#i do have the right to hate any man that is not him

[foxtrology]

sweet sweet baby (since you've been gone)

harry castillo x reader

series

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader.

The last time he had gone up to a woman was at a wedding reception and it ended terribly for him.

Lucy was her name.

He had thought she was the one. All the time they had spent together, all the nights he held her, it was all for nothing. In the end he was the one left behind while she and that broke fucking waiter—oh how much he hated that broke waiter with a fucking passion—ran off into the sunset all happily.

John.

John was his name. Living in a rundown studio apartment with a struggling college student as a roommate. Yeah, what a fucking life she decided to choose.

He still follows her on Instagram.

An Instagram she begged for him to have. He valued his privacy. Being a successful CEO had its perks but it also had his downsides. Privacy was a major downside. He's lucky if a week has gone by without The New York Times calling his office.

Something he should've done a long time ago was delete Instagram and move on from Lucy, but of course he loves to make things more difficult for himself.

19lucy89 has posted a photo!

He should've at least turn off the notifications notifying him of her posting but he couldn't do it. He still wasn't over her. Scrolling on the social media app had him scoffing.

She had posted a photo of her and that broke waiter kissing.

"Whiskey neat."

Harry slips his phone back into his pocket, thanking the bartender. Sliding off the barstool, he glances at all the couples around him. He rolls his eyes.

Since when is everyone fucking dating? Everywhere he goes it's always a couple canoodling. It pisses him off.

Getting back to his table, Danny slaps Harry on his back as he sits down. He cringes as the hand hits his back. He's always had back problems but never acknowledged them.

Not until Lucy. She made him start seeing a chiropractor.

But since she's out of his life, he has been ignoring his pains and ignoring his chiropractor’s calls. She didn't care anymore so why should he.

"Dude Vanessa and everybody are going to an afterparty—"

"Is this not an afterparty?" Harry furrows his brows, interrupting his partygoer friend.

Danny shakes his head playfully, scoffing. "Any excuse to continue drinking, am I right?"

He really didn't want to spend another hour at a party. He's 54 for god's sake, he done.

He's old. He's an old man.

He gets cranky if he doesn't go to sleep at a certain time, he gets aggravated when he pushes paperwork aside leaving it to the last minute, he hated pleasing his friends who have been trying to get him out more ever since the whole Lucy thing happened.

He's leaving, he wants to go home.

"I think I'll be heading—" Then his phone vibrating in his coat pocket stops him.

Maybe Lucy texted him?

Fuck he's so delusional.

"Actually I'm gonna head out. I have a lot of paperwork." Harry stands up, pulling out his phone.

Danny furrows his brows at his friend.

"But you didn't even touch your drink?"

Harry tells him he has liquor at his place, he can finish his drink at home, not here. He doesn't bother to say any goodbyes to any of his friends. They won't remember it anyways.

He hurriedly swipes open his phone as the cold air hits his face.

19lucy89 has added onto their stories!

Clicking onto her profile made him sick.

He should have deleted Instagram.

He should have blocked her.

But he wasn't strong enough.

She posted a video.

Though it wasn't just any other video. The video showed John on his left knee holding up a ring.

He was fucking proposing.

It was like his whole world came tumbling down.

He had never felt this sick in his life.

Harry used to hate the way rich people would talk about money. They used to say money isn't everything, how it doesn't solve anything and it isn't happiness.

He begged to differ.

He didn't grow up with much. His mother struggled especially.

She was sick and wasn't financially stable for treatment so she died.

He used to think that if they had money she would still be here.

He never told anyone about it. Never spoke about the situation, he always tried to ignore it. Until Lucy came around.

She was the only person he confided in. He cried in her arms.

He didn't understand how she could just leave so easily. He remembers the night she told him, they were in the kitchen when she spoke the truth about how she was still in love with John.

She had said that he was the one that got away and that they needed each other.

She packed up her clothes and left his penthouse.

And that was it.

And now he’s standing outside The Met at 54 years old, pathetically hung up on a woman who left him for some broke waiter in a studio apartment that probably has one fucking bathroom.

A couple bumping into him made him come back to earth. He mutters an apology for blocking the entrance.

Another fucking couple.

He shoves his phone into his pocket with too much force, rolling his shoulders as he takes the steps two at a time, the cold air biting against his skin.

Only Vanessa Garnier would throw a goddamn dinner party at The Met.

He needs to go home.

Needs to drink.

Needs to pretend he didn’t just witness the woman he once loved agreeing to marry a broke fucking waiter.

Harry is already pissed off as he stomps down the Met steps. He’s just trying to leave this godforsaken party, get home, and drown himself in whiskey while pretending he doesn’t care about Lucy’s engagement.

Then—he sees her.

She’s sitting on the steps wrapped up in her own world, scrolling her phone.

She’s alone. Not giggling into her phone like the socialites inside, not throwing herself at men with trust funds bigger than their personalities.

Just…sitting.

And for some reason, it annoys him.

"You’re in my spot."

It wasn't his spot but he was annoyed.

Maybe he was annoyed of seeing people who aren't miserable like him.

She barely looks up.

Just a quick flick of her eyes from her phone to the man standing in front of her, assessing him in a single glance before exhaling softly through her nose—unimpressed and unbothered.

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Since he was already irritated, already on edge, already a step away from either throwing his phone into the street or smashing it against the nearest wall—he stood there, waiting for a reaction that didn’t come.

Nothing.

No wide eyes.

No forced politeness.

No recognition.

Just a woman sitting on the steps of The Met, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there.

His jaw ticked.

"Did you hear me?"

She sighed—actually sighed—as if he was the one disturbing her.

Well he kind of was.

Finally, she lifted her head, phone still in her hand, her gaze settling on him with all the enthusiasm of someone being asked to do a survey on the street.

"Yeah. I heard you."

His brow furrowed. He waited.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t shift.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t give him an inch of what he was used to—deference, nervous laughter, people scrambling to please him just because of who he was.

Instead, she blinked once slow and deliberate before tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Pretty sure the city owns these steps."

Harry clenched his teeth.

Of course.

Of course, he’d have to deal with this tonight.

This was not his night.

This was not his fucking night.

He didn’t even know why he was still standing there, why he hadn’t just turned and left. He should be in his car by now, should be halfway home with a drink already in his hand.

But for some reason he wasn’t.

For some reason he sat down instead.

A slow, deliberate movement. A shift of his coat as he lowered himself onto the step beside her, his knee brushing against the fabric of her own red coat as he exhaled sharply.

Her brow lifted slightly, her grip on her phone tightening for a moment as if she was considering whether to acknowledge his presence or simply ignore him altogether.

She settled on the latter.

Good.

Fine.

He didn’t want to talk anyway.

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring out at the street with the same burning resentment that had been sitting in his chest since he walked out of that party.

Another fucking couple passed by.

Laughing. Whispering. Holding hands like they were the only two people in the world.

His grip tightened around his knee. His mouth pressed into a firm thin line.

He should be at home.

He should be anywhere but here.

Instead, he was sitting on the cold steps of The Met beside a stranger who didn’t care that he was Harry fucking Castillo.

He scoffed.

The sound must have been louder than he intended, because this time—she looked at him.

Actually looked at him.

Not just a glance. Not just a flicker of vague recognition before returning to her phone.

No—she studied him, just for a second.

And then…the corner of her mouth twitched.

Not a smile. Not exactly. But close enough.

Close enough for something inside of him to tighten, for his stomach to knot in that irritating way he didn’t like.

She turned back to her phone.

"Rough night?"

He huffed out a sharp breath, shaking his head adjusting his tie even though it wasn’t loose.

"Something like that."

She hummed. Hummed. Like she wasn’t even surprised.

Like she already knew that about him.

Like she had already figured him out.

His teeth clenched.

She didn’t know him.

She didn’t know anything about him.

"What?" His voice was sharper than intended.

She barely reacted. Just tapped her thumb against her screen, scrolling absentmindedly before murmuring

"Nothing."

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was something.

It was definitely fucking something.

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his exhaustion settle deeper into his bones.

This night was never going to end, was it?

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

The sounds of the city hummed around them. Car horns. Distant conversations. The occasional roar of an engine as someone sped down Fifth Avenue.

And then—

"You gonna sit here all night?"

Harry turned his head slightly, catching the amused glint in her eyes as she finally looked at him again.

"Depends," he muttered. "You gonna move?"

She smirked. "Nope."

He exhaled.

Rolled his shoulders.

Ignored the way something unsettled was shifting in his chest.

"Guess I’m staying, then."

And for the first time in a long time—he didn’t mind.

That realization alone should have pissed him off. Should have made him get up, adjust his coat, and leave like he had originally planned.

But he stayed.

The cold air pressed against his skin, sneaking beneath his collar, curling around his fingers where they rested against his knee. The whiskey from earlier still burned slightly in the back of his throat, though it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, to settle the restless storm churning inside his chest.

The silence stretched.

Not an uncomfortable one, surprisingly. But an unfamiliar one.

People didn’t let silence sit with him. They filled it, rushed to fix it, scrambled to find something clever or charming or useful to say because people who sat next to him were always trying to get something from him.

The woman sitting next to him, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there. Like he was just another insignificant part of the city.

That part should have pissed him off.

But it didn’t.

It intrigued him.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to catch the faint reflection of her screen. Not because he cared what she was looking at—he didn’t—but because he needed a distraction. Any distraction.

A taxi app.

She was waiting for a ride.

She was leaving.

Good.

Great.

That meant he wouldn’t have to sit here much longer, wouldn’t have to keep pretending like this wasn’t some strange, unexplainable moment in his otherwise predictable night.

He could go home, pour himself a drink, scroll through Lucy’s Instagram like a fucking idiot, and pretend he wasn’t still furious.

But—

He didn’t want her to leave.

Not yet.

Not before he figured out why the hell he was still sitting here.

Not before he figured out why she wasn’t miserable like him.

His gaze flicked to her hands, the way she tapped at her screen absentmindedly like she wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t anxious about the time, wasn’t dreading the ride home.

He wanted to ask where she was going.

He didn’t.

Instead, he spoke before he thought.

"Where do you live?"

She didn’t react at first.

Just kept scrolling.

Then without looking up.

"That’s a weird thing to ask a stranger."

Harry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

"You’re waiting for a cab."

Finally, she turned to him, brow raised. "And?"

He rolled his shoulders, voice even. "I’ll take you home."

A beat of silence.

Then—

She laughed.

Not a giggle. Not a polite chuckle. A real, unfiltered laugh.

Like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Harry’s expression did not change.

"I wasn’t joking."

That just made her laugh harder.

She shook her head, lips twitching as she locked her phone and slid it into her pocket, finally—finally—giving him her full attention.

"You, a man who I met ten minutes ago, are offering to take me home."

Harry blinked, unfazed.

"Yes."

"In your car?"

"Yes."

She exhaled, shaking her head again.

"This is the part where I ask if you're a serial killer."

He smirked, dry and humorless. "Would a serial killer offer?"

"Maybe a dumb one."

He scoffed. "Do I look dumb to you?"

She considered him for a moment. Then—

"A little bit."

Harry almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, he sighed adjusting the sleeve of his coat as he stared out at the street again.

"Look, I don’t care where you live. I don’t care what you do. And I don’t care if you take the cab or not. But it’s late and I have a driver waiting." He paused. "Take the ride. Or don’t."

She studied him for a moment.

Not like the people at the party, not like the women who assessed him as a prize, a trophy, a walking investment.

No, she was studying him like she was still trying to figure out if he was serious.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why offer?"

Harry clenched his jaw.

Good question.

Why had he?

Because he was restless.

Because he didn’t want to be alone.

Because he wasn’t ready for the night to end.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead he said, "Because I can."

She hummed at that, something unreadable passing over her face.

Then to his absolute fucking surprise

She stood.

Pulled her coat tighter around herself.

Looked down at him with a grin.

"Lead the way, then."

The Maybach was parked at the curb, sleek and expensive and definitely out of place for a random stranger sitting on museum steps.

His driver, James barely batted an eye when Harry pulled open the door and gestured for her to get in first.

She hesitated.

Just for a moment.

And then—

She slid into the seat like she did this every day.

Harry followed, closing the door behind them.

James glanced at him through the rearview mirror, silent, waiting.

Harry exhaled, glancing at her.

"Where to?"

She gave him a look.

"Aren't you supposed to be a gentleman and ask for my name first?"

He huffed. "You never asked for mine."

"Because I don’t care."

His lips twitched. "Then why get in the car?"

She leaned back against the leather seat, legs crossed, gaze flicking out the window.

"Because I wanted to see if you'd actually do it."

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he gave James the silent cue to start driving.

This was insane.

He should have just gone home.

Should have just let her take the damn cab.

But now—he was in a car with a woman who didn’t care who he was, nor his money, didn’t even seem remotely fazed by the fact that she was sitting in a million dollar car with a man who could buy out half the city.

And for the first time all night...

Lucy’s engagement didn’t feel like the worst thing that had happened to him.

The car pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the flow of late night Manhattan traffic. The soft hum of the engine filled the space between them, a quiet luxury that most people would have fawned over.

But not her.

She wasn’t running her fingers over the leather seats, wasn’t sneaking glances at him, wasn’t pretending to be indifferent while stealing curious looks.

She just stared out the window, completely at ease.

Harry tilted his head slightly, studying her side profile.

"You still haven’t told me where you live."

She blinked, turning back to him, almost as if she’d forgotten he was even there.

"Oh. Right." She exhaled, stretching her arms slightly before dropping them into her lap. "I’ll just have your driver drop me off at the corner of—"

"Not James." His voice was firm, sharp in a way he didn’t expect.

She raised a brow.

"What?"

"Tell me."

A slow smirk curled at her lips, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"Are you always this controlling?"

"Are you always this difficult?"

Her smirk widened slightly, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to the front of the car.

"Excuse me, take me to—"

"Don’t talk to my driver."

She whipped her head back to him, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

"He’s not your driver."

She let out a small, sharp laugh, shaking her head.

"You’re serious?"

"Very."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something else there, something interested.

She sighed, crossing her arms, "Fine. Since you clearly need to be the one in control, Lower East Side."

He barely nodded before shifting his gaze back toward the front.

James, wordlessly, made a turn.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Harry leaned back against his seat, stretching out his legs, exhaling slowly as the tension from earlier in the night settled into something quieter.

The city moved past them in streaks of light, taxis cutting through traffic, pedestrians still wandering the streets like the night would never end.

She stayed turned toward the window, her fingers mindlessly tapping against her knee.

The silence should have been comfortable.

But it wasn’t.

Not for him.

Because he was still thinking.

Thinking about Lucy. Thinking about how stupid he felt for still checking her Instagram. Thinking about how much he hated the feeling of losing.

But also—thinking about her.

This woman.

This stranger who got into his car without a second thought, who didn’t care about his money, who didn’t care about him.

That part was what unsettled him the most.

Because he was used to being recognized. Used to being admired, envied, feared.

But she?

She was just here.

Like he was just another man.

Like he wasn’t anything at all.

And for some reason—he wasn’t sure he hated that.

She broke the silence first. "So, what’s your deal?"

Harry exhaled, rolling his head to the side slightly.

"My deal?"

"Yeah." She waved a hand vaguely. "You seem miserable."

"You say that like it’s an observation."

"It is."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Maybe I just don’t like parties."

"Nope."

He arched a brow.

"No?"

"Not just parties. Life."

Harry’s jaw tightened. "Bold assumption."

"Accurate assumption."

His gaze flicked toward her, sharp, assessing.

She met it without hesitation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she shrugged.

"Look, I don’t know what rich guy problems you have but you were sitting on those steps like someone had either ruined your life or just rejected your marriage proposal."

Harry stilled.

His fingers twitched slightly against his knee, his pulse slow, heavy.

She didn’t know how close she was.

How dangerously fucking close.

She didn’t know about Lucy. About the proposal he never got to make. About much time he spent believing he was enough only to realize that he wasn’t.

She didn’t know anything.

But she still saw right through him.

And that?

That pissed him off.

"Maybe I just wanted some fresh air." His voice was clipped, sharp.

"Sure." She smirked, looking out the window again. "And maybe I’m a billionaire, too."

Harry inhaled, slow and deep, rolling his head back against the seat, eyes flickering up toward the roof of the car.

"You’re insufferable."

"So I’ve been told."

For a moment, it was quiet again.

Then—

"Was it a girl?"

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"The reason you were brooding." She tilted her head slightly. "Was it a girl?"

His fingers clenched.

She smirked.

"It was, wasn’t it?"

He clenched his jaw.

"Not everything is about a woman."

"I never said it was." She lifted a shoulder. "You just confirmed it, though."

Harry exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

This was insane.

She was insane.

Why was he even still talking to her?

Why hadn’t he just dropped her off and left?

"I don’t do small talk." His voice was firm.

"Good. Me neither."

Then—silence.

Not uncomfortable.

Not forced.

Just…there.

The car slowed as they reached her street.

She shifted slightly, sitting up, unfastening her seatbelt as James pulled over.

For a second, Harry felt something strange.

Something he didn’t want to name.

She reached for the door handle, but before she could push it open—

"Wait."

She paused.

Glanced back at him. Brows lifted, waiting.

Harry swallowed.

"Let me take you to dinner."

Silence.

Her head tilted, lips curving up at the corners. "Are you asking or telling?"

"Does it matter?"

She smirked.

"I guess not."

She pushed the door open, stepping out into the cold.

Harry watched her go, watched as she turned, hands stuffed into her pockets, eyes unreadable as she met his gaze one last time.

Then—

"If you find me again, maybe I’ll say yes."

And just like that—

She was gone.

Harry sat there for a long moment.

Watched the empty space where she had been.

Felt the quiet weight of something new settle over him.

And for the first time in years, he found himself hoping—

That he’d see her again.

And knowing, somehow—

That he would.

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialist)

Chapter 1: Blind Date

series masterlist

Summary: You work as a housekeeper in a rich family's mansion and often have to deal with their spoiled daughter. One day, she asks you to pretend to be her on a blind date with a guy her dad picked out for her. Your mission is to make him not like you so he won't want to marry her. But here's the twist: will Harry end up hating you, or could he actually fall for you? That's the real question. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, piv sex, kissing, Word Count: 4.8k for now, There will be a part two if you guys like it, but I'm not sure about the rest. Sorry for the poor writing; that was quick. authors note: I am not sure about his name. If there's any update, I will edit. English is not my native, so please be nice; this is my third fanfiction. Thank you for the reblogs, comments, and likes. Love you all!

"Ugh, this dress is so last season! Are you serious? Everything here is out of style—get rid of them! Call Elliot and have them send me another dress, or I'm going to be really pissed!"

As if tossed at you like a used handkerchief, another dress worth thousands of dollars—perhaps only worn once—landed in your hands. You sighed as you looked at the elegant dress you were now holding, the Gucci label glinting under the light.

"Story of my life," you mumbled.

Working as a housekeeper in a millionaire's house was hard enough, but dealing with his spoiled and ill-tempered daughter was exhausting. Yet you were determined that it would soon be over. You could no longer endure this physical and psychological torture. With the money you had saved, you planned to open your own restaurant—fulfilling your dream. You just needed to save a little more and hang in there a bit longer.

Your boss was a decent, kind man, but his daughter was so unbearable that every housekeeper assigned left the next day.

How do you even tolerate her? 

Because you didn’t have the luxury of quitting and waiting for a new job. You were still young and trying to establish yourself in the business. The extra pay you received was simply to endure her antics. Your kind millionaire boss had even promised you all the support you needed, suggesting you could quit your day job and focus solely on managing his daughter’s affairs. But how could you have known it would be so challenging? Still, you managed to get through each day and believed you could endure this for just a little while longer. After all, you had survived three challenging years already, right?

The mansion was enormous, and everything inside was meticulously organized. Everyone—housekeepers, gardeners, cooks, and even the owners—followed a disciplined daily routine. 

Except for the young lady of the house.

You never knew when she would wake up or come downstairs to join her family at the dinner table. She was stubborn, mean, and unpredictable, and you had to manage her behavior just as you managed her dresses, her dates, and her friends. Because you were responsible for her, there were times when you wished you could handle all the housework yourself and let someone else take care of her demands. Despite being just an ordinary housekeeper, your name was the one that echoed the most throughout this vast mansion.

Why? 

Because the young lady constantly called on you to fulfill her never-ending requests. And it was one of those moments again. Since it was evening, you guessed she was probably getting ready for a night out at the club, and you felt a surge of annoyance as you rushed to her room.

"I can't believe I was a size 8 before starting this job; now I'm down to a size 6," you mumbled to yourself, quickly making your way up the stairs.

One of the cleaners dusting the vases in the hallway shot you a wink and let out a sigh. Man, you’d do just about anything to be in her shoes, just taking care of that vase!

As soon as you knocked on the door, the young lady Melanie opened it, pulled you inside by the arm, and slammed the door shut behind you. You were taken aback—had you made a mistake? It had only been two hours since you last saw her; you had picked up her clothes off the floor and taken them to the laundry room. She had seemed content, busy texting on her phone. What could have possibly happened in such a short time?

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your eyes wide. For some reason, she looked super tense and nervous.  

“You’ve gotta help me,” she said almost desperately, which caught you off guard; it was pretty rare for her to ask for help like this, very rare.  

“Of course, if I know what’s going on…” 

“Remember that thing we did with the senator's son? I need you to do something like that again.”

You froze for a moment. She was referring to something you had helped her with before—something you weren't very proud of.

“Oh, but—” you frowned. “You said I’d never have to do anything like that again.”

Years ago, you had done your best to disguise yourself as Melanie to turn off the senator's son and prevent him from marrying her. It had worked, but lying to someone was a real headache. Thankfully, Melanie's father hadn’t suspected a thing, but the thought of risking it again felt scarier than anything else.

“I know, I know, but I’m in a tough spot. My dad has been speaking with a matchmaker again to arrange a match for me. After the scandal at the club last time, he's determined to marry me off for sure. Please, I need your help.”

How could she still act so childish in her late twenties? As she looked at you with those pleading eyes, memories of all the times she’d yelled at you and scolded you flashed in your mind. It was fine when you were more like her special assistant instead of just a housekeeper, but now it feels like you’re just a toy to her. When she wants to have fun, she plays with you—almost like you’re her little slave or something.

“I’m not here for that,” you said firmly. “That is not my job.” Your patience was running thin, and this was just too much.  

“But you’re supposed to help me,” she shot back, stubborn as ever. “And it’ll be easier this time, I promise.” 

You narrowed your eyes and said, “We got caught last time when the guy found out and cursed both of us. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? And if your father discovers what we’re up to this time…”

She replied with a grin, “We won’t get caught this time because I already sent them my photo instead of yours. Besides, you know how my father is strict about always having my picture removed from newspapers and magazines.”

“You did what?” you wailed.

“Chill, it’s all figured out. I’ve been working on this since last week. You’ll have dinner with the guy, pretend to be me, scare him off, and boom! He won’t want to hear my name again. Easy peasy!”  

You rolled your eyes. “But he’s surely seen your photo somewhere; he can’t be that clueless.”  

“No, he’s a very busy businessman. He has lived abroad for years and has just returned from France. He’s looking to set up his business here in New York,” she said as she opened her laptop and pulled up a webpage with information about the man. “It seems he’s also looking for a suitable match,” she continued, glancing at his photo and pursing her lips.

You froze when you looked at the photo; he wasn’t at all what you expected. He appeared to be a mature, charismatic, and intelligent man. But how could you sit opposite this man and pretend to be someone else? The thought made you shudder, raising the tiny hairs on the back of your neck.  

“As you can see, he’s much older than me. I don’t think he’ll tolerate disrespect. If you’re disrespectful to him, he might get annoyed and just leave the table,” she said with a chuckle.

You laughed too, but for a different reason. You were sure that if she went to the meeting herself, he would get up and leave when he saw her personality.  

“I think you should go; maybe he won’t like you,” you suggested.  

She narrowed her eyes at you like she'd just caught you saying something crazy. “He won’t like me? Seriously?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a cocky grin. “Anyway, I can’t risk it. I don’t want to marry him or anyone else, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck in the same room with that old man.” 

As if I want it so much, you thought.  

“Come on, please do this for me! I promise I’ll be good; I won’t make you work too hard. I’ll ask Dad to give you a nice raise,” she said, clasping her hands together and trying to look cute.  

Well, good raise would mean you could quit your job and bail out of here earlier, right? You crossed your arms and glanced back at the laptop screen, staring at the photo of that guy—Harry Castillo. You made a decision that you had no idea would change everything in both his life and yours.

“Fine. When’s dinner?” you said, feeling a bit anxious.  

“Oh, you’re the best! I knew you couldn’t say no!” she said excitedly. “This Saturday.”  

“But that’s only two days away,” you pointed out, feeling even more nervous.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you all set. Just make sure you displease him,” she grinned.  

You sighed deeply, already sure you’d regret this choice.

“Don’t you think this dress is a bit… exaggerated?” you muttered, looking at yourself in the mirror.  

It was an elegant burgundy dress—strappy, satin, and adorned with pearl details—the kind of designer item you could never afford, even if you worked your entire life.  

“Am I trying to make him hate me or make him fall for me?” you asked, frowning.  

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry; he’ll never fall in love with you,” she said arrogantly. This was typical behavior for her, so you chose to ignore it. “As much as you want to annoy him, remember that you represent me. I don’t want anyone gossiping that Melanie Johanson is wearing a lame dress,” she continued while picking out a matching purse.  

“But everyone knows I’m not you, except that poor guy.”  

“I don’t suppose you were planning to wear one of your own skimpy outfits,” she remarked. “Do you want our game to be exposed?”  

That was too much—being scolded and being forced to do something so ridiculous for this spoiled girl.  

“Fine, go to that dinner yourself then,” you said, slipping off your heels.  

She grabbed your arms. “No, no, no, please. Okay, I’m sorry I was rude. But I need you; no one else would do something like this for me.”  

“It’s good that you realize that,” you muttered.  

“Here, take this; it’s time,” she said, giving you a smile.  

Honestly, putting up with Melanie’s constant demands, cleaning up after her, and covering for her felt like child’s play compared to what you were facing tonight. 

A nice raise, you keep telling yourself trying to soothe yourself. I’m doing this for my restaurant; I’ll get it started someday.

The restaurant was one of the most famous, expensive, and luxurious places in New York—somewhere you would never normally set foot in. But tonight, thanks to Melanie’s name, you could easily get in. You were overwhelmed by the incredibly polite behavior of the restaurant staff.  

Melanie may have been extravagant and reckless, but she had thought of almost everything for tonight—from the driver who brought you here to the all restaurant staff. 

All this effort was for one purpose: to rid herself of the matchmaker’s match.  

When they took your fur coat at the entrance and told you that Mr. Castillo was waiting for you, you took a deep breath. After one step inside, when you saw him, you nearly backed away. Harry was busy on his phone, scribbling notes in his small notebook. He looked really sharp and stylish—way more handsome and appealing than in the photo.

Damn.  

You wanted to escape; you wished to put an end to this nonsense before it even began. Without realizing it, your feet started to move backward. Just then, you turned around and accidentally bumped into the waiter behind you, causing him to drop the champagne glasses he was carrying on his tray. The glasses shattered, and champagne spilled all over his outfit. You cursed yourself for the mishap.

Before you could even respond, the waiter apologized. “No, it was my fault; I’m sorry,” you said nervously, trying to wipe off the champagne from his clothes.

The other waiter and the staff stared at you in shock. 

Yes, you were a wealthy lady now, but what harm was there in being polite?

"No, ma'am, I should have been more careful," he said before turning and walking away.

"Miss Johnson?" said a soft, deep voice. 

You turned around to meet him and felt almost breathless. There he was, few inches taller than you, with broad shoulders, curly hair, deep-set brown eyes, a sharp nose, and an attractive appearance. 

"Melanie, right?" 

"Y-yes," you stammered, batting your eyelashes. 

And that smile! For a moment, the world seemed to stop; all the sounds in the restaurant faded, and you almost forgot why you were there. 

"I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand. It took you so long to look at his face that you nearly forgot to acknowledge his hand. He laughed again, that wonderful smile lighting up his face. "My hand has been waiting for a while," he said teasingly. 

You felt your cheeks flush as you realized what he meant. "I'm sorry," you replied, quickly reaching out to shake his waiting hand. His hand was big and warm. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. You knew you needed to work up the courage. 

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Shall we head to our table? Or do you want to stay here all night?” 

“S-sure,” you said sheepishly. 

Well, there wasn't much you could do about it. This wasn't just about him being wealthy or handsome. Even if it was a fake date, it had been years since you'd been on a date, and you didn’t know many men in your life. 

Dinner was harder than you expected. Even though you and Melanie had practiced what you should and shouldn't say, your fears came to light. Harry seemed kind and understanding, and it was difficult to lie to him, which made you hate every minute of it. It got worse when he started grilling you with questions, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep up with this silly game.

When you excused yourself to go to the restroom, you called Melanie. 

"What do you mean he hasn't left the restaurant yet?" 

"I don't know; the conversation got a little long, and he kept asking questions about me, I mean you." 

"Do something to make him hate you already!" 

“But how? Throw wine at him? This is all ridiculous. I think we should just tell the truth.”

"Don't you dare!" she barked.

Her voice was so loud that you had to smile apologetically when the other women in the ladies room looked at you strangely, hearing your end of the conversation. 

"What am I supposed to do? Our plan isn't working." 

“What's up with this guy? He should’ve bailed by now.” Melanie grunted.

“He seems nice—I doubt he’d be rude like that.” 

“Rude! That’s the ticket; just be rude enough that he can’t stand it.” 

“What? Seriously?” 

“Yep, you heard me. Just be as rude as you can.” 

You let out a sigh, really wishing you could just bang your head against the wall right now.

“I said do it, or you'll ruin everything. Call me when you’re done.” 

“But what am I gonna— Hello? Darn it!” 

Beep… Beep… Beep… 

She hung up. 

You’ll have to be rude, how wonderful! But she was right; you needed to get rid of this man for the night to end and for you to return to your normal life. Why did he have to be so nice and kind? If he could ever act like a jerk, you would have done it by now, but he was just too sweet. As you looked in the mirror, you thought of all the rude things a lady wouldn’t normally do. Ah, that sounds familiar; it reminds you of Melanie herself. The very thought of her actions made you smile nervously. You took a deep breath and left the restroom.

Encouraging yourself, you gazed at Harry's handsome face from afar.

You can do it, you can do it...

Your first move: act indifferent.

You changed your facial expression as you approached the table and deliberately looked away from his face. He was smiling warmly at you. No, you couldn't look at him; it would only complicate everything. You were about to apologize for being late, but no, you can’t. Instead, you pulled your chair noisily on purpose, scraping its legs on the floor to create an annoying sound. You sat down and crossed your legs, positioning your body so it wasn't fully facing him. Harry seemed surprised by this sudden shift in your mood, but he didn’t comment.

A little later, as your desserts were served, he looked at you, “I like chocolate cake too, especially with pistachio sauce. We have similar tastes,” grinning at you.

You looked at him and then at the waiter. “I don’t want this,” you said angrily.

“But ma'am, you ordered it,” the poor man replied sheepishly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you said. “I’ll go with the tiramisu,” you added after a quick look at the menu, making sure to glance away casually.

“Sure, I’ll change it right away,” he said, taking your plate and walking back.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m great,” you lied, forcing a fake grin.

He didn’t ask any further questions, but he seemed to suspect something had changed. When the waiter brought your dessert, you decided to eat it rudely. You were sure Harry would be disgusted as you devoured your dessert quickly and rather rudely as if you were starving. You didn’t look at him again until you finished your plate. When you finally glanced up, your stomach feeling a bit nauseous, the look on his face was not what you had expected. He was smiling at you admiringly.

What the hell was that? 

Shouldn’t he have shown disgust or displeasure, just like the people at the next table who were staring at you with disdain?

But not Harry, not him. Why, God, why? 

As if teasing you, he laughed and reached for a napkin on the table, wiping the remnants of dessert from the corner of your lips. “You’ve got quite the sweet tooth, don’t you, sweet girl?”

How could he be so nice, even after everything? 

“Want to eat mine too?” he joked again. Clearly, you were amusing him instead of grossing him out. Ugh, just what you needed. Why was this so hard? 

“It’s the cream in it,” you said, a bit defensive. If you were going to get into a battle of words, you might as well dive in. 

When he looked at you, confused, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Maybe you could annoy him with your gourmet knowledge. 

“The Marsala wine is in the cream; it’s a secret recipe,” you said, trying to sound smart. 

Harry paused eating his dessert, rested his elbow on the table, and gave you an admiring look. “Interesting. I didn’t know you were into cooking. That wasn’t in the info.” That familiar warm smile was back.

Crap. Another mess-up. 

“I get it—you’re keeping it under wraps from your dad. I want you to feel comfortable talking about your hobbies when you’re with me.” 

When you’re with him? Damn, that was supposed to be the first and last time you saw him. You started playing with your fingers in your hair out of nervousness. 

Think, think, think. All you had left was to use the only card you had.

“Look, Harry, I’ll be frank. I don’t plan to see you again.”

Suddenly, he stopped. “Didn’t you like me?” he asked softly.

Was it possible not to like this man? But damn it, you had to lie. You looked away; it was hard to read his expression.

“You’ve probably heard about me from the tabloids. I’m not the type of woman to get attached to just one man. My father put me up to this matchmaker thing; I didn’t intend to.” You admitted this indirectly. He deserved a little honesty, didn’t he? “I’ve had and will have many men in my life. I don’t plan to get married. I mean, you’re not special. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” 

When you looked at his face timidly, you realized you got the reaction you had been waiting for since the beginning of the night. His smile vanished; his expression hardened, and the color of his eyes darkened. 

But why did your heart squeeze when you should have felt relieved?

When they brought your coat, you thanked them and turned to Harry for the last time. You would probably never see him again. You felt fortunate to have had the chance to meet and get to know this man, even briefly. He would probably forget you anyway; why would he remember you? 

“Can I give you a ride home so we can end things on a good note?” he asked, sounding a bit unsure.

You definitely didn’t see that coming. You paused, trying to figure out what to say. It would’ve been easier to just say no, but his eyes were so mesmerizing that if he’d asked you to spill all your secrets right then, you might have done it without even thinking.

“Sure,” you replied, feeling shy.

When the valet brought Harry's car around, your jaw dropped. This black, late-model Mercedes Benz S was probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Your interest in cars stemmed from your childhood; your mother always complained that you didn't like dresses and jewelry like other girls—rather, you liked cars. It was clear you were different, and you had always been that way.

Just like the situation you found yourself in now. Maybe there was something wrong with you.

The two of you were silent the entire ride. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his gaze on you out of the corner of your eye. However, you were more captivated by the interior of the car. When would you ever get to ride in such a luxury vehicle again? It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look. As you glanced towards his side to check out the control panel and see how much horsepower the car had, he caught your eye, causing you to quickly turn your head away. You had to suppress your curiosity.

"We’ll turn right here," you said as you approached the junction. Down the street, the giant mansion loomed, so close to your destination. You stole a quick glance at him, realizing this might be the only time you would see this man in person. You wanted to remember his handsome face. 

Suddenly, Harry slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt. Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him, startled that he had stopped so abruptly near the mansion. What had caused him to suddenly halt? He didn’t say a word, just stared at you, and his eyes seemed to communicate something intense. Was he angry and no longer wanting your company? 

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, only to find it locked.

“Stay still,” he said as he unlocked the car doors. 

What was he implying? He walked around the front of the car, reached your side, and opened your door. 

Was this chivalry? If so, why did he stay away from the mansion?

“Aren’t you getting out?” His voice was kinda cold.

You didn’t know how to respond. You stepped out of the car without saying a word.

“Thanks for the ride—” 

Suddenly, he grabbed your arm—not roughly, but with a firm, questioning grip. His gaze was intense, but why did he look that way? Had he figured it all out? Maybe he was about to confront you for making a fool of yourself. After all, you had been willing to be open, and now you felt you deserved it. But you didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, so you lowered your head. 

“You were lying, weren’t you?”

Shit. 

You swallowed hard; this was the moment you had dreaded.

“I-I…”

What were you going to say? How would you even say it?

You were fucked.

Suddenly, Harry pinched your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him while his other hand rested on your waist. He tilted his head toward you, his hot breath brushing against your face, making your heart race. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you could feel your throat going dry. What the hell was he going to do? Kissing you or scolding you? After what felt like an eternity, he pulled you closer by the arm around your waist and kissed you.

It had been a long time since you kissed someone, so you were almost shocked by his sudden kiss. No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself, you finally closed your eyes and surrendered to him completely. Your surrendering gave him courage and he deepened the kiss, his hot tongue licking your lips and forcing them apart. While his expert hand lingered on the swell of your breasts teasingly, you moaned and opened your mouth for him and when his tongue touched yours, you could still taste the chocolate from the dessert he had just eaten. 

But suddenly, Harry pulled his head back, breaking the kiss and all contact. Instinctively mesmerized, you leaned forward, eyes closed and mouth agape. When you finally opened your eyes, you caught him snickering, and as the embarrassment of the situation hit you, you wished you could disappear. You instinctively pressed your hand to your burning lips and pressed hem together. Harry licked his lips and grinned. "Just as I predicted. You lied to me. There's no way another man has touched you recently."

For a second, your mind went blank, and you just stared at him, blinking in confusion. What the heck did he mean by that? "Y-you... w-what..." Great, now you couldn't even put together a simple sentence.

What next?

Just then, your phone started ringing. When you opened your purse to get it, Harry reached for it before you could. Fortunately, you had saved Melanie in your phone under a special nickname, not her real name. Harry laughed, raising his eyebrows in surprise and amusement. "Trouble?"

Yes, you had saved her as trouble.

"Can you hand my phone back, please?" you said, holding out your hands, but he caught them with one hand and gently pushed them away. 

“Your trouble can wait,” he said, rejecting Melanie’s call. He dialed a number on your phone, but realized what he was doing when his own phone started ringing.

“There, now you have my number,” he said, handing your phone back to you.

You frowned and grabbed your phone angrily, "What makes you think I’d actually call you?" 

Harry shrugged, pursing his lips. “Shouldn't I call you before I come to pick you up for our next date? I guess I could just come by your house and honk the horn instead.” 

“What?” you exclaimed.

He grinned.

You took a deep breath to release some of your tension. “Harry, why are you doing this? There won’t be a next date; I told you that.”

“One chance,” he said firmly.

“A chance of what?” 

"I want you to give me a chance. A real date. If, at the end of the night, you still feel the same way, I promise you’ll never see me again."

You shook your head. "But why? You’re a man who can have any woman you want. You’re rich, handsome, and kind—why waste your time on someone who doesn’t want you?"

You saw something in his brown eyes, something you couldn’t quite identify, but it was intense. “Because you're different from others,” he said sharply. “True, women are not unattainable for me; they are always around. But what I want is someone special, and I feel that you are the one. There’s something about you that has ignited something in me I haven't felt in a long time. I must admit, I'm surprised; I never thought I’d be attracted to you after reading the news about you, but it seems I was wrong. Can you give me a chance? Please?”

Oh, Harry, there’s so much you don’t know, you thought. Your heart was fluttering at the thought of saying yes, but how could you? How dare you? You weren’t Melanie, the daughter of a wealthy businessman; you were just an ordinary girl.

“You know I won’t leave without hearing your answer, right?” He grunted.

Just then, you heard a car approaching, and you freaked out. That was Melanie’s dad’s car. Your heart nearly stopped.

“You have to go, like, now!” you yelled in a panic.

“First, say yes,” he replied, frowning.

"Si, yes, okay, alright! But please, go now!" you urged, pushing him toward the back of his car. He chuckled in response.

You crouched down to hide your face as the other car drove toward the mansion and pulled him down with you.

“I want you to know I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” he admitted, snickering.

“Is that so funny?” you snapped.

"Okay, I get that you don’t want your dad to see us like this, and I’m curious why, but since you said yes, I’ll be a good guy and leave."

“Yes you do that,” you said with a sigh.

Harry took his phone out of his pocket and waved it before getting into his car. “You’d better answer it when I call,” he said, getting inside. He winked at your puzzled expression and started the engine. His car quickly disappeared from sight along the road. You turned toward the mansion, exhaled deeply, and murmured to yourself.

“I'm so fucked.”

thanks for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[lemonlover1110]

𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 2] Overthinking

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Pairing: Knight!Toji Fushiguro x Princess!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Suggestive Content, Minor Sex Talk

Story Summary: This is what'll get Toji killed... But how can he reject her when she looks up at him with such beautiful eyes? A man that's been to war won't be killed by the edge of a sword but rather the lips of a woman.

He shouldn’t lay a finger on her, but he’ll do anything that she asks him to. She’s his princess, he has to follow her every word.

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“What?” Toji almost pinches himself to check if he’s dreaming. A weird dream that it would be– But no, you’re right in front of him. You’re right in front of him, asking him to have sex with you. Alert eyes check nearby, watching out for any witnesses. Once he realizes there’s no one nearby he speaks again, “Don’t repeat it.”

“What’s your answer?” You ask, looking up at him with wide eyes and he laughs. That’s his response, a laugh; it ticks you off.

“Princess, are you a cuck?” He responds, and you furrow your brows in confusion. 

“What’s a cuck?” You answer without skipping a beat. He almost wants to burst into laughter but he’s too nervous to do anything else but stare at you. 

“I’ve got a good head on my shoulders, I’d hate to see it rolling on the ground.” He tells you, and you look just as confused. He can’t talk to you in riddles… Though he isn’t speaking in riddles, he just has to be direct with you. He clears his throat before saying, “No. I won’t have sex with you, princess. Good night.”

“Why not?” You question, as if the answer isn’t obvious. It’s not obvious for you, you don’t see an issue with it. Luckily, Toji has the common sense that you lack. 

He won’t answer the question, instead he turns on his heel and leaves you. He’ll search for your night guard, and let this die down. He’s sure that clarity will hit you tonight, and you won’t mention this again. A princess that’s so high and mighty asking to have sex with a man of his status? You have lost your mind. You let the stupid nobles get to your head.

“Toji, where are you going?!” You yell after him, and if embarrassment wasn’t slowly settling in, you’d run after him. You end up scoffing, slamming the door to your room shut and staring at it frustratedly… Did you just get rejected?

No, he didn’t hear you right. You didn’t just get rejected.

You feel… Offended? Mad? No, no. You’d feel offended if Toji had rejected you but he wouldn’t do that. Toji would never refuse an order from his princess.

You stare at the door, and your nails dig into the palms of your head. That son of a bitch rejected you. Oh, you could scream. But you're mature enough that you can suppress it and act like a true princess.

There’s something off with you, and Toji notices immediately. You’re not being your usual self…

“Why are you all dressed up, princess? You do know we’re just staying in the castle, right?” Toji asks as he escorts you to the dining room for breakfast. He does it on purpose to get the bickering started— He wants to completely gloss over the proposal from last night.

You were vulnerable, and of course your friends got to your head. He wants to show that he didn’t take things seriously, and he truly believes he’s doing a good deed. But things aren’t easy like he wants them to be. You aren’t easy.

There’s no ‘Of course someone of your class doesn’t understand the basis of looking good at all times’ and no ‘If I wanted you to speak, I would have ordered you to open your mouth’; instead, Toji is met with pure silence. You don’t even look back to glare at him.

“You’re just staying in today, right? You didn’t tell me about anything else.” He speaks again, continuing to break the basic etiquette. He should not be speaking to you unless spoken first. But that has never been a thing between the two of you. Toji gets to break a lot of rules because you’ve never cared for the rules in the first place. 

“Toji.” You finally speak, and his eyes lighten up. Only to realize that you’re in the dining room, and his presence is no longer needed. The king doesn’t like the guards to join during breakfast which usually ends up with Toji being shunned to the kitchen with the help.

“Enjoy your breakfast, your highness.” Toji tells you before walking away. He goes to the kitchen, sitting down at the table that’s for him. He’s already had his breakfast, so he isn’t necessarily hungry– But the aroma of the food grazes his nose, and his stomach growls.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything, Toji? I know you have a long day ahead of you.” Mayu walks up to him, holding a bowl of oatmeal. She wears a bright smile on her face, happy to bump into Toji first thing in the morning. Unfortunately for her, Toji just isn’t in the mood. 

“I’m good.” He answers, even when his stomach gives it away. She sits with him, knowing that she should continue her duties but her attention is on something more interesting. Someone more interesting.

“Are you upset with the princess?” She asks, a hint of mischief in her eyes. No matter how much she tries, she never hears a single bad word about the princess from Toji; but considering that last night they were cut short, she feels like his feelings have changed.

“Why would I be?” He responds, not even bothering to look her in the eye. He fails to see the frown that comes to her face when he answers. That’s not what she wanted to hear, but she won’t get too bummed out about it, she guesses it’s part of his job.

“What did she need last night?” She continues the one-sided conversation, and Toji tries his best to remain composed. You absolutely did not ask him to have sex with you. You didn’t even look at him. Nothing happened. Who would even believe him if he told the truth either way?

“She needed me to kill a spider.” He lies, and she begins to laugh. Before she can even begin to ridicule you, Hanako walks over to the table.

“Care if I join you two?” The old woman smiles, and Toji points to the chair across from him. Mayu ends up sighing, but she ends up faking a smile. Hanako begins to eat her breakfast, and Toji stares at her. 

The woman that’s across from him has been like your second mother, and it makes Toji wonder if she knows. Did you end up telling her anything this morning? Toji has figured out that you two are close, but how close are you exactly?

“Do I have something on my face?” Hanako questions when she notices that Toji is staring her down. She always ensures that not a single hair is out of place, but she was in a bit of a rush this morning.

“No.” Toji ends up saying. His eyes search for a clock, needing to know how much he has left before he follows you around for the day.

“Ignore him, Hanako. He’s acting weird.” Mayu ends up saying, offering a smile to the woman. Hanako raises her eyebrows in curiosity, but she won’t dare pry. She won’t ask about Toji’s private life, it isn’t her place. “Ever since the princess interrupted us last night, he’s been out of it.”

“The princess?” The woman nearly chokes on her food. Hanako wipes the corners of her mouth with her napkin before asking the obvious, “What were you two doing?”

“Well we were–” Mayu begins but Toji glares at her.

“It’s not because of the princess.” Toji cuts her off, and Hanako clicks her tongue.

“I’m not asking because I care about your feelings, sir.” Hanako replies. “I want to know how to deal with the princess.”

“She’s not a child, she can handle two adults making out.” Toji argues before he bites his tongue. He regrets opening his mouth the moment he makes eye contact with Hanako. He’s right, you aren’t a child and being sheltered is what led you to ask such an inappropriate question last night. But perhaps saying those words to Hanako isn’t the smartest move.

“You are going to apologize to the princess, sir, and you are going to make it good!” Hanako begins to scold him, and he sighs. He has to deal with this and with an angry princess… It’s going to be a long day.

Work today is pure torture. He thought that the obnoxious parties were the worst that the job had to offer, but this is it. You’re acting like proper royalty and not engaging with him whatsoever. Toji didn’t know how much he enjoyed the bickering until he realized how boring the job is without it.

He’s following behind you as you take a stroll through the garden. A garden that’s so well loved and taken care of because of you. These walks aren’t unusual, but the silence that accompanies it is. He doesn’t even understand the point of the stroll when you’re not conversing with anyone.

“Your highness, are we expecting anyone?” Toji asks, the deafening silence getting the best of him. You don’t even look back at him, instead you keep walking. You keep walking as if he didn’t exist.

Toji sighs, at the very least wanting to know where you’re headed. You’re walking around like a headless chicken. Sure, the garden is nice but there’s these pesky bugs that love to get all over Toji. Plus, it’s warm out and his uniform doesn’t help.

“Will you go inside and get my basket?” You ask when you come to a sudden stop. He frowns, confused why you even ask the question until he lowers his gaze and realizes that you’re by the strawberries.

“I can hold them.” He answers, and you scoff.

“It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.” You respond, slightly annoyed that he’s defying what you say. Toji never dares to defy your wants– Except right now… and last night.

“I can’t leave you without supervision.” He argues, and you furrow your brows. You cross your arms and finally turn around to face him.

“I’m safe within these walls, am I not?” You question, and Toji sighs. This isn’t the bickering he wanted.

“My job is to watch you, and I’m not taking my eyes off you. You can order me to do whatever you want but I’m your knight, not your maid.” He ends up answering, and you roll your eyes at him. You miss the simpler days where you didn’t need a knight, alas, that isn’t your situation now.

“Fine. Cradle your arms.” You order as you get on your knees to grab the fruit that’s ripe enough to collect. It’s finally strawberry season. Toji crouches down and cradles his arms, just as he was ordered.

He’s watching as your gentle hands pick the strawberries apart one by one. You bring one to your lips, slowly biting down. The juice drips down your chin, goes down your neck and eventually reaches your cleavage– Toji has to tear his eyes away as sweet temptation consumes him.

“Do you want one?” You end up offering, grabbing a big strawberry and holding it in his view. He should refuse, but you’re finally speaking to him. He won’t risk making the situation worse, instead he bites down on the sweet fruit. You chuckle, your thumb going over his chin to clean up the juice that drips down. “They’re juicy and sweet.”

“They cheered you up.” He comments, making you roll your eyes.

“Let’s go back inside.” You stand up, dusting off your dress. “Perhaps the strawberry I fed you rolled around in the dirt before I picked it…”

“I’m still honored.” He teases as he slowly rises. He didn’t even realize the amount of strawberries till he had to maintain balance to keep them from falling. Toji’s eyes remain on the fruit that he holds, making sure that not a single one falls over.

“Good morning, princess.” Toji hears, his eyes darting up to see the fellow knight that walks by. He smiles brightly at you, waving your way. Toji clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes at the lack of courtesy from the knight.

“Good morning, Sir Ino.” You respond, and the sudden stop of Toji makes a couple of strawberries fall to the ground. His brows furrow as he replays the scene in his head… You remembered the knight’s name, you never remember any of the staff’s name unless you’re close to them.

“Hi, Toji.” Ino waves at Toji as well, only to be met by a harsh glare. Toji ignores the knight and follows behind you again, picking up a bit of speed since he’s fallen a couple of steps behind.

“Your highness, how do you know Sir Ino?” Toji questions, as if he has any right to ask you the question. You quickly remind him of his place by ignoring the question. Of course, you’re not going to give in so easily.

Toji knows that you’re still upset with him so he’ll try not to overthink your lack of words. And the man never gets into his head about anything, but it’s weird that you know someone’s name. Toji isn’t special, he knows he isn’t. The question you asked him last night was because he was the first man that came to your mind, and now that he’s rejected you he fears that you’ll attempt to go to someone else for help.

“Put them in the kitchen. Tell the staff I want strawberry shortcake tonight.” You order as you enter the castle. 

“Where will you go, your highness?” Toji asks, wanting to know where exactly he needs to go after dropping the strawberries in the kitchen.

“I have my piano lesson, remember?” You remind him, and Toji’s eyes almost widen. If there’s one person that he doesn’t trust you around is that damned piano teacher that makes you giggle like a fucking schoolgirl.

“Here, I have to go.” Instead of doing the task himself, Toji dumps the responsibility of the strawberries to the first maid he sees. A bunch of strawberries fall to the floor as he lets them go in the arms of an unaware maid. He doesn’t take his gaze off you as you begin to walk to the piano room. “Princess wants a strawberry shortcake tonight. She likes it extra sweet.”

“Princess, don’t get too far ahead! You know the king doesn’t like when you’re locked in that room with Mr. Kong alone!” Toji yells, nearly running to catch up with you. He feels like he’s going to die early, and he knows who to blame that on.

He’s ignored again, but this time he understands. This has never been something that he’s cared about. As a matter of fact, he usually stands outside to not hear the awful music you claim you play. He has no ground to stand on.

“No smoking indoors, Mr. Kong.” Toji can’t believe he’s setting rules, but apparently this is what he gets paid for. This is the man that Toji has left you alone with for so many times– The idiot is leaning against the mahogany piano, smoking a cigarette while gawking at you.

Worst of all, you’re smiling. Giving the man a soft look while you listen to his instructions. Toji, who is supposed to stand in the corner without even being heard, grabs an ashtray and snatches the cigarette from the man. Toji makes stern eye contact with Shiu as he puts the cigarette out.

“The king won’t be too happy if he smells that awful stench.” Toji comments, a passive aggressive smile coming to his lips.

“Sir Toji, it’s weird seeing you in the room.” Shiu smirks, crossing his arms as he stares at Toji. “Does the king know that you’re here?”

“Does the king know that you’re flirt–” Toji begins before his eyes land on you. You’re staring at the piano keys in shame. Toji rolls his eyes before staring back at Shiu, “Don’t light another one up or I’ll put it out on your neck.”

Shiu ends up chuckling before turning his attention back to you, “Let’s get back to work, your highness. Where were we? Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

Toji’s annoyance grows as he watches Shiu work with you. No wonder your piano skills don’t get any better, the fool isn’t teaching you anything, he’s just flirting with you. And what ticks him off is the fact that you’re welcoming about it– But it’s not your fault. You’re just naïve and don’t realize that you’re being flirted with.

“Can we play? Or is that against the rules too, sir?” Mischief is written all over Shiu’s gaze. He wants to stir the pot, and it works.

“Would you like me to speak to the king? The princess’ piano skills are still awful and you’ve been with her for the past two years… You’re not making much progress.” Toji points out, and you nearly bury your face in your hands out of sheer embarrassment. 

“You dare insult your princess–” Shiu is about to respond but you stand up, getting their attention. You grab Toji’s wrist and drag him out of the room, placing him outside of the door before walking back inside to continue your lesson.

You don’t have to say a word, but Toji won’t dare walk back inside.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Toji?! Who the hell do you think you are?!” Your voice is loud and clear as he follows you to your room. You have to get ready for lunch, and on the way to your room you’ll give him a piece of your mind. You can’t keep your thoughts to yourself considering how he embarrassed you. “Since when do you care about the fucking rules?! For the past– God knows have long, you’ve left me with Shiu without an issue.”

“Shiu! That’s my issue! He’s your piano teacher, not your buddy! He’s Mr. Kong to you!” Toji argues, forgetting his place. 

“Why do you care?! You’re so annoying!” You yell. “What the fuck is wrong with you today?! Why do you think you have some sort of authority over me?! Talking to me as if you don’t know your fucking place!”

“What is my place, princess?! Do you care to remind me? Or should I remind you what you told me last night?!” He responds as you get to your door. It’s the first time he brings it up and he’d feel bad if you weren’t acting the way you are. He swore to himself last night that he would never bring it up. You were vulnerable, he doesn’t want to hold it against you– But he’s definitely had a change of heart.

You look around the place, watching out for anyone before lowering your voice, “That was a mistake. Completely forget that.”

“Good.” Toji answers, looking around the place as he thinks his next words carefully. You’re not going to give up that thought from last night, you’ll just search for someone that’s willing. Whether that’s Toji, Shiu or Ino. 

He shouldn’t get involved in this mess.

He’s not going to die by the lips of a woman.

“But if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.” Toji says, a frown coming to your face as confusion takes over you.

“Huh?” You respond, and Toji licks his lips before looking around the place one more time. He can never be too safe.

“If you want me to have sex with you, I’ll do it.”

[lunajay33]

Over Looked

•🪽🌌🌑•

Summary: Being the youngest Archeron sister was hard and when you’re thrown into a new life as a high fae living in the night court people don’t see your struggle, and the one you crave only has eyes for your sister Elain

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Info: Elain and Nesta always hated reader, Rhys and Feyre adore her, angst with a happy ending

•Masterlist•

After years of living in poverty, sleeping on the cold hard floor while my three older sisters shared a bed, my two oldest sisters hating me, after almost dying trying to sneak into prythian finding myself lost in the woods for months until a tall man with dark hair found me curled up in the autumn court woods almost starving from being lost for so long and running for my life every second, he was like a dark angel as he kneeled infront of me

Flashback

“Your sister has been desperately trying to find you” he smiles as he pick me up and glimmering smoke surrounds us

“Feyre” I whisper when I open my eyes again I’m in a fancy house and there sits my lovely sister but she was undeniable more beautiful, he lays me on the couch as Feyre kneels next to me

“I tried……I tried to save you Fey” I sigh weakly noticing the tears in her eyes

“I’m so sorry, none of this would’ve happened I should have protected you” she cry’s

She filled me in on everything that happened, how the man that found me was her mate and this was the night court, how she was now a high fae

She helped me bath and fed me, introducing me to Mor, Cassian he was like a huge teddy bear, and Azriel he was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen but he seemed to be standoffish, quiet and mysterious but his shadows would seem me out sometimes late at night when I couldn’t sleep, terrified of the memories of the monsters that had chased me

Then everything changed, me, Elain and Nesta got taken, thrown into the cauldron and turned into high fae, Elain got powers and so did Nesta, I was yet to discover if I had any ability, even now as we were all in the inner circle Elain and Nesta took any chance they could to jab at me

Present

I’m still having a hard time adjusting to this new life, finding it hard to let my old life go wishing I could have what Feyre had, she looks so happy as she looks into the eyes of her mate as they are sat at the head of the table while we all eat our dinner

I look back down the table noticing the way Azriel would glance at Elain, I’ve caught it a few times and it broke my heart each time, the moment I crawled out of the cauldron and looked at him I felt it in my chest that he was the one for me but he had eyes for one of the sisters that made my life hell

“Y/n dear aren’t you hungry?” Mor asks smiling as she’s sat next to me, I put on a fake smile and shrug my shoulders

“Oh I’ve just lost my appetite is all”

“Probably for the best anyways she could afford to loose some weight” Nesta laughed as Elain joined in like cackling hyenas, I can feel my lip wobble as I try to keep the tears at bay looking down at Feyre for help, she always stuck up for me

“Nesta Elain that’s enough” she said sternly, Rhys next to her shooting them daggers with his eyes

“I think I’m just going to go to bed” I excuse myself going down the hall to my room hearing Feyre scold them but they just kept laughing

Looking in the mirror I hold up my shirt sighing, were they right? Maybe Azriel would notice me then, I feel a shadow swirl along my leg up to my cheek giving me a comforting feeling like it’s my own emotional support shadow

I lay in bed as it dances around my fingers, why is it always her, everyone wants them but no one ever wants me, a knock raps on the door and in steps Cassian in all his cuddly glory, since Rhys rescued me he’s helped nurse me back to health and became like a big brother to me

He throws himself on the bed next to me with a pout as he watches me play with the shadow

“You know I’ve never seen them do that with anyone else” he says

“Can I ask you something?” I ask looking at him now

“Of course”

“Am I……ugly?” His eyes grow wide

“What? Of course not your beautiful, don’t listen to them they’re just playing around”

“No they aren’t, they’ve treated me like that from the day I was born, called me ugly, chubby, no one will ever want me, they pick on everything I do and now……the guy I’m destined to be with doesn’t even second glance at me to preoccupied with someone else, of course he would not even my own mate wants me” I rant finally getting it off my chest

“WAIT WHAT? You’ve found your mate and you haven’t told any of us? This is a huge deal who is it?” He asks like a girl wanting all the gossip

“Come on Cas, why would I wanna tell you it’s embarrassing, they always want her” I sigh shrugging my shoulders

“Want who?” He asks rubbing my back

“Elain, but why don’t guys look at me I’m nice and I’d give my heart to him but all he sees is Elain and how pretty she is”

“Elain? Who’s looking at he….” He stops as a see the realization on his face

“Azriel? He’s your mate” I nod looking away

“Like they said I’m too ugly for someone like him” I try to distract myself with the shadow still around my fingers

“Hey you’re beautiful, why don’t you tell him or talk to Feyre and Rhys”

“Maybe”

I made my way down the hall to Rhys’s office where he and Feyre were chatting

“Hey can I talk to you guys?” I ask nervously

“Of course sit” Feyre says motioning to the chair infront of her and Rhys

“I’m sorry about before I’ve told them to stop talking to you like that” Feyre smiles gently

“Thank but I wanted to tell you something else, it’s really been weighing on me” they give me their full attention

“What is it sweetheart?” Rhys asks

“I’ve found my mate”

“What since when?”

“Since I came out of the cauldron” I say as another shadow comes and plays through my hair and they smile

“Azriel?” Rhys asks

“Not that it matters he only has eyes for Elain”

“Oh dear he might come around just give him time” Feyre says

“Why don’t you tell him”

“I can’t I can’t handle that rejection” they give eachother that look that tells me they’re talking to eachother through the bond

“I’m gonna go, it’s getting late” I say leaving quickly before they could stop me

I head to my room and pack a bag, I can’t stay in this place anymore what’s the point Elain and Nesta taunt me all the time, Azriel won’t even look at me

Waiting until the house is quiet I take my bag and head out to the front door about to leave by I feel a tug on my ankle and wrist, I turn seeing shadows trying to pull me back in

“I’m sorry little guys I’ve got to go” they loosen just enough for me to get out of their grasps and leave walking out into the late night, the streets are empty and chilly

“And what’re you doing?” I hear behind me making me stop sending a shiver down my body

I turn seeing Azriel of course the shadows would tel him

“Leave me alone, you’ve done a good job of that so far why stop me now” I keep walking not even knowing where I’m going

“You have no where to go” he says now walking next to me

“Like you care” I sigh

“Why wouldn’t i” I stop and turn to him

“Just give it up Az, you can’t stand me, you don’t talk to me or even look my way, all you can do is ogle Elain and what’s so good about her hmm?”

“She’s having a hard time”

“She’s having a hard time? Can’t you feel it, can’t you see how I’ve been drowning every second and you don’t even feel me” his eyebrows furrow in confusion

“You never told me your problems”

“I shouldn’t have to you should feel them Az, hell the shadows can, they visit me every night”

“They do?”

“Yes but you didn’t even realize right? I’m not waiting around just to watch you fall in love with my own sister” I brush past him but he catches my wrist

“What’re you saying”

“YOURE MY MATE AZRIEL” the night becomes even more silent as he just looks at me

“Why didn’t you tell me” his voice gentle now

“Seriously? You know why”

“I’m…..I’m sorry just give me a chance” I pull my arm back

“I need time az, you’ve hurt me too much”

•

Lmk if I should do a part two?

[batboysanonymous]

More of You to Love

Cassian x Reader

Summary: You never thought a warrior like Cassian could crave softness, until his hands found every inch of yours like they were made for him, and his heart, foolish and full, begged you to never pull away.

Cassian wasn’t a gentle man. Not by nature, not by upbringing. His world had been forged in the steel of the Illyrian camps, molded by blood, death, and merciless survival. He knew how to fight. How to protect. How to endure.

But loving you… That was the one thing that had unraveled him completely.

Because you were softness in a world of blades. You were kindness where cruelty had reigned. And most of all, you were his mate—a gift from the Mother herself, and Cassian had never, not once, believed he was worthy of something as perfect as you.

You didn’t hear him come in. You were too focused on the mirror, on the reflection staring back at you with judgmental eyes. Your gown was too tight. The fabric clung to your hips in a way that felt unflattering, pressing into your waist like a taunt.

You hated it. You hated the way your body looked tonight.

Your fingers trembled on the laces, heart sinking with every tug that wouldn’t come loose. The voices in your head—insidious, cruel—whispered reminders of all the ways you didn’t measure up.

You’re not like the others. You’re too much. Too big. Too full. He could have anyone…Why would he want you?

“Need help with that?” Cassian’s deep voice cut through your thoughts, smooth and gravelly.

You stiffened. “Gods, Cass—don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He grinned, but it was softer than usual. Devouring. “Couldn’t help it. The view was too good.”

Your cheeks burned, and you turned away, fingers tugging harder at the stubborn knots. “The dress doesn’t fit.”

“Fits just fine from where I’m standing,” he murmured, stepping behind you, his breath warm against your neck.

His hands brushed yours aside, and you froze at the gentle way he touched the laces. Calloused fingers—strong and rough—were delicate now, undoing the knots with practiced ease.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, watching as he worked, the furrow in his brow, the way his eyes lingered on every inch of your skin with reverence, not critique.

But you couldn’t hide the shame in your voice. “It’s too tight, Cass. Nothing fits right anymore.”

He stilled behind you.

“I’ve… changed,” you said quietly. “I’m not like Mor or Nesta or any of the females you’re used to being around.”

Cassian’s hands dropped from your back, only to come around and cup your face, turning you to face him. His eyes… Gods, they burned with something between rage and heartbreak.

“Don’t ever compare yourself to anyone else,” he said, voice hoarse.

You tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you. “You think I care about some godsdamned dress?” His hands slid down to your waist, gripping you tightly. “You think I don’t see you?”

He pulled you flush against him, your soft curves pressing into the hard lines of his body—and he groaned, like the contact undid him.

“You’re a dream I didn’t know I was allowed to have,” Cassian murmured. “Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see a woman who makes me weak. Who makes me crave peace. I see softness I want to sink into for the rest of my life.”

Tears stung your eyes, but he kissed them away, his mouth brushing over your cheeks, your lips, your neck.

“I love every inch of you. Every curve. Every dip.” His voice broke. “And you think you’re too much?”

His hand gripped the back of your thigh, pulling it up against his hip, grinding against you slowly, purposefully. “Sweetheart, there’s not enough of you.”

Your breath hitched, heart racing.

“I love you exactly as you are,” he whispered. “You were made for me.”

You turned into his embrace, burying your face in his chest. His arms locked around you, strong and safe, and you breathed him in—the scent of leather and cedar.

“I just… I don’t always feel like I fit,” you admitted quietly. “Next to you, I feel… too much.”

Cassian tilted your chin up, eyes gentle but firm. “You fit me better than any armor ever could.”

He guided your hand to his chest, right over his heart. “You feel this? It’s yours. Every beat, every breath—I live for you.”

Your lip trembled, and he caught it between his thumb and finger, kissing you softly, like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

When he pulled back, his smile was warm and boyish, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Dance with me?” he asked, extending his hand.

There was no music. No crowd. Just the two of you, barefoot and wrapped in the quiet glow of the stars outside the window.

You nodded, slipping your hand into his.

Cassian twirled you once before pulling you into his chest, swaying with you in slow, lazy circles. He hummed a tune under his breath, the sound of it rumbling deep in his chest.

There, in his arms, you didn’t feel too much. You felt perfectly held, perfectly loved.

And when he whispered, “There’s more of you to love,” it wasn’t a tease, or a jest.

It was a promise. A vow to cherish all of you—every inch, every moment, every heartbeat—for the rest of his days.

Taglist:@willowpains, @fanficscuziranout, pham-tastical, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @shylahstarzz, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch, @okaytrashpanda, @Dreaming_realities, @mariaxliliana

[onlyangel4]

picking up the broken pieces. seth rollins. roman reigns. part one.

cheater!seth rollins x reader. roman reigns x reader.

synopsis: after your world turns upside down overnight, roman is there to help you put the pieces back together.

faceclaim: eiza gonzález

part one // part two // part three

authors note: a shorter prologue to the series, so much more to come. no hate at all to seth and becky i love them so much this is just for the plot. this is going to be quite a few parts. do comment if you want to be tagged in this series.

beckylynchwwe posted a story tagging y/ninsta

written: i forgot about this pic from last weekend, my day one.

y/ninsta posted a story

written: days off mean going to the gym at 10am instead of 5am, bless those extra five hours to rot in bed

y/ninsta

liked by wwerollins, americannightmarecody, randyorton and 582,841 others

tagged: wwerollins

y/ninsta: five years ago this man finally plucked up the courage to ask me to be his girlfriend. we haven't looked back since, i love you so much

view all 12,119 comments

wwerollins: love you angel

y/ninsta: can't wait for tonight

user1: the best couple in the company

user2: love you both so much

user3: i can't believe it has been five years since they accidentally kissed after that tag match

wwegossip

liked by paulheyman, user4, user5 and 292,834 others

wwegossip: guys i hate to break this news to you all but a source reached out to me and sent me these to share with you. seth rollins was spotted out the back of the wwe performance centre with becky lynch, his girlfriend's best friend. this all happened on seth and y/n's 5th anniversary.

view all 16,824 comments

user4: guys what the actual fuck

user5: i was sure y/n and seth were end game

user6: i did find it odd that seth didn't post anything about their anniversary

user7: what the hell is paul heyman doing in the likes

user8: gathering info for the tribal chief

user9: oh poor y/n

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

that day had started like any other for roman. he had gotten up early to hit the gym. he had just finished in the gym when he got a text from heyman to tell him that they needed to talk and heyman was on the way to the house.

now that was strange, paul was not the type of man to just invite himself other to roman's house, there had to be something else going on. this was the first inkling that the man had telling him that something must have happened.

when paul arrived he let himself in, owning a key for emergencies. he made his way upstairs and into roman's office knocking at the door before walking inside.

"what is this about paul?", roman asked, his patience was running short. he was all off schedule just because of this impromptu meeting that paul had scheduled between them.

paul looked at roman for a moment, pausing trying to find the right words for what he needed to say.

"rollins"

"you cancelled an interview i had just to talk about rollins"

"not exactly" paul started pulling a folder from out of his bag, sliding it across the table to roman. "these were posted early this morning they are all over social media"

roman took the folder opening carefully, his face fell as he looked at the pages. inside were photos of becky and seth kissing and cuddling. "it was seth and y/n's anniversary last night", paul spoke, "5 years", he added eyes looking down.

y/n. roman had always had a soft spot for you. you may have been dating seth but you were always nothing but nice to him. you spoke to him when others refused to, you always text him on his birthday, you were the only person that text him the day that he lost to cody at wrestlemania, despite your boyfriend being the one to help cody get the win. he always thought of you as kind hearted and sweet. that was why roman's hands were currently tightening around the folder.

he knew seth had a few screws loose but how the fuck could he cheat on you, someone that would have given him the happiest life ever. someone that always felt out of reach for roman. someone perfect.

"where is she?"

"i don't know, reports are that she left their home early this morning when the pictures got leaked."

"where would she go?", roman spoke before thinking out loud, "she has a sister but i don't think she would go there. becky was her best friend", roman was wracking his brain, "charlotte. she has to be at charlotte's"

and with that roman stood to his feet.

"roman wait, she might need some space"

but roman did not hear him, he was already halfway out the door and on his way to you.

[saltnsugarbear]

im the only one who does it how you like (18+)

summary: You see Carmy again after three weeks of no contact

title from: "Billie Bossa Nova" by Billie Eilish

word count: 4.4k

content warnings: smut MDNI!!!! unprotected PinV, afab reader genitalia, pull out method, slighty intoxicated both parties (carm and reader), um um what's it called, oh already listed it nvm.

side note: again, my beloved Olive helped with this! took some of the dialogue from our DMs as well <3 we wouldn't have this part if not for her so everyone say thank you

part 1!

You're surprised to see him at the bar.

But there Carmen is, leaning against a high table with a beer in hand. You're also surprised to see him in loose-fitting jeans and a muscle tee. His hair's a little ruffled from the ceiling fan above him and talking to someone you can't see from here. You have a twisted thought that it can't be anyone but one of his employees. He doesn't know anyone else.

It couldn't be Claire... Could it?

Your stomach twists at the thought. Wasn't she working tonight? Would she have told you if she'd changed it? Gotten her shift covered?

Your stomach dips when you catch Carmy's gaze. You don't know how long he's been watching you or when he even noticed you across the bar. Once he has your attention, he raises his bottle and flicks his fingers at you in greeting. You have to look away, turning back to your friends and taking a quick sip of your own drink.

You do your best to forget he's there. Try and distract yourself with conversation and whatever your friends are gossiping about.

Your night continues, pushing any thoughts of Carmen to the back of your mind. You entertain your friends who insist that some guy in the other direction is interested in you, rolling your eyes when they try to send you over.

"I'm not hooking up during the fourth of July weekend," you tell them, finishing your drink. Subconsciously, you scan the room, eyes falling on Carmy again. You feel like you're going to be sick at how fast your stomach twists. You could see who he was talking to now. She'd switched sides, and you got an eye-full. You almost wish you could think something mean, but she's beautiful.

The dress she's in is short but modest enough. Some of her hair's pulled back in a star-shaped claw-clip, and she's got on a pair of cowboy boots that could be considered out of place. It makes your stomach churn that you can't find a fault to nitpick.

Carmy's gaze flicks up to yours quickly, and you hate how your breath catches. It's a moment before he looks back down at the girl and leans down closer to her.

"I'm gonna go to the restroom, I'll be right back," You turn and tell you friends. There's a chorus of acknowledgment from them, and you can feel them watching you as you make your way to the bathroom.

Once you're inside, you beeline for a stall, pressing your back against the door when you get in. You rub your hands over your face, sighing heavily. You hide in the bathroom for a total of five minutes. Five long minutes of you trying to get it together.

You spend most of that time trying to forget how Carmy's hands felt on you. Eventually, you reason that you can't hide in the bathroom until they close, so you drag yourself out of the bathroom.

You stop when you spot your table. At some point during your time in the bathroom, Carmy had migrated over to your friends and was currently listening intently to Mari. Mari, who is probably telling Carmy something too personal for a man she just met. Her face lights up when she spots you, tapping Carmy's arm before she points at you.

The motion makes your brow furrow, slightly bothered by whatever has happened between them. You think you can hear, "That's who I was talking about.." From Mari. Your stomach drops, that can't be good.

She waves you over quickly, talking fast at Carmy while he watches you approach.

"This is Carmy! Says he's a chef at that new fancy place on Orleans!" Mari tells you excitedly, hand falling on his forearm and making your stomach churn. "Where that sandwich shop used to be."

You want to tell her she's stupid. That she doesn't know anything about Carmy or The Bear or The Beef. Something in you wants to make it painstakingly clear you know who Carmy is.

"What are you doing?" You hiss at him, gaze darting from him to your friends before going back to him. Carmy has the audacity to look confused when you ask him, and you swear when you get him alone, you're going to strangle him.

"What'd'ya mean?" He asks, and he looks at Mari. "She invited me over, wanted to introduce me to a friend."

"This is them!" Mari exclaims, motioning to you. Then she leans forward towards you. "I didn't know you guys knew each other! He's great."

She has the nerve to grin, and you're going to walk out into the road. You breathe in sharply to keep your cool, bringing a hand to rub between your brow.

"He's Claire's ex.." Your tone is short, but you need to remind yourself as you say it. You can see the realization on Mari's face and the confusion, and then the epiphany hits her.

"The guy from high school?" She asks, and she's got this gleam in her eyes that can't be good.

"Her most recent one," you clarify, but that just makes her nod solemnly.

"The guy from high school," She agrees and grins at Carmy again. "I was right about you."

The smile he gives her makes you want to walk out, watching as Mari nods at him enthusiastically.

"Okay, well," you start, tapping your phone for the time. "It's getting late, so I'm gonna head home."

There are some sounds of protests from your more intoxicated friends, making you wave them off and reminding them you have a job. While you're assuring your friends that yes, you have to go, Carmy migrates over to your side.

"Want me to wait with you?" Mari asks from across the table. You perk up, opening your mouth to answer, but-

"I can take take 'em home," Carmy pipes up. Both of you look over at him after, not hiding your confusion or Mari's delight.

"You can't take me home," you frown. You already know Carmy's had enough that he shouldn't be driving.

"Why not?" He asks, he's frowning back at you.

"You've been drinking." You tell him simply. And that's the main point. That, and you don't think it's a good idea to be alone with Carmy for more than twenty minutes.

"Can walk y'home.." He says it like it's the obvious choice.

"I live across town," you remind him. He groans softly at how difficult you're being.

"You could get a cab." Mari pipes up, looking between you both.

"Not from here.." Carmy makes a face, and your brow furrows.

"Why not from here?" You ask.

"Weirdos.." He shrugs, like it's obvious.

"So, I'm taking a cab from your place?" You clarify, and Carmy nods.

Sugar's told you enough about how stubborn Carmy is that you know you'll get nowhere with him. So instead, you sigh before you start collecting your things. "Fine."

"Perfect," Carmy says before turning to your friends. "Nice meeting you guys."

They all give him a cheerful goodbye, something you'll have to correct later. You give a round of hugs before you and Carmy finally leave the bar.

Once you guys are out of the bar, you bring out your phone and start tracking the ride from his apartment to yours. Carmy shifts beside you before his arm slips around you. You glance at him, but he doesn't pay you any mind, hand resting along your lower back.

You're over the first crosswalk when Carmy decides to speak up.

"You were jealous," Carmy snickers, knocking his shoulder into yours while his fingers skim over your back pocket. "Think I forgot about you?"

The question almost makes you stop. Only kept moving forward by his hand along your back. When you don't respond, Carmy turns to you before he ducks, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Don't need t'worry.." He says before he goes to press a kiss to your neck.

"Carm-" You start, raising your shoulder to protect your neck. "Quit it."

Carmy groans as he tries to place a kiss on your cheek. "What? Didn't miss me? I missed you.."

"Why haven't y'texted me? Missed touching you.. Missed you.." Carmy sighs as he places another kiss on your temple. You force yourself to duck away from him, ignoring the way he whines.

Carmy's hand slips further, tucking itself in your back pocket.

"Hey -" You start but are cut off by the way he uses his hand to pull you closer. He hums next to you, giving your ass another soft squeeze.

"What are you doing?" You turn to him, brow furrowed.

"Wouldn't hold my hand.." He says it easily, and it makes you scoff.

"You're ridiculous. Not drinking with you again.." You tell him, letting him lead you down the street still. Carmy grins and ducks to press a quick kiss to your neck.

"Carmen -" You sigh, but he's making a sound of protest already.

"Don't call me that," He grumbles, hand still resting in your pocket.

You're going to say something until Carmy nudges you to the left. "Turn here."

He doesn't let you argue as you turn the corner, and you can spot his apartment building further down. You inhale softly, and Carmen tucks you close.

"Almost there.." He tells you unnecessarily. He walks you through another crosswalk, and you feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

You stop in your tracks as soon as you're in front of his building, which makes Carmy frown at you.

"What're y'doing?" He asks quietly, coming to stand in front of you.

"Getting a cab.." You mutter, focusing on unlocking your phone so you don't have to look at him when you say it. Carmy tsks softly, grabbing your phone before he slips it in your pocket.

"We'll call you a cab from inside, come on," Carmy tugs you towards his building by your belt loops, the hand from your pocket now along your waist. Your heart tugs at the thought, entertaining the idea a little before you shake your head.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Carmy," you tell him softly. Despite your words, you do want to go upstairs with him. Even if it means you'll end up back in his pants.

"Not leavin' y'down here by yourself. 'S not safe.." He insists, hand resting on your hip and tracing gentle patterns. Your heart pulls at the tone of his voice, soft and worried, as he tries to convince you.

"C'mon.. Nothin'll happen.." Carmy assures you, tugging at your belt loops again. He leans forward to press a quick kiss to your neck again. "Promise.."

The two things contradict each other. Carmy promising you and the way he's moved his kisses to your jaw now. Your resolve is slipping quickly.

"Carmy.." You sigh, and he hums before pulling away from you. His pupils are slightly dilated, still leaving a bright ring of blue around them. Carmy's watching you quietly as you fight with yourself over your decision.

"Nothin's gonna happen.." He whispers softly, bringing his over hand to your waist and bringing you closer. Whatever was left of your resolve faded when he squeezed your hips gently. You're nodding before you can stop yourself, and Carmy gives you a bright grin.

"Come on, then," He mutters, keeping a pair of fingers looped in your belt loops as he starts to tug you towards the building.

As soon as you're in the apartment you put as much space between you and Carmy as possible. You beeline for the kitchen island, setting your phone on the surface so you can find a decent ride home. You rest your elbows on the surface, holding your face in your hands as you read over the available companies to call.

"Fuck.." You hear Carmy mutter. You furrow your brow, peering up from your phone to look at him. He's got an arm wrapped around himself, and a hand over his mouth. Carmy's face is lightly flushed as he moves his gaze around the apartment. He hasn't moved much from the front door, but now he's looking for anything to distract him in the apartment.

"What?" You ask, following his gaze to the living room like it might hold some answer. You find nothing interesting that might tell you why Carmy's acting like this, and he won't look at you.

"'S really hard not to remember the uh- the last time I had you over.." Carmy coughs. You can feel your face warm at that, sitting up from the counter. You cross your arms over your chest, staring at your phone on the counter instead of at him.

"Thought we weren't gonna talk about that.." You get out, distinctly remembering the afternoon you two met at some café. You also remember how that ended, and the state you sent Carmy home in.

Carmy scoffs softly, and you can see him shaking his head in your periphery.

"We said we weren't doing this again, Carmen.." You tell him, reminding him of the conversation you had before....

"Don't call me that-" He starts again, and you're rolling your eyes at him.

"We're not doing this again so just... Shut up.." You mutter, focusing back on your phone. You tune out his grumbling, looking between reviews and arrival times. Anything to get you out of this apartment.

"Of course, the only good ones will take 20 minutes..." You complain, scrolling down in hopes that maybe there's one closer. You're too distracted, entertaining the idea of a 2-star cab less than ten minutes away when Carmy comes up beside you.

"You're not taking that one.." He says, tapping the counter beside your phone. He can tell you're considering it still, huffing before he eventually scrolls away for you.

"Hey-" You start, trying to go back but Carmy's already cleared half the line-up after that one.

"These are all..." He trails off, brow furrowing at the drivers. "Bad.."

He frowns when he says it and you're feeling more exasperated than before.

"How am I supposed to get home, then? If you're not going to sign off on any of them," You're rolling your eyes again. Carmy makes a noise and it makes you nudge your phone out of his reach.

There's a sound of protest as you move your phone away from him, stepping closer to you in an attempt to see the screen again. You give him a soft 'fuck off,' as you turn to shield your phone from him and try to find your spot again.

He shifts behind you so you can feel him peeking over your shoulder, and it feels like he's impossibly close now.

"Carm," you breathe softly. You can feel when he shifts his weight, leaning in closer to listen. The adjustment makes it more obvious now. He hums next to you, resting his hand on the counter to lean on.

You clear your throat softly, "You uh- I don't know how to um- Should I leave?"

"What? No-"

"You're pressing your boner against my ass, Carm." You say it plainly, turning so you can face him now.

"Oh, shit- uh-" Carmy starts. His face is flushed now, and he's clearing his throat awkwardly. "I didn't uh- I'm-"

He looks positively pathetic. Carmy's face is pink from alcohol and embarrassment as he refuses to meet your eyes, looking very pointedly at your phone on the counter. His finger taps an uneven rhythm against the surface while you watch him.

"I didn't mean- Not my intent.." He gets out. He glances at you quickly. "Wanted to get you home safe. 'S not just an excuse to-"

You cut him off with a kiss. He grunts out of surprise before kissing you back. He's quick to get his hands on you, his enthusiasm causing you to stumble back a little.

Carmy holds your face in both hands, like you might disappear if he doesn't keep you close enough. His mouth tastes like cheap beer and nicotine in a way that makes your stomach twist. You groan softly when Carmy moves his hand, using his thumb to pry your mouth open enough to slip his tongue in.

It's embarrassing the way you lean into him, bringing your hands to his hips to tug him close. Carmy lets out quiet moans against your mouth as he grinds his hips into yours, losing himself in your touch and taste. He sighs as he holds you close, reluctant to let you go for even a second.

"Last time, promise," Carmy breathes against your mouth, keeping you close with a hand against your neck. "Need y'so bad.."

Carmy doesn't need to persuade you much, you're already tugging his shirt up his chest. He helps you pull it over his head, before he's reconnecting your lips and his hands fall to your waist as soon as he's done. Carmy pulls you closer as he walks you backwards, leading you to what you assume to be his bedroom. You're surprised to make it past the living room on this visit.

Carmy moves his mouth to your jaw when you get to his room, kicking the door slightly shut behind you both. As soon as you're in the room, Carmy's tugging at the hem of your shirt and lifting it over your head. Once it's on the floor, he's making quick work of your button and zipper.

"These're cute.." Carmy mutters before he's pushing down your shorts. "Little stars on 'em.."

"Uh-huh.." You agree, tugging at the button of his jeans. He huffs softly at you, pushing your shorts until they fall to the ground while you're still struggling with his jeans. He pushes your hands away, making quick work of his pants before he shoves them down. Carmy pulls you back into a kiss, walking you backwards so you can both step out of your bottoms.

Carmy all but lifts you onto the bed, guiding you onto the center of the mattress before he follows. He drapes your legs over his thighs, both of which rest on either side under you, and from this angle you can feel his hard-on against you.

The feeling of him pressed against your core makes you whine, grabbing at his chain before you tug softly. Carmy gets the hint quickly, surging forward to kiss you again. His enthusiasm makes your teeth clash but that's nothing compared to the way he grinds into you gently. With him distracted it's easy to slip your hands down to his waist, sliding your thumbs into his waistband and tugging down. Carmy helps you shuffle his boxers down, slipping them under his knees and out of the way.

Despite your handling, Carmy pulls away from you. He leans back on his feet, taking in the vision of you in his bed.

"Fuck..." He brings a hand to cradle the side of your face, leaning forward again to give you a soft kiss. The head of his cock brushes the lace of your panties and he hisses against your mouth.

Once he's done, Carmy sits back and tugs off your panties. You squeal softly when he collects your legs, pressing your knees to your chest while he slides them off. Your legs are placed back over his thighs when he's done, your underwear joining the rest of your clothes on the floor.

You watch as he leans across to grab a pillow, tucking it under your hips. When he's settled again, Carmy holds your hip tight. He gives you a gentle squeeze as he brushes the head through your folds. He inhales softly as he coats himself in your slick, nudging against your entrance as he does.

His eyes meet yours when he looks up at you, cheeks flushed and curls mused. You maintain eye contact with him for a few seconds before you feel him push into you. Carmy's mouth falls open when he feels your walls around him. He can't fight the way his hips jerk and push him just past the tip, watching when you inhale sharply. You whine out, blinking up at him when he shifts his hips.

"Oh, baby..." He sighs, wiping away the tears that fall as you blink. You breathe shakily, squeezing his hips with your thighs. He shifts his hips back slightly, making you grab at his hand on your hip. You can't help as you lift your hips, encouraging him quietly. Carmy inhales softly as he slowly pushes deeper, eyes flicking from your face down to where he sinks into you.

"Oh, fuck me-" You choke out, head falling back against the bed. Carmy huffs above you and you'd roll your eyes if they weren't already shut.

"Tryin', sweetheart.." Carmy whispers as he places a kiss to your chest. He trails them up and along your neck, letting you catch your breath before he shifts his hips again. You can't help but whine at him, grabbing at his bicep as he pushes in further.

Carmy swears softly once his hips are flush against your skin, leaning down to hide his face just under your ear. The movement changes the angle slightly and you groan quietly.

"Fuck.." He sighs, rolling his hips gently into you. The movement makes you inhale softly, dragging your hand up his arm to slide around his neck.

"Been awhile, baby?" Carmy asks against your hair. You answer him with a whine that makes him huff, lifting his head to look at you.

"Not since me..?" He punctuates the question with another roll of his hips.

"Shut up-" You get out, before you're tugging him into another kiss. One that he reciprocates with enthusiasm. Despite his teasing, Carmy stays still until you give him the go-ahead, content to grind against you slowly.

You squeeze his hips with your thighs, rocking your hips into him. It's enough of a signal to Carmy that he gives you a shallow thrust, which you reward with a moan.

With your encouragement, Carmy gives a sharper thrust. He starts a steady pace, resting his forearm next to your head as he grunts above you.

Carmy threads his fingers through your hair while he kisses your face. He uses the hold on your hair to bare your neck to him, nipping at the skin gently. You press your nose against his forearm as he guides your rocking hips with his other hand.

It's easy to get lost in the feeling, arching into him as he fucks you. The hand from your hip slips down to your core, thumb brushing over your clit. The added stimulation makes you whine, rutting against him. Carmy pushes himself up, flexing his hips when he does.

The movement changes where he hits with each thrust, brushing up against the spongy spot along your walls. You inhale sharply, bucking your hips to feel him there again. Carmen gets the hint quickly before he's brushing that spot with nearly every thrust.

The feeling makes you cry out, grabbing at his hands on your hips. Each thrust paired with the tight circles of his thumb has the band in your stomach builds steadily. You gasp when you meet Carmy's eyes, legs squeezing him tight as your head falls back.

Carmy watches you fall apart, eyes going from your face to where he fucks into you. The sound fills the room and you'd be embarrassed if you could remember which way is up. Your hips jerk into Carmy's, grabbing at his forearms as your orgasm washes over you. You choke out a moan, gasping when he meets your gaze, picking up his pace. Carmy works you through your release until you're whining at the stimulation, his hips bucking into you with muddled precision.

He's swearing quietly before you feel him pull out, whining at the loss. He shushes you gently, resting back on his knees. You can barely hear the sound of his hand fisting his cock under the mix of slurred words and moans from his mouth. Your eyes flutter shut as you listen to him, chest rising and falling heavily while you catch your breath. You know by the sounds leaving his lips when he comes.

Carmy's release is hot on your stomach, ropes of it covering your chest. He groans softly above you, the movements of his hand slowing down.

You don't pay attention to Carmy as he moves above you. Your chest rises and falls heavily, listening to the sound of both of your breathing while you come back together. You can feel the shift when Carmy settles back between your legs, opening your eyes slowly.

You're surprised to see him with his phone in hand, swiping between a few things while you watch him. You blink at him, taking in his mused curls and flushed skin.

"What're y'doin'?" You get out, and Carmy looks like a deer in headlights. He's quick to toss his phone to the side, instead bringing his hands to your face.

"Nothin', sweetheart. Jus' so pretty like this.." He tells you before he gives you a quick kiss. His hips press flush against the back of your thighs, letting his cock rest heavily against your stomach. You make a noise as he ruts his hips softly, pulling away from him.

"Carmen Berzatto.." You mutter, not getting very far from Carmy's lips. He groans above you, capturing your lips again to distract from the way his dick twitches against you.

"Don't say that," He grunts, giving another rut along your stomach. You twinge at the way his movements smear cum across your skin, sighing against his mouth.

"Can't be serious.." You mutter, getting it out as Carmy moves to kiss your jaw.

"I'm sorry, baby... Can't help it, been a while..." He presses a kiss under your ear as he shifts his hips back to the line the head of his cock against your entrance. He presses a quick kiss to your cheek before he pulls away from you.

"Think you can give me another, though.." He gets out before pressing his hips forwards. And you're not one to complain at the way he's filling you again.

[harperskele]

Flawed Method

Made another thing for @mmmilkweed! This time, it's based on this post.

Side note: You can pry Scottish White Lily from my cold, dead hands.

-

Shadow Milk would sooner die than admit that being held brings him comfort. It’s an embarrassment to all he is and all he stands for. There is no lie to be told in the warmth of a tender embrace, and deceit cannot pervade its gentleness. He is fearsome and powerful, and hugs are a comfort for the weak.

Still, he slips into Pure Vanilla’s arms every chance he gets, one way or another. Whether it’s a wild embrace with scathing kisses and frantic clawing and rustling sheets or simply sliding up against him in his sleep, he gets what he wants.

Today, Pure Vanilla refuses to even look his way. He can feel himself twitching as frustration claws at his chest. It was a minor prank! Everyone got all their limbs back in the end, so what’s the harm? “Nillyyy!” He complains, hating how pathetic he makes himself sound. The Beast of Deceit whining for the attention of a pious and truthful man; it’s a ridiculous image for sure, but he doesn’t care. Just one look and he’ll be satisfied for now. He can get whatever else he wants later.

Still, the man stubbornly ignores him. He stifles the growl threatening to rip from his throat. How dare he? How dare he refuse to give Shadow Milk his attention like this? He apologized, didn’t he? He fixed what he did.

Then it hits him. He’s mad at Shadow Milk, but what if he wasn’t Shadow Milk?

It’s as easy as lowering himself to his feet and slipping into a new skin. He reaches out with a pale little hand, forcing his lip to tremble. He lets tears slip down his cheeks. “Pure Vanilla…” He pleads in White Lily’s soft Scottish burr. Finally, the man whips around to look at him in shock. Victory! Oh, but he’s not done. He has to pay for ignoring him like that. “Pure Vanilla! Please, don’t-” He hiccups, pretending to stumble over his words. Oh, what a show he’s going to put on for him! “Don’t leave me! Please!”

He presses himself close with a sob, tangling these frail arms of his in Pure Vanilla’s robes. It’s so warm compared to the frigid air. He blinks, and more tears fall from his eyes. He continues his pathetic little mumbles and apologies, only beginning to let up when Pure Vanilla wraps his arms around him in return. Was he seriously that stupid? Did he really think he was hugging White Lily or something? A little giggle slips out, but he masks it with another sob. Already, he can feel his frustration waning.

Here, in the warmth of Pure Vanilla’s arms, he feels a plan forming. And oh, what a plan it is.

~

The next time he slides into another skin, it’s Hollyberry’s form he adopts. The boisterous woman should be easy enough to emulate; she’s hardly a quiet person. It’s easy to pick up on her mannerisms. He strolls through the gardens of Pure Vanilla’s palace, delighted when he sees his quarry tending to a patch of milkcrown flowers.

“Pure Vanilla! How are you, fratello?” He laughs, approaching with ease. The man waits for a few seconds, then looks up with a bright smile.

“Hollyberry! I am well. How are you and your family?” Pure Vanilla rises from the soil, brushing grass from his robes.

“Good, good! We’re doing just fine.” He replies, standing right in front of Pure Vanilla. It’s a nasty habit of Hollyberry’s to invade personal space, one he delights in. He can smell vanilla orchids and turned earth, and the scent is almost enough to send him into a high. He maintains his composure, though, and opens his arms wide. “Now, where’s my hug? It’s been too long!”

He just about dies of happiness when Pure Vanilla steps closer and wraps his arms around him. He pulls the man close, a grin much too wide for any normal face spreading across his lips. It’s borderline euphoric to be able to hold Pure Vanilla like this. He’s smaller for once, dwarfed by Hollyberry’s muscular physique.

He’ll have to do this more often.

Should he do Dark Cacao next? Maybe Golden Cheese. Already, so many ideas swirl around in his head. He could impersonate Black Raisin or maybe just some random child. He’ll do anything, steal anyone’s form, if he gets to feel this all the time.

“Shadow Milk, why are you pretending to be my friends?”

Just like that, the illusion shatters. His grin falls, and his face twists into a scowl. He snarls and shoves Pure Vanilla away, returning to his own form. Fucking hell, why couldn’t he have his fun? “How did you know?” He rasps, floating out of reach. He crosses his arms, trying to hold on to that wonderful warmth for a few seconds more. Already, his metaphorical hackles are up.

“Your eyes. They don’t change.” Pure Vanilla replies with a tender chuckle. The man returns to his flowers, ignoring Shadow Milk’s anger. “Besides, Hollyberry only calls Cacao fratello. She calls me mio piccolo tesoro. Isn’t that just the cutest?”

Her little treasure. Hollyberry calls Pure Vanilla her little treasure.

Writhing jealousy grabs his heart and twists it, and another growl rips from his throat. “No, it’s disgusting,” He spits.

“Either way, I asked you a question. Why did you pretend to be White Lily and Hollyberry?”

It’s the easiest question in the world to answer, but it’s the hardest at the same time. He knows why he did it, but that doesn’t mean Pure Vanilla has to know. It would just complicate things. He didn’t need to give this pious prick another reason to push so hard for his redemption.

I just wanted you to hold me.

“To fuck with you, obviously!” For the first time in his long life, a lie doesn’t come easy. He struggles to choke it out. He forces out a cackle and flips upside down. “What did you want me to say? ‘Oh my sweet Vanilly, I just wanted to be held in your big, strong arms?’ Yeah, right!”

“If it’s as simple as wanting to be held, then you just need to ask,” Pure Vanilla says with a soft smile. Shadow Milk splutters, his eyes going wide as he stares down at the audacious man from his spot in the air. Did he not hear the majority of what he said? Okay, he had to be genuinely stupid at this point.

“Do you only hear what you want to or something?” He stammers. Pure Vanilla just shrugs in response and carefully trims a flower, twisting it to and fro in his fingers. He beckons Shadow Milk closer, and he obeys against his better judgement.

“Sometimes,” he whispers, tucking the flower in Shadow Milk’s hair, “I hear what people truly mean instead of what they tell me.” The gesture is so soft and sweet, almost nauseating. Shadow Milk has half a mind to leave right then, but the way Pure Vanilla opens his arms just for him is such a compelling invitation. He doesn’t offer for White Lily or Hollyberry; no, he offers his embrace to Shadow Milk alone now.

Fighting down the giddiness rising in his chest, he throws himself into Pure Vanilla’s arms with a huff. He grasps the man’s robes firmly, refusing to let go. He basks in the sweet smell of patchouli and sweet vanilla as he buries his nose in Pure Vanilla’s neck. Warm arms curl around him, hands resting on his lower back and between his shoulders, and pull him closer. Pure Vanilla slowly sinks down, kneeling in the soil with Shadow Milk draped over his lap.

This is how the world is meant to be, he likes to think. Here, in the arms of the one whose attention he craves so desperately, everything feels right. He closes his eyes, savoring the way Pure Vanilla places his chin on his head and gently rocks back and forth. He thinks he might be humming, but he can’t be bothered to care.

This warm cocoon of vanilla and light is all he needs for now.

[citygirlyuno305]

Yuno

This is weird but I’m going to speak as a person right now just generally, rather than as any kind of professional or anything. I’ve hesitated to say this for a while, and to speak on Yuno at all, because of my own complicated feelings and because I fear the fallout. But with the new cover and everything I feel like I have to, or I have to get it off my chest. So if you read this, I’m sorry in advance for indulging in what is undeniable projection and bias. I have to put a content warning for harmful sexual relationships and violence here.

I’ve never admitted this to anyone beyond those who already knew, or with my actual public profile or name/ID attached. At age 17, I’m already fucking cringing, I was involved in a sugar-daddy situation. Me, age 17, and a man who was about 40. He had a daughter two years younger than me. I met her. We were friends on facebook. We would eat dinner and I’d have sex with her dad for money after she left to go to her mom’s house. No, I did not need the money. I can’t begin to go into what motivated it at this time because it’s like scratching a barely healed scab. God, I feel gross even thinking about it. Engaging in things like that is unsafe for ANY high schooler. No one stopped me though. My parents didn’t know, and it was shockingly easy to conceal from them, but my friends and siblings did know. Some simply shrugged. Some asked to see pictures of the guy, encouraged it. Some even asked me to ask him if he had friends who wanted to do the same thing with them.

This was obviously disgustingly predatory, but also, just disregarding our ages, it was an extremely violent sexual relationship just generally. Any ‘I worship my sweet sugar baby’ shit when we spoke was significantly outweighed by the things I had to to do. But I did them and even managed not to feel dehumanized at the time because I literally hated myself. So his depreciation fed my own self-hatred. It became very out of control, very quickly.

Predictably, I got pregnant after a little while. Again, I was 17. It was legal, so I had to get an abortion myself. I was pro-choice my entire life- still am. Guess what? Despite that, I felt like shit about that abortion for years. Sometimes I still feel like shit about it. Does that make me getting an abortion less forgivable?

I ask because it seems to be how some are framing their view of Yuno’s innocence or guilt. And I’ve been nice about it or I’ve ignored it up until now, but it’s gotten to a point where it just makes me realize that a lot of people are selfishly self-imposing their own opinions on the character without taking the time to understand what the character themselves needs to heal- like it doesn’t matter to you whether she’s mentally well, or safe. If this doesnt apply to you I hope you take no offense. Is the abortion a huge part of her character? Of course. But it is far from her entire character, and I can’t help but feel like we failed her by not even considering other aspects of her mentality, even if our votes wouldnt change.

To the extent that she regrets her choice, I get that. For the great many people (mainly on twitter) who seem to think abortion is something you can “girlboss queen never cry” your way out of feeling anything for, you’re so woefully wrong that it’s almost alarming. First, being that Yuno’s seemed to be self-inflicted by throwing herself down fucking STAIRS, i can’t even begin to imagine the level of pain she felt. Even when I took that goddamn pill I felt like shit for a week. But more than the physical pain, there IS an emotional pain and a mental pain that just dulls everything else around you. Its more than just societal, the actual biological impact, the abrupt halt of natural processes and jarring hormonal shifts, it literally fucks with your body and your head. I did not want a baby at 17. I did not regret the choice. But I can fully see how some people do once they get an abortion because even for me, it literally felt like a part of me was missing. Gone. Like a part of ME was ripped out. I genuinely hope no one reading this ever has to go through that. And I can’t fathom how much worse that mental pain must be when the abortion is nonmedical.

Is that a reason to make abortion illegal? Fuck no. But I have to make that clear because even saying that has gotten me bombarded with accusations of being prolife, when I’m not.

And you know what, everyone was so kind to me about it, I’m so lucky, really, in retrospect I see that. But when I was SEVENTEEN, it became something that made me so blindingly mad- “its not your fault, youre just a kid, you didnt know.” Yes, I was a kid- but I did KNOW. It felt like that part of me that I killed-because yes, thats how it truly felt-also took my agency with it when it left. Like no one gave a shit enough to tell me that I made a shitty call insofar as getting into that relationship in the first place, and now I’m sitting there with this immeasurable feeling of self-hatred and guilt over something that I did willingly and knowingly (from my POV), I’m feeling this insane emptiness and pain and numbness and I have no one around me to blame so I internalize this self hate even more. Because I couldnt even be angry and upset without simultaneously feeling MORE guilt when the people around me weren’t lashing out at me. I don’t know how to describe this. It felt like no one was holding me accountable for hurting myself, and it was alarming and driving me insane to toe the line between being a victim of my own exercise of choice, and to have no one hold me accountable for the exercise of that choice, even though I myself would not hold anyone else accountable or call them guilty for making the same choice. It felt like no one gaf because those absolving comments designed to make me feel better also somehow felt like I was also being deprived of recognition for the somewhat traumatic experience that it truly was. And even now I really struggle to call it trauma because I still grapple with the idea that I cannot exercise a choice and call it trauma. But its like, no one is angry at the perpetrator (me) for what they did to the victim (also me). And if thats the case, do you really care about me at all? I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words. But that’s where I’m like, we have kind of deprived Yuno of her own victimhood by insisting her actions were victimless.

That said, seeing the line “I wanted you to care enough to scold me and tell me I was wrong” actually hit me pretty hard. I don’t blame Yuno for wanting people to care. Because it truly doesnt feel like it in this instance sometimes.

Double it and pass it to the next person if Yuno really did kill herself when she did it. Because at that point, we’re telling her two things- 1) abortion is okay you didn’t commit murder- okay, fine. But ALSO 2) its okay that you killed yourself, no harm done. No wonder she thinks we don’t give a shit about her, we were too busy politicizing her to consider the fact that we were telling her she didnt err when she fucking offed herself.

And I want this part to be absolutely, abundantly clear: I do not say any of this to demonize SWs. In a manner of speaking I was one. I’m not sure how similar it is to Yuno’s situation but broadly speaking, we live in a world that is generally unsafe for women. Particularly young women, and even more so teenage girls. And we shouldn’t be indifferent to a high schooler showing us that she was having sex with grown men for cash. We shouldn’t demonize her for it, but we shouldve cared enough to probe into what caused her to think this was something she should do. Her friends and parents didnt. I wasnt mentally well when I did it. And call it a girlboss queen shit thing all you want, it fucked me up monumentally after. I still cant think about it without feeling disgusted with myself. And I dont want Yuno to he disgusted with herself but I also dont want to affirm a belief that its genuinely not a problem for high schoolers to do this. People can scream about “well 18 is legal!!!!” all day- its a shitty argument to begin with, though. (If the law said 12 was the age of consent, would you feel comfortable saying “Well its legal!!!” to a relationship between a 12 year old and a 30 year old? No, right? Because the law is not always the baseline of morality). But- and again this is in no way designed to demonize sex workers- situations like Yuno’s are undeniably dangerous.

Is it her fault that something happens if she is attacked? Absolutely NOT. But I still wish someone had given a shit enough about me, my friends, siblings, anyone, to tell me to stop putting myself in a position where it could easily occur. They didnt even tell me that after I got the abortion. Its not that I wanted them to scold me for the abortion-I wanted ANYTHING, but if I’m specific, I wanted them to scold me for what led to it. I wanted them to yell at me for even getting into the sugar daddy situation, which I engaged in willfully because of my OWN self-loathing and need for some form of attention, my OWN warped perception of what constitutes positive attention and what I had to be of value and worthy of that attention. Because I was 17 and I knew that most every time I was yelled at by someone or scolded it was because they cared about me in some form, even if yelling was inappropriate in a given situation. Its weird- without giving too much away here, I managed to keep my abortion from my parents despite being a minor. Maybe half a year after the fact, I told my mom, and only because she was expressing this deep concern that I was suicidal, telling me I wasn’t myself. She wasn’t wrong, of course, I was completely different, idk about suicidal, but certainly depressed. When I told her, she cried, not because shes prolife or anything, but because she was so distraught that she didn’t see what was happening. Frankly she couldn’t have, with the way I went about it and how our lives are structured. And I hate when my mother cries, I love her to death. But her crying felt good. Not like weird masochism good, but like vindication good. Because I knew something was wrong but no one else seemed to think something was wrong for so long, and her weeping over this confirmed for me that yes, I’m right, something- anything- was materially, truly, WRONG with this situation. And when she probed for details I cried too because I forgot how good it felt to have someone who cared enough about me personally to go deeper than superficial opinions on political things, to actually form a personalized opinion or seek more detail as to me specifically. She begged me not to keep up the sugar baby thing, and she was right to do that, and it simultaneously fed my need for care while also maintaining my agency. I am truly lucky beyond words for getting to be my mother’s child.

Anyway, that said, I see how Yuno probably also wanted that from us. To care about the why, and not the what. It didn’t seem like her parents were super involved. Unless I’m missing something.

But that’s the thing, its complicated. I’m pro choice but I hated my choice, but I dont regret my choice, but I do regret it and don’t hate it- I literally can’t put it into words. Its not so black and white. And I think demonizing Yuno for maybe wanting that or harboring the same complicated feelings about her own situation is antithetical to the entire purpose of pro-choice ideology. Is her exercise of choice somehow less forgivable because she might regret her choice?

The answer should be no. To me, anyway.

I would like it if people gave Yuno the same energy that they give any other character. She is a person. She is not just a medium to express any given ideology. And give her the courtesy of trying to understand how it feels to be forgiven for something that you don’t forgive yourself for. Because it doesn’t feel good. I’m in my 20s now and still cannot forgive myself sometimes.

I’m not saying we should have voted X or Y or advocating that Yuno is some kind of monster for what she did. That’d be pretty hypocritical. I’m not unilaterally placing blame on Yuno for her actions either. I’m also not pretending we’re the same person- though the timeline conversation with Shidou where he tells her she’d be good as a healthcare professional, is alarmingly similar to something that happened to me. And that same “Haha, quit playing around,” that’s exactly what I did too. Because I hated myself too much to think it was true. And it took a lot of work to crawl out of that hole. Like, yeah, I’m a lawyer now. I have a different life. I do not require validation from sexual partners to feel joy, I understand the difference between good and bad attention. But part of me will always be partially submerged in it. I think ignorance to the reality that even something that isn’t itself immoral can have dire consequences on the actor goes unrecognized sometimes.

If someone called me a girlboss after my abortion, knowing the circumstances that gave rise to it, or not even bothering to address them, I would’ve blown my fucking brains out.

[tesslinua]

Storm of Magic Region Quarterfinal - Dainix VS Erin

Propaganda

Dainix:His hair!!! He’s so pretty he probably has anime sparkles. His eye is so soft, and the eyepatch is cool. Puppy energy. I want to hug him and for him to take care of me. Being partially shirtless and transmasc is such a move. Self confidence is hot

HE IS SO PRETTY OH MY GOD. his ponytail. and his dumb little sidebangs. and his stripes.... very based of him to go around shirtless all of the time i enjoy it vvery much for normal reasons i like seeing his chest and his abs and his back. that one frame where he hugs erin in petrichor? i stare at his back muscles and get a fever every time. also he is so nice and sweet personality-wise i think he'd be one of the most dateable. he has some issues yeah but hed be willing to put in the work yknow?

i try to describe why hes pretty but i get so dizzy thinking of how pretty he is and pass out

Erin: Hotter when evil

He's a sad pathetic little wet rag hubrising and faking his way through life and he SUCKS and I HATE him and I hope he DIES /posi think i can safely say i am THE erin enjoyer. so buckle up. okay. for starters. i love me a good twink. that's the baseline. plus he has pretty black hair. plus he has indigo eyes (the best color). plus he wears a waistcoat and a cape. his TATTOOS. his fucking tattoos. how long did those take. theyre so intricate and they cover the entirety of both forearms. he couldve just gotten the runes necessary and hid them with a bandana like tarren but this freak doesnt do anything halfway. why would he? he's the elemental magus. he has to flaunt his status. that panel where he has his shirt open showing the void rune and he's got this concentrated/frustrated/stressed look on his face while he's reading his journal? makes me lose all higher brain functionings. also his eyes reflect the color of whatever magic he's casting. Pretty. he is. such a smug showy hubristic bastard and his ego infuriates and infatuates me. normally i hate people like this BUT he's also pathetic. he gets so cranky when falst steals his bag and when theia doesn't let him in the archives. and that fucking "by now, i… i hope you'd trusted me to know what i was doing" in ripples where hes looking down and he's so small in the panel. COME ON MAN whats your fucking problem. he's so sure of himself all of the time but it's so easy to make him crack and every time it happens i am filled with unbridled desire. i need to make him crack i need to make him realize the throne he thinks he's on is made of glass i need to watch him doubt his status and power. he is so much hotter when he's stressed. like when alinua says kendal didnt wake up post-zuurith? the pure anguish and fear in his face? Goddamn. not to mention the boat arc. that was the best example of him being soooo sure of his power, his control, and then having all of that shattered. "i HAVE to do everything alone! nobody can match me! nobody can help me in a way that matters! it always comes back to me to carry the weight, and if i fall, nobody can catch me! gods and legends want to help me? can any of you part the clouds, still the seas?! can you save me from the dragon?" drove me fucking insane every time i think about that i need to eat glass (yes i looked up that page to get the quote exactly right yes i spent approximately 10 minutes kicking my feet and giggling) seeing him get beat up is so nice i think it should happen more <3 i lov e seeing him battered and bruised and afraid and bloody and also i had never experienced sexual attraction to anyone, real or fictional, until i discovered erin fucking ruunaser, so like. thats an accomplishment i think.

[playdat]

the Salesman × Blind wife

A Cage Without Walls

[she found out about his job part 3]

"why do you have a gun?"

Part 1

Part 2 part:3____________________________________________________________________________

Silence sat heavy between them, thick like smoke, impossible to breathe through.

She could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way he hadn’t moved from where he stood, watching her. He was waiting.

For what?

For her to break? For her to lash out, to scream, to curse his name?

Or worse.

For her to accept it.

Her breathing was uneven. Shallow. Like she couldn’t get enough air, even though there was plenty of it in the room.

She needed to think.

But how could she, when the man she shared a bed with—the man who whispered promises against her skin,when her world—her husband—had just turned into something unrecognizable?

A liar. A monster. A man who led people to their deaths and still came home every night, kissed her forehead, and held her in his arms like he wasn’t drenched in blood.

She felt sick.

She needed to leave.

But where?

She had no close friends who wouldn’t ask questions. And even if she did, how far could she go? How far could a blind woman run before she stumbled, before the world reminded her just how vulnerable she really was?

And her family? If she returned to them, what was she supposed to say? That she married a killer? That she had been played like a fool, held like a fragile thing while he built his life on the ruin of others?

A shiver crawled up her spine.

She had always been independent. She had learned to navigate a sighted world with practiced confidence. But now—now—it didn’t feel like confidence.

It felt like an illusion.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

That’s why he wasn’t panicking.

That’s why he wasn’t begging her to stay.

Because he didn’t need to.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “You think I won’t leave.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, calmly—“I think you have nowhere to go.”

She flinched.

Not because he was wrong.

But because he was right.

She was thinking of it—of slipping out, of pushing past him, of finding some way, any way, to escape.

But then what?

Her heart lurched.

She hated him.

Hated him.

Because he wasn’t threatening her.

He wasn’t holding her hostage.

He was simply telling the truth.

Her throat tightened. “I’ll find a way.”

“I know you will.” He exhaled softly, his voice devoid of cruelty. “But not tonight.”

Her body stiffened.

Not tonight.

Not now.

Because she had no plan. No escape route.

And he knew it.

The air between them was thick with unspoken things—questions she wasn’t ready to ask, answers she wasn’t ready to hear.

She needed time.

She needed space.

But even that wasn’t truly hers, was it?

Not when the walls around her had been built by him.

Not when the world outside was more dangerous than the man standing before her.

And the cruelest part?

She didn’t know which terrified her more.

Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke. "I don’t know who you are."

A slow inhale.

Then, softly, too softly—

"Yes, you do."

Her breath caught.

She turned toward him, her hands clenched at her sides. "No. I knew the man who kissed me goodnight. The man who ran his fingers through my hair when I had a headache. I don’t know this man. This man is a stranger."

A pause.

Then, he took a step closer.

She felt it. The shift in the air. The quiet pressure of his presence.

"You know me," he said again. A statement, not a plea. Not an attempt to convince her—because he truly believed it.

And that terrified her most of all.

Her pulse pounded against her ribs, panic coiling inside her. She took a step back. "Stay away from me."

He didn’t listen.

Another step.

She took another one back, but her heel hit the wall, cold against her bare skin.

She was trapped.

He was close enough now that she could feel the warmth of his body, the scent of him—clean, familiar, deceptive.

A hand brushed against hers.

She jolted, but he didn’t grab her. Didn’t force her. Just let his fingers hover there, an unspoken offer.

Her breathing was ragged. Shallow.

Run.

Her mind screamed it.

But her body—her stupid, traitorous body—stayed frozen.

Because, despite everything, despite the monster she now knew him to be—

He was still the man who held her when she cried.

And that realization shattered her more than anything else ever could.

__________________________________________________________________________________

@dyingswanpavlova @muchwita

[tinydefector]

Who's portal is this? 2

DC X DP X SPIDER-MAN

[Decided I was working on and editing this instead of dealing with my emotions over finding out what happened to my mum and over the fact I legally still can't talk to any of my friends over it]

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: swearing, mention of wounds, mention of death.

Masterlist

PREV

______________

The tension in the warehouse was thick enough to cut with a knife. Constantine still looked like he was trying to process his entire life’s choices, Peter was glaring at anyone who moved too close to Danny, and Batman stood silently, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the summoning circle.

"Alright," Danny finally said, breaking the silence. His voice still carried that layered, eternal echo, but his tone was casual. "Can I come out without you guys freaking out? Because, like, I could’ve escaped this thing five minutes ago. But I’ve been too baffled by this whole ‘Pariah Dark booty call’ situation to bother. And I'm pretty sure he's bleeding out” Danny states while pointing at Peter 

Batman’s gravelly voice cut through the bickering. “If you could’ve escaped, why didn’t you?”

Danny gave him an incredulous look. “Uh, I just said why. I was baffled, Stunned this feels like the Electric boogaloo part two ” He gestured vaguely to the summoning circle. "Also, this thing you guys slapped together? It’s not exactly Ghost King-proof. I mean, it’s good, don’t get me wrong—it would’ve probably stung like hell to break through it earlier, but it wouldn’t have actually held me. It’s like trying to hold a bear with spiderwebs. Annoying, sure, but not impossible. No offence Spiders"

Peter makes a noise of offence followed by Constantine groan, muttering something under his breath about how he hated kids.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Look, I’ll make it easy for you. I promise not to destroy anything, melt anyone’s face off, or turn Gotham into a ghost dimension. Just let me out, and we can all chill. Deal?”

Batman stared at him, his expression unreadable as always. After a long, tense pause, he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

Danny grinned. "Cool. Thanks, creepy Gothman." With a casual step, Danny walked out of the summoning circle like it wasn’t even there. The sigils flared for a brief moment, sparking angrily, but Danny seemed unbothered. His aura dimmed as he left the circle, and in a flash of green light, his older, regal form disappeared.

In his place stood a very unimpressive 16-year-old kid in a black T-shirt, jacket and jeans, his hair now messy and black, his eyes bright blue with a green shimmer to them. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he looked around the room with the kind of awkward energy only a teenager could pull off.

"Ta-da!" Danny said, grinning. The silence that followed was deafening. Constantine’s cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth. Batman’s stance shifted slightly, just enough for anyone who knew him to see that he was recalculating everything he thought he knew about the situation. 

Peter, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered. "Yeah," he said nonchalantly, “Fun, right?" His jaw clenched as he tries to move, his shoulder aches like no tomorrow and at this point all he wanted to do was sleep off his injuries from before this mess.

Constantine blinked, pointing at Danny like he was trying to make sense of a bad joke. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re the Ghost King? You’re a bloody child?!"

Danny frowned, crossing his arms. "Okay, rude. I’m sixteen, thank you very much. And technically, I’m only half-ghost."

Batman’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife. "Explain."

Danny shrugged, his casual demeanor making it clear that this wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain his situation. "Alright, fine. So, hi, my name’s Danny." He raised a hand in an awkward little wave, like he was introducing himself in a high school classroom. "When I was 14, my parents—who are kinda nuts, built this weird ghost portal thingy in our basement. I decided it’d be a great idea to mess around with it, and, well…" He gestured to himself. " tada! Half-ghost."

"Anyway, long story short, I spent the past two year fighting ghosts, saving my town, blah blah blah. Then, a while back, I accidentally dethroned Pariah Dark. don’t ask, it’s a whole thing and now I’m the Ghost King. Which, honestly, is way more responsibility than I signed up for."

Constantine rubbed his temples, looking like he was on the verge of a breakdown. "So, let me get this straight. You’re a 16-year-old half-ghost who somehow became the ruler of the Infinite Realms because you… what? Got lucky?"

Danny grinned. "Pretty much!"

Constantine groaned, looking at Batman. “You’re hearing this, right? It’s not just me?”

Batman’s expression didn’t change. "I’m hearing it."

Danny clapped his hands together, clearly trying to move things along. "Alright, now that we’re all on the same page, can we focus on the important stuff? Like the whole ‘us being stuck in your horror city thing? Because I’d really like to get out of here before Mr. Soul Whore over there starts trying to sell pieces of himself again."

Constantine bristled.

The bright, sterile light of the Batcave flickered faintly across its rocky walls, illuminating the room in a pale glow as Alfred worked with calm precision on Peter’s injuries. The young man sat on the edge of a medical table, his spider suit pulled down around his waist. His face was a mess—black eye swollen shut, cheeks scraped and bruised with pieces of concrete and glass shards in bedded, and lips still lined with dried blood. His body wasn’t much better. 

His torn suit had shown a litany of injuries before it had been pulled down: fractured ribs that had already started showing the deep purple, green and yellow bruising up hid torso, the nasty red handprint of a chokehold bruising his throat, burn marks left by an explosion, and countless cuts and lacerations. The most pressing concern, however, was the bullet wound in his dislocated shoulder.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he hissed, pulling his arm away instinctively before Alfred gave him a stern look.“Hold still, please,” Alfred said firmly. “I can’t help you if you’re squirming.” as Alfred pulled the bullet free with a pair of forceps, the sound of metal hitting the small surgical tray echoing through the cave.

 He exhaled sharply as the butler pressed a clean cloth to the wound to staunch the bleeding. “It’s better out than in, young man,” Alfred said softly, his voice calm but tinged with concern. “Though I must say, you’ve been through quite the ordeal.”

Danny leaned against the edge, his expression softening slightly as he took in Peter’s battered state.

“You look like crap,” Danny said bluntly.

“Thanks,” Peter deadpanned. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

Danny grinned faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You gonna be okay?”

Peter shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. “I’ve had worse.”

Danny gives a small nod before ghosting away over to where Constantine stood impatiently waiting for Danny.

Alfred’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression betraying his worry. His hands moved with expert care as he cleaned the wound. “This is far more than just another day, young man. You’re concussed, your ribs are clearly fractured or broken, and you’re covered in burns, bruises, and lacerations. Frankly, it’s a miracle you’re still conscious.”

The butler begins readying a needle and thread so that he can stitch The bullet hole closed. “Forgive me this will hurt, I don't currently have local anaesthetic on hand. Do hold still, young man,” Alfred apologies as he begins the stitching process. 

Peter winced but didn’t argue. “It's fine, it wouldn't help anyway, and you don't have to stitch it, it will seal itself in two days, I have an enhanced healing factor” Peter explains but it doesn't stop Alfred.  

“And give your injuries the chance to get infected, not a chance”  He knew Alfred was right, despite having enhancements it didn't stop Peter from getting sick, and he knew if he got an infection it would be hell having to cut it out again. It makes him shiver remembering the last time he had to cut out infected flesh. 

His Spider-sense was still buzzing faintly at the edges of his mind, a constant reminder of just how close he’d been to death tonight. 

“I’m almost finished.”

“Feels better not having the bullet grinding against my shoulder every time I swung,” Peter muttered through gritted teeth. His voice was thick with exhaustion, and his words slurred slightly from the concussion. “But, uh, yeah… still hurts like hell.”

Alfred gave a small, dry chuckle as he worked. “I imagine it does. Though I must say, I’ve seen soldiers in better condition than you after a battlefield skirmish.” His tone betrayed a trace of worry, his sharp eyes scanning the young man for further injuries. 

Peter didn’t respond, too focused on managing the pain and the throbbing in his head. He winced again as Alfred moved to examine his ribs. The bruising spread across his chest in ugly shades of purple and yellow, and every breath came with a faint wheeze.

“This is unacceptable,” Alfred muttered under his breath, though his words were clearly directed at someone else. His sharp gaze flickered briefly to where Bruce stood a few feet away, stoic and silent as always. “This boy is barely standing, and yet you brought him here in this state? I thought better of you. This young man is barely standing, and yet you saw fit to fight him as if he were one of your rogues.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his arms crossed as he watched from the shadows. He knew better than to argue with Alfred when the butler was angry, and right now, Alfred was rather angry.

Peter tensed slightly, his good hand clutching the edge of the table as his gaze flickered toward Batman. He still hadn’t forgiven him for the fight and, frankly, he wasn’t sure he ever would. Batman had outmaneuvered him, taken him down like he was nothing more than a common thug, and Peter’s pride still stung almost as much as his injuries. 

 he knew that if he hadn't been through dealing with all the villains that had ended up in his world, then being thrown about by the portal he had jumped into, swung halfway across a city with a bullet in his shoulder he had dislocated, and then getting slammed into a wall by Batman before spun up in his own web. He winced when the older man took a cautious step closer. He knew if he was in a better state he would have whooped the goth furries ass. 

Peter, despite his condition, couldn’t resist shooting Bruce a glare. He tensed visibly when Batman stepped closer, his entire body going rigid like a cornered animal. “Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice sharp despite the hoarseness in his throat. “Stay the hell away from me, we’re not friends.”

Batman stopped in his tracks, his expression unreadable beneath the cowl. “I didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “You were a threat.”

“A threat?” Peter scoffed, glaring at him with his one good eye. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, man! I was trying to protect Danny. He's been the only thing I've had since I got thrown into this hell hole, so forgive me for not asking questions when you trapped him”

Batman didn’t respond, his silence only fueling Peter’s frustration. Alfred, however, gave a pointed look at his employer before turning back to Peter, his voice softening once again. 

Peter’s shoulders slumped slightly, though he was still visibly tense. He muttered something under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor as Alfred resumed his work, carefully stitching the bullet wound closed.

---

Danny and Constantine’s argument had been steadily escalating, their voices growing louder with every passing second. The two of them were standing by one of the Batcave’s many monitors, their gestures wild and exaggerated as they bickered.

“Would you shut up for five seconds?!” Danny snapped, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he threw his hands in the air. He was back in his human form, looking every bit like the irritated teenager he was, but his aura still flickered faintly with ectoplasmic energy. “Look, Cults do crap, that's kinda their gimmick, there's not much I can do about it, I'm still learning how to keep my Core from spinning out of control! There's only so much I can do, you should be grateful you got me and not Pariah!”

Constantine scowled, jabbing a finger in Danny’s direction. “mate! You’re the one prancing around as the bloody Ghost King, drawing attention from every creep and cultist this side of the multiverse. You think I wanted to deal with you? Hell no!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault for being a baby ghost. you’re apparently the guy everyone in the Infinite Realms calls ‘Soul Whore’ why don't you go sell another piece of yourself ” Danny shot back, crossing his arms. 

“You little—” Constantine cut himself off, taking a deep drag from his cigarette as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. “Listen here, kid. I don’t care what kind of fancy crown you’ve got floating over your head or how many ghostly kingdoms you rule. You’re still just a snot-nosed brat playing dress-up—”

Danny’s aura flared, and he took a menacing step forward. “You wanna say that again, John? Because I don’t think I heard you the first time.”

“Boys,” Alfred called out sharply from the medical table without even looking up from Peter’s wounds. His tone was clipped, the kind of calm authority that immediately demanded obedience. “If you’re quite done arguing like a pair of schoolchildren, I’d suggest you find a way to help this young man and yourself get home.”

Danny and Constantine both froze, exchanging sheepish glances before muttering simultaneous, reluctant, “Sorry.”

Peter snarls again when Batman takes another step into the small medical area Alfred had set up to treat Peter, the young man bares a tiny set of fangs at him. 

Bruce paused, his unreadable gaze meeting Peter’s. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone react to him with hostility, but there was something different about the way Peter looked at him. It wasn’t just anger, it was defiance.

“Calm down, mate,” came Constantine’s voice from the background. The magician was leaning against the Batcomputer, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the faint protests from the Batcave’s air filtration system. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s got to count for something.”

“Shut up,” Peter snapped, not even looking at Constantine. “I don’t want to hear it from you, either.”

Constantine raised an eyebrow, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Touchy, aren’t we? Must be the concussion talking.”

“Can you guys take your argument somewhere else?” Peter grumbled, his voice dripping with irritation. “I don’t need a commentary track while I’m getting patched up.”

Alfred turned his attention back to Peter, his face softening slightly as he began picking the glass fragments from Peter's face. “You should be in a hospital,” Alfred said quietly, his tone more gentle now. “You’re in no condition to be running around rooftops, let alone fighting.”

Peter gave a weak chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince as his ribs protested. “Yeah, well, hospitals aren’t exactly Spider-Man-friendly. Besides…” He shot another glare at Batman. “I wouldn’t be here at all if someone had left us alone.”

“This young man was clearly in a life-threatening battle. Concussion, fractured ribs, glass embedded in his skin, burns, a bullet in a dislocated shoulder and God knows what else. And yet here he sits, instead of in a hospital bed where he belongs.” Alfred sighed heavily, his gaze flicking to Bruce. “I trust you’ll handle this properly, sir. Because if you don’t, I’ll be having words with you later.”

Bruce gave a small nod, his attention still on Peter. 

“I don’t do hospitals,” Peter repeats, his voice hoarse as he glances at Alfred. “They’d ask too many questions. I’ll heal. I just… need time.”

Peter groaned, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the table. This was shaping up to be one of the worst nights of his life.

Alfred sighed, clearly unhappy but unwilling to press further. Instead, he focused on carefully removing a shard of glass lodged in Peter’s arm. Peter hissed again, his body flinching reflexively.

“You’re lucky,” Alfred said with a softer edge. “The bullet in your shoulder didn’t hit anything vital. Though how you managed to swing around with it still lodged in there is beyond me.”

Peter gave a weak, humorless smile. “Yeah, well… adrenaline’s a hell of a drug.” he tenses again as Batman walks past the table trying to take a Proper look at Peter's injuries.  

 

Alfred glanced between them, his brow furrowing. “I assure you, he only wishes to help.”

Peter’s laugh was bitter, almost feral. “Yeah, sure. I've already been shot at by a SWAT team, and been beat to shit. So go nuts, it's not going to keep my Spider-Sense from blaring like a tornado siren. Your a threat to me Even if your trying to help, ”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

It wasn’t just the fight that had Peter on edge, it was the way Batman moved, the way he loomed over him like a shadow, the way his presence filled the room with an authority that made Peter’s stomach churn. It reminded him too much of Osborn. The cold, calculating gaze. The unrelenting drive. The willingness to go too far to get what he wanted. 

It made Peter’s skin crawl.

Alfred, sensing the tension, shot Bruce a pointed glare before speaking again. “ I understand your hesitation, but I assure you, he is not your enemy.”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah? Tell him to stop staring at me like I’m some kind of science experiment, and maybe I’ll believe it.”

Before Alfred could respond, a loud crash echoed from the far side of the cave, followed by raised voices.

“I’m telling you,” Danny’s voice rang out, “you don’t need to keep babysitting me! I’m not gonna blow up Gotham or whatever you think I’m gonna do!”

“Oh, forgive me if I don’t take your word for it, Your Majesty,” Constantine shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re a bloody half-ghost kid with the power to wipe out entire dimensions. Forgive me if I’m a little cautious!”

“I’m not gonna wipe out dimensions!” 

“Once is enough, mate.”

The argument continued, growing louder and more heated as Danny and Constantine bickered like a parent and child who had been stuck in the same car for too long. 

Peter turned his head slightly, watching the chaos unfold with a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. “What’s their deal?” he asked, wincing as Alfred cleaned another wound on his arm.

Alfred sighed, clearly unimpressed with Danny and Constantine’s antics. “ Mr. Fenton and Mr. Constantine appear to have different approaches to… resolving conflict.”

“Yeah,” Peter muttered. “I can see that.”

Bruce, who had remained silent up until now, finally spoke. “ Constantine is trying to prevent a larger catastrophe.”

“By yelling at him?” Peter quipped.

“Look, I get it, okay? I’m scary or whatever. But I’m not Pariah Dark, and I’m not gonna start some ghost apocalypse, plus I'd rather not hurt my Human friends. What I actually want right now is a burger!”

Constantine raised an eyebrow. “Mate, you’re a walking bloody nuke.”

"Ignore them, it is for the best, I'd like you to take these, you're not allergic to Oxycodone?" Alfred asked gently, handing Peter a cup of water and what looked like a handful of painkillers. Peter doesn't answer, just throws them into his mouth along with taking a massive mouthful of water to wash them down. 

"If it’s alright with you, I’d like to know how you ended up in this dreadful state." Alfred paused, glancing up at Peter's battered face. "You don’t have to say anything if you’re not comfortable, but it might help you calm down and rest."

Peter hesitated, his shoulders tensing slightly as Alfred reached for another piece of glass embedded in his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly. "It’s… complicated," he said softly, his voice hoarse and raw. The handprint on his throat made every word feel like gravel scraping against his vocal cords.

Alfred gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I’ve found that most things are, Mr. Parker. But I’ve also found that talking about them can make things a little less so."

Peter looked at Alfred for a moment, his guarded expression softening slightly. There was something about the older man’s calm demeanor, his steady hands, and his genuine concern that made Peter feel… safe, even here, in the middle of a cave owned by a man who had beaten him in a fight.

Peter exhaled slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on the table. "Alright," he said quietly. "I guess it’s better than sitting here in awkward silence."

Alfred gave a small nod, continuing to work. "Take your time, lad."

Peter swallowed hard, his throat aching. "I was trying to fix something I messed up. My life it was a mess. Everyone I cared about, everyone who knew I was Spider-Man, they were in danger because of me. Because of something I did."

Alfred’s hands stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking up to Peter. "Go on," he encouraged gently.

Peter took a shaky breath. "There was this… spell. A way to make everyone forget who I was—forget that I was Spider-Man. It was supposed to fix everything. But something went wrong, and it broke the multiverse open. Villains from other worlds. Worlds that weren’t mine, started showing up. People who knew Spider-Man, but not my Spider-Man. I fought them, tried to send them back, but…" He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. "It didn’t matter. They kept coming."

Alfred’s expression softened, but he said nothing, letting Peter continue at his own pace.

Peter’s fists clenched. "The worst part was… I thought I could save them. I thought I could fix them, make them better, so they wouldn’t go back to their worlds and die fighting Spider-Man. And maybe I did. Maybe it worked for some of them. But…" He swallowed hard. "It cost me everything. My aunt—she—"

His voice broke, and he looked down at his lap, his hands trembling. "She died. Because of me. Because I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, smart enough to stop it."

Alfred’s hand rested gently on Peter’s uninjured shoulder, "I’m terribly sorry for your loss," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine sympathy.

Peter nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to continue. "After that, I didn’t have a choice. I had to go through with the spell. I made everyone forget me. My best friend. The love of my life. Everyone. It was the only way to fix it."

Alfred’s hand lingered on Peter’s shoulder for a moment before he returned to tending to his wounds. "And that’s when you ended up here?" he asked gently.

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I thought it was a portal to take me somewhere safe, one of the wizards I was working with tried to get me away before they forgot. One minute I was in New York city, trying to figure out where I'd go, and the next thing I knew, I’m falling through some portal and landing in Gotham. And then Danny caught me" He shot a look towards Danny. 

Alfred finished cleaning and stitching the last of Peter’s wounds before stepping back, wiping his hands on a clean cloth. "There. That should hold for now. But you’ll need rest, young man. Proper rest, not whatever adrenaline-fueled nonsense I imagine you’re used to." Alfred hands Peter a set of clothes. “Forgive me the closest to your size of clothes is Red Robin, he will most likely be here later” Alfred explains to Peter. 

Peter gives a small nod before slowly moving, pulling the cover across so he could get dressed in something more comfortable. He still tenses and watches Batman like a hawk after he had dressed, not wanting the older man too close to him while he was in the state he was.  

Batman reminded Peter of two people: Norman Osborn’s manic intensity lived in Batman’s ability to dissect everything with cold precision, in the way he always seemed to be two steps ahead. That same suffocating control, that same aura of dominance it put Peter on edge, made his heart race and his fingers itch to fight or flee. 

But then there was Tony. The way Bruce carried himself, the unrelenting drive to fix every problem, the subtle weight of grief behind his every word and action, it was so much like Tony Stark that Peter’s heart clenched every time he looked at him. It stung, deep and raw, like an old wound being torn open.

And that combination, Osborn’s menace and Tony’s absence, was too much for Peter to handle.

Batman took a slow step toward him, his cape brushing the floor like a shadow reaching out. Peter stiffened instantly, his body going rigid, his breaths coming faster. His good hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

"Peter," Bruce said, his voice low and steady. "I need to ask you a few questions. I need to know—"

"Don’t," Peter hissed sharply, his voice raw and filled with tension. He flinched back, his eyes wide and wild. His Spider-Sense wasn’t buzzing, but his instincts were screaming at him to move, to escape, to run. 

Batman stopped, his expression unreadable behind the cowl, but Peter could feel the weight of his gaze. It bore down on him like a physical force, and Peter couldn’t stop the way his body shook under it. 

Peter’s voice rose slightly, his tone cracking. "Don’t come any closer."

Bruce frowned, his jaw tightening. 

"I said don’t!" Peter snapped, his voice trembling. His entire body was trembling now, his chest heaving with shallow, uneven breaths. He looked like a cornered animal, his eyes darting between Batman and the exit, like he was calculating how quickly he could escape if he needed to.

Bruce raised his hands slightly, a gesture of calm, but the movement only made Peter shrink back further. His mind flashed with images of Green Goblin’s twisted grin, of Tony’s lifeless eyes, of his own failures piling up like bricks on his back.

The tension reached its breaking point when Peter let out a sharp hiss of pain, clutching his ribs as his body twisted instinctively away from Bruce. The sudden sound drew Danny’s attention like a shot.

In a blur of green and black, Danny darted to Peter’s side, standing between him and Batman like a shield. His eyes glowed faintly, his aura flaring just enough to be intimidating without being outright threatening. He was back in his human form, but the protective energy radiating off him was unmistakable.

"Hey, back off," Danny said, his voice sharp and firm but not angry. He placed a steady hand on Peter’s shoulder, grounding him. "Give him some space, okay?"

Peter flinched again, his good hand gripping Danny’s wrist as if to anchor himself. His breaths were still shallow, his eyes flicking between Bruce and Danny. "I’m fine," he muttered, but his voice was shaky and unconvincing. "I’m fine, just—just stay over there."

Alfred, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of concern and anger, finally stepped in, his tone clipped. "perhaps it would be best to give the young man some time to recover before bombarding him with questions. He’s clearly been through enough."

Bruce hesitated, his gaze lingering on Peter for a moment longer before he gave a curt nod and stepped back. He turned toward the Batcomputer, his cape sweeping behind him as he moved. Constantine muttered something under his breath about "bloody drama" and returned to fiddling with a spell book, but Danny ignored him, his focus entirely on Peter.

"You good?" Danny asked quietly, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as his aura softened.

Peter exhaled shakily, leaning back against the table. "Yeah," he said, though his voice was still weak. "I just… he reminds me of someone. Two people, actually. And it’s—" He broke off, shaking his head. "It’s stupid. Forget it."

Danny tilted his head, his expression calm but curious. "Not stupid," he said simply. "But you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to."

Peter gave a small, grateful nod, his grip on Danny’s wrist loosening. "Thanks."

Danny smiled faintly, stepping back but staying close enough to be reassuring. "No problem. Just let me know if you need me to, like, phase you out of here or something."

Peter huffed a weak laugh. "I’ll keep that in mind."

The Batcave was a strange mix of eerie quiet and low mechanical hums as computers whirred and analyzed data in the background. the two teenagers currently sitting on one of the metal tables.  

Danny and Peter were engrossed in their food, wolfing it down like they hadn’t seen a meal in weeks. Neither of them seemed to care about the pressure in the room or the watchful eyes of Batman, who stood at the far end of the cave, his expression unreadable as always. Constantine was somewhere off to the side, muttering curses under his breath and chain-smoking like it was his last day on Earth.  

For Danny, this was just another weird day in a long line of weird days. For Peter, however, it felt like his entire world had collapsed in on itself.  

He sat there, shoveling fries into his mouth with the speed of someone too exhausted to bother with manners, his usually sharp mind dulled by the overwhelming weight of everything that had happened. His Spider-Sense had been buzzing like a never-ending alarm the moment he’d arrived in Gotham. It hadn’t let up. not for a second, and it was starting to fray his nerves.  

Peter was cranky, tired, and emotionally wrecked.  

It wasn’t just Gotham. It was everything.  

The other Peters. Aunt May’s death. Strange’s spell. The portal that had dumped him here. It all felt like one gut punch after another, and now, on top of everything, he’d been bested, humiliated, really by Gotham’s caped crusader.  

Batman.  

Peter glared at the man from across the room, his jaw tightening as he bit into his burger. It wasn’t just that Batman had captured him—it was *how* easily it had happened. Less than 24 hours in this city, and the so-called “Dark Knight” had already gotten the better of him.  

Peter was *Spider-Man.* He’d gone toe-to-toe with aliens, super soldiers, and literal gods. Sure, Captain America had gotten the drop on him once, but that was different. That was Cap. This was a guy in a bat costume.  

And yet, here he was.  

The weight of it all made his chest ache, a cold, hollow feeling settling deep inside him. It reminded him of when he’d been dusted in Tony’s arms, helpless and scared and completely out of control. He hated it.  

Danny, sitting next to him, didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he was too busy enjoying the food to care. He shoved the last bite of his burger into his mouth, licking his fingers clean before leaning back on his hands.  

"Man," Danny said, finally breaking the silence, " the food’s not bad."  

Peter turned back to Danny, his frustration still evident. "How are you so calm about all this? Aren’t you even a little freaked out?"  

Danny shrugged again. "Eh, not really. I mean, have been in strange situations”  Danny had moved on from his burger and was now lazily sipping a soda, his feet kicked up on the table as if they were just two kids hanging out in a diner.  

But Peter? Peter was done. He was exhausted—no, more than that. He was emotionally wrecked. Everything had gone wrong. Aunt May was gone. The other Peters had disappeared back into their own worlds. Doctor Strange’s spell hadn’t fixed anything, and now Peter was stranded in this grim, alien city that radiated danger. His Spider-Sense hadn’t stopped buzzing since he got here, and it was driving him to the brink of insanity.  

It felt like every nerve in his body was on fire, like there was a constant whisper in the back of his mind telling him something bad was coming. When Batman stepped closer, Peter glared at him, his lips curling back in a warning hiss like a feral animal. He didn’t care how ridiculous it made him look. He just wanted the man to stay away. 

“Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice low and dangerous. His body was coiled tight, ready to spring. “Just don’t.”  

Danny raised an eyebrow “Alright. Sheesh. Someone needs a nap.”  

Peter didn’t respond. His hands clenched into fists, his breathing shallow and uneven. He hated this. He hated feeling cornered, trapped, and helpless. He hated that he couldn’t even turn to Karen for comfort.  

His suit’s AI had been offline since he’d arrived in Gotham, and every time he reached up to tap his earpiece, hoping to hear her calm, familiar voice, he was met with silence. It was a small thing, but it made the ache in his chest worse. Karen had always been there for him. Always.  

And now she wasn’t.  

Peter stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He needed to get away. He needed space, somewhere to breathe, somewhere to escape the weight pressing down on him.  

His eyes darted upward to the high, cavernous ceiling of the Batcave. Without a word, he shot a web and launched himself up, his movements quick and fluid.  

Peter didn’t care what they thought. He swung up to one of the higher ledges, far above the main area of the cave, and began weaving his webs. His hands moved automatically, the repetitive action calming his racing thoughts as he constructed a makeshift hammock.  

It wasn’t much, but it was something familiar. Something safe.  

When he was done, he collapsed into the hammock, the tension in his body finally easing as he stared up at the jagged ceiling above. For the first time in hours, his Spider-Sense dimmed to a faint buzz.  

Peter curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around himself as he closed his eyes. He didn’t cry. He was too tired for that but the ache in his chest didn’t go away.  

He missed Karen. He missed May. He missed home.  

[ugly-bullet]

Okay, your grumpy grandma just took her happy pills, washed them down with three pints of Moretti and finally ready to perform the sweet and stupid "YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE?!" thing right now. 

But at the same time it's gonna be a low key but lengthy analytical infopost shouted angrily in your face. Fasten you sit belts, I'm starting!

(There is a nuance though. It's not about"what", it's about "who")

WHO?

There is one person connected to Columbine who pisses me off to the boiling point. Randy Brown. I hate the very guts of the man!

DISCLAIMER:

I get it, he's a much older wreck than I am, his own son was in that school and could have been killed (but he wasn't, and let's remember for a moment why, huh? but there will be more on that later, in another post). According to people more or less close to him, he's been blaming himself for years for not doing enough at the time, for not pushing the alarm harder, for not preventing the tragedy. Maybe. If it's true, I understand all this and even feel sorry for him. But what he is doing now and what he's done in the past kind of didn't fit to this picture, and also looks very murky, dishonest and manipulative.

WHY?

First, he constantly talks about some mysterious photos, videos and evidence he saw. Okay, but if he saw or heard something, why doesn’t he explain what exactly and how it proves his talking points? He could have omitted personal information and something he’s not allowed to disclose, but still explained what he thinks happened. Researchers of many cases do this all the time. He never does. "Trust me, because I'm telling you that I saw something, and that's why it's THE TRUTH, I am an expert witness and a holder of the secret knowledge, worship me for that” — this is his stance. Sorry, uncle Randy, it doesn't work that way.

Second, he demonizes the Harris family far more than they deserve. Hell knows what was going on in their home, it could have been anything, and it could have contributed to Eric's mental health issues, but we don't know about it, and importantly, Randy doesn't know shit either, but he's trashing them mercilessly not caring about choosing words.

Third, his idiotic theory that Eric shot Dylan. This is the BIG ONE. 

I mean, theoretically I can imagine a situation where Dylan has trouble pulling the trigger himself and asks Eric to do it for him (I tried to shoot myself at several points in my life and wasn’t able to do it, so I understand). But if you look at that fucking photo it's physically impossible. I will explain why below. Also, Randy doesn't say that it was some kind of assisted suicide, he says that Eric just killed Dylan because he felt like it. "Let's kill Dylan for a change — bang!” That doesn’t make any sense...

I remember one of his points was that the TEC-9 was under Dylan's right hand and it shouldn’t have been there, but it's exactly where it would land being on a strap — under his right side. It was actually strapped to his right side, we can see that on the video from the cafeteria.

Yo mama, me that is, being crazy enough, performed some simple morbid experiment at home. I own, let’s say, an object of very similar shape size and weight as TEC-9. Very shitty gun, ups, similar object, never buy it. If you strap it to your right side, to your belt that is, stand on your knees, put it to your left temple, and then drop it and fall to your right side at the same time, no matter how fast you fall, it will end up under you, it’s fucking heavy. And if then you turn on your back, choking on your blood, because you was stupid enough to shoot yourself in the temple and not to eat a fucking bullet, it will be exactly under your right hand or near it. I repeated this experiment 10 times to be sure so I can speak with some confidence, you see. Also the same would happen if you died on your side and the cops turned you on your back later. 

Next. We know that Dylan was shot with the TEC-9, there was his blood in the barrel of this gun, it was tested. So how on earth Eric could have done that with this gun?

In order to shoot Dylan with the TEC-9 so that he fell on his right side and his head landed on Eric's leg, Eric would have to be sitting in the same spot we see in the photo, with his legs stretched out, trying to get his hand with the gun to the left temple of Dylan, who is kneeling with his right side facing Eric at least two feet from Eric's feet. It's physically impossible, a gorilla doesn't have enough arm length, not just Eric!

And why on earth would he do that? If he just wanted to kill Dylan, he would shoot him with his own gun, as simple as that. If Dylan asked him for help, he might have taken the TEC-9, but no way would he have done it in a position like that and then, without moving his legs, shot himself. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

CONCLUSION:

I feel like it's more about ugly shit in Randy's head and his personal agenda than anything else, to be honest. He hates Eric with all his heart. I can understand why to a degree but at the same time not completely. The guy spared your son, despite the fact that he hated him and threatened to kill him. Have some gratitude at least for that. Maybe he wasn’t such a monster you’d like to see him after all. And it's kind of sad and ugly. I mean, why in the world is it so important to convince everyone that Eric didn't care about Dylan and anyone in the world for that matter? They both did what they did, it was bad enough, you don’t need to paint the guy even worse. But Randy had this urge for fucking decades and acts on it.

BRIGHT SIDE: 

But there is some good news. The guy is arrogant and dumb as a tree trunk. His ridiculous constant self-promotion of his book gives me tons of laughter and second hand embarrassment. He's like: "Look, here is the ultimate and the best source on Columbine, the book of Randy Brown!". He literally says it like that, about himself in third person. And it’s the worst thing you can do if you want to promote something. You're making a laughing stock out of yourself by doing so. And he does exactly that, which is good, less people would buy his bullshit.

PS:

I decided to add a little bit to avoid being completely one-sided. What I agree with Randy on is his position on the role of bullying in this whole thing. He understands this and talks about it a lot and openly. I give him credit for that. He's not always consistent when he talks about it, of course, and you can find holes in his arguments, but at least he doesn't support that asshole Cullen, whose book has horribly distorted the events of Columbine and, unlike Randy's amateur writings, is a bloody bestseller. Yes, it seems that the second round of my "you know what I hate" will be a post about Cullen...

[tgmsunmontue]

Wild fields of forget-me-nots - 3/? WIP

During the training for the mission Jake has an accident which results in him losing 10 years of memories.

A lot has happened in ten years. Bradley broke up with him. DADT was repealed. He got and air-to-air kill and a new callsign.

And he doesn't remember any of it.

PART ONE PART TWO

PART THREE

                Javy gets to stay, because unlike fucking Bradshaw he’s listed as Jake’s next of kin. He’s lucky he never deleted Bradshaw’s number from his phone, but he had changed the name to Shithead and made the contact photo the poop emoji. He doesn’t like the guy. Fucked if he knows what they would have done if Jake had insisted on Bradshaw staying. No doubt they would have thought of something. He’s glad Jake’s been told he can’t have screens, because he doesn’t have to explain the fact that Bradshaw isn’t even a contact in his phone anymore, let alone the lack of photos.

                He hates that Bradshaw is a little bit right though. Telling Jake right now probably isn’t the best idea, not with his injuries and how everything has happened. Waiting to see if his memories come back naturally seems like a smart move. However, he’s very firmly in Jake’s corner in this, and Bradshaw can fuck right off when Jake’s back in his right mind. Javy doesn't know why Bradshaw broke up with Jake, didn't get a reason beyond we just don't match which Javy had thought was a bunch of bullshit, because he’d have placed good money on Bradshaw being just as much of a goner as Jake and he hates Bradley for making him be so wrong.

                He comes back from the hospital cafeteria nursing a cup of coffee which is somehow worse than the stuff they get on carriers. Bradshaw is standing outside Jake’s room, just staring at the door and Javy scowls, doesn’t even want to greet him but what is best for Jake right now is… well. Rest and not getting excited or upset about things. Him punching Bradshaw is probably not going to help matters. Bradshaw clearly hears him coming, shoes squeaking on the floor and he turns toward him, looks hesitant.

                “Any change?”

                “Nope. Still thinks he’s married to your dumb ass…”

                “Uh. They give any timeline on…”

                “Nope.”

                That’s a complete stab in the dark on his part, the doctors haven’t even done their rounds. It’s not been five hours since Bradshaw left, but Bradshaw looks like he managed some sleep. At least the bags under his eyes are not as dark or pronounced and Javy supposes he likely slept in his actual bed rather than in a chair at Jake’s side like he did. So Bradshaw shouldn’t be asking dumb as fuck questions. He’s pushing the door open, not giving Bradshaw any more time to fortify himself or whatever the fuck it is he thinks he’s doing standing out in the corridor with a bag at his feet.

                “Hey man… look who I found…” he forces himself to say when he sees Jake is awake and far more alert than he had been in the middle of the night. The way his face lights up, smile just stretching that little bit extra when he sees Bradshaw makes him want to scream.               “Hey Jake…” That sounds fucking weird too, like Jake saying Bradley yesterday, hearing Bradshaw say Jake’s name with such soft affection is unsettling. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay last night…”

                “No… don’t apologize. I know how much you hate hospitals. You wouldn’t have gotten any sleep last night.”

                “Hardly got any anyway…”

                “Come here and give me a kiss… make me feel better…”

                “Uh… your injuries…”

                “Pretty sure I didn’t land on my lips.”

                Javy has to hand it to the man that he clearly has guts, because despite the glare Javy is sending his way he still doesn’t hesitate in placing what looks like a feather light kiss on Jake’s upturned face. Then Bradshaw is placing a bag on the bed, pulling out clothes, and they have to be his own because where the fuck would he get any of Jake’s right now? Javy sure as hell hasn’t had time to drop by their accommodation and grab anything. And yet here is Bradshaw with a fucking bag, and he’s pulling out Texas Cowboy pajamas and Jake is laughing, reaching for them.

                “Ten years and I still have these. God. It’s so worn out, you can probably see through them…” then Jake’s sliding his eyes toward Bradshaw, expression sly. “Unless that’s exactly why we kept them…”

                Javy chokes on his tongue, because sure enough, there's a mix of t-shirts that must belong to both Jake and Bradley and a new pair of sweats. The socks have to be Bradshaw's because there's no way Jake would wear plane-themed socks, although he’s taking them and rolling his eyes affectionately so maybe there’s a story he doesn’t know. He really wants to talk to Bradshaw alone, because he’s starting to feel a little wrong footed and he doesn’t like the feeling at all. Can blame that on Bradshaw too.

                “Did you bring our rings?”

                “Yeah…”

                Javy leans forward, because this he has to see, what kind of rubbish Bradshaw managed to hunt out in a Walmart or pawn-shop in the very few hours he’s had. He’s pulling out a gold ring from the front pocket of his jeans, and it looks… fine. Normal enough. Then he’s uncurling Jake’s fingers and pressing it into his palm and immediately Jake is holding it up and squinting at it in the dim light.

                “Oh wow. It’s… it’s so pretty. I have good taste…”

                Bradshaw flushes at that, the back of his neck going bright red and Javy’s always been able to tell when he’s embarrassed.

                “I… uh. I actually designed them.”

                What the fuck? He watches, jaw tight, as Bradshaw slips the ring onto Jake’s finger at his request before he lifts Jake’s hand to his mouth and kisses it. It’s sickeningly sweet and reminds him of how they would be in their most private moments before.

                “Back where it belongs,” Jake says, and he’s grinning and Bradshaw is looking like he’s about to fucking cry and okay, Javy has more questions. Some pretty big fucking questions. None of which he can ask right now. Then Bradshaw is holding out a second fucking ring, and it looks like it matches the one he just slipped on Jake’s finger. What the actual fuck?

                “You want to put mine on me?”

                “You know I do…”

                Bradshaw is biting the corner of his lip, moustache twitching in a way that Javy knows he’s feeling emotional and he can’t parse what those emotions might be right now. He’s so fucking confused.

                “Tell me about them?”

                Then Javy is listening to a story about the fighter jet that’s engraved on the inside, along with a fucking flying-v formation of tiny diamonds meant to represent migratory geese, how flocks support and take turns being at the front and support one another and he’d call bullshit except for the way that Bradshaw is talking, voice quivering a little and the shine of tears in Jake’s eyes as he listens. Then he’s telling Jake that the rings were made from melting down his parents wedding rings and a gold bangle of his mom’s and Javy’s questions just keep mounting up but he’s already pretty certain he has some answers.

PART FOUR

[pankowcrumbs]

Need directions to the podium? X Lewis Hamilton

I hated him. Absolutely, unequivocally hated him.

And yet, here he was, standing in my way with that insufferable smirk on his face, arms crossed over his chest like he had just won a war instead of another stupid argument.

“Move, Hamilton.” I glared up at him, my arms full of Charles’ spare helmet and a water bottle that was now lukewarm thanks to the unnecessary delay. “Some of us have important things to do.”

Lewis tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t remember Ferrari putting you on the payroll.”

I exhaled sharply, my fingers tightening around the bottle. “You’re breathing my air again.”

He grinned, completely unbothered. “You mean, the air of the Ferrari garage? The one I now belong to?”

The betrayal still stung. When Lewis Hamilton joined Ferrari, it was supposed to be a dream partnership for the team. For me, it was nothing short of a nightmare.

Because now, I had to deal with him.

Constantly.

Everywhere.

“You don’t belong here,” I hissed, stepping around him with as much dignity as I could muster.

He easily kept pace with me. “Strange, I could say the same about you.”

“If you open your mouth again, I’m calling the police for a noise disturbance.”

Lewis let out a full-bodied laugh, as if he genuinely found me amusing. I should’ve ignored him, but the man had the most irritating ability to get under my skin.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, his tone suddenly lighter, teasing. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t around.”

I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to him, my expression deadpan. “Breathing air that you contaminate deeply unsettles me.”

Lewis clutched his chest like I’d shot him. “Ouch. Right in the heart.”

I rolled my eyes and stormed ahead, but he wasn’t done. “You know, you’re cute when you’re angry.”

I nearly tripped over my own feet. “Excuse me?”

“Just an observation,” he said, all innocent. “You get this little crease right...” He reached out as if to touch the space between my brows, but I swatted his hand away before he could make contact.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

He smirked, that insufferable, overconfident smirk that made me want to throw something at him. “You’re really bad at insults, you know that?” Lewis laughed, and I hated that I noticed how good he looked doing it.

Ugh.

“You’re not funny,” I snapped,

He tilted his head, considering. “I think I am.”

“I think you’re delusional.”

“I think you like me more than you let on.”

I nearly choked on my own spit. “Excuse me?”

His grin widened. “You heard me.”

I scoffed, pushing past him, because entertaining this conversation any further would only fuel his already massive ego.

“You keep running away, Leclerc, but I’ll always catch up.”

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t trust myself not to throw something at his stupid, smug face.

The Ferrari garage was supposed to be a sanctuary, a place of strategy, precision, and teamwork. Instead, it was my personal battlefield.

Lewis Hamilton had been at Ferrari for exactly three months, and somehow, in that time, he had managed to make my life a living hell.

“Careful, Y/N. If you glare at the telemetry screen any harder, it might just burst into flames.”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to look up from Charles’s race data. “If you open your mouth again, I’m going to shove a shoe in there”

Lewis chuckled, unfazed. “Ah, but then who would entertain you? I mean, let’s be honest, your life would be dreadfully boring without me.”

I finally turned to face him, arms crossed. “maybe if you could still win races people would like you more”

“Harsh,” he said, placing a hand on his chest as if I’d wounded him. “And yet, you’re still standing next to me. Almost like you enjoy my company.”

I scoffed, turning back to the screen. “Almost like you follow me around like a lost puppy.”

Charles, sitting nearby, sighed loudly. “Do you two ever stop?”

Lewis leaned in slightly, voice just loud enough for me to hear. “Nope.”

I shot him a glare and turned to Charles. “I’ll stop when he does.”

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, already exhausted. “Y/N, come on. He’s not that bad.”

I gasped in mock betrayal. “Not that bad? Charles, he’s been driving me insane for months!”

Lewis grinned, clearly enjoying my irritation. “You wound me, truly. But I’ll admit, it is rather fun watching you get all worked up.”

I pointed a finger at him. “Maybe if you were as tall as your ego, you would have seen that this conversation was over before it started.”

Lewis tilted his head, clearly amused. “You’re adorable when you’re angry.”

I spluttered, too frustrated to form words. Charles, sensing my imminent explosion, stood up. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said, giving me a pointed look. “Y/N, you can’t spend all season at war with him. It’s exhausting for all of us.”

“Tell that to him!” I gestured wildly at Lewis.

Lewis put his hands up innocently. “Hey, I’m just here to do my job. If winding you up is a natural side effect, well… I won’t apologise.”

Charles groaned. “You’re both impossible.”

Lewis winked at me. “Come on, Princess. Admit it, you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”

I narrowed my eyes. “The only thing I’d miss is the peace and quiet.”

And yet, as I stormed off, I couldn’t ignore the way his stupid, cocky grin lingered in my mind.

I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to annoy me more than my twin brother Charles but Lewis was giving him a run for his money.

I was just walking past the paddock when I heard that unmistakable voice. “Can’t say I’m surprised you’re not in the garage yet. You’re always late, aren’t you?” Lewis smirked, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.

“Wow, Lewis, great observation,” I replied, barely able to hide the irritation in my voice. “What would I do without you pointing out the obvious?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You know, I’m not the one who’s constantly trying to play catch-up.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m trying to focus on the race, not your endless attempts to stir the pot.”

He laughed, and I could feel my blood pressure rise. It was always like this. Whether we were at a race, in a press conference, or even at a charity event, Lewis had a way of getting under my skin, making sarcastic comments just when I least expected it. And no matter how much I tried to ignore him, he always managed to make a snide remark that made me want to scream.

But that was Lewis Hamilton for you. Competitive, sharp-tongued, and, apparently, incapable of leaving me alone.

I kept walking, hoping that maybe this time he’d keep his mouth shut. But of course, he didn’t. “You know, I’m surprised you can even walk with that big ego of yours,” he called after me. “Not that I blame you for being cocky, though. It must be hard to keep up with your brother all the time.”

I didn’t even bother looking back. “Where are you, Lewis? Nowhere near the podium, that’s where,” I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I couldn’t help it something about his smugness always made me want to one-up him.

I smirked as I walked off, hearing his surprised chuckle behind me. The satisfaction of getting one over on him never grew old. But I couldn’t resist after a few steps, I let out a quiet laugh. I could almost feel his frustration, and that alone made my day.

Later, I was sitting with Charles in the paddock, waiting for his to go to the team’s briefing. my mind kept drifting back to Lewis.

Charles, ever the curious one, looked over at me with a raised eyebrow. “What was that about earlier with Lewis?”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “The usual. He can’t help but stir me up at every opportunity.”

Charles chuckled. “He’s relentless, isn’t he? But why do you let him get to you?”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “It’s not like I have a choice, Charles. He knows exactly how to push my buttons.”

Charles leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “You know, I’ve noticed that whenever he’s around, he’s always teasing you. But there’s something different about the way he does it. It’s like he’s... trying to get your attention.”

I blinked, taken aback. “What? Are you seriously suggesting....”

“I’m just saying,” Charles interrupted, “he never picks on anyone else like that. It’s always you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. “Charles, please. He’s just being a prick.”

But Charles wasn’t done. He looked me dead in the eye. “Maybe. Or maybe he likes you more than you realise.”

I stared at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Charles sighed. “I’m just saying, maybe Lewis is trying to get your attention in his own way. He might not show it, but there’s something there.”

I didn’t know what to say. I mean, I hated Lewis Hamilton, didn’t I? Sure, he could be irritating, but that didn’t mean... No. No way.

Just as I was about to reply, a familiar voice cut through the air. “You two done gossiping, or should I come back later?” It was Lewis, standing a few feet away, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

I shot him a glare. “We weren’t gossiping, Lewis. We were having a serious conversation.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure, sure. But if you’re done, you know where to find me.” He gave me that smug look, the one I’d come to hate, and turned to walk off.

Before he got too far, I called after him, unable to resist. “Hey, Lewis! If you need help finding your way to the podium, I’m happy to give you directions.”

His footsteps faltered for a moment, and I could feel his gaze on me. I smirked, knowing I had once again left him speechless.

As he walked away, I could’ve sworn I saw a hint of admiration in his eyes. And for some reason, that only made me want to get under his skin even more.

The tension between Lewis and me wasn’t exactly subtle. It was like we were constantly in some kind of unspoken battle one minute, we were throwing insults back and forth, and the next, I could feel his eyes on me, trying to figure me out.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew Lewis liked to rile me up, but Charles might be right there was something more to it something that made the whole thing a little more complicated. It was as if his teasing wasn’t just about getting a rise out of me. No, there was something else there, lurking just beneath the surface. And I hated it.

But there was no denying it he always had a way of getting under my skin when I least expected it.

It was another morning at the track, and I was rushing to get to the garage before the team meeting started, I wasn't officially part of the team but being Charles twin sister he liked me to be around for everything and I wanted to be there.

As I rounded a corner, there he was Lewis, once again leaning against the wall like he owned the place.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Miss ‘I’m too good for this’,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sweetness.

“Not in the mood, Lewis,” I snapped, not bothering to slow down as I walked past him.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that,” he called after me. “I was just hoping you’d give me a smile for once. You know, before you disappear into your little world of pretending you don’t care about anything.”

I turned back, narrowing my eyes at him. “Maybe you should try smiling more, Lewis. You might not look so miserable all the time.”

He grinned, unphased. “Miserable? Nah, I’m just waiting for the day when you finally admit I’m right.”

“Fat chance,” I muttered under my breath, walking away.

But just before I stepped into the garage, I couldn’t resist one final jab. I turned back and looked at him, still leaning there like he was untouchable.

“Where’s your podium finish, Hamilton?” I called out with a smirk. “Don’t see you up there much these days.”

He chuckled, his usual cocky grin still plastered on his face. “You’re funny, I’ll give you that. But trust me, you’ll be the one eating your words when I’m back at the top.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” I replied, walking into the garage with a bit more confidence than I felt.

Later that day, after a rather uneventful practice session, I found myself in the team hospitality area, nursing a cup of coffee and trying to calm my racing thoughts. I was lost in thought, staring out the window when I felt someone approach. I looked up, expecting to see one of the Ferrari team members, but instead, it was Charles.

He sat across from me, his usual calm expression in place. “You and Lewis still at it, huh?” he asked, half-smiling as he sipped his own coffee.

“Wouldn’t be a day in the paddock without it,” I muttered, leaning back in my chair. “The guy can’t help himself. It’s like his sole mission in life is to make my day miserable.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “You know, I don’t think it’s just about making your day miserable, Y/N. He gets a rise out of you. And I think he likes it.”

I scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Charles leaned forward, his voice quieter now. “Look, I know you two like to bicker. It’s your thing. But there’s something more going on. He doesn’t just tease you for fun. It’s like... he wants you to notice him.”

I shook my head, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks. “Please, Charles. Don’t start with that again. Lewis Hamilton doesn’t want anything from me. He just enjoys getting under my skin.”

I was in denial.

Charles didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press further. “Alright, but just remember, he’s been around the block a few times. If he’s giving you attention, it’s probably because he wants it.”

“Ugh,” I groaned, rolling my eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re playing matchmaker now.”

He shrugged, clearly amused. “I’m just saying. You never know. And just so you know, he actually respects you a lot more than you think.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “You’re telling me Lewis Hamilton respects me? The same guy who’s been calling me a ‘cheerleader’ every chance he gets?”

Charles laughed. “I didn’t say he always shows it in the right way, but yeah, he does. Trust me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just sipped my coffee in silence, feeling a little uncomfortable with the idea. Maybe Charles was right. Maybe there was more to Lewis’ jabs than I cared to admit.

A few hours later, I found myself once again face-to-face with Lewis, but this time it was after the race. I was walking past his drivers room when I noticed him standing outside, talking with a few other drivers.

And of course, being Lewis, he spotted me first.

“Hey, Y/N!” he called, his voice louder than necessary. “You lost something? Maybe your way to the podium? oh wait you're not a diver shame”

I stopped in my tracks, frustration boiling inside me. I couldn’t help but shoot back with a sarcastic smile, “No, i'm just looking for someone who can actually finish a race in the top three. You know, unlike you.”

There it was again the feeling that I couldn’t stop this game of insults. But just as I was about to walk off, I saw something in his eyes. It wasn’t the usual cocky smirk, but something more like... surprise. Maybe even a little impressed.

“Well,” he said, grinning despite himself, “you’ve got a sharp tongue. I’ll give you that.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well, if I didn’t, I’d probably be stuck listening to your endless banter all day.”

the next day, I found myself back in the paddock, standing alone by the fence. Charles had already gone off with his team, and the rest of the drivers were either preparing for the next event or talking among themselves.

Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to find none other than Lewis, standing there with that typical confident grin.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I just wanted to say, you really got me with that comment earlier. Not bad for someone who claims not to care.”

I smirked, feeling a bit of pride swell in my chest. “Yeah, well, sometimes I just have to make sure you don’t forget who you’re dealing with.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

the next day was a strange day. The kind of day when everything seemed just a bit off, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.

I was walking through the paddock after yet another long day of making sure Charles was where he needed to be.

But today everything was different.

For once, he wasn’t saying anything.

I saw him standing by the Ferrari garage, chatting with his team, and for a split second, I actually thought about walking over to start the usual back-and-forth. But as I got closer, I noticed something strange he didn’t look like his usual cocky, self-assured self. He looked... tired. A little distant. Like something was on his mind.

Normally, I would have teased him about looking like he'd lost his spark, but today, I couldn’t do it. Not when it felt like he was already carrying something heavy.

I kept walking, but something inside me tugged. I stopped just a few steps away, hesitated, and then turned around, finding myself walking back towards him without even really thinking about it.

“Lewis,” I said, my voice softer than usual. “Are you okay?”

He looked at me, clearly startled by the question. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, as if unsure of how to respond. For the first time in ages, he didn’t have a quip ready. No sharp comment, no sarcastic smirk.

“I’m fine,” he replied, but there was something in his voice that didn’t sound entirely convincing. “Just... thinking.”

I nodded, biting my lip. “If you need to talk, you know where I am.”

He gave me a surprised glance, as though the idea of me offering genuine care was something foreign to him. A small chuckle escaped his lips, but it wasn’t mocking just... thoughtful. His eyes softened, and for a moment, I could see the vulnerability he usually kept hidden behind his confident façade.

“I’m okay,” he said, this time more assured. “I’m just gonna win this one for you, baby.”

My stomach twisted.

I blinked, trying to hide the surprise I felt. I hadn’t expected the sudden softness in his voice or the pet name. The way he said it, so casually, made my chest tighten. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but something about that small, tender comment affected me more than it should have. It lingered in my mind, gnawing at me as I tried to shake it off.

He flashed me a soft smirk, but it wasn’t the usual cocky one. This time, there was a hint of sincerity behind it. He turned to walk away, and I stood there, feeling like the ground had shifted beneath my feet.

The race was intense. I could see the energy building as the drivers lined up, ready for the battle ahead. As the starting lights went out, the roar of engines filled the air, and the adrenaline surged through my veins watching Charles. But there was one thing on my mind more than anything else.

Lewis.

The strange exchange we had earlier kept replaying in my mind. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between us. He was always so quick with the insults, so certain of his own power over me but today, it had felt different. I’d seen a side of him I hadn’t expected, and it was unsettling.

I kept my eyes on the track, forcing myself to focus on Charles. But a part of me couldn’t help but watch Lewis, wondering if he was really going to win this for me. And, strangely, hoping that he would.

When the race finally ended, I stood in shock as I watched the results unfold. Lewis had done it. He’d won.

He came across the finish line with an impressive, almost unexpected surge, leaving the competition behind. His car shot past the final stretch, crossing the line with a triumphant roar. The crowd erupted in cheers, but for me, it felt like time stood still.

I didn’t even realise I had moved until I found myself standing near the Ferrari garage, watching the team celebrate. Lewis was right there, standing among the crew, accepting the congratulations with a rare humility. He was still the same fierce competitor, but there was something different about him. His usual cocky swagger had been replaced with something quieter something almost vulnerable.

And then he caught my eye.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked over to me. I thought he’d be as cocky as always, soaking in the victory. But no he approached me with the same soft look he had earlier. There was no smug smile, no taunting remark. Just him, looking almost... genuine.

“Hey,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “You’re not gonna believe it, but I actually owe this one to you.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his words. “What? You owe this one to me? You’re the one who drove like a champion.”

He shook his head, a quiet smile playing at the corners of his lips. “No, you don’t get it. All that teasing, all the insults... it pushed me. It gave me the motivation I needed to get back on the podium. You didn’t just get under my skin you made me remember why I love this sport. Why I fight for every inch.”

I blinked, unsure how to respond. I had expected him to gloat or boast, but instead, he was being... sincere.

“Well,” I said, trying to keep my composure, “maybe I should insult you more often, then. Seems like it works.”

Lewis chuckled, but it was soft more of a genuine laugh than anything else. “You should, actually. I like that side of you.”

And there it was again that little spark of something more. I didn’t know what it was, but it felt different. And as I looked at him standing there, looking at me with an expression that was less about competition and more about something deeper.

[diminuel]

Whitebeard and Garp both silently feeling like their son-in-law is ACTUALLY the son THEY always wanted (needy; aggressive)

Of course they also hate each other so they’d never ever know and also it’s too degrading a thought to humor (what kind of whackjob prefers his SIL to his own son?!)

But it kind of fuels the hatred even more (How could a father ignore such a devoted son? How horrid!/How could a man stifle his own flesh and blood? What a jackass!)

I'm not sure I'd qualify Dragon as "needy"? In canon he doesn't seem to allow any close relationships at all - so he's either fiercely independent or has gone so far beyond the pale in terms of loneliness that he's just no longer registering it. But Garp might at least gets some snail calls from his son who doesn't harbor a grudge for 20 years like Crocodile does? Maybe that's enough to trigger Whitebeard's jealousy as well his idea that if Dragon had been HIS son, he would have known how to appreciate him properly. (I feel that's a lie. I don't think Dragon would have thrived. Maybe Croc would have done somewhat alright with Garp as his father, but I think the breaking away would still have had to happen.)

Maybe this sort of depends on what kind of AU we're working with but I've got a feeling that both of these men are projecting and just trying to find the ideal son who probably neither Crocodile or Dragon would be able to live up to anyway. Also, it almost feels like they are casting off their responsibility in how their relationships to their son have turned out - if only they would have been given the RIGHT son, with the PROPER temperament instead of appreciating the children they do have.

In the bin with both of them! X'D