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this-is-tiny-mia · 11 days ago

Text

Sorry, wrong number (H.S. One Shot) Part 2.

THIS IS A PART 2 - YOU CAN FIND PART 1 HERE Summary: A wrong-number text leads to an unexpected connection between a you and a stranger. What starts as a playful exchange quickly becomes the highlight of their days, leaving you curious about the man behind the messages.

A/n: OKAY again, i wasn't expecting SO MUCH love to this One shot, i actually wasn't expecting anything tbh, I want to thank @eileenrry for giving me the last push to publish it, ily 🥹. Just a reminder, english is not my first language bare with me with grammar. and it's also my first One shot so be gentle 🥹. Andddd this isn’t the end there’s one more part coming. Anddd please let me know if I missed someone in the tag list, I’m trying to get used to tumblr again after a few years so everything it’s upside down for me.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Use of y/n, slow burn but things catch up quickly at the end, a small vulnerable moment. (idk if it counts as angst, please let me now if i should add another warning)

You froze, gripping your cup as if it could somehow tether you to reality. Your mind raced—what were you supposed to do now? Walk over and say hi? Pretend you didn’t see him? Was he expecting you to make the first move? Or maybe you were just desperately hoping to wake up from this fever dream.

Before you could decide, he pushed off the wall and started walking toward you. Shit. Shit. Shit. Your heart pounded in your chest. Every step he took felt deafening, like the slow-motion build-up to a climactic movie scene.

By the time he reached your table, you were caught between bolting for the door or sinking into your seat to avoid collapsing altogether. You knew him, of course—who didn’t? A few years ago, you even considered going to one of his concerts but didn’t manage to get tickets. It wasn’t something that crushed you; you weren’t the kind of fan to cry yourself to sleep over it. Instead, you shrugged it off with an “Okay, maybe next time.”

What you didn’t know was that “next time” would turn out to be a one-on-one meeting with him in a café, while he tried (and failed) to stay incognito.

“Hi,” he said, sliding off his sunglasses. That voice—his voice—sent a shiver down your spine. And then came that signature, disarming smile. “Is this seat taken?” he asked as he sat down without waiting for an answer. Of course, it wasn’t taken.

You stared at him, frozen, your mouth slightly parted. Every movement he made was deliberate yet casual, like he was completely at ease in this moment. Meanwhile, your brain was still scrambling to process whether this was real life or a fever dream. Somehow, you managed to breathe out a shaky, “Hi.”

For a moment, the space between you was thick with silence, though not uncomfortable—just charged. He gave you a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck like he wasn’t entirely sure how to begin.

“I guess this is the part where the serial killer takes the victim,” he said, teasing to break the tension. “Lucky for you, I’m not one—as you can see.”

You blinked, finally finding your voice, though it was a little wobbly. “No, no, I clearly see you’re not a serial killer.” A nervous smile tugged at your lips, trying its best to outshine the chaos of emotions tumbling through you.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “Yeah. Guess fate wanted me to see if you’re as interesting in person as you are over text.”

Your face flushed, your mind racing to keep up. You weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment, disbelief, or something else entirely—a weird kind of thrill that you couldn’t quite place.

“Well,” you said, fighting to steady your voice, “I guess this is where I admit I didn’t think you were real—or at least, not this real.”

“How not ‘this real’?” he asked, his head tilting slightly as curiosity glinted in his eyes. “I mean, I’m way too real right now.”

“Like… I thought I was texting a random Harry,” you said, stumbling through your words, trying to explain yourself without sounding completely ridiculous.

“I’m still a random Harry,” he replied with a small shrug, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong. To himself, he was just Harry—not the Harry. You sat there for a moment, considering his words. In some strange way, nothing about him being this Harry changed what you’d already come to know. It didn’t undo the weeks of shared thoughts, the genuine conversations, the effortless way you clicked.

You thought about the little quirks you’d picked up from his texts—the way he used emojis just enough to be endearing but not overkill, the offhanded pictures of random things he’d shared, the teasing yet thoughtful tone that felt so easy to respond to. Famous or not, none of that felt fake.

“You’re right,” you said finally, a small smile breaking through your nervousness. “You’re still just Harry. The same Harry who asked for help picking nail polish colors like it wasn’t a BIG decision for a BIG brand” His laugh came easily, soft but genuine. “Hey, it wasn’t that big, i told you i already had those colors in mind.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “But honestly, I’m glad it was you on the other side of those texts.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse still racing, but his words—and the way he said them—settled something in you. Maybe this wasn’t as surreal as it seemed. Maybe it was just two people who happened to find each other, one text at a time. “Why glad?” you asked, frowning slightly, not quite understanding what he meant. He leaned back a little, a soft smile playing on his lips as he considered his response.

“Because,” he said after a moment, “it’s rare these days to have a conversation that feels real, you know? No filters, no pretense. Just… people being themselves. And with you, it felt like that from the start.”

You blinked, his words hitting a little deeper than you expected.

“I mean, I didn’t know I was texting someone who I needed filters for to begin with,” you joked, trying to lighten the moment. He laughed, the sound warm and easy, a sound that felt like it reached across the table and wrapped around you. “That’s the point,” he said.

You paused, taking in his words. It felt big, weighty, yet oddly simple at the same time. Like he was trying to say something beyond the words themselves, but without complicating it. Instead of overthinking it, you just nodded, letting out a small, genuine smile. “Well,” you said softly, meeting his eyes, “I’m glad it was me, too.”

He didn’t have much time that day, just stopping for a coffee on his way to the studio. You secretly wished this was that rom-com moment because moments like this only existed in movies, right? After some light small talk about the coffee and an exchange of polite goodbyes, he stood up to leave. You stayed behind, frozen, letting it all sink in—this wasn’t a dream. You felt butterflies over a pop star. You’d been talking to him for more than a month without knowing. Suddenly, your boring, predictable life felt like it belonged to someone else. It didn’t even matter what would happen from now on—this was your story.

----

"Morning, Tulip 🌷. Today’s question: Favorite recent album of all time?"

You didn’t expect a text from him the morning after. You figured he’d need time to process the fact that you’d actually met in person. But no, there he was, texting you like nothing had changed, his chill demeanor so endearing it almost made your heart ache.

"Is this a trick question?" you replied, grinning at your phone. "Because I don’t want to hurt your feelings if I don’t say it’s one of your albums."

The thought was surreal—bantering and teasing Harry Styles over text? That was straight out of fanfic material. (A/n: Not me breaking the fourth wall in my first fic lol.)

"Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting you to say one of my albums," he replied. Of course, he wasn’t.

"‘You’ by Larry Lovestein," you texted back after a moment of thought.

"Love that," he responded quickly.

How was anyone supposed to concentrate on mundane daily tasks after meeting Harry Styles in a café the day before? And not only that, but he was texting you like you were the most interesting person in the world. And—AND—he had a nickname for you! A nickname.

"Y/N?" Gwen’s voice jolted you back to reality. You blinked twice, trying to refocus. "Yes?"

"Coffee?" she asked, smirking knowingly as she handed you a cup. "What’s up with you?" she said, sitting down next to you.

"Nothing… just… clients, emails," you said quickly, trying to act like your insides weren’t throwing a full-blown party.

"Clients and emails, huh?" Gwen raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I’ve never seen you smile like that over clients and emails."

You swallowed hard, thankful she wasn’t too nosy. You didn’t want to risk sharing too much, not when you were casually texting with Harry Styles. That thought lingered—Why did he trust you? He could’ve easily stayed anonymous. He could’ve walked away from the café and pretended it never happened. Instead, he chose to tell you. It was terrifying to imagine how vulnerable that decision must’ve been for him. What if you were the wrong person? Someone who’d plaster it all over social media the next day? The weight of his trust settled over you, and for the first time, you realized just how fragile this connection was—and how much you wanted to protect it.

You weren’t rushing into anything; neither of you were. It was easy, light, and fun—like reconnecting with a long-lost friend, only this friend was Harry Styles. Over the next month, the “question game” continued, but it evolved. There were more pictures, videos, and now… voice notes. Yes, voice notes. You couldn’t help but replay them at the end of the day, savoring the sound of his voice as if it were a melody written just for you.

The intimacy deepened as more pieces of your lives were shared. Selfies of him at the studio, casual and effortless—selfies meant only for you. These weren’t circulating on Twitter or stashed in some secret Reddit thread. They were yours alone. And you shared back: snapshots of your day-to-day life—your desk cluttered with coffee cups, a corner of your office bathed in sunlight, and even a shy selfie taken at the café table where you’d first met him.

You didn’t know if you could call it a real friendship just yet, but it certainly felt like one. There was a comfortable rhythm between you now, a bond that felt genuine and unforced.

He clearly didn’t have much free time to casually meet again, though you hadn’t asked. The idea of seeing him in person again was both thrilling and terrifying. It wasn’t just his fame—it was the weight of the connection you were building. Trust was a fragile thing, and you both seemed to understand that. Brick by brick, you were quietly constructing something that felt worth protecting.

“How’s THIS cold today??” you texted, attaching a selfie where only your eyes peeked out from beneath two bulky jackets, a beanie, and a scarf. The icy weather was relentless, and staying home had been the original plan, but of course, the two important files you needed were on your office computer.

“How are you OUT in THIS cold? That’s the question” he replied almost immediately

“I need some files I left at the office. Forgot to upload them yesterday”

“Don’t freeze out then”

“I’ll try.”

You smiled at the screen, tucking your phone back into your pocket. It was so easy—he was so easy to talk to. You didn’t feel the need to answer immediately, and you didn’t panic when he didn’t either. It was a natural back-and-forth, effortless and grounding. The way he interacted with you made you feel like he wasn’t someone crazy famous, like he was just Harry—your Harry, in a way. And you hadn’t told anyone yet. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but you hesitated to share it. How would people react? Would they even believe you? For now, you were content to keep it to yourself. It felt special this way, untouched by the opinions or expectations of others. Just you and him, chatting like old friends.

In your mind, it was going to be a quick trip—drive downtown, grab the files, and rush back home under a cozy blanket. In your mind. But life had other plans, didn’t it?

Sliding into your car after uploading the files and rubbing your hands for warmth, you turned the key in the ignition. A rusty, choking sound filled the air, followed by... nothing. “I’m sorry??” you exclaimed, staring at the dashboard as though sheer willpower would coax it to life. “No, no, no, you can break down TOMORROW! Not now!” Your fingers fumbled to turn the key again, and again, each attempt more pathetic than the last.

With a defeated sigh, you slumped back against the seat, a puff of breath visible in the freezing air. Accepting your fate, you pulled out your phone and opened your insurance app to report the issue. Unsurprisingly, the weather had caused delays, and it would be a while before they could send a tow truck. You quickly snapped a screenshot of the insurance chat and sent it to Harry.

“I don’t know if I can keep my promise of not freezing out.”

His reply came almost instantly. “What?? Your car broke down??”

“Yep. They say it’s going to be a while because of the weather” you texted back.

“Where you at?”

“Parked in front of my office,” you replied, your stomach doing a small flip at how fast he was responding.

“No, I mean the address” he sent back.

Your heart skipped a beat. Was he serious? You immediately typed back

“Don’t even try it, I’m fineeee,”

You lied, knowing full well you weren’t fine at all. But it wasn’t the cold or the broken-down car that had your stomach in knots. It was the thought of Harry coming to “save you” that sent a swarm of butterflies into overdrive. Because it wouldn’t just mean Harry coming to help. It meant seeing him again—really seeing him—since the big reveal. No screen between you, no casual texts to ease the nerves. Just him, in person, showing up for you in a way that made it harder to ignore what was happening between you two.

And as much as that idea thrilled you, it scared you just the same.

“Please?”

That was all it took. How can a girl resist a please from Harry Styles? Go ahead, i’ll be here waiting if you find someone. You sighed, caved, and typed the address, pressing send without overthinking. He didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to—you both knew what was about to happen. No confirmation was necessary.

Twenty-six minutes later, you were bundled in your car, trying to stay warm and still, counting down the seconds until the surreal became reality. The street was eerily quiet—only a few brave souls trudging through the cold. Who in their right mind would be out in this weather? That’s when you saw it—a black car pulling up right in front of yours. Your breath hitched as you recognized him in the rearview mirror, his eyes catching yours for a fleeting moment. Then, your phone buzzed.

“Did you order an Uber?”

You let out a chuckle, a mix of nerves and amusement, and grabbed your purse. Stepping out into the biting cold. Sliding into the passenger seat, everything about this moment felt surreal. The warmth of the car, the subtle hum of the engine, and, most of all, him—Harry, sitting next to you like this was the most natural thing in the world. Your movements felt slower, deliberate, as though your body and mind were bracing themselves for what this meant. Sitting in the same car with Harry Styles wasn’t something you had ever imagined happening, not like this.

“Hi again” you said softly, your breath visible in the cold air.

“Hi” he replied, flashing that disarming smile. “Need a friendly lift? or should I just keep pretending I’m an Uber driver?” You laughed, the tension melting just a little.

“Well, that depends…what’s your rating?”

“Solid five stars,” he said, easing the moment even further. And just like that, the butterflies in your stomach settled into something a little calmer, a little more certain.

“Sounds good then,” you replied, falling into a silence that was more reflective than awkward. Your mind was spinning with a million thoughts—what this meant, how this even happened, and whether you’d wake up any second now.

“So, where to?” he asked, breaking the silence with a soft smile.

“Oh! Right,” you snapped out of your daze, quickly explaining where you lived. It hit you how crazy this was—months ago, you’d been so cautious, terrified to even drop a vague hint about your location. And now? Now, Harry Styles was driving you to your apartment.

“You really didn’t have to,” you said, glancing at him.

“I know,” he replied, flashing a smile that made your heart stutter.

The drive was… nice. Surprisingly nice. The small talk flowed naturally—not forced, not the awkward kind you’d exchange in an elevator. It felt easy, even comforting. If you didn’t look at him for too long, you were almost able to suppress the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Almost.

“Weren’t you busy? It’s a Thursday,” you asked, realizing the absurdity of the situation.

“You really think I know what day it is?” he replied, his tone light and sincere, not smug or pretentious—just endearingly innocent. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“What, no color-coded calendar?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Nope. I’ve got the schedule of a 60-year-old retiree, not a nine-to-fiver. Days kind of blend together, you know?”

And there it was again—that disarming charm that made it all feel so normal. So easy. Like this wasn’t the most surreal thing that had ever happened to you.

“Yeah, I should’ve guessed,” you muttered with a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady.

The whole drive, your mind raced with scenarios. What would happen when you reached your apartment? Do you invite him in? Do you just thank him and say goodbye? And if—by some miracle—he did come in, did you even remember to pick up the clothes from the bathroom floor? But before you could spiral any further, his voice cut through your thoughts, casual and confident, like he already had the answers to all your questions.

“Can I invite myself over for a tea?” he asked, pulling into a parking spot in front of your building.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I was going to invite you,” you said quickly, defending yourself as you scrambled to regain composure.

“No, you weren’t,” he replied with a teasing grin, already stepping out of the car. And just like that, you knew the decision had been made for you. Butterflies? Gone. They’d evolved into full-blown fireworks. You shakily opened the door, praying the apartment was in some semblance of order. To your relief, aside from two glasses sitting on the kitchen counter, everything was in place.

“You can still blow me off if you’re busy,” he said, stepping inside and glancing around, taking in your space with quiet curiosity.

“It’s fine. Perks of being a freelancer,” you replied, heading to the kitchen and opening a cabinet to search for tea. “I don’t have many flavors, though,” you admitted, scanning the limited options.

“Well, it’s a good thing I like most,” he said with an easy grin. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Okay,” you said softly, smiling as you set the kettle on to boil. While waiting for the water to heat, you found yourself watching him. He wandered a bit, casually inspecting the books on the shelf, a framed photo on the wall, and the little details of your life.

It was surreal—a good surreal—watching Harry Styles in your apartment, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Like how? How was this happening? And why did it feel so oddly natural, like a longtime friend had stopped by for a chat?

The sharp whistle of the kettle broke your trance. You quickly poured the tea, handing him one of the steaming mugs.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it with a small nod. Then, as if sensing your disbelief, he gave you a sly smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, taking a sip of your tea to avoid answering further. Were you okay? Absolutely not.

He sat down on the couch, cradling the mug in his hands, and you followed, sitting on the armchair across from him. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable, filled with the sound of the occasional sip of tea and the faint hum of the heater working overtime against the cold.

“Nice place,” he said, his eyes scanning the room again before settling on you. “Feels very...you.”

You tilted your head, curious. “What does ‘me’ feel like?”

He chuckled softly. “Warm, cozy. A little bit of chaos in the details.” He nodded toward the stack of papers on your desk.

You groaned and put your head in your hands. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t fully prepared for company.”

“Nah, it’s perfect,” he said, grinning. “Makes it feel real.”

You smiled at that, the tension in your shoulders easing. “And your place? What’s it like?”

He leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Depends which one,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes dramatically.

“Okay, fancy. You know what I mean. The one that feels most like home.”

His expression softened. “It’s quiet. Lots of books. A few random things I’ve collected over the years. Nothing too extravagant.”

“That’s not what I imagined,” you admitted honestly.

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you imagine?”

You hesitated, wondering if you should hold back or just say it. “I don’t know. Something...flashier? Like an MTV Cribs episode or something.” He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the room.

“God, no. I’d hate living like that. Flashy isn’t my thing.”

The conversation flowed from there—effortless and natural. You talked about little things, like favorite movies and weird food combinations, and at some point, you stopped feeling like you had to pinch yourself. It just felt like two people enjoying tea on a cold day. Eventually, though, the tea mugs were empty, and the silence settled in again, this time heavier with unspoken thoughts.

“I should probably get going soon,” he said, breaking the stillness.

Your heart sank a little, but you nodded. “Right. Of course.”

He stood, stretching a bit, and you followed him to the door. He hesitated there, turning to look at you with a small, almost shy smile.

“Thanks for the tea,” he said, lingering. “And...for letting me pick you up.”

“Anytime,” you said softly, and you meant it.

As he stepped out into the cold, he glanced back one last time. “See you soon?”

“Yeah,” you said, watching him walk to his car, the promise of “soon” hanging in the air. You closed the door behind him, leaning against it as you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The room felt emptier now, even though he’d only been there for a short time. You glanced at the two empty mugs on the table, a small smile tugging at your lips.

For a moment, you let yourself replay everything in your mind—the way he casually fit into your space, the warmth in his voice, the way he lingered just a little before leaving. But then, your phone buzzed.

“Thanks again. Made the cold much more bearable.”

----

“Are you dating someone?” Gwen asked, her smile widening as she caught you grinning at your phone.

“What? No, I would’ve told you,” you replied quickly, placing your phone face down on the table. Normally, that would’ve been true—you’d tell her about a new guy or someone interesting in your life without hesitation. But this wasn’t a normal situation. This was different. And as much as you tried to keep it hidden, clearly your expression was giving something away.

“Would you, though?” she teased, leaning in slightly, her tone playful but probing.

“Yes, I promise,” you said, hoping to sound convincing. Deep down, you felt a twinge of guilt. You’d apologize later for lying to her—she’d understand. At least, you hoped she would.

“What’s something you’ve never told anyone before?”

You hesitated, the weight of his question lingering in the air. “Something I’ve never told anyone?” you said to yourself, stalling, your mind racing. “Okay… when I was younger, I used to think I wasn’t enough for the things I really wanted. Like, I’d convince myself it was better not to try because failing would just prove it. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that before.”

You stared at the text, feeling vulnerable. Naked even. It wasn’t easy to admit things like that, not even to yourself. But somehow, with him, it didn’t feel as scary. The way he spoke, the way he made you feel like he’d never judge you, created a space that felt safe.

"I think wanting things, letting yourself want them, is the bravest part. Like… taking that first step, you know? Even if it’s scary. Besides, from what I can tell, you’re more than enough. Probably always have been. You just needed to catch up to it."

You read that, smiling softly at your screen. It was strange—how he could make you feel like all those nagging voices in your head didn’t stand a chance against his words. Like he had this way of dissolving your doubts faster than your therapist ever could. Maybe it was because you believed him so easily, the way he spoke like he knew something you didn’t, like he could see a future you hadn’t dared to imagine yet.

"Wow, how much you charge per therapy session?" you texted, hoping to lighten the moment without brushing it off. "Your turn," you added, nudging him back into the conversation.

The pause before his response wasn’t long, but it was enough to make you wonder what he might say next.

"Sometimes, I miss being no one. Just… Harry. Not Harry Styles. I love what I do, don’t get me wrong. But there’s a part of me that wishes I could walk into a room and not feel like I have to be something for everyone. It’s strange. How can you be surrounded by people all the time and still feel like no one really sees you?"

You read his words slowly, letting them settle in. And then it hit you—both of you knew the feeling. Both of you felt seen by each other in the way you both wanted to be seen. It didn’t need to be said out loud, but it was there, clear as water.

"I met you as Just Harry. And ‘Just Harry’ is pretty awesome to me 😉. I still see Just Harry"

His reply came almost instantly.

"Thanks, Tulip 🌷❤️."

You stared at the screen, your heart skipping a beat. The little red heart stood out in the conversation like a tiny, unspoken promise. It was the first one either of you had shared. And somehow, it felt like a beginning.

The day went on as usual, no more texts exchanged. Both of you were busy, focused on work, yet your mind kept wandering back to Harry. How everything between you was unfolding—it wasn’t painfully slow, but it wasn’t rushing either. It was just… perfect.

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him. Sometimes you even laughed, scrolling through the gossip and pictures of him on Twitter. THIS is the man you knew? The same man who shared something he hadn’t told anyone else? It felt surreal.

Millions of people thought they knew him, adored him, and claimed a piece of him for themselves. But you—you really knew him. In a way that was different. Special. Personal. It was crazy to think about, but somehow, it felt right.

You were scrolling through many tweets in bed when it came. Another text.

"I’ve been around the world and back, and I still find myself wanting to talk to you about everything. What does that mean?"

PART 3

--- Taglist: @jackiehollanderr @proudravenclawbird @hopeyoustaythenight @maryjahps @obsessiveenthusiast @liiit44 @loveheart-123 @harrystyleshotwife @harryscherries28 @addiemb8332 @cumuluscranium @gguksfilter @alemunson42069 @sarah22194 @summertime-pills @hescrush @cosmomento @harrys-wifeyy

#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #hs fanfic #one shot harry styles #one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #Sorry wrong number #part 2

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aajjks · 11 days ago

Text

The Boy (II)

synopsis. All he ever wanted was someone to love.

pairing: yandere!brahms doll jungkook x fem!nanny reader. ft. Cha eunwoo.

genre: 18+ horror, smut, angst and yandere.

warnings. 18+ YÁNDÈRÈ, dàrk thèmès, dïstúrbíng thèmès, mèntïóns ôf à dàrk pàst, yn ïs só dàmn hórny, dóll, erríe thèmès, únsèttlíng thèmès, híghly sèxúàl thèmès, nèèdy, shàmlèss ýn, tsúndèrè èúnwòò.

wc: idek it’s long tho

fic note. Please keep in mind that this fanfiction is the exact copy of the movie from the same name “the boy” (2016) so if you find any similarities, that’s on purpose. Also viewer discretion is highly advised.

taglist. @tatumrileyslover @slut4jeon @strawberryberrygirl @starl0ver4 @darkcyclecreator @taekritimin123@erisuna @devilslittlehelper @introvertedsin @jadaocon1 @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @wowersblog@jincapableoflove @whothefuckisthishoe @avawants2havefun @sophipp1 @moonfloweronmars @crisle19 @ctrlsht@mrsjohnnysuh @ennvfv @kpopsmutty69 [open for more]

••••

The house is too quiet.

You didn’t notice it as much yesterday— not with Ji-seon’s perfectly manicured presence keeping you distracted or Jeong-hwan’s piercing gaze making sure you didn’t fuck up your answers.

Even though it had been a day, but you still got used to their presence and now that you’re all alone in this house…

You’re having some trouble

Especially now that they’re gone, it’s just you and this massive, eerily pristine house. You, a lifeless doll, and the suffocating silence pressing in on you like a weighted blanket.

Your second day begins with an unavoidable routine—the one they so kindly outlined in the rules. Rules that, frankly, feel absurd.

1. Wake JK up.

2. Get him dressed.

3. Prepare his meals.

4. Read to him.

5. Put him to bed.

You stare at the list on the old, slightly crinkled paper and sigh. “Jesus Christ.” You rub your temple, the lack of sleep from last night making your head feel like it’s stuffed with cotton.

I should be getting paid double for this shit.

And honestly, when you think about it, it’s kind of triggering because… of your history that you don’t really like to think about anymore.

But you’re getting paid a lot of ridiculous amount of money for this so you’re willing to play along even if it triggers the fuck out of you.

With an exhausted groan, you shuffle towards the grand living room, where JK sits in his usual spot on the couch, his dark beady eyes fixed on you in a way that feels entirely too alive.

“Alright, little prince,” you mutter, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Time to start our day of make-believe.”

Nothing happens. Obviously. Because it’s a fucking doll.

Still, the weight of its stare makes you hesitate for a second too long before reaching for it.

The porcelain skin is cold under your fingers, smooth and unyielding.

You lift the doll carefully— half because you don’t want to break the weird rich people’s prized possession, and half because some irrational part of you thinks it might move on its own.

You carry him upstairs to the bedroom they set up for him, which looks far too elegant for a toy.

The furniture is handcrafted, the bed is neatly made with expensive silk sheets, and the air smells faintly of lavender.

This is insane.

Still, you press on.

Dressing JK is an experience you never thought you’d have. Buttoning up a tiny sweater on a lifeless doll is humiliating in ways you can’t fully articulate.

Fuck your life, even a doll has a better life than you.

“You know, I don’t even do this much for an actual man,” you scoff. “You should be grateful, JK.”

The doll, of course, says nothing. But as you move to fix his collar, you swear the corners of his lips seem… slightly upturned.

Your hands freeze. No. That’s ridiculous. I’m just sleep-deprived.

You shake the thought off and place him back in the chair by the window, as instructed.

This is your life now. Taking care of a doll.

It’s laughable.

The rules are just guidelines, anyways, and rules are always meant to be broken.

•••

By noon, you’re already getting restless.

You’ve done everything technically required— dressed the doll, made him breakfast (which was a complete waste of food), and even read a chapter from a dusty old children’s book you found on the shelf.

Now you’re sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, but there’s no service.

No Wi-Fi. No contact with the outside world.

Frustration bubbles up in your chest. You sit up, stretching your sore muscles, and glance at JK, who sits stiffly in his chair.

“I doubt they’ll know if I take a little break.”

The doll stares.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’re lucky I even got up today.”

The doll should remain motionless. It should stay exactly where you left it.

But when you look back at it after getting up, something feels… different.

The head is tilted ever so slightly to the left.

Your breath catches in your throat. Was it like that before?

Slowly, you approach the chair, fingers curling into fists. “You’re really fucking with me now,” you whisper.

JK doesn’t respond.

You hesitate for a moment before reaching out and adjusting the head back into its original position. “There.”

Then you turn around—

clunk.

Your heart stops.

You whip back around.

JK’s head is tilted again.

Further this time.

A shiver runs down your spine.

No. No fucking way.

Your pulse thunders in your ears as you back away, refusing to take your eyes off him.

Your entire body is screaming at you to leave the room, to run, but you force yourself to breathe.

“This is just my imagination,” you whisper. “That’s it. I’m sleep-deprived, this house is fucking with me, and I need to get out of here for a bit.”

You don’t even bother “putting him down for a nap” like the rules say. Instead, you decide to explore.

•••

The house is massive.

You wander through the hallways, your footsteps echoing against the marble floors.

The architecture is grand, intricate details carved into the moldings, chandeliers hanging like ghosts in every room.

But it’s the paintings that unsettle you the most.

There are so many of them. And they’re all of the same little boy—dark-haired, round-cheeked, with a bright bunny smile. He looks… sweet. Innocent, even.

And yet, the more you stare at them, the more something feels off.

Some of the paintings have his eyes looking straight ahead. Others have them slightly to the side. And a few—you swear to God—have his gaze locked directly onto you.

A cold shudder runs through you.

Nope. Nope, we’re not doing this.

You turn to leave the room when—

“Pretty… stay.”

Your stomach drops.

You freeze, hands trembling as you whip around.

JK is nowhere in sight.

You left him upstairs.

Right?

You feel sick. Your hands grip the fabric of your sweater, the walls of the house suddenly feeling too close.

Something is wrong.

•••

You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a firm knock on the front door.

You don’t even hesitate to answer it.

When you swing it open, Eunwoo is standing there, his hands in his coat pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Your stomach clenches—but not just from fear.

Because of course even when you’re scared out of your mind, your body decides now is the perfect time to get turned on.

Eunwoo’s eyes sweep over you, taking in your disheveled appearance. “You look…” His gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up. “…tired.”

You lick your lips. “Tired isn’t the word I’d use.”

He steps inside, his presence commanding the space effortlessly. “Have you been following the rules?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Why does it matter? It’s just a doll.”

Eunwoo’s jaw tenses. “It’s not just a doll.” His voice is low, cold. “You don’t understand what’s at stake.”

You raise a brow, shamelessly letting your eyes trail down his chest. God, he’s so fucking hot. “You really care about this thing, huh?” You take a step closer.

“Maybe you should care more about me.”

Eunwoo doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even react.

That pisses you off.

You tilt your head, voice dropping into something sultry. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little distraction.”

Eunwoo stares, his expression unreadable—until his eyes darken.

For a second, you think he might actually give in.

Then—

“Yn…”

Your body freezes.

That voice. That mechanical, eerie fucking voice.

You whip your head around.

JK is sitting on the couch.

You did not put him there.

Eunwoo doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he just exhales through his nose and adjusts his coat. “Follow the rules.”

And then— just like that— he turns to leave.

You’re left alone.

With him.

With JK.

And the second the door closes, you hear it again.

“Pretty… stay.”

A chill runs through your spine.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

“Fuck this shit I’m hungry, let’s go check out the kitchen.”

•••

You are never eating in this kitchen again.

The ramen was fine. Actually, it was good, especially considering how you barely ate today. But the problem isn’t the food. The problem is the audience.

Because across the room, perched on the goddamn counter, watching you, sits JK.

You drop your chopsticks. “Nope.”

The word echoes in the quiet kitchen. You didn’t put him there. You didn’t put him there.

He was on the couch earlier. You remember because you kept side-eyeing him while eating your sad little meal, feeling his beady little stare drilling into your soul.

And now he’s here.

Perched. Looking. Waiting.

Your throat tightens, a nervous laugh bubbling up before you can stop it. “So this is it, huh? This is how I die? Starved, single, and haunted by a fucking toy?”

Silence.

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip as the air shifts. It’s subtle, but you feel it—like the whole house just took a breath. The walls seem taller. The shadows stretch just a bit longer.

And then, soft and eerie, comes the whisper.

“Don’t forget…”

Your body locks up. A cold chill rolls down your spine, your skin breaking out in goosebumps.

Okay. That was new.

Your gaze snaps to JK, your heart hammering against your ribs. You heard it. Someone said that.

It wasn’t your imagination. It wasn’t your tired brain playing tricks. It was a fucking voice.

And yet, the doll remains the same—blank, expressionless, his tiny porcelain lips forever pressed into that neutral, unsettling almost-smile.

Fuck this.

You’re about to throw him in the oven. Maybe deep fry him. Maybe start a religion based on setting creepy dolls on fire.

But then, your eyes flicker to the list of rules pinned to the fridge.

6. Give JK a goodnight kiss.

7. Make sure JK is comfortable before bed.

Your entire body rejects the idea. Your soul leaves the chat.

Absolutely not.

A loud, frustrated groan leaves your lips. “Oh my God.”

This is beyond humiliating. This isn’t even a job anymore—it’s a prank. It’s gotta be. A weird, rich-people, fucked-up social experiment.

First the rules, then the mechanical voice, and now this?

You want to scream. You want to walk straight out of this house and never look back.

But the money.

The fucking money.

It’s ridiculous, the amount they’re paying you. It’s life-changing. And if all you have to do is follow some creepy-ass instructions to get it, then fine.

Fine.

You slam your hands on the counter, glaring at JK. “You win, you little shit.”

And then, you pick him up.

Instant regret.

His body is solid, heavier than it looks, and the second his cold porcelain presses against your fingers, your entire body reacts.

A strange heat pools in your stomach.

Your breath catches. Your thighs clench.

You freeze. Oh no.

Not this. Not now.

This job is already ruining your sanity—you can’t let it ruin your self-respect, too.

But your body doesn’t get the memo.

The feeling spreads, slow and insidious, like a slow-burning fever. It’s not because of JK, obviously.

But it’s him being here, the eerie tension in the house, the fact that you’ve been alone all day, untouched, unstimulated.

The thoughts you had earlier about Eunwoo don’t help.

His sharp eyes, his broad frame, the way he completely ignored your flirting like an unbothered, frustratingly hot statue.

I need to get laid.

Or at least, you need to do something about this overwhelming heat crawling under your skin.

But not now. Not while holding the fucking doll.

You shake yourself off, gripping JK tighter, storming upstairs like you’re on a personal mission.

Put him to bed. Get this over with.

But the whole time, the feeling of being watched doesn’t leave you. If anything, it gets worse.

•••

somehow, you have managed to convince yourself that you just need a shower to make yourself feel right

And by the time you make it to the bathroom, you’re two seconds away from losing your mind.

Not just because of the creepy ass doll or the fact that your entire body is covered in goosebumps that won’t go away—no, no. That would be normal.

The real problem?

You’re fucking horny.

It makes no sense.

You just had the most unsettling dinner of your life, spent way too much time arguing with a porcelain freak, and still—your body refuses to cooperate.

Your nerves are shot, your thighs press together every time you move, and worst of all—Eunwoo.

Eunwoo being an asshole should not make him hotter.

But goddamn, did he look good tonight.

That stupid cold expression, the way his jaw clenched whenever you spoke, the way his voice dropped when he scolded you like some strict, brooding villain straight out of a fantasy novel—

Ugh.

Maybe you should just throw yourself into the nearest well and be done with it.

With a deep breath, you rip off your clothes and step into the shower.

The second the water hits your skin, a soft sigh slips past your lips.

Oh, that’s nice.

Heat runs down your spine, melting every tense muscle. Steam curls around your body, thick and intoxicating.

You tilt your head back, letting the warmth sink into you, washing away everything from today— the exhaustion, the unease, the sheer insanity of this house.

It’s just you in here.

Alone.

Finally.

Your fingers drag slowly down your neck, your collarbone, heat pooling low in your stomach.

It’s fine. You deserve this.

It’s not like there’s a fucking ghost watching you, right?

You exhale, the steam making your skin tingle.

Your mind drifts immediately—

Eunwoo’s voice. Low, commanding.

“Follow the rules, yn.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You don’t want to follow the rules.

You want to break them.

You can practically see him, standing outside the shower, fully clothed, watching. That blank expression, that disapproving look. His lips parting just slightly as he takes you in, dark eyes flicking lower—

God.

Your fingers twitch, a slow press against your hipbone.

He’d be so strict with you. He wouldn’t just let you do whatever you wanted—no, he’d make you follow the rules. Wouldn’t even touch you unless you begged for it.

Your breath hitches.

You bite your lip, hand sliding lower, heat growing—

Click.

Your entire body freezes.

That— That sounded like the fucking door.

No. No, no, no.

Your breath stops. Your skin prickles.

Water pounds against the tiles, drowning everything else out.

You can’t even turn around.

Click.

Your stomach drops.

That wasn’t just the wind. That was—

That was inside the bathroom. A violent shudder rips down your spine.

Your hands shake as you peel the shower curtain back—

And your breath dies.

The bathroom door is open.

Just a few inches.

A sliver of darkness beyond it.

The air is too cold.

Your pulse pounds against your skin, your legs trembling under the hot water.

You swear you locked it.

Didn’t you?

Your heart is in your throat. Your body still aches, heat thrumming through your veins—but now, it’s laced with something else.

Something primal.

Fear.

You clutch the shower curtain, your mouth dry.

You are not alone.

You feel it.

Someone is watching.

And then—

“Pretty, pretty, stay… stay.”

The whisper is right there.

Behind the curtain. Inside the fucking bathroom.

Your body jerks. A choked gasp rips from your throat.

You don’t think. You don’t breathe.

You just grab a towel—

And run.

You don’t stop.

Your feet pound against the cold floor, water dripping from your skin as you clutch the towel around you. Your breath comes out in ragged gasps, your heart slamming against your ribs.

That voice. That fucking voice.

You don’t look back. You don’t even blink until you crash into your bedroom door.

Shit—

Your hand shakes as you grab the knob, your entire body screaming at you to move, to lock yourself inside.

And then—

Knock.

Your stomach drops.

The knock is slow, deliberate.

Right on the other side.

A violent shiver rips down your spine.

It’s not the wind. It’s not your imagination.

Something is there.

Your fingers clench around the towel, water still trickling down your thighs. Every inch of you is tense, skin burning with leftover heat—

Knock.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You can’t just stand here like a fucking idiot.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down your fear.

And then, with a deep breath—

You open the door. Your entire body jerks.

It’s not a ghost.

It’s Eunwoo.

Holy shit.

He stands right there, dark eyes flickering over you, his expression unreadable. His face is blank—cold, unimpressed.

And you?

You completely forget about everything.

The fear? Gone.

The horror? What horror?

The fact that you were seconds away from pissing yourself? Irrelevant.

Because Eunwoo is here.

And you are barely wearing anything.

A wicked heat pools low in your stomach.

He looks good tonight. So good.

That stupid expensive coat, those broad shoulders, the way his jaw tenses as he looks down at you—

God.

If he wanted to take advantage of this moment, you would gladly let him.

Your lips part, your entire body still buzzing with adrenaline and… something else.

Use it.

You let out a slow breath, tilting your head just slightly, making sure the damp towel hugs every inch of you perfectly.

“Eunwoo,” you murmur, your voice just soft enough. “Did you come to check on me?”

His jaw tightens.

“No,” he says flatly.

Cold. Rude. Unfazed.

And you love it.

Your stomach twists, heat flaring in your chest.

He is so fun to mess with.

You take a slow step closer, just enough for the towel to shift over your thighs.

“Well,” you breathe, voice smooth, “I appreciate the concern.”

“I’m not concerned.”

He says it so fast, so deadpan, that you actually giggle.

The audacity of this man.

“Mm. If you say so,” you hum. “But you did show up at my door.”

Eunwoo just stares.

Like he’s debating whether to entertain this or just walk away.

His gaze flickers—just for a second.

And you see it.

The way his throat bobs, the way his fingers twitch at his sides.

Oh, he’s trying so hard to act like he’s not affected.

You almost feel bad for him.

But mostly?

You just want to see how far you can push.

Your hand loosens on the towel, your skin still damp, heat rolling off your body.

“You should come in,” you murmur.

Eunwoo exhales through his nose.

“No.”

“No?” You pout. “Not even for a drink?”

“No.”

You bite your lip.

“You’re really no fun.”

His eyes darken, but his face remains blank.

“I’m staying the night,” he says.

Your stomach flips.

Oh.

Oh, that’s interesting.

You blink up at him, trying so hard not to smirk.

“Staying?” you echo.

Eunwoo nods, still completely expressionless.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jeon asked me to.”

Right.

The Jeons. Your actual employers. The whole reason you’re here.

You totally forgot about them.

But honestly?

That’s not your problem.

Because now—

Now, Eunwoo is here.

And he is going to be so much fun.

•••

Eunwoo doesn’t wait. He just walks in.

No hello. No Can I come in? Just boom—he’s inside, like he pays rent.

Which he doesn’t.

You watch, still clutching your towel, as he scans the room with sharp eyes, looking for—what? A hidden crime scene? Your black-market organ-harvesting operation?

“Where’s JK?” His voice is flat, uninterested in anything that isn’t made of porcelain.

…Are you serious?

You blink. “I—I don’t know? Where he always is?”

Eunwoo finally looks at you.

Well, not at you. Past you. Through you.* Not even sparing you a glance below the neck, as if you aren’t standing there, soaking wet, in nothing but a towel.

Your jaw drops.

You just had the most terrifying, borderline supernatural shower experience of your life, you’re practically naked, and all this man can think about is—

“The doll is in his room?” He cuts through your internal crisis like a knife.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Did you follow the routine?”

…The routine.

The routine that consists of treating a doll like a human child.

You squint at him. “Why are you asking like it’s life or death?”

Eunwoo doesn’t even blink. “Because it is.”

You snort. “Right, of course. If I don’t brush his teeth, he’ll develop cavities.”

Eunwoo looks exhausted already. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did you or did you not follow the rules?”

You shift on your feet, trying to suppress the absolutely ungodly urge to eye this man like a piece of prime steak.

Focus, yn. Focus.

“Listen,” you sigh dramatically, stepping closer—closer than necessary, really. “I tucked him in. I read him a nice bedtime story. I kissed his forehead.” You place a hand on your heart. “I’m the picture of maternal instinct.”

Eunwoo gives you the flattest look you’ve ever seen. “You forgot to change his clothes, didn’t you?”

You pause.

“…He has outfits?”

Eunwoo exhales through his nose like he’s regretting every life choice that led him here. “Yes. He has outfits.”

You resist the urge to laugh.

Barely.

“Wait, wait, let me get this straight,” you say, grinning. “You’re seriously telling me you came all the way here, in the middle of the night, to check if I changed the doll’s clothes?”

Eunwoo looks you dead in the eye.

“Yes.”

And that’s it. No hesitation. No shame. No realization that this is, in fact, a batshit insane thing to say out loud.

God, he’s so serious about this.

And it’s so hot.

You step even closer, tilting your head. “You know, for a guy who looks like he should be modeling for luxury cologne ads, you sure do care a lot about—” you gesture vaguely “—porcelain toddlers.”

Eunwoo doesn’t move. “Are you following the rules or not?”

You lick your lips. His gaze doesn’t drop once.

How rude.

“How about,” you say sweetly, “we stop talking about the doll and start talking about you staying the night?”

He raises a brow. “And why would I do that?”

You smirk. “Because I might be scared?”

“No, you’re not.”

Your smirk falters.

Okay, rude and perceptive.

You try again, biting your lip. “Maybe I just want some company?”

Eunwoo gives you the most deadpan look of all time.

And then—without a shred of hesitation—

“The doll is company enough.”

You gasp.

“Did you just compare me to a fucking doll?”

“Considering you’re both brainless? Yes.”

Your jaw drops.

Eunwoo just turns away, completely unbothered. “I’m staying the night to make sure you don’t mess up again. Go put on some actual clothes.”

You stand there, towel-clad, seething.

And so fucking turned on.

•••

I can smell you.

The damp heat of your skin. The soft, lingering scent of your shampoo. The faint traces of sweat where your body burns beneath that useless towel.

You’re flushed— your cheeks, your chest, your thighs. I see all of it.

And you don’t even realize what you’re doing to me.

How fucking obscene you look, standing there in front of him, teasing, tempting, like you’re offering yourself.

Like you’re waiting for someone to grab you, press you against the cold walls of this house, and take you apart.

But not him.

Never him.

He doesn’t deserve to look at you, to hear your breath hitch when he steps closer.

He doesn’t deserve the way your lips part, the way your fingers clutch that towel like you know what you’re doing.

But I do.

I deserve it. I deserve you.

And I will have you.

You’ve already given yourself to me, in ways you don’t even understand.

Every time you touch the doll, every time your fingers linger on his cheek, every time your voice dips into something soft, something affectionate..

You’re touching me. You’re speaking to me.

And you don’t even know it.

But you will.

I watch you now, legs shifting, thighs pressing together as if that will help. As if anything but me could ever give you what you need.

Your body is betraying you, isn’t it?

I know what you want. I know how badly you want it.

The frustration in your movements, the way your fingers tremble when you adjust your towel, the way your breath comes out in soft, shallow little pants.

You’re aching.

Dripping.

Begging.

You just don’t know who you’re begging for.

But soon.

Soon, you’ll understand.

And when you finally do, when you finally look at me, see me for what I am—

There will be no more teasing. No more waiting.

No more towels.

685 notes · View notes

euphoria-looney · 15 days ago

Text

Who Said Money Can't Buy Happiness?

Yan!Batfam x Neglected!Reader

m. list|prev|next

"Three things don't play about myself, my money, or my man. Mention one of them and best believe I'm gon' be at your head." 'Neva Play' by Megan Thee Stallion ft. RM

Divider Creds: @selysie , @lil-liaa and @bernardsbendystraws

This plot was inspired by @niwaart, @mimiiiiiiiiisstuff, and esp @coldilikeit

Oh crap, I'm still here.

Despite what manhwas tells you, being sent back in time is not fun. There is no technology, no social media, and I'm being literal here. I've regressed, and the social standards are so goofy. I shouldn't complain too much; I got a high title for reincarnating.

This sucked. I thought that was all a dream yesterday, this can't be happening to me.

Well, I have 500,000 gold coins, which makes me one of the richest people in the world.

Imagine this currency: copper, silver, and gold.

Since I've woken up, I might put the plan that I had in my mind into action.

Let's see if this is just like the movies.

I clapped my hands, and my magic started working. It was getting me ready, brushing my hair, changing my clothes, and applying skincare!

Why did I struggle so hard with the maids yesterday if it was this easy?! I guess that part was on me, but let's be honest, I did no wrong, so that mistake didn't happen.

A person knocked on my door, opening it to see a butler.

"Pardon me, princess, but I had been misguided by the other employees here and have arrived late, from today onwards, I'll be your butler."

I looked at him up and down, almost having a stroke, tell me why he looked like Aldira. My secretary? Though I did tell that biggie if I was going down, he'd come with me.

"No offense, you seem diligent at your job, but why am I not having a maid?"`

"All the maids were too afraid to become your personal assistant, and I took the position, I hope you don't mind that"

Damn, why are you so blunt?

"Your name?"

"Aldira's, Your Highness."

The way he carries himself and how he acts, on top of that, the name, why if I didn't know any better, he sounds just like my Aldira in my past life.

No, that is absurd.

Aldira's POV

For the longest time, I've had only one friend stick to me since we were at least teenagers.

My parents were strict and expected nothing but the best from me, from my grades to my activities and the future path that would await me.

My parents were at best middle class, and that I'm grateful for, don't get me wrong, but if I wasn't as intelligent as I was I would have never gone to Gotham Prep, got in with a scholarship, and excelled.

Unlike those dramatic shows or novels, I was not bullied for being the smartest in the school or being too poor to be one of them, instead, I would be what students admired and compared to.

Many people talked about me positively, and I carried an image that was something every parent would want.

But every time I checked the scoreboard, there was one person behind me in terms of rank, [name] Wayne. Though she went by [name] [last name] for some odd reason, one I would not figure out until later on.

The way we went was goofy, it wasn't cliche or anything. We had been invited to the same study group and my parents believed it would be a good opportunity to build connections with the upper class.

The study session turned boring quickly though and I was left doodling to myself while everyone was studying or asking me to help until I saw a pencil tap my journal making me lift my head to face her, [name].

"You read 'I Became the Male Lead's Adopted Daughter' too?"

That shocked me, how did she know that... is she a stalker?

Her eyes kind of pointed to my phone where the notification of a new chapter upload of the said manhwa popped up.

"Yeah, you read these types of stories too?"

"Sometimes."

And we hit it off from there.

"Can you believe some of the girls are saying we're dating?" I sipped on my black coffee as she drank her matcha latte.

"Wasn't it Parcilla, the girl who has a very weird crush on you?" She questioned me, making me nod.

"You biggie, that means I might be the next target to be bullied because of your fan club, nah, I'm too amazing to be the one bullied."

I slapped her upside the head from that comment.

Don't be fooled though, because behind her laid-back personality, she had a huge ego that could make anyone want to beat her up, she just never expresses it so she's easily likable and I enjoy that personality of hers.

Flash forward and we both have jobs and have monthly meet-ups.

I was busy typing away for my report on a report for my job as manager of a high-end company, of course, I couldn't complain. The salary was good, and I was able to save up for my family to get out of Gotham and head to another part of the world, they urged me to go but then I wouldn't be able to hang out with [name] which I know was a stupid reason but long-distance relationships were neither of our thing.

"Ugh, at this point these imbeciles won't give their report in time for our next meeting and we'll have to push it back to next week or something," I grumbled before hearing the timer go off indicating it was time to take off our face mask.

"Why don't you come and work for my company?" I heard her get up.

"Work for your company?" I repeated.

"Yeah, I mean it's non-profit, comes with many benefits including good insurance that fully works and not half-assed you, and it's triple your pay rate." My eyes widened at that preposterous claim.

"Besides, I need an assistant or secretary, it'd help me a lot." I went over to her and stole the tea that she made and took a sip.

"Fattie."

"IT'S TEA!"

"MY TEA THAT I MADE! YOU SAID THAT YOU DIDN'T WANT ANY!"

And I agreed and they're not lying when they say working together makes or breaks a relationship, as our friendship just grew even more.

Then one day on our hangouts she recommended a new novel to me.

"'I stole the loving family of the Villainess'? Now... the girl I know has no good stories at the moment, but what is this?"

"It's so bad that you want to continue reading the story. And I'm also a little biased since one of the characters has my name."

"No way."

"You want to bet?"

So I read it. And wow, she was not kidding. Also, how the hell did they incorporate her bearing a saintess into this?! As if it wasn't absurd enough...

So, while texting her what she wanted to eat while heading to our shared apartment, an out-of-control truck hit me and before I knew it I was in the story.

Talk about cliche and I arrived at the scene when [name] would shove Serena off but [name] was acting out of character making up some new dialogue, great, it's an even bigger cliche, someone reincarnates into the Villainess, bet she's going to end up forgiving everyone that was rude to her though.

Typical.

After the party and everything, Alfred, our head butler, asked us which one of the maids would volunteer to be Princess [name]'s new assistant. Since no one was going for it, I applied. I mean, the pay rate was great, and I've done my fair share in the retail industry, I know how to deal with goofy entitled customers.

So, why does she seem so familiar? I can't put my finger on it.

What if that's my [name] from my other life?

No, that's absurd and too fictional to work.

Heading to the dining room with my butler close behind, I eventually arrived.

"You're finally here big sister!" Serena's voice interrupted the wholesome family in front of me. Seems everyone had their fill already.

"You're late. Again, how disappointing." Palmola's voice was a sharp knife cutting through the silence that had developed.

"Well, I won't ruin your moods for too long, I have an appointment that I can't miss, so I'll just take this." I whisked away my breakfast and called for my new assistants to prepare a carriage for me.

"And where exactly?" Bruce demanded.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know you cared about where I go and return from." I scrunch my face before heading off.

"I am your father [name]."

"Your majesty, the only people in this room who are talking are the Emperor and a princess, not father and daughter."

Aldira opened the carriage door, allowing me to step in before going in himself.

"May I know where you're headed today, Your Highness?" The coachman asked.

"The mine at WestFord."

"The mine that has been empty for years? Why, my lady, why would you ever need to go there?

"Exploring."

I'm taking a gamble on this and meeting John Constantine before purchasing it.

I sent him a letter before heading to bed last night and got a reply.

'It would be an honor to sell this cavern to you, Your Highness.

Sincerely,

Duke Constantine.

Well, it was more detailed than that but that's the premise of what he wrote back.

Stepping off the carriage I arrived at the cave. I noticed the Duke.

"Your Highness, how are you doing this fine morning?" He reached out a hand for me to shake.

I took it, his grip firm before I pulled away as did he.

"No need for small talk, it seems this cave would be fine."

"Your Highness, don't you think you're being too rash?! We haven't looked yet!" Aldira came in front of my face frantically.

"I have a hunch. But do me the honor of looking around before I seal the contract."

He didn't need to hear another word before rushing in, before coming out and began making calculations with his magic.

"At best this cave should settle for 45,000 gold, right Duke Constantine?"

"Indeed, young man, Your Highness, would you mind that price?" He asked me before I nodded.

Pulling out a contract, we both read the terms and conditions before signing our names, making our names and the contract glow, making the contract finalized with no loopholes and in no way to break it unless both parties agree.

"What powerful magic you have, unlike the rumors."

I shrugged, fanning myself, “There are things many people didn’t know about me, but what does it matter? Why should the public know anything about me?” I questioned the Duke.

He chuckled to himself before shaking his head.

“No, not at all, Your Highness, everyone has things they’d like to keep to themselves after all. May I inquire if you will attend today’s coming-of-age celebration at the Acentro Twins?” The last event we went to that became a topic that’s still being talked about most times [P!name] would stay home while the rest of her family went, worsening her reputation.

Which doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t that make it better?

This world is so hateful of my girl.

“Indeed, it would only make sense to. Well, if that’s all I should be off, I have no time to waste, after all a lady needs her time to get ready.” I walked back to the carriage, and Aldira followed me close behind.

The Marquis family, the Acentro. Known for being great in the business world, and even better for their swordsmanship abilities. Recently, the daughter of their house decided to go against society's customs and do archery. But that got overshadowed by the canceling of my engagement.

She and her brother are both very cunning and intelligent, from what I heard, so their coming-of-age ceremony will be huge, last I checked. It would be good if I made relations with them.

“Aldira, you'll be attending the ceremony with me, no?”

He looked away from the windows and nodded, “Yes, your highness.”

I just can’t shake the feeling that he’s from another world like me, my Aldira.

“Aldira, you seem to know a lot about business, where do you come from?”

This seemed to catch him off guard as he didn’t respond right away like he usually does.

“Somewhere far, is all. One that is rather advanced but I think it’s gone now.”

“Have you ever heard of someone named ‘Batman’? Silly, right? But that weird name just came to me.”

Batman, Gotham’s vigilante superhero. My good-for-nothing father slowly started acknowledging me after I left the manor. It’s quite uncanny how, in both lives, I still have him as my father, though that could be said for my entire family in this world except my Palmola and Serena.

That made him shocked, eyes widening, looking into mine, like he was thinking over something.

“Are you [name] [last name], Your Highness?”

“Depends, will you still make me coffee in the morning if I confirm that I am, my dear secretary.”

At that, he practically lunged at me, wrapping his hands around my waist, his head laying on my lap, this would be a terrible position to be in. I patted his head and was also relieved about the revelation, but it was kind of obvious.

“Holy crap, this was not a cliche I expected.” He pulled away, holding onto my shoulders.

“Tell me about it, do you think there are other reincarnations in this world?” He shook his head.

“My system tells me that I’ve located the only other reincarnation in this world, I knew it was you, I just didn’t know it was my [name].”

“System?” I asked.

“Yeah, did you not get one, I have one that shows my stats and has a quest for me to do.” This is too many story plots for me to handle.

“No, this is crazy, anyway of that system getting us home, though?” Aldira shook his head at that, making me slouch in my seat.

I scoffed, “This has been one crazy day that I did not expect.”

“Your Highness, we have made it home.” I heard the coachman announce. Aldira helped me down. Back in this miserable place, right after I left it in my previous life. Thoughts and prayers in the chat guys.

I decided to take a fat nap, setting an alarm before waking up to this monstrosity.

Maids running around like there was a killer on their backs, and were getting outfits and attire ready, crazy how I got no help at all though. By the time I got myself ready and was finishing the touch-ups on Aldria’s, I spotted my family in a family set of clothes all matching.

It was expected though so nothing I should worry about.

“Wouldn’t this just cause more scandals for you [name]? We’re matching right after your broken engagement.” Aldira scolded me but didn’t back away from receiving my help.

“Don’t kill the mood, Al, just look at how cute we are matching.”

He could only sigh, massaging his forehead, but behind that was a small smile.

What could interrupt this wholesome moment, how about the buffoons behind me?

"Don't you think you've done enough damage to the family, imagine? First the engagement and now your outfit? Matching with a common servant?" Damian scoffed.

"It's called, My entire family decided to choose an outfit and left their 4th princess out of it, but still included the peasant girl. Or did I leave the part where I had a matching outfit?"

"We didn't- I just- You shouldn't speak to your little brother that way, young lady, have some etiquette.'' Palmola inquired.

"Right. My brother."

Barbara coughed into her fist.

"Well, we'd like to inform you that Serena might just be attacked riding alone so she'll have to retake your spot.

"That's fine, I wasn't planning on going in a carriage anyway, too bumpy for my taste, and wouldn't want to leave Aldira alone." I pinned our matching jewelry on his suit and brushed dirt away from his outfit.

"Anything else?" I turned to face them. Some looked hesitant but Palmola took the lead and left. Walking with grace to the carriage.

"How do you feel about teleportation? I'm not one to be late to an event."

"Would love to try it, die wanting to try it, let's do it." Aldira bluntly stated.

"If we die, you can't blame me."

"On second thought-," I snatched his hand before we got teleported.

Arriving at the front of the line, I fixed my outfit.

"That was not bad, great even." No side effects, why yes, magic truly is a blessing phenomenon. Aldira also looked fine, so it seemed I managed this spell just fine, but is anyone surprised? It's me, after all.

The guard standing there nearly jumped out of his boots and bowed lowly. "Welcome, Your Highness! Ehem, Entering her Highness, Princess [name] Wayne!"

"You see that, Al? Even in this life, I'm too important and pretty to ignore."He deadpanned at me.

"That's because you're a very, and I mean very controversial princess. In a bad way. Remember how the original princess got executed because she was rude to the peasant MC?"

"That's why I hated the novel so much, duh. I still can't believe we're stuck here," I was exasperated.

The murmurs that were once stuck in regular conversations go into gossip, between the fact that I arrived without my family once again, and that my attendant wasn't a female but rather male.

I arrived before the twins and got my gift from my special storage.

For Artemis, a bow and arrows, and Apollo, a lyre.

"What an incompetent girl! The gifts are switched." A woman scoffed

"A woman holding a bow, please, what a mockery." A man grumbled.

The twins examined the gifts before looking back up at me.

"A bow?" Artemis grinned at me with a raised eyebrow.

"And a lyre?" Apollo added.

"Indeed, I hope you guys enjoy it, I picked it based on what I believed would suit you guys." I curtsied before going down to the ballroom.

"They play a huge part in the novel in the business industry, not only that, Artemis is known for being the best huntress of the time and years later, with Apollo also being skilled in the music industry and known for understanding how to use a bow and arrow to.

Why, it'd be a shame if we let this opportunity slide to not get on their good side and eventually have them cooperate with us, my dear Aldira." Aldira only gave me a plate of food and started making one for himself.

"Yes, while you're acting like a mastermind over there, honey, how about we eat food before I pass out from the amount of stress I've accumulated." I took his and my plate and put it away on our separate table.

"Can't, dancing in a few moments, can't throw up on the dance floor, and you, being the lucky guy of the night, are joining me."

"We didn't know how to dance back at our high school dance." I flicked my hair back and accidentally hit him in the face.

He coughed out some of the hair from his mouth and squinted at me.

"Our 'dances' that we did were scandalous for their times and even more if we do it here." He's so dramatic.

"Announcing the Waynes, the moonlight of the kingdom!" that door entrance guy announced.

"Look it's Serena, her outfit makes her look so different but she fits right in!"

"I want that outfit too! So chic and cute!"

"She might as well be the fourth princess rather than-"

"Shh!"

Aldira takes another bite of his food and can't help but grit his teeth. This world was just like the last one he was in, how he was still mad when the oldies from their modern time switched their tone on you once you built your multi-billion company on your own.

Before his attention was snatched away by you again, like always uncaring, which was one of the reasons he had admired you, not only because you were his friend.

"That's what makes it fun, Al, don't be a party pooper." Just then the orchestra started, I dragged him away from the food he just got for us and reached the dance floor.

It was just slow steps, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm.

"Look, isn't that her?"

"Dancing with... a butler."

"Do you think..."

The chorus soon came along and I was twirled a few times by

Aldira, before gliding in between his legs and making a swift recovery, twirled some more before he dipped me to the ground, our faces close, our bodies closer to each other and the song finished.

(Dance scene summed up, creds to the idea: @randomlyappearingartist)

"See, I told you this was fun." He could only sweatdrop and sigh before pulling the both of us up and escorting us back to the food.

"D-Did you see that?"

"Didn't she just divorce Prince Connor?"

"You don't think..."

"What other reason, and the look she gave that servant."

"There's no mistaking it."

I finished my food and stretched out of tiredness, "Man, I wonder what got this event in a stir..." I mumbled.

"We have to schedule a meeting with the twins soon, by the way, I have to get them into my business if I want it to blossom." Aldira nodded before telling me that he was off to get more food.

"Well, I'm going to the balcony, I was feeling claustrophobic with the amount of people crowding the room.

I was on the balcony waiting for Aldira to come back soon after grabbing another plate of food. Behind me was an approaching Grand Duke of the North with signature black hair and red eyes. His outfit's color base was black with red being the secondary base, gold details that showed off the title and golden buttons, a fur coat surrounding his neck, and the cape down to his heel.

Grand Duke Isnwalt, Onyx Isnwalt. He played a major influence on the world, both feared and respected, but didn’t become a main lead but rather just an important figure in the world. I think Serena interacted with him once but her love interest got jealous and dragged her away from him, and he didn’t think much of the interaction other than that it was weird.

“What do I owe the pleasure of meeting the Grand Duke of the North, Sir Isnwalt?” I turned to him and curtsied.

“Right now you and that butler of yours are the talk of the ball, with your dance moves from earlier, surely you would know why I approached you.” He swirled his champagne in his glass, and a deep chuckle accompanied his words.

“Why I wouldn’t say the dance was all that interesting.” I tilted my head back at him. He put his glass down on the balcony ledge and focused his attention back on me, both of us just staring back at each other before he finally spoke.

“That butler of yours… he’s interesting…” I had to turn away and let out a little stifled laugh. Never saw that coming.

I heaved a deep breath in before turning back to him.

“I-is that so?” I pinched my thigh from laughing again.

“Indeed, not like any other person I’ve ever met, would you mind letting me meet him?” Maybe it’s the way he’s so straightforward about it, or maybe it’s because he’s so serious about it, but it’s making me laugh. But I can’t- I have to hold it in.

Be who you are for your pride~

“I’ll have to think on that, Grand Duke Onyx” I spread my fan out placing it in front of my face. “For you see my butler is very important to me and we have so little time to be separate from each other as he’s such a hardworking servant to me.”

Just then, with great timing, I would say Aldira's showed up, and the Grand Duke approached him, holding his hands and giving the kiss to the tip of his fingers before staring at him.

I took a sip of my champagne, basking in the romance.

"Oh..." Aldira looked shocked before quickly pulling away. He awkwardly laughed before pulling away.

"What the hell.." Aldira scrunched up, making Onyx chuckle in a deep tone, and, what hold on is that blush coating his cheeks?

"You're not like anyone I've ever met before, you're... different, (fine shyt) darling. And you smell rather... sweet."

Wait hold on...? Smell? I feel like I'm forgetting a huge thing about this novel.

Aldira shivered from hugging himself and turned to look at me for help, making me step in.

"Aldira, This is Grand Duke, Onyx Isnwalt. An influential personal worldwide who has contributed very much to our kingdom, and has been labeled the lady and gentleman killer."

He was jaw dropped before whispering in my ear.

"Man idgaf about who he is, I'm getting harassed."

I pulled out my fan, which was my new favorite thing to do now, and whispered back.

"I understand and was going to ask for business cooperation and use you as a guinea pig, but we don't have to... unless..."

Onyx coughed into his fist, making both our attention go to him.

"Dear..."

Aldira hesitated before replying. "Aldira..."

"Aldira," He said slowly before smirking to himself.

"May I have the honor of inviting you to dinner with me? Tomorrow at the Brits Restaurant, anytime you'd like.

"Look, I appreciate the gesture-"

"50 gold as compensation for your troubles"

Aldira hesitates but his greed overcomes his thoughts and he accepts.

I felt like I was interrupting something until Aldira turned around and tugged on my sleeve. "Can we go now?" I smiled and nodded before going to the break room.

"So, how was that?" He deadpanned at me.

"Not fun." He laid his head on my shoulder but then we saw a woman with pink hair looking lost.

I approached her, making Aldira's sag down.

"Are you lost, miss..."

“Oh! Starfire, Princess of Tamaran.” I curtsied that she was Dick’s fiance.

“Prince Richard's fiance.” I stood up and looked at her.

“You know him?”

“I am a citizen of Wayne's Kingdom.” I played it off.

“My escort and I could take you to him.” Aldira stood up and walked next to me.

“We can?” I elbowed his stomach.

“Yes, we can.”

As we made it forward, you could see the picture-perfect family, a girl in the center of their attention laughing, with a cute little giggle.

“Ehem” I coughed into my fist.

“[N-name] I wasn’t-” Serena started… I think she has the wrong impression on why I’m here.

“Not you, you” I directed my attention to Dick

“Your fiance has been waiting for you, big brother.”

“Big brother? But he only has four? And if you're not the three I've already met you must be the youngest... however, you’re not the blonde girl with blue eyes." Starfire asked, though not in a mocking way but geniuen curiosity.

This was a major plot point in the future that [name] goes batshit crazy on.

However, I could feel my eye twitching, it's laughable how they treated her despite her position it's almost like they forgot who decided to shoot the load creating her, and if weren't for the fact she was got embarrassed everyday it's the fact that those incompetent nincompoop contributed maybe it's the fact that they favored a peasant over her.

It's hard, not to feel a little annoyed by the display, almost enough to chuck glass on the ground and shove it down their throat till you shred their voice box.

...

But I could never do that, I'm too nice, too kind.

Some were waiting for the drama to unfold, what's next would [name] grab Serena's hair then leaving one of her family members to take Serena side like always, throw a tantrum, or something most.

Others were excited to gossip about the scandal of this entire event.

Most were watching with interest.

Then [name] made a move, slowly turning around and slightly titling her head.

“What did you just say?” [name] directed her attention to Starfire.

Most were sweating, some were ready for the inevitable…

Anyway, this is more of a filler chap. Then anything but hey we got some new characters! Might make something that has face claims for my ocs, idk.

Did you like? 😏

Spring Break has arrived so guess who will be working their booty off (probably).

Anyway taglist. Hopefully I didn't forget or mispell anyone.

Also, send in a request in stuff and hopefully I get to them!

@kittzu @charlenexoxo1 @bat1212 @silverklaus @sillysealsies @roseytheteacup @iliveinyourwallsrat @cozmie @tomoyaki @cynniee @jsprien213 @kore-of-the-underworld @anonymoushehehehe @ninihrtss @devia @fanficloverlol @masterradd-28 @aigenarated @welpthisisboring @h-ib @diemdurantia @alishii @random4137 @totired0-0 @00hellohello00 @sh4rk-k1d @shadowytravelerlover @r-u-s-s-i-a-h @paperhermits @ocean-mochi @simpingpandas @crazycaoticsimp @candlejuice @twismare @itsberrydreemurstuff @delias-stuff @shycreatorreview @randomlyappearingartist @not-aya @c4xcocoa @midnightgrimoire @time-shardz @narcisolefay1 @ryuushou @animerules898

#platonic batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #batfam x neglected reader #yandere batfam #batfam #neglected reader #platonic yandere batfam

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delusional-dinosaurr · 2 months ago

Text

10 Laps - Aitana Bonmati x Reader

“Don’t even bother Y/N, she’s out of our league. I mean look at her!” Niamh nudges you whilst you are standing drooling over the goddess that is Aitana Bonmati. Her hair blowing gently in the wind, it feels almost like something you’d see in a movie. You’ve definitely watched her more than you should have, but who on earth could resist looking at her? Obviously not you.

“Focus on the competition Y/LN” Millie says also nudging you whilst grinning at your lovestruck look. You sigh and nod, continuing your pre-match team walk of the stadium whilst Barcelona do the same, eventually the two teams combine and conversations amongst the teams start.

“Y/N!” Keira gives you the biggest hug, you’re also finding Ona and Ingrid’s arms around you too.

“Ah I’ve missed you guys! How are you doing in sunny Spain?” You ask, you continue a nice conversation between the three of you. You’re then introduced properly to some of their teammates, one in particular you were obviously more inclined to get to know.

“Aita! C’mere!” Keira hollers over to Aitana to come and meet you, she offers you a gentle smile and gives you a hug in greeting, which you obviously hug her back, even with her being slightly shorter than you.

“Aita this is Y/N, Y/N this is the Ballon D’or winner, World Cup champion –” She is cut off by an elbow to the ribs from Aitana.

“Please, there’s no need to say all that, I’m just normal Aitana” She smiles.

“Pfff, that’s a lie, have you seen yourself? You’re beautiful, talented, the list could go on” You say, causing Aitana to break out in a blush.

“God nevermind I'm splitting this up already” Lucy says joining the conversation with her old teammates, jokingly shoving you away from Aitana.

“Lucy you never said your friend was this charming” Aitana grins at you.

“Yeah there’s a reason for that, now c’mon, we’ve gotta get going now Y/N” Lucy says as she tugs you away.

“What was that for?” You ask Millie joining her side, who sighs in response.

“Luce is quite protective of Aitana from her time in Barcelona, she’s had some rocky relationships and knows what you can be like” She says.

“Mills, you know I’m not like that, I’ve just had some rather unlucky relationships too” You groan back to her. She hugs you as the teams continue to split apart to carry on the walk around the pitch at Stamford Bridge.

━━━━━

The day is here, your big match. You’re already ahead in the first leg so you know you’ve just gotta keep that same energy going.

“You okay?” Guro nudges you, you’re sitting, bouncing your knee in the locker room whilst all your teammates are chatting or dancing about after your warm ups.

“Nervous” You say quietly to her. “I know I’m not normally a nervy person but today just, I have that weird feeling y'know?”. Guro gives you a hug and reassures you for a few minutes before you head out.

You start lining up and look over to the Barca team who are also making their way out to line up with you. You look at their line and see Aitana, also looking nervous beside you.

“I would try to say things to help you win and reassure you, but you’re dangerous to us” You say in spanish whilst nudging her, a quiet laugh coming from the spaniard.

“I appreciate the sentiment. But also good luck marking me” Aitana smiles up at you also speaking in Spanish, causing you to chuckle.

“No luck needed Bonmati” You wink back at her, making her laugh.

━━━━━

Safe to say luck was needed. You lost 2-0 after a long fought battle with marking Aitana, who proved difficult to mark. In the last few minutes the exhaustion really hit when you were struck with a strong tackle from Fridolina Rolfo, meaning you were helped off the pitch by some teammates for your substitution. The Spanish side celebrated their win, you and your teammates collapsed in sadness and exhaustion. You hobbled over, kneeling down on the grass attempting to console your sad teammates. You feel a gentle pat on your back, causing you to lift your head up and look at who it was, Alexia Putellas herself.

“Keep your head up, you were fantastic. I’d kill to have you play for us one day” She says to you in spanish and smiles at you whilst crouching down with her arm around you.

“It’d be a dream to represent Barca at some point in my life, I’ll take you up on that one day” You smile, knowing your contract ends soon and you’ve been gunning for going abroad at some point whilst you’re still young and with your dad being spanish, meant you’ve had to learn two languages growing up to appease both parents.

“Contract expires soon, no?” Alexia winks, causing you to chuckle and hug her back, she lifts you up so that you’re not sat in the mud. “Go thank your fans, they need you” She smiles sadly at you, you nod in response and hobble along to join the rest of the team doing the rounds.

“You and Alexia aye?” Erin nudges you gently, so that she doesn’t knock you over in your temporary crutches and boot.

“Not my type, but she did mention wanting to steal me for Barcelona one day” You joke, Erin's eyes widened at the statement, causing her to latch onto your arm.

“Absolutely not! You’re blue through and through Y/N!” She says frowning slightly, her accent somehow seeming even thicker with the added frustration.

“Erin, don’t be so hard on her. Y/N we will support you no matter what happens this year okay?” Guro says knowingly from the other side of you. She holds her hand out for you to hold onto her instead of using the crutches.

“Thanks Guro, I didn’t know how to break it to you all but, Chelsea hasn’t offered me a contract extension, they’re looking for newer talent apparently” You give a sad smile with them both visibly looking upset.

━━━━━

A few weeks later you played your final match for Chelsea, getting a proper send off from your childhood club and the best teammates. After a few days of back and forth with negotiating contracts with other teams, your eyes widen at an offer from the club you’ve dreamt about playing for, Barcelona.

You arrive at Camp Nou to do your pre-season and signing photoshoot ready for the announcement. You haven’t told your Chelsea mates that you in fact did end up signing for the team as you’ve been so busy with England friendlies whilst others were playing in the Olympics.

“Y/N Y/LN, about time” Alexia greets you whilst you’re having your photos taken in your new kit and number.

“Who did you kill to get me here then?” You banter back and forth for a few minutes whilst you’re still having your photos sorted.

“Come, let me show you the team, in nicer circumstances than the last?” She smiles gently. The girls are all at training at the other pitch which Alexia takes you off to, also kitted up ready alongside you.

“Girls, there’s someone you need to meet!” She yells from the sideline as the team is warming up.

“NO FUCKING WAY” Keira runs over to you and lifts you up, your national teammate always being this affectionate with you.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you Ke, it was all up in the air until, well I was in the air” You smile.

“Best surprise ever” Mapi comes over to hug you as well.

“Sorry again for that tackle” Frido gives you a big squeeze.

“Ah I’m just glad I’m on your side now” You joke, elbowing her.

“God you look good in a Barca shirt” Ona comes over and says, turning you around to see your name and number on the back whilst whistling appreciatively.

“Not already hitting on me when your girlfriend isn’t around” You jokingly roll your eyes at Ona.

“Ah we all know who you’d want to flirt with you mate” Keira winks.

“Y/N hi!” Aitana greets you with a big hug, Keira giving you a knowing look from behind Aitana as you blush at the interaction, causing Keira to roll her eyes at you with a smirk. You get called in by the coach to start training with the girls, luckily with Spanish being your second language you’ve managed to gel quickly into the session.

“Want some friendly competition Y/N?” Aitana nudges you. “I bet my team wins in our scrimmage”.

“Yeah? And what do I get if I win?” You smile.

“Mmm anything you want” She smiles “But if I win, I want to go on a date with you, even if it’s just a coffee before training”.

“Deal” You shake her hand, being split onto opposite teams and starting the friendly match between Aitana’s team and Frido’s team (you being on Frido’s). You’re already marking Aitana, working as hard as you can to defend your side's goal, knowing fully what Aitana is capable of.

“You’re not making this easy for me are you?” Aitana chuckles as you help her up from the grass after being tackled by you.

“Nuh uh, I’m serious about winning bets Bonmati” You wink as you run back to your position. After another 10 minutes you accidentally got too into your friendly bet that you tug Aitana by the training bib, causing her to go tumbling into you, knocking both of you onto the ground, luckily you softened her fall with your body.

“Caught you” You laugh at her shocked expression.

“Wouldn’t have fallen if you didn’t pull me so hard!” She says lifting herself up from you, instantly causing your face to become flushed.

The match ends 3-2 to your side, managing to get two assists for your team.

“I told you I was serious” You smirk going over to get water with her.

“It’s like you didn’t want to go on that date” She looks a bit deflated.

“Nah, because for my win, I’d like for you to take me out on a date, a tour of Barcelona on a day off” You smile nervously.

“Oh…OH! Yes! I mean, yeah sounds good I can do that” She tries to play it off cool and fails massively.

━━━━━ A few days later you find yourself on a tour with Aitana as your guide, you’ve already done most of the tourist attractions and historical parts but after a few hours she drags you to the top of the Montjuic mountain area by taking you up the cable cars. You both stand there admiring the view.

“It never gets old” She smiles over at the view, you take a photo of her admiring the view to which she doesn’t notice you taking the photo in the first place.

“Thank you by the way” You smile at her.

“Eh?” Aitana tilts her head at you.

“Thank you for giving me the tour of Barcelona, it’s been really nice to spend time with you…and not the rest of our teammates” You blush trying to not be awkward with your answer. Aitana grins at you and squeezes you into a hug.

“We should do this more often, yes?” Aitana says enthusiastically, you nod back at her and hug her even tighter.

Once your hug breaks apart you move closer to the wall and peer over at the vast landscape of the city, spotting the landmarks you’d toured earlier in the day, with Aitana pointing them out for you.

“So I was thinking we could always-” You cut her off with a kiss, hoping you had read the situation correctly. Luckily for you, you felt her soft lips moving in sync with yours, giving you the butterflies in an instant.

“-Go back to mine for food? And we can do more of that” She continues, looking quite flustered.

“I’d love that” You smile, feeling much more shy than before.

━━━━━ Around 3 months later you were out for a night out at a club with the Barca girls as a celebration of a win against Madrid CFF. You and Aitana have been dating since the day of your first kiss but you’ve chosen to keep it fairly quiet so you can start with privacy and keep away from prying eyes, but you haven’t necessarily been hiding it, still some obvious signs. Your teammates still think you’re just pining after Aitana after all of this time and still to this day, are trying their best to put you two together for training, or even media duties.

“You look beautiful by the way” You kiss Aitana on the cheek as she turns up to the group outing, a greeting that is normal amongst the Spaniards, with them being so affectionate with each other. Aitana quietly thanks you, smiling away at the compliment even after 3 months you’re still making her blush. After a few hours, and a few drinks, the majority of the squad are either on the dancefloor or sat in the reserved seating area you have. Aitana comes along and sits on your lap, and leans her head on your shoulder.

“Tired, my love?” You ask her.

“Mm, I’d much rather be at home right now, you, me and the bed sound great for many reasons” Aitana says just loud enough for you to hear.

“Fuck Aitana, why would you say that!” You groan, wiping your hand over your face in an attempt to clear the dirty thoughts of your girlfriend out of your mind, which you obviously fail at every time.

“Maybe I want you to take me home?” She smirks cheekily.

“Love, someone will catch on” You say seriously.

“Who cares, if it was up to me, I’d kiss you right now” She says confidently for once.

“Then do it” You challenge her, as soon as she hears those words your lips are connected, hands tangled in each other's hair and gripping the others clothes.

“Bathroom?” Aitana nods over to the bathroom which you both run off to, knowing that the team have definitely just seen what happened. You arrive in the bathroom and continue from where you left off minus a few items of clothing, until you’re interrupted by yelling.

“I KNOW WHAT YOU TWO ARE DOING, OUT!” Ona yells, banging on the outside of the bathroom cubicle door. You and Aitana both rush to put your discarded clothing back on and give her a quick peck before a lecture from Ona and most likely Alexia.

“I’m taking you home, now. And you, we will be talking about this” Ona frowns pointing at you, dragging Aitana away from you and outside of the club. Ingrid comes over and takes you away from the doorway whilst you’re protesting.

“Explain what the fuck just happened?” You say to Ingrid.

“Ona saw you two kissing out of nowhere and you both going off to the bathroom to do what she thought you would be doing, and she didn’t like it” Ingrid sighs with a sad smile.

“What did she think I was just gonna take advantage of Aitana?” You sigh.

“She’s protective of her best friend, you know that. She likes to keep an eye on Aitana for herself and Lucy and make sure she’s okay” Alexia chimes in, overhearing your conversation in the quiet corridor.

“Well clearly she’s not that observant” You laugh to yourself, the two girls look at you quizzically.

“We’ve been dating since that time I got her to take me on a tour of Barcelona?” You say to them, hoping they understand what you mean now. You can see the switch of them realising all of the signs they ignored over the last few months.

“Hold on, so it wasn’t some one night stand? The marks you had all over you the other week at training was from little innocent Aitana?” Alexia says shocked but seemingly impressed.

“Oh god, she’s far from innocent” You chuckle, thinking back to that night before training before receiving an elbow to the ribs from Mapi, who managed to sneak into the conversation behind you, without you realising. “I mean, no, we are saving it for marriage?” You joke.

“Someone needs to talk to Ona, our little Aitana has grown up” Mapi says whilst pretending to wipe a tear from her eye, Ingrid is already getting her phone out to call Ona to meet up and discuss the situation. After a while she finishes on the phone and says it’ll be best for you to all continue the conversation tomorrow before training, so you all call it a night after all of the drama.

━━━━━

The next day at training, luckily no one drank heavily so you’re all relatively in a good mood and good spirits for the training session you’re about to have. That is at least until Ona arrives with Aitana.

“Aita” You mumble quietly as she walks over to hug you tightly.

“Y/N, a word, alone?” Ona says sternly, nodding over to the side, you nod and follow her for privacy, your girlfriend giving you a look of concern as you walk away from her.

“Right, Aitana refused to talk about it, so go on Y/LN” Ona folds her arms.

“Aitana is my girlfriend and has been for a few months now” You bite back.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it?” She asks.

“Because one, we wanted some privacy, and two, because I knew you’d act like this” You say, shaking your head at her.

“Like what?” She says angrily.

“Like someone who thinks I’m a fucking monster that’s going to break her heart? Ona, you’ve known me for years, come on now” You say “I know she’s your best friend but really?”. Ona’s head drops in realisation.

“Firstly…I’m sorry that I made you feel that way. Aitana was a mess after her last break up and I supported her the whole way, I couldn’t even imagine the thought of seeing her like that again. You’ve had your moments over the years but it was definitely wrong of me to assume the worst, I’m sorry” She sighs, realising you’re right.

“Thank you Ona, I really do care about her. Like a lot” You smile, leaning into the open arms of the girl.

“I know, come on, let's go see her then” She nods over at a worried looking Aitana, after hearing your raised voices.

“Hola bebita” She kisses your cheek and links her arm in yours.

“Ground rules, no pulling stunts like last night again” Ona says sternly to the both of you.

“What the sneaking off or the fact we were going to..well you know” You say embarrassed.

“Both” She smirks.

“Well unfortunately we regularly break one of those rules” Aitana winks at you, watching Ona work out which she meant.

“BONMATI NO” Ona yells after the shorter girl who has run off. Alexia comes over giggling at the sight of the two running around.

“What caused that?” Alexia chuckles.

“Oh Aita told Ona that we have sex regularly” You laugh, Alexia going wide eyed.

“Wait, you’ve had sex? Y/N ABSOLUTELY NOT!” She says now chasing after you. “You’re too young!”.

“ALE WE ARE BOTH 25 WHAT DO YOU MEAAAAAN” You yell laughing, trying to avoid the captain. Mapi stops you in your path.

“What is going on?” Frido asks from the side of Mapi.

“Y/N and Aitana are girlfriends AND they’ve had sex” Alexia says shocked with you rolling your eyes, Frido gasps.

“You’re too young for that!” Frido smacks your shoulder.

“We are both 25!” You frown laughing at the girl.

“You know what she means, we are all protective of our two babies, and now they’re….” Alexia shudders.

“Oh come on” You groan, Ona bringing Aitana over by her collar and many protests from Aitana.

“Come here often, chica?” You wink and flirt with Aitana who laughs.

“Actually quite a lot today it seems” She jokes.

“I think we’ve broken them all” You say looking around at your friends who are still confused by the relationship.

“Si, but not me. I had a feeling you two were up to something these last few weeks” Mapi grins.

“Wait what?” Ingrid says confused.

“Oh come on, no one noticed that at the last few parties they’d somehow manage to sneak off? Always together for everything? They have sleepovers?” Mapi says, shocked that no one else caught on. Everyone seems to hum in agreement and realisation. You grin at the group of girls around you whilst holding Aitana’s hand.

“What do you think they do at those sleepovers!” Ingrid says, groaning.

“WE ARE ADULTS WHO HAVE NEEDS” Aitana raises her voice.

“Exactly, and lucky for Aita I’m very good at fulfilling her needs” You tease, watching the older women of the group glare at you and Aitana grin.

“Right that’s enough” Alexia launches in your direction, grabbing the scruff of your shirt.

“Alexia please no!” You whine.

“10 laps, both of you” She says as you both groan. “And after training, you’re coming over to my apartment so we can go over some ground rules, and I want to get to know Y/N more as she is dating my Aitana” Alexia says.

After getting through the gruelling 10 laps underneath the Barcelona sun, you did keep your word and went over to Alexia’s apartment that same evening, to your surprise, it was a pleasant evening in which you gained her trust, and her blessing with ‘her Aitana’.

#aitana bonmati #aitana bonmati imagine #aitana bonmati x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso x reader

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ckret2 · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 84 of human Bill Cipher getting a day pass out of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: so it turns out Bill and Pacifica have a lot in common! And it's not weird at all! It's—it's very normal. Their childhoods were so normal.

(Since this entire chapter is from the point of view of a character who doesn't know the person she's talking to is Bill, a PSA for those of y'all who missed it. Thanks.)

####

"Okay, that's as much as I can do to help your hair without deep conditioning it," Pacifica said. "Now let's talk about styling it."

They were back in Pacifica's office, with Goldie seated in his folding chair and Mabel sitting in Pacifica's desk chair (slowly spinning it back and forth) as Pacifica lectured them. Pacifica had given Goldie a spare t-shirt to dry his hair with (you could never have too much spare clothing on hand when you were dealing with farm animals), but he'd just loosely wrapped it around his hair and promptly ignored it.

Pacifica said, "You've got this issue where the weight of your curls pulls the top of your hair down and makes it flatten out near your scalp—but your hair's all the same length, so it really flares out near your shoulders. It's called triangle hair and it is not a cute look."

Goldie and Mabel bit their lips and exchanged a look, and Pacifica got the distinct impression that she'd accidentally reminded them about some inside joke she wasn't part of.

Trying to ignore the feeling that she was being left out of something, Pacifica cleared her throat and went on. "So, uh—you can fix it with like, layering your haircut and stuff? But. I don't actually... know how to do that." All her knowledge of curly hair and its care—much less fashionable haircuts—came from fashion and beauty magazines, which covered things like shampoo and flattering styles but assumed you'd leave the actual hair-cutting to the professionals. "So. I can get your curls presentable, and I guess we can figure out a way to pin it that looks nice? But that's the best I can do without an emergency salon trip."

"You sure we can't leave the triangle hair?" Goldie asked innocently. "I think it's cute. It really feels like me." Mabel clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted.

Pacifica raised her brows. "Do you want to feel like you, or do you want to get the guy?"

"Right, of course," Goldie said. "I almost forgot what's really important!"

Pacifica passed Goldie her phone. "Here—I wasn't sure what kind of look you were going for so I saved a few pictures of curly hair styles, let me know if you like any of these." She searched through the collection of makeup on her desk for the bobby pins and hair ties she'd picked up earlier. "The trend this year is for slicked-back styles, braids, and buns—but your curls are so pretty, I'd hate to hide them."

Mabel leaned halfway across the desk to try to see the pictures too; Goldie's held out the phone to meet her halfway as as he scrolled—and scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled. He said, "Good job narrowing down the list to a modest two hundred pictures."

Pacifica said, "Excuse me for wanting you to have options."

Mabel pointed. "Awww, look at that one with all the little butterfly hair clips!"

"It's like butterflies are eating her brain."

"And they look adorable doing it."

"Too juvenile for me. It looks like something Prisma the fairy would wear," Goldie said. "You should wear it."

Mabel's eyes lit up. "You've got to help me make fifty butterfly hair clips."

"You got it." He closed out of Pacifica's pictures, opened up the browser, and awkwardly typed in a search. "Hey, Alpaca, look at this one."

That was the second time he'd called her that. "Do you actually know my name?"

"Rapunzel." He held up a picture of some seventies movie star with thick, feathery hair that fluffed out around her face like the wings of a panicked swan trying to take off. "Think you can pull this one off?"

Pacifica grimaced. "You'd look like my mom." Except even worse and more old fashioned. (She kept that part to herself.)

Flatly, he said, "Oh no, how will I ever convince a male that I'm a prize worth winning if I literally look like a trophy wife."

That would be just about the only part of Goldie that looked like a trophy wife. (She kept that part to herself too.) "And we'd have to give you bangs."

As she suspected, Goldie grimaced and flipped to another image. At least he knew bang weren't for him. "How 'bout this one?"

It looked like a solid helmet of hair, with the ends uniformly curled outward like the embarrassing forced-whimsical hairstyle of the minions of an insane chocolatier. "Ew. That's about the only thing that could make you look even worse than you already do."

"Pacifica," Mabel said sharply. "Be nice!"

"Sorry!" She'd kept so many parts to herself that she didn't have any spare room to keep that part. "I can't do it, anyway. It would need a flat iron and a curling iron, and I don't have either."

"Can't we get some?" Goldie asked. "Any drug store should have 'em, it's a fifteen minute walk to—"

"I don't use them," Pacifica said sharply.

Goldie's stare was like a heat lamp—or maybe that was just self-consciousness heating up Pacifica's face as he scrutinized her. But after several long seconds, Goldie's gaze turned off her face. She quietly sighed in relief.

"Okay," he said. "Then this one." He showed her another picture. It had curly shoulder-length bangs, which wasn't really in style but fine, but behind them was a bouffant shaped like a deflating basketball with a wilting palm tree sprouting out of it.

Pacifica cringed. It was, unfortunately, doable. A note of pleading in her voice, she asked, "Are you really into this look? Really?"

("I think it's pretty," Mabel muttered.)

"Oh, no way!" Goldie said. "Look at that mess! That's way too much effort for a 'do that looks like she did it drunk in the dark in under two minutes."

(Mabel looked at Goldie like he'd personally betrayed her.)

"But," he went on, "it's what our guy is into, and that's what matters here. Right?"

Pacifica studied the picture dubiously. "You're sure?"

"He went through puberty in the 70s! When his libido opened its eyes for the first time, this is what it imprinted on."

Pacifica bit her lip. Well. At least Goldie didn't think it looked good, but. "Can I at least improve it a little?"

"Oh, please!"

She picked up the comb again and grabbed a couple of bobby pins. "No promises, but I'll do what I can."

Pacifica talked a big game, but in truth, she knew a lot more about the theory of hairstyles than she did about actually styling hair. You don't have to film a blockbuster to be a film critic. So at that point, all she could do was experiment with Goldie's hair as she attempted to approximate the picture he'd shown her. She circled around him as she worked—putting in pins, taking them out, occasionally asking him his opinion.

But although Goldie had previously been a non-stop chatterer, the moment she'd started working on his hair, he'd fallen silent.

He only glanced in the hand mirror she'd given him when she prompted him, and then only to give one-word answers—usually "fine." His shoulders were as tense and his mouth as tight as Pacifica's had been the first time she had to wash alpaca poop off the bottom of a boot. And Pacifica had nearly vommed, so, that was pretty serious.

Why? It couldn't be pain. Pacifica had gotten all the knots out of his hair earlier—and even when she wasn't using the comb, it was like she couldn't even move a lock of his hair without him wincing. She kept wanting to apologize even though she was just doing what he wanted her to.

There was something going on here. It wasn't just how uncomfortable he was with being touched. There was also the way he did an awful job of washing his hair even though he knew how to perfectly well. And how he'd rather let Mabel brush his hair into a frizzy mess than comb it out himself. And beyond all that, the first thing Pacifica had ever learned about him was that he'd gotten his hair melted off and needed emergency help to grow it back. "You... really don't like your hair, do you?"

"I like it fine. It's gorgeous." He was speaking through gritted teeth, and he had his legs crossed with his feet under his thighs, palms up in lap, eyes fixed on the blanket Mabel had made, as though having a staring contest with the triangle creep would help him endure the torture without flinching. "I just—don't like messing with it."

"Which is fine," Mabel cut in. "Because I like brushing it!" She quickly amended herself: "Combing it. We've got like a symbiotic relationship going on."

"Yeah! Star girl's my personal stylist! She does my hair and makeup. I wouldn't deprive her of that honor!"

Pacifica nodded slowly. Right—all that, and he was defensive about not taking care of it.

Not embarrassed because he didn't take care of it, it dawned on her; embarrassed because he couldn't take care of it. She had a sense for those sorts of things—a middle school queen bee had to develop that sense—because that was what you targeted if you really wanted to humiliate someone: something that they couldn't help. That was it, wasn't it? He'd said he was apathetic about his body; he didn't care that his hair was messy. Because if he did care that it was messy, he would have done something about it. Unless he couldn't. Like, a mental block.

As she tried for the eighth time to gather the bulk of his hair into an updo that looked sorta fun and casual without looking stupid, she turned over everything she knew about him—about his hair, his apathy, his shame... the things he'd said to her the moment they met, before they even got started.

It wasn't a logical deduction so much as it was an instinct, and just looking at Goldie it seemed impossible; but still she said, hesitantly, "Your mom made you do pageants as a kid, didn't she?"

Mabel sat up a little straighter, confused; but Goldie turned around to stare at her, dumbfounded. "How— What—makes you think that?"

Oh please. He wasn't fooling anyone, it was all over his face. "You're so weird about your hair. It's obviously trauma from your mom."

Beneath his sunburn, Goldie's burned cheeks somehow managed to flush even darker. He gaped at her, wide-eyed and terrified, like she was a psychic who had just told him how his own parents had died. He croaked, "What?"

Pacifica burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh, you should see your face! Listen, you're clearly familiar with pageant life. And I saw so many curly girls getting their hair mauled by their moms half an hour before going on stage. I don't blame you for being weird about touching it! I had it easy—" she flipped her naturally straight hair, "—but even at that, I can't stand using a flat iron to this day."

Goldie relaxed, apparently reassured that Pacifica hadn't read his mind. He settled back in his seat. "Oh, I dunno, I find the smell of burning hair comforting! It reminds me of home!"

"Ha! Okay, yeah, you do get used to it after a while." She started attempt number nine to gather up his curls. "I wouldn't have guessed when you came in. You don't look like a... I mean... you know. No offense."

"Well, duh, you can't tell now." He gestured at himself, "I lost my good looks. What I wouldn't give to have my old body back..." He sighed wistfully.

Pacifica held back a snort. Oh yeah. More than anything else he'd said so far, that convinced her he really was a former pageant kid. In her experience, every single pageant mom trying to relive her own beauty queen glory days through her daughter said things exactly like that.

Mabel said, "Aww..." She stretched a hand out toward Goldie, couldn't reach him across Pacifica's enormous desk, and with a grunt heaved herself up to lay across the top—knocking over a couple of the cosmetic supplies Pacifica had set up in the process—so she could pat his shoulder. "There, there."

"Thanks."

She slid back into her seat. "Did you really do pageants? You didn't tell me that." A note of betrayal crept into her voice.

"I didn't tell her either—" he jabbed a thumb at Pacifica, "—but here we are!" (Pacifica shrugged unapologetically.) "I've got a lotta backstory you're still catching up on."

"Well, yeah, but—you said you just did..." She grasped for the right words, and settled on, "build-y stuff with pageants."

"I didn't say that," he said breezily. Mabel scowled at him; but shot a look at Pacifica, and just sat back without saying anything, arms crossed, her feet audibly kicking at the inside of the desk.

He didn't seem as stressed about his hair while he was talking, Pacifica noticed. (Maybe that was why hairdressers were so chatty? Or maybe just because it was kind of weird to stick your hands in someone's hair for an hour in total silence.) She asked, "Which pageant systems did you compete in?"

"None you'd have heard about," Goldie said. "They weren't on this continent and it was like a trillion years ago." Before Pacifica could pry about which continent, he added, "Hey, fun fact! Didja know that the first beauty contest in Oregon was established here in Gravity Falls?"

"Pff, duh, of course I know that," Pacifica said. "It was established by the town founder, my great-great grandpa."

"Close, but no," he said gleefully. "It was established by the real town founder."

Pacifica grimaced. "Him? The crazy undead guy without pants? Ugh, no wonder we're the only pageant with a mandatory bird calls category."

"The first three competitions were actually won by birds! They only added a fashion category to balance out the birds' unfair advantage at birdsong. Quentin resigned from the judges' panel in protest."

"He should've taken the dumb birdsong requirement with him," Pacifica muttered. "They make the kids pageant do it too. I had to get a private tutor to learn how to whistle."

"That sounds fun, though," Mabel said. "I can do bird song! Grunkle Ford taught me some. Listen to this!" She let out an admittedly impressive moo.

"Not a bad cowl call," Goldie said. "You woulda killed it at the accompanying bird costume requirement."

Mabel gasped. "I can make feather wings. Hey, do you think I could compete?"

"Not unless you move to Oregon."

"Aww."

"We can still make wings, though," Goldie said.

Pacifica had never had to deal with the dumb bird costume requirement, thank goodness. That only started in the teen brackets. Which made her wonder—"How old were you when you quit? Pretty young, right? Like, no offense, but if you need teenagers to do your makeup..." If Goldie was living as a guy now, it'd make sense if he didn't wear makeup day-to-day; but if he'd stuck with pageants past like age ten, he would have at least learned how to do his own makeup.

"Ha! You're right. I started when I was young enough that my mom could dust glitter on my butt without getting weird looks! I quit around... equivalent to third or fourth grade in the States? She wanted me to keep going—so I said, 'You want me to perform? Fine then—I'll put on the best performance you've ever seen.' And that's exactly what I did!" Thoughtfully, he added, "But for some reason I didn't win the talent portion. I guess the judges weren't impressed that I could play the piano and set it on fire at the same time."

Pacifica cracked up. "Okay wow—I retired during the talent portion too, but how you did it is way more exciting. The year I was aging out of the 9-11 bracket, I kinda had a meltdown on stage over losing to some girl with a hula hoop? Yeah, I did not win supreme that year."

"You shoulda won talent just for that scream! You hit some impressively high notes." At Pacifica's odd look, Goldie said, "Saw it online."

Figured. That was probably coming back to haunt her in ten years. "It's weird. There's like... two ways pageant girls go—er, girls or guys or... whatever."

"Whatever," Goldie agreed.

"Yeah. Either they make it part of their identity? And keep up the makeup and fashion and everything, sometimes stick with pageants as teens or start modeling professionally? Which is what I did. Or they totally burn out, don't want anythingto do with the beauty industry, and just, like, wear sweats forever."

With a faint air of wounded pride, Goldie said, "It's the bedsheet sarong, isn't it."

"No offense! I'm just saying."

"I'll have you know it's laundry day and Jesús stole my clean clothes instead of my dirty laundry." (Pacifica decided to forgive him for the weird fish smell.) "You're looking at me at a low point, kid. I was actually a pretty snappy dresser up until... lllast summer."

Hearing Goldie call her kid gave Pacifica a little jolt of surprise. For a moment, she'd forgotten she was talking to somebody with an age; she'd started to feel like she was being visited by the immortal Spirit of Washed-Up Former Pageant Children. As if he'd died and stopped aging the same time he retired. "What happened last summer?"

Goldie looked at Mabel. "Yeah, what did happen last summer?"

"Um." Mabel froze. "He... lost it all in a... um... overseas parrot circus venture! Yeah—all the trained parrots escaped before the opening night of the circus and he lost all his money."

Goldie let out a shrill cackle. "I like that, I'm keeping that."

Okay, got it, it wasn't any of Pacifica's business. "I think... this is the best I can do with your hair." She stepped back. "Unless you want to pick a style that doesn't suck."

He gave himself a cursory glance in the hand mirror, immediately lowered it, and said, "Sucky style's fine!"

"Don't say that, you look so beautiful," Mabel said. "You look like a babysitter!"

"Well, it doesn't get much better than that." He dropped the mirror on the desk. "What's next?"

####

Next—finally—was the part they'd actually come here for: the makeup.

"Okay, I tried to get around the eyepatch while I was doing your hair, but you've got to take it off for this part," Pacifica said.

He groaned, but muttered, "Fine, I've put up with this tyranny so far," removed it, and looked at her with his previously-covered eye squinted against the light—which was the point at which Pacifica realized that he had eyepatch tan lines... around his other eye. How???

There was no fixing that before tomorrow. She bit her lips, shut her eyes, pressed her hands together, and took in a deep breath. Okay. She could handle this.

"Why do you even wear this?" She tossed the eyepatch to Mabel—it was one of those cheap costume pirate-y looking patches. "Is this one of the Mystery Shack's gimmicky touristy things? Both your eyes work! And wearing an eyepatch when you obviously don't need it is just tacky."

"I've got a neurological condition! Seeing through two eyes messes up my depth perception," Goldie said. "I get migraines if I don't keep one covered! Which is admittedly the most fun thing you can do to your brain without involving narcotics, but it makes it hard to keep down lunch!"

"Oh," Pacifica mumbled. Maybe she should just get to work before she shoved her foot any deeper in her mouth.

She started by slapping aloe vera on as much sunburned skin as she could reach, handed over the jar with strict instructions to apply more in the morning, and gave him an emphatic lecture on sunburns and sunscreen and skin damage that petered out when he cheerfully started telling her about skin cancer statistics. She changed the topic when he started listing his favorite kinds of skin cancer.

She stripped off the nail polish that Goldie had apparently gotten during one of Mabel's sleepovers, and repainted it with, at Pacifica's insistence, something more "mature." (She vetoed Mabel's suggestion to paint little hearts. She vetoed Goldie's request for gold. She gave him the choice between white French tips, pale pink, or solid red. He chose red.)

She hadn't anticipated that her customer would be in such dire straits that she'd need to shave him, so she didn't have any supplies for that; but she also ordered him to get his legs as smooth as the surface of a balloon as soon as he got home—"And do you think there's any chance this guy you're after will see your pits?" "He already has!" "Hm. Okay. Yeah, uh, get those anyway."—and informed him that she would report him to the police for vandalism if he "shaved" using whatever depilatory cream he'd previously used on his hair.

As she finished plucking his brows, she said, "Okay, I think you're finally in decent enough condition for actual makeup." She stepped back, took in his face, and said, "Barely." She grimaced. "I wish I'd bought a concealer with better coverage. I didn't know the situation was so bad."

To his credit, Goldie had taken her criticism (and occasional looks of horror) like a champ. He simply drawled, amused, "The body rituals of the Nacirema are as elaborate as they are bizarre."

She picked up a couple of the foundations she'd bought and held them up next to the eye that had been protected by the eyepatch tan line, trying to determine which one was a closer match for whatever his skin tone was when he wasn't burned. "Who're the Nacirema? One of the tribes that used to live around here?"

"They're still in the area. Look 'em up."

Pacifica thought the darker foundation was closer; she tested it on his inner arm to be sure. "So, how much makeup do you already know how to apply? Any?"

"I can do mascara, eyeliner, and mascara."

"Riiight. Okay, both of you pay attention to what I'm doing." She evicted Mabel from her desk chair and dragged it around in front of Goldie's folding chair. "Because I will not be coming over to do this tomorrow, so the two of you will have to repeat this yourself. Here." She handed Goldie a mirror so he could watch her work.

Mabel hopped up to sit on the desk next to Goldie. "You have one hundred percent of my attention!" She immediately looked away from Pacifica at the makeup brushes laid out on the desk, picked up a fan brush curiously, and started dragging it up and down her arm. "Ooh. Tickly."

"Emphasize my eyes," Goldie said. "They're my best feature. You can forget about everything else, but my eyes have to look good."

Pacifica looked at his eyes. Pacifica really looked at his eyes.

There was something wrong with his eyes.

She decided to stop looking at his eyes. "Okaaay, great great great, you've got suuuper long lashes, that's fantastic. We can totally draw attention there. You don't even need fake lashes. And you've got nice big prominent eyes. Kinda bulgy, but that should be easy to hide with eyeshadow. I'm thinking maybe a smokey eye?"

"What about metallics? Like gold?" Goldie asked innocently. "Kind of a retro 'secret agent villainess' look, don't you think! It'd bring out the yellow in my eyes!"

Pacifica said, "You do not want to bring out your jaundice."

"Don't tell me what I want."

"No gold eyeshadow," Pacifica said. "Period. If you want to experiment with color, we can try a smoky eye in burgundy. Burgundy is hot this year."

Goldie muttered something about welcoming a bottle of burgundy right now, then said, "Fine! Burgundy."

(As Pacifica looked through her makeup palettes for the burgundy, Bill leaned over to Mabel and whispered, "Do we have any leftover gold eyeshadow?" Mabel nodded and winked. Bill winked back.)

"What about the rest of your face?"

"Skip it."

"I'm not letting you go bare-faced aside from your eyes," Pacifica said. "But we can do a natural makeup look."

"That's so boring," Mabel said. She was dragging the fan brush over her lips now. "If it looks natural why's he wearing any makeup at all?"

Goldie said, "Because humans are insane about the most uninteresting things."

As Pacifica worked her way through the foundation, concealer—she decided his sunburned skin had enough of a sun-kissed glow that she could skip bronzer—and contouring, she said, "You are... really good at holding still when you try." He'd gone completely still, like a statue. A statue that was making direct eye contact with her soul. She felt a bead of sweat slide down her neck. She wasn't sure he was breathing.

"He's super good," Mabel agreed. "It's kinda creepy."

"Thanks!" And just like that, he was smiling and alive again. "I do a lot of meditating! Gimme a focal point to watch and I can go like two billion years!"

"You didn't learn from...?"

"Pageants? Ha! No way, I was the wiggliest little demon you've ever seen. It drove my mom nuts when she was trying to do my lashes. She used to say 'If you love me, hold still' to keep me in place—but you know how contrary kids are when they're mad! Eventually I got fed up and said, 'Well then, maybe I don't love you!' And she didn't speak to me for three days." Goldie laughed. "Ahh, I had the most dramatic mom."

"Wow, my mom would kill me if I ever tried something like that—especially if it was in public where people could see us," Pacifica said. "She hired makeup artists so I'd struggle against them instead of her. Your mom did your makeup? Did she ever hire anyone?"

"Nooo way. We ran our operation on a razor-thin budget to maximize the profits from my winnings. The name of the game was efficiency!"

"My mom's sure wasn't," Pacifica said. "(Shut your right eye, I've got to get your eyeshadow.) We went through like, fifty makeup artists or something. Sometimes more than one while prepping for the same pageant." She lowered her voice a tad, "A couple times when the makeup artist was a creep, I messed up my own makeup just so Mom would fire them."

"Ha! Suckers. Yeah, that's probably how it woulda gone if my mom had handed me off to a makeup artist. I was not afraid to sic her on adults! We didn't have any hired help when I was that age, but the principal was terrified of her. And if another kid at a competition was getting on my nerves, I'd go crying to her that they pushed me and oh, man, she'd come down on their parents like the asteroid on Chicxulub."

"Me too! There was this girl in third grade who was so... I don't know, just—" she pulled a face, "eugh, you know? I complained to mom about her and got her family blacklisted by the whole town. They had to move out of the state just to get a job."

Goldie laughed loudly. "Now that is impressive!"

Pacifica's gut shifted uncomfortably. Was it? "Other eye now." She didn't speak for a moment as she tried to get both eyes matching. "Actually... it was... kinda scary?"

She'd asked her mom if she could puh-lease get this girl out of Pacifica's class. She'd just expected the girl to be switched to another teacher.

Instead, over the next few weeks, she heard about the girl's mother losing her job, then her father. Her older brother got kicked out of the local Future Lumberjacks of America chapter. One day the girl came to school in tears after being cut from the softball team. A couple months later, the girl's friends—the two that hadn't drifted away from her as her family became pariahs—threw her a tearful goodbye party during lunch with a mall-bought cookie cake; and the next day, she was gone forever.

After that first time Pacifica had complained about her classmate, her mom had never once mentioned the girl or her family. She never asked if Pacifica had any more trouble with her. Not even when they left town. It was as though, after her mom ground them under her heel, they were beneath her notice. Just four crushed ants.

But Goldie was staring at her, frowning in confusion, like she didn't make any sense. "What—scary for the other kid?" he asked. "Sure. It's supposed to be, isn't it?"

Pacifica didn't reply for a second. I'm afraid of how good she was at doing exactly what I asked her to do without realizing I was asking for it—that sounded stupid. Finally, she said, "Don't wrinkle your face like that, I haven't set your foundation yet. It'll make it cake up."

"Your moms sound insane," Mabel said. While they'd been swapping stories about their childhoods, she'd been staring at them, chin in one hand, chewing on the fan brush's bristles. "Were you guys tortured growing up?"

"Pfff, what? No, of course not!" Pacifica said. "My parents would never. You've only seen my mom's worst side, she's not really that bad. I mean—not to me. She's horrible to poor people, but that's different."

Goldie said, "Yeah, my mom was my biggest defender! If anyone tried to hold me back, she'd rip them a new one."

"But—forcing you to do pageants until you have a breakdown?" Mabel said, glancing between Goldie and Pacifica, mouth twisting up like the words tasted sour. "Guilting you into wearing makeup and attacking other parents and stuff? That's nuts."

"It's not like that," Pacifica said automatically, then tried to figure out what it was like.

"Now we're calling a kid's temper tantrum a breakdown? You've got a future career in propaganda, star girl," Goldie said wryly. "It's a mom's job to bring out a kid's potential, right? Sure, it drove me nuts at the time—but kids don't want their potential brought out, kids are lazy!" He shrugged, "Yeah, my parents weren't perfect—they didn't really 'get' me, they held me back from reaching my full potential because they couldn't see what it was—but I'd never have gotten on the road to unlocking my potential myself if they hadn't put me on the right path as a kid."

Pacifica nodded. "Totally! That's just normal mom stuff! My parents are exactly the same—they don't get my alpaca business at all—but there's no way I'd be running a business at thirteen if my mom hadn't pushed me to be the best I can be. Or supporting my alpacas through modeling if I hadn't learned how to present myself in the pageant system. Even mini-golf was just a hobby until my parents got me a coach and started taking me to competitions."

"And I wouldn't be the huge success I am today without those early lessons in public speaking!"

Mabel shot Goldie a meaningful look. He pointed at her. "Don't say a word. I've had a bad year, you can't judge me by that. Anyone could've lost their parrots in a freak accident."

"And some kids had it way worse," Pacifica said. "Some parents would hit their kids or scream at them for messing up their routines or getting distracted? Those girls never lasted long, you can tell if a contestant's just going through the motions because she's scared. I was never treated like that. My pageant coach taught my parents to use a 'warning bell,' when they rang it that was my warning to stop goofing off and focus on practicing or listen to them or whatever. They'd pay me in chocolate if I got back in line."

"Ha!" Goldie smacked the desk, "Oh wow, that's hilarious! Pageant coach Pavlov. My parents would have loved that when I was in the toddler competitions."

"Right?!" Pacifica laughed. "Now I'm like, wow, I used to be bribable with a piece of chocolate? Kids are sooo easy to manipulate."

"But hey, it's a good life lesson: the occasional reward and the fear of punishment is a lot more effective at keeping people in line than actual punishments."

Pacifica nodded thoughtfully. "Wow. That's so insightful."

"See?" Goldie beamed at Mabel. "Pageants teach kids all kinds of useful things! Ambition, poise, charisma, self-confidence, social skills..."

She grimaced. "Yeah, but... all the restrictions and pressure and trauma and stuff? That really sounds bad."

"I think you're just bitter that you can't enter the birdsong contest."

She kicked his arm. "I'm serious!"

He pushed back her shoe and waved her off dismissively. "It only sounds bad to you because you were never in the pageant world! It's got its own rituals and expectations, of course it looks weird to outsiders."

"And everyone judges pageants so much more harshly than other competitive sports—which is what pageants basically are," Pacifica said. "Like, pageants and competitive mini-golf took just as much practice, just as much coaching, just as much time and money—but in real life, knowing how to make myself look presentable and talk to adults has helped me way more often than knowing how to knock a ball into a hole. Mini-golf only saved my life once."

"Charisma will get you everywhere," Goldie agreed. "It's the most effective form of mind-control you can do without psychically rewiring someone's neurons."

"Basically! But getting a medal at the Sportlympics has everyone talk about how skilled and hard-working and dedicated you are, and getting a tiara in a national pageant gets people who have never even watched a pageant calling you a bimbo. Like, what?"

"Blatant double standards!" To Mabel, Goldie said, "Both your parents work in Silicon Valley. Their priority is intelligence and grades instead of looks and charisma, so that's why you and your brother get pushed in school—but it's all the same! Parents push their kids to be successful whatever way they know how."

Mabel stared into space. "Huh." She fell silent, gnawing on the fan brush's handle—pondering whether her parents worrying about her so-so grades was comparable to the pageant moms desperate for their daughters' straight hair to be straighter and curly hair to be curlier.

Smugly, Goldie went on, "If anything, the pageant circuit was more useful than school. I—"

"(Stop moving around, I've got to do your other eye.)"

Goldie obediently leaned forward and shut his other eye. "I went from pageants straight into public speaking. I had an entire career before I was out of school. Everyone loved me! I was a natural in the spotlight!"

"Really?" Pacifica said dubiously. She could buy that he might have been a competitor as a kid, but honestly, he seemed pretty creepy to her. Enough confidence could carry you pretty far, but...

He rolled his open eye. "Don't take that tone with me. It was before you were born! And like I said—I've lost my looks. I used to be..."

He trailed off, staring down at his nail polished hands like he didn't recognize them.

He muttered, "I used to be so much better than this."

Mabel reached out and rubbed his upper arm comfortingly.

Sometimes Pacifica caught her mom staring in a mirror, studying her face with an expression somewhere between nervous and depressed, gently touching her fingertips to the thin lines beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth as though she were examining gruesome wounds. Her mother had always said that looks are everything; and even though she didn't talk about her feelings directly, from the way she sometimes snapped at Pacifica to keep up her skincare—moisturizer, sunscreen, hydration, don't frown too hard—Pacifica thought maybe she wasn't worried about Pacifica's face so much as her own.

Goldie only had the faintest traces of the start of wrinkles, unnoticeable if Pacifica hadn't just spent the past few minutes plastering foundation on his face. She wondered how old he was. She wondered whether he had the same fear her mother did: that his body was letting him down, slowly dying all around him.

You don't go through the child pageant world without learning two things: everyone wants you to look and act older than you are; and the older you get, the less anyone wants you.

"I've got to do your lips," Pacifica said, picking out a couple of options: a red so bright it was nearly orange (totally in this year), a nice glossy nude that ought to be a close match to Goldie's natural lip color. "Did you want to stick with the natural look, or...?"

He glanced up from his hands at the offered lipsticks. "What the heck," he sighed. "Let's make it red."

Pacifica nodded. "Pooch your lips out for me, like this." And that was the last they spoke for a while.

####

(Here's your regular TBOB report: no actual plot was changed due to TBOB. I added in a few lines referencing it: the imagery of Priscilla grinding normal people beneath her heel is meant to be reminiscent of Pacifica's giant nightmare on TINAWDC; the "meditating" for specifically two billion years is a direct reference to the barber pole, although I'd already headcanoned that Bill can meditate/dissociate for absolutely vast quantities of time; I already had dialogue where he goes on the importance of charisma and how much everyone adored him as a kid, but I tossed in another sentence or two about charisma just because of how strongly he emphasizes it in TBOB; and originally I had dialogue where Bill went on about what big supporters his parents were, even though he privately feels like they didn't get him—all I changed was deciding to make him admit to some of those feelings out loud, since it's something he says outright in TBOB. I've imagined that he tends to swing between "they were the best/they were the worst" based on how he's feeling at the time with no neutral ground in between—whiiich lines up pretty well with what TBOB gave us.

And unrelated but I spent way too long researching makeup & hair trends in the 70s and in 2013. I had no idea orange lipstick was hot for a while. My idea of doing makeup is painting my nails once every six years.

Hope y'all enjoyed, and I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts! I've been eager to dive into this aspect of Bill's backstory and Pacifica's POV for a while.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #pacifica northwest #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(god i hate the chapters from the POV of characters who don't know they're interacting with Bill)#(calling him the wrong name the whole chapter is torture. I kept having to correct his name. ... un-correct his name?)

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