work has actually been busy, but you know that you could have carved out time to see Alfred. You just had a small problem with the meeting location.

You spent a good amount of time here when Jason was alive, but that wasn’t really the issue. If anything, you choose to surround yourself in spaces that feel like him — why else would you still be living in Crime Alley? Certainly not for the ambience.

After Jason’s death, you found yourself practically living here, unable to tear yourself away from his bedroom and retracing the steps the two of you would take together every time you ran around the Manor. And no one else really wanted to take you away either, taking pity on the teenage girl who couldn’t mention his name without crying for a whole year.

So, as much as you wish you could focus on the happier memories of this place, the memories of the time spent mourning your best friend seem to take priority in your brain.

Despite this, you suppose it’s time to grow up a little. It’s not like you’re having to physically fight the demons every time you step foot in the Manor, so what’s another migraine from having to fight them in your head over a couple dinners every month. You attempt a sincere smile towards Alfred. “I promise I’ll be better about visiting. I, uh… I should have come sooner, but… y’know,” you try and explain without words, vaguely gesturing to the high ceilings and polished floors.

Something in his expression softens. “Indeed.”

A beat of silence. Then, his lips twitch — just slightly and you relax.

“Well,” he says, stepping aside as you reach Bruce’s study. “I suppose there’s no time like the present.”

He nods once, before turning to walk in the direction of the kitchen, undoubtedly to make the dinner that he’s going to force you to stay and eat.

You adjust your heavy bag at your side and knock twice on the door, pushing it open when you hear Bruce calling for you to come in.

He sits at his desk, papers strewn everywhere and multiple mugs of unfinished coffee that have gone cold. He looks up when you walk in, offering you the closest thing he has to a smile — a subtle nod and a slight shift in posture that means he’s glad to see you.

“You made it,” he says, as if he was the one who invited you and not the other way around. You hadn’t had the position of Philanthropy and Outreach Co-ordinator for long, and who better than Bruce Wayne to go to when you want to ensure you’re actually doing your job at Wayne Enterprises properly. Not that it was a particularly easy task. He’s genuinely the busiest man you know and you’re lucky you were able to have a conversation with him about this that lasted longer than a few seconds.

“Shocking, I know,” you tease, dropping a folder on his desk. “Try not to look too excited.”

He huffs a quiet breath, flipping open the folder. Inside are the details for the upcoming Wayne Foundation gala — your latest, carefully curated headache. Bruce may hate the public-facing side of things, but he understands the necessity, which is exactly why he agreed to look over things for your first official project.

“This is a lot,” he says, skimming the notes. The lack of a frown on his face tells you that he’s complimenting you and you can’t help glowing inside. You feel like you’re fifteen again. “I’m sure you don’t even need me for this.”

“I just want to make sure it runs smoothly,” you say, letting out a nervous chuckle and crossing your arms, watching him. “Also, if I don’t get your input, I’ll have to deal with the board complaining about how the Wayne Foundation is ‘out of touch’ or whatever. And quite frankly, I don’t get paid enough to handle that and put up with your brooding.”

That earns you a half-smirk. Small victories.

“You’re still coming, right?”

Bruce doesn’t look up, but his hesitation is enough of an answer.

“Bruce.”

He sighs. “I’ll be there.”

You lean against the desk and attempt to stare him down. It’s a lot easier when you’re not having to physically look up at him — it was a hundred times worse when you and Jason were kids and you were practically looking up to the ceiling.

“You sure? I know how much you love playing host, but I really want this to go well.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Fantastic,” you deadpan. “That’s really the kind of enthusiasm we need to make this a huge success.”

Bruce pointedly ignores you. He flips to another page in your folder, skimming over the guest list. You watch his expression carefully, but he stays silent. He’s a man of few words, but when you’re in front of him, you seem to revert back to the girl you used to be and it’s hard to leave the silence alone.

“Well?” you ask, rocking back and forth on your feet — another old habit. You carefully selected the guest list with a whole myriad of purposes behind each individual, so you’re sorely hoping he doesn’t have a problem. “Guest list up to par?”

“It’s good,” he simply states, nodding and moving onto the next page. It’s just about decor and themes and you don’t think he has any interest in it, but he politely glances over it nonetheless. “No notes.”

You raise your brows, surprised with yourself. “What, no shady businessmen or criminals or undercover villains? You’re kidding.”

“Oh, no, there are plenty of them,” he clarifies, matter-of-fact. You deflate and he shakes his head, waving you off. “But, they’re nothing to be concerned about. They’re all major names and donors and they won’t be causing any trouble at an event like this.”

You know that he’s already run the calculations in his head, weighed the risks and is thinking five steps ahead like he always does. It isn’t the donors you care as much about. Sure, the money is a huge part of the fundraiser (It’s literally in the name. You do need the funds). However, it’s not as if Wayne Enterprises is running low on the stuff.

Your main agenda here is networking (the word makes you internally cringe a little, because God, you’re such an adult now), and while you’re not going to say no to the guests donating money, you’re in dire need of signatures. Unfortunately, Bruce doesn’t own every inch of land in Gotham, a fact that you’ve jokingly berated him for in the past. Planning permission for the children’s shelters and renovations and such that you have in mind will need the support of your seriously corrupt government officials.

Enter the bells and whistles needed to suck up to them — fortunately you aren’t too proud to use them. You’re not one of the Bats.

Still, inviting a bunch of them, littered with a whole group of hopefully normal, nice people, to your first event makes you something akin to nervous.

“Right…” you trail off, still unsure if you should be concerned or just accept it. “Good to know what the current state of Gotham’s most esteemed politicians and businessmen is. Really gives me faith in our city.”

Bruce’s lips quirk up and he closes the folder, looking up at you. Story of his life, you guess. The next words coming out of his mouth make you pause. “It looks good. You’re doing well.”

It’s not exactly Shakespeare, but it has the same effect as if he had just hugged you and recited poetry in your name. Praise from Bruce was something that never got old. You swallow, suddenly feeling an embarrassing wave of emotion come over you, but you quickly quell it down before Bruce gets awkward and doesn’t know where to look. “Thank you, Bruce. Really.”

He nods, satisfied. Although it does seem as though he wants to say something else, but appears to be struggling to find the words. Thankfully, for both of you, Alfred chooses that moment to interrupt.

“I do hope the two of you are planning to eat something this evening,” he says, standing at the door with his hands clasped behind his back. His stare makes you squirm.

You fidget, looking at Bruce who is conveniently looking through the same page in your folder he was looking at five minutes ago. “I mean, I—”

“Excellent. I’ve prepared a dinner that I’m sure will provide more sustenance than whatever processed meal you were planning to pick up on your way home.” His gaze shifts to Bruce. “It certainly trumps eating nothing at all.”

Bruce exhales. “Alfred—”

“Master Wayne,” he cuts in smoothly, already taking a step back to walk away. “I trust you will be joining us, rather than working… at the risk of being a rude host.”

You bite back a grin when Bruce frowns at you. You’ve never really been a guest at this house, so the idea of Bruce hosting you is a laughable concept that you’re sure he wants to argue with Alfred about. The attempt to stare his butler down is a good effort, you think. But futile, as it’s never been done successfully.

“…Fine,” Bruce mutters eventually.

Alfred has already set the table by the time you and Bruce step into the dining room which tells you he really wasn’t planning on leaving without the two of you. Everything is perfectly arranged, warm lighting softening the cavernous space, the faint scent of something freshly baked lingering in the air. It’s not a grand affair, but it’s practically a party in comparison to your usual takeout on the couch.

Damian is already sat there, feeding a piece of something under the table to his dog, Titus. He glances up at you, mild surprise flickering across his face before it settles back to expressionless. “I see. That explains all this.”

“Hello to you too, Damian,” you say cheerfully, pulling out a chair as Bruce does the same at the head of the table. His confusion doesn’t surprise you. It really has been a while since you visited, and it’s not as though either you or Damian hang out together on the regular. He’s thirteen years old. You aren’t that lonely.

You like to think he has a level of respect for you from a comfortable distance the same way you do. In a ‘Hey, I too, was once a misunderstood child running around this house with your deceased adoptive older brother that you never knew’ kind of way.

Damian huffs, picking up his fork. “I was in the middle of training, Father.”

“And now you’re in the middle of dinner,” Bruce says, raising a brow. “Eat.”

Damian grumbles, stabbing a piece of his food with a little too much force. “So, what is the purpose of this gala?”

You blink, not expecting him to take an interest. “It’s a Wayne Foundation event for youth outreach. I’m trying to encourage more scholarships, community engagement and all that. Get some signatures to build some more shelters in the near future.”

“And will I be expected to attend?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” you say, at the same time as Bruce who says, “Yes.”

Damian lets out a long suffering sigh. “Is Drake being forced to go as well?”

“I need him to come,” you explain, frowning. “He has connections.”

Probably the only twenty one year old in the world with the connections that you’re talking about. Damian seemingly accepts this, going back to his food without another word.

From across the table, Bruce leans back slightly and watches you. You feel like you’re under a microscope.

“You’re still living in Park Row?”

You tense. “You know I am.”

He doesn’t look away, his posture seemingly stiffer than before, if that were even possible. “You should move.”

Here we go.

You truly thought that this conversation was done with months ago. That Bruce had finally accepted you weren’t going to just pack up and leave your home just because he insisted. The Batman card wasn’t going to work with this.

You take a deep sigh, tilting your head back. “God, not this again.”

“It’s not safe.”

“It’s Gotham. Name one place there hasn’t been any trouble.”

Damian, who has been silently watching the exchange in a not-so-subtle way, chimes in. “It is a valid concern.”

You glance at him, raising a suspicious brow. “Since when do you care where I live?”

“I don’t,” he says bluntly. You don’t miss the way he exchanges a look with Bruce or how he sat up a little straighter when he mentioned Park Row. Like annoying father, like annoying son. “But you’re not exactly… equipped to handle an ambush alone.”

“Wow. Thanks,” you say, before turning back to Bruce. “I’m not moving.”

Bruce exhales, setting down his fork. No, you almost want to whine like a moody teenager getting a lecture again. Pick it up and go back to dinner and stop talking about this!

Being reprimanded by Bruce at twenty three years of age isn’t nearly as funny as it was back in the day. For one thing, Jason wasn’t here being on the receiving end of it. You were usually just there to tag along by his side hearing most of the scolding being directed towards him, with the occasional ‘I expect more from both of you.’ You sometimes felt like he just didn’t want to leave you out. Another thing being that you actually have a parent in your life who you hear enough of it from.

Bruce furrows his brows. “Your mother—”

“—is living in her nice little house in Burnley, thanks to you.” You point your fork at him. “She’s good. She’s happy. She also calls me twice a week to say I should move, so I really don’t need you doubling down.”

Bruce’s expression doesn’t change. “She’s right.”

You sigh, dropping your own fork. It probably doesn’t have nearly the same stern effect as Bruce doing it, but damn it, a girl can try. “I like where I live.”

Alfred, ever the peacekeeper, smoothly refills your glass of water. But there’s a hint of something reprimanding in his own tone as he speak to Bruce. “I believe the young Miss is quite capable of making her own decisions.”

“Hear, hear,” you say, nodding at him. You know these vigilante types are stubborn, though and you’ve been doing some light research, reading some local newsletters about that Red Hood guy you heard about the other day. You’ve barely formed an opinion about him yourself, so you don’t know why you bring him up in an attempt to sway Bruce’s opinion on Crime Alley being a safe enough place to live, but the words are spilling out before you can think twice. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, anyway. I hear there’s some new guy hanging around and keeping people out of trouble, so…”

The mood shifts almost immediately. Bruce doesn’t look at you directly, but his hand flexes slightly before resting back against the table. Damian’s fork pauses again — not even for a full second, but enough that you catch it. Even Alfred stills, before going back to fussing around with the place settings.

“…What?” You glance between them. “What did I say?”

Damian looks as though he wants to say something, but a look from Bruce’s stormy grey eyes, which have turned hard and stern, has him turning back to petting Titus under the table. You don’t miss the way his jaw has tightened.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce says, allowing his shoulders to relax when no one says anything. You’re used to the weird silences around you when it comes to vigilante business. It had been going on since Jason was around, (although he would fill you in on most things privately, anyway) and it didn’t really bother you. The less you knew about things, the better. It doesn’t make this conversation any less tense though. “Just… keep safe.”

“Yes, sir,” you mumble, giving him a two-fingered salute and returning to your dinner as he does the same.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, as if on cue, Alfred clears his throat. “More vegetables?”

You drop your mom’s car off at hers, stepping in for an hour to catch up and letting her interrogate you about your eating and sleeping habits while you nod and lie, the occasional truth thrown in.

She insisted you take the car home, but after ten minutes of arguing, she’s convinced that you’ll make it to your apartment alive if you take a cab instead. You choose to omit the fact that you’re stopping at work to drop off your files for your boss to look over in the morning now that you’re happy with Bruce’s input and that you’ll walk the rest of the way home.

(You’ve got to get your steps in. Plus the weather is looking pretty good. Mental health walks are very important in the current state of the world and you like to think they cancel out the unhealthy eating and lack of sleep.)

You try your best not to walk home from work when it’s dark, because as much as your protests against Bruce and your mom may suggest otherwise, you don’t actually want to be murdered in Crime Alley.

The streets stretch out ahead of you, no longer slick with the remnants of the earlier light rain and you breathe in as much fresh air as you can before you start to enter the shadier part of town.

The buildings start to lose their shine the closer you get to home, turning older and angrier in the dark. The grime covered windows, rusted balconies and bricks, weathered by rain and neglect look like they could collapse in on you any second now. They won’t, though. They’ve been around longer than you’ve been alive.

The first sign of trouble comes as a sound.

A sharp, violent crack — the unmistakeable impact of a fist against bone.

You freeze.

Damn it, you think to yourself. Damn it all to hell, because you don’t want to live in a world where Bruce and Damian are right and you’re wrong.

You deduce that the sounds are coming from the alley across the street, which is unfortunate considering that’s the way to your apartment complex.

It’s the space between two crumbling brick buildings, half-lit by the flickering glow of a neon pink ‘OPEN’ sign hanging above a little beauty parlour that isn’t actually open, but the sign is always on. You shouldn’t look. You should just keep walking.

There’s just one little thing. If you take another route, it adds at least ten minutes to your journey and your feet are already dragging from exhaustion. So if you’re going to avoid going through your usual alley route, it’s got to be for a good reason.

You aren’t stupid. But you’re also a curious person by nature. And maybe you’re a tiny bit desensitised to these things with the crowd you tend to run with.

At least that’s what you tell yourself when you start to venture towards the noise, a single streetlamp dimly glowing overhead to light your path, revealing old cigarette butts ground into the concrete and a pile of shattered glass. There’s also something dark smeared across the concrete that, in spite of yourself, you lean in a bit closer to inspect.

The smell of stale beer, damp cardboard and the rot of garbage from the general vicinity suddenly wafts into your nose and causes a wave of nausea that has you standing straight again. That’s definitely enough of that.

At the same time, you catch sight of a figure shifting in the alley ahead of you.

It’s the Red Hood, you note with a hint of surprise.

You recognise him from your previous Google inspection, the blurry pictures not doing much justice to his imposing figure, but it’s definitely him.

He’s taller than you expected. Broad-shouldered and solid. His black leather jacket shifts as he exhales, head tilting just slightly like he’s considering something as he looks down.

There are four guys. Or at least, four bodies. Two of them are on the ground, unmoving and the other two don’t look much better. One is spitting blood onto the pavement, another is trying (and failing miserably) to push himself upright. He groans something unintelligible. If Red Hood responds, you don’t hear it.

Instead, he shifts his weight, combat boots scuffing against the cracked concrete. He doesn’t look tired or out of breath and when he’s stationary, it’s a deadly stillness.

When he does move, the neon glow catches on his helmet, the deep red gleaming like fresh blood. You have to give it to him — it takes a really frightening figure to not look silly under bright pink lighting. You suppose the rusted fire escape to the side of building helps the image, considering the lowest rung is bent at an odd angle. There’s a man lying unconscious beside it. You can put two and two together.

Red Hood straightens, rolling his shoulders and breathing steadily. He looks at you.

Your pulse jumps. You should move, should pretend you didn’t just stop in the middle of a dark and creepy alleyway to gawk at a violent fight scene. Well, the end of one anyway.

But you can’t find the will to move your legs. From fright or something else, you aren’t sure. But there’s something about the way he stands; relaxed, but coiled beneath the surface, like a predator that hasn’t decided if it’s ready to pounce or not. His fingers flex at his sides before curling back into loose fists, and then he moves.

Not towards you, or anything in particular. Just a slight shift of weight, as if registering your presence and deciding not to acknowledge it further.

You take that as your cue to leave and take the long way home, tearing your gaze away from the white gleam of his eyepiece and slowly backing up. You’re still not running, just walking at a leisurely pace and trying to control your breathing until you get back onto the main sidewalk. It isn’t until you’re walking past other people that you feel like you can relax your shoulders and actually start thinking about what you just saw.

In hindsight, your survival instincts probably need some work, but hey — he’s meant to be a vigilante. Sure, you shouldn’t believe everything you read online, but if you can’t trust Google, then what hope do you really have.

Maybe it can’t hurt to look at some of those apartment listings that Tim is always sending you.

tag list: @sakur4ii @theendofthematerialgworl @daughterofthemoons-stuff @staraniseed @harbours-lighthouse @eli-com @flanhog @catsaresillyasheck @wafflez-009 @straight-n-arrow @ydkmsstuff @alikkatz @doperthanabitch @wadehowl3tt

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azzibuckets · 2 days ago

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All Fell Down ~Part 4~

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

*masterlist with @imaginespazzi

Paige pretends not to notice the looks her teammates exchange when she stumbles back to the group and tells them that Azzi is coming to pick her up. She swallows her embarrassment when they all quietly agree to take turns keeping an eye on her in the booth while she waits. She doesn’t know how she’s going to face her team again after her behavior tonight, but it’s a problem for tomorrow. All Paige can think about now is what she’s going to say when she sees Azzi again.

Time seems to tick backwards in the ten minutes that Paige waits, slumped over the table with her face buried in her arms. Half conscious and inebriated, she can’t remember if her conversation with Azzi over the phone had been real or a fragment of her imagination. She’s almost asleep when she hears shuffling feet followed by low murmurs.

All of a sudden, she can smell Azzi’s perfume, can hear the sound of her voice. Looking up, Paige blinks sleepily as Azzi’s face sharpens into her vision. The warmth of Azzi’s hands cupping her face makes her eyes flutter shut as she relishes the feeling of Azzi’s touch for the first time in weeks. Azzi gently swipes her thumb over her cheek before nodding to Olivia. “I got her.”

As soon as Olivia retreats, the air between them seems to thicken. They stare at each other for a half second, before Paige abruptly grabs her purse and gets up, stumbling in the process. Azzi’s hands shoot to her waist, intending to steady Paige but instead making her head spin with the feeling of the younger girl’s fingers tightening around her waist.

“You always get me right.” Paige whispers into Azzi’s hair, letting her mouth brush ever so slightly against the nape of her neck.

Paige almost sees Azzi shiver, but it’s indecipherable and Azzi recovers quickly. Shaking her head, her mouth pulls into a frown. “You’re drunk, Paige,” she says simply. “Let’s go.”

In the passenger seat, Paige crosses her arms over chest and rests her forehead against the window. “You’re disappointed in me.”

Azzi inhales slowly. “I never said that.”

“I can see it in your eyes.”

The muscle in her jaw tightens. “What does that even mean?”

“I’m your best friend. I can read you like a book.”

“Best friend, huh?”

Paige’s voice falters. “What?”

“Best friend, my ass. Someone wouldn’t ignore their best friend for two fucking weeks.”

“That’s not fair.”

Azzi brakes a little harder than she needs to. “Do you want me to apologize?”

“Apologize?” Paige’s voice is scratchy in the way that it is when she’s trying not to cry. “For what?”

“Hell if I know.” Azzi slams her hands against the wheel. She takes a second to catch her breath, composing herself before she says something she regrets. “Look, whatever I did, I’m sorry, okay?” Azzi inhales sharply, as if she’s suffocating and fighting for her last breath of air. “I don’t know what I did to make you so angry at me, but whatever it is, I’m sorry.” She turns her face away, swiping angrily at her eyes. “You think I haven’t noticed that you can’t even stand to be in the same room with me anymore? Every time I enter, your face fucking falls like you can’t even stand to be in the same conversation as me. And it fucking hurts, Paige, because you’re my best friend.” Her voice catches. “You’re my best friend and I love you and I don’t know why we’re falling apart.”

It feels like a sucker punch to Paige’s gut. “Azzi, stop the car.”

“What?”

“Az, please pull over.”

Azzi pulls over to the curb, her fingers tapping anxiously on the wheel. Paige steps out, goes over to the driver side and flings open the door, and in a flurry, Azzi’s stepped out of the car and is pressed against the door. Paige hovers over the younger girl, mouth centimeters from hers.

For a moment, they stay still, holding their breaths, both of them afraid to shatter the moment between them, shatter the remnants of their friendship. But Azzi, with her slightly mussed hair and her soft eyes, her full lips and the stress line in her eyebrow, is utterly intoxicating, and Paige can’t help but press her mouth to Azzi’s, her teeth biting at the softness of her bottom lip. She moves gently at first, but when Azzi lets out a breathy moan, it turns something in Paige feral, and she slides her hand around the waistband of her low-hanging sweats, thumbs pressing into the dip of her bare hipbones.

Paige is touching Azzi and tasting Azzi and oh my god is this what it feels like to be alive? Because Paige has been living for 20 years but if this is what being alive is like then maybe kissing Azzi is what it feels like to take her first breath.

Azzi’s hand curls around Paige’s neck, the other cupping her jawline, bringing her impossibly closer before her rationale gets the best of her and she forces herself to step away. “Paige.”

The blonde groans as Azzi takes her hands and removes them from her waist. The dark haired girl stuffs her own hands into her pockets, as if she needs to physically restrain herself from touching Paige. “You fucked me and you left me alone in my bed the next morning. Then for weeks you ignore me, only to call me when you’re drunk off your ass to kiss me and fuck with my feelings again.”

“It wasn’t fucking. Please don’t call it that.” Paige can barely even think, her heart careening out of control. She’s high off the feeling of Azzi’s bare skin on hers, overwhelmingly nervous with anxiety over the future of their relationship. Yet she can’t bring herself to regret a single thing she did in the last few minutes, because now that she knows what it feels like having Azzi’s mouth move against hers, softly panting into her ear, she knows she has to experience it again.

“Then what was it? Because the way you left like it meant nothing made me feel like another one of your one night stands. I’ve put up with you being with other girls, but I’m not going to let you treat me like one. I deserve more than that.”

“I’m sorry,” Paige says, and as soon as the apology comes out of her mouth she knows it’s not enough, and it’s not what Azzi wants to hear.

Azzi looks away, and she looks so astonishingly beautiful in the moonlight that Paige’s heart hurts. “You only ever touch me like this when you’re drunk. I’m not an idiot, Paige.”

Paige’s eyes close. “I keep hurting you.” Her voice is throaty. “I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

Azzi smiles wryly. “Then maybe stop stringing me along.”

“I’m not-,” Paige cuts herself off. She doesn’t know what to do with this new epiphany, that she’s not good enough for kind, lovely, sweet Azzi, and she never will be. Azzi deserves the world, and Paige can’t give her any of it. “I can’t do this for you. I can’t be this for you.” She stumbles over her words, her breath strangled as if her lungs are collapsing on themselves.

“Paige.” Azzi’s eyes soften, and she brushes her hand over the older girl’s shoulder, her movements hesitant as she realizes how close Paige is to losing all control. “It’s okay. You’re drunk. You need to sleep. Let me take you back to your apartment.”

“I don’t wanna go back there,” Paige is crying now. “I wanna be with you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Azzi’s hands are on her cheeks again, her touch feather light. Paige tilts her head against her palm, leaning into her warmth, and Azzi smiles sadly before tiptoeing to press a kiss to her temple. “We’re gonna be okay,” she says, but it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than Paige.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconnwbb #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #angst #fic #uconn wbb #wcbb

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nilla03 · 2 days ago

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𝑪𝒀𝑩𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑬𝑿 ✰ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 : 𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒑 𝒎𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠: 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑒𝑥, 𝑙𝑎𝑝 𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑡: 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑦 𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡

You had been good—for the first thirty minutes. Now, though, you were over it.

“Megs,” you whined, kicking your feet a little as you pouted at him from across the room. “This is taking too long.”

Megumi didn’t even glance at you, his dark hair hanging over his eyes as he sat with his arm stretched out, the artist carefully dragging the needle over his skin. His sleeve was nearly complete, intricate blackwork and delicate shading wrapping around his muscled forearm. His rings clinked against the chair’s armrest when his fingers flexed.

“Not my problem,” he muttered.

You huffed, crossing your arms under your chest to make sure he saw the way your tits pushed up in your tiny, low-cut top. “But I’m bored.”

“Then go home.”

You narrowed your eyes. Oh, he was being mean.

Pushing up from your chair, you strutted over to him, placing yourself right next to his seat. “No,” you said, pouting. “I wanna sit with you.”

His eyes finally flicked to you, heavy-lidded and sharp, the silver hoop in his lip catching in the light as he exhaled. “Sit over there.”

“I wanna sit here.” Before he could stop you, you climbed onto his lap, settling yourself right over the hard muscle of his thighs. He stiffened beneath you, but you just curled your arms around his neck, brushing your fingers over the piercings in his ear.

The tattoo artist gave a short laugh. “She always this needy?”

“Worse,” Megumi muttered, but his big hands found your waist, gripping you tightly. “You’re testing me,” he murmured low enough for only you to hear.

You smirked, shifting ever so slightly, feeling the bulge beneath his sweats press against your barely-covered core. His grip tightened.

“I just wanna be close,” you whispered, tilting your head as you trailed your fingers down the back of his neck. “That a problem?”

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking. “You keep moving like that, and we’re gonna have a big problem.”

The second you shifted on his lap again—just a little grind, a little test—Megumi exhaled hard through his nose, his grip on your waist turning bruising.

“Yo,” he called to the artist, voice tight. “Gimme a break.”

The tattoo artist lifted a brow, setting the gun down. “Need a smoke or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” Megumi muttered, but his hands never left your body. The artist shrugged. “I’ll be outside. Ten minutes.”

The second the door clicked shut, Megumi’s fingers flexed, then tightened—before he was flipping you onto the chair so fast your breath hitched. You barely had time to squeak before his big hands were on your thighs, spreading you open, yanking your little skirt up so fast the fabric nearly tore.

“You just couldn’t fucking wait, could you?” His voice was low, dripping with irritation

You batted your lashes, feigning innocence, even as your cunt clenched around nothing. “I don’t know what you mean, Megs.”

His lips curled, amusement flashing for just a second before his ringed fingers hooked into your panties and ripped them clean down the middle.

“Megumi!” you gasped.

“Shut up,” he muttered, shoving them into his pocket like a fucking souvenir. Then he was undoing his sweats, pushing them down just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, already leaking. He stroked it once, twice, and you whimpered, your hips lifting off the chair.

“Look at you,” he scoffed, dragging the tip through your slick folds. “All that whining, all that attitude—just to end up bent over looking like a slut for me”

Your face burned, but you still pouted. “Took too lonnng”

Before you could throw another bratty quip, he was sinking into you, stretching you open with one slow, brutal thrust. Your mouth dropped open in a silent moan, eyes rolling back as he bottomed out, your walls fluttering around his cock.

Megumi groaned, head tipping forward, lip piercing glinting under the harsh shop lights. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Always so fucking wet everytimee-.”

You whined, fingers scrambling to grip his tattooed forearms as he pulled out almost entirely before slamming back in, the chair creaking under the force.

“What happened to all that attitude?” he taunted, setting a ruthless pace. His hands dug into your hips, keeping you still while he fucked into you

You sobbed, legs wrapping around his waist as his cock dragged against that spot inside you over and over. “M-Megumi—”

He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “You wanted my attention, baby,” he murmured darkly, rolling his hips deep. “Now fucking take it.”

Your nails dug into his back, pleasure twisting tight in your gut. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the shop, filthy and obscene, mixing with your breathy moans and Megumi’s ragged groans.

“Gonna come already?” he taunted, feeling the way your walls fluttered around him.

You gasped, nodding frantically, tears welling up. “Y-Yeah—”

“Too bad.” His fingers wrapped around your throat, just enough to make you whimper. “You wanna be a brat? You come when I say.”

A sob left your lips, legs shaking, body strung so tight you thought you’d snap.

Megumi smirked, cruel and satisfied. “Guess you should’ve behaved, huh?”

#megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #jjk oneshot #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #megumi smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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shyoko · 2 days ago

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They are caught in an intimate moment. ☆

This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. (English is not my first language.)

Requests are: open

I want to thank you all for all the support you’re giving to the reactions ♡♡♡

☆Also, I wanted to let you know how I’ll be organizing the posts. I’ll be uploading a chapter every other day. Before each post, I’ll create a poll with four story options, and you’ll vote for the one you want me to upload. The next day, I’ll publish the winning story and repeat the process in the same way.☆

☆ Contains adult content. !!

Heeseung☆

You never imagined that baking cookies could turn into such a heated make-out session.

Maybe it was the long wait while the oven did its job, or perhaps it was Heeseung’s lingering touches on your skin—light, teasing, yet electrifying. Whatever the reason, the result was undeniable: you were trapped in his arms, your back pressed against the cool kitchen counter as his lips moved hungrily against yours.

Heeseung lifted you effortlessly, settling you onto the counter as his hands wandered freely over your body. A shaky breath escaped your lips when his fingers found the hem of your shirt, and in the blink of an eye, it was discarded onto the floor. His mouth trailed eagerly down your skin, leaving a burning path in its wake.

But the moment shattered in an instant.

—Oh, for God’s sake! Really? Is there nowhere else in this house?! —Jay’s exasperated voice cut through the air, freezing you in place.

Heeseung tensed immediately, his wide eyes locking onto yours in a mix of shock and panic. In a clumsy rush, he grabbed your shirt and helped you cover yourself, his voice caught between an apology and a weak defense.

—How was I supposed to know you were here?

Jay let out an exaggerated sigh, crossing his arms with pure frustration while you struggled to catch your breath and regain your composure.

Damn cookies.

Jay☆

You had decided to stop by the studio to visit the guys, and there you found Jay completely immersed in his guitar practice, rehearsing for his upcoming covers.

You knocked softly on the door, and after a few seconds, a visibly exhausted Jay opened it. His tired eyes and slightly tousled hair only made him look even more attractive.

—Did you not sleep well? —you asked with a hint of concern.

Jay gave you a small, lazy smile, his deep, husky voice filling the space between you.

—Not really… Think you could help wake me up a little? —his tone was sweet, but there was something undeniably mischievous in his gaze.

And just like that, within minutes, you were straddling his lap, feeling him buried deep inside you. According to him, this helped him relax and focus better—but the truth was, every time he shifted, whether to adjust his position or reach for something on the table, the friction sent waves of pleasure through your body, making it harder and harder to stay still.

The heat pooling inside you became unbearable, and after minutes of this slow, torturous game, you couldn’t take it anymore.

—Jay… stop moving, or I swear I’ll start bouncing on you —you warned, your voice shaky with frustration and desire.

He let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening around your waist.

—Oh, sweetheart… don’t even try. I need to concentrate.

But if he wanted to play, so would you.

Without hesitation, you began moving against him, challenging him. His breathing turned ragged almost instantly, and though he tried to hold you still, the pleasure was too much—forcing small, breathy moans past his lips, mixing with your own.

Everything was going perfectly… until it all went to hell.

—Hey, Jay, could you help me wi—…?

Jungwon’s voice cut off abruptly. His eyes widened in shock, his entire body freezing at the sight in front of him.

You went completely still, your heart hammering in your chest as Jay tensed beneath you. The silence that followed was so thick it was suffocating.

Jay was the first to react, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.

—Jungwon… get out. Now.

The younger boy blinked rapidly, clearly in disbelief, before turning on his heel and stumbling out of the room as fast as he could.

Jay let out a long, frustrated sigh before lifting you off him effortlessly and settling you onto his chair. Leaning in close, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper.

—I'll deal with you later… Don’t think for a second that I’ll forget how naughty you’ve been.

And with that, he walked out after Jungwon, as if nothing had happened.

But you both knew this wasn’t over.

Jake☆

What started as a quiet movie night ended with Jake pressing you down onto the mattress, his body hovering over yours as his hands slowly explored every curve of your back.

—Are you going to be good for me, baby? —he whispered against your ear, his deep voice vibrating through your skin—. Are you going to let me make you mine?

His lips trailed down your bare back, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses as his hands settled firmly on your waist. His touch was slow but sure, and just as he finally filled you completely, the sudden sound of a phone ringing shattered the atmosphere.

Jake let his head fall against your shoulder, letting out a low groan of frustration before reaching for the device. Without pulling away from you, he quickly silenced the call and tossed the phone onto the mattress.

—They couldn’t have picked a worse time… —he muttered with a smirk before refocusing on you.

He pulled you closer, pressing your back against his chest as he resumed his movements. His lips found your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

But then the phone rang again.

Jake tensed for a moment before letting out an annoyed sigh.

—Give me a second… —he murmured irritably.

Still holding onto you, he grabbed the phone and accepted the call. Before speaking, he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered in a teasing tone:

—Be quiet for me, okay, pretty girl?

You nodded quickly, biting your lip to suppress any sound.

—Ni-ki? —he answered, his voice still rough.

He tried to focus on the conversation, but right then, his hips moved involuntarily, and the pleasure that coursed through your body was too much to suppress. A muffled moan escaped your lips before you could stop it, forcing you to slap a hand over your mouth.

Too late.

—What the fuck, Jake?! —Niki’s voice rang out, clearly horrified—. Don’t tell me you’re fucking your girlfriend while talking to me! That’s fucking disgusting, dude!

Jake let out a deep chuckle, still holding you firmly against him.

—I'll call you later —he said casually, hanging up without a second thought.

He tossed the phone aside, his hands immediately returning to you, roaming your body possessively before leaning down to kiss your neck again.

—Now… where were we?

The suggestive tone in his voice and the way his fingers tightened around you made it clear—he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

Sunghoon☆

You had made plans to have lunch with Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay at a restaurant near the company after they finished their rehearsal. Everything seemed normal as you walked to the place, joking and chatting about random things.

Once seated, each of you ordered your food, and the conversation flowed naturally while you waited. But then, out of nowhere, you felt a warm hand rest on your knee.

Your body tensed immediately. You turned your head toward Sunghoon, giving him a warning look, but he remained as nonchalant as ever, carrying on with the conversation as if nothing was happening. His fingers started moving slowly, tracing light circles on your skin.

You tried to ignore him, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation, but the heat from his palm was impossible to disregard. And just when you thought he might stop, his hand began creeping higher, sliding up your thigh at an agonizingly slow pace.

A shiver ran down your spine. Your breathing grew heavier as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, so dangerously close to your underwear that every little touch made you hold your breath.

Discreetly, you caught his wrist in an attempt to stop him, but Sunghoon only pressed further, his fingers slipping between your legs with excruciating slowness.

The first direct touch had you biting your lips to keep quiet.

His caresses were soft but torturous, teasing you mercilessly as you struggled to keep a straight face in front of the others.

Just then, the food arrived. You sighed in relief, thinking that he would finally stop, but you were wrong. His hand didn’t move away—if anything, his touch became even more persistent.

You felt his fingers toying with the thin fabric of your underwear before effortlessly slipping beneath it.

Your back arched slightly, and on instinct, you gripped his wrist more firmly, silently begging him to stop. But Sunghoon only smirked in satisfaction, clearly enjoying the way your body reacted to him without anyone noticing.

Small, restrained gasps caught in your throat, and when your thighs tried to clamp shut, he simply nudged them apart again, his fingers growing bolder in their exploration.

And then, out of nowhere, a sudden jolt brought everything to a halt.

Sunghoon stiffened instantly, pulling his hand away in an instant. He frowned and looked up to see who had interrupted him.

Jake.

The blond was staring at him, his expression neutral, but his slightly furrowed brows made his disapproval clear. Sunghoon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, cleared his throat, and without saying a word, picked up his chopsticks and started eating as if nothing had happened.

You did the same, though your heart was still pounding, and the heat in your cheeks was impossible to hide.

Jay, completely oblivious to the situation, narrowed his eyes at the two of you.

—What the hell is up with you two? —he asked suspiciously.

No one answered. Sunghoon focused on his food, you avoided eye contact, and Jake smirked slightly, clearly satisfied with his intervention.

Jay let out a sigh, still confused.

Sunoo☆

For Sunoo, getting caught in the act was all part of the plan.

He had spent weeks listening to the guys tease him about how sweet and innocent he was, how unlikely it was for him to be with a girl. At first, he laughed it off, but over time, it started to wear on him. Did they really think he wasn’t capable of making someone feel good?

It was time to prove them wrong. And who better to help him do that than you—his best friend?

No words were needed. Just a single moment of tension, a look filled with intent, and the briefest touch before his lips crashed onto yours in a hungry, heated kiss—like you had both been waiting for this moment all along.

Before you could even process it, you were lying on the couch in the living room, Sunoo hovering over you, his body pressing against yours with the perfect mix of softness and urgency. He knew the guys would be back any minute, but rather than worry, the thought only seemed to excite him more.

His lips trailed down to your neck, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses as his hands roamed freely.

—God… you’re so perfect —he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire.

One of his hands slid up to cup your breast gently, while the other trailed lower, fingertips tracing along your stomach before slipping between your thighs. With practiced ease, he found the hem of your underwear and, without breaking his rhythm, slid it down your legs before stuffing it into the pocket of his pants with a smug smile.

The first touch of his fingers against your bare skin made you arch your back. He moved with such confidence, such precision, that you couldn’t hold back a breathy sigh. Sunoo seemed to revel in your every reaction, his lips grazing your skin, leaving faint marks as he went.

And just as the tension reached its peak…

The door swung open.

The sudden sound snapped both of you out of the moment. Your heads turned simultaneously toward the entrance, where the guys stood frozen in place, eyes wide with shock, their faces a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

The room fell into complete silence.

But Sunoo didn’t even flinch.

With the utmost composure, he stood up without letting go of you and effortlessly scooped you into his arms. Turning to the stunned group, he flashed a radiant smile, clearly enjoying the effect his little stunt had caused.

—Oh wow, guys… didn’t expect you back so soon —he said, his tone laced with amusement—. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure to lock the door this time.

He shot them a playful wink before chuckling softly and carrying you off to his room, leaving them standing in stunned silence in the middle of the living room.

Mission accomplished.

Jungwon☆

The boys were just about to go on stage, each of them finishing up their preparations before the big moment. The backstage was pure chaos—stylists rushing back and forth, crew members making last-minute adjustments, and the deafening sound of the audience filling the air.

Amidst all the commotion, Jungwon suddenly appeared out of nowhere, grabbing your wrist and quickly pulling you into the dressing room. The door clicked shut behind him, and before you could even ask what was going on, his body was already pressing yours against the wall.

—Baby, I need you… —his voice was low and breathless, his eyes burning with desire.

You looked at him in confusion until your gaze dropped down—and suddenly, you understood.

—Wonnie… you have to be on stage in seven minutes —you whispered, trying to ignore the sudden heat pooling in your stomach.

He gave you a half-smirk, his fingers trailing softly down your waist.

—That’s exactly how long I need for you to help me with this —he murmured, leaning in just enough for his lips to brush against yours.

A shiver ran down your spine. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this here—not with so many people outside, not with so little time—but the way his body reacted to yours, the desperation in his eyes, the slight tremble in his breath… you couldn’t resist.

You dropped to your knees, your pulse pounding in your ears as your fingers worked quickly to undo his belt. Jungwon let out a shaky sigh as your hands wrapped around him, his body tensing at the first touch.

His fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements with barely restrained need.

—God… just like that… —he groaned softly, biting his lip to keep quiet.

His grip tightened slightly, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Every sound that slipped past his lips sent waves of heat through your body, making you revel in the way he melted under your touch.

But then, the door suddenly swung open, shattering the moment.

—What the hell is going on here?!

Sunghoon’s firm, exasperated voice made you freeze instantly. Jungwon let out a frustrated grunt and quickly pulled away, fumbling to fix his clothes.

Sunghoon stared at the two of you, a mix of disbelief and irritation on his face.

—We’re about to go on stage, get dressed already, idiot —he huffed, crossing his arms.

Jungwon let out a heavy sigh, still trying to steady his breathing. Before leaving, he leaned in close to you, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured with a playful pout:

—Promise me you’ll take care of me later… I want more.

And with one last look filled with silent promises, he followed Sunghoon out, leaving you standing there, heart racing and body still burning, knowing this wasn’t over.

Ni-ki☆

It seemed like Jake had only one mission: to make Niki jealous by shamelessly flirting with you.

He spent the entire afternoon showering you with sweet compliments, winking at you, and cracking jokes that made you laugh—all while Niki watched from a distance, his frown deepening and his jaw tightening more and more.

At first, he tried to ignore it. But when he saw Jake leaning in too close, his arm brushing against yours with far too much confidence, his patience finally snapped.

Without a word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

—Why the hell are you letting Jake flirt with you like that?! —he blurted out, his voice filled with frustration.

—Niki, oh my God, it’s not even tha—

Your words never made it out. Before you could finish, his lips crashed onto yours with overwhelming urgency.

This wasn’t a soft, playful kiss like usual. It was hungry, possessive, as if he needed to make it clear once and for all that you were his.

His hands roamed your body with desperation, gripping your waist before sliding down to squeeze your hips, pulling you even closer against him. You let out a quiet gasp against his lips, which only seemed to ignite him further.

—Tell me I’m the only one for you —he murmured breathlessly, his warm breath fanning against your lips.

His hand slipped under your shirt, trailing up your skin until it reached your chest, his grip firm yet teasing.

—Of course, you’re the only one for me, Niki —you whispered without hesitation.

The kiss deepened instantly, growing more desperate, more consuming… until the door swung open.

—Oh, for God’s sake —Sunoo’s voice broke the moment—. I came to check if you were okay after Jake’s little joke, but I see you’re being very well taken care of… so I’ll just leave.

He rolled his eyes with an amused chuckle before shutting the door behind him, leaving both of you breathless and flushed.

Niki let out a frustrated sigh, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

—Great… exactly what I needed.

But when he looked back at you, his eyes told a different story.

This wasn’t over.

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