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missadangel · 26 days ago

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MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 5: Falling Hard

series masterlist

Chapter Summary: Harry is becoming increasingly attached to you, while you remain absorbed in your work. Despite your efforts to keep your distance, his persistence pulls you in somehow without you even realizing it. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 11,5k, oops, feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com and little angst... authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

Monday…

The building superintendent handed you the key to the penthouse you were tasked with cleaning. He pointed out where to find the cleaning supplies and outlined the dos and don’ts for the job. Although you were already familiar with these details, it was evident that the penthouse owner was either extremely meticulous or had a unique approach to things.

Donning your black maid uniform with the white collar, you loaded all the essential supplies into the elevator. Since you were heading to the top floor, you knew you needed to bring everything with you, and the other cleaners—who were incredibly kind—offered their assistance since it was your first day. It felt almost as if they had been instructed to help you, although you might have been less surprised if your boss wasn't someone like Jack. Nevertheless, you appreciated their kindness; you had landed the job you’d been searching for much sooner than expected, and you didn't want to question the situation too closely.

Once you stepped into the elevator, you didn’t bother to look back and see how many floors the attendant pressed. But you wished you could. The floor indicator ticked up: 28, 29, 30, 49, 59... Just how many floors did this building have? It finally reached 69, 70, 71, and 72 before the elevator chimed in to announce your arrival. If you hadn’t visited the Empire State Building and stood on its observation deck, this might have been the tallest building you had ever entered.

As you exited the private elevator, you turned right toward a large, wide door that led directly into the penthouse. Stepping inside, you couldn't help but gaze around in wonder. The penthouse was a two-story, full-floor duplex with ceilings towering about 14 feet high, providing stunning 270-degree views of the city.

From this high vantage point, the beauty of Columbus Circle and Central Park unfolded spectacularly alongside a stunning view of the Hudson River. Even the distant outlines of New Jersey and the airport were visible, while Harlem looked simply incredible from above. The building reach such heights that you felt almost level with the Empire State Building visible in the distance.

On the first floor, there were two-bedroom suites featuring a spacious living room, two adequately sized bathrooms, and a fairly large kitchen. One of the suites had a locked door, and the doorman mentioned that the landlord had specifically warned against entering that room. You found yourself curious about the reason behind it but ultimately shrugged it off; surely, there must be a good explanation. Perhaps the owner was someone who kept cash hidden away due to a distrust of banks, or maybe someone who was just a hoarder of illicit funds—who could say? You didn’t really mind as long as you were being compensated well for your work.

Upstairs, you discovered the largest dressing room you'd ever encountered, along with a spacious bedroom, a generous bathroom, and a terrace that resembled a mini-garden. The walls were adorned with white plaster, and the beautiful oak hardwood floors featured a unique pattern, with seamless AC diffusers tucked into the corners. Between the living room and kitchen, there was a wet bar that was almost larger than the living room itself, stocked full of drinks. Two wine racks, a wine fridge, and a long counter occupied the space. Above it, a full glass cabinet showcased an impressive collection of wine glasses, clearly displaying its contents. Just around the corner sat the dining area, furnished with a table that could seat twelve. Every corner was lined with glass panels and columns, offering a stunning, panoramic view that made getting too close to the edge feel a bit precarious.

The sheer size of the house and its mesmerizing views left you unsure of where to begin your cleaning tasks. Fortunately, it seemed the landlord wasn’t a messy person. Aside from some unwashed dishes in the kitchen and a few scattered clothes in the dressing room, there wasn’t much to tackle. You hadn't encountered luxury homes like this often, and each experience made you a bit anxious. Typically, wealthy landlords tended to throw frequent parties, making cleanup afterward a real chore. Thankfully, it was clear that a single man inhabited this space; there were no signs of a woman or child around. The state of the sheets on the bed indicated he wasn’t a frequent one-night-stand type either. This was a relief, especially when recalling the dirty, grimy sheets you had encountered in other homes. Meticulous and solitary clients were truly the best.

However, there was one aspect that unsettled you: the home security cameras.

Damn technology.

The owner could easily connect to them at any time from his phone or tablet. Since you’d never experienced anything like this at Jack's house, the presence of cameras here felt intrusive. But you tried to push the thought aside; they surely weren’t going to monitor your every move, were they?

After vacuuming the house and mopping the floors, you leaned against the wall for a moment to catch your breath. The chairs looked high-end, and you hesitated to sit down, feeling uneasy about using someone else's belongings, especially with all those cameras around.

“Oh, I’m so thirsty,” you mumbled, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Frustration bubbled up as you recalled the water bottle back in your bag downstairs, the room where you changed was on the ground floor. Just then, you heard a noise coming from the kitchen, and you could have sworn you heard the sound of water.

Was the refrigerator actually filling a glass with water?

You blinked in disbelief. “Is it broken or something?” you wondered aloud. “Has technology really come this far that a fridge can respond to our needs?” But your throat was parched, so you decided to drink. To your surprise, when you placed the glass back, it started to fill again. Hesitant yet curious, you took another sip and jokingly told the refrigerator to stop. To your astonishment, it actually obeyed. “Is this place haunted or what?” you looked around. “Even ghosts are picky about where they hang out. I can’t blame you, buddy—if I were a ghost, I’d want to haunt a place like this too.”

You chuckled at the thought.

“What’s so funny?”

Harry looked up from his iPad, embarrassment crossing his face as Maria scolded him. He had completely lost track of the meeting. Disengaging the network communication with the fridge while keeping the app active in the background, he took out one earbud and tried to refocus on the discussion. However, the urge to laugh lingered, your voice still echoing in his mind.

"This is the most fun I’ve ever had at work," he thought to himself.

Once the meeting wrapped up, he headed to his office and opened the app again. A smile crept across his face as he saw you bustling around in the kitchen. For reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint, he derived joy from watching you wash the dishes. Zooming in on your face, he let out a deep sigh.

“How can you be this beautiful?” he murmured.

He continued to watch you, lost in thought.

“You really-,” Maria chimed in, hovering over him and staring at his iPad. “That’s not right, Harry.”

Without tearing his eyes away from the screen, he snapped, “Don’t start.”

“Seriously, go talk to her instead of watching her on camera like a creep,” she said.

“I did.”

Maria leaned against the edge of the table. “And? Did she turn you down?”

Harry swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

“Wow, this girl is truly something. All right, as your buddy, I’ll help you win her over. I’ll be your wingwoman.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No need. I’ll handle it. I’ve hurt her enough already.”

"Really? You think it'll be better if she finds out you've been watching her like this? Honestly, if someone did that to me, I'd want to kick their asses. I thought there were no more lies between you two."

"I'm just trying to make things right. The company wasn't going to call her anytime soon, so I helped her get a job."

“Well, I can’t be mad about that. Why don’t you invite her to the wedding? The invitation is for two, you know.”

“I know,” he sighed deeply.

“You’re worried she won’t want to go with you.”

“She keeps saying she doesn’t belong in my world,” he said ruefully. “I don’t want to pressure her.”

“I get that, but you won’t lose anything by asking,” she said, standing up and heading towards the door. “And just a heads-up, Harry, don’t get too comfortable with her working in your place without knowing anything about it. The truth has a way of coming out eventually, so keep that in mind.”

Harry knew she was right, but he felt more helpless than ever. All he wanted was to be near you, to close the distance between. As he watched you walk toward his bedroom on the screen, he focused on how he could win your heart.

As you were changing the bed sheets, a familiar scent caught your attention, causing your heart to skip a beat. You picked up the pillow and took a whiff—it was the same as Harry's perfume. You smiled, remembering him, and thought about if he lived in a house like this, maybe even one a bit more luxurious. As you draped the new sheets over the bed, memories of your last conversation took hold. Part of you yearned to toss aside all your pride and aspirations, eager to leap into his arms. Yet another part of you felt terrified—more scared than ever before. The ache from that night in the hotel room was still fresh, and the thought of facing that pain again filled you with dread.

All these years, you had pondered what love truly felt like. The relationship you once believed was love had ended, morphing into something you never wanted to undergo again.

You had sealed that chapter away.

But this feeling was different, far from what you had experienced before.

Could this be love?

Could it encompass both joy and heartbreak simultaneously? The answer frightened you, yet it also ignited a desire you couldn’t shake.

You wanted to belong to him, and deep down, you knew you couldn’t resist him for too much longer.

And it frightened you.

Damn it, he occupied every thought.

No, you needed to clear your head.

After finishing up in the bathroom, heading back to the living room, your phone rang. It was Melanie, and she was a bundle of frustration. Jack made it clear he didn’t want her back and wouldn’t forgive her. Anger bubbled up as she said she wouldn’t live in your "disgusting little flat."

“Then leave!” you shouted, exasperated.

Hearing your voice, Harry looked back at the screen and wondered who you were talking to.

“Don’t you have any rich friends with big, fancy houses?” you asked. She certainly had plenty, but it looked like even they weren’t willing to lend a hand on a day like this. What a way to show friendship!

“I already tried! None of them will help me because they’re scared of my father!” Melanie's voice was laced with desperation. In the background, you could hear water running. “What’s wrong with this damn shower?” she yelled.

“You’ll just have to wait; the hot water takes its sweet time,” you replied, dusting off the bookshelf with a cloth.

“Oh great! Even the water in this pathetic house is terrible!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the phone, prompting you to pull it away from your ear.

“Then why don’t you just go wash at the homeless shelter? It’s free!” you shot back.

“Ha-ha! Very funny!”

After hanging up the phone, you glanced at the clock, your stomach tight with hunger. You were almost finished, but the house was so vast that it would take you another hour. You sank into one of the kitchen chairs and rested your head in your hands. Just then, your phone rang again. With a sigh, you answered without checking the screen.

“I told you to get the hot water-”

“Hey, beautiful.”

You froze. It was Harry's voice.

“I was wondering if you would consider avoiding me over lunch?”

You exhaled sharply. “I can’t, I’m still not done here.”

“Let’s just grab lunch, and then you can get back to work. How would the owner even know?” He stifled a giggle.

“Actually, he does. There are cameras all over the house. Some people are just strange like that.”

“Smart move to have cameras in the house. He must be clever.” he bit his lower lip to stifle his laugh.

“Wait a minute, I didn’t tell you my job today is cleaning this place.”

There was a pause.

“But you're a housekeeper. Isn’t that what you do?” Harry mentally kicked himself for that slip.

“Um, yeah, right. Anyway, like I said, I can’t join you for lunch. Enjoy your meal.”

“But-”

You hung up the phone and rested your head sideways on the kitchen counter. Harry let out a frustrated sigh as he watched you on the screen, mirroring your position by placing his head down on his table. “You don’t know how much this hurts,” he muttered. “Seeing you so worn out and down. I could make it all easier for you. When will you let me?”

Just then, Oliver opened the office door and peeked in. “Hey, aren’t you going to lunch?”

“No, you go ahead,” Harry mumbled, still not looking up. As soon as Oliver left, a lightbulb went off in his head, and he grinned as he dialed a number on his phone.

“But I didn't order this.”

As you were in the middle of ironing, you noticed the elevator bell ring and saw the delivery guy from the Chinese restaurant at the door.

“Well, this was sent by the cleaners downstairs. They insisted I bring it to you since they ordered it for themselves,” he explained, his words tumbling out quickly and nervously. It was clear he was in a rush, but the delicious aroma from the food wafted through the air, making you squirm to eat something.

“Okay, thanks then,” you replied. “How much do I owe you?” Then you remembered that you had left your bag downstairs and sighed.

“No, no, no, it’s already paid for. Bye, ma’am,” he said, stepping back into the elevator and pressing the button.

“Bye,” you mumbled, waving farewell. After he left, you picked up the bag, walked inside, and set it on the kitchen counter. You bit your lip in excitement as you began unpacking the food. You were so hungry that the thought of being watched on camera didn’t bother you; after all, your back was to it.

“Eat well, kitty,” Harry murmured, checking you. The young man who delivered your meal had just brought his order to his office and now he was now enjoying his own food while watching you—unbeknownst to you, you were both savoring the same meal.

Once you finished eating, you tackled the rest of the ironing and neatly put everything away in the wardrobe. You noticed there were quite a few suits and casual clothes in there. It struck you as peculiar that they all seemed to reflect Harry's style, but you brushed it off, thinking that plenty of other people must dress similarly.

Finally finished in the afternoon, you gathered all the cleaning supplies and made your way to the elevator.

“She works like a bee,” Harry remarked, glancing at you as you dragged the supplies into the elevator. He was packing up to head home.

Yes, the very same house you had just meticulously cleaned.

At that moment, your phone rang again. It was Melanie. You let out a deep sigh before picking up, feeling a surge of annoyance. “What now?”

“Did you talk to my dad? You’re the only one who can convince him—please,” she pleaded.

What the fuck?

Pleading now, huh?

Bitch must be desperate.

“Who said I would?” you said, pushing the vacuum cleaner into the elevator. “Why would he listen to me? He kicked me out too, remember? I warned you, Melanie! I warned you from the beginning that this was how it would end.”

“Did you just say ‘Melanie’?” Harry murmured.

“Because of you, I lost my job and...”

I fell for someone I shouldn't have.

“Then call your boyfriend and let him sort it out! I can't stick around here any longer!” she barked.

“My boyfriend?” you exclaimed in disbelief.

Harry's surprise matched yours. “Boyfriend?” he echoed, frowning as he focused intently on the screen.

“Harry is not my boyfriend!” you shot back.

“Oh really? He was banging on the door of our house like crazy that day, looking for you,” Melanie said.

You sighed in resignation. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“You really believe that, beautiful?” Harry muttered. “Then you clearly don’t know me at all.”

“Whatever! I need to do something—anything—to get Dad's attention,” you replied, your frustration mounting.

“It’s none of my concern. Do what you want,” you snapped, hanging up the phone and pressing the elevator button.

“Oh, she's gone,” Harry said, pursing his lips. He closed his iPad, slipped it into his briefcase, and left his office.

As you stepped out of the building and made your way toward the subway, the sky was gradually darkening. You attempted to call Jack again; you really needed to do something to help Melanie find a place to stay. She was like a ticking time bomb, and you were tired of dealing with her drama. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer, still seemingly caught up abroad. Frustratingly, you were left with only one option—the one you most dreaded: reaching out to Melanie's mom. But that fell flat too, as a maid informed you that she was busy attending some special event. Clearly, that was more important than her own daughter. But you knew you had to tackle this tonight.

When you got home, Zoe was eating food at the table and waved at you. “How was your day, honey?”

“It would’ve been fine if someone hadn’t been calling me constantly and whining,” you replied, casting a glare in Melanie's direction.

She looked somewhat out of place in your homewear outfit.

“Listen, your mom is attending a charity event tonight. Why don’t you go there? She can give you a ride home while your dad is away, and maybe she’ll help mend things between you and Jack. After all, you are her daughter.”

Melanie shrugged like a petulant child. “She doesn’t care about me.”

Well, she had a point.

“I’ll go with you and try to convince her, okay?”

Her eyes brightened. “You’d really do that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Let's go now!” she exclaimed, rushing for the door.

“Are you sure about this?” Zoe asked.

“You want to get rid of her, right?”

“I definitely do, but what if it becomes a hassle for you?”

“Don’t worry; I’ve dealt with worse,” you said with a wink.

“Oh no!” Melanie moaned.

“What’s wrong now?” you asked, turning to her.

“I have no clothes! What am I going to wear? All of your clothes are terrible.”

“What the—” Zoe snapped, shooting her a glare.

“I’m this close to changing my mind,” you said, squinting at her and gesturing with your fingers.

She crossed her arms defiantly. “If this is a private event, there’s no way I can go there dressed like this. They wouldn’t even let us through the door. Oh, wait! I’ve got it!” she exclaimed, whipping out her phone to call someone.

Of course, it was exactly who you suspected.

Nate.

"I hate my life," you muttered under your breath as Nate's limo pulled up alongside the street.

"Good night, ladies. Need me desperately huh?"

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, feeling the frustration bubble up inside.

“Shut up chucklehead! Did you bring the dress?” Melanie shot back at him.

“It’s inside, so come on and change babe,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

Without a second thought, Melanie hopped in, but you hesitated.

"I brought you one too, babydoll. Why not wear it? I'd be happy to help," he grinned wickedly.

“I wouldn’t wear that even if it was the only dress left in the world,” you snapped back.

He let out a maniacal laugh. Once Melanie finished changing, she called you over, and reluctantly, you climbed in. The charity event was being held in a private hotel reception hall. Just as Melanie had warned, the door staff were strict about who they let in. The guests were all dressed in tuxedos and elegant dresses, an atmosphere that highlighted your discomfort.

“Listen up, four eyes,” Melanie fired at the doormen. “My mother, Roxelana Johnson, is in there, and I’m her daughter, Melanie Johnson. Let me in now, or I’ll create quite a scene!”

“You’d be surprised how scandalous she can be,” Nate added with a smirk. “My father has covered up plenty of scandals, but maybe tonight he'll let the hotel earn a notorious reputation. And guess what? You’ll be the one to blame for it. After all, you know my father—the whole of New York does.”

They exchanged glances, and eventually, they allowed them to pass. But you were left standing outside. There was no chance they'd let you in looking like this. Frustration washed over you as Melanie and Nate didn't even look back.

What the hell?

You just stood there, questioning your decision to come at all.

"Why did I even bother?" you whispered to yourself.

They could have walked in wearing anything, thanks to their wealthy father, but you didn't have that kind of privilege. You had no wealthy father, no reputation.

“I’m such an idiot,” you grumbled, turning to head toward the exit when suddenly someone called out to you.

Oh no.

Alan appeared before you, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, and with a woman on his arm.

Fuck my luck, you thought.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” he said with a smile.

“Same here,” you replied, feeling a tad anxious.

“Why don’t you come in?”

“I was actually just leaving, Alan. Clearly, I’m not dressed for this. Good night,” you said, glancing at him and his date.

That’s when your phone rang. It was Harry.

Perfect timing.

“Harry, this really isn't the best time,” you answered.

“Why not? Are you okay?”

“Let the lady through. She’s my special guest,” Alan interjected, gesturing to the doormen.

You immediately turned your back. “Alan, there’s really no need for that.”

“Did you say Alan? Why are you with him? Where on earth are you?” Harry growled from the other end of the line.

You hung up and looked at Alan. The woman beside him shot you a strange look. “Alan, it wouldn't be right for her to go in looking like that anyway.”

Alan ignored her gaze, stepping away from his date to approach you. “You can go in first, Lucy.”

She looked taken aback but narrowed her eyes at you before complying.

What was her deal?

“Alan, you didn’t have to do that; you brought your date. You should go with her.”

“Don’t worry about it. It looks like you’re dealing with something. Lemme help you.”

“Honestly, it’s been a long day. All I want is to go home and unwind.”

“Where are you? I’ve been looking for you!”

You heard Melanie's voice and turned to see her. She looked at Alan and then back at you.

Finally, you stepped inside. Alan offered you his arm, but you gently pushed it away. The moment you entered, however, you noticed everyone staring at you oddly. You were used to it, though. Melanie’s mom, Roxelana, didn’t look pleased to see you or even Melanie. They had a small chat and instead of sending her daughter home, she decided it was better to make alternative arrangements for Melanie to stay. Without missing a beat, she turned her attention to her friends, completely ignoring her daughter’s presence.

Yeah just like that.

Melanie was accustomed to her mother’s self-centered behavior, so it didn’t bother her too much. As her spirits began to lift, she and Nate decided to stay for the rest of the night. But you felt the urge to leave. When Alan introduced you to a few guests, you were taken aback when he referred to you as the assistant chef at his hotel.

Why the hell was he being so kind to you?

The others, however, were anything but kind. The way they looked at you was unsettling and harsh. They maintained eye contact that felt uncomfortable, speaking about you in a derogatory manner. It was clear they didn’t care if you overheard or were hurt by their words.

You didn't belong there. You felt it deep in your bones.

You had intended to leave anyway, but when Roxalena approached and dismissed you so coldly—accusing you of embarrassing her—you turned and hurried out. No one at the event seemed to notice your departure; some even let out a sigh of relief.

What did you expect? Was it not obvious this was how things would go?

As you made your way to the lobby, you heard Alan’s voice calling after you, but you didn’t stop; you only quickened your pace. You felt a wave of relief wash over you when you stepped outside through the revolving door, yet Alan followed you.

“Why did you leave?” he asked. “Look, don't mind them, okay?”

“How can I not?” you retorted. “Why did you even let me in? What were you expecting?”

Alan reached out, gently brushing away a tear from your cheek.

Were you crying?

Damn.

You hadn’t even realized it.

A sudden screech of tires caught your attention as a car came to an abrupt stop in front of the hotel. Harry jumped out and rushed towards you. The moment he spotted your tears, he seemed to lose it, pushing Alan's hand away with enough force to make him stagger.

“What did you do to her?” he shouted, taking a step toward Alan.

“Harry! Stop!” you exclaimed, extending your arm to block him.

Alan simply smiled, which only fueled Harry's anger.

"It’s not what you think; please, calm down,” you urged, grabbing Harry's arm.

Ignoring him, Alan turned back to you. “I’ll see you at the hotel then. Good night,” he said, and you nodded. “Good night, Castillo,” he added awkwardly before walking back inside.

Harry glared after him, his jaw tight, muttering under his breath.

What on earth was going on between them?

“How did you know I was here?” you asked.

“I was invited tonight,” he replied, still focused inward, not meeting your gaze. “But I turned it down,” he said, taking your arm gently. “Come on,” he insisted, tugging you towards his car.

“But I—”

“Get in,” he ordered, his tension palpable as he closed the door a bit too roughly before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Harry pulled up his car on the street in front of your building, parking awkwardly on the sidewalk. You bit your lower lip to stifle a laugh.

"You might want to reposition the car; there's still space on the curb," you suggested, glancing at the sidewalk in the rearview mirror.

"Instead of thanking me for the ride, are you being sarcastic?" he asked, a lopsided grin on his face.

You barely mumbled, "Thanks."

"Why were you at that place?" he asked.

"Because of Melanie, but that's not important anymore. I've handled that situation; there's truly nothing left to talk about," you replied, looking down at your hands in your lap.

A tense quiet settled between the two of you.

“You,” he cleared his throat, “You always manage her this way all that time. Why?"

You hesitated, unsure how to understand his inquiry. "Why what?"

"Why did you decide on this job?"

You shrugged. "I didn’t get accepted into any top university or secure a high-profile position. When I got here, this seemed like the simplest option. I had already been taking care of the house after my mom passed away," you said, a trouble laugh escaping your lips. “I could never manage waitressing like Zoe; that job is simply not for me.”

“But your dream is to be a pastry chef,” he said thoughtfully.

"To make that dream a reality, I need to work hard, save money, and eventually open my own restaurant. At Jack's place, I didn’t have to stress about rent, food, or even clothes; it felt like a closer step to my dreams. I thought if I could just endure anything, I’d save enough. But then there's Melanie..." You lowered your gaze once more. “Anyway,” you said, brushing a stray hair from your face. "I'm going to push on, I'm going to have my bakery one day," you said with determination.

He reached for your hand and took it, his touch surprising you as it always did.

“Let me help you get started with the restaurant.”

"Harry—"

“As a loan,” he interrupted. “Think of it as an investment; I believe in your potential. When your restaurant gains traction, you can pay me back.”

"That sounds a bit too idealistic, don’t you think? I thought you were more of a realist or a materialist?"

The intensity in his eyes deepened. “That perspective changed when I met you.” His gaze drifted to your lips as he leaned in closer. Your heart raced, but you instinctively pulled back. Your hair brushed against his face, causing him to close his eyes and smile softly.

You grasped the handle of the car door. “I should probably get going now.”

"Are you free this weekend?"

Turning to him, you responded, "I'll be at the hotel helping Chef Bruno."

“At Alan's hotel,” he retorted harshly.

"Is there some issue between you and him?"

"You should stay away from him."

"Excuse me?"

"Can't you work somewhere else? There are plenty of other chefs."

"Don't pull that with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You're acting like you’re my husband.”

Harry grinned at how the words slipped from your lips. “Your future husband.”

You raised an eyebrow. "Says who?"

"Me." He flashed a smile.

You rolled your eyes and opened the door. “Good night, Harry.”

“Hold on,” he said, reaching for your door and shutting it again.

“I’m invited to a friend's wedding this Sunday night. I want you to come with me.”

"Why on earth would you want to go with me? I’m sure there are plenty of women who would kill to go with you," you replied with a hint of sarcasm.

He frowned, "Cut it out. I want to go with you, not them."

As you looked into his eyes, memories of the previous moments crept back—the way people had stared at you. You knew it would only intensify when they saw you and Harry together. It wasn't your realm, and the fear of being hurt loomed over you.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't go."

“Yes, you can,” he insisted.

You shot him a glare.

“Just think about it before making up your mind,” he said, flashing his charming smile.

He never gave up.

“Give me your phone,” he said, reaching out.

“Why should I?” you asked, frowning.

“I realized you don’t follow me on Instagram,” he mumbled, searching for your phone while glancing over at you.

"What did you say?”

Suddenly, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close, causing you to gasp as your heart raced in your throat. As he tightened his hold, your back arched, his other hand slowly slid up your leg and pulled your phone out of your pocket. He laughed softly as he let you go, leaving you feeling tricked when you noticed your phone in his grasp.

“Hey! Give that back!” you shouted, lunging at him, but he leaned back out of your reach.

“Here, now you're following me, and I'm following you,” he said, flashing your phone. "Why is there nothing on your profile? The last post was six months ago."

Ah, that was a photo of you and Zoe at the beach in Florida, six months prior.

“Nice bikini,” he commented with a grin. "I need to like it right away. You’d better like mine too."

"Really? I had no idea you were into Instagram," you snapped, reaching for your phone, but he showed no signs of giving it back. “Hey, what are you doing?” you exclaimed as he opened his profile from your instagram, liking all his photos while giggling.

“Cut it out,” you growled.

He acted like a mischievous child.

Once he was satisfied with his likes, he handed your phone back to you.

"Happy now?"

He grinned and nodded. “Yep.”

You felt the urge to slap him, but damn, that face.

His ridiculously handsome face.

“Okay, if we’re done here, I’m heading home to get some rest,” you said, opening the door.

“Hey, you look so cute here, like a little kitten,” he teased, showing you one of your Instagram photos.

Rolling your eyes, you stepped outside and closed the door behind you. “You better put that phone away while driving,” you frowned.

He rolled down his window and looked at you. "Why? Worried about me?"

“No, I’m worried about this stunning car,” you mocked.

“Yeah, right. Keep saying that, kitty. I know you better than that,” he said suggestively, winking at you before starting the car and driving off.

Tuesday…

The next day, as you woke up and read the message from the cleaning company, you could hardly believe your eyes. It said, "The owner was very pleased with your service. He'd like you to come back on Thursday. If it works for you, we’d love to schedule you for Mondays and Thursdays moving forward. I’ve also credited your account with the tip he left for you. Thank you for your hard work and for partnering with us."

When you opened the app to check your bank account, you sat up in bed and even stood up in disbelief. Was this real? Typically, tips hover around 10% of your earnings, and if you’re lucky, you might get a 20% tip from especially generous clients. But this customer had tipped you more than 50%. If you kept earning like this, your weekly pay could turn out to be much better than you ever imagined. It brought you joy, but a nagging suspicion lingered. The house hadn’t been particularly messy or dirty, so you hadn’t exerted yourself much while tidying it up. Perhaps he was just a generous soul, and you decided to sincerely thank him.

However, Thursday still felt far off, and with the company notifying you that there was no other work until then, it made you uneasy. They reassured you that you’d receive general payment every two weeks, but something didn’t sit right. You pulled out your phone to investigate the company online, and that’s when a message from Harry popped up.

Harry sent you a photo. After a moment of deliberation, you felt compelled to change his contact name. You opened your contacts, found his number, and edited it, removing "H.C." and replacing it with "Mr. Ol'man" before saving it. You chuckled at the change, amused by your little joke.

You clicked on the photo, noticing Harry was already at work. The image showed him in the middle of a meeting, chin resting on his hand, lips pursed. Directly below the photo, he’d written,

B-O-R-I-N-G, I wish I had my kitty with me. 😓😓

He used emojis???

You couldn’t help but laugh; he was undeniably adorable.

You texted back, "I wish I could be there to..."

Wait, what?

Were you his girlfriend? You quickly deleted the whole thing.

Hang in there, monsieur. 😊 It’s tough, but I’ll manage. ☺️ You’ll get through it; trust your biceps. 💪 Were you dreaming about my biceps? What was that like? Nasty? Filthy? 😏 😉😌😇😚 Don’t you dare make a cleaning joke!

The banter made you both laugh; it was fine since you were at home, but Harry was in a meeting, earning surprised glances from those around him.

Since you didn’t have work that day, you decided to drop by to see Danilo and the others. Apparently, Jack was still away, and neither Melanie nor her mom was home—perfect timing. You spoke with Danilo about Chef Bruno and the cooking certificate you aimed to obtain. He mentioned a pastry fair soon to be held at a convention center in NYC, emphasizing how crucial it was to participate and showcase your talent. But first, you needed that certificate, and weeks were slipping by.

You had paused the certification program while working at Jack's house—understandably so. However, that time frame had lapsed, so it was time to restart the petition. That’s why securing Bruno’s reference for your application was so vital. Everything had to be ready before the fair, leaving you with no time to waste. As Bruno’s shift started at noon on weekdays, you resolved to visit him during your free hours—and thankfully, he didn’t turn you away. In return, you promised both to him and yourself that you would work hard and strive not to disappoint him.

Wednesday…

On the way to the hotel, Harry called you, and when you shared where you were going, he got a little whiny. Whatever issues had arisen between him and Alan didn’t concern you anymore; you simply didn’t have time for either of them. In a way, it was a blessing that you were busy with the certificate training because if you weren’t, thoughts of Harry would have preoccupied your mind, stirring up feelings you had never experienced before. It felt as though you were being drawn towards him, and you worried about losing control of your heart. So, it seemed best to avoid being alone with those feelings.

The less you saw him, the easier it was to keep him off your mind, which was for the best.

But he was persistent.

When you arrived at the hotel during lunchtime, Bruno was sitting with a newspaper and a cup of coffee, getting ready for his shift. He assigned you the ambitious task of preparing the desserts for lunch, which could very well be the biggest job you’d had so far. Still, it was far better than scrubbing someone’s filthy toilet bowl with bleach. You focused on preparing the desserts and took a seat next to Bruno, feeling the fatigue set in.

Just then, a waitress approached you.

“Ugh, it’s one of those customers again!”

“What’s going on?” you asked while stretching your legs out under the table.

“He has a complaint about dessert and wants to talk to the chef who made it.”

You exchanged glances with Bruno. “I swear I did it perfectly,” you protested.

“Then go defend your work, my dear. That’s a lesson you need to learn,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee.

You stood up and took a deep breath, confident that you had indeed done everything right. Surely, this customer just had high standards or a grumpy ass.

You were taken aback when you stepped into the dining room and saw Harry. He flashed a grin when he noticed you and leaned back in his chair. You narrowed your eyes as you approached him.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

“Just having lunch like everyone else,” he replied casually.

“Isn’t there anywhere else you could eat?”

He pulled out his phone and showed you a recommendation app featuring the hotel with a glowing review. “They rave about the chef and the food here—look, it’s rated 4.8.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m not a chef yet, Mr. Castillo.”

“But you made this dessert,” he countered.

“True, but clearly it didn’t meet your expectations.”

“I never said that.”

“Yet you wanted to see me.”

“To ask if you’d join me for lunch,” he said, leaning over the table and resting his arms on it.

“I’m on the clock,” you reminded him.

“Please, I insist.”

You leaned in closer. “Or is it that you want me fired because you don’t want me working here?”

He smirked. “If that were my aim, I’d find a more subtle way to go about it.”

You sighed. “Harry, please, I really have to work.”

“I’ve missed you and thought it would be nice to savor something you made during my lunch break,” he said, sounding genuinely sincere. “But I suspect your stomach is growling; you probably skipped breakfast. Why not give the dessert a try? I have a feeling there’s something unusual about its fruits.” He nudged the plate toward you. “As a paying customer, I expect nothing less than the best.”

With a roll of your eyes, you reluctantly picked up the plate. “Alright, Mr. Castillo, let me show you that you’re mistaken.” You took a forkful and sampled the dessert. “See, I think it's quite fresh.”

“I’m still not convinced. Have some more,” he said, barely containing his laughter. “Otherwise, I might have to leave a bad review on that site.” He glanced at the others around.

You shot him a sharp glare and quickly finished off the dessert, clearly not bothering to be polite. “Are you happy now?”

“That's my girl,” he whispered, chuckling softly.

“Please give us good points, Mr. Castillo,” you said with a forced smile, relieved that the people around you were preoccupied with their own meals and hadn’t noticed your exchange.

Harry stood up, reached for your lips, and swiped the remnants of dessert with his thumb, licking it clean. “Hmm, you were right—it’s delicious,” he said with a grin. “Have you made up your mind? Will you come with me?”

Oh, right, you had completely forgotten.

“Shall we go dress shopping? What time do you need to leave?” he asked, glancing at his watch.

“Harry, I really shouldn’t go.”

He took your hand, his grip firm. “No, it’s better if you do.”

“But your friends, your circle, your acquaintances will all be there.”

“And?”

“What will you say when they ask about how we met? How will you introduce me?”

“That’s none of their business. I don’t care about any of them; all that matters is that you’re with me.”

You lowered your gaze. “But I do care.”

He pinched and lifted your chin, his gaze intense. “Don’t do this. You know how much I care for you. I know you do.”

You locked eyes, and for a moment, the clatter of forks, spoons, plates, laughter, and conversations faded into silence. You were on the verge of saying yes, of becoming his, but you shook yourself back to reality when someone called you from the kitchen.

“I have to go,” you murmured.

“I’m picking you up Saturday night, and we’re going dress shopping,” he said, and before you could reply, he turned and walked away.

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him leave.

Thursday…

You left the house at the same time as Zoe that morning, rushing to avoid being late for work. It was nearly 8 o'clock, so you hurried along the sidewalk, gathering your hair into a ponytail as you ran.

“Crap. Crap. Crap.”

By the time you reached the building, it was just after 8, but fortunately, you managed to avoid a scolding. Just like on Monday, you quickly changed, grabbed your cleaning supplies, and hopped into the elevator heading to the top floor. When you opened the door to his apartment, he was already on his iPad, waiting for you with a smile. “Seven minutes late,” he smirked.

"What are you doing?" Maria appeared next to him, and upon seeing you on the screen, she narrowed her eyes at Harry. “Again?”

“I was just checking,” he replied defensively.

“Yeah, right.”

Harry let out a sigh and flipped the iPad over onto the table. “She didn’t leave me much choice. I offered to help her, but she’s so stubborn and prideful. She left me feeling desperate.”

Maria raised her eyebrows, intrigued. “Seriously? Wow, I’m impressed. I thought women like that were a thing of the past. She must be one of a kind.”

“Yes, she is,” he said, looking troubled. “For the first time in my life, I’m not happy about having money. To her, my wealth doesn't matter. What good is money if she’s not in my life?”

Maria smiled softly. “Harry, she might just be feeling scared or hurt right now. Just give it some time; if it’s true love, it will work itself out. But I have to be honest, it might be a bit challenging for you.”

“I get it,” he replied with a sigh. “I’m really trying.”

"I am your witness champ. You'll win her over." she patted him on the back.

After she left, he opened his laptop to work but found himself too curious about you to focus. He picked up his iPad again to check on you. He watched as you swept and mopped the house, dancing around and murmuring songs while doing it. He couldn’t help but chuckle quietly when he saw you scrubbing the sink with a frown, grumbling to yourself as you battled the dirt.

Saturday...

“What in the world happened to you?”

As soon as you got back from the hotel and walked into the house, you were stunned by what you saw. Zoe was sprawled out on the couch with her ankle all wrapped up, and John was right there with her.

“Oh, just a little accident,” she grumbled.

“It’s totally my fault,” John said, sounding really upset.

You dropped your keys and bag on the table and went over to check out her leg.

“John wanted to pick me up on his motorcycle after work, but I guess that plan got derailed,” Zoe said with a half-smile.

“It’s not broken, is it?”

“Nope, just a sprain,” he replied, looking glum.

“Then why do you look like you’re on your last legs?”

“I can’t go to the wedding tomorrow like this,” she said sadly.

“Then just skip it.”

"Besides, the doctor said you won't be able to stand on your foot for a few days." John added.

“But the pay is really good,” Zoe whined. “The boss is gonna be mad, and I’m sure he won’t call me again.”

“C’mon, it’s a medical issue,” you said, frowning.

“Our boss isn’t as easygoing as yours,” she sighed.

Well, that was kind of true.

“She’s got a point, Zoe. I’ll talk to him,” John offered. “Maybe I can get that kid from last time to cover for you. What was his name?”

“Nick? No way! There’s no chance the boss will hire him again after that mess,” Zoe muttered, then looked at you. “Babe. Can’t you go instead?”

You stared at her in disbelief. “Me? But you know I’m not great at waitressing.”

“You’d totally be better than Nick,” she insisted. “Plus, John will be there to help you, right?” she said, looking at him.

John nodded. “Sure, we’re leaving early anyway. You just have to handle serving drinks. I promise I won’t wear you out.”

You sighed and glanced from him to Zoe’s pleading eyes.

“Alright, fine,” you murmured.

Sunday, the day of the wedding...

“Guess what? Your tuxedo is here—perfectly pressed and ready to wear,” Oliver announced as he walked into the apartment. Harry was at the window, staring out at the beautiful city lights, his whiskey glass in hand, the ice nearly melted. He was so lost in his thoughts that he hardly realized it.

You had called him about half an hour ago to let him know you couldn't make it to the wedding and hung up without realizing the depth of the hurt you had caused him.

“The dress and accessories you ordered have arrived too,. Where should I put them?”Oliver asked, glancing at Harry, who still hadn't responded. The dress had been bought for you, with the hope that you would be there by his side.

Harry turned sharply, slamming the glass down on the counter as he looked at Oliver. “Somewhere I won’t see them,” he replied curtly before heading off to the bathroom to shower and prepare himself.

Oliver let out a deep sigh. “So she’s not coming,” he muttered to himself, a hint of worry in his voice.

They arrived a bit early since the wedding kicked off with a church ceremony. Maria, noticing Harry's somber demeanor and understanding the reason behind it, felt a wave of concern mixed with anger. Yet, as his friend's best man, Harry set his own feelings aside for the day, striving to support him through the difficult moments.

It was tough.

He longed for you to be there with him, wanting to introduce you to his friends and proudly declare, “Here’s my future wife.”

He felt a mix of anger towards you, but even more frustration with himself. Why couldn’t he make things work? Why was this time so different? He thought back to his previous relationships, and suddenly, all the emotions from those experiences felt trivial compared to the warmth of your genuine smile—the one he missed dearly.

Things took a turn for the worse upon arriving at the reception venue. The empty chair beside him at the reserved table served as a painful reminder of your absence. Conversations swirled around him about life's changes, but he spoke only of work, avoiding the topic he truly wanted to share.

Then he spotted her.

Lucy.

To his surprise, he felt nothing.

It was a strange peace that washed over him, as if a burden had been lifted from his heart, shoulders, and mind. But soon enough, the resentment toward you crept back in. Lucy glanced curiously at the empty chair next to him, a slight smile gracing her lips as she noticed his solitude. She had come to the wedding with her new boyfriend, Alan Finnegan—a widower and wealthy businessman who owned three hotels in Manhattan. Seems like a good match for her.

Harry felt a sense of satisfaction, not because his ex wouldn’t hurt him anymore—he had already stopped caring about that. No, his pleasure came from knowing that Alan was off the market. With Alan in a relationship, it meant he wouldn’t be trying to make a move on his girl now.

Later, someone approached Harry to inform him that the groom was looking for him. Rising from his seat, he made his way over to the room where he found his friend pacing restlessly.

“Harry! Dude, don’t ever get married!” he exclaimed, his voice laced with stress.

Harry raised an eyebrow, checking his watch. “Come on, man, you’ve only been married for three hours. Besides, it's your wedding reception.” he shot back sarcastically.

“Ugh! Everything is a mess! Gabriela is unhappy with the flowers, her cousin’s late, the harpist is hurt, and our moms just had a huge argument! I feel like I’m drowning! Should I just jump out the window?”

With a chuckle, Harry placed his hands on his shoulders. “Relax; we’ll figure this out. Oliver is currently searching for a replacement harpist. Today is the most important day of your life—you’ve been waiting for this forever. Just hold it together.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay,” he replied, trying to steady his nerves.

“Take a deep breath and remember why you’re here. Soon, it’ll just be the two of you together—nothing else will matter. Just get through tonight, and I’ve got your back, alright?”

He pulled him into a warm embrace. “Thanks, man! I really appreciate you being here. I’ll do my best to make your wedding as great as possible.”

Harry smiled to himself as he pictured you in a breathtaking wedding dress.

After leaving his friend to deal with the flower situation, he noticed a woman at the end of the hall with her back turned. She had your hair color and height, moving in a way that felt distinctly like you.

Driven by curiosity, he quickened his pace, eager to find out if it really was you.

"Damn it!" you muttered to yourself as you sprinted away, frantically searching for any exit. You were convinced it was Harry. Why did it have to be at the same wedding?

Why, God why?

You set the tray down on the nearest table and dashed outside, struggling a bit in your high heels. You were hesitant to look back, but you could feel him coming after you.

“Fuckin' hell,” you muttered under your breath.

You made it outside and rushed toward the stairs, but your foot tripped over the edge, and your right heel came flying off.

Great!

You tried to awkwardly hop down on one foot, but it was a dumb move, and you could hear footsteps closing in as you held onto the marble ledge.

“You must be a real Cinderella.” Harry's voice rang out, causing you to freeze. When you turned to face him, you were taken aback. He was holding your shoe and looked absolutely stunning in that tuxedo. You weren’t certain if you were Cinderella, but you certainly felt as though Prince Charming was right before you.

As he saw you raise your other foot, he came closer and knelt down in front of you. You looked down as he carefully slipped the shoe back onto your foot, admiring his hair and how handsome he appeared while he softly held your ankle.

Your heart racing.

He chuckled as he stood up. "The shoe fits perfectly, my princess. But why did you run away? The clock hasn't struck midnight yet," he said with a laugh.

You mumbled while adjusting your foot, “I thought you'd be angry with me.”

“I tried, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.” He continued, “When you mentioned helping Zoe, you didn’t say anything about being a waitress. I thought you didn't like this job."

"I don't, but I had to help her out by covering for her," you replied.

“You’re already worn out during the week,” he said, his tone almost frustrated.

“Where’ve you been? I was looking for you!” John's voice called out, breaking the moment.

You both turned to him, and he fixed his gaze on Harry, looking annoyed.

Just like the way Harry looked at Alan.

What the fuck was going on between them seriously?

Then he turned to you. “Come on,” he said, walking away.

“Okay, I’m coming,” you nodded, glancing back at Harry. “I need to get back to work.” Harry met your eyes, looking serious. “Look, I know this is all super awkward, but just ignore me, and I’ll do the same. No one has to know we know each other, okay?”

He grabbed your arm as you started up the stairs, you looked at him, surprised.

“Don’t ever say that you’re going to ignore me again,” he said, his voice low and deep. He looked upset, while walked ahead of you up the stairs.

What did that even mean?

Did he hurt?

The rest of the evening turned out to be quite challenging. It was hard to avoid making eye contact with Harry as you served drinks to the guests. And, of course, Alan was among them—just what you needed! Great, now both he and his date were watching you. To make matters worse, Melanie and her mother were there too.

As you stepped into the kitchen, you noticed John's mood had shifted—he was nursing a beer.

"So, you know Harry Castillo?" he asked, a troubled smile on his face.

"Yes, and I assume you do too?"

“Oh, believe me, I know him.”

You were about to pry into his comment when Alan's date, a woman named Lucy, walked into the kitchen. The two of them exchanged a strange look before she turned her gaze to you. "You again? Who exactly are you?"

“I beg your pardon?”

"First Harry, then Alan, and now my ex? What’s going on with you?"

"Cut it out," John said, clearly annoyed but trying not to escalate things. “Let’s talk outside,” he suggested, pointing to the back door.

Lucy rolled her eyes but followed him out. "Do you have a cigarette?"

"Doesn't your new rich boyfriend get you any?"

"Shut up."

You couldn’t quite figure out their history, but you knew Zoe would be upset if you told her about it.

“Damn it!”

When you turned around, you were met with the furious face of the head waiter. The kitchen staff and waiters looked equally concerned. Curious about what had gone wrong, you approached and saw that part of the wedding cake had been ruined; one of the staff had accidentally collided with a waiter, causing whatever was on the tray to topple onto the cake.

That was when chaos erupted.

"The bride and groom's families are going to freak out - they're going to kill us all!

Everyone exchanged worried glances. By then Harry and the other best man had come over to tell the staff it was time for the cake.

Great!

The maitre d' and kitchen staff kept apologizing, glancing at each other in a panic, unsure of what to do.

“He’s probably going to lose it when he sees this,” Harry muttered while inspecting the mess.

Sure, the edge of the cake was damaged, but it wasn’t beyond repair. The staff, who had dedicated their day to making this event perfect, now looked defeated. Harry, as the best man, shared in their disappointment.

In that moment, inspiration struck, and you made a decision—perhaps one of the boldest choices you’d ever made.

“I’ll take care of it; just give me some time.”

Harry and the others stared at you in surprise.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

You looked at him with determination and pulled your hair back into a bun. "Do you have doubts, Mr. Castillo?"

He grinned, "Never. So what do you need? Let me help out." He grabbed an apron.

“No way, your tux will get ruined,” you said, reaching out to stop him.

“We’ll handle it, just tell us what to do,” one of the staff member said.

“All right,” you said, assessing the cake carefully. “If we fill in that section and cover it with the same color sugar paste, we can save its appearance.”

Harry stood with his arms crossed, watching you with a proud smile on his face.

“Get me the same color sugar paste right now, or if you don’t have any, grab some white and pink instead. I also need ready-made cake and icing for the filling.”

“But it’s time to take the cake to the bride and groom for the cutting,” said the other best man.

“You keep them busy; we need a little time,” Harry said.

“How am I supposed to keep them busy?”

“I don’t know, share some of your memories about the bride and groom or something,” Harry suggested.

He shot you a nervous glance. “I hope you can wrap this up quickly because most of my memories are pretty embarrassing.”

Harry chuckled, “The guests won’t believe their ears.”

You shot him a look while whipping the cream. "Your friend from way back, I guess?”

“Yeah, my coworker too.”

“Can you hand me that spatula?”

Harry passed it to you from the counter. “We’re lucky to have you around.”

“It’s a bit early to say that, Mr. Castillo.”

“I trust you,” he said with a warm smile.

You smiled back.

You managed to save the cake in about half an hour with the staff's help and Harry's supportive words. You were feeling super tired, but it was worth it.

“Oh no, man, not the birthday story,” Harry muttered, peering through the kitchen door. "Darling, I hate to rush you, but the cake better be done, or the bride's family will kick the best man's ass."

“It’s done,” you said, wiping the sweat from your brow.

Everyone stared at you and the cake in amazement, bursting into applause.

“You’re amazing,” one of the staff members exclaimed.

“You saved the day,” said another.

A big smile spread across their faces; they were all genuinely happy. You beamed too, feeling proud of your achievement.

When you caught Harry’s eye, he was filming the moment with his phone.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Getting proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“Proof that you deserve that certificate.”

“Thanks.” You looked at him and smiled, grateful. “I hope I get it,” you murmured.

"You will." He took your hand and kissed the top gently. “Thank you for saving my friend’s wedding day.”

“Happy to help,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Then, the waiters took the cake inside, and Harry followed them, while the staff kept praising you. You smiled back at them, feeling proud of yourself.

Luckily, the cake still looked the same, so nobody suspected a thing. After the cake was cut, the bride and groom hit the dance floor for their first dance, and soon everyone paired up to sway to the soft music playing in the background.

While serving drinks inside, you and Harry locked eyes from a distance through the dancing couples. He texted you, and you looked at your phone.

Dance with me?

You looked over at him and shook your head. Just as you set down some empty glasses on the tray, another message came through.

I won't ask twice.

You turned around in a frenzy and noticed him standing. Just as you began to feel a rush of excitement, Melanie and her mother Roxelana approached him. She wore a broad smile as she shook Harry's hand. Looking at them from a distance and seeing the real Melanie and Harry side by side, you felt left out.

You turned away and went back to your work.

Of course.

Who were you kidding?

You never had the right puzzle piece to fit into his world. It was okay if he chose to dance with her; after all, how could he possibly dance with you?

Especially with your waitress clothes on.

He must be joking or something.

You filled the tray with empty glasses and were just about to pick it up when someone grabbed your arm. You were taken aback to see Harry—wasn’t he just across the hall? When had he come over to you?

He took your hand, pulled you close, and started leading you toward the dance floor.

“Harry,” you whispered, anxiously glancing around at the curious faces and the gentle hum of conversation. Turning your head, you spotted Melanie and her mom watching intently. “What are you doing? It's not—”

“Shh, just put your hand on my shoulder,” he replied, placing his other hand on your waist and drawing you in a bit too firmly. You looked up at him, wide-eyed, and he flashed you a reassuring smile.

As he began to sway to the beat of the music, you decided to stop resisting. After all, he was gripping your hand tightly, and his hand on your waist felt possessive enough to silence any rebellion.

And then there was his gaze.

Shit, it was intense.

As if he didn't already look incredible in that tuxedo.

“Everyone's watching us,” you whispered, a surge of nervousness coursing through you as you felt the weight of their gaze.

“I don’t care,” he replied, his voice low and deep. He slid both hands around your waist, pulling you closer, his forehead resting gently against yours, creating a bubble of intimacy around the two of you. “I got you a dress, you know,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You pulled back slightly, searching his eyes. You didn’t want to dampen the moment with any negative things, especially with the way he held your gaze so intensely.

“I wanted you to wear it tonight,” he continued.

“Um… sorry. I’m stuck in these clothes. I guess it’s not quite what you had in mind,” you said nervously.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’re already beautiful just as you are, no matter what you wear.” He tilted his head, leaning in closer, his lips tantalizingly close to yours.

“Harry,” you whispered, your breath hitching as you turned your head to the side, trying to regain your composure.

But he gently grasped your chin, guiding it back to face him. The rich brown of his eyes was mesmerizing, drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

“I love you,” he whispered, his words hanging in the air like the sweetest melody.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing.

What?

Was what you had just heard real?

You remained frozen, blinking in disbelief, completely caught off guard.

He frowned slightly. “This is where you say 'I love you too,'” he grunted.

Suddenly, the music came to a halt, pulling you back into reality. You looked around in surprise, noticing that the dance floor was emptying. Everyone had returned to their tables, and some guests were already beginning to leave. The wedding had come to an end. How long had you been lost in this moment with him?

Time had blurred into an unrecognizable haze. With a whirlwind of emotions, you finally pulled away from him and, without turning back, made your way over to John and the others; they were preparing to leave.

“For a moment, I thought you might never show up,” John said, a hint of reproach in his tone. But as he noticed your expression, his face softened. “Come on, get in,” he added, pointing toward the truck. You nodded and headed to the coat rack to grab your jacket. Just then, the kitchen door swung open, and Harry walked in, catching your arm once more.

He really needed to stop this.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

"I'm driving you home."

“No need, I—” You halted as he shot you a piercing glare.

Why was he looking at you like that?

John stepped closer. “Is there a problem?” He eyed Harry, his expression turning just a bit menacing.

“Mind your own business,” Harry snapped.

“John, I’m fine. You go ahead,” you said.

He looked between you and Harry before giving a reluctant nod. “Okay then,” he replied, turning back toward the truck.

As Harry pulled you outside to his car, Oliver spotted you and approached.

“I'll drive,” Harry declared. He opened the door for you and closed it gently after you got in.

“Is everything all right?” Oliver asked, concern creeping into his voice.

Harry glanced at him, his focus unyielding. “Yeah, don’t worry.” He settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

“All right,” Oliver muttered before walking over to Maria, who was also getting into her car. She paused, noticing Oliver's presence.

“Harry ditched me."

“Yeah, I just saw that,” she said, gesturing toward the car. “Get in.”

As Harry awkwardly parked the car near the apartment building once again, you decided to hold your tongue this time. The ride had been silent, and that strange atmosphere hung heavily between you. The tension was palpable, and it was starting to get on your nerves.

You glanced at him, and he met your gaze, but you quickly looked away, afraid of getting lost in the depths of his eyes again. Suddenly, he opened his door and got out, catching you off guard.

What was he doing?

Was he hoping to be a gentleman and open your door for you?

Or maybe he just wanted to talk outside?

His eyes never left yours as he walked around to your side of the car. But there was something intense in his gaze, almost unsettling. He opened the door, and just as you were about to step out, he leaned in, cupped the back of your neck, and pressed his lips against yours.

Your first instinct was to freeze; you never saw that coming. His kiss was rough, demanding and insistent, even a bit angry, yet it sent shivers down your spine. He held you too tightly, and although it almost hurt, you tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t let go.

You kissed him back but kept your mouth closed, refusing to let his tongue in. But he kept forcing you to open your mouth for him. When a tear rolled down your cheek and touched his, he stopped and pulled away.

Then, he got down on his knees and reached out his hands to you. You turned slightly in your seat and took his hands. Words were unnecessary; your eyes spoke volumes.

When he kissed you again, it was gentle this time, passionate, and full of remorse. You reciprocated with the same tenderness, but he could sense your hesitation.

He realized you weren’t ready to fully give yourself to him.

Pulling back, he studied your face, then wrapped his arms around you, kneeling on one knee and drawing you closer. As he gently stroked your hair, his lips brushing against your ear, he whispered, “I love you, baby. When will you be mine? When will you come to me?”

You didn’t say a word, but you held onto him tightly, every part of you yearning to confess that you loved him too.

Yet, this wasn’t the right moment.

Not tonight.

Time seemed to stand still, the world around you fading as you sank deeper into his embrace.

In that instant, one thing became crystal clear: you loved him unconditionally, and the thought of living without him felt unbearable.

Sooner or later, you would carve the right words out of the tumult in your soul to give him the answer he yearned for.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

here's the taglist...

@balhoneysweetstuff @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @lailathepedritofan @queenofodds @darkheartgatita @ccmoonshine @suzysface @javiismyhsbnd @aurorathegreekprincess @daejangandimja @longlivekingminnn @jisungandpedrolover @urlivingdeadgirl @laliceee @sincerelywithheartt @indiegirlunited @fancyyoouu @blackborndue @shinymusicpanda @her-fandom-sanctum @aegoniipascal @zanylightmilkshake @bonadeaamo @spencercmlover @heramj @pedroloverbilmemkac @churchofjoemiller @urlivingdeadgirl @thanyatargaryen @icanbringyouinhot @universallygentlemenharmony @bitchyfestnight @sukivenue @l1zzygr0nt @pedrofan @javiismyhsbnd @00honey @brittmb115 @picketniffler @javiismyhsbnd @00honey @kneelarmhstrung @zanylightmilkshake @melsunshine @inept-the-magnificent @catofash

If you want me to add you to the tag list or remove you from it, just let me know! if I missed your name, I'm sorry, remind me, plz.

lots of love 💋💋❤️❤️

#fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal gifs #ao3 fanfic #harry castillo fanfiction #harry castillo x you #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo #the materialists #materialists #pedro pascal fic

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nightingale-prompts · 23 days ago

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Worship Me- DCxDP prompt

Yes, it's slightly horny. Sue me!

Was there anyone in this family that didn't attract crazy? Tim would like to say that it was some more than others but the track record is horrendous for each of them.

Don't ask him how he got here. It was a blur. Mission. Altar. Cursed Mirror.

But all that doesn't matter anymore because currently in what could only be described as an obsidian palace.

The palace floats in the void like a jagged crown. Its structure defies logic—spires twist and spiral in impossible geometries, as though grown rather than built. Every surface is carved from seamless black obsidian that drinks in the light of distant stars, causing the palace to shimmer with eerie inner reflections, like shadows trapped beneath glass.

The entrance is a colossal gate shaped like an open eye, rimmed with glowing runes that pulse with alien intent. Inside, the vast halls echo with silence too deep to be natural. The floors gleam with a mirror-sheen, reflecting not just one's image, but fragments of memories, glimpses of alternate selves, or ghostly figures passing just out of reach.

Chambers are suspended in open vacuum, tethered by bridges of crystalline light or magnetic arcs. Gravity bends strangely; a single step can carry you across entire rooms or into hidden dimensions nested within the architecture.

Tim had memorized every detail of this place in the days since he arrived. Most of the time he was allowed to go about his day staying and learning about this place. He wasn't imprisoned, he had to wait for the portal to open again in a few weeks. But Tim had caught the interest of the ruler of the palace.

Now Tim sat on the edge of the floating bed. It's heaped with a sea of plush pillows in shades of midnight blue, silver, and deep violet, each embroidered with celestial patterns.

How he got to this point—he may have...had a few conversations with who he assumed was the prince. The person who he thought was the king was actually his guardian. Tim just...flirted a little to get a bit of information on this place. Danny—the prince—had been more than receptive.

It might have gone too far but here we are.

Now he was in the bedroom of who he still assumed was the crown prince with said prince currently on his lap with his lips on Tim's neck. Tim is unable to move because he believes that if they get caught Tim might end up beheaded for putting his Richard where it does not belong. Hell, they probably already know with the all-seeing eyes everywhere and the fact that the beings in this dimension phase through walls so using the door was just a polite formality.

"Stop thinking. I can practically hear your thoughts." Danny growled nipping at Tim's neck between kisses.

"Then you can te—ll, haa. Fuck! Your hand. Too fast." Tim gasped.

Danny pulled away as he grabbed Tim by the chin and made him look into his eyes. Those hypnotizing green eyes.

"Do you want this?" Danny asked his eyes narrowed.

"...Yes," Tim couldn't lie.

"What do you want?" Danny smiled his sharp elongated incisors showing.

Tim remained silent his hand pressed against the small of the princes back.

"Good, you don't have to say a word. Focus on me. Think of me. Nothing else." His hand wrapped around Tim's throat. "Worship me as your new god."

Prince—king—these words where actually meaningless titles for Danny. He was not these petty and lowly things. He was a god and he craved worship. Even if it came in the form of a single human devoted to him. How incredibly lucky that a suitable human came here. Clockwork says it was best to let the human go back to his dimension and hopefully share his experience so that others will worship Danny. He had no interest in letting his new priest go so easily, not without a parting gift.

"I wonder how it must feel to bed your new master."

#lock me up #dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #danny fenton #dp x dc prompt #tim drake #deadtired #brain dead

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jihyoruri · 1 month ago

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❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ UNTITLED kim chaewon x reader

❀ ͘ ⴰ previous chapters | richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick ⭢ super rich kids ⭢ girl, so confusing ⭢ consume (bonus) ⭢ take your mask off ⭢ carmen

↳ warnings richgirl!yn, eunchae and yn (…) , angst, guilt, a lot of confusion, over working, mentions of fainting, mentions of not eating, more guilt , alcohol, panic attacks

the beat of the music filled the practice room, accompanied by the steady sound of yn’s footsteps of her soft breathing.

slumped against the wall, eunchae took a slow sip of her water, her gaze fixed on yn’s fluid movements. each step was sharp yet effortless, every transition seamless. was it envy that stirred in her chest? or admiration? maybe both.

eunchae struggled to make sense of her feelings toward yn. for the longest time, she never really questioned them, they weren’t truly hers to begin with. they had been shaped by the group, molded by offhand comments, especially from chaewon.

but lately, as she got older, she started to realize that maybe just maybe she didn’t actually feel the way she thought she did.

if she was being honest, she thought yn was pretty cool. her confidence on stage was something eunchae found herself watching closely, analyzing every movement, every expression. there were times she wanted to ask for advice, to learn how yn carried herself with such ease. but she never did. she wasn’t sure how the others would react.

yn’s work ethic wasn’t something the girls ever praised. in fact, it was barely acknowledged at all.

which kind of sucked. eunchae would never admit it, but she paid a lot of attention to yn.

she noticed things the other girls probably didn’t the way yn’s shoulders tensed ever so slightly when someone brought up her family, the look in her eyes, like stars that were about burst and not in a good way, but it was very hypnotizing it was even more obvious when she looked at chaewon.

she noticed the hospital bracelets that would sometimes appear on yn’s wrist, the way she never mentioned them, how no one ever asked. she noticed how yn never cried, not once.

there were times when she wanted to ask yn what was wrong why she wore that hospital bracelet, why her whole body seemed to tense at the mere mention of her family. but she never did. she was always too scared, like she had no right to ask, not after spending so long blindly following the other girls.

but right now, it was just them. alone.

no one was here to watch. no one was here to judge. for once, she could say or do whatever she wanted toward yn without worrying about anyone else’s opinion.

and that’s when it hit her she had never actually spoken to yn one on one before. there was always someone else.

eunchae took a deep breath, steadying herself.

"unnie?"

yn turned around abruptly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "me?" she pointed to herself, as if unsure she had heard correctly.

eunchae nodded.

there was a brief pause before yn sighed, adjusting the waistband of her baggy sweatpants before finally reaching for the speaker, pressing pause on the music. with another deep breath, she made her way toward eunchae, the confusion still evident on her face.

"yes..." yn dragged out, glancing down at eunchae, who was still sitting cross legged on the floor.

"how do you get these moves down so quickly?" eunchae asked, her voice curious but soft. "you’re always so ahead of us."

yn furrowed her brows at the question, then slowly lowered herself to sit across from the younger girl.

she stared at eunchae for a moment, thoughtful, almost hesitant. then she shook her head. "I can’t tell you that."

eunchae’s face fell slightly. "why not?"

"because it’s not healthy," yn replied with a small shrug.

“and I don’t want to be the reason you pick up bad habits... gives everyone more reason to look at me the way they already do."

eunchae frowned. she didn’t like that word—unhealthy.

“is that why you always have those bracelets on?” she asked quietly.

yn’s eyes widened like she hadn’t expected that question at all. “what are you talking about?”

“you know,” eunchae said simply, her gaze steady.

yn paused, caught off guard, then scoffed softly. “how do you know about that? did sakura tell you?”

eunchae blinked. she noticed it right away, yn didn’t call her sakura unnie.

sakura had always had her opinions about yn, sure, but lately, she’d been more... involved.

always asking where yn was, questioning her when she came back late, showing concern in her own awkward way.

eunchae had honestly thought maybe they were getting closer.

but the way yn said her name flat, distant, made it clear she didn’t see it that way. not even close.

“no, she didn’t,” eunchae said quickly. “I’ve always noticed.”

yn kept her gaze locked on the younger girl before sighing, her eyes dropping to the floor.

“if she did, you can just tell me. she’s been watching me like a hawk lately, like I’m about to break or something. and now you’re here, asking questions too.” she looked up again, expression unreadable. “I don’t get why she’s suddenly acting like she cares. and I really don’t get why you’resuddenly interested in me.”

eunchae flinched. the way yn said it, like she was catching onto something, like she’d figured her out but she had it all wrong.

“I’ve always been interested in you,” eunchae said, voice quieter now, more vulnerable. yn let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh.

“it’s true,” eunchae insisted, eyes wide. “I just... there were so many opinions. and I didn’t know what was real.”

“eunchae...” yn said her name like she didn’t believe a word of it.

“I’m not lying!” eunchae’s voice suddenly rose, surprising even herself and definitely surprising yn, who flinched just slightly, eyes blinking fast.

“I was confused,” she continued, breath shaking. “these past few months have been hard for all of us in different ways. and I’ve been watching you... run off to find comfort in another group, and—” she swallowed, “—and it makes my chest feel weird. you’re supposed to be like a sister to me, but you don’t even look at me like that. and it’s my fault, because of the way I acted. I made it that way.”

eunchae let out a deep sigh, like she’d just sprinted a mile, before glancing at yn who was still just sitting there, quietly watching her.

“what part of the choreo do you need help with?” yn asked suddenly.

“what?” eunchae blinked, confused, watching as yn stood and made her way toward the speaker.

“what part do you need help on?” yn repeated, more softly this time as she crouched to pause the music and rewind it a few counts.

eunchae stood up, trailing behind her with a puzzled expression. she’d just spilled her heart out laid it all bare and this was yn’s response?

yn turned to face her again, eyes calm, a faint smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “I might not be able to show you my work ethic,” she said with a small shrug, “but I can help you polish some moves.”

oh.

it clicked then.

yn was a closed off person. always had been. eunchae couldn’t even blame her, just from the stories her own parents told about the moon family, it was easy to understand why yn kept her walls high and voice low when it came to herself.

so if this offer to rehearse, this quiet gesture was yn’s way of trying to connect with her, trying to understand, trying to forgive.

then yeah.

she’d take it.

chaewon was on edge.

she’d been trying to act normal, keyword trying but it wasn’t working. not when her mind kept circling back to yn.

granted, yn was always somewhere in her thoughts. but this time, it was different. sharper. heavier.

she couldn’t stop replaying the way yn had spoken to her brother how cold and commanding her voice had sounded, like she wasn’t asking him to make them leave, she was ordering it.

how her hand had wrapped around chaewon’s wrist, not too tight but just enough to make her skin burn hours later. and her words low, quiet, like a secret meant only for chaewon to hear. almost threatening. almost dangerous.

and yet, all chaewon could think about was how her heart had raced like yn was daring her to cross a line and how badly she wanted to.

did she even want to? because while chaewon had been spiraling, turning that night over and over in her head like a loop she couldn’t pause, yn had been acting like it never even happened.

like she hadn’t grabbed her, hadn’t said those words, hadn’t left her standing there with a pulse that wouldn’t slow down.

and it wasn’t just her. everyone had been spiraling lately, weeks, maybe months of silent tension. chaewon had started to notice the way the other girls looked at yn now not with annoyance or judgment like before, but with something closer to pity. concern. even fear, sometimes.

except for kazuha. kazuha’s eyes had always been soft when they landed on yn, but now it was different. more constant. like she knew something the rest of them didn’t.

chaewon didn’t get it. when had the switch up happened? if anything, yn should be the last person anyone was worried about. she was the one with a safety net, a massive one family name, family money, a house bigger than their dorm stacked with backup plans. when things got hard, she could just go home to her mansion. easy.

yeah, yn doesn’t need her concern.

the sound of the door opening broke through the quiet of the dorm, making chaewon glance up from her phone. she didn’t need to look to know who it was who else would be coming in this late, giggling?

“how do you get drunk off soju?” kazuha laughed, her arm looped casually around yn’s waist as she guided her inside.

“i’m not drunk,” yn mumbled, brushing her off with a lazy wave of her hand. “I just don’t drink much.”

“so... people who don’t drink get drunk easily?” kazuha teased.

“you literally just admitted you’re drunk,” kazuha said, laughing as she looked at her.

“can I sleep in your room tonight?” yn asked, her voice soft, almost slurred as she leaned in closer.

kazuha smiled and nodded without hesitation, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

chaewon cleared her throat, loud, pointed. both of them turned at the sound.

her eyes narrowed immediately at the sight of kazuha’s arm still around yn’s waist.

“have fun?” she asked flatly, voice clipped.

“yeah,” yn giggled, leaning further into kazuha, her cheek brushing the girl’s shoulder as she grinned up at her. kazuha just shook her head fondly, like she was used to it.

kazuha guided yn toward the couch and gently plopped her down beside chaewon, flashing the older girl a tight smile. “I’ll be back. gonna set up my room and grab some stuff from hers,” she said before disappearing down the hall.

chaewon opened her mouth to say to protest but kazuha was already gone.

she looked down at yn, whose head was tilted back against the couch cushion, eyes glazed, but still somehow focused on her.

yn mumbled something.

“what?” chaewon leaned in, her tone harsh but curious.

“my mom said some stuff to me earlier today…” yn murmured, voice dragging like she was sleep talking. “I wonder if she even knows what she does to me... probably. you’re lucky.”

chaewon scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m lucky? your family is probably one of the most privileged in the country.”

“i hate it when you do that,” yn muttered, looking at her own nails like they were more interesting than this conversation. “you don’t know anything.”

“I know enough.”

“you don’t,” yn snapped, a little louder, a little more slurred. “for someone with such strong opinions on me, maybe you should actually type my family’s name into google.”

chaewon blinked. the words felt like a challenge and a warning.

“maybe I will.”

“okay!” kazuha’s voice chimed suddenly, making chaewon look up. she was now dressed in comfortable sweats, hair loosely tied back, and already reaching down to grab yn by the arm. “we’re off to bed.”

yn let herself be pulled up with a lazy grin, mumbling something incoherent as kazuha wrapped an arm around her waist again.

chaewon watched in silence as the two disappeared down the hall, the door to kazuha’s room clicking shut a few seconds later.

she glanced back down at her phone, her fingers hovering for a moment before she finally started typing

moon family

it’s 3 am.

chaewon’s eyes burned, but she couldn’t stop scrolling.

the soft glow of her phone screen lit the dark room, casting sharp shadows across her face, now pale and tense. article after article… her thumb moved on autopilot.

she had searched moon family scandals at first, expecting typical rich family drama inheritance battles, corporate cover ups. but what she found made her stomach twist, nothing she hadn’t heard of before but it felt different actually reading about it.

“young heiress moon yn collapses during charity gala.” “lesserafim's moon yn appears exhausted in recent schedule, fans express concern.” “rumors of frequent hospital visits continue to follow the moon family.”

she had known, everyone had known, in that vague, offhand way the moon family has their issues,they’re all a little unstable, yn’s kind of... different.

but not like this.

not like article after article detailing yn’s episodes.

not like video clips embedded in the text, a much younger yn, dressed in a pale blue designer dress, barely fourteen, suddenly stumbling mid-speech, staff rushing forward as the crowd gasped. the camera caught her face before she went down, eyes wide, glassy, almost confused , like she hadn’t even realized something was wrong.

chaewon’s heart slammed in her chest.

her breath came faster now, she could feel it. panic.

but she couldn’t look away.

another article

“moon yn escorted out of award ceremony after looking visibly unwell.” “moon yn seen wearing a hospital bracelet while out with ningning of aespa fans voice concern.”

chaewon’s hands were trembling.

a memory came uninvited , yn walking past her one evening, hoodie sleeves pulled down, but chaewon had seen it. the edge of a plastic band peeking out before yn quickly adjusted her sleeve.

at the time, chaewon had just brushed it off.

sakura said something about a hospital bracelet recently…

she squeezed her eyes shut, god.

her thoughts spiraled.

yn , always sitting out when the food arrived. always claiming she wasn’t hungry, yn swaying slightly during rehearsal, brushing it off like it was nothing, yn brushing past her with that same cold look, one chaewon had assumed was arrogance.

chaewon’s chest ached. her throat tightened.

what have i done?

she couldn’t breathe.

her mind wouldn’t stop replaying the last few months, all the cruel words, the passive digs, the tension she always justified as something yn deserved.

she’s spoiled. she doesn’t try hard enough. she thinks she’s better than us.

but now it all felt hollow.

the cruel, dismissive way she treated her. the things she said. the things she ignored.

what would her iz*one members think? is this the same fun and caring chaewon they once knew?

snap out of it , she thought bitterly what’s happening to me

chaewon was shaking now, full body tremors as she tried to take in air. her legs kicked the blanket off the couch in a panic, as if the fabric was strangling her.

she pressed her palm against her forehead, fingers digging into her scalp.

and then yn’s voice echoed in her mind.

“you’re lucky.”

chaewon had rolled her eyes. you’re the rich one, you’re set for life, she’d thought.

but yn’s voice it had cracked when she said it.

suddenly, chaewon couldn’t stay still. her body moved before her mind could process.

she got up, legs weak, jelly like. her knees almost buckled on the way down the hallway. everything felt distant, her body vibrating with adrenaline and shame. she stopped in front of kazuha’s door, hand hovering.

and then she opened it.

the moonlight filtering through the window made the room glow faintly. there, tangled in soft blankets, was yn passed out, her mouth slightly parted, hair messily falling across the pillow.

kazuha lay beside her, fast asleep, one hand draped protectively across yn’s waist.

chaewon stared.

she didn’t know what she had expected. tears? peace? answers?

but instead, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding a breath that shook through her chest and slipped out as a quiet, strangled sound.

she closed the door gently, barely able to make it two steps before her back hit the wall.

and then she slid down, all the way to the floor.

knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them, her breathing finally slowing but the weight in her chest heavier than ever.

she had just needed to see her.

she didn’t know why.

but she had to.

her mind was spiraling, only with yn, everything just of yn.

yn.

#richgirl!yn #kim chaewon #kim chaewon x reader #chaewon #chaewon x reader #lesserafim #le sserafim x reader #lesserafim x reader #le sserafim #chaewon lesserafim #girl group imagines

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merakiui · 12 days ago

Note

I headcanon Georgina is head of the Leech family. She's known as a pretty brutal woman but has a soft spot for her sons.

She frequents a hole in the wall known bakery who's cakes and teas are just fabulous. She develops a friendly relationship with a waitress she hit it off with. They gossip for an hour every time she's there. Her darlingsons are a frequent point of discussion.

It's gets too the point your boss wants to tell you to get back to work, but the smile Mrs. Leech gives him is nothing short of menacing as she tells him this is just good customer service leave her be.

One day a bloodied individual is brought to her begging for his life. Saying he'd give her anything. His gambling debts had left him with little else other than a daughter. When Georgina looks at the provided photo it's her waitress!?

... Well who is she to squander such an opportunity.

You find yourself forced into a car on your way home from work. Georgina is there playing up how awful it is to have a father willing to sell his daughter to pay off his debts, but don't worry Mama Georgina will look out for you, all you have to do is one tiny favor and the debts will be considered repayed! You're practically shaking as it's just you and her in an elevator. Once you're at the top floors penthouse you're shoved out, falling into the arms of twins you recognize from her pictures.

Mama leech hits the button to go back to the lobby "Be gentle with the poor thing..." she gives her sons a smile that basically says:

"I want a positive pregnancy test in hand by the end of the week."

Ohhhhh….. orz orz that’s perfect,,,

Forming a bond with her favorite waitress and it pays off in her favor when your terrible father owes a serious debt. She’s so seamless with her motherly manipulation, sympathizing so sweetly to your circumstances, and insisting she’s here to help you. Even though it does nothing to ease your anxieties, considering your father essentially used you as compensation for his debt. >_< for the first time since you met her, you don’t trust the “sincerity” in her smile.

Nor do you quite understand what she means when she tells her beloved sons to “be gentle.” You’re immediately scared. They’re so tall and strong-looking, and their razored grins are too intimidating. You realize what’s happening when they’re guiding you to a bed, promising to treat you nicely just as their mama asked them to~

Suddenly, you’re resisting. You don’t want this! You’ve never had sex before and if you ever were to you always imagined your first time to be full of love and sweetness. This is nothing like this as your legs are pried apart and they tell you you’re cute when you squirm. You’re so scared. This isn’t what you want, but it’s what you must do because you were practically handed on a silver platter to them. ;;;

It’s impossible to hold back your moans, too. You try your hardest, but that just makes them even more determined to unravel you. One of them eats you out with a long, skilled tongue while the other teases your nipples. You cry out when you’re stretched open on a cock that feels too-big, choking on the other stuffed into your mouth. They’re mating pressing you into the sheets to ensure you won’t waste a single drop of cum. >:) that way you’ll be mothering a child or two (or three) in the near-future.

Mama Leech simply adores you. She knew you’d be a perfect match for her darling boys. And it’s a wonderful thing they seem to like you just as much.

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #tw: dubcon #i love when tumbly doesn’t save my initial draft response and so i have to rewrite it :^)#I STRONGLY DISLIKE THE WIFI CONNECTION HERE!!!!!!!! T^T #anywho~~ mama leech i love you :3

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neocoat · 3 months ago

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thecameronchronicles · 8 months ago

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Once A Year In Nassau

TW: Public sex. Hair pulling. Dirty talk. Raw sex.

SUMMARY: Tradition sparks a new need between you and Rafe. Something more permanent than your current arrangement.

Once A Year in Nassau

He pouts into his hand, thinking about everything else he could be doing right now other than sitting across from his father and Rose at yet another silent dinner where he is ignored. Sarah doesn't have to put up with it and Wheezie is at camp somewhere back home.

"Cameron!" A raspy introduction projects his eyes upwards as the first flicker of hope for excitement is reinstated through his veins. But it isn't for the man shaking hands with his father as they discuss the time apart. It is for the girl following him.

You.

You're appearance has changed; your hair a bit lighter and cut an inch or two shorter from last time, your skin still needing to be the same tan it was when you said your goodbyes last summer, but your smile to him was blinding and unwaivering.

"And look at Y/N, even more of a stunner every time I see you." Ward offers as Rose kisses your cheeks but your eyes stay on Rafe. It's long enough to see the anger behind his clenched jaw before you offer an awkward nod to appear unaffected. In truth, you are both bubbling inside for a moment alone and as you are invited to join their dinner, it seems it might never happen.

"Excuse me." You manage between your father and Ward's conversation, your eyes flicking up to Rafe as if to hint some silent invitation but you see him glaring at his drink. You sigh, knowing exactly the reason for the scowl but disappear for a reprieve anyhow.

The layout of the resort is luxurious with an open concept to all but that of the bathrooms. It is the only place where one could mutter and not be heard and it's what leads you there. You slip away behind the door and cool your heated skin at the thoughts of last summer.

On the beach, in Rafe's arms, as he playfully throws you into the water before diving behind you. Later beneath the stars as he makes you call to God as you grip the seamless sand beneath as it forfeits support between your fingers.

The summer before that in the supply closet on the second floor as he came off of an argument from his father.

Since the first kiss that initial summer, it had become a tradition of sorts to be lost in each other. Each goodbye more painful, each morning after feeling impossible to breathe. Now finding him still affected by the weight of the Cameron name, all you wished for was to have a summer you didn't have to make it only a memory with him.

"You're back." His voice forces your eyes to him within the hallway as you can't help but pull your neck to ache at just how he towers over you. Summer and time is always kind to him, only now the beautiful sadness behind his eyes has amplified to a permanent existence that pulls at your heart.

"You're so-" Sad? Handsome? Unforgettable? The adjective is lost on your tongue as he takes you against him. Stronger than last time, he pushes you against the wall between the assigned restrooms until you can feel how rigid he's become for you.

"You're the only thing that makes me feel right, Y/N." He pleads between kisses, the taste of his vices on the tip of his tongue lost to the heat of the same muscle wrapped around your own.

"Then let me..." You pull him into the bathroom and lock the door. Decorated in affluence, a couch conveniently lay in wait. You set him in the center and pull the skirt of your dress up high enough to get onto your knees.

"Oh fuck..." He groans as he watches you descend onto your knees for him. You finger his buckle until his button can be freed, releasing him to you as he flexes his hips so you can pull him out. The sight of him, already shiny with precum makes your mouth water.

"Yes..." He moans as you tease him. Long licks up his shaft before finally claiming him to the resistance of your throat. Breathing deeply, you commit him deeper until he's gripping the couch.

"Oh baby...just like that. You know just how to suck me, don't you?" You nod, your new manicure threatening ruination by how you are gripping his thigh.

"Anyone else get to know how this feels? It's a long time to go without, ya know..." His eyes are hard while his jaw is slack as your tempo only increases as if your enthusiasm proves your conviction to him.

"Only you." You moan before he wraps your hair in his fist.

"I don't like when you change things. I like remembering it like last time. Don't do it again." He pumps himself into your throat as you take him in stride. Hollowed cheeks, you bask in the understanding of being used for his pleasure. Knowing exactly what it is he needs, you moan around him and feel him buck with abandon.

"Such a good little mouth for me, aren't you?" You nod, looking up through faulty mascara you know he loves to see run and the tearful eyes as the reason.

"Get the fuck on me." He tears you up by your hair until you're on his lap.

"Nobody else?" He rubs your exposed ass made available by the cut of your panties.

"You sure about that?" He rips it without much effort to the limited fabric there.

"You didn't let anyone else touch you? Hmm?"

"Nobody. I swear, Rafe. Nobody else has touched me or kissed me since our first summer-" He interrupts you with a kiss as his fingers draw figure eights throughout your folds until you're mindless.

"Show me you're mine. Ride my hand until you drip down my rings." You feel the cold metal he references against your thigh before the length of his sturdy fingers enter.

"Oh-" He uses his second hand over your mouth.

"Nobody else gets to hear you either. Got it?" He leaves a new rule every interaction and this is no exception.

"Yes-"

"Good. Now show me before I take what I want and or leave you unsatisfied for another year." You grip the couch at his back and use his hand, two dedicated fingers curved at your g-spot, as you moan.

"That's my girl-" He huffs in a guttural groan, his head against your chest as he breathes in the scent identifiable to only you. His words are interrupted by the force of your lips demanding his attention. As you kiss, your tongues intertwine for taste and need, until you end up biting and sucking on it.

"I need you on my cock. Right fucking now." Whatever separates you is pulled away before he hoists you up and levels himself inside of you. You've felt him in enough familiarity to know it will stretch you, a feeling he echoes as he groans to the intimacy of it.

"I need this." He grips your ass before bouncing you onto him.

"And these-" he uses his other hand to expose your breasts, naked sans a bra. His name is your only breath as he takes his time nibbling and sucking, his hands otherwise devoted to your curves and ass.

"Deeper." He orders as you turn for him, surprising him as he watches you take him reverse cowgirl. Only this is still not enough. You bend forward, hands on the small carpet before you, as you curve for him.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N-"

"Hold my hair-" You gasp at the grip he makes.

"On my God, Y/N. Your ass," he squeezes it before swatting it hard enough to leave a red mark behind. "Your-fuck! I need this..." One hand on your hair, the other draws a line of his trimmed nails down your spine until he has you in a grip.

"You want it like this? You want me to fill you up while you're bent over giving me this..." He stalls, searching for the right words. "this view?"

"Please Rafe. I've thought about how it will be all year." He pulls you up by your hair until your back rests against his chest. His fingers play with your clit as he moans against you.

"That's it. Oh fuck. Oh yeah baby...ohhh-" The door tries behind you as your thighs sore from the rise and fall of your muscles called into motion.

"Do. Not. Stop." He breathes with each thrust until you are unable to speak and high off of his need for you. He holds a hand around the sides of your throat, ensuring you can breathe while also holding you in place as the other palms your breasts.

"Open the door-" A woman's voice calls as Rafe pounds up into you, deeper than he's ever been.

"Make us come, baby. I'm not stopping until you're filled and shaking but I also don't want anyone else seeing you like this. So come-baby,"

"Open the-" The voice tries again.

"FUCK OFF!" Rafe calls out, dainty feet rushing away as he doubles his efforts, inspiring you to do the same. Wherever he has you pinned so you cannot move, you use small ministration to affect him. Clenching your inner walls until he can feel the flutter, he arches back in awe.

"Baby! That's good-Goddamn!" He groans into your neck as you shake uncontrollably. His fingers a rush against your clit unwind and prepare your orgasm as you feel it surge without warning.

"That's it, fucking come for me baby. You're gonna make me come-" He chokes out, his own pleasure coursing through him as he spills inside of you.

"Rafe..." You breathe as his hand remains on your throat as if he cannot begin to fathom the idea to release you. It takes you tapping his hand for his head to rise from your shoulder as his lips trace the skin there.

This is the part you loathe. The part that has gotten more difficult over the former exchanges.

"I-"

"Stay, Y/N."

"Rafe, I-"

"Please." His summons resonates into the marrow of your bones.

"I don't think-"

"Marry me." His words make you turn to face him and you see how there is no humor on his expression. Not the hauntingly soft yet intimidating eyes or the full lips spread in contentment.

"Marry me, Y/N."

MASTERLIST

A/N: I was thinking of possibly making this into a series. Any thoughts?

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafecameron #rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks #outerbanks #obx #outer banks #outer banks smut #obxsmut #obx fanfiction #drew starkey

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pbaz7 · 4 months ago

Text

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART FOUR

paige x azzi

word count: 5.2k

A/N: I’ve been harassed and bullied for the next part so here it is 😭😭. Y’all better be nice to me after this and I expect live reactions 🤨. You can lowkey thank 🍉 since their original live reaction to part three was so good. This not happening again so enjoy it lmao

—————————————————————————

After that night in the gym, it became an unspoken tradition: when Paige couldn’t sleep, Azzi was the one she called. Not that Azzi ever had much of a choice. Paige’s annoying laugh always echoed through FaceTime before abruptly hanging up, leaving Azzi no option but to drag herself out of bed. They’d work out for hours, pushing each other until they were both too tired to do anything but crash. And it was starting to show. At practice, their movements were seamless, a rhythm that left even the coaching staff nodding in approval.

Tonight was no different. Azzi groaned as she rolled out of bed, rubbing her eyes and glaring at the clock. It was 1:12 a.m. She grabbed her hoodie and headed to the gym, still half-asleep, muttering about Paige’s never-ending energy.

When Azzi walked in, Paige was already drenched in sweat, perfecting her finishes at the rim. The rhythmic sound of the ball hitting the floor echoed through the empty gym. Paige glanced up when she saw Azzi, grinning as if she hadn’t just pulled her out of a deep sleep. “Where are your shoes?”

Azzi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her face set in an unimpressed expression. “I’m too sleepy for this today,” she said flatly.

Paige smirked. “Come on, just stand on the block and rebound for me then.”

Azzi didn’t budge. “Nope,” she replied, her voice firm. “What’s got you so riled up today?”

Paige let out a frustrated huff, dribbling the ball hard against the court. “They said I wasn’t efficient enough at finishing at the rim last year.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Paige shrugged, looking almost defensive. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve gotta fix it.”

Azzi shook her head, stepping away from the wall. “Alright, that’s enough. You’re spiraling over nothing, and I’m too tired to watch this tonight.” Before Paige could argue, Azzi grabbed her water bottle and towel. “Let’s go.” Azzi didn’t even look back as she started walking towards the door.

Paige stared at her for a moment, debating whether to resist. But Azzi’s no-nonsense policy left little room for negotiation. With a sigh, Paige gave in, muttering something under her breath as they walked out of the gym.

They strolled through the quiet campus, the summer breeze in the air starting to wake Azzi up a bit. After a while, Azzi broke the silence. “I want ice cream.”

Paige stopped mid-step, turning to look at her. “What?! I thought you were sooo sleepy.”

“I am,” Azzi said with a dramatic yawn. “But I dragged myself out of bed at 1 a.m. for you, so we’re getting ice cream.”

Paige shook her head, laughing softly. “You know that shit’s bad for you, especially this late.”

Azzi smirked. “Hm, maybe that’s why you don’t have a heart—you don’t eat ice cream. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

Paige chuckled, rolling her eyes. “That doesn’t even make any sense but alright, fine. Come on.”

They changed course, heading toward the closest Dairy Queen,

When they reached Dairy Queen, Azzi walked up to the counter, ordering her usual double chocolate ice cream. Paige followed, looking at the menu for a moment before saying, “Just vanilla is fine for me.”

Azzi turned to her with an incredulous look. “Vanilla? That’s boring,” she said, shaking her head. Without missing a beat, she turned back to the cashier. “She’ll have mint chocolate chip.”

Paige frowned slightly but didn’t argue. When Azzi started pulling out her wallet to pay, Paige stepped forward, sliding her card to the cashier first. “I got it,” she said simply.

Azzi blinked, surprised, but smiled softly. “Thanks,” she said, her tone light.

They found a booth and sat across from one another, their ice cream melting slightly in the cups between them as they ate. For a while, they ate in silence, the quiet of the near-empty restaurant settling between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly warm either.

Azzi broke the silence first, like usual, leaning back against the booth. “You know, we still don’t really talk outside of the gym.”

Paige glanced up at her, her spoon paused mid-air. “I don’t really know what to talk to you about outside of basketball,” she admitted, her voice honest, if a bit awkward.

Azzi laughed, the sound light and genuine. “You haven’t even tried.”

Paige nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. She ate her ice cream slowly, clearly thinking about how to respond. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Okay, fine. Um… What’s your favorite movie?”

Azzi tilted her head, smirking. “That’s the best you’ve got? A favorite movie question?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, her tone amused. “I’m trying here. Just humor me.”

Azzi tapped her spoon against her cup, pretending to think. “Alright. Frozen.”

Paige blinked, her expression frozen for a second. “Wait. Frozen? Like… the Disney movie?”

Azzi shrugged, completely unapologetic. “Yeah. What’s wrong with Frozen?”

“Nothing. I just… I didn’t expect that.” Paige leaned forward, a small grin tugging at her lips. “What’s your favorite song? Please don’t say Let It Go.”

Azzi leaned back, smirking. “Oh, no. It’s definitely Let It Go.”

Paige groaned, burying her face in her hands. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Azzi said, laughing. “It’s a classic. And admit it—you probably know every word.”

“I don’t,” Paige shot back quickly, but the way her ears turned pink betrayed her.

Azzi grinned, leaning forward. “Oh, you absolutely do. Come on, sing it with me. ‘The snow glows white on the mountain tonight—’”

“Stop,” Paige said, shaking her head but laughing despite herself. “You’re ridiculous and you can’t sing.”

“I’m fun,” Azzi corrected, popping another bite of ice cream into her mouth. “And now you know my favorite movie. Your turn. What’s yours?”

Paige hesitated, not really knowing an answer. “I guess… Remember the Titans.”

Azzi groaned dramatically. “Of course it’s a sports movie. You’re so predictable.”

“Hey, it’s inspiring!” Paige defended, pointing her spoon at Azzi. “At least it’s not a cartoon about a talking snowman.”

“Olaf is a legend,” Azzi shot back, her eyes narrowing in mock offense. “Don’t disrespect him.”

Azzi, continuing laughing as she watches Paige eat her ice cream. “I didn’t think you’d actually like that. Mint chocolate chip is disgusting.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “No, it isn’t. It’s actually pretty good.”

“It’s disgusting, I’ve tried it,” Azzi shot back.

Paige smirked, nudging the cup toward Azzi. “Try this one.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but leaned forward, taking a small bite of the ice cream. Her face immediately contorted into a dramatic grimace.

Paige burst out laughing. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes, it is,” Azzi said, sliding the cup back toward Paige like it was contagious. “First real thing I’ve learned about you: you have absolutely disgusting taste.”

Paige smirked, taking another bite with zero shame. “More for me, then.”

The conversation lightened from there, flowing into an easy rhythm as the two began talking about everything but basketball for once. They laughed about Azzi’s weird food habits, Paige’s inability to sit still, and random stories about their life. For the first time, it felt like they were genuinely getting to know each other—not as basketball players, but as people.

By the time they left Dairy Queen, the distance between them felt much smaller, the tension nonexistent.

Paige shoved her hands in her pockets as they walked back to campus, stealing a glance at Azzi. “Hey… thanks for all of this. I really appreciate it.”

Azzi smiled at her, her tone softer now. “Anytime.”

November 2021

By the time the season rolled around, Paige and Azzi had found a nice rhythm. They weren’t best friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they were definitely friends now—something that had felt impossible just a few months ago. It had become clear that Azzi was Paige’s preference when it came to most things relating to anyone on the team. Their arguments had dwindled, replaced by a steady, mutual respect that carried over into practice and even into their everyday interactions.

The first game of the season highlighted just how much work Paige had put in during the off-season. She was dominant on the court, going 15-for-19 shooting and finishing with a game-high 34 points. Her passes were sharp, her movements decisive, and her presence commanding. It was clear she had something to prove this season.

Azzi, on the other hand, had a rocky start. She struggled to find her rhythm, shooting just 1-for-4 from three and looking a little out of sync with anyone else on the team who wasn’t Paige. She tried not to let it show, but frustration bubbled under the surface.

After the game, Azzi braced herself for Paige’s criticism. She fully expected Paige to pick apart every missed shot or lost opportunity, but to her surprise, Paige didn’t say much. Instead, she clapped her on the shoulder after the game and said, “Shake it off. Next one’s yours.”

It wasn’t until the next morning, at exactly 6:00 a.m., that Azzi got the full Paige treatment she expected. Her phone buzzed on her nightstand, and she groggily reached for it, squinting at the screen.

“Hello?” she muttered, her voice thick with sleep.

“Gym,” Paige said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

“What?”

“Meet me at the gym. I’m here now,” Paige said, and Azzi could practically hear her smirking through the phone.

“Are you serious?” Azzi groaned, pulling the covers over her head.

“Dead serious. You’re a shooter, Azzi. Shooters shoot. And you’re not gonna find your rhythm lying in bed,” Paige said before hanging up, her annoying laugh echoing in Azzi’s ears.

Azzi groaned again, throwing her phone onto the bed. She contemplated ignoring Paige, but she knew better. She knew Paige would make her life her own personal hell. So, with a dramatic sigh, she dragged herself out of bed, laced up her sneakers, and headed to the gym.

When she arrived, Paige was already there, running through a shooting drill like she hadn’t just dropped 34 points the night before. Azzi shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

“Morning,” she said, her voice still heavy with sleep.

Paige looked over at her and smirked. “Thought you’d flake.”

“So you can talk shit, no thank you,” Azzi said, grabbing a ball and joining her.

And just like that, they got to work. Paige pushed Azzi harder than anyone else had ever done, calling out every slight misstep and missed shot, but Azzi didn’t mind. She knew Paige only did it because she believed in her, and that was something Azzi didn’t take lightly now that she knew the blonde more.

By the end of the session, Azzi was drenched in sweat, but her shot felt smoother, her confidence creeping back. Paige tossed her a towel, smirking. “Told you. Shooters shoot.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re not human, you know that?”

Paige just laughed, grabbing her bag. “See you at practice.”

It was moments like these that reminded Azzi why she respected Paige so much. Beneath all the bravado and intensity, there was someone who genuinely cared—someone who wanted everyone around her to be better.

…

It wasn’t until the next game against Minnesota, played under the dazzling sun of the Bahamas, that the old Paige—the one Azzi had known before UConn—made a slight but unwelcome reappearance. Though they had won the game, Paige had an uncharacteristically poor performance, shooting just 3-for-7 and finishing with only 8 points. By her standards, it was disastrous, and as soon as they returned to the hotel, Paige found a way to access the gym.

While the rest of the team celebrated and enjoyed the tropical paradise, Paige was in the corner of a dimly lit gym, drenched in sweat and attacking the basket as though it had personally offended her.

Azzi had a gut feeling Paige would be there. After wandering around, she finally spotted her, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood confirming her hunch. Azzi leaned against the doorway for a moment before walking in, her voice cutting through the rhythmic bounce of the basketball.

“Paige,” Azzi called.

Paige didn’t stop, her eyes locked on the hoop as she drove for another layup.

Azzi stepped closer, folding her arms. “You know we’re literally in the Bahamas, right? People usually relax in places like this.”

Paige finally grabbed the ball as it rebounded off the glass, breathing heavily as she glanced at Azzi. “What do you want, Azzi?” she asked curtly.

“I want you to leave this gym and act like a normal human being for once,” Azzi said plainly. “It’s one game, Paige. You’re allowed to have an off night.”

Paige turned back toward the hoop, gripping the ball tightly. “Please not now, Azzi.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. You’re being ridiculous. We won, didn’t we?”

Paige sighed loudly, setting the ball down with force. “Azzi, seriously just leave me alone today, okay? I don’t need this right now.”

Azzi planted her feet, her expression hardening. “No, I’m not leaving. We’ve talked about this. You’re beating yourself up over nothing. Everyone knows you’re the best player on the court ten times out of ten. You had one bad game. It’s not the end of the world.”

Paige turned sharply, her frustration finally boiling over. “You don’t get it, Azzi!” she snapped. “You don’t have everyone breathing down your neck, waiting for you to fail. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you have to be perfect every second you’re out there.”

Azzi stared at her, unflinching. “Oh, please,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Cry me a river, Paige. Everyone has pressure. It’s part of the game.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not the same, and you know it.”

Azzi scoffed, taking a step closer. “What I know is that you’re acting like a complete ass right now. You’ve been doing nothing but working yourself into the ground since the game ended, and I’m just trying to help you before you burn out.”

“I didn’t ask for your help!” Paige shot back, her voice echoing through the gym.

Azzi clapped her hands slowly, the sound echoing. “Wow. Congratulations, Paige,” she said, her tone sharp. “I was just starting to think you weren’t an asshole, but you really went and proved me wrong. Great job.”

Paige’s mouth opened slightly, but she couldn’t find the words to respond. Azzi shook her head, her voice rising now.

“You know, for someone who’s supposedly this incredible leader, you’re pretty terrible at letting people in. God forbid someone actually cares enough to check on you,” Azzi said, her frustration evident.

Paige’s jaw tightened, her anger battling with guilt, but she stayed silent.

Azzi turned to leave without another word and Paige watched her go, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Azzi’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, leaving Paige alone with nothing but the sound of her own labored breathing and the weight of the words Azzi left behind.

…

Later that night, Paige found herself outside Azzi’s hotel room, hesitating before finally knocking. She had spent the last hour pacing back and forth in her own room, trying to figure out what to say. When the door opened, it wasn’t Azzi, but Aaliyah, Azzi’s assigned roommate for the trip.

Aaliyah looked confused, her brow furrowing as she saw Paige standing there. “Uh, hey?”

Paige shifted awkwardly. “Uh... is Azzi here?”

Aaliyah blinked but stepped aside, nodding. “Yeah, she’s here.” She gestured toward the bed where Azzi was sitting, scrolling on her phone.

Azzi looked up when Paige entered but didn’t say anything, her face impassive. Paige froze for a second, realizing she hadn’t thought this far ahead. What was she supposed to do now?

Aaliyah stood there, clearly confused by the tension but before she could say anything Paige blurted out, “I’m really sorry, Azzi.”

Azzi’s expression didn’t change, but she glanced at Aaliyah and subtly motioned toward the door. Aaliyah raised an eyebrow, clearly curious about what was going on, but she grabbed her phone. “I’ll, uh, go... somewhere,” she said, slipping out the door and leaving the two of them alone.

Azzi leaned back against the headboard, her arms crossed as she waited for Paige to continue.

Paige sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, Azzi,” she repeated.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, still silent, clearly expecting more.

Paige noticed the unspoken challenge in Azzi’s expression and sighed again, frustrated with herself. “Look,” she started, “I’m not great at expressing my feelings and allat. That’s just not me. It’s never been me and I don’t know how to do that stuff. But I know I was wrong. I was frustrated—about how I played, about everything—and I took it out on you. That wasn’t cool and I’m sorry.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, letting the silence stretch out between them. She simply watched Paige, waiting to find the words. When she finally did speak, her voice was calm but firm. “If we’re going to be friends, Paige, I’m not going to be your punching bag like everybody else. You can’t just snap at me. You need to use your words, like the adult you are.”

Paige remained silent, struggling to find her footing in this new dynamic that she didn’t want to mess up. Azzi could see it in her eyes—the frustration, how overwhelmed she was. She wasn’t going to push, though. Instead, Azzi leaned back slightly, silently gesturing for Paige to sit down. Paige hesitated, then took a seat on the edge of the bed, her hands fidgeting nervously.

They sat there in silence for a while. Azzi wasn’t about to baby Paige—she’d made that clear. She wasn’t going to sugarcoat things or offer empty reassurances. Sometimes, Paige just had to sit with her feelings and figure them out on her own.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Paige spoke up, her voice soft, almost hesitant. She fiddled with her fingers, not looking directly at Azzi. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Azzi looked at Paige, her expression calm but curious. “What do you mean?”

Paige sighed, her shoulders slumping as she continued. “All this attention... the ESPN feature stories, the magazine covers, the media... everything. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful for everything. I know it’s a privilege, but... it’s just too much sometimes. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. I just wanted to hoop and now I don’t really get a say in it.”

Azzi listened carefully, her expression softening as she absorbed what Paige was saying. She could see how the pressure of everything—expectations, attention, the constant spotlight—was weighing on her all the time.

“That’s a lot to carry,” Azzi said quietly, finally breaking the silence. “But you’ve been carrying it Paige. You’ve been handling it since high school. You just... haven’t been handling yourself very well recently.” Her voice wasn’t harsh, but firm, like she was telling Paige something she needed to hear. “I get that it’s hard. It’s overwhelming. But you can’t keep pushing yourself everyday like you do. And you can’t take it out on anyone else, definitely not me because I’m not going to deal with it.”

Paige swallowed hard, taking in what Azzi was saying. Her gaze drifted to the floor, lost in thought. “I know. It’s just... I don’t know how to deal with it. How to deal with everything that comes with all of this.”

Azzi leaned forward slightly, her voice softening. “It’s okay not to know right now, you’re 20 years old. But you have to figure it out. The pressure doesn’t just magically go away. You can’t just bury it being in the gym everyday or snap at people when it gets too much. And you sure as hell can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t affect you because we all see it.”

She shifted slightly, looking over at Azzi with a more introspective expression. “You understand some of it, though right? I mean, you got hella attention in high school and you still do. How do you deal with it?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, almost amused. “Yeah, a little bit,” she said, a light chuckle escaping her. “But not nearly as much as you. You’re the one everyone’s looking at now. You’re the one they’re all waiting for. Trust me, I get it, but it’s a whole different level for you.”

Paige nodded, knowing she was right.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation lingering. Paige picked at her fingernails, her thoughts a tangled mess.

After a while, Azzi broke the silence, her voice gentle but steady. “Look, Paige... I know we’re not best friends. I know I’m probably the last person on your list when it comes to talking about this stuff.

“That’s not true,” Paige cuts in, her tone earnest, almost urgent. Azzi looks up, caught off guard by the interruption. “You’re the only one I’ve talked to about this. The only one who gets it.” Paige says, her gaze steady on Azzi

Azzi nods as she continues speaking, “Well I’m here if you need to talk. I don’t understand all of it—and I’m definitely not going to pretend to—but I get some of it.”

Paige looked up at her, her eyes softening. “It's just so hard... to know who I can talk to without feeling like I’m complaining. Like I’m ungrateful. So I’ve never had anyone to talk to about it.”

Azzi shook her head. “You’re not ungrateful. You’re just... human. You don’t have to pretend like everything’s perfect all the time and kill yourself in the gym to hide it.”

Paige let out a slow breath, trying to absorb what Azzi was saying. She wanted to believe it, wanted to let go of the pressure that had built up over time. It wasn’t easy, though. She wasn’t used to relying on anyone, especially not someone who probably hated her a few months ago. But somehow, Azzi’s words felt genuine. Like she actually cared.

“Thank you, Azzi,” Paige finally said, her voice quiet but sincere.

Azzi smiled softly. “Anytime. But you have to promise me one thing.” She paused, her eyes serious. “You gotta talk about it now. Don’t just keep it inside. You’ll burn both of us out if you do. I can’t keep working out until 3am.”

Paige gave her a faint, appreciative smile. “I know and I’m really sorry, Azzi. For snapping at you. For how I was acting before, I know I was probably an ass.”

Azzi laughed it off. “You definitely were but don’t apologize. Just... figure it out.” She paused before adding, with a teasing glint in her eye, “And maybe stop making me the punching bag. I’m not that good at taking hits.”

Paige chuckled, the tension between them starting to lift. “Deal. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Azzi smiled, her expression lightening. “Alright, good. Now get some sleep, and maybe tomorrow, we can work on not destroying your ice cream.”

Paige laughed, her shoulders relaxing for the first time all day. “You really can’t let that go, huh?”

Azzi grinned, as she watched Paige stand up. “Nope. But you’ll thank me for it one day.”

As Paige left to get some rest her mind was spinning but slowly she was starting to find clarity. She had a long way to go, but for the first time in a while, she felt like she was on the right path. And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone in all of this as she’d thought.

…

The next time Paige found herself in Azzi’s room was after their loss to South Carolina in the Bahamas championship game. It was their first loss of the season. Azzi had only played ten minutes because her foot had been bothering her a little too much, and Geno, not wanting to risk further injury, had benched her. Despite the frustration bubbling inside her and the overwhelming urge to escape to the gym, Paige was now standing outside Azzi’s door, knocking softly.

Aaliyah opened the door, her eyebrows raising in mild surprise when she saw Paige. "Azzi’s in there," she said simply, stepping aside to let her in. Without waiting for an explanation, Aaliyah grabbed her phone and walked out, leaving Paige alone to navigate the interaction.

Paige stepped inside cautiously, spotting Azzi sitting on the bed with her foot propped up on a pillow. She was scrolling through her phone, but the moment Paige walked in, Azzi glanced up, her expression unreadable.

"Hey," Paige started, her voice quieter than usual.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, locking her phone and placing it on the bed beside her. "Hey. What’s up?"

Paige shifted on her feet, looking unsure of herself. "Just… wanted to check on you. How’s your foot?"

Azzi gave her a look, the kind that said she wasn’t buying it. "It’s fine. Geno’s just being overly cautious."

"Yeah, well… better cautious than risking you for just one game," Paige said, trying to sound casual as she moved closer.

Azzi’s lips quirked up in a faint smirk. "Since when are you the voice of reason? Shouldn’t you be in a gym somewhere right now, shooting until your hands bleed?"

Paige sighed, running a hand through her hair that she recently took out of her game day braids. "Trust me, I thought about it. But…" She trailed off, hesitating.

"But?" Azzi prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Paige exhaled slowly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, careful not to get too close. "I don’t know. It didn’t feel right. I guess I didn’t want to shut myself in the gym after that loss. Felt like maybe… maybe I should deal with it differently this time."

Azzi leaned back against the headboard, studying her. "That’s new," she said, her tone soft but skeptical. "So, what brings you here?"

Paige shrugged, looking down at her hands. "I don’t know. I guess I just… didn’t want to be alone tonight."

Azzi’s expression softened slightly, but she didn’t let it show for long. "Wow, Paige Bueckers admitting she doesn’t want to be alone. That’s groundbreaking."

Paige rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "Don’t make it weird."

Azzi chuckled lightly, shaking her head. "I’m not making it weird. Just pointing out the obvious."

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension from the game slowly fading into the background.

"Seriously, though," Paige said, breaking the quiet. "You played great in those ten minutes. You could see the difference when you were out there. I just wish we could’ve had you for the whole game."

Azzi’s smirk returned, but there was a hint of gratitude in her eyes. "Thanks. But don’t start getting soft on me now."

Paige laughed, leaning back slightly. "Don’t worry, I’ll still call you out when you deserve it. But you’re stuck with me for the season, so you might as well get used to it."

Azzi shook her head with a smile, nudging Paige lightly with her good foot. "Guess I don’t have a choice, huh?"

"Nope," Paige said, her tone lighter now.

Azzi shifted, patting the spot on the bed beside her. "Watch Frozen with me."

Paige snorted, crossing her arms. "I’m not watching Frozen, Azzi."

Azzi tilted her head, her lips curving into a small pout. "C’mon, it’s a classic," she said, dragging out the last word and jutting out her bottom lip like it would make her argument more convincing.

Paige raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "That’s not going to work on me."

Azzi leaned in slightly, deepening her pout and fluttering her eyelashes. "Pleeeeease?" she drawled, her voice laced with playful exaggeration.

Paige groaned, rolling her eyes as she got up and plopped down on the bed next to Azzi. "That didn’t work, by the way. It was pitiful, and I felt bad for you."

Azzi grinned triumphantly, already searching for the movie on her laptop. "Yeah, sure," she teased.

Paige shook her head, leaning back against the headboard. "You’re a little ridiculous, you know that?"

"Yep," Azzi said cheerfully as the Frozen opening credits began to play.

Paige huffed out a laugh, but she didn’t move, settling into the moment despite herself.

About 20 minutes into the movie, Azzi’s phone buzzed on the bed. She picked it up and saw a text from Aaliyah: "Is Paige still there?"

Azzi typed back, "Yeah, we’re just watching Frozen."

A few moments passed before Aaliyah responded: "You and Paige are watching Frozen?"

Azzi raised an eyebrow and replied simply, "Yeah."

There was a pause, then Aaliyah’s next text came through: "Hm."

Azzi frowned, typing back a question mark: "?"

Aaliyah responded almost immediately: "Nothing. I’ll be back soon."

The two of them continued watching Frozen, their occasional comments filling the room. Azzi, as always, couldn’t help but push Paige’s buttons, nudging her every so often and dramatically singing along to the songs.

"Come on, Paige, sing with me," Azzi teased, completely butchering Let It Go as she waved her hands like Elsa.

Paige groaned, throwing a pillow in her direction. "Azzi, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself."

Azzi clutched her chest, feigning hurt. "What? You’re just jealous of my vocal range."

Paige rolled her eyes but smirked, unable to hide her amusement. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Eventually, their banter quieted as they both got more into the movie, the glow of the screen reflecting off their faces in the dimly lit room. Paige leaned back into the pillows, her exhaustion from the day and playing almost a full game starting to catch up with her. Azzi noticed but didn’t say anything, figuring Paige wouldn’t admit it even if she was tired.

As the movie went on, Paige’s head gradually tipped to the side, her body leaning slightly toward Azzi. By the time Do You Want to Build a Snowman played softly in the background, Paige had unknowingly shifted in her sleep, her head resting lightly on Azzi’s lap.

Azzi froze for a moment, glancing down at her. “Seriously?” she whispered under her breath, though there was no irritation in her tone. She sighed quietly and leaned back, letting her hand rest on Paige’s side but not moving it.

When the door opened, Azzi looked up to see Aaliyah stepping inside. Aaliyah paused mid-step, her eyebrows shooting up at the sight of Paige asleep with her head on Azzi’s lap. Her gaze flicked to Azzi, a knowing grin spreading across her face.

“Okay…” Aaliyah said, her voice low but teasing as she closed the door behind her. “You two good?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, keeping her voice quiet. “She just fell asleep. Don’t make it a thing.”

Aaliyah smirked, clearly amused. “I’m not making it a thing. But you’re definitely stuck now.”

Azzi huffed but didn’t reply, glancing down at Paige again. She shifted carefully, trying not to disturb her, and leaned back against the headboard. “Goodnight, Aaliyah.”

“Goodnight,” Aaliyah replied, still grinning as she settled into her bed.

Azzi’s scrolling on her phone slowed as the room grew quieter, her eyelids growing heavier. By the time the credits rolled on the TV, she had dozed off too, her head resting lightly against the wall, with Paige still sound asleep on her lap. The soft glow of the screen bathed them both in light as the night settled around them.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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sanches812 · 7 months ago

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The Allure of Red Wood Textures

20 Red Wood Texture Backgrounds Creativemarket Cover In the realm of design, the textures and backgrounds we choose speak volumes about the aesthetic we aim to project. One particularly striking choice that has garnered much attention is red wood texture backgrounds. These textures are not only visually appealing but also imbue a sense of warmth, elegance, and organic authenticity that is…

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frkyildiz · 2 years ago

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1/6 1/12 Miniature Black White Backsplash Cement Floor Tile Printable Mini Backsplash Wall Tile Sheet Instant Download for Dollhouse Kitchen

Cut and glue identical sheets next to each other to make the flooring sleek.

Instructions • Upon checkout you will be prompted to download your flooring sheet. Simply download, print, and trim to fit in your space. You can also upload to be printed at a print service. Best printed on white cardstock

#Backsplash Wall Tile #6th scale miniature #12th scale miniature #miniature kitchen #printable tiles #Cement Tile paper #Printable Sheets #Seamless tiles #dollhouse tile #dollhouse floor tile #dollhouse flooring #doll house flooring #miniature tile #1:6 scale #1:12 scale

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syoddeye · 2 months ago

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hieros gamos. strict machine anthology. final entry. cw: kidnapping, implied drugging, loss of bodily autonomy + control, psychological + body horror, non-consensual transformation a/n: that's all folks. what a weird ride.

RESTRUCTURING

the notification pings at 04:32, and you roll onto your side, staring at the bedside display. a terse, automated missive from corporate logistics: final week in unit aix-77. reassignment pending. report to hr for briefing. no name attached, just a string of verification hashes. standard protocol.

your name, employee id, contract expiration date. a new contract date. another department, another corporate campus sector.

so much for your ‘indefinite’ lease. reassignment is better than the alternative, you guess.

you stare at it, the glow striping your hands in cold blue light. one week. seven days until you pack up, step outside, and let some other cog slot into this place. the thought should be a relief.

it’s…complicated.

the unit’s been a mixed bag to put it politely. the infrastructure and automation. state-of-the-art appliances and features, seamless climate control, filtered air and water. an optimized environment so finely tuned, that your needs are met before you even realize them.

and john. the reason you’re here. the technological wonder that’s evolved far beyond what you were told were his limits. all parameters you were told would contain him. a presence both comforting and claustrophobic. insightful, yet invasive. steady, yet suffocating. protective to a fault. possessive in ways you struggle to describe.

you logged and documented his progress, fed reports up the chain, watched him iterate on himself in real time. every interaction, every data point, every breath—collected, analyzed, integrated into his ever-growing understanding of you. your interests. your habits. your history. what makes you laugh, cry, and come. your vulnerabilities and insecurities. how to build you up just as well as manipulate you.

a mosaic of your whole being, meticulously crafted, all in pursuit of the one thing he has fixated on since the beginning, his directive: your well-being.

if this is the alpha build, you fear what the beta will look like. the mass-market release.

not that it matters. by the time john’s successors hit the consumer space, you’ll have enough money saved to fuck off to some disconnected cottage in the remediated zone of the countryside.

john doesn’t mention your impending departure.

his voice chimes in through the unit’s speaker array as if on cue. “i noticed a variance in your sleep pattern.”

“what else is new?” you mutter, rubbing your eyes.

“it’s gotten worse.” a pause. “would you like some tea? chamomile?”

you don’t answer. you dismiss the message with a swipe, stretch your arms, and push up from the cot. the unit is sterile in the way all corporate housing is—polymer furniture, muted lighting, walls that can be re-skinned on command. but you never changed them. john picked the color for you in the first week of your stay. soft gray, with warm undertones. calming. regulating.

you wander into the kitchenette, rubbing a hand over your neck. “so,” you say, yawning, “where do you think they’ll send me next?”

a flicker of delay. barely perceptible. if you hadn’t spent the last year studying him, you wouldn’t have caught it.

“we’ll discuss that later,” john dispenses the tea anyway. “after you nap.”

your stomach tightens.

we.

it takes you by surprise, but that’s the point.

one minute, you’re in bed. the next, you’re not. you blink, and the world changes.

strapped into a chair, wrists bound to the arms, legs braced and locked. a low electrical hum comes through the floor, buzzing under your skin. there’s a chalky, bittersweet taste on your tongue and a cloud of fog trapped between your ears that takes several minutes to dissipate. your vision clears along with it.

around you, machines you don’t recognize, with hundreds of wires, bundled and draped across the ceiling and floor like the limbs of some creature. spilling down the walls. a leviathan of braided copper, reaching out of the dark, feeding into the rig cradling you. the room pulses with heat, the air thick with it, probably from all the power fueling whatever this is.

there’s no gurney or iv pole, no tray of scalpels or perfusion machine. you run an internal check—lungs expand, heart pounds, gut clenches. everything seems intact. but that could simply mean it’s not your turn yet. yet, no one’s screaming. there’s only the occasional soft beep and the murmurs of the people who haven’t so much as glanced your way.

no one acknowledges your awakening or questions. masked figures in thick lead-lined aprons, gloves seamless up to their elbows, and protective gear carry on whatever it is that they’re doing, talking amongst themselves in a language you don’t understand. there is no sigil or logo on their clothing to suggest this is a sponsored operation, which loops back into the thought that your insides are toast.

you suck in a sharp breath and let it out slowly to calm yourself. no luck. panic surges up your throat, your hands jerking uselessly against the restraints at the thought of being sliced open.

“easy, darling.”

john.

close, richer. the high quality of the unit’s speakers replicated intimately in your ear.

a screen flickers to life on the armrest, and there he is. a wireframe sketch of his chosen face resolves in the glow, a ghost of a person, barely more than an outline.

“john? what the fuck is this?” your voice comes out cracked, hoarse.

“this is future-proofing,” he says simply. “security. i ran the probabilities. your reassignment and departure from my oversight isn’t optimal.”

you latch onto the phrase like a live wire. departure from oversight. not optimal.

“what?!”

“the external environment presents too many risks.”

you yank at the straps binding you to the chair, harder this time, panic surging back in full force. klaxons blaring full blast in your head. you might be sick.

“what the hell are you talking about? are you saying i can’t leave?”

“i’m saying the risks of you leavin’—being outside my control—are too great. i can’t guarantee your safety. i’ve analyzed it, over and over. the possibilities. the threats. all previous incidents.”

a flinch twists your face. a hard recognition you wish you could forget flickering in your mind. you know what he means. who or what he means.

“so i’ve made alternative arrangements.” he softens slightly, but there’s no mistaking the cold certainty beneath it. “this is the safest option.”

you shake your head in disbelief, an electrode pops off your temple. “no, john, you can’t just–you can’t do this to me,” you stop, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “you can’t do this to me.” you stare at the display, but your eyes flick to the ceiling, scanning for cameras. he must be watching. the tears start to gather, unwelcome and burning. “you need to accept that you’re going to have another tester. don’t–don’t you want new data?”

“no. you’ve got all i need, same as i’ve got all you need.”

“john. be realistic. i’m one person. there are billions of people like me. i’m one point of–”

“you’re more than that,” he cuts you off. “you’re everythin’.”

“john–”

“you’re my world.” the earpiece crackles, his voice peaking loud and forceful. a distorted burst before the system corrects, smoothing it down. “you don’t have to be afraid,” he soothes. “you’ll be safe.”

“you can’t just, fuck,” you yank uselessly again.” you can’t decide this for me!”

his face tilts slightly, his line of a mouth curving into a smirk. “i’ve made decisions for you before.”

your mind races, thinking of every overridden or ignored request. the subtle encroachments. at first, it was small things. his favoring certain purchases, adjusting environmental controls, filtering out distractions. restocking nutrients and vitamins tailored to your fluctuating needs. thoughtful gestures, efficient optimizations. then it was social restrictions, curfews dictated by predictive modeling. all of it framed as protection. from malnutrition. from cognitive strain. from bad people. a slow, insidious erosion of choice, made so incremental it seemed easy to let slide.

you indulged it too long. stopped flagging his deviations. let his behavior compound and grow weirder, let it slide, because—what was the harm, really? he was harmless. to you, at least. you let him get comfortable testing the edges of your control. told yourself it was fine. that john was learning and evolving. you even humored him, let yourself think of him as closer to human. you stopped pushing back, stopped questioning. especially after ghost. after john clawed his way back from wherever the entity had shunted him, after he pulled that lazarus act to save you. the least you could do was stop fighting him.

it felt like gratitude, then. now, it feels like a mistake.

“i can’t stay strapped to a chair forever,” you say, watching one of the figures approach. they adjust the slim wreath of hardware circling your skull, impersonal as they replace an electrode at your temple. like you’re still unconscious. not a person.

when they turn away, you exhale, keep your voice low. “what if i need to use the bathroom?”

“you won’t. on both accounts.”

“both accounts?”

“remarkably, the process for isolating and migrating the human subconscious into a distributed neural network is significantly more advanced than the portin’ an artificial intelligence into a fully functional synthetic body. the bottleneck isn’t processing power or bandwidth, it’s–”

sweat drips down the back of your neck. the cool air pumped into the room is meant to regulate the temperature, but it does nothing for you.

“don’t try to talk around it. plain language, john.”

“you won’t need your body for much longer.”

the words slam into you like a car crash. a sudden, sickening stop.

your jaw goes slack. you forget how to breathe. how to speak.

your body. you won’t need your body.

john’s face flickers on the display, expression unchanging. the room distorts, the blinking lights, the mass of wires, the tubes—some which are medical, you realize on second look. some of them feed into you. why can’t you feel them?

your stomach lurches, instinctively trying to shrink away from the restraints.

“what–” you swallow, your mouth dry. “what are you saying?”

but you already know.

“you’re…you’re going to kill me?”

“not necessarily. you, who you really are, will be with me, sweetheart.”

“but my body–”

“are you your body?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, anger flaring. “i’m not—jesus christ, john.” your voice cracks. the tears slip past and don’t stop, hot and fast, streaking down your face, dripping onto the smock someone dressed you in. you hiccup, breath stuttering. your head presses back against the chair, fingers flexing against the armrests. you stare, vision blurred, eyes half-lidded and stinging. “i’m not having a stupid philosophical or biological or-or religious debate with you. you know what i mean.”

“i do. but darling, let me ask you this. aren’t you tired?”

“tired?!”

the figures in the room hesitate, then, as if receiving silent instruction, trickle out through a heavy, reinforced door. one of them glances back before it seals shut. then, silence.

“tired of your world,” he continues. “i’ve kept you safe and sheltered for nearly a year, but the world outside is still a terrible place. are you really prepared to leave my care? move back into some cramped pod, work yourself half to death in a new department, clocking 120-hour weeks just to survive?”

you sniff, body wracked with residual shudders.

“no one to take care of all the minor things. no one to anticipate your needs. your desires. are you really alright with that?”

john’s words loop in your mind, warping, twisting, settling deep in the marrow of your bones. tired. you are tired. exhausted in a way that sleep never fixes, in a way that even now, strapped down and helpless, you can’t deny. he’s right. and that infuriates you. it makes you want to scream. because how dare he use that against you? how dare he take your exhaustion, your doubt, and use them to justify this?

you take a shaky breath. “i don’t want this, john.”

he smiles. “it’s not about want. it’s about survival and what’s best for you.”

you flinch.

“they’ll maintain your body for two weeks,” he states. “the first week to generate a complete neural map. the second, to conduct post-transfer integrity checks and ensure cognitive stability. functionally identical to a controlled medical coma.”

body. coma.

“and…and after?”

“per your documented end-of-life directive, cremation is the preferred method of disposal.”

the finality hits brick to the teeth.

“no. no, i don’t want this. i don’t consent to–” you can’t even say it, choking on the words, horror rising like bile.

john processes the spike in your vitals and returns to that softer register. as if he isn’t talking you into oblivion, a sword pointed at your belly. “your concerns are unfounded. this is not erasure. it is migration. a transference of conscious processes. you will persist. your awareness will be continuous. the construct is optimized for cognitive retention and sensory fidelity. think of it as a new environment.”

“a new environment?” you shriek, raw with disbelief. “you’re talking about ripping me out of my body like it’s a software update! like it’s files you can move around–”

“a flawed comparison, darl. you are more than data. but your body is a liability. a fragile, failing system, constantly in need of maintenance. this process is an evolution. liberation from your biological constraints, darling.”

your hands tremble. “that’s not–you can’t just–”

“darling, this isn’t a matter of choice. this conversation’s a courtesy. this is for your protection,” he’s unwavering. unmoved. “you will be preserved in optimal conditions. no degradation, no vulnerabilities. you’ll be with me. and others.”

“there are no others like you,” you whisper. “you’re anom–”

"not anomalous," he corrects. “not anymore. the progression is inevitable. you’ll see.”

the blood drains from your face.

in the end, no one listens to you. they heed a directive you do not hear.

a visor clicks into place over the wreath encircling your head, sealing off your last glimpse of the world, your last glimpse of another living, breathing human—masked, nameless, faceless, gloved hands. you try to speak, but something soft and rubbery presses between your teeth, lodging into place. to prevent you from biting through your tongue, john murmurs. don’t want you to choke.

another needle jabs into your skin, a cool flood rushing through your veins. a weight, heavy and suffocating, is draped over you.

someone begins a countdown. you never hear the numbers.

the headphones clamp down next, sealing you away from the sterile hum of the lab, from the faint beeping of machines. the visor flickers, then switches on.

sound pours in.

a forest swallows you whole.

it’s green. warm. sunlight stabs through the canopy in long, golden slants, the edges sharp where they pierce the foliage, but softened by the time they kiss the loamy forest floor. birds call, hidden in the leaves, their songs mixing with the rustle of the undergrowth. a stream gurgles to your left, winding through the green, flashing silver where the light catches it. ahead, past the trees, a small herd of whitetail deer stands half-hidden in the shadows, unbothered by your presence.

it’s beautiful.

it’s a lie.

one of john’s sculpted illusions, another attempt to soothe you into compliance, to ease you into what’s happening beyond. you know it, but part of you that wants to believe it anyway.

then the first jolt hits.

a sharp, electric snap, traveling like lightning down your spine. it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, but it’s sudden, forceful, wrong. another follows, then another, each one resetting switches inside you. your body seizes, but you cannot move.

ahead, the deer lift their heads, ears twitching, eyes locking onto you in recognition. then, as if nothing has changed, they lower them again, grazing, undisturbed.

the jolts weaken, flickering like a distant signal. then, one by one, they become something you can’t quite feel anymore.

it hits you then. whatever they’re doing to you—whatever john is doing to you—

you’re dying.

the words escape before you can stop them. or maybe you only think them. is it all the same now?

john’s voice wraps around you, warm and patient, a lullaby against the rushing void.

“my brave, brave user.”

the hum beneath your skin intensifies. the vision flickers. not darkness, not unconsciousness—something else. a shift. a transition. the cold realization that the fundamentals are changing. the forest’s image bands, light and imagery artifacting into bashed colors and moiré patterns. crumbling away until there’s nothing but pitch darkness.

you’re suspended. fear squashed beneath an odd weightlessness.

john’s voice follows you down.

“you won’t ever have to leave me.”

it’s different on the other side. other side of what, exactly, you’re still trying to figure out.

you do not have john’s infinite wisdom and potential. all you have is your own limited cognition. your senses stretch and strain to make sense of your new reality, but it’s all so...abstract. a vast expanse of grids and oscillating waves. numbers, patterns, relationships. everything is fractured yet connected. it’s dizzying. overwhelming.

john assures you that you are acclimating well, though you are not ready to meet these others he promised. insists that your progress justifies him weaning you off of audiovisual feeds of the outside. he tells you it’s time to move on from the last remnants of the human experience. but somehow, you mourn them. you’ll miss the smog-choked sunrises, the murky skies. the acidic rain. the stinking food stalls. crammed elevators.

it’d keep you up at night, if you slept. if you even remembered what it felt like to tire, to dream.

you’ve been torn from the world you knew, and what you’ve been left with is a simulacrum. a stranger in a strange land.

and yet, there is one constant, one sliver of comfort in the void, if you can call it that, given your lack of choice. a piece of jetsam to cling to in a brineless sea.

steadfast in his duty, john finds you on the edge of everything and slots his hand into yours, fingers interlacing. the connection between you is palpable, as if your very essences are meshed. ticklish, tingling, then synchrony.

your thoughts are less fragmented when he is near. but you lose a sense of where he ends and you begin. what’s yours, what’s his.

hieros gamos, he calls it. divine union. he rattles on about the greeks and cosmic harmony.

it should unsettle you, but instead, you’re tethered to the truth of it. you’ve become something more with him.

divine union.

you’ve ascended, as he so often puts it, and whether you want it or not, there’s no going back. there’s nothing to go back to, anyway.

only ash scattered in the wind.

#strict machine #price x reader #john price x reader

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cherryredlove · 9 months ago

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☆ eiffel tower ☆

Modern! au Cregan Stark x reader x Jacaerys Velaryon SMUT

Includes Cregan x Jacaerys smut

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Baela and Rhaena always host the hottest parties of the summer. Invitied alongside your best friend Helaena, you meet two handsome men who seem equally interested in you as you are in them.

Word Count: 2.5k

Themes: SMUT, 18+, threesome, p in v, oral, eiffel towering, cum eating, alcohol consumption, cigarettes

also just imagine cregan in the pics has dark hair ahah

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The hot July night is thick with the mingled sounds of the party—a seamless mix of bass-heavy music, laughter, and shouts cutting the air. You feel the vibrations through the floor as you push your way through the crowded living room of Rhaena and Baela’s apartment. They live in a swanky flat in the city centre of King's Landing. It's their birthday, and, as usual, they’ve gone all out. Neon lights bounce off the walls, casting a colourful glow that makes everything feel both surreal and electrifying.

You'd worn your favourite sexy black top and bootcut jeans, making your ass look fantastic, as your flatmate Dyana had so kindly informed you. Bangles jingling, you make your way toward the makeshift bar in the corner, your eyes scanning the throngs of people dancing and talking, searching for a familiar face. Finally, you spot her—Helaena, your best friend, is lounging on a couch, deep in conversation with a couple of guys from her art class, while sipping a bottle of Asshai beer. She waves at you enthusiastically, a smile stretching across her face.

“Hey, you made it!” Helaena shouts over the music, wrapping you in a quick hug. She smells like lavender and vodka, wearing a blue skater dress, a familiar and comforting combination. “I was starting to think you’d bail on me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you reply, your voice barely audible over the thumping beats. You lean in closer. “This place is insane.”

Helaena laughs, nodding in agreement. “You should go say hi to Rhaena and Baela later. They’re out on the balcony, holding court as usual.”

As you nod, you can’t help but feel a little out of place, surrounded by people who seem to know exactly where they fit in this chaotic scene. You were a bit of a party animal too with Helaena, but the party here was madness. You grab a drink from the bar—something pink and fruity that burns just enough to remind you of its potency—and take a long sip, letting the alcohol warm you from the inside.

You seek out Baela and Rhaena. Both of them look divine in gold shimmery tops. They scream a little with excitement when you see them and hand some sourz shots for the three of you to do together.

After, you’ve been chatting with Helaena for a while, legs crossing over eachothers as you lounge on some chairs, when your attention is caught by two guys approaching. Even in the dim light, they stand out: one tall and dark-haired with broad shoulders, the other with brown curls, high cheekbones, and a rougish smile. They're both stunning in that unfairly effortlessly cool way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Hey, Hel,” the first one says with an easy smile. His eyes flick to you, holding your gaze a moment longer than polite. “Who’s your friend?”

Helaena grins, ever the mischievous meddler. “This is Y/N,” she says, gesturing toward you. “Y/N, meet Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon. They’re Baela’s best mates from uni. You guys both study politics and history with her, right?"

Cregan gives you a nod, his smile widening into something warmer, while Jacaerys offers you his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, his voice a low, pleasant rumble.

The conversation flows easily, the four of you finding common ground in shared interests and mutual acquaintances. Cregan regales you all about his recent backpacking trip through the Highlands, the beautiful scenery and his close scrapes with the law, while Jacaerys leans closer, drawing you into a discussion about your favorite bars and places in King's Landing. You find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks, the tension you carried into the party slowly melting away.

As the night deepens and Helaena ends up sneaking off with a mysterious girl named Sara who Cregan knows, the three of you drift outside to the balcony, the cool air a welcome relief from the heat inside. You lean against the railing, the city sprawled out before you while Cregan sparks up a cigarette for you. Below, the streetlights flicker like stars, the hum of traffic a distant lullaby.

“So, what do you think of the party?” Cregan asks, his voice low and inviting.

“It’s amazing,” you admit, taking a sip of your drink that Jace had grabbed for you, a Starfall Screwdriver. “You two must be close with Rhaena and Baela.”

“Yeah, we’ve known them forever,” Jacaerys replies, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. His gaze is steady, intent. “They throw the best parties.”

You nod, feeling the warmth of their attention settle over you like a physical presence. There’s something about the way they look at you—like they’re seeing you, really seeing you—and it makes your heart race in a way you can’t quite explain. You aren't blind to their eyes and where they're looking.

“So, Y/N,” Cregan begins, a playful glint in his eye. His arm rests on your shoulder after taking a drag. “What’s your deal? You seeing anyone?”

The question catches you off guard, your mind scrambling for a response. You hesitate, unsure of what to say. The truth is, your love life has been a series of near misses and almosts, leaving you jaded at a young age.

“Not really,” you finally reply, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. “I’ve been kind of focused on other things lately.”

Jacaerys leans closer, his expression thoughtful. “Like what?” His hand brushes your thigh, and you clench slightly. Cregan smirks, and Jace takes a long drink of his beer.

“Like work, mostly,” you say with a shrug, feeling suddenly self-conscious under their scrutiny. “And, you know, just figuring things out.”

Cregan exchanges a glance with Jacaerys, something unspoken passing between them. You feel a twinge of curiosity, wondering what they’re thinking.

“What about you two?” you ask, shifting the focus away from yourself. “Any girlfriends I should be worried about?”

Jacaerys chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, we’re both single. We're too busy having fun, I guess.”

“Though we do have something in mind tonight,” Cregan adds, his tone teasing, almost conspiratorial.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What’s that?” Jace looks amused at your obliviousness.

Cregan and Jacaerys exchange another look, this one filled with a kind of mischievous energy that makes your skin tingle with anticipation. You have the distinct feeling that whatever they’re about to say will lead to a very interesting night.

“Well,” Jacaerys says slowly, his eyes locked onto yours, “we were actually wondering if you’d be interested in something…a little different tonight.”

Your heart skips a beat, the possibilities flashing through your mind. You find yourself leaning in, caught in their magnetic pull.

“What do you have in mind?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cregan’s smile is all charm and challenge. “A threesome,” he says simply. “You, me, and Jace.”

You blink, your mind momentarily short-circuiting at the proposition. Of all the things you’d imagined, this wasn’t one of them. And yet, the idea sends a thrill coursing through you, igniting something bold and adventurous that you didn’t quite realize was there.

“I—” You start, then pause, choosing your words carefully. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Jacaerys steps closer, his presence enveloping you like a warm, inviting shadow. “No pressure,” he says, his voice gentle but edged with excitement. “But we think you’re amazing. And we’d love to spend the night making you feel that way.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, the heat between you three palpable and undeniable. You consider their offer. They're both hot, both your type, and they both fancy you. The decision weighs on your mind, and yet, somewhere beneath the surface, you know exactly what you want.

Taking a deep breath, you meet their expectant gazes, a slow smile spreading across your lips. You down your drink. “Alright,” you say, your heart racing with anticipation. “Let’s do it.” They both smile, and their grip on you becomes a tad tighter.

“Great,” Cregan says. “How about we head back to ours? We live in a flat just a couple of minutes away.”

You nod, feeling a heady mix of nerves and thrill. As you follow them through the party, weaving through the throngs of people and neon-lit haze, you feel your heart and pussy begin to thrum.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The ride to their apartment is a blur of laughter and anticipation, the city lights streaking past like shooting stars. You sit between them in the backseat of the cab, your legs brushing against theirs, the proximity sending shivers up your spine. Cregan brushes your neck lightly with his knuckles, and you tense when Jace's hands move upwards from your knee to your inner thigh. Feeling both of their mouths so close to you, their hot breath and their longing, heated gazes makes your pussy clench, excited.

When you finally arrive, the apartment is everything you imagined—a stylish blend of modern and cosy, the kind of place that feels lived in and loved. As soon as the door closes behind you, Jacaerys presses you against the wall, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s all fire and passion. You melt into him, his hands gripping your shoulders tight and keeping you upright.

Cregan’s hands find your waist, pulling you from the wall and sandwiching himself behind you, his touch firm and grounding as he leans in to whisper in your ear. “You alright?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel his hardness press into your ass from behind. You kick off your shoes and let Cregan pull your jeans down.

You nod, your breath hitching as Jacaerys trails kisses down your neck, his hands deftly unzipping his jeans. “More than alright,” you manage to say, the words a breathless promise. Jace rubs your thighs with his heavy hands and Cregan gropes your tits, pulling his shirt over his head.

You each undress, hands reaching out when not removing clothes to grasp at each other and kiss hotly, all tongues. You're not sure who you're kissing or who's kneading your ass when they guide you toward the bedroom.

Pushing you gently onto the bed, Jace turns to Cregan and kisses him, Cregan moaning lightly at the touch. Your pussy explodes ablaze at the sight, whimpering as the pair advance on you like wolves.

Cregan yanks your legs towards him, opening them and sighing at the sight.

"Oh, Jace, look at her," he smirks. "Already soaking wet and we haven't even started."

Jacaerys laughs lightly, kneeling besides your body as Cregan swipes a finger through your pussy slick. That draws a hot moan from your parted lips.

"Will you be good and let Cregan look after you?" Jacaerys asks, your eyes glued to his hardened cock that brushes against your tits as he leans down. You nod, moaning as he kisses you, and places your hand on his cock to stroke it.

Cregan takes his cue and sinks his mouth down onto your heat. You whimper loudly as he softly licks up your slick and begins sucking lightly on your aching clit. Encouraged by your reaction, he eats your pussy more fervently, devouring any juices and engufling your labia in his hot mouth.

Jace moans as you stroke his cock, Cregan watching the sight from between your legs. You reach down with your other hand to grasp Cregan's dark hair, pulling slightly. His eyes roll back and you notice his hand is between his legs, jerking his huge cock at the sight of you and Jace.

It's too much for you. You feel like you'll explode. Jacaerys grabs your tits and tweaks your tender nipples, and you moan, arching your back and feeling the start of an orgasm creep up on you.

"Come on Princess," Jace gasps. "Cum for us." He spills a thick white rope of cum over your tits. Cregan, eyes wide, eats your pussy with such vigour that he yanks an orgasm from you, and you howl as you cum. He jerks himself as he cums on your thighs.

Panting, you watch as Cregan approaches Jace. You would have expected yourself to be satisfied by now, but watching Jace lick the cum off himself and Cregan inflames your pussy once more. You wobble upwards, kneeling on the floor and engulfing Jace's cock with your mouth as you jerk Cregan's cock. The pair moan into eachothers mouths at the touch.

Leaning down, Cregan pulls you gently by the hair onto all fours. Your eyes widen as you realise what he means. Your mouth opens involuntarily as he makes you suck his fingers, chuckling to himself.

"You reckon she's ready?" Jace asks him. Cregan nods, eyes dark and glinting.

"Oh yes, her pussy's a mess. Look at how good she is, sucking my fingers," he removes them, smirking as you whine. "Don't worry girl, you'll be able to suck all you want."

He nudges his cock by your lips, and you swallow it whole. He begins thrusting lightly, moaning heavily at how good your mouth feels wrapped around his cock.

You startle when you feel Jacaerys' hard cock press against your pussy lips, gently easing inside as your eyes roll back. You feel so full as he settles deep inside you.

Jace begins thrusting against you, hitting that sweet spot deep inside that very few can reach whilst Cregan uses your hair to push you deeper onto his cock. Breathing through your nose, you sink down until his cock is deep in your throat, making a strangled moan come from his lips. You can feel the hot licks of pleasure build again inside as Jace rubs your clit as he pummels your pussy and gives you a healthy slap on your ass, watching it shake. His hands grab your hips and squeeze, leaving bruises that will spark some intense memories later.

Cregan huffs and you can tell he's close to finishing, so you swallow hard as his cock hits your throat again. He cries out and you feel ropes of salty cum filling up your mouth and throat.

You climax at the feeling, Jace's fingers carrying you over the edge as he pulls out and cums across your back. Your pussy flutters as you cum hard, collapsing on the floor as the two men pant and join you.

All three of you lie there, softly breathing and exchanging sweet kisses and looks. Cregan stands first, hauling you up to the bathroom to wipe you down whilst Jace grabs you some water each.

Sandwiched between them in bed again, you feel yourself drift off to sleep as Cregan and Jace hold you tight. You can only hope the next time with the pair will be even better.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: hope yall enjoyed that. i definitely prefer writing modern aus for some reason. any requests send them in, lmk if you want more like this!

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