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sticky-sugar · 11 months ago

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try it. (matsukawa issei x reader)

tags/cw: roommates to lovers, somnophilia, fingering, mattsun sends porn as a coping mechanism, size kink if you really squint

word count: 3.1k

“i’ve always wanted to try that.”

issei chokes on his beer when you speak. you point at the tv in explanation, as though he needs one. the scene playing has just started out with a couple in bed, spooning while they fuck. everything’s covered, but it’s easy to tell through the blanket that the woman’s leg is lifted, her back arching against the man’s chest while she cries out lewdly.

“never been fucked in the morning?” he jokes, keeping his eyes trained on the screen so he doesn’t have to look at you. his laugh sounds awkward even to him.

“mm-mm.” you shake your head, draining your wine glass, and he can’t tell if that’s a confirmation or a rejection of his guess. but he can tell that that wine bottle on the coffee table is empty, because you would never say these things to him sober.

“not that part,” you explain. frowning when you realize there’s no wine left, you rise from the couch, disappearing from the room and padding down the hall. issei sighs in relief at the moment alone, running his fingers through his hair and tugging hard.

“she’s drunk,” he whispers to himself, a reminder. “she’s drunk, and she’s your friend. and you can’t afford rent anywhere else, you stupid fuck.” that’ll do it. he’s broke as shit, and you’re a good friend. he can steel his nerves with those facts.

“she was asleep when he started,” you call from the kitchen.

fuck.

issei drops his head back, hitting it on the wall a few times with purpose. fuck, fuck, fuck.

you come back in, and he straightens, yanking the throw blanket over his lap. you’re too drunk to notice.

you’re too drunk to notice much of anything, really — including your own running mouth.

“she was asleep,” you say again. “and he fucked her anyway—“ you rush to explain yourself, holding a hand out when his eyes find yours, wide and uncertain. “consensually, obviously.”

that doesn’t help. he’d been assuming that, but you confirming it makes it worse.

somnophilia, his mind whispers, the word latching itself to you.

“i dunno,” you shrug, your refilled wine glass brought to your lips. “i think it’s hot, i guess. i’d try it.”

he really can’t afford rent anywhere else.

—

you’re scouring roommate ads in a hungover daze the next morning.

what is your problem?, you think, rolling over to groan into your pillow. you open your bank app, staring at the number in your checking account and wondering uselessly if it’s enough to afford a place on your own. one where you’ll never have to look mattsun in the face again.

why did you tell him that?

your brain flashes through two bottles of wine and drunk admissions, and you switch over to uber eats, deciding that cooking is simply not an option today. standing in that kitchen for more then four seconds and risking running into him is not an option.

you know why you told him that. you know exactly why you told him.

you told him because, despite every coping mechanism you’ve tried over the years of living with him, matsukawa issei persists in being the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you told him because you wanted to test the waters. why you would ever test the waters with somnophilia, of all things, and not something standard and vanilla like ‘making out with a friend just happens sometimes’ or ‘drunk hookups aren’t so bad’, you will never know.

but you’d told him because you think about it. you think about him, doing things like that. things that aren’t standard or vanilla or easily explained or plausibly deniable.

you think about matsukawa issei fucking you while you sleep. and maybe it’s happened one too many times. maybe now it’s all you think about, enough that it comes up in your stupid, drunk admissions.

maybe — just maybe — you hope he might take you up on it, now that it’s out there in the open like that.

but that’s just a maybe. so you’re looking for another apartment, on the very real chance that he’s going to call you a freak and never speak to you again.

your phone buzzes in your hand.

it’s a text from him.

[10:17 AM]

mattsun: [link attached]

your face crumples into a frown. “what?” you murmur, jabbing a thumb on the link and hoping it’s not a virus.

your phone starts moaning at max volume.

you scream, slamming down on the side button to lower the volume as the video intro plays through. your eyes fly to the title.

milf fucked by son’s friend while she’s sleeping

there’s no fucking way he just did that.

[10:19 AM]

mattsun: smth like that?

“matsukawa!” you scream, rolling out of bed and storming out into the hall. he’s laughing loudly from his room, and you all but kick his door down. “what the fuck is your problem?!”

he’s in bed, cackling gleefully and covering his face with his blanket — but his eyes are anything but shy when he looks at you.

“just trying to ease the tension-“

“by sending me porn?!”

he shrugs and gestures to his phone. “im just saying, you’re not alone! at least—“ he glances down at the screen “—3.8 million other people are into it, too-“

you scream in frustration, turning and stomping back to your room. his laughter follows, echoing through your door even when you slam it.

he does it for two weeks straight. every few days, you wake up to a new link, each video titled something more obnoxious than the last.

guy takes step-sister while she takes a nap

mom wakes step-son up with a special surprise on his birthday

repairman finds sleeping beauty home alone

each one draws an irritated screech of his name and the echoing giggles of satisfaction from his room.

you could stop it. in fact, he’s asked you more than once if you want him to.

‘if you really want me to stop, i’ll stop, he’d said in your kitchen last week.

‘just say the word,’ he’d reminded you on his way out one morning.

‘i think you and i both know how important consent is,’ he’d murmured just two nights ago, leaning on your doorframe, his eyes hot on yours.

you’d shivered under his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in something on your phone. you’d hoped he couldn’t see the way you’d pressed your thighs together, but when you looked up, he was already staring down at them.

he’d met your eyes again and just hummed, flicking his dark eyebrows up at you before turning away. your phone had buzzed with a new link only seconds after his bedroom door had clicked shut.

you’re certain he knows why you haven’t told him to stop. that the truth is that you don’t want him to stop. you’re certain he’s testing the waters now, too.

because each video he sends you gets closer and closer to being about roommates.

your phone buzzes in your hands. you wonder if he knows that you watch each one, waiting for him to pull the trigger on the one that sits unspoken in the space between you.

he does, a week later.

—

you’ve caught him, issei realizes belatedly.

maybe he should have noticed after you started sitting closer to him on the couch. or maybe after you’d refused to tell him to stop sending you porn. or maybe even after he’d sent you something titled ‘roommate can’t help himself while she sleeps’ at 4 in the morning and you hadn’t called the cops on him.

maybe he should have realized you’d caught him after any one of those. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t realize it, not until this very moment, as you’re standing from the couch and bending over to clean the table of empty beer bottles before bed.

he doesn’t realize it until he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear.

he glances at you shamefully when you bend at the waist, hoping you don’t look back and catch him. and then he coughs violently, choking on his own spit and drawing your attention.

he waves you off, blushing furiously and not even bothering to stop his eyes from flying to your ass when you just shrug and bend over again. your pajama shorts have ridden up, but there’s no lacy edge on pink panties where there should be.

yes, he’d noticed years ago that these shorts tend to ride up and not mentioned it. yes, he knows what kind of panties you wear. yes, he has a favorite pair.

what are you gonna do if you find out, call him a pervert? he’d sent you roommate somnophilia porn and you’d made him coffee in the morning.

“‘kay, goodnight,” you mumble, and issei wonders if you’re shy about it or if he’s just hoping you are.

“g’night,” he breathes, eyes finding yours. you keep eye contact all the way out of the living room. your eyes drop to his lap at the last second, and he watches a grin stretch across your face just before you disappear from the room.

he looks down at his lap, and then he swears under his breath. he’s visibly hard in his sweatpants.

—

he feels like a pervert. he really feels like a pervert.

he stands in the hall outside your bedroom, one hand on the knob, feeling like a pervert. it’s 2 in the morning, and he feels like a pervert.

he sighs to himself and turns the knob slowly — ever so slowly, because he knows how it creaks, and he doesn’t want to wake you. he pushes the door open carefully, and then he finds you in the dark, moonlight spilling over your body.

you’re completely naked.

you’re on your stomach, blankets draped over your lower half and one knee bent out toward the wall. issei can see the expanse of your bare skin and the swell of your breast, but you’ve got your back slightly to him, so he can’t see everything.

but it’s enough.

he breathes hard, stepping into the room and shutting the door silently behind him. he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard and giving a soft sigh as he pads over to you.

when he lowers his knees to your mattress, it’s with his heart in his throat and his cock straining against his pants. you look so innocent, so sweet like this, even while he’s sliding the blankets off of your skin and exposing you in the moonlight.

is he really allowed to want this as badly as he does?

your breath is steady, only changing slightly when he braces himself behind you, propped up on one elbow. he scoots toward you, breath caught in his throat, and then slides his hand under the back of your knee. you shiver, probably because his fingers are ice cold, and he keeps his eyes locked on the side of your face.

when you don’t give any other sign of waking, he lifts your leg and hooks it backward over his knee, opening your body up for him.

he swears under his breath, staring down at you in the moonlight.

you shift, adjusting to the new angle of your body with a sigh. your back presses to his chest, and issei has to press his lips together so he doesn’t moan at the sight of you.

he keeps his eyes on your face when he slides his fingers along your inner thigh, watching you intensely as his icy fingertips dance close to the spot between your thighs that’s radiating heat.

when he cups your bare cunt, your skin breaks out in goosebumps, but you don’t move otherwise. issei moans now, because your body knows what he’s doing, but you don’t.

he’d had a feeling before — in the weeks between that moment on the couch and this moment right here — that he’d unlocked a new, previously untouched fantasy. that his reaction to your drunken admission might have been about more than just being attracted to you.

he sees it now. now, as he’s sliding two fingers between your folds and watching as you remain completely unaware, he realizes that you’ve done something to him. that you’ve made him want to do this to you, tonight and every night after.

it takes every ounce of his self-control not to shudder and moan in your ear when your pussy twitches under his fingers, reacting to him even when you don’t.

he drops his head to your chest, eyes locked on your face as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. your lips part, and he freezes, but the sigh that falls out is nowhere near conscious, so he keeps going, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the bud while he massages your cunt with his now-warm fingers.

the first sign that you’re reacting is the growing ease with which he’s able to push his fingers against you. your entrance becomes slick, and he can’t help that he pushes his hips against your ass in response, seeking relief. he drops his touch lower and swipes the pads of his fingers through the mess there, spreading it all over your cunt.

when he circles your clit, slippery and warm now, your breathing changes, harder and rougher. the rise and fall of your chest pushes at his mouth, and he latches on with fresh fervor, watching your brows furrow and your lips twitch at the onslaught of sensations.

it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for him to push his middle finger past your entrance.

“fuck”, he whispers despite himself, mouth slipping off of you with a gentle pop and eyes rolling back in his head. your walls pulse around his finger, warm and velvety and wet beyond belief. his cock twitches hard in his pants as he slides his finger in and out of you, searching for that spongy spot that’ll wake you up.

he knows you might have wanted him to fuck you like this, but he can’t help himself anymore. he doesn’t have it in him to be careful anymore.

when his ring finger joins his middle, it’s with intent. the push is rough, bullying your cunt open with the size of his fingers, no doubt longer and fuller than you can get on your own.

you shift under him, a quiet noise of question leaving you, and he lifts his head, attaching his lips to the crook of your neck.

“y/n,” he whispers, more a moan than anything else. “need you.”

he sucks on the column of your throat while you come to, his fingers curling and spreading inside of you — his sloppy attempt to prepare you for him.

“h-huh-“ your head lifts slightly, and then you’re slamming it back against the pillow, your back arching. “oh, my god, mattsun-“

he almost comes in his pants when you say his name like that.

“couldn’t help myself,“ he starts, shaking his head and pushing his body against yours almost desperately. “you were so pretty.“ your cunt tightens around his fingers in response, and he files that away for later. keeps it in mind, the things that make you react like this. “need you so bad, y/n-“

“yes, god yes,” you breathe, a whine trapped in your throat. you turn your head, back still pressed against his chest, and drop your still-sleepy eyes to his lips.

the coil under issei’s navel tugs hard when he realizes how well he can read you.

he pushes his mouth against yours eagerly, moan unrestrained when your tongue slides against his. he wonders if you know how often he’s thought of this moment, years of wanting you and craving the feeling of you coming undone under his fingers.

“please,” you whisper against his lips, back arching when he pushes the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot that makes you whine. “more, mattsun.”

he groans, shivering when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth. “not yet — it’ll hurt,” he murmurs, leaning on every molecule of self-control.

“i can take it,” you just say, pushing your ass back against his aching cock. “promise.”

he never had that much self-control to begin with.

his moan comes out in a shuddered breath, overpowered by the sound of you whining when he slips his fingers out of you. he shoves his sweats down to his knees, meeting your eyes and seeing the urgency he feels reflected in your eyes.

when he slides his cock between your folds, it’s with a choked groan and a heaving pant in your ear.

“can i- are you sure-“ he stutters, already lining himself up at your entrance.

“please, please, please,” you babble, arching your back to make the angle easier on him.

you come around his cock before he’s even halfway in.

there are stars in his eyes by the time you’re done.

you cry out for him, shaking and clenching down hard, and he can’t do anything except bury his face in your hair and keep your leg lifted high with a trembling hand.

“fuck,” he breathes, voice tight. “fuck, y/n-“

“more, mattsun,” you sob. he thinks you might be the girl of his dreams.

pushing the rest of the way in, he shoves down his own orgasm, fighting and kicking and forcing it away so he can last more than thirty seconds inside of you.

he only manages a minute before he’s spilling into you with a stuttered moan of your name, face buried in your neck and head full of static.

you’re just slumped against him by the time he comes to his senses, breathing hard and synced with his.

“sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, ears burning with embarrassment. “i swear i usually last longer than that-“

you laugh, tired and still weak but bright all the same. “yeah — so do i.”

he snorts, pulling out slowly and letting your leg drop closed, trying his best not to moan at the feeling.

“are you sure that was okay?” he asks, a tiny inkling of doubt still seeded in his veins. you just giggle, whispering his name in fond exasperation.

“sorry, which part of me sleeping naked was a warning sign?”

“shut up,” he mutters, curling himself around you and feeling the beginnings of exhaustion start to drain his energy. “i’m staying here tonight. i don’t do one-night stands.”

you just turn in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck. “was i that good, mattsun? i was asleep for half of it.”

you’re gonna be the thing that kills him, he just knows it.

#banner by @/cafekitsune !!#matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei #matsukawa smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader

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cursedcola · 3 months ago

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Prompt: "It's a Zing not a Fling" :: The moment they realize you're the one. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw (Here) | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: No bullets this time. Excuse my wheezing. I hope that I finally leveled up - Also I'm doing these out of order baybeee. Mixing it up hohoho.

Durable. Thick yet durable leather. It's part of Leona's skin at this point. His palms hide - feeling naked and alone - without the supple caress of leather. Gloves that he's adorned for as long as he can remember.

When was it, that his father gifted him a pair of gloves? Not too long after his unique magic was revealed, he knows that much. The exact day is lost to a time before he could recall such things. Before he had a reason to think twice about touching the world with his bare hands.

Now, all Leona knows is supple leather. Letting himself go bare alone in his bedroom is a risk. One he hadn't allowed himself until the ripened age of rebellion. In a country that worships the sun. Washes in the rain. A prince that turns the lush world to sand is a poison. No matter what assurance or empty reach for his potential - that damned word, it's never enough. He is never enough - a prince like him is no prince to the people.

In a world of firsts, he would forever lack.

Could he?

Your gaze, so tender. Focused solely on him. Welcoming. Urging but without words. His senses somehow dulled and heightened all at once. Nothing's distinguishable aside from the pounding in his chest, fangs digging inside his cheek to not let it show -

Soft to the touch. Smooth like polished marble. Warm like the sun kissing his skin through the drapes, on the cusp of dozing yet urging himself to linger, walk the in-between. His callused finger pads barely graze the surface of your thigh, lingering in the air with whatever restraint holding him from pressing his naked palms.

Your skin cracks.

All he did was graze. All Leona wanted was to feel. Even if you never let him again. The way flesh splits startles him - spreading outwards faster than he can comprehend- as if his wants deserved greater punishment. He reaches for you, teeth biting through his gums at your tenderness gone. Your gaze shackled with fear as the flesh between his fingers turns to sand -

"STOP!"

A guttural roar rips through Leona's throat - rasped, taken with labored breath - it could shatter windows if his room only had them.

A lion's mourning.

Leona fisted the sheets, tangled from his nightmares, his heart hammering as his senses all but thrusted themselves from dream to reality. Everything was clear. He could smell the raging waterfalls outside, taste iron on his tongue where gums had split, hear the night bugs sing their song, feel the knotted fabric under his palms.

Your picture, still safely nestled behind his standing chessboard. The frame solid. Whole.

Leona reached past into his desk drawer, and pulled out his gloves.

"I don't know how to swim"

"....wait, you're actually serious. There no lakes where you come from or somethin'?"

Leona drifted on the outer bank of the main falls in Savanaclaw. His legs kicked lazily, keeping him right where he needed to be against sand-rock and out of the splash zone. Without the loud yammering his dormmates would put him through whenever out in the lounge - it was almost a bearable swim.

"Comin' out here this late was your bright idea, herbivore. Now you're not even going to get in?" he taunted, eyes squinting through dark at your legs just inches from the ledge. The thought pops up to pull you in but he resists, although not hiding his temptation

You notice and step back, "I didn't realize it was this deep!"

"And what'd you think it was? A kiddie pool?"

"I thought it was safe!" you huff, cheeks puffing out like a bunny's. Not helping the thoughts in his head at all, "who puts an actual waterfall in a dormitory? What if someone drowns?"

"Then they drown," Leona shrugs, yawning wide as he turns on his back with his arms spread out across the rough ledge.

He cranes his neck back, smirking upwards at your skittish stance. The moonlight did wonders on your visage, swimsuit offering him more to see than he normally gets.

"Nice view," he grunts, snickering as you stiffen and try to cover yourself. Red dusting your cheeks, trailing down to spots normally hidden from him by a poorly done bowtie.

Smooth like polished marble. Split to crumbling ash.

Leona's fingers twitch, disappearing under the cool water as he pushes off the ledge into the water. Far enough for you to have space, but not to leave.

Your attention follows him carefully, instinctively stepping closer as he pulls away. He should get out, take you back upstairs to dry off. Make you comb through his hair as compensation for whatever this is but -

"You'll be fine," he says nonchalant, but his eyes zero-in as you teeter on the edge, "it's not that deep. I'm right here. Nothing will happen to you."

"...promise?"

Leona tries not to let that trust shake him. Weakness isn't meant to be shared between someone like him and someone like you. The balance of vulnerability was already thin.

"Promise."

You jump into the pool - and Leona finds himself wading closer once your head dips deep under the water. The ledge is there for you, he reminds himself. His palms feel naked but bandaged enough by the crisp water that he can ignore it.

Your shadow ripples under still water, flailing like a newborn calf and he's just about to dive under when you come up close - too close, his mind screams - and breech the surface.

Waves cascade as you take in air, eyes opening from their tight scrunch underwater and shimmer just a push away from him.

"Cold! Coooold! Oh my god, it's so COLD!"

Leona kicks his legs to hold against the ripple as you whip towards him, pushing your wet hair back and pulling water from your face. He knows that look - the one that has your lips splitting at the edges from excitement. Laughter pulling from nerves that you're still riding the tail end of.

"I knew this was a good idea!" your sniffly laugh muffles to him, Leona's body trying to register when you went from the ledge to wrapped around him like a koala. Legs wrapped around his waist, floating on nothing under the waves. Arms thrust around his shoulders tight, chest pressed against his to here he feels how fast your little heart thrums -

His hands, the split moment instinctive, around your waist. Bare, naked palms, pressed fully against flesh smooth like porcaline.

Zing.

"You idiot!" He yells, fingers tightening as he leans back to look over your body head to toe. Anxiety dripping from him like the falls themselves.

"Don't just grab someone in the water! Why're you always so reckless?!"

Don't grab me so easily!

You did it so easy, with that flushed candor that had him questioning everything - did the thing he'd been fighting for so long.

"I thought you said I'd be fine! Don't change your tune now!" you yell back, laughing.

It's not the water you should be scared of -

"You almost made us both drown," Leona huffed, rolling his eyes. He gave your waist a tentative squeeze, needed confirmation that this wasn't something he'd wake from wrestling his sheets.

"Then we drown," you lean forward, that impish glint softening as your nose brushes against his, "right?"

As his palms - naked and bandaged under wet moonlight - work their path to pull you in closer, he feels your legs wrap tighter. The way you allow his arms to circle and support you, unafraid. "Right."

Rice. Oats. Bananas. Tomatoes. Beef -

No. Scratch that. Ruggie wasn't in the mood to barter through the main market tonight. He'd go in the morning, clutching the marks brough back from school, slip in when it's just as packed, but his mind will be clearer then. He'll stop by one of his old spots on the way, check in on the kids and make sure they weren't doing anything too bad while their parents worked their tails off.

Right now he'll take the backroads towards home - Gran was waiting for him anyways. Probably sitting on the same chair she always did on the front porch, watching the street with one eye open and the other stuck on their 'houseguest' - as if they were fit to 'host' anyone - until he came back with the week's groceries.

He didn't want to bring you back with him to the slums - but where else could you go? No one. Not a single person or beast, was supposed to ever cross his path outside of Night Raven. Not if it didn't fill his pockets.

As he crosses the threshold pass what could barely be considered a kids' playground, his mind can't fathom what would make you even the slightest interested to come to this run-down village. There were surely other offers to fill your summer break. Your little beastly buddy - or money leech - was shacking up with those first years in the Rose Kingdom. You could've gone with them, and he wouldn't have thought on it twice.

Offering you a place was more of an obligation, something to wipe his conscience clean. Not because he was your 'boyfriend' - did he really count as one? Nothing good lasts forever - but for his piece of mind.

Since bringing you to this place was like cutting a ticking timer in half. Ruggie couldn't admit it to himself, but he knew. He needed you to come here. He needed you to see what you were walking into with that blindsided ignorance that trailed off the bare scraps Crowley had given you at NRC.

'Cause if Ramshackle was considered a shack? Then his home surely looked like a dumpster on the side of a highway. This is what you were signing up for once that four-year drift at NRC was done.

You, who he sat down just that morning to ream in the dangers. Not to go out without him as a no-name in a community where everyone's either known or dead. You, who kept your coin purse - even if the damn thing was near empty - in a side bag with easy access to snatch. You, who stood shellshocked when faced with his Gran's appraisal. Introduced yourself as his without a shred of hesitation. As if he had the means to keep you.

You, who carefully set your bag down in the tiny five by five he called a bedroom and said it smelled like him. Gran passed him the shopping list shortly after, and Ruggie left you there to face her alone. His steps quick towards the market, but not in a hurry since it was only a matter of time.

When he turns down his nook of a street - just as predicted, Gran's out on her chair waiting for him to come back. He's ready for an earful. Ready to pull the return bus-ticket out of his wallet and say goodbye. "Rugs, come an' see what this one can do with the corn husks. Nearly split my ribs!" Gran calls just as his foot pivots off the gravel road. And at her side - you're aiming one of his old slingshots at him like a cheeky thug. Cornhusks rolled up tight to make mini pellets - strong enough to bruise he's sure.

"Ruggie! Your grandma's gonna teach me how to shoot!"

A shiver runs down his spine.

"Aye - kid. Gotta have someone making sure my boy stays sharp at that fancy school."

Zing?

"I'm not going to kick you out of your own bed."

"It's not kickin' if I'm offering it."

"Ruggie - the floor is cold. Literally. It's stone."

"Actually it's clay - and do you even hear yourself? Gran'll kick my ass three cities if I let ya sleep on the floor -"

The two's poorly-hidden fight was cut short by an even more stubborn shout.

"LIGHTS OUT NOW! OR IM KICKING BOTH YER ASSES!"

The house grew cold quick - Savannah nights being unforgiving. If there was one thing Gran made sure they had growing up, it was blankets and firewood since central heat wasn't in the budget.

Ruggie wanted reality to bite you in the butt, not for it to hurt. He'd slept on wet mud once, the floor wasn't the worst option. His bed was old and small - a twin where on the left side there was a poking spring he'd learned to avoid in his sleep. He expected you to take it without second thought. But you were stubborn. Annoying with it, and he knew better than to fight one stubborn mule when another was one room over with thin walls daring to push him out on the streets. He crawled into bed with you, kept one of the many blankets and tucked his tail down, tried to make himself small. Pressed up against the wall on the left side. Hoped you'd keep to the right so he could smolder this feeling in his stomach. You hadn't. Ruggie woke up to sunshine and his face pressed in fabric that moved with even breaths. His back no longer against the wall, no crick in his side, his body pulled over another.

Up and down. In and out.

He looked up, chin careful not to press painfully into your stomach (a better pillow than his flattened one for certain) and saw closed eyes. Warm arms encircled him - ensnared him - and he stole one moment to revel in their protective cradle. His head lolling back down to nuzzle in this soft pillow.

You slept warm through the night, as had he.

Zing.

"Ruggie?" your steps trail his heels, hand locked tight in his own down the market road. Whatever change was left over from the errand sat in his wallet, strapped tight to his hip under his shirt. His free arm clutched a tight meat parcel - the beef he'd missed the night before. It was like a calling card for theft. Not too bad, he knew to keep one eye alert.

At least without you there, twisting over your shoulder as he tugged forward. Your furrowed brow drawn to the pack of hollering beastmen, all hostile for a good bargain to feed their hungry families. Some with sticky fingers and other means.

He was one of them just minutes ago. You, stuck tight to his side and wary under the scorn of locals. An outsider, with only Bucchi presence keeping those teeth sheathed. At least he meant something around these parts - or his Gran did. "Don't look back. Any mercy and they'll eat you alive," he said low into your ear, "there might not be anything in your wallet - but that doesn't stop the desperate ones. You've got clothes. Possible connections. Organs."

What should have been a joke, wasn't. His firm glance said as much.

Ruggie doesn't miss how your fingers clutch his tighter. "I told ya to stay back with Gran. Better yet - stay home the whole break," your jaw ticks, even he feels bad asking the necessary, "look - I'll phone Leona. Might have to go out for better reception but -"

"No," you cut him off, keeping your voice down but his ears could catch anything, "No. I want to be here. I - this is where you're from. I don't want to hide inside all summer, but please don't send me away."

Ruggie clamps his mouth shut, frown set in a thin line until you both pass yet another beggar. Their eyes hateful and distrusting to someone unknown, even when desperate.

He turns to shield you from it - insist. Except you tug him along, pulling him closer. You nod towards the beggar, acknowledging them but not stopping.

Zing

"It's got ya good, huh?" Gran said, hovering in the doorframe with the house laundry basket on her hip. Summer was nearly ending. You'd gone off to nap in his room - the heat did harsh things this time of year. He was just grateful it wasn't a stroke and you'd be fine in a night or so. Gran said as much, and there weren't any doctors in the area. He didn't have to ask what she was talking about. Rule number one in life: don't look out for anyone but your own.

And they way he was hounding you like a mad hyena earlier? The way your clammy skin felt under his palms, the panic in his voice when Gran ran to get water and fruits to get your sugar back up. He freaked out. He shouldn't have but he did.

"Yeah. If you're gonna lecture me about bearing my heart and that sentimental stuff - could you save it? Just...just this once?" he rarely stood up to her but this felt more like a plea.

She, of course, sat in her chair. Even pulled the thing up to where he sulked.

"The only thing I'm going to lecture you for is fighting. Sabotage is something ya do to other folks, not yourself."

"I'm clearly not doing a good job if...y'know," he sighed, flicking his ears back. Maybe then the world would shut up for once.

"Yeah...I know kiddo" Gran paused, looking him up and down like he was some sort of stranger she hadn't crossed before. She set her hand between his ears, giving his hair a good tussle, "but you're a good man. I raised ya into one, so I'd know -- you're not your father, Ruggie. I thought that fancy school might've softened you. I was right, you're definitely not the kid I sent off itching to make up for years lost 'ere. You're better, and that one in there's good for you. So maybe be grateful the world cut ya a break for once, and be happy."

Maybe she was right. Maybe he could stop ignoring that feeling. Maybe, he could do what he does best, and take you. Keep you. Since you were so hell bent on being had.

Zing.

In. Out. One. Two. In. Out. One. Two.

Jack's steps are even and uniform. His form perfect, unwavering even at the strongest gust of wind aimed to topple him. There was no force in the entire world that would set him off the track - his training too important if he ever wanted to get a scholarship in his fourth year.

Winter. Rain. Snow. Sun. Jack ends his day with a run. His lungs thank him for it as does his mind. The exertion is just enough to ensure a peaceful night of sleep feeling accomplished. His chest chills with cold air as the final lap for the night draws closed, and he slows to his cool down. A time meant for his mind to relax as he walks the circuit in it's full, listening to the trees and whatever delinquent is out trying to sneak past the campus security for a night of fun.

He won't rat them out. Not his circus, not his monkeys. Lady justice will come to draw her own conclusions - and by lady justice, he means the Heartslabyul House-warden that strikes fear into students from all dorms looking to cheat the system.

Jack himself was the slightest fearful of Riddle.

"Heya hiya hey -"

On predictable cue there's a filled water-jug in his face. Lukewarm, the ice he'd received the first time you offered it upset his stomach and you never gave it again. He takes the bottle with nothing more than a nod of gratitude, slumping on the lowest bleacher to finish his wind down. A moment later and a clean towel drapes over his shoulder. He nods again, and you return to your musings like nothing happened.

Jack can't remember when you started coming around - or why, for that matter.

Nestled into one of the low corners in the bleachers, legs curled under a blanket with your thermos in hand. One he loaned and never asked back - it's not like he was using it. Seeing you warmed on cold nights gave it a higher purpose than his gritty protein shakes.

Your focused mind lingered in the corner of his peripheral vision at all times - like an eye floater that never goes away. Haunting the same spot every night with your homework scattered about, busying yourself with whatever's there until he pulls up to unwind from his training.

When did he grow used to it? To where he can grunt and you'll know exactly what it means - be it a thanks, a question, or if he's needing silence to end the night.

Jack can't recall.

He's encouraged others to adopt a routine like his, but never pushed. Even then it was never like this. With the intent to weave his regimen together with another's.

So what's Jack to do with someone who's willingly engrained themselves into his life?

What's he to do, when the comfort of solitude has stretched beyond him?

"Hungry?" your voice flit to his ear one night, he utterance a break through dusk and his even breathing.

"I don't eat after six," Jack answered blunt, hoping it was enough and not thinking. Your lips purse to a pensive frown and his attention turns to the box in your lap. Its green his favorite - not that you'd know. The color of ripe cacti.

"Uh.." he catches his own tongue before words come out. He didn't mean to cause that expression. Letting the lip of his water bottle down, Jack decides to press a bit more.

"Nice box - I mean, what's in the box?" he asked, trying and failing to make his tone softer than the evening's bite. His cheeks warming.

What hesitance he held disappeared when you smiled, uncurving around the box to open the lid.

"I made some finger sandwiches," you tut, struggling with one of the latches before he reaches out. The instinct to assist beats his shyness.

You hand the box over.

"Sorry if they're a bit rough - I asked Deuce about what's good for people building muscle. He said protein so...egg salad?"

Jack has to resist the urge to laugh - of course Deuce would suggest egg salad. He raves about their protein benefit at least once a track meet.

They're a bit rough - the tight packaging ruined their presentation from singular little bites to one solid brick.

Nonetheless, Jack felt something stir in his stomach.

"Actually," he starts, whacking the box's bottom to pull the now-brick out, "I think I could eat. You want to split?"

For reasons he couldn't place at the time - or ones he didn't want to - Jack couldn't bring himself to hand back the cacti-green box without emptying it. Your hard work worth sacrificing one day's regimen.

When he held out the sandwich amalgamation, you reached out in kind to take the opposite side. With a little pressure, it gave and split in two.

In that moment, so did Jack.

Jack's palms slid under your legs with ease - almost like they belonged there. With the underside of your thighs in each hand, your body draped over his back like a pillow-weight, he realized how easy it could be to hurt you. All he needs to do is squeeze too hard, stumble over a rock and tumble the wrong way. His weight could crush you or the concrete could scrape your skin.

Maybe that would toughen you up a bit - no student at NRC shouldn't be able to take a it. He's sure you could - if there's one thing he learned from Epel, it's that those you assume can't are the ones who can take the most.

"You don't have to carry me like a sack of potatoes, y'know that. Right?" your voice tickles his ear, one flicking back just as your chin comes to settle between his neck and shoulder.

"It's good training," he argued, tone anything but argument-worthy, "and I want to."

Maybe adding that second part was too much. Why did he?

He'd beat himself with his own tail if it could move that way.

"It's a good thing I'm actually very lazy then. Since the track's no short distance from Ramshackle. You Savanaclaw guys really do monopolize the sports here, don't ya?"

His grunt's a suitable reply - one you're used to. As Jack crosses the mirror chamber from Savanaclaw to main campus, he jostles you up just to make sure you're still there once the magic fizzles out.

Your breath on his shoulder, weight holding down to earth - would he fly if you took it away? After all these days.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just study at home? The track ain't a suitable library"

And I'm not suitable company.

Not someone you have to trouble yourself to watch over.

"True," your hum drawls in his ear, exhausted he's sure. Your plate isn't necessarily empty, "but you're there. What, scared I'll leave you lonely?"

Yes.

"No. I just think you're exerting yourself too much." he says, scrunching his nose when your fingers ghost the apex of his collar.

"A bit of exertion is good. You're the known preacher for it," Jack feels your smile in his skin. It almost brings his own to life, "and if we're being honest? This is the best part of my day. I love spending time with you, even if I end up being your makeshift barbell."

Your laugh trailed the ends of that sentence, sweeter than the pears picked back home, which were always ripest this time of year when he thought on it.

Zing.

The rest of his 'prefect-delivery-service' as you laughed on and on about into him, was finished in silence. Comfortable silence.

And when he came to your dorm, he needn't ask if you wanted to be put down. Jack opened the door without a word and settled you upstairs in your bed. Grim didn't stir. The ghosts hadn't blocked his path. You let him be the end of your day, and he hadn't felt the need to explain himself even as he crossed back into Savanaclaw territory.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #leona kingsscholar x reader #jack howl x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #cola writes #cursedcola

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darkbluekies · 5 months ago

Text

Til death do us part

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: A summer romance turns dark as Silas can't accept that you've married someone else

Warnings: kidnapping, murder, blackmail, threats, Silas belittling darling, violence, isolation, jealousy, possessiveness

Word count: 5k

He’s everything you could have ever wanted. He’s sweet, caring and works at a bank. He can provide for you. He’s from a good family. Everything about him is perfect, everything you could ever have dreamt of. You could never have imagined that you would find a man like him after what happened last summer.

You had met a man on the way home from dinner with a friend, someone that had helped you after the grocery bag you had bought food in on the way home. He had introduced himself as ‘Silas’ and had walked you home, carrying the groceries for you. You had thanked him. Silas had asked if you wanted to meet for coffee sometime, and you had agreed, innocently thinking nothing of it. You had gone out with him multiple times. Never actually becoming a couple, but acting like it. It was harmless, you thought. You kissed, went on dates and you knew that if things continued like this, you’d fall for him.

But you noticed that something was weird about him, and it made you feel cautious in his presence. He never told you anything about his life and when you asked, you noticed that something shifted in his dark eyes. As if he tried to come up with a lie. It creeped you out somehow, because why couldn’t he tell you? Maybe you shouldn’t have trusted a man who tried to cover up his tattoos.

You finally got to know the truth at the end of the summer. A friend who had seen the two of you together had recognised him from a newspaper. He was a criminal, a leader of a mob, who was more dangerous than you could have anticipated. You had cut contact with him and moved away so that he wouldn’t be able to find you again.

But he did. Somehow, he did.

Letters have been piling up in your mailbox during these last few weeks, addressed to you and written in red ink. Your heart had stopped when you read the first one.

“Y/N, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so terribly much. My heart bleeds and aches for you. You left me because you were scared. I get that. I get that very well, this is a world you should be afraid of, but I will protect you. I will take care of you better than that man ever could. Yeah, I know that you’ve found someone new. I know that you’re planning to get married. Quite quick, don’t you think? You haven’t known him that long, and now you’re getting married? Silly Y/N, you’re so cute. Do you really think you love him? Are you trying to reassure yourself that I’m a part of your past that will never return? Or are you trying to make everyone around you believe that you’ve gotten over me and moved on? I know you still think of me. I know you want me. And I want you too. I have never wanted someone other than you. You and me are meant for each other. Don’t marry him. Come back to me. It’s you and me til the end.”

You hadn’t shown your fiance, but he had noticed that something had been wrong with you. You had become silent and distant. Letter after letter came to your mailbox and he realized that something serious had happened. You had no choice but to tell him about Silas and your past with him, the present he doesn’t want to let go of, and the future he demands. Your fiance had promised that he wouldn’t get to you, and that he was only trying to scare you.

You had been expecting to see Silas at your wedding, but he wasn’t there—or at least you didn’t catch a glimpse of him. Maybe your husband was right? Maybe he was just trying to scare you?

The start of the honeymoon is set to be on the SS Anastasia, a proud liner with three yellow funnels, a solid superstructure and a great reputation. It is set to take the two of you to Spain, where you have decided to have the rest of your honeymoon, away from all eyes and to be with no one but each other.

A steward welcomes you on board. You thank him and give him a smile. He lets you know that your luggage, which you left down at the terminal, will be delivered straight to your cabin, a suite in first class. Only the best for the newlywed couple.

“I’m so excited to see the room”, you admit as the two of you navigate the ship to find the mani staircase.

“The agent said that it would be nice”, your husband replies and chuckles. “Now, if we only could find it …”

You laugh. It takes you nearly ten minutes to find the right door among mazes of identical white doors. The suite is divided into three rooms: a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom, all decorated with expensive materials and fashionable colors. Polished dark wood and electric lights.

“This is so nice”, your husband smiles, letting his eyes wander around. “I think we’ll have a good time here.”

You hug him and he chuckles, hugging you back.

“I can’t believe I married you”, he says.

Me neither, you think.

Your mind drifts back to Silas and you feel your heart sink down to your stomach. You won’t be able to relax until you know that the ship has left harbour. There’s a constant, heavy feeling in your chest that you can’t explain. But you tell yourself that it’s just that; a feeling. Nothing more than old worries that haven’t been able to come up to the surface before now. You squeeze the man tighter, sighing out. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be safe.

You have been promised a fantastic dinner, and the food delivers to your expectations. Everything is tasting like gold, served on a silverplatter. Sitting in the first class dining hall has given you an excuse to dress up. Everyone around is wearing their best clothes, and it is a silent competition in who looks the best. You look around, discreetly admiring everyone else’s attention to detail. You wonder how many of them have spent the entire day in their cabin, doing everything to look their absolutely best. The first night is usually relaxed, but a first time impression will always be remembered.

“What would you like to do after?” your husband asks and sips on his wine.

“I think I need to take a walk”, you joke.

“Oh, yes, the night sky must be so beautiful out on deck. I reckon that you’ll be able to see the stars much easier out here. No city pollution.”

You walk hand in hand down the promenade, looking up at the starry night sky, pointing at familiar shapes.

The next morning, after breakfast, the two of you walk to the lounge, deciding to take a calm day. Well deserved after planning a wedding and executing it. The lounge is cozy, reminding you of a simple living room rather than a first class room on an oceanliner. Maybe to make the passengers feel more at home.

Your husband takes the opportunity to indulge in a newspaper, finally having the time to sit down and actually read it.

You let your eyes wander around the large lounge, enjoying to admire the small details that give the room it’s cozy feel. But the feeling is quickly switched once your eyes land on someone. A man sitting in an armchair on the other side of the lounge, dark eyes feasted onto you, a small smirk playing at his lips when he notices you noticing him. You can feel your body go numb, feel yourself sink through your armchair, through the floor and through the ship’s metal. Feel yourself sink down to the bottom of the pitch black ocean. You forget how to breathe, head going blank.

He found you.

You glance towards your husband who’s still invested in today’s news. Silas raises his eyebrows testingly as you look back at him, as if to say “yes, I’ve noticed him, you think he compares to me?”.

Suddenly the air in the lounge seem to lose all oxygen. You need air, or else you will faint.

“I-I have to get some fresh air”, you hear yourself mumble.

“Are you okay?” your husband asks and looks up from his newspaper, eyes full of worry.

“Yes—”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“N-No, I’ll be fine, I’ll be back soon.”

You need to get away.

You hurry out of the lounge and out onto the enclosed promenade. The fresh air hits your face harshly. You grab onto the wall to support yourself while trying to find a way to breathe that doesn’t feel like needles poking through your throat.

“You thought I wouldn’t find you?”

You feel your heart stop. Quickly, you spin around, seeing his face way too close to yours. He tilts it, almost mockingly. You back away, stumbling over your feet and hitting your shoulder against the wall. Silas corners you, stopping you from escaping.

“What do you want?” you breathe out shakingly.

“Didn’t you get my letters?” he asks. “Or did you simply not read them?”

“Leave me alone. I-I’m married now.”

He smirks, tilting his head back and putting his hands into the back pockets of his suit pants.

“Indeed, you are”, he says and sighs out. “But do you really think that’s real?”

“What do you mean?” you almost stutter.

Silas meets your eyes. He’s smiling.

“Don’t you think I could have taken you whenever I wanted?” he asks. “The only reason you were able to marry that boring son of a bitch is because I let you. But, in the end, you belong to me. Isn’t that right?”

You don’t answer. You turn your head away, look out over the endless sea, and feel your eyes fill with tears. He wipes your tears with his thumb and you push his hand away.

“I don’t”, you say, wondering where you have gotten the sudden bravery from. “I don’t belong to you. I belong to him.”

You show him the ring on your finger. Silas clenches his jaw and grabs a hold of that hand, forcing it closer. He pulls of the golden ring, scoffs at it and throws it overboard. You gasp and try to run forward, hoping to catch it before it falls too far, but he pushes you back against the wall.

“Don’t ever say that again”, he warns you. “You don’t belong to him, how could you? I met you first. I claimed you first. He will have my seconds. Everything you do to him, you’ve done to me first. And he will never do anything as good as I did.”

“I left you because of this!” you hiss, reminding him.

“No, you left me because you were scared. You don’t understand that you are in more danger if you aren’t with me. I’m the only one that can protect you. I didn’t want you to know about it because I know you’d be scared, but—”, he cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “—but I won’t hurt you. You’re so special to me. I love you so much. You did read my letters, I can see it in your eyes. You know how much I love you.”

“Let me go”, you plead.

“No. It’s you and I til the end, don’t you remember? I’m not letting you go again. I’ve been letting you have your fun for too long now. It’s about time I take you back. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Don’t hurt him either.”

You can see his eyes darken, his jaw clench. “You decide if it’s going to be violent or not.”

You freeze in his hold.

“You can choose to come back to me, quietly and easy”, Silas starts and caresses your cheek. “We will be happy and your boy will be left alone.” He traces your jaw with his finger. “Or … you reject me and I take out my competition and take you with me once we reach Spain. No one will see you again.”

He seems to tell that you’ve stopped breathing, because he sits you down on one of the sun chairs and massage your throat. Your eyes are stuck onto nothing, empty.

“I will give you until nine”, he whispers in your ear. “If you’re not outside my cabin at nine, A-30, knocking on my door, I will kill him.”

“You’re a liar”, you breathe out, voice barely audible. “You’ll kill him either way …”

Silas shrugs simply. “Maybe, but don’t you want to take your chances? You might save him.”

Silas stands up. You sit frozen.

“Oh, and Y/N?” he says as if remembering something and looks down at you. “If I were you I wouldn’t tell anyone. You know, for obvious reasons.”

He gives you a small, teasing smile before walking back inside. You sit still, not daring to move. Worried that if you move you’ll break down and realise what’s going on. You can feel your heart pound in your ears. No. No, this can’t be happening.

“What are you doing out here?” you hear a familiar voice ask. “You’re going to get sick!”

You feel your husband hang his blazer over your shoulders. The warmth, the familiar scent from him makes your heart hang heavy in your chest. You can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him, as if you’ve cheated your relationship, thanks to Silas’s threat. But if you cheat on it, you might save the love of your life. Can you cancel out a bad thing with a bad thing? Is it really a bad thing then? Can you be excused?

You can’t tell him about it, but if you did, would he understand you?

“You don’t look well, actually”, he says and helps you stand. “You’ve probably already gotten sick. You should go lay down and rest.”

He helps you, slow and steady, to your suite. You lay down in bed and he tucks you in.

“Should we ring for a steward?” he asks worriedly. “Ask for some tea and some medicine?”

“No, I’m fine”, you reassure him dimly. “I just need to be alone.”

“I’m worried about you. Something happened to you. I can help you.”

No, you can’t.

“Do you want to be left alone?” he asks.

What if he gets killed?

“No, stay in here”, you wish.

He nods. You hold his hand as you lay with your eyes closed, trying to think of what to do. He was clear; whatever you do, you’ll end up with Silas. The only thing you can choose—maybe—is to save the man holding your hand and whispering reassurance to you. The nicest you can do, in this situation, is to give in and beg Silas to leave him alone. You can’t be prideful and let him kill him.

You find yourself outside cabin A-30 with your head spinning. You don’t want to do this, but what choice do you have? Your first is heavy when you lift it to knock, the sound of your knuckles hitting the polished wood seeming to echo throughout the entire ship. You can hear his footsteps on the other side and see him tower over you when he opens the door. His smirk sends a wave of nausea over you.

“So, you came in the end”, he says cockily. “Good girl/boy.”

You lower your eyes to the floor. Silas steps aside and gestures for you to walk in. You do, on heavy, unresponsive legs. He closes the door behind you, locking it. You gulp. He lingers around you like a snake and you wait for him to put his fangs into your neck and shoot his venom into you.

“You should rest”, Silas says softly and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep.”

He leads you to the bed and lays you down, lying down behind you. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything that could scare you. You try to keep it in, but your body fails you. Sobs, quiet at first, leave your body. Tears run down your face. You hold your hand over your mouth, but Silas is close enough to hear you. He hugs you carefully and you can feel him rest his face into your shoulder.

“There’s no need to worry”, he whispers. “You're back where you belong.”

It only makes you worry more.

“Your crying makes me so sad”, Silas whispers. “Everything will be okay, little thing. You're back now.”

You don't fall asleep that night, and you're sure Silas doesn't either. His grip on you remains tight and controlling, showing no sign of drowsiness.

The sun rises outside the porthole, and you're as wide awake as ever. Silas gets out of bed and starts to dress for the day. You remain in bed, feeling too empty to move. Your eyes fall onto the tattoos on his back and arms, wondering where he got them and what they represented. But something in you tells you that you don’t want to know.

“My darling”, Silas sighs and crouches down in front of the bed, caressing your face. “You don’t need to look so sad. You and me will have fun. We can do more than you ever could with that boy of yours could. My credit card never declines.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, frowning.

“Oh? You didn't know?” His cocky face is getting on your nerves. “My men did some digging into him, and it seems like he spent a fortune on this honeymoon of yours. Barely anything left in his bank account. Poor thing was really trying to impress you, but the illusion would be all gone once you came back home. I, on the other hand, have all the money in the world.”

“Your money’s dirty.”

“Money’s money. I could launder it, and it’d be clean, but you wouldn’t accept it anyway. Which is why you’ll never get money from me. You’ll get jewelry, food, clothes—anything you want—and all you need to do in return is submit yourself to me.”

You sigh and look away.

“We don’t have to talk about this now”, Silas says and stands up. “But you will submit to me, I know you will. Get dressed now, my love, we’re going to eat breakfast.”

Food is the last thing you want right now.

“I’m not hungry”, you say.

“Do you want to stay in?” he asks. “I can go get you breakfast that you can eat later.”

You nod, whatever will make him leave you alone for a while. Silas gives you a comforting smile and pets your head before leaving the cabin. You take the time to cry, when you know that he can’t see you, planning to stop before he returns, but failing.

“Crying when you think I won’t notice?” he asks and scoffs, just a little bit amused. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”

He sets down a tray on the table in the room and walks over to the bed, crouching down and wiping your tears.

“You’re mine”, he says. “Crying about that boy won’t change that fact.”

You don’t answer.

“Will I have to stay in here the entire time?” you ask coldly.

“No”, he says. “Not all the time, but if you want to leave the cabin, you will be by my side. If I were you, I wouldn't try to run away from me or try to tell anyone, because the ship is filled with my men. You don’t know who they are, and they won’t bother you if you behave, but the second I tell them to keep an eye out for you, they will.”

You glare at him.

“But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Silas asks.

“And then what?” you counter. “When we're in Spain?”

“Oh, we're not staying there. I'm not allowed there. My second in command is waiting for us there and will take us back to America as soon as we arrive.”

Oh …

“I don’t want to go back. Not with you.”

“Well, life's not fair, little thing. You should eat now. I got you all the things you told me that you liked.”

He takes you to the table in the cabin and starts to feed you the bread, the coffee and fruit. You eat, just you comply, too tired to fight with him. Fighting with a wall would be easier. A wall wouldn't talk back. A wall wouldn't threaten you.

“See how much easier it is when you obey?” Silas says.

You give him a quick gaze. He traces your cheek with his fingers.

“I look so much forward to having you all to myself”, he mumbled.

His words send icy shivers down your back.

You stay in the cabin the coming day. You wonder what your real husband is thinking of your disappearance. Sure that Silas has already done something to make him stay away … or worse.

“You're so down, baby”, Silas says. “How about we do something, hm? We have a whole ship to our amusement. There is a game room, a pool, a library, and a squash court. How about that? Why don't we play some squash?”

You nod, just to get out of the cabin. Maybe you can figure something out. Maybe you can hide.

“That's my boy/girl”, Silas says and takes your hand. “Let's go.”

Walking out with him, hand in hand, made you feel horrible. He looked so proud, so cocky.

He took you down to the squash court. He picked up a racquet and bounced a few balls.

“I hope you know the rules”, Silas said with a chuckle. “Or else I will win.”

A man came into the squash court. Silas gave the man a quick, stern look before glancing towards you, and then back at him. This is one of his men, you figure.

“Give me a second, darling”, he says and takes the man aside.

They turn their backs to you, whispering. You glance towards the door. As they mumble about something incoherent, you sneak towards the door, opening it silently and sneaking out. You run, but only get a few meters before a hand rips you back.

“Where do you think you're going?” Silas hisses in your ear.

He slams a hand over your mouth to prevent you from making any sounds and almost you back to the squash court.

“I apologize”, he mutters to his man. “Seems like my baby here can't behave.”

He holds your back firmly against his chest, hand resting securely over your mouth. “They'll learn soon enough, once they learn the consequences.”

You fight against him, but he doesn't budge.

“Stop fighting”, Silas hisses and turns to his man. “I'm sure it won't happen again, ill make sure it won't, but can you tell the others to keep an eye out for this disobedient little shit? If you ever see them wander around alone, you get me immediately. Leave us now, I need to lecture them.”

The man nods, bows slightly and leaves the squash court. Silas lets you go and you back away from him, but he's quick to corner you.

“You don't get it, do you?” he asks, and sounds a tad bit amused. “You can't escape me. And, come on, trying to do that on a ship? I really thought you were smarter than that. Where would you go? The only place you could flee would be to jump overboard. But you're stupid, not suicidal. And now, all my men keep an eye out. Just accept that your place is here, with me.”

“I want my fucking husband!” you scream. “You aren't my husband, you're a low life criminal!”

Silas’s eyes darken.

“Okay then”, he says, slowly. “If you want him so badly, go look for him. Go find him. If you do, I'll let you go with him. If not, you're mine.”

“Your men will take me back to you.”

“I'll tell them to leave you as long as you don't talk to anyone. Search everywhere. Go to the lower classes, for all I care.”

“What have you done to him?”

He smiles slightly, but it's not one out of genuine happiness, but of mockery. “Do you really want to know?”

You turn around and leave. He follows you. You barely have time to walk down the corridor before a man takes a hold of your arm. A different man from before.

“You're not supposed to walk around”, he says.

“It's okay”, Silas says a few steps behind you.

He wears his chin high, a smirk on his face and his hands in his front pockets. You rip your arm from the strange man's hold.

“My baby is using their brain”, Silas says and reaches the two of you. “We'll see where that gets them. Keep an eye so that they don't talk to anyone. We don't want to encourage talking to strangers, now do we, little thing?”

You glare at him.

“Go, then”, Silas says. “What are you waiting for?”

You don't like how he's changed. Just five minutes earlier he was set on making sure you wouldn't wander … and now he encourages it. Something has happened to your husband and you want to find him as quickly as possible.

You walk away, leaving Silas and his man in the corridor outside the squash court. You're not sure where to start. As soon as you get out of their sight, you stop and sink down alongside the wall. Needing to just catch your breath.

But you don't linger too long. Before you change your mind, you stand up and start to walk. You end up walking back and forth for hours, sure that every eye that lands on you is a member of Silas’s organization, someone being paid to make sure you obey.

You search every little corner on the ship, but your husband is nowhere to be seen. Your suite is empty, but there are signs of struggle. A glass lying on the floor, more than one person's shoe marks on the carpet. You walk over to his suitcase and take out one of his shirts. Crying as you hold it.

“Any luck?” you suddenly hear him say.

Your blurry eyes dart to the open door, seeing him lean against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks so nonchalant, so careless. How can he?

“There are words for people like you��, you sniffle with a voice draped in hate. “Did you know that?”

“What word?”

“Inhuman.”

Silas scoffs out a small smile. “If only you were as smart with thinking as you were with words, you’d have figured it out by now.”

“What?”

“You haven’t found him anywhere on the ship, and you’ve been looking for hours.”

He doesn’t have to remind you. Your aching feet is enough to make you feel your loss.

“What did you do to him?” you ask weakly.

“I have already told you, if you listened to me, you’d figured it out earlier. I said that there is only one way to escape me.”

Your eyes widen as you dart your eyes to the round porthole.

“Atta girl/boy”, Silas says, voice smooth as honey as he walks over to you.

“Y-You … y-you …”

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it.”

“You ordered it.”

“Are we back to the ‘dirty money’ thing again? Does it matter if I gave the instructions or not? It happened, and even if I said I gave the instructions, you wouldn’t take it.”

You hang your head heavy in your hands, crying. Silas hugs you and you try to fight back, but he doesn’t let you go. He holds you tightly, his rough hands keeping you against his body.

“Now that he’s gone, you have no other choice than to accept me whole heartedly”, he whispers in your ear. “You have no one else. Only me. Until the end of time, til death do us part.”

You sob in his hold, wanting nothing more than to escape. You manage to glance towards the porthole.

Silas holds your hand in a tight, painful grip as you walk off the ship, surrounded by a few of his men. People on the dock cheer and welcome their loved ones, but you’re pulled right through the crowd. You can’t hear any of them, your own sorrow drowning out all sounds of happiness. Silas takes you over to a car. A black haired man leans against it, but stands straight when he sees Silas. His second in command.

“Boss, there you are”, he says with a small smile. “Did you have a good voyage?”

Silas lifts your tightly intertwined hands with a smirk on his face. “What do you think?”

The second in command looks at you up and down and smirks. “Congratulations.”

“I wish we could stay here but if the cops get me I’ll be in trouble”, Silas says and pulls you close. “Let’s go to the yacht before we’re noticed.”

He helps you into the automobile and you’re off, on the way to the ship that will take you back to America. Tears run down your face silently. You shut them, trying to imagine yourself in another place, somewhere far away from Silas and his evil entourage. Somewhere where you had never crossed paths with him. Somewhere where things had turned out different. A bump in the road forces your eyes open again and you’re pulled back into the car that will take you straight to your own personalized hell, with a man who is ready to kill for you. You wish you had never allowed him to carry your groceries.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc

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astrolook · 5 months ago

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Moon in the houses

Moon in the 1st House: Emotions? Yeah, I’m wearing them like a neon sign.

Mood Swings? Who Needs a Weather App? – One minute, you're on cloud nine, ready to conquer the world, and everyone around you is like, "Wow, you're so inspiring!" . The next minute, you're in a full-on emotional hurricane, and people are like, “Uh, is everything okay?” Yep, they can literally see the storm clouds forming.

You’re basically an emotional X-ray for anyone who needs to know how you're feeling. Super helpful in knowing exactly where you stand.

You have the perfect built-in therapist, your mom, who never asks for a copay and always responds with “I love you, sweetie.”

Moon in 1st gives you a youthful young face. If a man, could be a mama boy. On the flip side, mommy could be overbearing.

When you're happy, you radiate positivity like the sun itself. You make everyone around you feel like they’ve just had a shot of espresso… without the jitters. But when you're in a mood, watch out. It’s like the ocean’s about to swallow up the entire coast. You can go from zero to “I’m emotionally drowning, help!” in 0.3 seconds.

Moon in the 2nd House: The Emotional Shopping Spree - You feel things, and you buy things. Repeat.

When you're feeling happy, it’s like “treat yo' self” day, and suddenly you’ve got 14 new pairs of socks that totally spoke to you in the store. Feeling stressed? Well, it's probably time for a little retail therapy... because nothing says “I’m handling my feelings” like buying a $50 scented candle you’ll never use.

Impulsive purchases. When your emotions take a dive, so does your bank account. "I'm sad, I need a new purse."

When someone asks how you're feeling, your response might just be, "Well, I bought a new jacket, so I’m feeling fabulous."

Your Emotions Are Always on Sale. You're like, “You know what would make me feel even better? A cute new scarf!” Because nothing says “I’m emotionally balanced” like a $15 markdown.

You love investing in things that make you feel good—whether it’s a cozy home, a nice meal, or that perfectly curated playlist you bought (yep, it’s a thing). Your finances are tied to your emotional health like a carefully organized spreadsheet.

Moon in the 3rd House: The Over thinker's Hotline - You think, you feel, you text… then you overthink it all.

Your emotions are running wild and they need to talk. A LOT. Like, you’ll have a deep emotional moment and then immediately text your bestie about it, but also text your mom for a second opinion, and then maybe send a message to a group chat for a third—just to make sure everyone’s on the same emotional page.

You’re the Emotional Wi-Fi of your social circles—always transmitting and receiving feelings, whether anyone asked or not.

You overanalyze everything. Sent a text at 11:30 PM? Now you’re wondering if that emoji you used in your response was “too much.” Did they think you were crying in that voice message, or just, like, “really emotionally engaged”? You end up spiral-commenting under your own messages. "Wait, I wasn’t mad, I swear!" Cue overthinking every single word.

You’re emotionally open, but also maybe one text away from sending an entire novel about your mood swings. If you have a Moon in Aquarius in 3rd house, you are very much into conspiracy theories.

The overthinking is so strong, even Siri gets nervous. “Did I say that correctly? Does it sound too emotional? Let me try that again, Siri, do you think they’ll understand?"

Moon in the 4th House: Home is Where the Feelings Are - Your emotions? Oh, they're all cozy in your emotional fortress… with snacks.

If you're ever feeling down, you know exactly where to retreat: the couch, surrounded by blankets, a mountain of snacks, and probably a weirdly specific playlist of “emotional” songs you know no one else understands.

Your vibe says, "Come on in, let me feed you, and here’s a blanket!" You’re basically the human version of a warm cup of tea.

On the flip side, you can get way too attached to your personal space. Don’t even think about messing with your “comfort zone,” because that zone is sacred. You might find yourself overly attached to places, people, and objects in your home that just... feel right.

If someone says something you don’t like, you might retreat into your home and pretend to reorganize your kitchen for the next four hours. Not because it’s necessary... but because it’s emotionally satisfying.

If there’s food involved and your loved ones nearby, you’re ready for some serious heart-to-hearts.

Moon in the 5th House: The Drama Queen of Feelings - Life’s a stage, and you're always in the mood for a performance.

Your feelings take center stage like you’re auditioning for a Broadway show every single day. You’re all about self-expression, fun, and creating joy—because, let’s face it, life’s too short to not have an emotional karaoke session on a Tuesday night.

Moon in 5th bestows with a girl child. Of course, we need to check whether it is associated with any other planets.

Professions like actor or any artistic professions fits you. You can turn any situation into a joyous celebration and make even the most mundane things feel like a special event.

The flip side? When you're down, it's like the curtains close on the show, and you’re the star in a drama you didn’t sign up for. You may exaggerate your emotions a little (okay, a lot)—an offhand comment from a friend turns into a full-blown emotional musical number. Cue the tears, dramatic exits, and possibly a solo performance on why no one understands your very deep feelings.

You’re basically the person who gets emotionally invested in every movie, reality show, and Instagram post you see and also celebrities.

Moon in the 6th House: The Emotional Overachiever - Feelings? I’ll just organize them into a to-do list.

With the Moon in the 6th House, you take your emotions very seriously—like, spreadsheet-level seriously. You're not just feeling your feelings, you're tracking them, analyzing them, and organizing them with the same precision of a perfectly color-coded calendar.

Your home? Probably a Zen-like temple of organization. You could be a productivity guru and an emotional support animal all rolled into one.

You’re probably the person who compulsively checks your horoscope, wellness app, and to-do list while also making sure you're drinking enough water—because, yes, your emotional health must be on track.

Service - oriented professions.

Probably keeps a journal. Your motto - "Productivity meets therapy!"

Moon in the 7th House: Emotional Rollercoaster + Relationship Drama

You Have a PhD in Relationships – You analyze, you nurture, you feel. Basically, you’re the emotional therapist of every relationship/partnership you’re in.

Emotional Dependency? Yup, It's Real – Your partner's mood? It's now your mood. If they’re happy, you're on cloud nine. If they're sad, well, buckle up, emotional crash ahead!

You Can’t Just "Date" Someone—You Feel Them – It's never just a date night. It's a journey. You’ll be emotionally invested before the appetizers even arrive.

If your partner says, “I’m fine,” but their voice cracks, you’re immediately putting on your emotional detective hat. Something’s definitely wrong.

Your partner's mood shifts and you’re already planning a 5-step plan to emotionally heal them. Just call you “Dr. Love.”

Moon in the 8th House: The Emotional Detective with a Dark Twist

If emotions were a rollercoaster, you’d be the one flipping the safety bar off and screaming, "Let’s go faster!"

Family gatherings? More like family mysteries. You can feel the unspoken tension, and you’re practically Sherlock Holmes, trying to figure out what’s being left out. Every holiday dinner has a side of “What aren’t they telling me?"

When you lose your virginity, you could even hide it from your family.

Being vulnerable with you is like peeling an onion—layer after emotional layer until someone’s crying. Sometimes you overshare, sometimes you say, “I’m fine,” but everyone knows you’re not. You can’t help it.

You can turn pain into growth like a magical wizard. Hurt feelings? Great, now you’re ready for transformation. You take all that emotional mess and somehow turn it into deep wisdom—or a really great, tear-filled diary entry. Either way, it’s epic.

Moon in the 9th House: The Emotional Philosopher on a Soul-Searching Road Trip

Your emotions don’t stay local. You feel them on an international level, like, “Why am I feeling so deep right now? Is this about my past life in a distant land or because I watched a documentary on the Amazon?” Your emotions are basically the United Nations of your soul.

Family & Friends Talks Are Like TED Talks – When you try to explain your feelings to family/friends, it’s less “Hey, I’m upset” and more “Here’s a 45-minute monologue on the meaning of life, and also I read a book on existentialism last week.”

One minute you’re high on life, quoting philosophy, and the next, you’re googling “Why does everything feel so overwhelming?” You’ll go from thinking you’re a wise sage to wanting to crawl into bed and watch Netflix documentaries. Your moods are basically a journey, so pack your bags.

You can't just feel something—you need to analyze, interpret, and probably give it a name. "I feel anxious. Is this anxiety or is it just me tapping into the collective consciousness of humanity?

You’re an Emotional Nomad – You can’t sit still. Emotionally, you need to keep moving, exploring, learning, and growing. "Home? Well, I feel emotionally connected to 17 different places.

Moon in the 10th House: The Emotional CEO of Life

Your emotions are always on display like you’re giving a TED Talk about your deepest feelings.

You don’t just work; your career is an emotional journey. “Am I feeling fulfilled at work? If not, should I change my entire career path? Do I need a promotion to feel better about myself?!” Your job? Basically your emotional therapist, but with more PowerPoint presentations.

Public approval is your emotional fuel, and you’re like, “Did I mention I’m emotionally attached to other’s opinion of me?”

Your mood? It directly impacts your work ethic. When you’re emotionally stable, you’re like, “Let’s take over the world.” But when you're upset? You’re still working, but you’re crying in the break room, making dramatic phone calls to your loved ones.

You’re emotionally invested in how the world sees you. You need to be the best at everything, but emotionally—"Did I look too emotional during my presentation? Was my inner turmoil apparent?" It’s a lot of pressure to keep it all together, but hey, it’s worth the “likes”.

Moon in the 11th House: The Emotional Social Butterfly Who Forgets Why They Came to the Party!

People love your warm, nurturing energy, and your squad is basically a second family. Just be careful—you might adopt every stray friend like a lost puppy. You could even get in trouble for helping your friend.

One day, you're the life of the party, the next, you’re ghosting everyone because feelings. People around you should have learned to just roll with it.

If you are feeling bad, you might turn to strangers online for some emotional support.

You’re energized by like-minded people and might thrive in large social circles, community work, or even fan clubs (yes, you might cry over your favorite celebrity’s life updates).

You might bend over backward to fit into a group, even if it means suppressing your own needs. That’s right—you RSVP to events you know you don’t want to go to, then regret it immediately.

Moon in the 12th House: The Emotional Mystic Who Feels Everything & Nothing at Once

congratulations—you’ve unlocked "Feelings: Hardcore Mode." Your emotions live in the deep, mysterious waters of the subconscious, making you an intuitive, dreamy, and sometimes tragically misunderstood soul. You might love solitude but also feel unbearably lonely, sense energies others miss, and randomly cry for no reason (or is there always a reason?).

Your intuition is next-level. You pick up on vibes, unspoken emotions, and even spiritual messages like a human radio antenna. Your relationship with your mother could feel distant, mysterious, or full of unspoken emotions. Either she was deeply spiritual and nurturing or emotionally unavailable and hard to read.

Unlike most, you actually enjoy being alone. Your inner world is rich, and isolation helps you recharge from the chaos of life.

Even in a crowded room, you might feel disconnected. You crave deep emotional bonds but struggle to express your own feelings.

Emotional stress can manifest physically—sleep issues, mysterious body aches, or just always feeling tired for no reason.

You might secretly love someone from afar rather than openly express your feelings. (Just confess already!). You crave deep, spiritual connections but may self-sabotage by isolating yourself. You love soulmate vibes, but fear vulnerability.

Curious about your birth chart and what it's really saying about you? 🌟 Slide into my DMs for a personalized astrology reading, and let's unlock the secrets of your stars. ✨ Don’t forget to check out my pinned post for pricing details! 🔮 Let’s make those cosmic connections happen! 🌙🌌

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catchastarorten · 6 months ago

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—More than anything.

Pairing: Cho Sang-woo x lover!fem!reader

Summary: You had supported him through everything, but when you fell sick, he couldn't save you because of debt, so he participated in the games. The blood, the violence, it was all worth it because it was all for you, but he still couldn’t save you, even after winning.

Warnings: angst, illness, death, grief/loss, mentions of violence, guilt/sacrifice, emotional distress, Sang-woo won the games in this au, english isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.9k

The first time you met Sang-woo, it was in the bustling hallways of Seoul National University, your books pressed against your chest as he nearly toppled over you in his haste. Apologies poured out of him, flustered but composed, but it was the soft smile that followed that made you pause. You didn’t know it then, but that clumsy encounter would change both of your lives forever.

From that moment, he had become everything to you. And soon enough, you realized you were everything to him too. Sang-woo was the kind of man who always seemed in control of himself. But with you, that cool demeanor softened. He would laugh more, touch your hand absentmindedly, watch you as if you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.

You supported each other through the tough years at university. His mind was brilliant—quick, sharp, and endlessly determined. It wasn’t hard to see why he was the pride of his family, the hope of his mother. He was going to do great things, you always believed that, and you reminded him every chance you got.

Sang-woo always spoke of a future where he’d be successful, where his mother would never have to work a day in her life again. And somewhere in that future—he said with a tentative smile—was you.

Years passed, and the challenges of adulthood crept in. Sang-woo’s ambitions, once so pure and noble, became entangled in desperation as he fell into debt. It started small—a few bad investments, a loan here and there, promises that he’d make it all back soon. But soon, the debts piled into something worse, a mess that loomed over both of your lives.

He had so much promise, so much potential, and you wanted to see him succeed. So when he started to falter—when the world wasn’t as kind, when the debts began to gather up, and his once-unshakable confidence began to fracture—you did what you thought any partner would do. You helped him.

You saw the way the guilt ate away at him. He tried to hide it, but you knew him too well.

“I’ll pay off this part for now,” you’d told him gently, holding the bank statement in your hand. He had stared at you, his expression tight, his hands gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

“No,” he had said firmly. “You’ve done enough. I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.”

But you didn’t care about that. You knew he felt ashamed, that his pride was bleeding, but you loved him too much to let him drown. “Sang-woo,” you whispered, reaching out to place your hand over his. “I’m doing this because I want to. Because I believe in you.”

He looked at you like you were his lifeline, the only light in his darkening world. He kissed your hand and said nothing more, but no matter how much you reassured him, the guilt lingered. He began to withdraw, the weight of his mistakes crushed him.

Then, as if the universe wasn’t cruel enough, you fell ill. It started with fatigue and a persistent ache in your chest. You brushed it off at first, telling yourself that it was just stress, but when the symptoms worsened, you finally went to the hospital.

The diagnosis was a gut punch. The doctors spoke in clinical terms, but all Sang-woo heard at the moment was that it was serious. You needed treatment, the treatment was possible, but expensive.

The hospital bills mounted quickly. You had always lived sparingly, but this was different. The treatment you needed was far beyond what either of you could afford, especially with Sang-woo already drowning in debt. You had tried to remain strong, tried to reassure him even when your body weakened and the days became harder to endure.

But Sang-woo wasn’t strong. At least not in the way you were. He didn't want to put up the pretense of having a "perfect" reputation anymore, he just wanted you.

One night, as you lay in your hospital bed, pale and shivering despite the blankets covering you, he dropped to his knees beside you. He gripped your hand so tightly it hurt, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking.

“I’ll get the money,” he said, his voice trembling with determination. “I’ll find a way. I promise.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, you saw the man you loved falling apart. His face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot, guilt and desperation consuming him.

“Sang-woo,” you whispered, your heart breaking for him. For both of you. “I’ll be okay... don’t do anything reckless.”

But he shook his head, his jaw set in that stubborn way you’d come to know so well. He pressed his lips to your forehead, a lingering, desperate kiss.

“I’ll come back,” he said. “With the money. Just hold on for me.”

You wanted to believe him, but as you watched him walk away, a part of you knew that he was heading down a dangerous path.

At first, you tried to think light. You thought he had simply left to clear his head. Maybe he was meeting someone to talk about loans or some other last-ditch effort to save you. But then the days turned into weeks, and Sang-woo didn’t return.

You tried calling him, but his phone went unanswered. You asked the nurses, his mother, even some of his old university friends, but no one had seen him. You didn’t know whether to be angry, scared, or heartbroken. All you knew was that he wasn’t here, and you were running out of time.

The nurses came and went, offering kind smiles and gentle reassurances, but it wasn’t enough. What you needed—what you wanted—was him, by your side.

You missed his voice, his laugh, the way he’d hold your hand and promise you that everything would be okay. You told yourself that he was out there fighting for you, but as the days stretched on, doubt began to creep in.

In your quieter moments, you wondered if he’d given up on you. If the burden had become too much and he just left without a trace. But deep down, you knew Sang-woo. You knew how much he loved you, how determined he could be. He’d find a way back to you. He had to.

In your final days, you thought about him often. You tried to convince yourself that he had a plan, that he would come rushing through the hospital doors at any moment with that look on his face, telling you everything was going to be okay, that you could heal properly now. But he didn’t.

Instead, you were left with an empty chair by your bedside, your heart aching with the absence of the man you loved more than anything in the world.

On the last night, you couldn’t fight the tears anymore. You whispered into the quiet room—“I just wish you were here.” Your voice cracked, and you closed your eyes, letting the exhaustion finally take over. You dreamed of him one last time—of the way he smiled when you first met, of his hand in yours, of the warmth that had once filled your life.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was what Sang-woo was enduring.

He had entered the games through a salesman with a suitcase and a card with a number on the back. The games were a deadly competition where the stakes were higher than anything he’d ever faced. Life and death were decided in brutal, messed up versions of childhood games.

At first, he told himself he was doing it for you, for the money that could save your life. But as the games progressed, as blood stained his hands and the faces of those he’d sacrificed haunted his dreams, the lines began to blur.

How much of himself was he willing to lose to save you?

Every decision, every betrayal he made, weighed on him. He thought of you constantly, your smile a light in the darkness. When he felt the weight of his actions crushing him, he clung to the hope that he could still save you. That he could win, come back to you, and make everything right, no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how much pain he had to endure, it was all for you. Because how could he call himself a man—your man—if he couldn't even keep you by his side? If he couldn't even get the money to save you and have you in his arms again, healthy and full of life?

When Sang-woo finally emerged from the games, clutching the blood money that was counted from each of the lifeless bodies of the other players, he felt hollow. His actions, the lives he’d taken, the people he’d betrayed—all of it threatened to suffocate him. But he pushed it aside. None of it mattered now. All that mattered was you.

He rushed to the hospital, his heart pounding in his chest. He imagined the look on your face when he walked through the door, how you’d smile and tell him that he’d always been your hero. And for the first time since the games, he smiled. He smiled.

But when he reached your room, he froze, and everything inside him seemed to shatter.

You were still, too still. Your chest didn't rise or fall, your lips were pale, and your eyes—those eyes he had loved so much—were closed forever.

The nurse had pity in her eyes as she approached him. "I'm sorry... she passed away a few hours prior. We... we tried calling you, but..."

“No,” he choked out, he staggered to your bedside, falling to his knees onto the mattress of the bed, his hands reaching for you. “No, no, no… please, no…”

He pulled you into his arms, cradling your lifeless body as tears streamed down his face. “Wake up,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, wake up. I have the money now. I did it. I got it for you. You can get better now. Please, just… open your eyes.”

But you didn't. You couldn't.

“I got the money,” he whispered, tears falling from his eyes. “I have it. We can pay for your treatment now. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay…”

Sang-woo's hand trembled as he cupped your face. Your skin was cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth he remembered. He pressed his forehead to yours, the card that contained all the prize money laid forgotten on the floor, a cruel reminder of what he had to sacrifice to save you—of the blood, the death, and the lives he had destroyed in those games. He had told himself it was all for you, that he could endure anything if it meant seeing you smile again. But now, as he held your cold body in his arms, he realized it had all been for nothing.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been here. I should’ve stayed with you. I thought… I thought I could save you.”

He had done everything he could to save you, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. And now, he was left with nothing, because you had been his everything.

#sang woo #cho sang woo #cho sang woo x reader #sang woo x reader #cho sangwoo #squid game #cho sangwoo x reader #squid game imagine #squid game fanfic #squid game x you #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #player 218 #squid game fic #squid game season 1 #player 218 x reader #cho sang woo x female reader

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shortnspidey · 9 months ago

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SILENT RIFT

JJ maybank x cameron!reader || WC: 4.5K

SUMMARY: The Pogues finally find the gold they've been searching for after countless obstacles. However, when it comes to actually succeeding, the universe has other plans. Held at gunpoint in the middle of nowhere, a spontaneous decision changes everything. In the heat of the moment, words are said that reveal hidden feelings. Emotions run high, leading them to confront not only their enemies, but also their own emotions.

WARNINGS: established relationship, cursing, mild angst, talks of drugs, typical OBX level violence, suggestive towards the end but no smut!

A/N: Happy OBX 4 release day! This one shot is one of my old Wattpad drafts from when I was writing a JJ story. Enjoy this drabble as I try to publish another chapter of broken record or collateral hearts soon! This ended up being a long one, enjoy! Divider by @marvelstoriesepic

➩ main masterlist

➩ jj maybank masterlist

"Hell of a job melting it down, Dr. Frankenstein," JJ scoffed, narrowing his eyes at Kiara as he stepped out of the Twinkie. He clutched the melted piece of gold tightly in his hand, its weight a tangible reminder of what everyone was expecting him to do. As the group arrived outside a shabby pawn shop on the outskirts of the Outer Banks, the rundown aspect and the graffiti on the walls made your skin crawl. The shops window's were smeared with grime, making it impossible to see inside, and the peeling paint revealed patches of weathered wood.

Kiara shot JJ a glare, her frustration evident in the tight set of her jaw and the clenching of her fists. "Like you could have done any better." She retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. JJ stepped closer, standing toe to toe with her, not backing down from her challenging gaze. "I could have done much better. I took a welding class," He sassed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Woah, woah, hey!" John B chastised, stepping in between his two friends.

His presence seemed to diffuse some of the tension, his calm demeanor acting as a buffer between the two. You followed his lead, grabbing JJ by his arm and rubbing comforting circles with your thumb on his forearm knowing that he was anxious. You could feel the taut muscles in JJ's arm slowly beginning to relax under your touch, the rhythmic motion of your thumb providing a small measure of comfort.

"Chill out, okay?" John B coaxed, his voice gentle but firm. You watched as Kiara's eyes softened slightly, her earlier anger giving way to a mix of concern and frustration. She took a step back, her shoulders sagging as she exhaled deeply. "It's easy for you to say that," JJ scoffed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You're not the one that has to pawn off this piece of shit." He emphasized his point by holding up the gold bars that were now melted in a unrecognizable shape, the once gleaming metal was now a twisted, misshapen lump.

"How did I get this job anyway?" JJ muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Cause you're the best liar." Pope replied nonchalantly, his tone matter-of-fact. Letting out a sigh JJ turned to you, his cerulean blue eyes locking with yours. His eyes were a stormy sea, filled with a mix of frustration and determination. He turned his head, tapping his cheek. "Kiss, for you know, good luck." He grinned, his usual mischievous spark returning momentarily. You rolled your eyes at your boyfriends antics yet leaned in to kiss him nonetheless.

Just as your lips were about to collide with his cheek, he turned his head at the last second, smashing his lips with your in a kiss that was way too passionate for it to be in front of your friends. The warmth of his lips, the sudden intensity, made your heart race. You could have sworn you heard your sister mutter an "aww" while everyone else fake gagged, their exaggerated sounds filling the air. Pulling yourself away from the kiss, much to JJ's dismay, you smiled, leaning up and pressing one more chaste kiss to his pouting lips.

The brief contact left a lingering warmth, a promise of more to come. "You got this," You reassured him, squeezing his bicep in emphasis, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Showtime," He mumbled to himself, mentally preparing. Straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath, and gave you one last look before stepping forward. Behind you, Sarah reached out and squeezed your hand, her grip offering a silent message of solidarity and support. The warmth of her touch was comforting, grounding you in the moment.

Everyone followed JJ into the empty shop, the jingle of the bell on the door announcing your arrival. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet space, a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air. "Afternoon, ma'am." JJ greeted, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of anxiety. The shop was dimly lit, with dust particles dancing in the beams of barely there sunlight that filtered through the windows. Shelves lined the walls, filled with various trinkets and curiosities, each one telling its own story. “Afternoon.” The pawnbroker, an elderly woman with a stern face and piercing eyes, looked up from behind the counter.

Her gaze swept over your group as you spaced yourselves around the room, lingering on JJ for a moment longer. JJ stepped forward, trying to maintain his composure under her scrutinizing gaze. "I see you buy gold," He emphasized, his voice steady but with a hint of nervousness. "That's what the sign says, don't it?" She retorted, her lips curling into a sneer. She glanced at the sign hanging in the window, its letters faded and worn. "Well, I sure hope you buy a lot of it, because I am about to blow your mind." JJ carefully opened his bag, revealing the items inside. The pawnbroker's eyes never left his hands, watching his every move with a hawk-like intensity.

"I ain't got much mind left to blow, so have at it," She challenged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of defiance and curiosity. "How about them gold apples," JJ replied, his voice steady as he placed the melted gold onto the counter with a thump that echoed throughout the shop. The sound seemed to reverberate off the walls, adding a weighty finality to his action. The pawnbroker chuckled cynically, shaking her head. "That ain't real," She declared, her voice filled with disbelief and a hint of mockery. Her eyes flicked to the gold, then back to JJ, as if daring him to prove her wrong.

"That ain't real?" JJ scoffed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. He leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "It can't be," The pawnbroker pressed, her voice faltering slightly as doubt began to creep in. She reached out a tentative hand, her fingers hovering just above the gold, as if afraid to touch it. "Feel how heavy it is," He countered, his voice firm and confident. He nudged the gold closer to her, the metal glinting under the dim light. The pawnbroker hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked on JJ's, searching for any sign of deceit. Finally, she picked up the gold, her fingers curling around it.

Her expression shifted from skepticism to surprise as she felt the weight of the metal in her hand. The shop fell silent, the only sound being the faint creak of the floorboards as she adjusted her stance, the gold weighing heavily in her grasp. "Mhm, here let's get some light on that." The group watched intently as she narrowed her eyes, but nevertheless picked up a nearby magnifying glass with a light, inspecting the chunk of gold closely. "Spray-painted tungsten." She concluded, her voice laced with doubt but still firm.

"Really, okay?" JJ rolled his eyes. "Why don't you see how soft it is." He suggested. "You mind?" The pawnbroker asked, holding up a small mallet, her eyes seeking permission. "No, go for it." JJ urged, his gaze unwavering as he watched her. She brought the mallet down gently, making a small dent in the gold, then pushed down on it for further inspection. "Wow. Would you look at that." JJ remarked sarcastically, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hold your horses, we ain't got the acid test yet." She shot back, her confidence wavering slightly. "Ooh, the acid test," He turned, his eyes locking onto yours, a mischievous glint in them.

"My favorite, baby." He added with a wink, grinning as he noticed how the simple action made you flush. You pretended to be distracted by a limited edition book on the shelf, your heart racing as you tried to avoid his piercing gaze. This was certainly not the place or time. Everyone held their breath as the woman dribbled a few drops of acid on top of the gold. The liquid sizzled slightly, emitting a faint, acrid smell that filled the small shop. "Well, it ain't plated, and it ain't painted," she assessed, her tone now more serious. "Ma'am, I'm telling ya, this is as real as the day is long," He insisted, growing tired of the back and forth, his patience wearing thin.

"It looks like someone tried to melt it down," she raised a brow, her eyes meeting JJ's in a challenging gaze. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken accusations. "My mom," You stepped in, linking your arm through JJ's as the pawnbroker eyed you both suspiciously. "She had all this jewelry laying around the house, and she thought it was best to melt it down to "consolidate" it." You tried to sound as convincing as possible, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. The lie felt heavy on your tongue, but you pushed through, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sarah bite her lip to stop the laugh that she almost let out at your evident lie. The pawnbrokers gaze flickered between you and JJ, her skepticism evident. The silence stretched, each second feeling like an eternity. Turning around with a sigh, she placed the gold into a small scale behind the counter, the scale creaked under the weight. "Seven pounds," Her eyes widened. "That's a lot of earrings." Her voice had a hint of disbelief, and you could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to piece together your story.

"Okay, to be honest, ma'am," JJ spoke, clearing his throat and adopting a more somber tone. "It's really hard to see my fiancé's mom fall apart with Alzheimer's. Breaks my heart, truly." His voice wavered slightly, adding an authentic touch to the fabricated story. "Give me a minute." She tsked, walking towards a secluded office. JJ nodded solemnly, playing into the act of the heartbroken fiancé. "Take your time, ma'am." As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to give JJ a look of disbelief. "Alzheimer's really?" You whispered, trying to keep your voice low. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to handle, and you could feel a nervous giggle bubbling up inside you.

"So I talked to my boss, and this is what I can do." The pawnbroker returned, holding a piece of paper with a price written on it. Inspecting it, JJ raised his brows. "Fifty thousand?" He repeated, his voice tinged with incredulity. The offer was far lower than what you had hoped for, and you could see the frustration building in JJ's eyes. "You think I walked in here not knowin' the spot price?" JJ retorted, his voice firm. "I know for a fact this is worth 140 at least." His confidence was unwavering, and you could see the pawnbroker's resolve starting to crack. "Well sweetie, you in a pawn shop. This ain't Zurich." Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of concession in her tone.

"Ninety, or I walk," He bargained, his voice steady. "Seventy, half price, and I don't ask questions about where you got this.” JJ clenched his jaw, looking over at John B, who nodded his head, giving him the green light. "I'm gonna need that in large denominations, please," JJ agreed, his voice calm but resolute. "Well, here's the snag, I don't have that much denominated. Not here anyway, but I can write you a cashier's check." JJ immediately shook his head. “No ma’am, I want the cold hard, that’s what that sign says. Cash for gold, and that’s what I expect.” He pointed to the sign on the wall as emphasis.

“Well, I have to send you to the warehouse. I have the money there. Is that alright?” Everyone in the room held their breath, watching as JJ mentally weighed his options over in his head. “Where’s this warehouse?” He finally asked, his voice steady but with a hint of skepticism. That is how the group found themselves further into the middle of nowhere following the pawnbroker's instructions to the supposed "warehouse". The road was rough and winding, lined with tall, ominous trees that seemed to close in on them as they drove deeper into the unknown.

To say you were on edge would have been a complete understatement. Every creak of the van and small jolt from where you were seated on JJ's lap made your heart race faster. "So, they keep money out here?" Pope voiced aloud the question everyone was probably thinking. His voice broke the silence, but instead of easing the tension, it only seemed to heighten it. The unease in his tone mirrored the anxiety that had settled in your chest. JJ shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. "That's what she said," He chuckled at his own joke. "That's what she said." His snicker was met with silence, the gravity of their situation overshadowing any chance of humor.

"Stop," Pope warned, his expression hardening. The seriousness in his eyes was a stark contrast to JJ's attempt at levity. "That was cute, but definitely not the time, J," You exasperated, your voice barely above a whisper. The fear and uncertainty in your tone were unmistakable. The blonde boy nodded, his playful demeanor fading. He held onto the melted gold in one hand, the other resting reassuringly on your thigh. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort in the midst of the overwhelming tension. "I've never even heard of Resurrection Drive." Sarah inquired. "That's cause your rich." JJ mumbled under his breath.

"You've never heard of it either." Both you and Kiara retorted in unison. "Thank you." Sarah replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "There's nothing but weeds back here." Kiara informed the group, looking out the van's window and seeing nothing but shrubbery. JJ was about to retort with another sarcastic comment, yet he was interrupted by the sudden, piercing sound of a siren. The noise sliced through the tense silence like a knife. Sure enough, John B looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening as he saw the flashing lights of a car behind them, signaling for them to pull over.

"Cops? Out here?" Kiara questioned, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you kidding me!" JJ fumed, his grip tightening on the gold and your thigh, the panic in his eyes was evident. "What did we do?" Sarah questioned, her voice small and wavering, the fear clear in her tone. "Stash that," John B whispered urgently to JJ, who was still holding onto the gold in his hand. You quickly got off his lap and sat next to Kiara, your heart pounding in your chest. The van's interior felt even more confined as Pope and John B coaxed JJ to hurry up. The oppressive weight of the situation pressed down on you, making every second feel like an eternity as you waited for what would happen next.

Your heart sank in your chest upon hearing the cock of a gun and seeing a rifle a few inches away from John B's face. The metallic click echoed ominously in the confined space of the van. "Why don't I go ahead and see them hands in the air?" A gruff voice declared, belonging to a mystery assailant who wore a bandana on the lower half of his face. The fear that gripped your heart quickly morphed into a seething anger. You knew that voice. "All of y'alls hands up in the air right now." Oh hell no, you thought to yourself. This was going to end here and now. "No," You seethed, making direct eye contact with your assailant. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew you recognized him, and his cover slipped slightly.

The tension in the van was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to spring into action. The familiarity of the voice only fueled your anger, making it harder to think clearly. You could feel the eyes of your friends on you, their fear and confusion mirroring your own. "Just do as he says, Y/N," John B urged, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his fear. He slowly raised his hands, setting an example for the rest of you. "No," You shook your head, challenging him. The defiance in your voice was clear. The assailant's eyes narrowed behind the bandana.

"Alright, tough girl, come on out here then," He taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Y/N, what are you doing?" Sarah whimpered, her voice trembling as she watched you step out of the van, the barrel of the gun trained on you. "It's gonna be okay, Sarah," You reassured her, trying to keep your voice calm despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "Y/N!" This time it was JJ. His voice cracked with desperation. As your eyes met his, you could see he was barely holding it together, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "JJ, trust me, stay here," You coaxed, trying to project as much confidence as you could muster. The last thing you needed was for him to do something reckless.

"I'd listen to the lady, unless you want your brain scattered here on the side of the road," The assailant threatened, his voice cold and unyielding. The weight of his words hung in the air, adding to the already suffocating tension. "I'll be okay, I'll be right back," You promised, hoping your words would be enough to keep your friends from doing anything rash. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come, and stepped further away from the van, feeling the eyes of your friends burning into your back. Once you were a safe distance away from the van, Barry lowered his rifle, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Mighty brave of you, Cameron, especially 'cause I'm the one holdin' the gun." He mocked.

"Oh please," You rolled your eyes, your voice laced with disdain. "Drop the act, Barry," Addressing him by his name with a tone of authority, you crossed your arms over your chest, standing your ground. "We both know Rafe will kill you if you so much as lay a finger on me." You smirked confidently. "Now, why don't we cut to the chase, shall we?" You proposed, your eyes never leaving his as you reached for the shiny gold diamond ring that adorned your knuckle. Barry watched in disbelief as you slipped it off and held it out to him. "Here," You coaxed, handing him the ring. "This will get you a couple thousand dollars if you pawn it off right." Barry took the ring, studying it in the sunlight. "This covers what you and your friends got, but not what country club owes me, you feel me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest once more, the frustration evident in your posture. "How much does he owe you?" You asked, your voice tinged with exasperation. "At least two hundred," Barry replied, a smirk playing on his lips. Sighing, you reached into your back pocket for your wallet, picking out two hundred dollar bills. "Are we free to go?" You huffed, knowing that if this deal took any longer, your boyfriend would most likely come and take matters into his own hands, whether Barry had a gun or not. "Tell your boy toy that his attitude's gonna get him in trouble," Barry sneered. "Don't," You spat, your eyes narrowing. "If you even think of touching him, we're going to have a problem. You feel me?" You threw back his previous words with a defiant glare.

Raising his hands in mock surrender "Damn, looks like I hit a nerve." Barry chuckled. "I mean it, Barry," You insisted, your voice steady and unwavering. With one final smirk in your direction, Barry pockets the cash and the ring and climbs into his car without a single look back in your direction. You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding and turn back towards the van. As you approached, the tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air. "What the hell was that?" Sarah was the first to question you, her eyes wide with concern as you climbed into the backseat as if nothing had happened.

"I handled it, it's over." You shrugged nonchalantly, but the tightness in your chest betrayed your calm facade. Sarah scoffed, clearly unconvinced by your bravado. "That was pretty stupid, Y/N," Kiara scolded, her voice filled with frustration. Everyone nodded in agreement, their faces a mix of worry and disapproval. You shrugged them off, trying to meet JJ's eyes, who had yet to say anything. You could see the worry and anger battling for dominance in his eyes, the tension in his jaw making it clear just how much he was holding back. "Let's get out of here," John B broke the silence, his voice a calm command that cut through the tension. Everyone was unharmed, yet you somehow knew this was far from over.

Arriving back at the Château, you watched JJ throw open the door before John B even parked his van. The sound of the door slamming against the wall echoed through the air. You watched as JJ stormed inside, his movements quick and agitated. One hand was gripping his chest, his knuckles white from the pressure, while the other was balled into a tight fist, veins visible under his skin. He didn't look back, his anger propelling him forward. John B, Kiara, Sarah, and Pope turned to you, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity. It was as if they were silently asking if they should get involved, their eyes darting between you and the direction JJ had gone.

"I'll handle it," You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settle on your shoulders. You stepped down from the van, the gravel crunching under your feet. "Good luck," John B sing-songed, a teasing lilt in his voice. You flipped him off with a smirk, hearing Sarah and Kiara scold him in unison. Their voices faded as you walked through the door, the familiar scent of the Château enveloping you. You found JJ in the spare bedroom, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. His footsteps were heavy, each step reverberating through the wooden floor. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a storm of emotions - anger, frustration, and a hint of vulnerability.

"JJ, talk to me," You urged softly, stepping closer. Your voice was calm, trying to soothe the tempest within him. He stopped pacing and turned to face you fully. His expression was a mix of anger and hurt, his jaw clenched tightly. "What the hell were you thinking, Y/N? You could've gotten yourself killed!" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear behind his anger. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you took a deep breath to steady yourself. "He's the scumbag who sells coke to my brother. I know him and what he's capable of. As much of a psychotic asshole as he is, he wouldn't hurt me. Not without facing Rafe's wrath." That only made JJ angrier. "How are you so sure?"

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. "Maybe next time you won't be so lucky, or I won't be there to protect you." His voice was low, almost a growl, and you could see the worry etched into his features, mingling with the anger. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his breathing was ragged. "I'm fine," you replied, trying to sound reassuring. "It's over now." "Over?!" JJ's voice rose, and he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Dammit Y/N, you don't get it!" He screamed, pulling his hair in frustration. "I was fucking terrified. Did you know how scared I felt, watching the woman I love being held at gunpoint?" His voice broke, and you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, though he tried to blink them away.

You opened your mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and significant. "What did you just say?" You finally managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. JJ stayed quiet, almost as if processing the words himself. His breathing slowed, and he looked away, his shoulders slumping. The vulnerability in his stance was palpable, and it hit you just how deeply he cared. This was more than just anger; it was fear of losing someone he couldn't bear to lose. "JJ," You coaxed to stop him from overthinking, knowing that his flight or fight mode was kicking in.

JJ's confession hung in the air, the raw emotion in his voice making your heart ache. You could see the fear and love in his eyes, and it made everything else fade away. The room seemed to shrink, and all that mattered was the two of you, standing there, vulnerable and exposed. "I love you, Y/N," He repeated, his voice softer this time, filled with a desperate need for you to understand. He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection. Your breath hitched, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your hands reaching up to cup his face. "I'm so sorry, JJ," You whispered, your voice trembling.

"I didn't mean to scare you, but I couldn't just stand there and do nothing either." His eyes softened, the anger melting away as he leaned into your touch. "Just promise me you'll be more careful," He murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "I can't lose you, Y/N." He whimpered leaning his forehead against yours. "You won’t lose me, ever, I promise," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper. Without another word, you both closed the distance between one another, your lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. It was a kiss that spoke of all the fear, the love, and the relief you both felt. Bodies pressed together, seeking comfort and connection, hearts beating as one.

“And I love you too,” You grinned the second he pulled away giving you both a moment to catch your breaths. “In case that kiss didn’t make it clear enough.” JJ shook his head, only pulling you closer. "What do you say we seal the deal?" JJ grinned suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're lucky I love you." He didn't even give you a chance to finish his sentence before he kissed you again, wanting to show you just how much he meant it. His hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer, the heat between you growing more intense. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that promised so much more to come.

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wildestdreamsblog · 13 days ago

Text

My Love, let me go

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader (Idol AU)

Summary: Breaking up with him during his military service was, initially, a good idea...until you found out that someone like him just wouldn't let go. (One shot)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, , If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: An effect of my brainrot (also have u see taehyung??? That in itself is an explanation enough) ✨

While the whole country and perhaps, even the whole world, waited in anticipation for June 10, 2025, you gnawed your lips in worry.

While the entire country screamed purple with his face splattered everywhere you looked, your heart was beating with anxiety for his return.

While people have been swarming in the country for his comeback, you wanted nothing but to leave.

If you could, you would have escaped the country by now. In fact, it was not from the lack of trying. You had planned months ahead; your luggage and plane tickets were all ready to go. Your leave was already planned in your work. Your itinerary for the whole month away from South Korea was planned, budget executed down to the single won. You were ready.

You knew you were ready.

However, what you failed to account was him.

You should have known, though, that you couldn’t outplan a manipulator such as Kim Taehyung.

Everything that could go wrong that day did go wrong.

First, your airline emailed you with an apology—your flight had been rescheduled to next week due to a sudden technical issue. You clenched your jaw, told yourself it was fine. You’d just leave the city instead. Maybe escape to the countryside.

So you booked a train ticket.

Your card got declined.

You blinked at the error message in disbelief. Moments later, your bank sent you a polite notification informing you that due to a “suspicious transaction,” your card had been frozen pending a thorough investigation.

Fine. You’d drive, then.

Except, of course, your car wouldn't start.

You stared at the motionless vehicle in your driveway, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

Perfect.

Kim Taehyung: 1. You: 0.

And he hadn’t even arrived yet.

You didn’t have access to your money. You couldn’t use your car. You couldn’t even go to the place you already paid for. You were sadly, for all intents purposes, helpless and stuck.

The freedom you felt since he enlisted was slipping through your fingers by second, the weakened hold he had on you that you fought so desperately to loosen was starting to tighten again. You could feel it in your chest, your throat closing up like it always did when you sensed him near.

He hadn’t done anything directly yet…and the last time you spoke to him was when you went to visit him in his camp to end things. It had taken everything in you to face him, to stand in front of that beautiful, dangerous man and tell him you were walking away. It had taken too much of you to look into his dark and beautiful eyes to tell him that you and him were over.

But even now, you wondered—was it really courage? Or just convenience?

Because the truth was, you waited. You waited until he was safely behind gates and schedules, too far away to reach you, too confined by uniform and duty to chase after you and tear your resolve to pieces like he always did.

You ended things when you knew he couldn’t stop you.

And somehow, that made it worse. Because if there’s one thing you knew about Kim Taehyung, it’s that he never lost. Not really.

Worst of all, he never intended to lose you.

You had stood there, heart pounding, words trembling out of your mouth like fragile glass, fully expecting a reaction. Anger, disbelief, maybe even pain.

But he laughed.

He laughed like you had just told the most ridiculous joke in the world.

Head thrown back, shoulders shaking, lips stretched in that maddeningly beautiful smirk—he laughed so hard that soldiers and officers turned to stare. He laughed for too long until he uttered the words that still haunted you to this day.

Love, we will never be over.

You walked away that day, blocked his number, changed your address and never looked back.

Well, until now.

But that had been more than a year ago, you told yourself. A whole enlistment cycle. A whole lifetime, almost. He was a superstar—the superstar. There was no way he was still holding onto that, right?

Right?

And yet, deep down, under the logic and self-reassurance, under the layers of “he’s moved on” and “you’re safe now,” a familiar chill coiled in your spine.

Because if there was one thing you’d learned from loving him—it was that Kim Taehyung never forgot.

Looking back, there was no way for you to know that someone so well-loved by the public like him could be so…ruthless. So possessive. So traditional.

There was no way you could have known. The world adored him. He was beloved—a walking contradiction of mystery and warmth, always poised with that elegant ease, always smiling like the world had never bruised him. With his slow, thoughtful words and strange little quirks, Taehyung disarmed everyone, and you were no exception.

If only you weren’t swayed by his charming smile, or of how strange he was in the most beautiful way, then maybe you wouldn’t be hiding right now. Yes, you were terrified of him, but it wasn’t because you thought he would physically hurt you.

No.

You were scared of him because of how intense he loved you.

He loved you too deeply that there was no way it would ever be normal. He loved you too deeply that there was no more room for you in the us that he imagined.

Back then, he wanted to know everything—every detail of your day. What you ate. What time you slept. Whether your coworker was a man or woman. And when knowing wasn't enough, he wanted control. Where you went. Who you were with. Why you didn’t text back fast enough. Why your voice sounded tired. Why you were smiling in a photo someone else took.

At first, you made excuses. You called it passion. You called it longing. You rationalized that someone as big as he was basically could not have a simple relationship. That someone like Taehyung, someone so famous and busy, was just desperate to hold on to something real. That you were that something.

But even when you saw him almost every weekend, despite both of your demanding jobs, it was never enough. He was never satisfied with moments. He wanted all of you. He wanted to consume you. He wanted control.

Where you went. Who you were with. Why you didn’t text back fast enough. Why your voice sounded tired. Why you posted that story without tagging him. Why you looked so happy in someone else’s photo.

He said it was because he missed you. Because loving you from a distance was unbearable.

And you believed him.

He wanted you by his side, always— Wanted you on every tour, in every city, behind every curtain.

He wanted to be the only person you needed. And every night, he wanted to consume you—body, mind, time, and soul.

He asked you to quit your job so you could always be with him.

Said it so calmly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because, as he told you, he was the man. He should be taking care of you. His woman should not have to lift a finger to live. “Whatever you want,” he said, “it’s yours.”

But you never wanted to give up your independence. He never understood that despite the endless explanations you gave him.

You had seen what that looked like. You saw how dependent your mother was to your father, and you didn’t want that from you. You never wanted to ask a man for anything.

Taehyung quite literally hated how you couldn’t be with him in each tour or how you couldn’t live with him. In turn, you hated how he couldn’t just let go. You hated how he could not accept that you needed to be independent despite loving him.

You were too tired of it all that at one point, you told him that it was best for you two to see other people. And he just stared at you, eyes dark and wide with disbelief. Then he laughed. Not loud, not cruel. Quiet. Frightening, to which he answered why you needed anyone when you had him.

He said that maybe it was best to remove those people from your life.

Perhaps, asking him to breakup was the wrong thing to say.

Back then, you thought that that was the end, that you signifying your discontent with the relationship would mean it was over between the two of you.

You should have known that there was no leaving Taehyung.

If he couldn’t control you, he would control the situation. He was good at it, you surmised, shaping how other people see him.

He was good at playing the victim.

He was good at manipulating people into thinking that his love was normal and that he couldn’t live without you. He played it too well that you even villainized yourself when he got hospitalized.

They said he collapsed. Said he hadn’t eaten. Said he had broken down.

Fans were worried, news of his health took the social media in storm.

Park Jimin had shown up at your door, eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. He shoved past you without asking and stood in your living room like he owned the place.

“I didn’t know you were like this,” he said bitterly. “He only ever loved you. And what did you do?”

“You left him.” His voice shook. “How can you be so cruel?”

You had no answer. Because somehow, Taehyung had made even you question yourself.

Had it really been that bad? Hadn’t he always just loved you… deeply?

You came back. Of course you did.

But after that, he was even worse.

And now, here you were, uncertain of whether the events that just transpired were back luck or someone who was pulling the strings.

Despite that, your paranoia lessened as days went by.

It was like what happened the day of his discharge were just fluke because what followed was silence. News of him meeting his friends and even attending Hoseok’s concert were all over the social media. He was out there living his best life. It seemed like he was living well, it seemed like he had forgotten about you. There was even no attempt to contact you.

Maybe, the military life changed his outlook for the better.

Maybe the enlistment and rigorous life squashed the darkness and obsessive need in his hear.

Maybe you were overthinking.

But dear, how wrong you were.

It was a little over a week later when it happened—when everything began to unravel.

You were running late one night, dinner with colleagues stretching longer than expected. The car ride home was quiet, and all you could think about was how good it would feel to collapse into bed. You’d had one too many drinks, just enough to fumble with your keys at the door. They slipped from your hand, clattering to the floor.

You bent down to retrieve them—only for the door to slowly creak open on its own in the silence of the night.

Your blood ran cold.

Your gaze dropped to the bare feet inside your apartment, and slowly, it trailed upward—over the hem of cuffed jeans, up the muscular thighs that haunted too many of your memories. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering in panic. You didn’t want to look. You didn’t need to.

Because you already knew.

But you didn’t have to wait for confirmation. Kim Taehyung crouched in front of you, his expression unreadable as he picked up the keys from the floor and held them out to you.

He held them out to you with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Looking for these?” he asked, voice low, calm, like he hadn’t just broken into your apartment. Like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be here.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your heart thundered against your ribs, panic clawing its way up as you stared at him—his face as achingly beautiful as ever, but his presence colder than the air-conditioned hallway behind you. You tried to speak, tried to find the words that could explain your fear, your confusion, your boundaries—but nothing came.

He tilted his head, studying you, then stood up to his full height. “You look tired,” he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “You shouldn't drink so much. It's not safe. What if something happened to you? You should have called me. You know I would have picked you up”

You flinched away from his touch, finally finding the strength to take a step back. “Taehyung,” you whispered, “what are you doing here? H-how did you find me?”

“Love, please don’t be mad,” his deep voice implored you as he reached for your hand, his grip, though it didn’t hurt, was tight. It was clear that you were not going anywhere. His unbridled strength was new to you. Taehyung had always been strong, but this was different.

He pulled you inside your apartment as though it was his, as though he had every right to be there himself. As soon as you stepped over the threshold, you noted the smell of homecooked meals. Your eyes went to your dining table where dinner was set, coupled with candles.

“W-why are you here? How did you find me?!” asked him, pulling your hand away as he closed the door gently. He leaned against the door, body relaxed, but his eyes never left you. And you just knew—if he didn’t want you to leave, you wouldn’t.

“You know…” he began, his voice almost wistful. “I tried to stay away. You hurt me when you left me, did you know that?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“When you came to the base to break up with me, I was devastated,” he continued, stepping closer. “I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I kept thinking…why? Why would you say those things? I knew you were only pushing me away because of the eighteen months we had to be apart. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?” His voice dropped to a whisper, lips curving upward in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You were scared I’d forget you. You wanted to see if I’d chase you.”

You took another step back, but your spine hit the edge of the console table behind you.

“I tried,” he repeated, softer now. “I tried to respect your decision. To give you space. But I couldn’t stay away from you.”

His smile was almost self-deprecating. “Isn’t it pathetic that I could only stay away for a week?”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides as your body began to shake not from fear alone, but fury. Fury at him. At yourself. At the twisted, beautiful thing that love had turned into. You shook your head. “I didn’t try to break up with you, Taehyung,” you said through gritted teeth, voice rising despite your best efforts. “We broke up. I changed my number. I left my company. I moved apartments. I changed everything just so you wouldn’t be able to find me. We are over.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, he tilted his head to the side. Something shifted in his expression—not anger, not sadness, but something worse. Amusement. A quiet, terrifying confidence.

You watched his muscles tense beneath the stretch of his black shirt, fabric clinging to the lean power he’d carved into himself over the past eighteen months. He looked different. Sharper. Bigger. A version of him that didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room—or to cage someone in it.

“You don’t really think I didn’t know where you were all this time… do you?” he asked, tone light, almost teasing. “Come on, darling. You know me better than that.”

Your blood turned to ice.

“You know I’d go crazy if I didn’t know where you are,” he continued, his smile softening as if this were some kind of confession, not an admission of obsession. “You know that.”

And just like that, the bottom fell out from under you.

The months of peace you thought you had—the freedom you clung to like a lifeline—all of it shattered in an instant. The new phone, the job, the address, the carefully orchestrated distance... none of it had ever mattered.

Because he had known.

He had always known.

And the freedom you had fought so hard for?

It had only ever been an illusion.

Your breath hitched. You felt it the cold seep of dread slipping into your bones, anchoring you in place as he stepped just a little closer.

“You didn’t really think you could disappear from me, did you?” he asked softly, brushing his fingers along your arm like he was soothing a frightened animal. “Don’t worry. I’m here now.”

if I write another story for when the member gets out of military, who would you want it to be?

#bts fic #yandere bts #bts yandere #yandere kim taehyung #kim taehyung x you #kim taehyung fic #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x y/n

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obxsummer · 9 months ago

Text

leave me again // jj maybank

pairing: ex!jj maybank x routledge!reader

request: Routledge reader and JJ broke up during the 18 months and now she watches him with Kie? 🫢👀

summary: based on the song by kelsea ballerini; after two years together, you return to outer banks only to lose jj to kiara in a blink of an eye.

warnings: minor szn 4 spoilers, angst hehehe

navigation

You didn’t understand. You really didn’t.

How could you go from such a beautiful relationship and one of the happiest times of your life to watching your best friend get together with your ex-boyfriend? It seemed like such a cruel joke to watch people who had been with you your entire life turn against you in this way.

It took less than a week for JJ to cut things off after everyone came back from El Dorado, claiming he needed to reevaluate everything and take time for himself. Apparently, that didn’t last long, because three days later, you caught Kiara sharing his bed in Sarah’s rental condo, looking like the happiest he’d ever been.

"I can explain, just-"

The scene in front of you was sick. You'd heard JJ yell out in his sleep, something that was more common than not with his nightmares. Instincts had you in front of his door before you knew it, wanting to comfort him in case he needed someone. You didn't expect to find this.

JJ, shirtless, next to Kiara, of all people, who was wearing the boy's shirt. In bed. Together.

Whatever JJ wanted to say, you didn't give him a chance to hear it. Lips tucked in a thin line, you gave a nod. "Sorry for interrupting, hope everything's okay."

And with a smile on your face and no room for explanations, you closed the door.

“Are you still avoiding them?” Sarah’s voice came from behind as you watched JJ and Kie prep the boat for the upcoming dive.

You huffed, “Do you blame me?”

She stopped to stand beside you, her eyes watching the duo on the boat move together. “There’s no chemistry.”

“Not a bit.”

Sarah watched you carefully as if she was waiting for the dam to break. In the almost three weeks JJ and Kie had been ‘together’, you hadn’t cried and you hadn’t lashed out. You’d told her the second you found them in bed and they started spewing excuses, you just apologized for interrupting and dismissed yourself with a smile.

John B was concerned. As your older brother, it was his job to defend you and watch out for you, no matter the circumstance. When the two of you first got together, John B made JJ swear that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, swearing there would be consequences. While you’d kept your cool, he did not and JJ managed to catch himself a black eye and swollen cheek as a result.

“Has John B talked to them?”

“Has John B what?” Your brother interrupted your question as he joined the two of you in the shop, hauling a hefty backpack. He reached out to grab your shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “You okay?”

You nodded in response, clamping your mouth shut and looking back at the water. Kiara was going down on the dive with JJ, something about not leaving him alone which made your eyes roll. Pope and John B were going on the boat, leaving you, Sarah, and Cleo on shore to be lookout.

“Are you lying to me?”

You’d lost so many pieces of yourself in the moments shared with JJ, allowing the vulnerability you had believed he would never take advantage of. It was no surprise John B could see through the cracks you’d inevitably let form. You sighed, head dropping between your shoulder blades as you let out a steady breath. “I’m fine, Bee. Promise.”

John B was unconvinced by your words but didn’t push. He heard your almost silent crying at night. It was obvious you were hurting by the way you closed yourself off and hid in your skin. He hated that his so-called best friend was the one to treat you this way and cause you to feel like this.

“You can take a break,” He reassured as his backpack dropped to the ground as he pulled you into a full hug and placed a kiss on your head. “Nobody would blame you.”

You hugged him back and fought off the tears that burned your eyes. There would be a point and time to talk about all of this, but it wasn’t here and now. If you were being honest, there was nothing you’d rather do than run away from Kildare right now, but it wouldn’t be the best option by any means.

“You guys ready up there?” JJ’s voice echoed around the morning air as he called out to John B.

You hugged your brother tighter before letting go, forcing a smile on your lips. “Be careful, please?”

He rubbed your head lovingly, smiling when you tried to shove him away. “Always.”

You stepped away to give him time with Sarah and started to head back toward the house when someone called your name. JJ’s shoes stomped against the new wooden deck, the sound getting louder as he got closer. You froze in your spot as he rounded to stop you from walking away. “Can we talk?”

You stared at him for a moment, wondering how someone you loved so incredibly much could make you feel this way. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

When you moved to pass him, he grabbed your elbow gently to prevent it. “Please, I just want to get this out before… in case I don’t-”

“You’ll be back.” It was hard to avoid the instinct of reassuring him. He swallowed thickly and met your gaze. He would be back, you just didn't know if you'd be here to see it. The two of you hadn’t been alone since everything went down and there was plenty of awkwardness to show.

“I just… I’m sorry. About everything. I should’ve told you, but it all happened so fast and-”

“Did you ever love me?” The question came out of your mouth before you could think about it. You wanted to ask it for a while, to find out exactly what went through his head when he let Kiara climb in bed with him that night.

The opening and closing of his mouth was enough of a response to shatter you. Tears formed faster than you liked as you nodded.

“Figured," You breathed out, "Goodbye, JJ.”

You left him on the dock and didn’t look back as you walked away. From him, from Kie, from the friends you considered family until they made you feel like anything but. You swore then and there that you would never fall for someone in that way again.

After all, staying only made you get real good at pretend.

Coming back from the dive had been a mess of chaos. Kie and JJ were at the hospital recovering from nitrogen in their blood while the remainder of the group came back to the house with the amulet, hoping to figure out what was inscribed inside.

John B called your name as he entered the house, practically bouncing in excitement to tell you what they’d found. You’d opted to stay back after speaking to JJ on the dock, which they didn’t fault you for, knowing you needed time alone.

When silence followed JB’s call, he frowned. Something wasn’t right. The main floor was empty, not a sign of you or your relative presence in the area. Room empty too, leaving John B to question where the hell you went. They had the Twinkie and the dirt bikes were outside which meant if you went anywhere it would be on your own two feet.

“John B.”

The tone in Sarah’s voice told him his intuition was right. She met him in the doorway of your room with a piece of paper in hand, holding it in his direction. He didn’t even need to read it to know the answer to his question.

You were gone. And you weren’t coming back any time soon.

part two here :)

a/n: i hate this i'm so sorry

navigation

#obx4 #outer banks x reader #obx #outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x routledge!reader #kiara carerra #sarah cameron #john b routledge #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x you #outer banks x you

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ruinix · 3 months ago

Note

recent walk in..sugar daddy quinn mad when he realizes you haven’t been using the black credit card he gave you for expenses

Hello, lovely. Of course, hehe.😏 You did not catch me writing this. I am just a ghost taking over the keyboard. I need to put this out before a new walkin comes out.... (edit not really fully sugar daddy!quinn. But he totally would pay for everything type of boyfriend)

Broken Promise, Broken Cards

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Spanking (pussy slapping??), Edging, Unprotected sex (protections, lovelies, they’re important), Squirting, Just Quinn being so angry that he became calm and he edges you coz he can.

Count: 3356 -> 3734 words (Edited) | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re sending him pictures of your shopping. One picture after another. One choice after another. Quinn helps you pick when you ask for his opinion. He has no problem answering your texts while he watches a replay of a game. The only problem is that Quinn has yet to receive a notification from any of your purchases.

With that, he can no longer focus on the game. It’s just white noise now while he refreshes his inbox.

Swipe down. Wait. Close the app. Open it. Swipe down.

Over and over again, whenever you send him a new photo of your successful purchase.

None. Not a single fucking one.

He is getting too agitated when he receives a photo of a paper bag of a particular brand of lingerie with your delicate hand holding it. You have your nails done earlier this morning. It’s so pretty with your favorite shade of pink and favorite flower designs. Just like how you described it before you went out. He can’t wait for your hands around him tonight.

‘Focus,’ he reprimands himself.

Shaking his head, focusing on the paper bag instead, locking in the brand, he gives the purchase a few minutes to process—or whatever the fuck—but again, nothing. He stares and stares into the screen, his eyebrows meeting. He remembers having every transaction on that card to be sent over his email too. He set that up long before. So, where the fuck are they?

Are you actually buying things or are you stealing them?

Did you bring cash?

Quinn didn’t give you cash for anything else other than your nails and the tip for its service today. His frustrations build up. He’s so close to calling the bank and making sure that the card is activated. When he receives another message, he takes a moment to calm down—he has to—before opening it.

He immediately gets distracted by how bright you look. You are grinning so much that the corners of your eyes crinkle, a blush flushing your face. Your nails are on full show once more as you hold up the bag next to your face. So beautiful.

After a solid five minutes, he remembers to refresh his inbox. Only then does it dawn at him.

Are you even using the card he gave you? No, that can’t be. You promised him to use that card today. You are definitely using it.

Aren’t you?

One last swipe down to refresh his email. Still nothing.

What the fuck.

You’re definitely not using the card.

Quinn paces. He’s getting angry for you breaking your promise, getting worried because you’re buying a lot of stuff today. More than you usually do. Didn’t you just complain about your depleting savings last night? It’s one of the reasons why he secretly transferred a few hundreds of dollars—exactly three thousand—into your account. He knows that you didn’t notice it, because you would’ve transferred it back to him after you lecture him about it. If it’s not that, did you suddenly replenish it in your own way? He quickly checks the date and confirms that it’s nowhere near payday, so that’s not it.

Where the fuck are you getting your spending money?

He refuses to acknowledge that you might be using your old credit card. The one with a fucking limit.

It can’t be.

There is no fucking way.

Something snaps in his head, pushing him to act. He rushes to your office, powers up your computer, and signs in without a hitch, because you’ve never put a password on it. If you do, he knows about your little notebook of passwords under your desk plant next to your monitor.

He never really goes through your stuff. He is content and trusts you with everything. Everything. He knows exactly how deeply you feel about him as much as he does with you. Although sometimes you hide your phone from him, that’s when you’re texting your friends about him. It’s obvious because you keep snickering while throwing glances at him. He doesn’t mind that. Not at all. You can talk to your other friends about other stuff. The fact still remains. He trusts you.

But, right now, he is losing it. He needs to see. He needs to look into your email. Just this one time. He’ll apologize for it later.

His eyes are locked on the notifications, the receipts, the confirmations. The account number on every single one of them is not the one on the black credit card he has given you. He had it memorized, and it doesn’t fucking match. You are not fucking using it. What the fuck.

An ache forms in his chest. It’s like a horrible backhand that could shake up his teeth, so horrible that he had to run his tongue over them, making a clicking sound to ensure his teeth are still rooted. He crosses his arms. His legs are spread wide as he slouches against the backrest, one leg bobbing up and down. He glares at the screen, trying to will the emails to disappear while he burns them one by one in his mind. He tries a different route to imagine the account number to change, but of course, nothing works.

He rubs a hand over his face. His head pounds at the start of a headache. His phone pings from another message. It sounds like a blaring siren, making his ears ring. After a few moments, a new mail pops up.

This is so much worse than you realizing the deposit in your debit. Because one, you broke your promise. Two, he feels useless. If you were not going to use the card, you could’ve let Quinn accompany you during this shopping spree that would at least appease his soul. But then, he can force his card into the hands of the cashiers. Realization hits him.

That’s exactly why you didn’t let him tag along. You know he’ll talk his way to overtake your payments. Exhaling, a chuckle escapes him. A smirk forms on his face as he gazes up the ceiling. You are such a clever girl, aren’t you?

He’ll give this to you, but you are in so much trouble when you come home.

As if on cue, you text him, “I’m on my way home.”

He turns your computer off, standing up. An eerie calm envelope him. He’s still so angry, yet instead of vibrating and burning outwardly, it settles deep inside his bones until nothing comes up. It’s an odd feeling. It’s not heavy. It’s not light. It just is. A calm before the storm.

He undoes his second top button. If you really want to use your credit card, you can. You’re your own person. Still, you should have kept your promise. Such a bad girl.

He walks back to the living room and sits down on the single seater, reaching the remote to close off every curtain, making his place dimmer and dimmer and dimmer.

Then he waits.

He waits until you come in with your impressive haul. Extremely impressive, because you have your arms full already. When you put them down, you only leave to get more of them until you get a little pile in the living room. It’s amusing how your grin looks so self-satisfied, not realizing that he’s sitting in the corner of the room, until your eyes land on him. Your smile turns sheepish, taking your hands behind you, not daring to come closer.

Truly clever.

“Hi, Quinny. Didn’t see you there.” You wave.

“My Love,” he greets, beckoning you with a finger, but you refuse to come, shaking your head. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to put these away.”

He watches you start with one bag with the little nightgown that looks so fucking sexy. You’re clearly distracting him and it’s working. Slightly. He obliges you, his amusement growing the more you ramble. You’ve enjoyed your shopping trip. You speak at a quicker pace than you usually do. You have a little bounce on your step. Your happy energy radiates from you in waves while you continue taking everything out of bags which you fold right after. He knows you’re aware that he knows. That’s why you’re taking your time.

Quinn’s aware that you are genuinely delighted that you distract yourself more than him.

He’s proud and happy that you enjoyed your day.

Truly.

It doesn’t erase the fact that he has already lost it. The calm that his anger turned is what’s keeping him from pouncing on you, from taking you over his lap and slamming his hand on your bare ass until you got handprints that will bruise and ache for a couple of days. Just like how you want them.

He still can’t believe that you’ve broken him just from breaking your promise.

It’s entirely laughable.

Yet heat streaks down his spine, down his lean abdomen, down to his cock.

He’s so fucking hard.

He stands up, stalking towards you while you’re crouching next to a pile of paper bags. You’re still rambling a pottery workshop you’ve come across. You’re saying that you want to go back there so you can make mugs for each other. When you’ve already successfully built a mug collection in one of his cupboards.

So adorable. So clueless about the danger prowling towards you.

He stops, his shadow looming over you. He counts the seconds, but you still don’t notice him, do you? Then he sees how your hands start to shake. You do. Silly girl.

A chuckle escapes him as he grabs your arm. He swiftly pulls you up then lifts you over his shoulder.

“Quinn!” You squeal, hitting his back a couple of times. “Put me down! You’re making me dizzy—”

You let out a moan when Quinn slaps the tender spot under your ass.

“Quiet,” he orders, making you whimper like the dirty slut you are. “What did you say before you left?”

“Bye?” You sound so confused. “I love you?”

He spanks you on the same spot again, making you moan and whine. Even more when he slips his hand under your skirt, his fingers trail up and up, then he puts you down on the bed. Instantly, you flip over, looking at him like he has taken everything from you. He can already hear your protest that’s sitting on the tip of your tongue. He glares at you, daring you to speak them, but you don’t take the bait. You usually do. Interesting.

“You bought a lot.” Quinn crawls over you.

His hand flattens over your sternum, effortlessly pushing you down.

Your pupils are so blown out when he levels his face with yours, his nose grazing yours, your breath mixing with his. He can smell the gum you chewed on before you arrived, the perfume you’ve sprayed behind your ears. Your eyes fall down his lips and up his eyes again, perfectly seducing him, but he refuses, moving away when you try to kiss him, your tongue darting out to entice him.

Not yet.

“Quinn,” you whine.

“Why’d you do it?” He asks. He kneels up, flipping you over your stomach, pressing a hand on your lower back to keep you from whatever you’re planning which is being a brat.

“I didn’t do anything,” you say with pout, shuddering when he slips his hand into your shirt. He unclasps your bra without exerting an effort, so used to your undergarments. “What are you doing? I haven’t showered yet.”

Quinn doesn’t fucking care if you showered or not. Since when did he care? He doesn’t care even if you come from a workout. He has fucked you like that. Many times. All sweaty and dirty. He already licked your sweat as he plunged deep inside your quivering pussy. You coming from a whole day of shopping is simple play for him. You’re just trying to get out of the inevitable punishment.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he rumbles against your ear. He slides his thick fingers under you so he can touch your tits. So soft. So perfect in his hands. Your nipples are so taut from anticipation and his attention. He pinches the sensitive peaks, your hips coming up to grind against him. He pulls away, receiving an unsatisfied groat. “Uh, uh. Answer me before you get what you want, you dirty slut.”

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He grits. He slides down one hand down your abdomen, down into the waistband of your skirt, down until he reaches and feels the wet patch on your panties. He presses and teases along your clothed slit. “See? So fucking wet. I barely touched you.”

“Quinn, please,” you plead, panting for more.

Why are you still not repeating your broken promise?

He’s getting so annoyed. He forces your clothes off, tearing every piece of clothing on your beautiful body. He ignores how much you complain, ignores your little ‘ouch’ because you’re full of shit. There’s no way it’ll hurt when he is tearing the fabric instead of pulling it against your fucking skin. Do you think he’s fucking stupid? Do you think he’ll hurt you that way?

He’s not a fucking rookie.

He keeps you down, spreading your legs by kneeling between them, watching how your pussy drips on the silk sheets, how your entrance quivers, begging to be filled. Languidly, he feels your folds. You feel so fucking good, so fucking soft, so fucking wet.

You gasp and moan like you’re already getting fucked. You’re just so sensitive, aren’t you?

Then he gives you a slap right there. On your dripping pussy. On your clit. His other hand grips your hip to keep you there when you attempt to crawl away, but he gives you another slap. Then another. Another.

You are moaning and writhing from the pain, begging him to stop, when you’re the one pushing your wet cunt against his palm. You keep seeking, even after briefly reeling away from every hit. Your eyes look over your shoulder, meeting his, begging and begging, mentally conveying, “More, more, more.”

Such a good slut.

His slut.

You’re his.

Quinn slides his middle finger into your heat, smirking at how your walls quivers around him. Your cunt is so red from his spanking. His thumb teases your other hole. You writhe, wantonly moaning, pathetically grasping the sheets for support.

You’re not running away now, huh?

Not when he is fingering you. Not when he pounds and puts pressure on that specific spot that has you screaming breathlessly. You want this so much. You’ve been waiting for a relief that he can easily give you.

He adds another finger, thrusting them into your pussy. Harder. Deeper. The squelching noises are music to his ears when it’s coupled with your moans and groans.

Then he feels the familiar pattern of your pussy walls. You’re going to come soon. He knows you so much. Knows your pussy more than you. Knows your little tells like how your thighs quiver, how your toes curl, how your back arches into the bed.

He knows it.

So, it’s so fucking easy to just…pull away.

You look back harshly. You look betrayed as your breaths come out choppy. Disbelief reflects in your eyes, not used to him not letting you come. He always makes you come. Not now though. Quinn takes his fingers from your arousal to his lips and slowly licks them, like he’s feasting on your pussy, groaning at how you taste. Fuck, you’re truly his favorite flavor.

“Quinn, I…” you call, your eyes tearing up. “You didn’t…”

He flips you over your back. He rests your ass over his thighs while your legs are spread out.

“Didn’t?” he mocks which you only process that as a question. You’ve already been dumbed by your pending orgasm, by your need for it.

“I didn’t come,” you whine, jutting your hips up the air, begging for another touch. “Please make me come.”

“Yeah,” he nods. That makes you smile, sighing in relief. Shaking his head, he silently says, “No.”

He doesn’t let you say another thing, plunging his fingers into your pussy. He fucks you fast and deep, thumb swiping over your clit just so perfectly, only to pull away when you’re on the verge of an orgasm.

By the third time, you finally understand what’s happening and you’re begging and begging.

Your pleas don’t reach him though.

They can’t. Not when he’s still not satisfied. Not when you still don’t say anything. However, the strange calmness that locked him is already dissipating the more he makes a mess out of you. The more beautifully and frustrated you cry.

Oh, his poor, sweet Love.

“Quinn, I’m sorry. I just wanna use my card.” You sob. “I’m sorry. Please. Please. I need to come. It’s been an hour.”

An hour?

You’re counting?

He pauses his torture, because you are finally talking.

You cover your face, hiding your fucked out face, hiding your beautifully blushing cheeks, hiding how your hair sticks to your skin.

“I saw you deposit money in my account again. I thought using my card would be a great revenge. Now, I know it’s not. This sucks! It hurts not to come. We both know you’re just going to pay the bill when it comes.” You sob, looking absolutely hurt and exhausted.

Quinn quickly pulls you up, soothing you with a hug. He sighs as you melt into his touch. You sniffle but your hand reaches between you two, tugging at his pants, trying to get to his cock.

“You have to make me come.” You beg, looking at him with your best puppy eyes. “Please?”

“You always beg so perfectly.” He tucks your hair behind your ears. “Wasn’t so hard to admit your wrongs, was it?”

“I know. I already said sorry—”

He cuts you off by pushing you back. He quickly tugs his pants down, pressing his dribbling cock to your pussy, shuddering at the feel of your trembling entrance. One swift thrust and he’s seated inside of you. Fuck. Your pussy is truly made for him. He perfectly fits. All of him. He can feel every crevice, every texture, every arousal that coats you deep inside. Shit. So good. He can come just by being inside of you, by feeling your tight pussy’s embrace. Did you know that?

But he knows that it’s not enough for you tonight.

You need him to fuck you, so he does. He fucked you hard and rough that your eyes are rolling up as you come. Even then you plead for more and more.

So he gives you everything. Changing the tempo here and there, going slow and deliberate, going back to a fast pace. He gives you everything because you deserve it.

Every time he feels that you’re about to come again, he whispers into ears, “That’s my good girl. Give me one more. That’s it. My good little slut. Take what you need. Come, my Love.”

Every time.

He draws out your fifth orgasm then he comes deep inside you, swearing loudly into your ear. He’s coming so hard that his eyesight dims. Your pussy milks every drop of his cum. How he still manages to flick your sensitive clit while he comes so hard is a mystery, but it doesn’t matter when you start to gush.

You’re making such a mess.

You always do.

“Quinn, oh my, fuck,” you cry out.

“It’s okay. I got you. Just let go, my Love,” he encourages, flicking your clit again and again, until you’ve successfully drench both of you. “No more?”

“No more. No more.” You shake your head, so he stops. “Kiss me.”

He obliges you, kissing you, whispering praises in between. You both spend minutes just kissing until you’ve calm down. Quinn gives you one last kiss before he stands to run a bath. He puts a few drops of lavender and chamomile oils in the tub. It’ll soothe you.

He comes back out to wrap you with a fresh and heated towel while the bath fills up. You look so spent, so Quinn holds you for a few more minutes, whispering more and more soft praises in your ear, because you’ve earned it.

When he hears the tub fill up, he takes you to it. He helps you in, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Just relax here. I’ll join you in a bit, okay?” He says as you settle. You nod at him as your eyes slowly blink. “I won’t take long. Don’t sleep. Not when I’m not here.”

“Okay, Quinny,” you say as you yawn. Your tummy rumbles. “Hungry.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich then I’ll make dinner after our bath. Sounds good?”

You smile at him.

His heart flutters, his stomach filling up with butterflies. He presses another kiss on your head, before he’s off, leaving you to have a little alone time. He got one thing in his mind.

He made his way to your bag that’s left behind on the floor. Humming a soft tune, he carries it to the counter, setting it down, as he takes out the ingredients for a sandwich. Just bread and your favorite jam. Washing his hands quickly, he fixes your sandwich, placing it on a plate. He also takes a fresh and cool bottle of water. It will do for a light snack before dinner, but he doesn’t take it immediately to you.

He sits on a stool, rummaging through your bag, finding your wallet.

He smiles at your photo with him there. It’s taken from a polaroid. He knows there’s another photo tucked behind it. It’s you and him in an ice rink that you had personally printed out. You’re truly cute.

He touches your face, heart pounding at how breathtaking you always look.

Even when you’re so fucked out, your beauty never changes. He can’t wait to grow old with you. He bet with everything he has and more that you will still look like the beautiful woman in the world, because you are.

Then he takes the credit card you’ve used today.

His smile never goes away as he stares at it for full minute.

Then he snips it in half and does the same to another and another.

Now, you only have one card left.

957 notes · View notes

lulunothulu · 29 days ago

Text

“He did what?”

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Content: 18+ (alluding to sex) ANGRY JAKE, Protective Jake, FLUUUUUUFFFFF, rightful swearing

Summary: When your boyfriend cheats on you, Jake can’t help but want to rip his head off. Because how could that fucker cheat on the most perfect girl he’s ever met?

You’d be getting off work late because of a last-minute training flight, Maverick wanted to test the squad’s night flying. Not ideal, especially because you'd been staying late a lot lately. Because of that, everyone was calling their partners to let them know they’d be home late, including you.

“Are you gonna call Dan?” Hangman, your best friend, asks.

You only nod, holding a hand up for him to be quiet as you hear Daniel’s greeting. Jake's eyes roll when you respond, “Hi, babe.”

“Hi, baby,” your boyfriend, Daniel, replies. “What’s up? Are you heading home?”

“No,” you groan. “I’ll be getting home late tonight. Probably early tomorrow morning.”

“Another late night training?” he sighs.

“Yes, but I’ll make it up to you this weekend!” You chew on your lip, waiting for his reply.

“Well, okay. I’ll probably go out with the guys tonight then.”

“Sounds good, love you.”

He hangs up with a sigh, causing you to frown. When you turn to face where your friend was standing, you catch Hangman’s eyes on you. “Don’t ask.”

He only smirks at you.

When training finishes, it’s already almost 9 PM. By the time you get back to the locker rooms, your head is pounding from the smell of fumes you’d inhaled all day. With a groan, you jump out of the jet and begin to line up in formation, waiting for the last words Mav likes to give after a long day.

“Nothing from me today, guys,” he says. “Go home, and drive safe.”

Hangman claps your back with a cheeky grin. “What’re we doing tonight?”

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him.

“What?” he asks, dumbfounded. “It’s only,” he checks his watch, “nine.”

“Unlike you, Bagman,” Phoenix starts behind you both. “Some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“Is that because you’re both ugly?” Rooster and Coyote ask in unison.

“Jinx!” Bob yells out. “You both owe me a soda.”

You roll your eyes at their (just started) bickering, before turning to Hangman. His green eyes are watching you intently, waiting for you to say something.

You’d have to be dumb not to admit that you kind of liked it a bit. Jake Seresin has that effect on everyone. From the time you’d met him, he had always been a flirt. But with you, it seemed like his mission was to make sure you felt every look, every word, he’d say to you. Like he wants you to be the only one to feel the teal him.

Hence why and how you two got so close. You’re the only person he can be real with–who he can drop his cocky fassade with.

“Sorry, Jakey boy,” you grin. “I need my sleep. But tomorrow we should all get brunch.”

At that, Jake nods and wraps an arm around Bob, almost dragging the poor back-seater to the locker rooms.

You and Phoenix walk into the locker rooms in silence, the only thing on both of your minds being: Shower, change, and go the fuck home.

This evening, you took your time to shower in the locker rooms. Washing and scrubbing every ounce of skin you have left to get the stink out. By the time you finish, it’s almost an hour later, 10 PM.

“Bye, Nat!” you call into the one of the stalls.

“Bye, Y/N!” she yells back. “I’m definitely not sitting on the floor and letting the water hit me.”

You chuckle. “Call or text me when you get home.”

“You too!”

Looking down at your phone, you almost groan. Fuck, I’m gonna be home late, hopefully he’s still awake.

But you doubt it.

Daniel worked at a bank, meaning he’d have already been home hours ago. He has the ‘most normal job someone who’s dating a pilot could have.’ (At least that’s what he says.)

The drive home feels longer than usual. Everything that could’ve gone wrong went wrong. The road you normally take is closed, there’s a ton of traffic for some reason… all you know is that you can’t wait to get home.

Finally, you’re a few minutes away, and quickly, you’re on your street. As you’re starting to park in your driveway, you get a call from Daniel. Smiling, you press the Bluetooth screen of your radio and answer.

“Hello?” you answer.

Instantly, the smile on your face falls into a confused frown. Because instead of answering, you hear Daniel moaning. Maybe he’s watching porn?

Only when you hear a woman moan his name and the slapping of skin on skin, the frown turns into a gasp.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, tears beginning to form.

“Fuck, Raquelle,” you hear Daniel groan. “You feel so good.”

You hang up the phone, quickly get out of the car, and silently run to the front door of your townhouse. As you open the door, the noises from your bedroom get louder than they were on the phone. Immediately, your stomach feels like it’s going to fall out your ass, and nausea rolls up your throat.

But you will it down. You have to.

Because right now, you need to scream at him to get his shit and move the fuck out. And you can’t do that if you’re vomiting on the floor.

As quietly as you entered, you sneak up the stairs that lead to the second floor. Your footsteps pad on the carpeting, the only saving grace the universe decided to give you tonight. Though your limbs are exhausted and your mind drained, you need to do this.

Because this isn’t the first time this has happened.

The first time was a few months ago. Daniel blamed it on you being home late, that you were always tired, and never wanted to have sex anymore. Which was a bit true, you were tired…because you’d just gotten back from a mission.

Now, he had no excuse. You’d given him all the physical and sexual attention you thought he’d need. You‘d done it so much that you’d broken yourself to the point of exhaustion. Even when you were tired, you did as much as you could. From blowjobs to actual intercourse.

But that must’ve not been enough.

You weren’t enough.

With silent tears running down your face, you reach the door to your room and push the door open softly.

A small red head is on top of Daniel, her body moving in synch with his hips. His large hands, the same ones that raked your body once, grip her hips. His mouth is open, and his eyes are only on her.

That is, until you clear your throat.

“Y/N,” he exclaims, pushing Raquelle off of him. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Really?” you ask. “Because it looks like you’re fucking another woman in my bed.”

You raise a hand, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m just here to get some clothes so that you can move your shit out tomorrow.”

As you begin to pack, you can hear Daniel and Raquelle shifting on the bed. She muttered something to him, followed by him shushing her. Then, their lips as they kiss.

You couldn't believe you would be this stupid to trust a man who had cheated on you once to not cheat on you again. You grab enough clothes for the night, stuffing them into a duffel bag before walking into your bathroom and grabbing your skincare and toothbrush.

Pulling your phone out, you quickly text Jake, asking if he’s still up to go drink. He responds within seconds, asking if you're all right. But you don't bother answering, instead you tell him to meet you at the Hard Deck.

“Leave the key on the counter when you leave tomorrow,” you tell Daniel as you walk out.

“Can we talk about this?” he calls after you, stumbling as he tries to catch you in the hall.

“No, Daniel. I told you last time that the next time you did this you were going to be kicked the fuck out of my house, and we were breaking up immediately.” You’re crying again, tears spilling down your cheeks in fluid streaks. “I don't want any of your excuses. I just want you and your little girlfriend to get the fuck out of my house so that I can move on.”

“Baby,” he starts.

“Don’t even bother.”

The drive to the Hard Deck is filled with your sniffling and rage music playing. How fucking dare he do this to you…AGAIN. Everything in you wants to break, to punch, and slap something. Mainly yourself for believing that he could ever change.

By the time you put your car in park, you're gasping for air. Quickly, you look in your mirror and sigh at how red your eyes look. Jake is definitely going to know that you’ve been crying. But honestly, you didn’t care. For some reason, you wanted Jake to know that Daniel had hurt you. You wanted him to be as angry as you are, and you wanted him to do something about it.

Walking into the bar, your eyes scan for Jake and find the dagger squad (except for Natasha) at one of the pool tables in the back. As you begin to approach them, you can’t help but look over at your friend, your eyes glued on him.

Jake’s brows are furrowed, those green eyes of his staring off into space. He looks lost in thought, almost worried. In his hand, he’s absentmindedly peeling the label off his beer bottle.

“Y/N!” Rooster calls out.

At your name, Jake’s head snaps to where you stand. His eyes narrow when they fall on you, and you just know he’s about to say something.

“What happened?” He asks, stepping forward and blocking you from moving another step.

“Nothing,” you respond.

He raises a perfect eyebrow before softly grabbing your hand and dragging you out the back doors toward the beach.

“Jake!” You start.

“Hush,” he scolds, pulling you to the sand before dropping onto his ass, and placing you beside him. “Now, talk.”

You weren’t going to succumb to his orders. Originally, you wanted to make him work for it, but the way that his thumb caresses the back of your hand (still on his lap btw), you can’t help but let out a choking sob.

“He’s cheating on me,” you tell him. “He’s cheating on me again.”

“He did what?” Jake’s eyes are practically burning with rage. “What the fuck do you mean ‘again’?”

You turn to face him, fully expecting him to have soft eyes on you. However, the look of anger that flashes on his face almost scares you. Not because you think he’ll hurt you, but because you know he’s going to hurt Daniel.

“A few months ago,” you start. “I found out he cheated on me.”

Then you launch into telling him everything that happened last month. From you finding the texts Daniel was sending to his coworker, to you being overly sexual even when you didn't want to be. And finally ending with what happened tonight.

Jake feels like his skin is going to burn off. He wants to murder this motherfucker, to skin and burry him alive. How fucking dare he cheat on you. You who never hurt anyone. You who never did anything to deserve that.

If you were his girlfriend, he’d never have done that. Hell, he’d never let you out of his sight. You’d be the only person he’d want to touch, the only person he’d want to look at.

“Y/N,” he seethes. “Please tell me you broke up with that piece of trash.”

“I did,” you respond.

“Good, because what I’m about to say to you is going to hurt.” Jake takes a deep breath before turning your face to look at him by softly grabbing your chin. “He’s an asshole for ever thinking he deserved someone as amazing as you. The fact that he has you, someone so kind, loving, and beautiful, at his fingertips, and still chose to…”

He can’t bring himself to say that word, he just can’t. He has to stop to breathe, to calm down.

“Y/N,” he starts again, “you are the most selfless, funny, and hardworking person I’ve ever met. The fact that you did that for him, and he still chose to do this, just shows that he never wanted you. He wanted the idea of you.”

At the tear that escapes your eyes, he brushes it away with his thumb. His eyes search yours before he smiles softly.

“Anyone would kill to have you in their arms,” he continues softly. “Anyone would be lucky to have you as their own, as their girlfriend.”

Then, with a deep breath, he adds, “I would love to call you my girlfriend. I would be so proud and would want to show you off to everyone. I would never hurt you, never cheat, never make you cry…I’d be the perfect boyfriend because I’d only have eyes for you. My heart would only be yours.”

Confusion fills your mind. Did he seriously just say that? Did he just admit that he would want to date you? Not that you hadn't thought of it, because you have. Especially those nights when Daniel would want you to give him a blowjob and you just weren't feeling it. But ESPECIALLY on those nights when Daniel wasn’t home and out cheating on you.

To hear him say the words you’d only dreamed of hearing him say made your heart sputter.

“Do you mean that?” you ask, sniffling.

“I do,” he replies softly, almost at a whisper. “I’m sorry you had to go through this again. Why didn’t you tell me it happened a few months ago?”

“Because I was embarrassed.” You sigh, looking out at the crashing waves. “And I knew you’d probably kill him. I was saving you some charges.”

Jake laughs, his shoulders shaking beside you.

You both sit in silence, the waves and laughter from the bar behind you the only thing in the air. That and the words Jake has told you. You keep thinking about what would've happened if you had never met Daniel. Would you be dating Jake? Probably not. Jake is a flirt. But then again, he's always been levelheaded with you. He's always been himself around you.

Suddenly, for the first time tonight, you feel like everything was going ot be okay.

“Y/N?” Jake’s voice cuts into your thoughts.

Turning to face him, you find him already looking at you. His eyes are almost blue under the night sky. His sandy blonde hair looks golden under the moonlight, and his lips are pulled back into a soft, but tentative, smile.

“Yes?” you reply.

“I meant what I said. I would never hurt you if you were my girlfriend.”

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t care. In fact, you welcome the burn. Maybe deep down, this is what you've always wanted. Maybe that was why you sought out Daniel, someone normal, someone who was as close to Jake as you could find.

“I believe you,” you tell him with a smile.

You both stay silent again, looking at one another like it’s the first time you’d truly seen the other.

Had he always had pretty eyes?

“Jake,” you whisper.

“Yes?”

“I think I’d like you being my boyfriend,” you finish. “Maybe not now, but later. After I’ve healed a bit.”

Jake looks like he’s just been told he’s getting a puppy because his eyes gleam with joy before he nods, a wide smile you know well forming on his lips. (the smile in question ->)

“I’d like that a lot.” He reaches a hand to brush back a lock of hair that’s blown into your face before tucking it behind your ear. Then, with a wicked smile, he asks, “Now, do you want to go get absolutely hammered? We can have Baby On Board drive your car to my place after.”

“Let’s do it.”

--------

This has been in my brain for a little too long and I've jsut now FINALLY let it free lol Enjoy!!!!!!!!

#glen powell #fanfic #glen powell x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman fic #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x rooster #glen powell fic

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green-butterfly-writes · 5 months ago

Text

Little Thief (Part 2)

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Summary: Red Hood has a new informant, and nobody likes it. Two of the bats meet them. It’s not what they expected.

Trigger Warning for starvation and animal/child abuse. Read at your own risk.

Also, there is angst, but I promise it will get better soon 💚

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so spelling mistakes are likely to happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Red Hood had a new informant. One he would not name. And nobody liked it. This mystery individual had given him the location of Cobblepot’s new scheme a month ago, a warning about a big bank robbery two weeks later, and a tip to look into what the Black Mask was doing five days ago. It was good information, but Batman (being paranoid as he was) didn’t trust it, and neither did anyone else. It was likely a trap, but Jason protected his informant with such passion that nobody could get anything out of him. At least, not until today.

Jason was out of commission for a week, and Gotham was in deep trouble. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and despite thoroughly examining every inch of every abandoned or rundown theme park, amusement center, and playground in Gotham, they hadn’t found a trace. It took a mix of bribery, black mail, threat of bodily harm and a significant amount of painkillers for Jason to agree to give them instructions on how to get the information they wanted. Which is how they ended up on a random rooftop with a bag of fast food.

~~~

Two figures made an unwelcome arrival at your designated meeting place. Instead of a single pair of feet softly falling on to the roof, and the air being filled with the familiar scent of sweat, gunpowder, and campfire cologne mixing with deep fried chicken, the wind sent a wave of overpowering floral detergent, mint shampoo, and citrus no-tear soap to assault your senses. The sounds of two individuals landing harshly on the roof stabbed at your sensitive ears, and even though the moonlight glowing from behind them obscured their appearances, you could price together who had intruded upon your night.

They both scanned the roof from their vantage point, and you crouched closer to the ground and leaned against the brick box that functioned as an access point to the roof, hoping the shadows would hide you long enough to make an escape plan.

After seeming to confirm there was no human in sight, the taller of the two figures turned to examine the surrounding buildings, and the smaller crossed his arm over his chest and huffed.

“I don’t trust this,” the smaller one petulantly mumbled, quite enough you weren’t sure the man behind him could have heard, “Everything about this is suspicious, the secrecy, the location, the set up… who trades information for a burger of all things.”

“I heard you the first seven times Robin,” the taller of the two answered, dropping a familiar looking paper bag on the ground before arching into a handstand, “but this is the best — and currently the only — shot we got.” The words hung in the air for a moment before he added, “and it’s not a burger, Jay was very particular about that”

The boy huffed in frustration and looked ready to lose his temper, but with the cargo confirmed as food, your plans of a quick quiet escape were all but abandoned. Even with the smaller one — Robin — facing away momentarily to glare at his upside down companion, the temptation of food was just too strong. You hadn’t seen Red Hood in three days, nor had you eaten in just as many, and your stomach ached with need. Under better circumstances you could have dove between the two and stolen away with the food, but the past several days had been brutal, and every movement hurt. You opted to stay where you were, in hopes a better opening may present itself.

The taller of the two righted himself to his feet, and looked around at the surrounding building again, before lifting one hand to his ear, “you sure we got the right place? I don’t see anyone… no I checked, I’m sure. What do you want us to do, just wait around? For what?! Yes… Yes! I understand that, but is this really — no, I promise. And who’s fault is that?…” he spoke heredity and harshly, and with all the standard Gotham street noise closer than it could be, it took you a moment to register the mumbling of another voice. You scooted closer in hopes of hearing the other side of the conversation, but due to a mix of pain and exhaustion, you stumbled, disturbing some of the debris around you, and while the taller of the two remained seemingly oblivious to your presence, Robin’s piercing eyes locked on you your location, still obscured in the shadows.

He grabbed hold of the sword on his back, and confidently stepped forward. You hesitated for a moment, before carefully extracting yourself from the dark, staying close to the ground in hopes of seeming as small as possible. Robin froze for a moment upon first impression, though his face was unreadable. He slowly sheathed his sword, and in turn you rose from the ground to stand. He took a soft step forwards, and you did not back away. He took another slow step towards you, lowering himself slightly, trying to appear less frightening, and in turn you made a small shuffle forward. By this point Nightwing had fallen silent, watching your careful dance with his companion. A delicate back and forth until you were three feet apart.

“What are you doing here thalabun?” he asked softly, more rhetorical than anything. You weren't sure how to answer the boy, how to explain your relationship with crime ally's guardian, so you stayed there, looking at him, examining is spiky hair and soft skin, familiarizing yourself with the citrusy smell that wafted off him, listening to his faint, controlled, rithmic breaths.

“Give me the bag,” his voice was sharp and stern again, head aimed at his elder.

“No way,” came a swift response, “we need it for the informant, remember?”

“I'll only take a little, look at it!” Robin exclaimed gesturing to you, “plus we've been here for almost twenty minutes. I don’t think they’re coming.”

Nightwing seemed to mull it over, carefully examining you, before picking up the bag and launching it at a waiting Robin. Robin unwrapped the chicken sandwich, and pulled off a piece of the patty, tossing it at your feet, where you quickly lapped it up. Nightwing wandered over to where his partner was sitting on the ground and dropped beside him.

“Ok Robin. What's next? The informant is a no-show, and we still need to find the joker. Where else could he be?” they both sat in silence considering the question, pondering what — or rather where — they missed. A small, strangled ‘yip’ echoed into the damp cold of the night, and both vigilanties snapped their attention back to the fox. It yipped again, tail wagging, as if to say ask me.

“You wouldn't happen to know where the joker is, would you?” Nightwing asked, almost sarcastically. He got a yip in response, and a head bob that resembled a nod. That made him pause…

“You do?” he repeated, beginning to doubt his vision and sanity. But as if to assure him of both, the creature repeated the gesture. “Could you show us?”

That… was a bit more difficult. Your body hurt and you were tired, three days of no food, little sleep, and constant harassment from kids, store owners, and wild animals alike had taken a toll. But you wanted to help. To be useful. At least to pay back the kind souls for feeding you, but also because doing good felt nice. And very little seemed to feel nice these days. So you summoned what strength you had, and launched yourself at them, leaping between, and landing on the hard floor with surprising grace. You pushed all your energy, all your hope, and strength, and thankfulness, into your legs so that they would go, go, GO!

You made it just short of the edge of the roof before your legs gave out and you were consumed. By darkens. By pain. Your back hurt, burning with every cut and bruise you had ever received. Your legs stung and ached. Your stomach clawed at your flesh begging to be filled or released from its prison. You were surrounded by darkness. Deep and unending, it was cold and quiet, yet all too loud, swallowing you, leaving you with nothing but pain. Everything hurt. So, so much. And you were alone, with no one to treat your wounds or hug your suffering heart. There was no warmth to reach for, no soft blankets or squishy stuffed animals. Just you, alone, cold, and in pain.

Two small, steady hands buried themselves beneath you, before carefully leaning you against something soft and sturdy. A kind hand shifted to run from the top of your head to the base of your tail, before repeating the motion. It was soothing, inside and out. Slowly the pain alleviated, and your breathing evened out. The dizzy feeling lifted, and you summoned all of your will power to crack open your eyes just a bit. You were met with the soft concern of Robin, worry visible even though the mask he wore. Robin’s steady breathing softly lifted you ever so slightly, and you focused to match his breathing: in and out, in and out. He smelled clean and strongly of oranges. It reminded you of the girls home you had lived in for six months before it was shut down for feeding the kids expired food. It was not a good place, but it was kinder than many others. You had missed the smell.

“How about I carry you and you point to where we need to go?” he recommended softly, still running his hand down your spine. You basked in his warmth and soft touch for a moment longer, trying to regain your strength, before shifting in his hold and pointing at Gotham’s skyline.

“That way?” You briefly nodded in confirmation, and both boys launched themselves off the roof and into the night air.

You had never seen Gotham from this perspective. Sure you climbed up fire escapes, and sat atop many buildings, but it was nothing like this. Nothing like soaring through the air, skyscrapers flying by. The way the wind licked freely at your hair reminded you for a moment of a trip you had taken with your mother long ago. She was driving on an empty dirt road, heading to the beach. The air was sunny and warm, the breeze swayed the trees in a methodical way, and your mother had let you stick your whole upper torso out the window. Distant street noises brought you back to reality, and looking down you saw the cars and people, they reminded you of Mr. Knox’s toy train display, the one that nobody but him was ever allowed to touch. They all looked so small from here.

Eventually you all landed outside a junkyard with a broken front gate. You led them inside, between piles of broken cars and rubbish, around the sharp metal and spilled oil, all the way to a faded, rusty, ice cream truck. Its hood was dented, the paint was chipped, and it was missing its two back tires, but a distinctive, infuriating, familiar laugh radiated from the inside.

The two vigilantes exchanged a look, before Nightwing turned to you and held out a crinkled paper bag.

“I guess you were Hood's little informant,” he breathed out. You gladly accepted the payment, and retraced your steps out of the junkyard and into the concrete jungle of Gotham.

Once you were long out of view, and hidden in a grimy abandoned back alley, you softly plopped the bag on the ground. Your food was in a bag and wrapped in foil, you’d need thumbs to get it out. You didn’t like being in human form, not right now. You were skinny in both forms, but without the fur coat being a fox provided, the wind and cold seemed to sink right into your bones. It didn’t help that your small amount of clothing had definitely seen better days. But food is more important than momentary discomfort, so you shift, trading your tail and matted fur for arms and skin.

You unwrap your chicken sandwich and sink in your teeth. The bread gives way softly, and a delicious crunch sounds as the lettuce brakes away into your mouth. The tomato bleeds its sweet juices onto your tongue, and as your mouth finally closes around the first bite of food you’ve had in days, you realize that by some miracle, despite the hour weight and cold conditions, the center of your crispy, chewy chicken patty was still warm. You barely finish chewing the first mouthful before taking a second, desperate for food and warmth.

You wonder if Red Hood is ok.

Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you think 💚

Notes:

Nightwing and Robin intentionally landed loader than they normally would in hopes of alerting the informant they had arrived, since they were expecting a human.

Jason, on the other hand, always tries to be especially quiet when coming to meet you because he knows your ears are sensitive.

'thalabun' is fox in Arabic according to google translate. if this wrong please, please let me know, as I intend to use it with some consistency moving forward.

ALSO!! Illustration

tag list:

@4rachn3

Let me know if you want to be added 💚

#yandere batfam #platonic batfam #platonic yandere #yandere damian wayne #yandere damian #yandere jason todd #batfam x reader #yandere batfam x reader #batfamily #yandere batboys #yandere batfamily #soft yandere #batfamily x reader

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iydiamartinx · 2 months ago

Text

THIS MEANS WAR VII

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 4.8k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: Ngl I struggled slightly this chapter, but I hope y'all enjoyed!

GOTHAM’S CHARITY GALA

You had no idea why you’d agreed to the charity gala in the first place.

You hated galas.

They were suffocating affairs filled with overly expensive champagne, smug smiles, and people who pretended their bank accounts made them saints. Everyone there wanted to be seen—wanted to appear generous, compassionate, noble. But it was all just a show. A glossy, expensive performance for a cause they barely understood and would forget by morning.

The rest of your week had been a blur. You’d been summoned back to the research center on short notice after whispers of a possible breakthrough with the experimental antidote for Joker venom. The work demanded everything—your mind, your focus, your hours. You buried yourself in it so completely that you forgot to text Dick back.

Every day bled into the next. You’d wake up, lecture, research, eat whatever you could find, then collapse into bed just to do it all over again. You hadn’t even remembered the gala until Anthony brought it up casually over coffee, asking if you’d found a dress yet.

Of course you hadn’t.

That was quickly remedied. You found a gown the next day—a royal blue silk piece that clung in all the right places, elegant without being excessive, alluring without trying too hard. Thankfully, you’d already written your speech weeks ago. All that was left was to show up, smile, speak, and survive.

Crowds were never your thing. But years of standing at the front of lecture halls and commanding the attention of restless students had toughened you. You gave the speech. You even got applause. And then?

Then it was just a matter of making it through the next hour before executing a flawless Irish goodbye.

Champagne helped. You snagged a flute from a passing waiter with a practiced ease, the cold glass soothing against your fingers as you weaved toward the buffet. If there was one redeeming quality about rich people—it was their taste in food.

You’d just finished fixing your plate when you turned, nearly colliding with someone.

Your heart jumped as you caught the edge of your dish just in time, the food threatening to topple. “Oh my god! I’m so so—”

You looked up.

Ocean blue eyes met yours.

“Dick!” you breathed, startled. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

His gaze swept down before he could stop it, drawn to the way the deep royal blue hugged your frame. You caught the subtle shift in his expression—the quick darkening of his eyes when they landed on the dress. It was like the universe had chosen that shade with him in mind.

“Wow,” he murmured. “You look… beautiful. That blue, it suits you.”

You felt the heat crawl up your neck and fought the urge to blush. “Thank you.”

“You never texted me back,” he said, his voice softer now, more intimate over the clinking of glasses and hum of chatter.

You gave a small sigh. “I meant to. I really did. But the lab thinks we might be close to something with the antidote. I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone check my phone.”

It wasn’t a lie. You had been buried in work. Buried in pressure.

But still, the guilt gnawed at you.

Because the truth was—while your phone sat forgotten under a pile of lab reports and takeout containers—you’d also been quietly freaking out over the fact that you might be accidentally dating two men at once.

You’d meant to text Dick back. You just… got busy.

And maybe, a little, you panicked.

A slow breath escaped him—relief, not frustration. “Thank God. I thought I’d blown it.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Not yet.”

That crooked, boyish grin spread across his face. “Lucky for me.”

You turned back toward the buffet, needing a break from how he sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach with just a smile. “You hungry?” you asked, more to distract yourself than him. “Because I’m staking claim on that last crab puff.”

“I’m more of a visual feast kind of guy tonight,” he said, still looking at you.

You shot him a look over your shoulder, feigning annoyance. “You’re laying it on a little thick, Grayson.”

“Am I?” he asked, following you to a quieter corner of the ballroom with two drinks in hand. “Maybe. But you disappeared on me for a week. I thought I had to make it count.”

You paused, that twinge of guilt returning. “I really didn’t mean to ghost you. The team’s been on edge—we might finally have something, and I just got swept up in it.”

“I know,” he said, and there was no bitterness in his voice. Only quiet understanding. “It’s one of the things I like about you. When you care, you commit.”

His gaze dipped again, lingering on your dress—on the way the silk hugged your frame and shimmered under the soft lights. His voice dropped, lower now, rough around the edges. “But I’m glad I ran into you tonight. I almost didn’t come… but seeing you in that? Definitely made this night worth it.”

You raised a brow, amused. “What—the dress?”

There was a slight pause. A flicker in his expression. His jaw tightened just a touch before he said, “The dress looks amazing on you. But I like see you in that colour.”

You tilted your head. “Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not saying?”

His smile returned, this time with a more wolfish edge—pleased, like he was enjoying a secret you weren’t in on. “Maybe I just have a thing for blue.”

You bit your lip, a playful glint in your eye. “Noted.”

Something shifted in his eyes then. Just slightly. The playfulness remained, but softened at the edges by something more grounded. “You know I meant what I said earlier. I know you’ve got a million things demanding your time. But I don’t mind waiting. I just want to be in the running.”

You looked at him carefully, studying the softness in his eyes, the quiet steadiness in the way he held himself. Your heart beat a little too fast now.

He wasn’t pushing for more than you could give. He wasn’t asking you to slow down or shrink yourself. Wasn’t trying to change your pace or compromise who you were. He just… wanted to show up.

To be present. To try.

And that only made the guilt twist deeper in your chest.

Because he was just so damn sweet. Kind in that quiet, consistent way that crept up on you when you weren’t looking.

And even if the two of you hadn’t talked about exclusivity—even if this thing between you was still unnamed—it felt like you were sneaking around behind his back. Like you were keeping a secret from someone who didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark.

You weren’t doing anything wrong, not technically.

But it didn’t feel right, either.

Not when he looked at you like that.

But before you could find the words to answer or worse spill your guts, he pivoted.

“How long do you usually last at these things?” he asked, a curious edge returning to his tone.

You pushed the fluttery feeling away to give him a dry look over the rim of your glass. “Depends. Long enough to make the speech, shake a few hands, charm a donor or two… and stick around just long enough to sneak a second helping of whatever dessert they’re hoarding at the buffet.”

His mouth curved. “Strategic.”

“Survival,” you corrected.

He leaned a little closer, playful but genuinely interested. “And tonight?”

You glanced at the glittering ballroom, the swirl of tuxedos and designer gowns, and sighed. “About the same plan. I was getting ready to dine and dash within the next ten minutes.”

He let out a low, amused breath. “Guess I intercepted your escape.”

You quirked a brow. “Is that what this is? A rescue mission?”

“Depends,” he said, swirling the amber in his glass. “You want to be rescued?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you let your eyes scan the room once more—the same painted smiles, the same tired performances. And then you looked back at him, at the ease in his expression, the sincerity beneath the teasing.

A slow smile curled at your lips. “I might be open to it.”

“So then…” he said, his voice dipping again, mischief returning to his eyes. “What do you say we get out of here?”

You raised a brow, wary but amused. “What did you have in mind?”

He leaned in just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “How about we go on that second date of ours?”

You took a second, letting the offer hang there, watching him—how easily the flirtation sat beside the sincerity. And how hard it was not to fall a little deeper into both.

You reached for your clutch, sliding it under your arm. “Lead the way.”

You had no idea what to expect as you slid into Dick’s car and let him pull out onto the dim Gotham streets, the city a blur of gold and shadow through the windshield. Streetlights flickered overhead in slow pulses, casting moving patterns across the interior as you settled into the passenger seat.

“I really hope you were telling the truth and you’re not actually a kidnapper,” you teased, shooting him a sidelong glance.

He smirked without missing a beat, eyes still on the road. “Well, if I were, this would be the smoothest abduction in Gotham history.”

You snorted. “Great. That’s reassuring.”

He glanced at you then, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You don’t seem too worried.”

You bite your lip and give him a gentle grin, “Maybe I’m beginning to not mind if the kidnapper is you.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence where your own words hung in the air—long enough for the both of you to register just how ridiculous they sounded.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face with your hand as a laugh bubbled out. “That was so bad.”

Dick burst out laughing, shaking his head. “That was terrible. You really tried to make that smooth.”

“Well, not everyone is as smooth as you, Casanova,” you shot back, grinning as you dropped your hand.

He glanced over, mock offended. “Casanova? That’s slander. I’m at least a few degrees more charming than that guy.”

You rolled your eyes, still smiling. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, eyes flicking over to meet yours, “here you are. In my car. Laughing at my jokes. Questioning your life choices.”

You smirked. “I’ve made a lot of questionable life choices. You, however, are definitely not one of them.”

That earned you a curious look. “Oh yeah? What was the worst?”

You leaned your head back against the seat, sighing. “My ex was pretty bad. And… so was my family.”

That made his eyebrows tick up, but his voice stayed easy. “Oh yeah? Me and my old man used to go at it all the time when I was younger. We were like lit matches and gasoline.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Brother, for me. We lost our parents when I was still a kid. It just… unraveled after that.”

His smile faded. “I’m sorry,” he said, quieter now. “I know how that feels. I was adopted after losing both of mine.”

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between you. Grief, loss, understanding.

“I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

Dick offered a small smile. “Yeah. Me too. Me and my adoptive dad… we got better with time. And I gained some brothers along the way that I wouldn’t trade for anything—even if they drive me up the wall half the time.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Brothers are the bane of any existence.”

But the smile didn’t last. It slipped, just slightly, before you looked away. “Yeah, me and my brother never got to that point. But… I met Milo and Anthony. They’re practically my family now. Best friends a girl could ask for.”

Dick caught the shift in your tone—the careful way you redirected, the weight tucked behind your words. He didn’t push. He could tell you were still trying, still deciding how much of yourself to share. And he didn’t want to scare that trust away, even if you had information he needed.

“Well,” he said gently, “I hope I get to meet them one day. And properly thank them—for pushing you into going on that date with me.”

You snorted. “You say that now, but they’re nuts. Be prepared to be shamelessly objectified by Milo, who is already talking about rating your ass. Meanwhile, Anthony will be pouring drinks before you sit down and somehow get you blackout drunk on fruity cocktails.”

Dick grinned, completely unbothered. “My ass is out of this world. I welcome the judgment.”

You stared at him. “You want to be objectified?”

“I’m just saying—if Milo’s going to rate me, I want that five-star Yelp review.” He leaned back, smug as hell. “Bonus points if he uses the word phenomenal, juicy, perfect—”

“Oh my God, I get it!” you laughed, lightly smacking his shoulder.

He shot you a bright, unrepentant grin.

“Don’t worry,” he added smoothly, “he can admire it all he wants. You’re the only one who gets to touch it.”

Your laugh caught in your throat for half a second—equal parts flustered and amused.

“Oh my god,” you muttered again, this time under your breath, as heat crept up your neck.

Dick just wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m just setting expectations.”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” you said, rolling your eyes—though the corner of your mouth tugged upward, betraying your smile. “You’re just lucky you’re not bad company, Grayson.”

He shot you a lazy grin. “Careful—keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”

You smiled to yourself as you looked out the window for a moment, watching Gotham slip past—familiar, but somehow quieter tonight. It was easy with him. Too easy.

The car rolled to a stoplight, and for a moment the only sound was the soft hum of jazz on the radio. You glanced out the window, but curiosity tugged your gaze back to him.

“So…” you started, lips curving. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or are you just hoping I’ll keep playing along out of sheer boredom?”

He tapped the steering wheel idly with one hand. “Where’s the fun in giving it away?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You realize this is how horror movies start, right?”

He chuckled. “Relax. No horror. No creepy cabin in the woods. No surprises in the trunk. Just a solid Plan B for people who hate galas.”

You raised a brow, intrigued despite yourself. “Plan B, huh?”

He shot you a quick grin as the light turned green. “Trust me. You’ll like it.”

And oddly… you did.

You didn’t question him as he parked, or when he came around to open your door with a conspiratorial smile. You didn’t pull away when he gently reached for your hand, guiding you across a quiet rooftop entrance, the night air brushing your skin. Instead, you found yourself smiling—giddy, uncharacteristically so—when he stepped behind you and carefully covered your eyes with his palms.

“You’re really committing to this,” you murmured.

“That’s how surprises work,” he said, his breath warm near your ear.

Surprisingly, you weren’t nervous. He held you steady, each step guided with care, and you knew—instinctively—that he wouldn’t let you fall. There was something grounding in the way he moved with you.

“Alright,” he murmured beside you, his voice low. “Ready?”

You nodded.

His hands slipped away.

It took a second for your eyes to adjust. But when they did, your breath caught.

A full trapeze rig stood before you, framed by a canopy of soft, golden fairy lights that glittered overhead like suspended stars. A soft projector spun slow, dreamy patterns of light across the floor—muted swirls of color like something out of a dream.

In the dim glow, a faded wooden sign came into view.

Haley’s Circus.

The space smelled faintly of chalk, clean rope, and wood polished with time. High ceilings arched above, draped in shadow, and at the center of it all—your very own private circus act.

You turned toward him, wide-eyed. “What is this?”

He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching your reaction like he was trying to memorize it.

“Just a place I come to,” he said quietly. “When I need time for myself.”

You looked back at the trapeze. At the soft glow of lights. The hush of the space. The quiet magic that lived in the bones of the building.

“This is…” you breathed, eyes wide as you took it all in. “It’s beautiful.”

Dick smiled—but it wasn’t the usual flirtatious grin he’d given you. This one was quieter. Softer. More earnest.

“You want to go up?” he asked.

Your head snapped toward him. “Wait—seriously?”

He nodded once, casually. “Why not?”

“I mean, I’ve never even touched one of those before,” you said, eyes darting to the trapeze rig. “Is that… safe?”

He stepped closer, voice low and easy. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you.”

You blinked, his words settling into your chest like a promise with weight behind it. He wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t just showing off.

You studied him for a moment longer, then bit your lip—half-uncertain, half-thrilled. “Promise?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Promise.”

And somehow, you believed him.

He guided you to the ladder, steadying you as you climbed. At the platform, he helped you position your hands on the trapeze bar, giving you a few quick instructions—his voice calm, confident, just enough to settle your nerves. Then he offered a wink and climbed down, making his way to the opposite swing.

You watched him move with fluid ease, like the rig was an extension of him. As he began to swing back and forth, his body weight shifting effortlessly, you let out a nervous laugh.

“Who knew you were a circus kid.”

He grinned mid-swing, his legs pumping effortlessly. “My secret talent. Now are you gonna keep stalling, or are you gonna swing?”

Your hands gripped the bar tighter. “You’re gonna catch me, right?”

“I’ve got you,” he said without hesitation.

You took a breath—deep and sharp—and jumped.

Air rushed past you as you swung forward. Across from you, Dick leaned back on his bar, flipping upside down like it was second nature.

“Let go!” he called.

With a small yell and your heart in your throat, you did.

For a split second, there was nothing—no ground, no sense of direction, just gravity yanking you down and adrenaline surging up. Then—

Strong hands caught your arms midair.

He caught you.

You dangled there, breathless, eyes wide, your weight suspended only by his grip. The two of you swung together for a moment, the motion smooth and steady.

Then he looked at you and smiled. “Ready?”

“For what?” you asked, still catching your breath.

He winked.

Before you could respond, he let go of the bar.

You shrieked, the sound breaking out of you in a wild, startled laugh as the two of you dropped in a freefall, crashing into the net below. Your body bounced high, weightless for one giddy moment before settling. Another laugh—pure delight this time—escaped you.

As the movement calmed, you rolled to the side just as he rolled toward you. Your arm found its way across his chest, anchoring you in the quiet aftermath. Breath mingled. Laughter faded. His body was warm beneath your arm, his pulse steady beneath your fingers.

You met his gaze, heart still racing for a very different reason now. You bit your lip—less out of nerves, more to keep yourself from smiling too much.

“Hi.”

His grin widened. “Hi.”

Your body leaned in before you could stop it, and he met you halfway, your lips met—softly at first, testing the waters. Dick’s kiss was gentle, teasing and curious. His hand slid behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened it, his body shifting closer until you felt the warmth of him press against you.

Then, with the kind of grace that should’ve been impossible on a net, he rolled the two of you over without breaking the kiss, settling above you. He smiled playfully into the kiss.

A quiet moan escaped your lips as his hands skimmed down your sides, slow and sure. You arched into him, your own hands exploring—chest, back, the lines of lean muscle beneath his shirt. Your fingers drifted toward his waistband, hungry for more—

But then his kiss faltered.

Just for a breath.

He shifted, pulling back slightly, just enough for you to notice. You froze, blinking up at him wondering if you did something wrong.

He sighed as if he was physically pained, forehead lowering until it rested against yours.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said quietly, his voice rough with restraint. “Because, trust me, I really want to. It’s just…” He exhaled slowly. “These last few years, I haven’t really dated anyone. It’s always just been quick,, sleep with them and move on. And I don’t want that with you.”

You stayed quiet, watching the emotion flicker across his face as he spoke.

“I like you,” he said, softer now. “And I want to do this right. Not some quick romp in public on a trapeze net—tempting as that is.”

Your expression softened. A slow smile formed as you leaned up and kissed him—gentle, grateful, warm. “That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me.”

He smiled, a little bashful, a little relieved.

“I can wait,” you added with a wicked glint in your eye. “But just saying—fucking on a trapeze net could be fun. It’s pretty bouncy.”

Dick groaned and dropped his face into the crook of your neck. “You are an evil woman.”

You laughed, threading your fingers through his hair. “And yet, here you are.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, lips brushing your skin. “Here I am. Completely doomed.”

WAYNE MANSION

Dick was still riding the high from the night before when he strolled into the manor the next morning, hoodie half-zipped, grin practically glued to his face. He hadn’t slept much—and he didn’t care. Not after that date.

He was passing the kitchen when he spotted Duke slouched at the counter in pajamas, sleepily shoveling cereal into his mouth. The newest member of the family, still adjusting to life under a roof full of vigilantes. After what Joker did to his parents, no one blamed him for being guarded—but Dick liked him. He was smart, grounded, and had a good heart.

“Morning, Duke,” Dick greeted, casually reaching for the coffee pot.

“Hey, Dick. Cute date from last night,” Duke replied through a mouthful of cereal.

Dick froze mid-pour.

Slowly, very slowly, he turned toward the younger boy. “What?”

Duke blinked up at him confused, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Huh? Oh—Jason and Tim were watching your back. Y’know. Surveillance. Can never be too careful with people in Gotham.”

There was a pause. One heartbeat. Two.

Duke paused, frowning. “Everything okay?”

Dick forced a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “Everything’s fine. And… yeah. She’s cute.”

Duke gave him a cautious nod, clearly sensing the shift but not quite sure why.

There was a beat of silence before Dick spoke again—sounding way too casual.

“Hey, are those two still around?” he asked, sipping his coffee. “Jason and Tim? Just wanna make sure they didn’t catch anything… concerning on surveillance.”

Duke hesitated. “Uh… yeah. Pretty sure they’re still in the cave.”

Dick nodded once, finishing the rest of his coffee in one long, controlled sip. “Great.”

Jason and Tim.

They were dead men.

“Thanks, Duke!”

“You’re… welcome?” Duke replied slowly, brows drawing together. But Dick was already gone.

Coffee mug still in hand like the picture of composure, Dick punched in the code and descended into the cave—cool air rising to meet him, fluorescent lights flickering to life as he reached the base of the platform.

He spotted them instantly.

Jason was leaned back in a chair, boots kicked up on the console, chewing on something that looked suspiciously like leftover gala dessert. Tim sat beside him, hunched over a monitor with his usual half-dead focus, a headset slung lazily around his neck. They looked comfortable.

They wouldn’t be for long.

“Morning,” Dick said pleasantly as he stepped into view, voice smooth as glass.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Morning.”

Tim smirked faintly over the rim of his mug. “Surprised you’re even awake.”

Dick smiled.

Jason blinked, eyebrows pulling together as he sat up slightly. “Wait—why are you smiling like that?”

“I was just thinking,” Dick said, stepping closer, still maddeningly calm. “How lucky I am to have two very thoughtful, very observant little brothers who care enough to watch my back.”

Jason and Tim exchanged a glance. A silent, oh-shit glance.

The smile dropped as he levelled a glare at them. “I can’t believe you two spied on my date. We had an agreement Jason!”

“It’s a good thing I was watching because you nearly broke our deal. You kissed her!” Jason fired back defensively.

“So did you!” Dick barked. “We agreed not to sleep with her—not that we couldn’t kiss her!”

Jason huffed, crossing his arms. “You were way more into it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I not have been? Should I have called a time-out and asked for your permission?” Dick snapped, sarcasm curling sharp around every word. He huffed, shaking his head. “And what would you have done if there was some action? Called in the GCPD? Batman?”

“No!” Jason barked—but the beat of hesitation was just long enough.

Dick blinked, disbelief hitting hard. “I can’t believe you actually thought about it!”

“Maybe I’d take you out,” Jason muttered under his breath.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Before either of them could lunge, a voice cut through the tension like a batarang.

“Dick,” Bruce said as he strode into the cave, the weight of his presence immediately dragging the cave back into order. “What did you find out from her?”

Dick straightened immediately, his mouth opening—and then freezing.

Jason, of course, noticed.

A slow, smug grin curled at his mouth as he stepped to the side, folding his arms and practically glowing with glee. “Yeah, Dick,” he echoed mockingly. “What did you find out?”

Dick glared daggers at him before turning to Bruce, carefully schooling his tone. “I need more time. I can’t just ask about her brother outright—she barely knows me. And it’s obviously a sensitive topic.”

Bruce studied him with that unreadable Bat-stare, then gave a single, measured nod. “Fine. But don’t take too long.”

Dick exhaled, barely hiding his relief.

Then—

“You know her too?” Bruce asked, turning to Jason.

Jason blinked, then nodded casually. “Yeah. I’ve talked to her.”

Dick scoffed. Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

“Good,” Bruce said without missing a beat. “You look into it too. Better to have two people on the case.”

“B!” Dick’s voice shot up an octave as he whipped toward him, incredulous. “Are you seriously assigning him to this?!”

He’d been banking on this case as the perfect excuse—to spend time with her, to ease into trust, to keep Jason away under the neat cover of intel gathering. But now Jason had the same damn excuse.

“He’s already made contact,” Bruce said, completely unmoved. “We use the resources we have. We need to find her brother before Joker finds him first.”

Jason’s grin widened into a full-blown smirk. “Yeah, Dick,” he echoed, tone syrup-slick. “We use the resources we have.”

Dick’s jaw flexed, his gaze narrowing like he was weighing just how fast he could get away with a punch to the throat.

Jason clapped his hands together, “You got it, old man.”

Dick looked like he might actually throw something at him—batarang, chair, whatever was within reach—but Bruce was already turning away, heading back toward the elevator with the kind of finality that said discussion over.

Tim, still in his chair, popped a chip into his mouth and muttered under his breath, “This is better than HBO.”

“Don’t you dare enjoy this,” Dick hissed, his glare locked on Jason.

“Oh, I’m enjoying the hell out of this,” Jason said, practically vibrating with smug satisfaction. He leaned in just a little, voice lower, mock-conspiratorial. “Remind me what we said, Dickie? May the best man for her win, right?”

Dick’s jaw clenched.

Jason winked. Then turned on his heel and sauntered toward the bikes like he hadn’t just poured gasoline on a lit fire.

Tim didn’t look up from his screen. “You two do realize she’s probably going to kill you when she finds out about all of this… right?”

“Yup,” Jason called over his shoulder. “But its worth it.”

Dick exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen when she inevitably found out.

Right now, between him and Jason…

This meant war.

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alinathinkstoomuch · 4 months ago

Text

WILL YOU BE MY FAKE FIANCÉ?

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you find yourself in a sticky situation - you need a fiancé asap and the stern looking man at the bar seems to suffice. warnings: um reader thinks hotch is serial killer at one point, reader is actually really funny (LOL i was giggling so bad writing her dialogue), readers friends suck, the usual banter and chem word count: 3.8k

✧ masterlist

lemme know if y'all would want this as a mini series?? pls say yes because i had too much fun writing this!!!

It was silly, really. Actually, it was downright stupid. You had imagined a hundred different ways this conversation could go, each one more cringe-inducing than the last. And yet, here you were, en route to dinner with a group of women you still, for some inexplicable reason, referred to as your ‘friends.’

Except they weren’t friends. Not really. More like a collection of high school mean girls who had swapped lockers for brunch reservations, but still thrived on competition and thinly veiled judgment. Why you had continued to entertain their company remained one of life’s greatest mysteries. Maybe it was because some tiny, stubborn part of you still felt the need to prove yourself to them.

Old habits die hard.

Which was absurd, considering you had everything you’d ever wanted. A career you were proud of, a gorgeous apartment and a dog so beautiful he could model for Ralph Lauren. And yet, none of it mattered because you were missing one thing.

A love life.

Or rather, you had the start of one – an engagement, even. But much like a designer bag left too close to a lit candle, it went up in flames almost immediately.

And because self-preservation was clearly not your strong suit, you had told your ‘friends’ about the engagement… conveniently omitting the part where it had ended as quickly as it began.

No love lost there. He was a dick anyway.

Which brought you to now – marching toward an intimate jazz bar, running through all the ways you could break the news.

“Hey, ladies! So fun fact I am actually not engaged! But you were all right, turns out I’m just a walking red flag with great hair. Cheers!”

Yeah. That would go over well.

You pushed open the door to the jazz bar, smoothing your dress down and forcing your most dazzling, I totally have my life together smile. The inside was dimly lit, the hum of conversation mixing with the smooth sound of a saxophone in the background.

“Hi! There should be a reservation for under Veronica?” you told the hostess, who checked the list before glancing up apologetically.

“There’s no one here from your party yet, but I can show you to your table?”

Perfect. Just perfect. You nodded, following her to a sleek little table near the bar. You pulled out your phone, scrolling through texts until one popped up.

Veronica: Can’t wait to meet the fiancé! We’re running late. Be there soon! Xo.

Oh. No. No, no, no.

Your stomach did a dramatic, Oscar-worthy drop as panic set in. Your palms went clammy. Your perfectly planned exit strategies all disintegrated like cheap mascara in the rain.

You needed a fiancé. Now.

Your eyes darted wildly around the room, scanning the clientele for anyone remotely stupid – or kind – enough to rope into your plan. But instead, your gaze landed on someone who definitely didn’t look stupid. He looked serious, almost too serious. But he was alone, and that was good enough.

You shot up from your seat, heels clacking as you made a beeline toward him with the determination of a woman with everything on the line.

“Hi, hello,” you blurted out, earning a slow, assessing glance from deep brown eyes. “I need a favour. A huge, ridiculous, I-will-owe-you-my-soul kind of favour.”

“Sorry?”

“I just – I know this is insane, but I need you to pretend to be my fiancé for like, one hour. Maybe two. It’s a long story, and there is an actual pack of wolves arriving here any second, and if they smell fear, I am done for.” You clasped your hands together. “Please, please, please. I will do anything.”

He stared at you like he was debating calling security. Or possibly the nearest psychiatric facility.

“Everything alright?” Another voice joined. An older man, dressed impeccably clapped your very reluctant target on the back.

“I just need to borrow your friend, pretty please?” you said, turning to the newcomer with the kind of desperate charm that had gotten you out of speeding tickets before. “I promise I will buy you the most expensive bottle of scotch this bar serves. You drink scotch, right?”

The older man’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Oh, I love her,” he announced, before turning to his friend. “Take him. I was just leaving.”

Your supposed fiancé-to-be let out a slow breath, clearly reconsidering every choice that led him to this moment.

You beamed. “See? It’s fate.”

“This is – I –”

The man looked genuinely at a loss for words, which based on the suit he was wearing, was not a common occurrence.

“Come on, Hotch,” the older man grinned, clapping him on the back again. “Help the lady out. And I cannot wait to hear all about it on Monday.” He turned to you, extending a hand. “David Rossi.”

You shook his hand, relieved that at least one of them was enjoying this. “Nice to meet you, David. And I am really sorry for ruining your evening with your friend.”

“Oh, sweetheart, are you kidding? This is better than my evening. This is entertainment.” He winked at you before tossing a final smirk at Hotch. “Be good to your fiancée.”

With that, he strolled off, leaving you alone with the man you had just kidnapped into romance fraud.

You turned back to him. “So,” you said brightly. “Fiancé.”

He stared at you, face unreadable. “This is insane.”

“Yes, well, so is spending two-thousand dollars on a handbag, and I do that regularly. Now, come on.” You reached for his wrist and pulled him toward the table. “So Hotch is your name? Kind of… odd, don’t you think? Or is it a nickname? I don’t really have many nicknames – well, aside from what my ex-fiancé used to call me, but I’ll save you the details.”

Hotch exhaled through his nose, looking like he was already regretting this. “Do you do this often?”

“Fake engagements? No, not really. Actual engagements? Also no, considering how the last one went.” You sighed dramatically. “But you’d think after everything, I’d have at least one decent dating story. Instead, I have an ex who took our wedding fund and bought a motorcycle. A motorcycle, Hotch. Like, what exactly am I supposed to do with that?”

“He took your money?”

“And my sanity, which gives me the right to act this way in public.”

Before he could respond, a chorus of excited squeals erupted from the entrance.

“Oh my God! There she is!”

You moved to stand in front of Hotch. “I will do whatever you want me to. If you need me to kill someone and hide the body, I will literally be your girl – just please go with this.” You tugged at his tie, smoothing it down in a rush. “I’ll take the lead, you just look pretty.”

“That’s not usually how this works –”

“Well, Hotch, welcome to the world of desperate women. Now smile like you love me.”

He didn’t have the chance to argue as Veronica and her entourage descended upon you like a pack of well-dressed hyenas, eyes dancing with curiosity and suspicion.

“Finally! We were starting to think you made him up,” Veronica teased, her eyes scanning Hotch with an intensity that made even you nervous. “So? Introduce us!”

You plastered on your most graciously fake smile and looped an arm through Hotch’s, feeling the tension in his muscles as he clearly contemplated whether this was his personal hell. “Alright here he is! Meet H–”

“Aaron,” he cut you off smoothly, extending a hand toward Veronica.

She barely glanced at it before swatting it away. She then took a step forward, pulling him into a hug which he stiffly endured like someone who had never been voluntarily embraced in his life.

“Oh, honey, we don’t do handshakes here,” she purred, clinging for a second too long before releasing him. “You’re so handsome.”

You jumped in before Veronica could try something ridiculous like feeling his biceps.

“Right?” you grinned, linking your arm through his again. “Total catch. It’s why I snatched him up so fast.”

“And how did that happen?” one of the other girls asked as the group drifted toward the table.

Hotch, mercifully, was quick on the uptake. “She quite literally crashed into me – spilled her coffee all over my suit.”

“Oh my God, that’s so her,” another girl gasped, and you nodded rapidly.

“It was tragic,” you added, dramatically placing a hand on his arm. “The suit did not make it.”

As you neared the table, you reached for the seat, but before you could pull it out, Hotch’s hand brushed yours, stopping you. Instead, he pulled the chair out for you before you could protest.

Was he… really committing to the bit? Or was this just ingrained in his perfect gentleman DNA?

Before you could process it, the table erupted into ooohs and ahhhs like a live studio audience.

Thankfully, you caught a reprieve as the girls turned their attention to the wine list, debating the merits of a bold red versus a crisp white. Taking advantage of the moment, you lifted your own menu to shield your face and glanced at Hotch through the gap.

“I am so sorry,” you mouthed.

“You should be,” he murmured back, just low enough for only you to hear. But there was no bite to his words – if anything, you swore you caught the ghost of a smirk.

“So, don’t keep us waiting in suspense,” Veronica chirped. “Tell us about the engagement! How did it happen? All we got was a text saying you were engaged and a picture of your ring –” She paused, eyes narrowing as they moved to your hand. You followed her line of sight instinctively, cursing internally when you realised the problem.

Your fingers were adorned with rings – statement pieces, dainty bands – but notably none of them were an engagement ring.

Hotch, of course, noticed immediately. He exhaled lightly through his nose, like he was already preparing to clean up your mess.

“Oh,” you laughed, waving a dismissive hand, “I took it off to get it resized, you know how it is.”

Veronica’s brow lifted. “Resized?”

“Yeah, it was a little loose,” you rushed out, the lie forming faster than you could think it through. “Didn’t want to risk it falling down the sink or –”

“It wasn’t loose,” Hotch interjected once more and you froze.

Every pair of eyes at the table snapped to him.

“It wasn’t?” you echoed, unsure if he was about to throw you under the bus or save you from getting flattened by it.

Hotch leaned back, one arm casually draping over the back of your chair as if this was just another Friday night for him. “No,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “She just can’t stand the feeling of something on her finger when she sleeps. She takes it off every night, leaves it on the nightstand.”

Oh.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. Not only had he just handed you an ironclad excuse, but he had done it so effortlessly that even you almost believed it.

The table collectively melted.

“That is so sweet,” one of the girls sighed.

“That makes sense,” Veronica finally conceded, though her eyes lingered on Hotch. She didn’t seem completely sold yet. “So, how did you propose? Give us all the details.”

Another reprieve – just as the waitress arrived to take your drink and appetizer orders. You had never been so grateful for a poorly timed interruption, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the question would be forgotten by the time she walked away.

It wasn’t.

The second the waitress disappeared, Veronica’s eyes flicked right back to you and Hotch, expectant.

“You tell it better, sweetheart,” he encouraged, that same miniscule smirk making an appearance.

Oh, he was enjoying this too much.

“Well,” you started, buying yourself a second. “It was…unexpected.”

Hotch nodded solemnly, as if recalling a life-changing event. “Completely.”

You shot him a look before continuing. “We were on a trip –”

“A weekend getaway,” Hotch supplied easily.

“Right, exactly,” you said, catching on. “And it was… romantic?”

“Cold,” he corrected. “Snow everywhere.”

You blinked at him. Snow? Was this man just winging it?

“It was freezing,” you emphasized, rolling with it. “And I remember thinking, God, this would be the worst time to propose, because my fingers are so cold, I might drop the ring.”

The table giggled in delight, completely enthralled, hanging onto every word.

Hotch exhaled through his nose like this was all very serious business. “Which you nearly did.”

Your brows shot up. “Right! Yes, because I was so shocked.”

“You cried,” Hotch added.

You nearly choked. “I – what?”

He turned to you, gaze softening ever so slightly, voice dipping just enough to sell the sincerity. “You cried.”

And just like that, the table melted again.

“Oh my God,” one of the girls whispered, clutching her chest.

“Like, happy tears?” another asked, eyes wide with wonder.

Hotch’s lips quirked at the corner, and damn it, you had never wanted to throw your drink at someone so badly. “Of course.”

You forced a dreamy sigh, resisting the urge to stomp on his foot under the table. “I mean… obviously.”

Veronica tapped a manicured nail against her glass, eyes narrowing. “And what did he say?”

Hotch turned to you, expression a mystery, before casually resting his hand over yours. The move was so smooth, so convincing, that it had the exact opposite effect – it made your heeled foot find his shoe under the table, pressing down with just enough force to say don’t even think about it.

“I think I said something along the lines of…” He paused, eyes fixed on you. “If you need me to kill anyone and bury the body, I’m your man. Marry me, sweetheart.’”

You stiffened, your foot pressing down harder, while the table erupted in delighted gasps and squeals.

“Oh my God,” Veronica practically screamed.

“That is so romantic,” one of the girls swooned, gripping the arm of the woman next to her.

“I cannot with you two,” another giggled, fanning herself like this was the greatest love story ever told.

Meanwhile, you were trying very hard not to commit an actual murder.

You ripped your hand free from his grasp and covered your mouth with it, forcing what looked like a lovesick reaction but was actually a barely contained threat.

“What the hell?” you whispered between your teeth, smiling like the perfect doting fiancée.

Hotch, infuriatingly unbothered, leaned in. “You said to go with it.”

Your foot pressed down again. “I meant like a normal person, not a psychopath,” you hissed.

“Ugh,” Veronica sighed dreamily. “This is disgustingly adorable.”

You turned back to the group, still smiling, but if looks could kill, your fiancé wouldn’t have made it out of this dinner alive.

For the rest of the evening, you definitely had too much wine, and as the night stretched on, the conversation finally drifted away from you.

Instead, your so-called friends delved into their usual habits – gossiping about people they hadn’t seen since college, subtly competing over whose husband had the most prestigious job and complaining about their high-maintenance lives.

You nodded, smiled, threw in a well-timed oh, totally where necessary, but mostly, you just kept drinking. Hotch, meanwhile, remained the picture of polite disinterest, responding when needed as he sipped his bourbon. If he was suffering, he didn’t show it – except for the occasional glance in your direction, as if silently asking are you sure these are your friends?

By the time dessert rolled around, you were exhausted from the performance. Thankfully, your friends were equally buzzed, giggling and snapping selfies before finally, finally deciding it was time to call it a night.

Outside the restaurant, the group exchanged dramatic goodbyes, air-kissing and promising to “do this again soon” (lies, all of them), before disappearing into cabs and sleek black cars.

And just like that, you and Hotch were alone.

“You know,” you sighed, rifling through your purse in search of your phone. “I would apologize again for this, but I think if anyone owes an apology, it’s you.”

Hotch, standing beside you, hands in his pockets, merely raised a brow. “Me?”

You looked up at him with a glare. “Yes, you. You didn’t make this awful evening any easier. Snow? Really? I hate the snow.”

“I might be way out of line saying this, but you seem too good to consider that group of women your friends. Especially ones you feel you have to impress.”

“Impress them? That’s not what I was doing. I just –” You huffed, crossing your arms. “I grew up with them, and they’ve managed to make my life –” You stopped yourself, pressing your lips together before shaking your head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, like he was picking apart every little detail. “I think it matters more than you’re willing to admit.”

You forced a laugh, throwing a hand in the air. “Well, lucky for you, you don’t have to care about it. You’re free. No more fake engagement, no more ridiculous stories, no more Marry me, sweetheart nonsense.”

His lips twitched slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he tilted his head toward the street. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

You didn’t protest, abandoning the search for your phone and following your former fake fiancé back to his car.

Once inside, you rattled off your address as Hotch pulled it up on the satnav. Settling into the seat, you flipped down the visor mirror, swiping at the smudged mascara under your eyes.

“Do you have any tissues?” you asked, glancing over as Hotch reversed out of the parking lot.

“Check the glovebox.”

You reached over, popping it open and immediately froze. Because nestled between some paperwork and an actual box of tissues, sat a gun.

You yanked your hand back so fast you nearly dislocated your shoulder. “Uh. What the hell, Hotch?”

He barely spared you a glance. “Relax.”

“Relax?” you repeated, voice pitching higher. “There’s a gun in your glovebox! Oh my God. Are you – are you a criminal? Did I just spend an entire evening pretending to be engaged to a mobster? Jesus Christ, I really know how to pick them – I mean, you’re making my actual ex-fiancé look like a saint!”

“Check under the gun,” Hotch instructed, voice impossibly calm.

“Oh no, no, no, mister.” You flailed a hand in his direction. “You are not fooling me into touching your murder weapon so you can get my fingerprints on it and frame me for whatever crime you have committed using it! Please stop the car before I jump out of it. I swear to God, I will tuck and roll.”

Hotch exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he was deeply reconsidering his life choices. Then, with no ceremony, he flicked on the turn signal and pulled over to the curb.

Your heart plummeted. “Oh my God,” you whispered, pressing yourself back against the seat. “You are a criminal. You’re going to kill me. This is how I die.”

Hotch shot you a look, utterly unimpressed. Then, without a word, he leaned over –

You squeaked, pressing yourself further into the seat. “Oh my God – please don’t kill me –I haven’t been to Paris yet, and I still haven’t figured out how to fold a fitted sheet –”

His hand bypassed you completely, reaching into the glove box. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled something from beneath the gun and held it up to your face.

An FBI badge.

You stared at it. Then at him. Then back at the badge.

“Oh.” A pause. “Well, this is awkward.”

Hotch dropped the badge into your lap, but you immediately picked it up, flipping it over, holding it up to the light, just in case it was fake. There had to be fakes out there. You had gotten a police outfit that came with a badge for Halloween once.

Hotch watched your scrutiny with the patience of a saint. “Are you done?”

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat. “Okay, so in my defence, you could’ve led with that instead of just telling me to dig under a loaded firearm.”

“I assumed you were capable of following basic instructions.”

“That was your first mistake,” you muttered, still recovering from the emotional rollercoaster that was the last five minutes. You inhaled deeply, pressing a hand to your chest. “Well. This has been a night.”

Hotch shook his head, pulling back onto the road as you snapped closed his badge and placed it back in the glovebox, avoiding the gun like poison.

“So, FBI, huh?” you finally said, breaking the quiet.

“That’s what the badge says.”

You couldn’t help it – you laughed. A real, actual laugh for the first time this entire ridiculous, chaotic evening. And once you started, you couldn’t stop. It bubbled out of you, unrestrained, until you were clutching your stomach, gasping for breath, sure your mascara was completely smudged from the tears streaking down your face.

“Are you alright?”

You wheezed, waving a hand in his direction. “No! No, I am not! Because I just spent an entire evening fake-engaged to an FBI agent, and the first thing I said to you was – and I quote – ‘If you ever need to kill someone and bury the body, I’m your girl.’”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever had that kind of proposition in my entire career.”

You snorted, barely containing another wave of laughter. “That’s comforting. Truly.”

He smirked, eyes still on the road. “Though, I’ll admit—it’s one of the more memorable introductions I’ve had.”

“Oh, great. So I’m going to be a story you tell people?”

“Most definitely.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Fantastic. Just what I needed, to be the punchline of an FBI dinner party.”

“Don’t worry,” Hotch said dryly. “I’ll leave out the part where you almost jumped out of a moving vehicle.”

You peeked at him between your fingers. “Gee, thanks.”

A silence settled over the car and eventually Hotch slowed to a stop in front of your building shifting into park. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel before he glanced at you.

“Well… this has been… a very unique experience.” Your hand found the door handle, but you didn’t move. You weren’t quite ready to step back into reality just yet.

Hotch nodded. “It has.”

“You sure you don’t want to keep up the act? I think Veronica was in love with you.”

“Do you want to keep up the act? Ten minutes ago, you were convinced I was a serial killer.”

“Well, technically, I thought you were a mobster. There’s a difference.”

Hotch tilted his head. “And now?”

You let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back against the seat. “Now? I think you might actually be worse.”

“Worse?”

You turned toward him, deadpan. “You’re FBI. Which means you probably know every loophole in the legal system. You could absolutely commit crimes and get away with it.”

Hotch let out a laugh, shaking his head. “And yet here I am, still just giving you a ride home.”

You placed a hand over your heart. “I appreciate that. Really.”

He smiled, his fingers still drumming lightly against the steering wheel. Another moment of silence passed before he nodded toward your building. “You should go before your neighbours start wondering why you’re sitting in a car with a strange man.”

You gasped, placing a hand on your chest. “How dare you? We’re engaged, remember?”

Hotch chuckled. “Not anymore.”

You clicked your tongue, reaching for the door handle again. “Shame. I was really looking forward to planning the wedding.”

“We’d have to agree on a season first. You hate the snow.”

You groaned. “I knew that was going to come back to haunt me.” Shaking your head, you pushed the door open and stepped out, turning back one last time before shutting it. “Well, Aaron Hotchner, thank you for entertaining my craziness.”

“Anytime.”

You gave him a small wave before shutting the door and making your way toward your apartment building. At the top of the steps, you hesitated, glancing back just in time to see his taillights disappearing down the street. And in that moment, you weren’t sure what you felt.

Was he someone you’d spend the rest of your life hoping never to run into again?

Or someone you’d regret not giving your number to?

dividers by cafekitsune

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds #hotch #ssa aaron hotchner #Spotify #aaron hotchner x reader #mine🌟

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missadangel · 3 months ago

Text

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 5: Falling Hard

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

Monday…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn technology.

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

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

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

Was the refrigerator actually filling a glass with water?

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

You chuckled at the thought.

“What’s so funny?”

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

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

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

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

He continued to watch you, lost in thought.

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

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

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

“I did.”

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

Harry swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he sighed deeply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had sealed that chapter away.

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

Could this be love?

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

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

And it frightened you.

Damn it, he occupied every thought.

No, you needed to clear your head.

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

“Then leave!” you shouted, exasperated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ha-ha! Very funny!”

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

“I told you to get the hot water-”

“Hey, beautiful.”

You froze. It was Harry's voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a pause.

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

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

“But-”

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

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

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

“But I didn't order this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

Pleading now, huh?

Bitch must be desperate.

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

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

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

I fell for someone I shouldn't have.

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

“My boyfriend?” you exclaimed in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked somewhat out of place in your homewear outfit.

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

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

Well, she had a point.

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure about this?” Zoe asked.

“You want to get rid of her, right?”

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

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

“Oh no!” Melanie moaned.

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, it was exactly who you suspected.

Nate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell?

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

Fuck my luck, you thought.

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

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

“Why don’t you come in?”

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

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

Perfect timing.

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

“Why not? Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was her deal?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah just like that.

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

Why the hell was he being so kind to you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you crying?

Damn.

You hadn’t even realized it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What on earth was going on between them?

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

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

“But I—”

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

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

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

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

You barely mumbled, "Thanks."

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

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

A tense quiet settled between the two of you.

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

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

"Why did you decide on this job?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Harry—"

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

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

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

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

"Are you free this weekend?"

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

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

"Is there some issue between you and him?"

"You should stay away from him."

"Excuse me?"

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

"Don't pull that with me.”

“What do you mean?”

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

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

You raised an eyebrow. "Says who?"

"Me." He flashed a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you can,” he insisted.

You shot him a glare.

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

He never gave up.

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

“Why should I?” you asked, frowning.

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

"What did you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cut it out,” you growled.

He acted like a mischievous child.

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

"Happy now?"

He grinned and nodded. “Yep.”

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

His ridiculously handsome face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday…

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

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

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

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

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

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

He used emojis???

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

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

Wait, what?

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday…

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

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

But he was persistent.

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

Just then, a waitress approached you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What on earth are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

“But you made this dessert,” he countered.

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

“I never said that.”

“Yet you wanted to see me.”

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

“I’m on the clock,” you reminded him.

“Please, I insist.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, right, you had completely forgotten.

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

“Harry, I really shouldn’t go.”

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I have to go,” you murmured.

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

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

Thursday…

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

“Crap. Crap. Crap.”

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

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

“I was just checking,” he replied defensively.

“Yeah, right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday...

“What in the world happened to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not broken, is it?”

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

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

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

“Then just skip it.”

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

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

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

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

Well, that was kind of true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, fine,” you murmured.

Sunday, the day of the wedding...

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was tough.

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

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

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

Then he spotted her.

Lucy.

To his surprise, he felt nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, God why?

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

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

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

Great!

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

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

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

Your heart racing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just like the way Harry looked at Alan.

What the fuck was going on between them seriously?

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

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

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

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

What did that even mean?

Did he hurt?

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

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

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

"Yes, and I assume you do too?"

“Oh, believe me, I know him.”

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

“I beg your pardon?”

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

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

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

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

"Shut up."

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

“Damn it!”

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

That was when chaos erupted.

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

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

Great!

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

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

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

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

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

Harry and the others stared at you in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How am I supposed to keep them busy?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, my coworker too.”

“Can you hand me that spatula?”

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

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

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

You smiled back.

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

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

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

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

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

“You saved the day,” said another.

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

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

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Getting proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“Proof that you deserve that certificate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dance with me?

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

I won't ask twice.

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

You turned away and went back to your work.

Of course.

Who were you kidding?

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

Especially with your waitress clothes on.

He must be joking or something.

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was his gaze.

Shit, it was intense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed hard, your heart racing.

What?

Was what you had just heard real?

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

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

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

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

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

He really needed to stop this.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

"I'm driving you home."

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

Why was he looking at you like that?

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

“Mind your own business,” Harry snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry ditched me."

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

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

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

What was he doing?

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

Or maybe he just wanted to talk outside?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, this wasn’t the right moment.

Not tonight.

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

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

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

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

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