#reading summer camp near me

[dilf-docs]

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: I/II

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display��shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

*i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

[super-lovely-star]

🍁Fall Activities and Stuff for Middle Regressors🍁

Go outdoors and stomp in some crunchy, dry leaves. Bonus points if it’s at an empty playground!

Pick out a spooky movie and have a movie night. It doesn’t have to be horror, there are plenty of cartoon/kids show Halloween specials that aren’t too scary! It’s even more fun when you have pizza or some other nostalgic food to snack on.

If you go to school/classes, you can pick out fun stationary like folders with characters on them, cute notebooks, and scented pencils.

If you don’t go to school but would still like a back to school experience, you can set up a little classroom for your plushies and read chapter books with them

Think of fun Halloween costumes to make. It doesn’t have to be expensive. A pair of animal ears for your favorite animal has never failed me.

If you don’t want to dress up personally but still want to make a costume, you can make some for your favorite plushies out of materials like craft felt or construction paper.

If there’s a farm near you, they might have apple/pumpkin picking!

Another outdoors activity is taking a nature walk! The trees look so pretty during fall, so make sure to bring some plushies so they can see them too! You can take pictures of them in the fallen leaves.

Speaking of leaves, you can find the most perfect ones and press them in a book. Just make sure they aren’t completely brittle or they’ll break!

You can go camping, for real or for pretend. I don’t like real camping, so I make a fort out of blankets and use an LED lantern and make s’mores in the microwave lol.

Go check out a thrift store for cozy sweaters and other stylish fall clothing. If you go close to Halloween, they’ll have interesting stuff that you can make costumes out of!

For some reason I find going to the library very nostalgic around this time of year, so I recommend doing that! Most libraries have middle grade chapter books.

Set up a cozy corner in your room with lots of blankets and pillows and plushies, for reading or gaming in!

Plant some seeds or bulbs for the summer. This generally works best outdoors, but if you don’t have a yard you can probably still have luck planting it in a flower pot.

Research the seasonal behaviors of your local wildlife! You can watch squirrels burying acorns, and birds migrating. Just be sure to do so from a safe distance,

Make something tasty, like candy apples or a sweet with lots of cinnamon! Make sure you have supervision if you need it.

Happy Fall and have fun!

[indecisivemuch]

The Pact

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: Seeing you yearn for a relationship and dejected over the lack of one, Luke Castellan proposes a dating pact. Little did you know, he was going to do more than just wait until the day the pact could happen (friends-to-lovers, fluff, pining, a lot of longing, lowkey jealous luke).

Note: Sort of inspired by Monica and Chandler's pact thing from Friends.

Word count: 3.4k

You were spending some time alone near the lake, trying to enjoy mid summer sunlight as well as the silence from the lack of campers and couples around. For some strange reason, the number of people dating at least tripled in the last three weeks. If you were honest, the sight of happy couples was starting to irritate you.

Your eyes glided through the lines in the novel you were reading, though you could barely get past a few pages before a degree of bitterness seeped through. You set the book down and sighed. Your head leaned against the tree behind you while shutting your eyes and furrowing your eyebrows. 

Oh, if only someone could love you the same way love was portrayed in books.

Before the scowl could grow permanent on your face, you felt light finger tips setting on the crease between your eyebrows. Instead of getting scared, you remained calm. You knew immediately who it was because there was only one person who would do that. The person sat down next to you and you turned to see them already smiling at you. 

To most, Luke Castellan was just the Hermes cabin counselor and best swordsman. But to you, he was a close friend and confidante. He has made it a habit to press softly against your scrunched eyebrows to prevent you from scowling further. It was somewhat sweet to you.

“What’s got you so bothered?” Luke asked, peering at you while tilting his head in a boyish manner. The look alone somehow made you blush. There was no denying that Luke was cute. You knew at least a handful of people at camp who would agree. It honestly surprised you that he was still single. Though you were somewhat relieved at that. For about a year now, you have had a little crush on the Hermes cabin counselor. It was not hard falling for his kind words and sweet actions.

“This is going to sound so stupid…” You let out a deep sigh.

“Oh, come on, since when have I judged you for being stupid?”

“Oh, so you do admit I’m stupid sometimes?”

“Yes, but is that really a problem, considering I find it endearing?” You hope he did not see the way your face heated up at his words. 

Little did you know, Luke did notice it, just like he has always noticed little details about you. Knowing he was the reason behind your pink-tinted cheeks filled his heart with joy. In fact, throughout the last year, it got to the point where he would grow very bold with his flirty jokes, disguising his feelings in between them. Honestly, he was surprised you had not caught up to the truth yet. 

“Okay, well, so many people have gotten together lately, and it’s got me a little bit annoyed.”

“Why?” Luke questioned.

“Because, I want that experience, you know? The teenage love thing. We already have a strange life, fighting creatures and going on quests that could kill us. I just want to at least experience an aspect of a normal teenage life,” you watched him nod and digest your words. “I didn’t want it, want it. But seeing everybody else experiencing it makes me wonder when it will be my turn, you know?” You sighed before adding, “To make matters worse, it seems like nobody is interested in me that way, so…”

Luke almost let out a chuckle of disbelief at your last remark. Oh, many Demigods found you cute. But if only you knew to look right under your nose. He has always been here. If only you could see him how he wanted you to and give him a chance.

Ever since the day Luke Castellan met you, he became a dreamer. During the night, every dream would be of you, while in the morning, he’d daydream of you until he would see you next. You filled in every thought, walking in his mind like it was your home. But even if it wasn’t your place, he’d still give you the keys without hesitation.

“So…you just want to experience teenage love?”

“Well, that, and ideally, to be loved too. I don’t just want some casual teenage love, but at the same time, I’m tired of waiting around.”

A lightbulb practically lit up inside Luke’s head as an idea popped up. The logical part of his mind was yelling that this was a bad idea, though the more chaotic side was pushing him to just give it a shot. Though, he spent little time contemplating.

“What if we make a pact? By the end of summer - so maybe in about a month - if you haven’t started dating anybody…let’s date each other,” Luke blurted out before his mind could talk him into backing out. It was stupid, and he knew it. But if that was one way to potentially date you, then so be it. 

Luke’s heart squeezed when he saw you completely frozen. He started panicking. Maybe he made it too obvious, and perhaps you didn’t like him in that way and were trying to find a way to back out. 

“I mean—just so the both of us could experience teenage love, you know? I think it will be great. We already get along well. We’re good friends. What could go wrong?” Luke tried in a more casual voice.

A lot could go wrong — you thought. A possible thing that could go wrong is that you would fall harder for Luke, and that feeling would absolutely destroy you when you two break up because he finally becomes genuinely interested in another girl. Or, it has you so hung up that you would confess to him, only for him to say that whatever you two had was just a pact. But Gods, your heart must actually be a fool to whisper to your brain, ‘I mean…at least you would no longer have to imagine how it would feel like to be his.’

“Sure,” you said before you could think twice about it. “Deal,” you grabbed his hand and shook it.

“Deal.”

Now…Luke just needed to do a couple more things in the meantime.

During the first week, you asked Clarisse to set you up with somebody. She introduced you to one of her friends, Dean. However, when you mentioned Dean to Luke, he clicked his tongue before warning you.

“I just think you deserve better, Y/N. I’ve known him for five years and have never seen him bring one person on a date twice. Last week alone, he went on a date with five people.” Since then, you haven’t spoken to Dean again, deciding that you don’t want to try and date a playboy.

Two weeks later, you asked this guy on a date. He came to the picnic you had set up with a bouquet of flowers. However, your smile faltered slightly when you realized they were the type of flowers you disliked. You shook the negative thoughts away. After all, it’s the effort that counts.

Things quickly went downhill as the guy started sneezing…a lot. His eyes were watering, and it seemed like he was borderline getting sick. You noticed him trying to stop sneezing. You could feel the guy trying—you really did. But the last straw broke when he turned away to sneeze mid-sentence but didn’t do it fast enough. 

Three days before the day that marked the day the pact would be able to begin, you attended a party hosted by the Hermes cabin. You were honestly done with trying to find someone to date. Perhaps, this pact thing was not such a bad idea after all, even if Luke might not like you as much as you like him. But at least you knew he would treat you well.

However, your numbers must have turned because somebody had walked up to you and struck up a conversation. With similar humor, your jokes bounced off each other’s, and you almost started crying from laughing at one point.

The sound of your laughter caught the attention of the Hermes cabin counselor. Luke could feel his lips slowly curling up into a smile at the sound of your giggles and laughter. He has always found the sound so endearing.

However, when he turned his gaze over at you, his eyebrows scrunched at the sight of you conversing with another Hermes boy — Oscar, who was also one of his friends. Luke was no longer paying attention to the conversation in his circle right now. His ears were busy trying to make out what that boy was saying to make you laugh like that. However, he almost left his friends when you touched Oscar’s arm while giggling at another one of his jokes.

You always tend to physically react to Luke’s jokes, from small touches while laughing to you playfully slapping his arm at his cheekier jokes. They never fail to make the tip of his ears grow red while his cheeks match the same color. Though Luke swore he had never seen you this way with anybody else. Hence, he was less than enthusiastic at the sight of you doing the same with another guy right now. 

You continued talking to Oscar, but your conversation stopped when somebody bumped into Oscar and spilled their drink onto him. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to trip…” the guy who bumped into Oscar apologized.

“Chris, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Oscar said, though a sigh quickly followed his words. “I’ll just go and wash the drink off, but I’ll talk to you in a bit, though?” Oscar looked at you. He smiled when you gave him a sweet nod.

“Sorry again, man,” Chris said before watching Oscar exit the cabin. He turned to you now. “So, how are you? Are you enjoying the party?” You answered Chris and started catching up with him. You and Chris met through Luke, though as the years went on you two became friends as well.

With your focus now on Chris, you did not notice the figure of the Hermes cabin counselor zooming past you two and outside, following a certain someone. However, your conversation with Chris didn’t last long because Clarisse swooped in and borrowed you from Chris. 

“So, I saw you talking to Oscar. Give me the details,” she said, dragging you down to sit beside her.

“He’s great! It’s so easy to talk to him and be around him.”

“Easier than with Luke?” you gave her a warning glare. You might have told her about your little crush on Luke, though you confessed that to her out of the belief that nothing would ever happen and that it would pass soon. Fast-forward to a year later, your feelings have not changed. 

“...No, but—”

“I’m telling you, Luke’s the best one for you.”

“He doesn’t like me like that.”

“If he doesn’t like you like that, he would have never made that pact with you." When you didn’t reply to her, Clarisse decided to bring something else up. “Alright, let’s move on and talk about something else then…another candidate. Dean told me you didn’t show up.”

“Show up to what?”

“He wrote you a note asking you to meet him?” the look on your face must have told Clarisse you had no idea what she was talking about. “He wanted to ask you out on a date in person after that talk you two had three weeks ago.”

“Where did he leave the note?”

“Apparently, he was planning to get me to give it to you, but he passed Luke on his way to me, who offered to give it to you.”

“Well, I never got the note. I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. Luke told me he’s quite a player.” Clarisse pondered on the information you just provided her. Dean was in no way a player. She knew he has only been on one date with another person at camp. However, the puzzle pieces quickly clicked for Clarisse and she leaned back with a smirk. 

Before you could question the look on Clarisse's face, Oscar came back to the party. 

“Well, if you don't mind, Oscar is back and I have a good feeling about him. So I'm going to go and talk to him,” you left Clarisse, walking in the direction Oscar did. Meanwhile, Clarisse only silently chuckled. She knew exactly what Luke was up to and it made her shook her head in amusement.

“Hey,” you touched Oscar’s arm, though the cheery grin on your face fell when he slightly flinched and shrugged your hand off. “Uhm, it’s good you got that stain off your shirt,” your eyebrows furrowed when you realized Oscar was not even making eye contact with you.

“So, tell me more about that quest you went on last year?” you asked, hoping to start a conversation again. However, Oscar quickly broke out the truth.

“Listen, you seem very lovely, but I don’t want to put myself in the middle of anything. I don’t want to cause any drama.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not the type of guy to steal girls my friends are talking to or having a thing with,” you scrunch your eyebrow in confusion. Just as you were going to question what Oscar was referring to, his eyes betrayed him and looked at someone. You followed his eyesight only to see Luke already looking at you while glancing between you and Oscar. Though realizing he had been caught, Luke looked away and back to his friends.

That was when everything made sense.

“Uh oh…” Chris’s voice snapped Luke from whatever his friends were saying. He followed his gaze to where Chris was looking, only to see you storming over.

“We need to talk,” Luke tried not to think too much about the way your hand felt on his wrist as you pulled him through the crowd and outside. As always, he blindly followed you to wherever you were taking him. 

You released Luke from your grip and stood with hands on your hips. You took a deep breath. 

“Are you kidding me? Have you been sabotaging me? You told me Dean plays around, but apparently he doesn’t. He also gave you a note to give to me, but you never did it. Then, Oscar, who I was getting along with, came back acting weird, wouldn’t even look me in the eye, and then told me we have a thing going on?”

Oh, Gods, you found out about what he has been doing.

“Listen…” Luke started off while rubbing his neck, though he was unsure what to say next because he was indeed guilty of every accusation you were throwing towards him. But how was he meant to trust fate that you would still be single by the time the pact would be able to come true?

So, he intervened in his own way. That included throwing away Dean’s note, having Chris spill a drink on Oscar to get the boy away from you so Luke could have a talk with him. He might have also suggested your date two weeks ago to get you flowers, despite knowing that the boy was allergic to flowers.

All he wanted to do was to make sure the pact could happen.

“Luke…why? You know I wanted this. I wanted to experience things and date someone.” You weren’t mad, but you were slightly disappointed and confused. You didn’t understand Luke’s intentions behind his actions.

However, Luke misinterpreted the look on your face. He thought you were genuinely upset, and that alone pinched Luke’s heart. He gulped at the idea that he might have disappointed you or made you sad. Screw waiting until the pact happens before confessing. What use would that be when you might somehow start hating him?

“...Maybe I wanted it to be me,” Luke confessed, watching your eyes widen. “You told me you wanted to experience teenage love and feel loved, and you’re tired of waiting until it’s your turn. But I have never told you what I want.” Luke took a step closer to you before starting.

“I want to be the one to take you on dates and give you your favorite flowers every single time. I want to be your personal hype man and be your shoulder to cry on if you ever need one. I want to sit with you by the lake while you read. I also want to read the books you read and those little annotations you make. I want to learn about the things you love and the things you don’t. I want to do things you love. I want to show and tell you just how amazing you are every single day. I want to let the feelings I have right now grow cause I really like the idea of loving you, and I want to get there someday.”

You stood there shell-shocked. This felt almost surreal, like something you read from one of your novels. You have always wished to have someone who practically walked out of a romance novel.

“I want you.”

And here he was, standing in front of you, begging for a chance to be yours.

“And I know you just want teenage love, and I could offer you that. But just know I’m also offering so much more, even if you don’t treat the pact the same way as I do and will only view it as a casual relationship. But I suggested that pact and chased all those guys away because I like you a lot, Y/N. And in hindsight, it was stupid and selfish. But I did it because I felt like it was the only way I could have you.”

“I like you too, Luke,” the words slipped out so easily like they were always meant to be said. “I want you to be my teenage love. I want you too.” You’ve been walking around asking when it would be your turn. If only you had paid attention and looked closer instead, you might have noticed he felt the same way. You wanted everything he has spoken of and be just the same for him — to be there for him and learn to love the things he does.

“And I look forward to every single one of the things you’ve told me, and be the same for you. I really can’t wait for it. However, there is one thing I really want right now,” you said as you walked closer to him, one hand taking his own into yours.

“What?” Luke rasped out, looking so tentatively at you. Gods, whatever wish that spills from your lips this second will have him scour the world for it—whatever guarantees your happiness.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Oh, you could ask him for a thousand kisses, and he would give you a million.

Luke’s cheeks grew rosy at your request. He stepped closer, tucking your hair behind your ear without breaking eye contact. 

“Can I?” He whispered in a honey-like tone, and you knew right then that if he kept talking to you in that voice, you’d do absolutely anything he asked.

“Mhm,” your quiet hum granted Luke permission to his next addiction. Without hesitation, Luke attached your lips together with both hands caressing your face tenderly. In return, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled you both closer until your bodies were flushed against one another. Slowly but surely, you also tangled your fingers in his curls. Luke almost immediately melted against your touch, sighing in contentment against the kiss.

Luke was convinced this was now his new favorite thing to do. He wondered if you could taste it through the kiss—his feelings and borderline infatuation for you. Either way, he intended on making every kiss like this: wholeheartedly and as if it would be your last. 

Now, if you were to ask Luke Castellan how to get the person of your dreams, here’s what he’d advise you:

Step 1. Be stupid and propose a dating pact (tick).

Step 2. Chase away every other potential candidate (tick).

Step 3. Confess (tick).

Step 4. Fulfill all those promises you have made about loving the person (To be continued...But, he’s intending to do this for as long as you’ll let him).

-------------------------

masterlist

join my Luke Castellan taglist

[amorisxx]

Snickerdoodle pt. iv

pairing: Art Donaldson x reader, Patrick Zweig x reader, Tashi Duncan x reader summary: Art comes out of retirement to test out his coaching skills. Your relationship with him continues to spiral. warnings: smut 18+, cheating, divorce, rough sex, piv, marijuana use, slight angst, hastily proofread word count: 7.7K divider by @cafekitsune <3 prev part | next part

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Kaleb decides he wants to play tennis. Or that he wants to “get serious” about it. He’d done tennis camp every summer along with soccer camp, and he’d enjoyed it enough. But for some reason, he’s determined to be a tennis player now. You blame it on how much time he’s been spending around the Donaldson’s. Between the various play dates and carpooling, he and Lily have been attached at the hip.

The two of you are enjoying a quiet evening  on a weeknight when he brings it up. 

“Lily doesn’t really like tennis,” he tells you in between bites of mashed potatoes. 

“Well that’s okay. Sometimes our friends end up having different hobbies,” you say.

“Hm,” he puts his finger to his chin, “kinda like you and Mr. Art?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well he’s like the greatest tennis player ever,” he says, spreading his arms out wide. “But you’re terrible at tennis. And you guys are friends right?”

His assertion has you placing your fork down. “Okay, first of all, I’m not terrible at tennis. Secondly, it’s really not fair to compare me to a professional tennis player, K, he’s had years of practice.” Then, you reluctantly think of the last thing he said. About the two of you being friends. 

Images of Art kneeling above you in bed dance through your mind. You think of the last time you were with him. How he’d laid his cheek on your thigh while you threaded your fingers through his tufts of blonde hair. His gaze searing as he watched you in all your post-orgasmic bliss. Your chest was still heaving as you tried to recover.  

You clear your throat. 

“Yeah, um, I guess we are friends.” You avoid eye contact with Kaleb and pray he changes the subject. You don’t want to think about Art. 

Unfortunately, your son is too young to properly read the room. If he was, he’d see the way you’re clenching your fork in your fist. Or he would’ve realized by now that his mom is a harlot. Instead of calling you out on your immorality, he turns to you with express earnestness. “I wanna play tennis like Mr. Art,” he says definitively.

He then furrows his little eyebrows and asks you, “you think I can be as good as him one day?”

You smile, reach over to smooth your palm over his curls, and tug his ear. You say what every parent would. “I think you can do whatever you put your mind to, my little monkey.” 

He grins at you, dimple poking out.

After all, you’re almost certain this is just an eager phase prompted by Lily bringing Tashi to school for career day. Tashi mentioned to you that Kaleb was very eager to ask questions about her job. Apparently, he thought it was super cool that she “got to coach the best tennis players in the world.” You’re worried that before dinner is over he might ask you to put in a word with her about coaching him. 

Once you’ve finished eating, tucked Kaleb in, and tidied up the kitchen, you finally get to relax with a cup of lavender chamomile tea.

Before you settle into the refuge of your bed, you make a note to sign Kaleb up for club tennis. 

ᯓ

You’re at a gas station near Kaleb’s school when you realize your dumb credit card has a faulty chip. You grab your purse and lock the doors to your car, having been forced to go inside the store and pay for your gas the old fashioned way. 

The door shuts behind you with a ring of a bell. The unmistakable smell of fuel fills your nostrils as it mixes with stale coffee and the emblematic stench of small convenience stores. You grumble when you see there’s a short line. 

With a sigh, you take a detour down one of the narrow aisles to grab a pack of gum. You pick out a random pack of spearmint, but your inner child lingers on the yellow packaging of juicy fruit bubble gum sitting beside it. When you were little, your mom would’ve made you pick one or the other. Without a second thought, you pluck the yellow pack out from the shelf and head back towards the front. 

On your walk back, you glance out the windows, checking to make sure the pump you’re parked at is still number 5. 

The line is shorter now. There’s only two people. You think you recognize the dark head of the person standing at the counter. They’re digging through the back pocket of their jeans and pulling out a leather wallet when your cellphone dings. It’s an email notification from your boss. You read the subject header before dropping the phone back into your purse, hoping to avoid whatever stressor awaits you there for a couple more hours or so. When you look back up, you’re met with the face of the dark haired stranger. 

His eyes meet yours. Patrick Zweig sends you a mischievous smile of recognition as he saunters toward you. He snaps his fingers. “I know you.”

“Hi, Patrick,” you say through your tight smile. The last time you’d seen him, he tried to blackmail you into going out with him. If he wasn’t so attractive, you’d probably be repulsed by him. 

“Long time no see.” He pockets his package of Marlboros. “How you been?”

“Um just busy you know,” you hum. “You?” 

He nods. “Same, same.” He looks you over, smile growing wider when he meets your eyes after lingering on your cleavage. He doesn’t even attempt to be discreet. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes to the side.

Thankfully, the bald guy in front of you finishes up his transaction so you have an excuse to say “excuse me” to Patrick as you approach the register. You glance back when you hand your money to the bored cashier, catching one last glimpse of Patrick as he exits through the door. You nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling the tiniest hint of disappointment. 

You accept your change and two packs of gum and make your way back to your car. Not wanting to waste any more time at this point, you toss the plastic bag into the passenger seat and hurry to pump your gas.  

You’re leaning against the trunk while the fuel fills your tank when you hear a small “hey.” 

You’re startled as Patrick approaches you again. You look around suspiciously. “Um are you stalking me?” 

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “I was standing over there taking a smoke.” He points towards his beat up suv. You wonder why he doesn’t have a better car. You thought tennis players made money. “And I saw you. Didn’t get to say goodbye earlier.” 

You click your tongue. “Well, bye.” 

“Wait—I hope I didn’t rub you the wrong way last time.” He rubs his palm over the back of his neck. “I kind of have a fucked up sense of humor.” 

“It wasn’t the joke,” you supply. “It was more so you trying to blackmail me into going on a date with you.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I don’t know why that didn’t work.” The grin he gives you sends a shiver down your spine. 

This time, you smirk, your gaze tracing the length of his body, from his Nikes to the curly wisps of hair flying in the wind. The gas pump clicks, signifying that your tank is full. You don’t remove it right away because you’re busy letting Patrick type his number into your phone. You wish you could say you played hard to get, but that would be a lie of monumental magnitude. 

You don’t actually intend to call him, content to let his number go forgotten in your phone. After all, what type of woman would get involved with the best friend of the man she’s having an affair with? 

Later on, when you’re having a glass of wine, mommy duties complete for the night, you pause on his number as you tap through your phone. You inhale, take a sip from your glass, and quickly save his contact before swiping out of the app. You can blame it on your being slightly tipsy when you notice that he’s saved as “for a rainy day.” 

ᯓ

It turns out that the tennis thing isn’t just a phase. You don’t mind of course. You’d always support your kid in whatever he pursued. The only issue is that Art fucking Donaldson thought it would be a good idea to train little Kaleb. As if you needed more reasons to be around the man. 

You’d told him that you didn’t think it was necessary because your son was only eight years old. Surely, he wouldn’t need a retired professional tennis player to train him. His tennis lessons at the local club would certainly suffice. Plus, you imagined he had more important things to attend to than give private lessons to a third grader. 

On a random weeknight, you’d gone to pick Kaleb up from a play date with Lily, hoping to grab him and get back home before the rain got any worse. Art had greeted you at the door, placing a hand on the small of your back. 

He decided to bring up the topic again. Even Tashi, who was usually busy with training of her own, chimed in, claiming it would be a good opportunity for Art to find real meaning in tennis again. Whatever that meant. Patrick, who you had been avoiding thinking about, once again inserted himself into a conversation, pointing out how young he and Art were when they first started playing tennis. According to him, it was never too early to learn how to properly hit a ball with a racket. 

ᯓ

The thought of Art spending time with Kaleb through tennis is an endearing one if you’re being honest with yourself. But you know you would have an intense fight on your hands should Chris find out. 

Ever since Art had stepped in with your ex at the fall festival, he’d harbored an attitude toward him. He’d gone as far as complaining about all the time Kaleb spent at his house, accusing you of trying to turn your son against him. If it weren’t for the court mandated visits, you’d have simply told Chris to go to hell. But in an attempt to maintain peace for your son’s sake, you reassured him that Kaleb only spent so much time around Art because Lily was his best friend. 

You asked him if it was worth destroying his son’s friendship. He conceded for the time being, but you’re sure if he found out about any extra tennis lessons, he’d blow a gasket. 

Ironically, you had never been offered the freedom to express such possessiveness. You had to be content each and every time your son stayed at his father’s new house with his new fiancée that you barely knew anything about. You handle some occasions better than others. 

This time, though, when you watch Kaleb go through the front door of their luxurious home, Spider-Man backpack affixed on his back, your stomach churns. Chris’ fiancée smiles and waves to you with her left hand. Bitterly, you think it’s a miracle she can even lift it with the large diamond wrapped around her finger. She places her hand on your son’s shoulder, pulling him into their home, as if she wasn’t the one that helped wreck yours. 

Maybe it’s the fact that this past week would’ve been your anniversary, but your shoulders shake with sobs throughout the entire drive home. You sniffle as you think about Kaleb building a life with his soon to be step-mom. You hope she treats him right, but, ultimately, you wish he didn’t have to know her at all. 

It doesn’t help that you aren’t able to bury your sorrows in Art’s chest or on his dick. He’d already told you about the gala he’d be attending that weekend for the Donaldson Foundation. You haven’t seen him since last weekend, and you ache to call him, but the thought makes you feel nauseous when you think about the wretched irony of seeking comfort in a married man. In a decision that’s almost homogeneously pathetic, you sit in your lonely driveway and send a “hey” to ‘for a rainy day.’

ᯓ

It doesn’t take long for Patrick to offer to come over. You send him your location as you pop open a bottle of wine. 

You reach for a glass, your eagerness causing you to apply too much force as you slam the glass down. It breaks under the pressure of your haste, immediately cracking at the stem. The inconvenience is too much for you. You curse before bringing the entire bottle up to your mouth. You take a swig, red liquid spilling out of the corner of your mouth. With a gasp, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Pitifully, your vision starts to blur again as your eyes swell up with hot tears. You resort to sitting on the kitchen floor, taking the occasional drink, and wallowing in your despair. 

You’re propped against the cabinet, knees to your chest as you cradle the green tinted bottle of red wine like a toddler holding a stuffed animal, when you hear your doorbell ring. You stumble to your feet, dragging them as you move toward the door. When you swing the door open, Patrick is standing there with his hands in his pockets. He looks you over once, mumbling that you “look like shit” before stepping into your home as if he’d been there a thousand times. 

He lifts his eyebrows when he sees the neglected pieces of glass on your counter. He looks back at the bottle in your fist before groaning. “Please don’t tell me you’re an alcoholic.” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m just having a pretty shitty day.” 

“No shit,” he snorts. 

You send him a glare. “I don’t even know why I called you,” you say and rub your temples. 

“Because I’m obviously easy and you know it.” He smirks. 

It makes you laugh, your red, puffy eyes squinting back at him. 

Patrick eventually convinces you to smoke the joint he’d brought with him. You haven’t gotten high in years, and you find yourself mindlessly rambling about your life as you pass the joint back and forth to him. You’d stopped crying a while ago, your eyes now red because of the weed. 

You and Patrick are lounging on the floor of your living room. You’re dragging your fingers through the shag rug underneath you and leaning your head back on the sofa when you hear him laugh. He sounds like he’s far away, down through a tunnel, but when you turn your head, his face is right beside you. 

“What’s funny?” You grunt. 

He shakes his head. “S’nothing.” 

You frown and shove his bicep. “Tell me,” you say, scooting closer to him. “I hate feeling left out.” 

His smile falters for a second like he’s remembering something, but when you blink he’s sporting a melancholic grin. “It’s just—you kind of remind me a lot of Art.” His head falls to the side to really look at you. “I mean not like completely, and not really how he is now, but when you’re upset—it reminds me of when we were teenagers.” 

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not,” you say. It comes out as a whisper. Your faces are so close that you don’t want to startle him. 

“Hm.” His eyes flicker to your lips. “Not a good or bad thing. Just a thing.” 

“That’s why you like me?” You mumble teasingly. “Because I remind you of your boyfriend?” 

He smirks, lips so close to yours you feel his breath fan them. “Who said I liked you?” 

“You don’t have to.” You’re just the slightest movement away from kissing him. If you tilt your head just the tiniest bit—

He lets out an almost imperceptible moan when he finally presses his lips to yours. It’s so quiet, you think you might’ve imagined it. It all happens incredibly fast, but feels like slow motion. Your head is fuzzy and your body is tingling as Patrick grabs your waist, hoisting you onto his lap. It takes you a moment to build momentum, your sensory overload working against you.

When you’re finally able to match his energy, the kiss is searing. He’s sucking your lip into his mouth like you’re already his, hands roaming everywhere he can get them. When he bites your bottom lip, you suck in a breath, giving him room to thrust his tongue into your mouth. You mewl at the way your mouths seem to fit together like velcro. Your toes curl and you tighten your fists into his dark locks when you feel his hot tongue traveling down your throat, leaving white hot bites that feel like being branded. His teeth sting and your cunt throbs as you impulsively rut against his length. 

Patrick rubs his large palm over your ass before abruptly smacking it, making you release an embarrassingly airy moan. His teeth tug on your earlobe. “You like that?” 

You only nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Hmm?” He mumbles, continuing to lave over the skin behind your ear. His hand comes down on your ass again, harder this time. 

You let out a pathetic squeal and slam your hips down against him in search of some kind of friction to relieve the ache between your legs. “Oh god—please fuck me—“

His mouth meets yours again. You can barely kiss him properly, panting about needing him to fuck you right now. 

He really is easy, you think, but it’s not like you have room to talk.

ᯓ

The first time Patrick Zweig sinks his cock into you, you’re on your knees, face pressed against your rug. The slam of his hips threaten to take your breath away as tears cling to your eyelashes. He’s rough, possessively grabbing your flesh with no regard for potential damage. When he experimentally grips your hair in his hand, tugging your head back gently, you see stars behind your clamped eyelids.

Patrick nearly whimpers at the way it makes you arch your back into his thrusts with increasing intensity. He groans something about you being a slut and fists your hair with less restraint. Your walls clench around him when he wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you to his chest. 

He grunts into your ear. “I knew you liked it rough, could tell from the first time I saw you.” 

The tears have started to spill now. Whether it’s from the humiliation or the utter ecstasy, you aren’t sure. All you know is that you almost sob when Patrick drags his tongue alongside your face, collecting the salty tears.

ᯓ

He buries himself inside you for a second time no more than twenty minutes after you’ve both cum. You gasp and claw at his back as his body presses you into your couch cushions.

You have to admit that Patrick knows how to fuck. Knows how to read your body, tapping into just the right frequency to get you off. 

It’s obvious that you’ve been craving this type of treatment from the way you’re responding to him. But you’re sure that he must have a sexual sixth sense because in the midst of fucking you wildly, he grabs your ankle that’s dangling by his ear, turns his head, and plants a sweet kiss to the bone. It makes you melt into the sofa. 

He leans down to shove his tongue into your open mouth. Softly pats your cheek, relishing in your cock drunk state. 

“Does he fuck you like this?” He murmurs into your neck.

You don’t have to ask who he’s talking about. 

“Huh?” He prods. 

You choke down a moan. “Better. He—“ You cry out when you feel him start rubbing harsh circles into your clit. “He fucks me better.” 

He huffs out a laugh through his smile, but his hips slam down harder as if he’s determined to change your answer. In less than a minute, you’re biting down on his shoulder when you feel another orgasm rack through your body. 

ᯓ

You take a longer break this time. Stopping to pour yourself a real glass of wine. One with its stem intact. Patrick lazily inhales from a cigarette as he watches you, with hooded eyes, attempt to hold a throw blanket over your bare torso. In contrast, he nonchalantly spreads his thighs over your couch, body on full display. 

His eyes leisurely meet yours. They shine prettily in the dim lighting of your home. His dark lashes flutter on each drag of his cig and it makes the corner of your mouth curve up when you take a sip. The lamps have cast a cozy shade of amber over the room. It blankets Patrick’s skin in a golden aura reminiscent of something being baked in an oven. 

Patrick reminds you of the gingerbread man, you think. It makes you press the tips of your fingers to your lips to stifle a giggle. 

He tilts his head at your odd behavior, but he assumes the weed must still be affecting you. 

Once you’ve placed your glass on the coffee table, and he’s put out his cigarette, Patrick is pulling you by the ankle, tossing your blanket to the side and kissing his way down your abdomen. 

You yelp when he captures one of your hard nipples in his mouth but let him press his hot kisses into your skin nonetheless. 

You end up cumming for the third time that night with his head buried between your legs. 

ᯓ

Patrick leaves while you’re asleep. 

When you wake up around 3am to an empty house, you think it’s for the best. You check your phone. You have a missed call from “a.d.” and a text from Patrick that says “had fun” with a winking emoji. You don’t respond to either, instead, opting to pad your bare feet to the bathroom. You desperately need a shower.

In the morning, you tidy up your home from the events of the night before, cringing at what took place on the terracotta colored sofa.

When the buzzing in your head doesn’t stop after cleaning your entire living room from top to bottom, you find yourself in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies. 

You’re frantically kneading dough when the doorbell rings. You frown, not expecting company, but clean your hands as best you can as you make your way to open the door. Sometimes, your talkative neighbor, Mrs. Taylor, likes to come knocking on your door early in the mornings. 

You’re surprised to find that Art is standing on the other side with a latte and a bag containing a chocolate croissant. You assume it’s for you. He places his things down on the table by the door, the one that holds your catch all tray, and scoops you up into a hug. 

He groans into it, making you smile. “Hi,” you mumble into his chest. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” his voice comes out equally mumbled. “Missed you.” You can hear the grin in his tone. It makes your heart clench. 

You allow yourself to hold onto him, despite the ever present worry that you should be reining yourself in when it comes to him. He moves to let you go, grabbing your face in his palm and kissing the side of your head. You whine and lock your arms around his waist in protest. You inhale his scent, all warm and familiar. You’ve missed him. 

“Baby,” he laughs into your hair. You grunt, squeezing him tighter. “Okay, c’mere.” He pulls you into him, securely engulfing you in his arms. “I got you, I got you.” 

You eventually release him long enough to walk into your home. 

You’re relieved that you’d been overtaken by a cleaning spell this morning because you fear that Art might take one glance at your couch and figure out who had been here. That he’d smell him in the air. 

You’re afraid he might’ve detected it anyway when he freezes in the walkway separating your kitchen from the living room. You nibble on your lip as you try to search his body for any signs that he’s onto you. 

To your relief, Art is actually focused on the copious amounts of cookie dough you have on the counter of your kitchen island. He turns to you with the all knowing look of a father, his eyes creased with concern. “Oh no, what happened?” 

ᯓ

After a therapy session in which you decide to stop letting your ex influence your decisions from afar, you finally relent, allowing Art to begin practicing with Kaleb on their private tennis court. It seems like since you got involved with their family, that’s all you ever do, give in to everyone’s requests. In any other context, it would be disturbing, but the sight of Kaleb racing to the court with an oversized tennis bag fills you with joy. The bag threatens to pull him down, but his excitement keeps him upright as he makes a beeline for Art. 

You don’t know who’s more excited to see Art between the two of you. Your son’s tennis instructor waves at you from across the court. And you have to fight the rush that flows through you, threatening to cut off your oxygen, and give a simple wave in return. It makes you feel like a kid with a fervent crush. You could gag.

You remind yourself that you’re here for Kaleb. Not you.

You think that as long as you get to see him happy like that, you’d agree to anything. It’s a scary notion, but becoming a mom has made you aware of a lot of terrifying realities. 

ᯓ

It’s this maternal need to preserve your son’s happiness that leads you to another prolonged encounter with Tashi Duncan. She’d caught you when you were dropping him off for tennis lessons one day. Apparently, she had a free day. Lily was spending the day with her grandparents, and Patrick is, thankfully, nowhere to be found. You try to hide your relief when she tells you that. You don’t think you can face him right now. 

She insists you join her in their sunroom while the boys practice. You try to think of an excuse to turn her down, but you decide your karma from sleeping with her husband has built up too much to take the chance of tacking on more. So, when she offers to make you a cup of tea, you oblige and sink down into the fabric of a warm sofa.

When Tashi reappears, she sits down with a cup of steaming hot tea for the both of you. You thank her with a smile, letting your eyes trail over her figure. She looks ethereal. The sunlight pouring through the glass forms a halo of light around her, illuminating her like a Madonna painting. She has her hair pulled back into a low ponytail that causes her to have to tuck the loose strands behind her ear every now and then. The motion makes you take notice of her slim neck and the way her collarbones dip into her loose-fitted button down. Even dressed casually, she looks like a goddess. 

You feel your heart start to beat a little faster and reach to take a sip of your tea. You wonder how she knew that lavender chamomile was one of your favorites.

It’s only awkward for a moment because the two of you quickly fall into a conversation about what she’s missed now that Art has taken over attending the PTA meetings. That’s how you’d initially met her. She had actually been the one who you exchanged communication with about carpool and play dates. Art’s retirement allowed her to focus on tennis and other aspects of raising Lily that she preferred. You giggle when she admits that she never really liked those meetings anyway. You don’t tell her that you always had that inkling. 

When you mention that Cynthia is still advertising her knitting business at every single meeting, she sucks in a laugh before leaning toward you. She presses her lips together, holding in her giggle. “Guess what?”

You squint at her, your expression already anticipating a joke. “What?” You all but sputter out. 

“I’m probably responsible for like half the sales on her Etsy shop.” She says like she’s admitting to something top secret. It’s a lot like the expression Lily takes on when her and Kaleb are playing “secret agent.”

“Girl, what?” You didn’t think she’d be a fan of crocheted animal figures. 

“I ordered one for my mom for Mother’s Day,” she explains. “She fell in love with the thing I swear, thought it looked just like her little Yorkie, next thing you know she’s asking for the link to share with all her friends.” 

You’re snickering into your mug imagining Tashi unintentionally being Cynthia’s best saleswoman.

She smiles at you. “I’m serious. Apparently, amigurumi is the new thing. It’s gonna be flying off the shelves. That’s why I had to go ahead and put in my order.”

“Of course you know the official term.” You toss your head back. “What’s yours look like?” 

“It’s a little tabby cat,” she smiles wistfully. “Like the one I had growing up. Her name was Aphrodite.” 

It’s a fitting name.

You’re biting back a grin as you take a sip from your tea. You sigh at the taste. “How’d you know what type of tea I liked?” You ask absentmindedly. 

“Art mentioned it to me.” 

You freeze. “Art?” 

“Yeah he says you like to make it before bed. Now, he’s hooked on it.” 

All the blood in your body rushes to your head. You feel that unwelcome yet proverbial sinking in your gut. You think you might start projectile vomiting.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t respond. It’s hard to speak when you feel like you’re dangling upside down on a roller coaster.

“Wait… you didn’t think I knew did you?”

For some unintelligent reason, you decide to play stupid. Usually, in times of danger, humans resort to fight, flight, or freeze. You choose fucking idiot. “Knew what?”

“That you’re fucking my husband.” Tashi says quite unceremoniously.

“What—what do you mean?” You squeak out.

“Don’t.” She laughs. “I’ve known the whole time.” 

“How?” Your voice is shrinking smaller and smaller to your ears. The sound of Tashi’s voice, her pert laughter, drowning it out.

“Art tells me everything.”

“And you’re okay with it?” You attempt to ask though you can barely hear it.

You know your question reaches her ears because she shakes her head and tells you, “I suggested it.” 

Your eyes go wide. Her divulgence seems to propel you forward on your metaphorical roller coaster. In a snap, it brings you out of your stupor.

“I told Art that he should fuck you.” She says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s as simple as telling him to pick up some carry out on the way home. 

You’re confused, and your head is starting to hurt from the whiplash, and you wish this ride would end already. “I’m—I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.”

“Okay, well, Art’s been attracted to you since the day he met you,” she says plainly. “But he’d never actually do anything about it because that’s just who he is. He needed that push—“

“That push?”

She nods. “He needed to know he could do it and everything would be fine. He’s still figuring out how to be open to stuff like this.” She explains, gestures vaguely in the air. “He’d never break up what seemed like a happy marriage, but when it was clear that your marriage was far from happy…well he started to warm up to the idea.”

“What do you mean far from happy?” The shock has you feeling unreasonably defensive.

“Clearly something was off. You never seemed happy with him. You’ve said it yourself that he was a dick.”

“Um—okay, well, I’d say something has to be off if you’re coaching your husband into sleeping with unsuspecting women.” You shoot back. Your gaze is sharp and accusatory.

She lets her eyes fall down to her lap, picking at little buds of lint being exposed by the sun’s glow. “You’re right, something was off between us,” she says like it’s something in the past. Like maybe they’re good now, but at one time they weren’t. “But Art knows how I feel about him.” Then, her gaze returns to you. “Something tells me your husband either didn’t know or didn’t care.”

Her comment strikes a nerve. Chris did know something was off, and she was right, he didn’t care. He made you feel like needing more from him made you selfish. As if the reminder of the vows he made to you was an affront to him. He knew you were unhappy. That you felt ignored. But he didn’t care. When you’d served him the divorce papers, you naively thought that he’d realize what he might lose, that he might beg for your forgiveness, promise to be better. Instead, you watched him sign the document in the same way he’d signed receipts for dinner before closing the tab and tucking the pen inside. 

You think you envy her. Because she has a husband that actually doesn’t want to leave her. 

“Hey.” She grabs your attention. Her voice softens when she sees your glassy eyes peering back at her. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to offer an explanation.” 

You work to swallow down the onslaught of emotions threatening to rise up like bile. You release a fractured noise from your throat, letting the revelation fully soak in. “So you really knew this whole time then? Or rather you orchestrated it?” 

“Okay, that’s a little extreme,” she says. “When we found out you were getting divorced, I mentioned to Art that he should pursue you. That’s all.” She shrugs. “I never knew if he’d actually do it or when he’d do it. All I know is that the first night he came home smelling like you, he fucked me like he did when I first agreed to be his tennis coach.” 

“Then, he was constantly meeting up with you or staying to talk after PTA meetings,” her fingers curl to form quotations around the word, talk. “But I knew what was up.” She bites her lip. “It was honestly kind of hot.” 

You frown. The thought of him sleeping with her immediately after being with you has your stomach in knots. The worst part is that you can’t stop wondering if he’d showered first. If he’d cleaned himself up or if he’d went straight to her, buried himself inside her, cock still sticky with your fluids. In a way, it’s like you had also been inside her. If you think about it long enough, you can imagine what it must feel like. So, you don’t think about it. Instead, you fix your gaze on the golden pothos plant sitting on top a table to your right. The tapping of your nail against the ceramic mug fills the silence. 

She gives you a questioning look. 

Ignoring the implications of what she just told you, you settle for the anger you’re feeling instead of dwelling on any confusing arousal. “Do you not realize how fucked up this is, Tashi?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah! It’s fucked!” You throw your hands up. “I mean I’ve been running around feeling guilty, thinking I was a fucking homewrecker while the two of you get off on a cheating kink!”

She can tell you have more to say, so she leans back and lets you go on.

“I mean how could you do that? I was fucking depressed.”

She snorts. “Not so depressed that it ruined your libido. You two have been going at it like rabbits.” Her smirk makes your cheeks burn. 

You place your mug down onto the table. “Wow. You know what?” You’re on the edge of the couch now, body rigid. “You and Art can go fuck yourselves! This is seriously messed up.”

She raises her eyebrows. “As messed up as you fucking another woman’s husband?” 

Her words drip with mirth, and it pisses you off that the fiery look in her eyes is poking at a budding desire in your belly. “This is ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself. You’d rather focus all your energy on being outraged than interrogate why this is kind of turning you on. You’re about to stand up to leave when she places a hand on your arm.

“Are you seriously mad right now?” She asks you. 

An incredulous look takes over your face. “What do you think?” You spit out.

“Well, would you have preferred I not know?” She asks as if you’re the crazy one here.

“I—“ you squeeze your eyes shut, and try to gather your thoughts. “Obviously not, Tashi.” You glance up to the glass paned ceiling. “I just—it would’ve been nice to know what was really going on. I mean he never even told me that you knew.”

“Well, did you ask?” She asks simply. 

Did you? You think back to the past couple of months. The more you and Art hooked up, the more you avoided directly mentioning Tashi. He didn’t bring her up more than what was necessary, so you suspected he was actively trying to keep it from her. 

To be fair, he did mention a couple of times that he’d told Tashi you two were going to meet up for lunch, but you thought he must’ve been leaving out the activities that followed. And if she happened to call him while the two of you were together, he would casually tell her he was with you. You obviously assumed he was downplaying your friendship because there was no way Art would be so nonchalant about a mistress. But, apparently, the word mistress didn’t even apply to you. 

“I mean, I guess I didn’t.” You stammer. “But I feel like that was on him to bring it up to me.”

“Well that’s where you went wrong. Art can get in his own way sometimes.” A pensive expression works it’s way onto her face. “Or maybe part of him did kind of get off on feeling like he was sneaking around.” The thought seems to bring a small smile to her face. 

It still doesn’t make sense to you. You try to tamper down the sinking feeling that you’ve been nothing more than a pawn. “I just don’t understand why you two couldn’t proposition me like a normal couple looking for a third,” you say.

“Who said you were our third?” 

“Oh, so there’s other women you’ve sent Art to fuck?”

“No. I—I don’t just pimp out my husband, okay?”

You back down.

“We already have a…third I guess.”

You look at her with furrowed brows. 

“Patrick.” She answers.

“Patrick? Like Patrick Patrick?”

She nods.

You laugh cynically. You didn’t think this situation could get any worse.

“I know.” She sighs. “I know how it seems—”

“Was that part of the plan too?” You’re out of breath, chest heaving. 

She looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“Me and Patrick,” you blurt. 

“Wait a minute, you’re sleeping with Patrick?” She’s scooting closer to you. 

You shake your head. “It just happened once.” You think of how he’d shoved your face into the rug, fucking into you as he grunted out various obscenities. “I was high. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

She looks away for a moment, brows drawn together tightly. She’s piecing together what you’ve told her. 

“I—I didn’t know he was with you guys,” you try. 

She waves you off. “No, it’s not that.” She sits back. “I’m just not surprised that he wormed his way into your pants. He just couldn’t take that Art had something to himself.” She’s speaking to you, but her eyes are trained ahead. 

“So, you really didn’t set that up too?” You ask meekly. 

“God, no!” She says. “I had no idea.” 

You believe her. 

“Look I don’t care what type of weird shit you tennis players are into, if you guys have wild orgies or whatever. I just would’ve liked to have known that I wasn’t a hypocrite.”

“A hypocrite?”

You nod. “I mean I sit here and give my ex shit for cheating on me with that skinny ass whore from Modesto. Hell! That’s why I got so much fucking alimony.” You’re rambling now. “And, then, I go and let Art fucking Donaldson screw me and then send him back home to play loving father and husband like it’s nothing. God! And on top of it all, I also sleep with his best friend! I became the whore from Modesto.” 

Tashi’s watching you like you’re a kid experiencing big feelings.

“I felt like a home wrecker.” You sniff. “But apparently I’m actually not…because it was your idea, well only Art, not Patrick, and I—it’s all just fucking with my head.”

Tashi swallows. “I honestly thought you’d be relieved to find out.”

She looks at the frown on your face, takes in the way your plump bottom lip is jutting out. She reaches for your hand. “We’ve never really been the best at communicating. Me and Art. For the past year or so, we’ve gotten better at talking to each other, being honest about what we want, but we’re still working on doing that with other people I guess.” You let her thumb rub the back of your hand before you gently pull away. 

You grab your mug again. The handle is cold to the touch. 

“I promise we didn’t mean to fuck with you. Honestly, I think Art really likes you.” She offers you a small smile.

You look into your mug trying to still your reaction. You don’t care. 

Tashi’s gaze feels heavy on the side of your face as you feel her watching your expression. You start to fiddle with your watch. Checking for the time. Except your watch is too busy displaying your increased heart rate to offer the time. 

You sigh. 

She reaches out to you again, but this time she brings her hand up to your face, moving the curls falling down over your eyes. You let her nimble fingers caress your cheekbone before trailing down to your chin, guiding you to look at her. 

She gives you a steady, knowing smile. “You fell for him didn’t you?” 

Your cheeks go ablaze, and you try to look away from her. 

“Hey.” She grasps your chin in a firm, but gentle hold. “It’s okay.” She nods as if it’ll telepathically make you agree. 

You clear your throat. “I know you say that, but this is all new to me.” Your voice is slightly wobbly and you think you might cry. “I—I didn’t think it’d happen but it did. I thought I could get him out of my system but now,” you inhale and press two fingers against your neck, subconsciously trying to self-soothe. “Now, it’s like—it’s like I can’t stop.” Your voice comes out almost like a whisper. Like you’re afraid to admit the truth. 

And, really, you are afraid. You’re fucking terrified. 

You’re scared to fall in love with a man who already has one—two people in his life that he’s in love with. The last time you entrusted a man with your love, he was only meant to love you, and he couldn’t even give you that. 

What if you realize you’re absolutely enamored by Art Donaldson and he realizes the same thing Chris did? That there’s something about you that makes you unworthy of love. That the depth of you is as deep as your cunt goes and that’s it. 

What if he realizes that he already has what he needs in Tashi, even Patrick? What if they realize they actually aren’t willing to share?

You apparently voice the last bit aloud.

Tashi tilts her head, some of her strands have fallen loose again and she wears the prettiest pout on her lips. “Do you want me to prove it to you?” 

You gulp when her hand presses into your thigh, and she brings her face impossibly close to yours, forcing you to hold her gaze. “You want me to prove that I’m okay with it?” Her eyes flit between each one of yours with a level of seriousness you’d expect from someone like her. 

Her expression demands an answer, and so, you give a faint nod, transfixed on the woman in front of you. 

You gasp when you feel her mouth on yours. 

You learn that Tashi tastes sweet when she has her tongue in your mouth. You think you can taste the tartness of the lemon she’d sucked on earlier. It’s good, and you realize you’re fucked because you really like kissing her. 

Her tongue twirling around yours has you panting quietly, and you keen when you feel her manicured nails press into the nape of your neck. You haven’t kissed a woman since your last girlfriend in college, and you find you miss it. Something about it feels like drinking sweet tea on a hot summer day. Climbing into cool sheets at night when you’re bone tired. Or the feeling you get when you discover the song that you’re going to replay for the next week. 

It also makes you feel absurdly wet. 

The two of you work up a rhythm of pulling away for a breath before coming back together like magnets, letting your foreheads gently press together as you breathe deeply, thumbs caressing skin, eyelids fluttering. 

Your tongue is sweeping across Tashi’s lip, on a path to enter her mouth again, when you hear someone clear their throat. 

There’s an audible smack as you yank yourself from Tashi, eyes flying to the doorway of their sunroom. 

Art is standing there staring at you, gaze shifting from your face to the hand you still have placed on his wife’s neck. His jaw is clenched, and his bulge is painfully evident in his pants. 

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

a/n: I've been waiting for this since the first post. Let me know how you feel about the reveal <3 as always, my asks are open!

[anika-ann]

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events - S.R.

Part 2 of 2

Type: two-shot, idiots-in-love, feel-good fic (part 1 here)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 10,7k (I-)

Summary: A few things had gone wrong on your camping trip with Steve and other fellow agents.

But is that such a bad thing?

Warnings: NSFW,  18+, size and praise kink if you squint, semi-public sex kiiinda, language, attempt at humour, FLUFF , Steve being a menace

A/N: written for the Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration hosted by @bigtreefest In this chapter, you darlings shall get "Who thought a place with mosquitos was a good idea?"; "You know this one’s my favourite", trying not to get caught and kinks size and praise, if you squint, as well as semi-public sex

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰 Several Agent of SHIELD characters are involved - I don't think you need any knowledge of the show to read this

The last sunrays of the day illuminated the crowns of the tallest trees, the shadows casted growing longer and wider. The fire the guys had started flickered in the breeze carrying the fresh cool air from above the lake. The warm colours of the flames danced across the improvised campsite you had settled, its heat not reaching the clothes you had washed and hanged in the nearby group of trees, but certainly had wonderful effect on everyone sitting around the fire. Work done and belly full, you were beginning to feel the miles you had walked taking its toll, pleasant but very real fatigue settling into your body.

And you weren’t the only one, by the look of it.

During dinner, everyone was supposed to share their most surprising moment from the field; but now, the chatter had quieted down, movements growing rather sluggish even as the atmosphere was serene and amicable. Bucky had taken it upon himself to finish the last pieces of grilled meat; the rest of you were simply staring into flames, talking quietly, or shuffled around in search of a soon-needed flashlight.   

The sudden rapid – and very distinct – movement on Daisy’s part startled you, snapping you awake from your near slumber.

It wasn’t just you who winced – not that Daisy seemed bothered by all the looks the unsolicited use of her powers attracted, huffing and waving her hand around.

“Ugh. Who the heck thought a place with mosquitos was a good idea? These little bastards love me for some reason… no one told me turning Inhuman had that effect,” she complained, once again striking the annoying insect with a wave of deadly vibrations. “Yes! Finally.”

You stared at her, blinking, wondering if you had actually fallen asleep and this was one of the creations of your hippocampus, nothing but a dream. The fact that everyone was staring too though made for quite an argument against that theory.

“Did you just… quake apart a mosquito?” Bobbi asked, sounding as incredulous – and amused – as you felt.

“Huh?”

Hunter cackled at Daisy cluelessness. “I think she did. Wow. Way to go, Trembles.”

“Tremors, Hunter. Mack calls me Tremors,” she corrected him gently, without an ounce of shame, proud of her murderous accomplishment if anything.“And why – yes, I did. And for everyone’s information, I’m not afraid to do that to any annoying elements on this trip.”

Smile dripping of sarcasm, Daisy turned to Hopkinson, who rolled his eyes and muttered ‘subtle’ under his breath.

A fresh wave of fondness towards Daisy swirled in your chest and you made a mental note to give her a hug just for that. You didn’t want anyone to get into crosshairs for your benefit; you didn’t want to stir conflict – if anything, acting partly like a liaison, you were often in the position of a peacemaker – but you’d be damned if Daisy or anyone else being on your side of things didn’t make you feel loved and appreciated.  

You had purposely not sat down next to Steve, even if you had wanted to. You didn’t want to give Hopkinson or anyone else any more ammo and… it was enough that you were wearing Steve’s hoodie, your brain somehow translating it into Steve’s warmth keeping you comfortable. From experience, you knew that if you sat next to him and felt the heat he was radiating despite only wearing short sleeves still, you’d lose it and might actually snuggle him. Even two seats over, you were painfully aware of his presence; and any moment you allowed yourself to think about sharing a tent with him, you were pushing yourself further into the area of crossing The Line.

Crossing it by miles.

“You know that the point of this trip is bonding, right?” May commented dryly, the twitch of the corner of her lips giving away her amusement – or approval.

“Sometimes eliminating the unbearable variable helps,” Natasha said matter-of-factly, gaze flickering to Hopkinson too. “Nothing strengthens friendships like burying a body of a common enemy together. Trust me.”

Mental note to hug Natasha as well, you thought. Or maybe buy her a fine quality bottle of red. She was a fan. You had drunk enough with her to know.

Bucky snickered silently at her side; and the fact Steve just hummed in silent approval and didn’t intervene despite this having been his idea, bonding during a camping trip indeed, spoke volumes about how pissed he was still for the comment Hopkinson had made earlier.

It almost made you feel bad for him; but Hunter’s wide eyes and Bobbi biting back a smile at the nonchalance in Natasha’s tone were simply too good not to enjoy.

However, Hopkinson did not seem to appreciate the gang-up, his face a mixture of offence and annoyance.

“Seriously, guys. Can you at least pretend you don’t play favourites 24/7?”

“No,” sounded collectively around the fire, causing your lips to part in awe; and your chest to feel pleasantly full.

Steve’s voice was no surprise to you, neither was Natasha’s or Bucky’s – or Daisy’s for that matter. Hunter’s too, since he was for any mischief he could get – but May’s voice joining the chorus took you aback a bit. The smile on Bobbi’s face told you that she herself only hadn’t agreed with the rest of them out loud out of diplomacy.

Hopkinson still threw his hands in the air, letting them fall to his thighs with a muffled slap before climbing to his feet and moving towards his tent in a demonstrative dramatic exit.

Bobbi followed his example, standing up too.

“Right. This was fun, guys, but I’m going to bed. Someone planned an insanely long hike for tomorrow,” she said, pointedly looking at Steve, who smiled and raised his hands as if he was giving up when everyone else glared at him too.

It was no wonder they looked at him; the way the flames painted shadows over his arms was simply gorgeous. It was hard not to linger, hard no let your eyes wander.

…and your thoughts were gradually losing filter the more tired you were getting. Maybe you should just go to sleep; if you were out before Steve would arrive, there was a chance of keeping up the façade. Maybe.

You rose to your feet.

“I guess I should go to bed too. I’ll just take a quick rinse in the lake and settle in the tent, that okay?” you said, checking with Steve, who only nodded with a reassuring smile

“Whatever works for you.”

“Take someone with you. Seems like bad luck keeps following you,” May hummed, earning a few chuckles from others.

As you looked at her, her smirk was somehow secretive, causing you to waver. Did she know something you didn’t? Were you cursed? Was this another of the infamous prank wars SHIELD agents sometimes declared? It didn’t happen often, but you had heard stories; in fact, May had such a great poker face that her team had once failed to recognize her as the perpetrator of the notorious whipped-cream-on-hand-when-sleeping prank on Agent Fitz and they only had found out when she confessed months later.  

“Yeah, we don’t want you to drown…” Hunter said, wincing when Steve and Bucky snapped their head to him with downright menacing glares. “What?! We don’t!”

You snorted, swallowing the ‘down, boys’ threatening to slip from your lips. It was still nice of them though – they didn’t know Hunter as well as you did. He didn’t mean anything bad.

Or did he? Was he, too, on that prank war that might be and might not be happening here with you as the main target?

“I’ll go,” Daisy said, jumping to her feet, now seriously making you question whether you were turning insane. “What? He has a point. Let’s go—oh come on, die, you blood-sucking little bast-”

Shaking your head, you just accepted it, too tired to care; but making a mental note to check your sleeping bag for bugs and itching power just to make sure.

As you were gathering the few precious pieces of clothes that had survived the marinade attack, including a towel, you couldn’t but chuckle at Hunter’s suddenly wide-awake voice.

“Hey, hold on, do you think that mosquitos who drink Inhuman blood turn into some… superpowered freaks? I read a story about a guy who was bitten by some freaky spider once, and he became a-“

“Hunter… shut up.”

While your feet barely even shuffled towards the part of the lake hidden from the sight of your teammates sitting by the fire, the cool water of the lake certainly awoke your senses anew. You and Daisy barely dipped your toes into water when you felt it started taking effect.

And yet. As Daisy looked back towards the camp, as if making sure no one had followed you, she dropped a bombshell on you which wiped any traces of fatigue as fast as if she fired a gun next to your ear.

“Okay, done deal,” she said, almost nonchalantly by her measures, as she descended into water, “you have to shag Steve, like yesterday.”

You turned to her so fast you nearly toppled over and fell into water just like Hunter had unwittingly predicted. Arms spread wide for balance, hissing as your knee hit the cold water surface, you didn’t – but that wasn’t important. And Hunter was not at all importantat the moment either.

What the--- what?!

And did she have to say it like that?

Of course she did. It was Daisy after all.

“Daisy!”

“What? Come on! He has literal heart-eyes whenever he’s with you. He even has a special nickname for you. That guy is smitten. And you are not at all better, since we’re at it, by the way,” she noted with a smirk, before sliding into water casually as if she was stating a boring obvious fact and not… that.

It left you dumbstruck.

Not that you didn’t want to ‘shag’ Steve. But that was not the point!

Were you really that obvious? Certainly, you couldn’t have been. You were an agent. A professional. Stealthy. And yes, Steve sometimes… looked at you in a certain way, way that made you feel warm and hot all over, but-

You shook your head, following Daisy’s lead, breathing out slowly as the nonetheless welcomed coolness of the lake enveloped you.

“That’s not-"

“Not what?” Daisy questioned, turning to you to show off her arched eyebrow. “Please. Take your lies elsewhere. And hey – the opportunity literally presented itself. I mean, maybe your sleeping bag is full of bugs, better to share with him since you’re already sharing his tent. I mean, you’ll have to be pretty close to each other anyway. It’s a big tent, but it’s not that big…”

She trailed off, a hint of a smile playing in the corners of her lips, your face growing hotter with every word; but there was also something in her tone that made the spy in you hyper-alert all of sudden. Something about the glee in her voice, her expression, the sparkles of enthusiasm in her eyes, her-

-abilities.

The realization dawned to you with a gasp, your jaw actually falling slack.

No. She wouldn’t.

Surely, she wouldn’t have-

Oh she absolutely would.

The buckles which had been securing the tent to your backpack had fallen apart. They had broken conveniently when you had been crossing the river, and in the area where the water was the deepest no less. Steve had had to hold you so you wouldn’t take a dive, Bucky had been too far to pull the tent out immediately, causing it to soak and sink-

“…did you quake apart the buckles that held my tent to my backpack? Because I’m sure they were as good as new when I secured the tent.”

You should be shocked. You should be scandalized. But as you said it out loud, it made perfect sense and Daisy was definitely the kind of person to do something like this given the right motivation.

And boy, did she seem motivated.

“…maybe.”

“Daisy!” You pushed the water with the heel of your palm, sending a solid wave to soak her hair to make her cool the hell down. “What the hell?!”

She laughed as she coughed the water out, shaking it from her hair, something impossibly warm humming in your chest and bubbling out in the form of laughter as well.

God, she had really done that, hadn’t she? You couldn’t believe her.

“What? You two are taking forever. Like… I’m sorry, I like me a slow-burn. But you’re moving like a drunk sloth, I swear. I haven’t decided if watching you two dance around each other is cute or painful,” she emphasized, the brightness in her expression telling you it was the former, but it was a close call. You just stared at her mutely, unable to decide whether to be mortified or laugh some more. “Plus, I’m begging you. You two need to get together just to put Hopkinson out of his misery and show him that it’s a lost cause.”

Your brain latched onto the last piece of information, because in the sea of things you were mildly mortified and rather amused to hear, this one didn’t even make sense.

“What do you mean? What’s a lost cause?”

Daisy chuckled, clearly entertained by a joke you were not aware you had said; a joke you did not understand in the slightest.

When she realized that, her smile slipped, replaced by awe.

“You’re… you’re kidding, right?”

“About what?” you asked, genuinely completely lost – and frankly, slightly irritated, because Daisy gasped at your reaction, laughing again. “What?!”

“Oh my god, how did you not notice? You’re a spy. One of the best agents SHIELD has, ever had, even May says so, and that says a lot,” Daisy noted, causing you to purse your lips, something inside you puffing in pride, effectively distracting you for a moment.“But oh my god, you really didn’t know. It’s obvious! H-jerk has hots for you.”

Blank. Your mind turned blank for a split second, no image, no sound.

Daisy could slap you across your face and use her powers doing so and you would be less dumbstruck.

“What?!”

What the---- what?!

Daisy, the little shit, had the audacity to snicker at your perfectly appropriate reaction – but that was because she was joking, right? She was pulling your leg. She had to.

“Come on, Libra.That ‘keep her warm’ comment? Grade-A display of jealousy – and I don’t think Steve is his type, if you catch my drift.”

You did catch her drift.

Except you didn’t.

“No! I mean--- yeah, I catch your drift, but… he doesn-“ you stopped mid-protest, words dying on your lips.

The idea was… strange at best. Intriguing, in the worst way possible. Plausible – except Hopkinson was being a douche to you 24/7.

Which, now that you thought of it, could possibly be some manifestation of his frustration of you not paying attention to him? But that would make it a lost cause – the bigger jerk he was being, the less you wanted to deal with him… which made him act like even a bigger douche, which made you even less interested in being in the same room as him and leading you to spend even more time with Steve, which would only make Hopkinson--- no. You didn’t not want to get into that vicious circle, getting the basic idea.

Insane and not really a likeable idea; plausible, but not probable.

Even if it did make a tiny bit of sense, you supposed. In some twisted, immature male logic.

“Oh.”

Daisy grinned. “Yeah. Oh.”

Oh she really believed that wholeheartedly, didn’t she? You weren’t even sure what to make of that – but frankly, you didn’t think you wanted to think about that too hard.

Scratch that, it was the last thing you wanted to think about, even if in a way, you understood Daisy’s amusement.

A little.

“Okay, this… today was a long day. I’m done,” you said decisively, earning a chuckle from your companion. “Enjoy the lake. I’m gonna go… before I find out other disturbing facts.”

Daisy, bless her, just hummed. She let you dry up and slip into your sleep clothes – and Steve’s hoodie, because you really liked the way it felt and made you feel, safe, among other things – in blissful silence, only speaking again as she was climbing out of the water herself.

“Well, now that we cleared things up… go shag the All-American golden boy.”

You ignored the pleasant tingle the idea sent through your body, raising your hand to gesture for her to just... stop please, as you gathered the rest of your things.

“Oookay, Daisy. I’m gonna go now. To bed. Alone. Have a good night though.”

“Sure. Night! …and share the sleeping bag!” she called after you as you turned away, causing you to shake your head, grinning like a madwoman now that she couldn’t see you.

Feigning outrage, you yelled back at her:

“Good night, Daisy!”

The tent was illuminated softly, signalling Steve’s presence as you approached it and climbed inside. Your backpack was already stored in the veranda, safe under the roof so none of your remaining clothes would get wet with a surprise night rain or the morning dew.

You lightly scratched on the cloth of the door, a wordless question you soon got your answer to, being invited in.

The warmth in Steve’s voice made your stomach somersault, the smile that had settled on your lips during your conversation with Daisy widening; and as soon as you unzipped the door and revealed Steve sitting on the improvised bed, you found him smiling in return.

He had changed into a pair of boxers and a sleepshirt, a nondescript grey loose thing only he could possibly make appear attractive, but one he liked anyway because the material was soft and airy at once. You would know; you had worn it before, with his scent lingering on the fabric, when you had needed some extra comfort after a nightmare, needed to feel as safe as you would in his arms but couldn’t have born the heat of his body holding you close at the moment.

Something gentle and sweet hummed in your chest at the memory; the sight of him, sitting here waiting for you, erased the last strain of the day.

Including Hopkinson’s annoying but truthful comment and Daisy’s strange theory… and more importantly, her instruction.

You shook your head incredulously at her shenanigans, Steve’s greeting earning a curious edge.

“Hey, you okay? You haven’t nearly drowned, have you?” he questioned, watching you as you climbed into the tent and zipped it up again, his gaze roaming your figure with attentive care despite his teasing.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. “Har, har, Captain Rogers. I’m fine, just… come bearing some news.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

He didn’t scoot over to make space for you; he didn’t have to. You didn’t mind his proximity. In fact, you yearned for it; and he knew it all too well.

“Well, according to Daisy,” you said, unable to keep the puzzlement from your voice, “Hopkinson is being a jerk, because he ‘has hots’ for me.”

Steve’s expression darkened, a frown twisting his handsome features.

“I don’t like the sound of that… and why would he be such a jerk to you if he likes you?”

You shrugged before sitting down next to him close enough that your thigh brushed his. It was a little funny, really; the tent had a fairly high ceiling, though not enough for Steve to stand up straight, and it was wide enough for you both to sit comfortably on your own. But sitting beside him, touching him, was an instinct; a magnetic force you were helpless against and didn’t mind succumbing to. Especially since Steve’s face cleared as you did so, reminding you why he was all frowny in the first place.

“Go figure. I guess some men don’t move on from the tugging on girl’s pigtails to show affection stage,” you mused, suddenly unbothered by it; because it was not your problem and the other news was much more fun. “Oh and she thinks that I should, I quote, shag the All-American golden boy.”

A slow grin spread on Steve’s face, his thigh nudging yours. “Now, that I do like.”

“Don’t-“ you warned him, smiling wide, heart speeding up at the twinkle in his eyes and the sheer beauty of it. “The lights are on, mister.”

“Easy fix.”

One hand reaching for yours, the other for the lamp, you felt profound warmth spread through your veins as his eyes observed you, taking in all of you, as if you had entered the tent in a luxurious ballgown and not a pair of leggings and his hoodie. It could be unnerving sometimes, the eyes of an artist looking at you as if you were a fine piece of art, but the emotion captured in that gaze was making you breathless in the best way possible.

As the lamp clicked silently, Steve’s thumb ran over the back of your hand; a small gesture of affection hidden by the shadows, just like your love.

You and Steve had clicked almost instantly.

You had fallen hard.

You yearned for a touch, always.

And so did he.

The perfect match.

Two months ago, talking had no longer been the only thing on agenda for you when he had asked you out. Two months ago, you had found out that Steve’s lips were as soft and sweet as they seemed and drawing was not the only art he mastered. Two months ago, you had discovered that Steve’s hands were not only made for fighting and protecting and creating something beautiful, but for holding you and showing you heaven unparalleled.

You were in love.

You were lovers.

You had just decided to keep it low for the moment – as low as it was possible among spies like Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes or Melinda May, as low as it was possible among the Avengers.

It wasn’t that you were ashamed of each other or your together or worried about professional repercussions – Steve was confident that should it come to it, he could make sure you wouldn’t work on same missions should either of you feel compromised by your relationship. That wasn’t an issue, not truly.

It was just that… he was Captain America. You were a SHIELD agent, half an Avenger, one might say. You had noisy friends and colleagues, and the public already speculated about the nature of your relationship whenever someone snapped a picture of you two together. It wasn’t a question of life and death, even if Steve might argue on that one, worrying his affections might put you into an even bigger danger than you already were on a daily basis. It was a question of comfort.

You wanted your love to be just yours for a little while longer; you wanted your love to be a private place, a shelter, a sanctuary – not a public affair.

So outside the privacy of certain rooms in the Avengers facility, you were still nothing but close friends. That was what you had agreed on, this trip included. Key word of the trip: friends.

You weren’t sure if the façade would hold.

With Steve’s hand now cupping your cheek, you weren’t so sure you cared.

You cared much more about the relief flowing through your body at finally feeling his touch again, an invisible weight, a subconscious tension in the back of your head, melting off your body. That, and you cared that he could see just fine while your eyes were still adjusting, your brain scrambling to put together a mental image of the tent you had seen before.

It was rather difficult to focus now that Steve had kissed your lips, steering your mind elsewhere, but as you briefly met his lips in return – oh so sweet and tempting – one fact about the interior struck you, causing you to withdraw a bit.

“…where’s my sleeping bag?”

You might still not see Steve’s face clearly, but you could hear the smile in his voice just fine.

“Don’t know. Do you need it?”

You chuckled, arching your brow, naively clueless.

“I’m going to sleep, so yes. It’s a sleeping bag. There’s literally its purpose in its name.”

Steve’s hand grasped at your nape to pull you back as you tried to look around, inching closer, his amused gaze boring into yours in the shadows.

“Don’t get smart with me now, sweetheart,” he whispered, fingers flexing in your skin, a signal your body comprehended just fine, just like the message unspoken.

His lips brushing yours again helped too, excitement tingling in your belly, the protest slipping off your tongue but a weak alibi for when you’d reason you had agreed to keep your hands to yourselves in favour of keeping your relationship secret still.

“Steve… we shouldn’t,” you breathed against his mouth, as if you weren’t already reciprocating the affection, parting your lips for him, hand slipping from his own to stroke up his arm to grip on his shoulder, your other laid on his chest.

“No, we shouldn’t.”

Breathing having turned fast and shallow, you welcomed his lips like soil welcomed rain after weeks of drought; parched earth now soaking in relief, new wild life sprouting within, warm and beautiful under the sun Steve embodied as he caressed your skin.

It lit you alive, finally touching him again as you were meant to, as you were longing since had set off for the trip; finally feeling sated after having been drinking every feeble drizzle in the form of a gentle brush of hands he had offered, yet growing thirsty with every drop of affection you wished you could drown in.

You wouldn’t stop for air when he kissed you breathless. When he pulled you to his lap, his palm settling firmly over your back, the only sensible thing your desire-drunk brain could think of was to press closer, hand sliding into his hair, relishing in the way his fingers dug into your flesh with need. You wouldn’t have stopped for air – what was the few agents, your friends, who had no idea your relationship with Steve was way beyond platonic. They couldn’t see you anyway. Half of them already knew; the other half was probably asleep.

Here. Now. Steve’s lips, his hands, his torso firm and steady apart from his wavering breaths, thighs solid but soft and welcoming between your legs. That mattered.

Steve released your lips with a sigh of deep contentment and a teeny protest on your part, foreheads resting against one another, a peck to your lips to sooth you, a peck to his to show you didn’t have enough of him. Not nearly enough. You never would.

The smile he gave you was warmer than the midday sun; that much you could see, your eyes finally slowly adjusting.

“Hi,” he breathed out.

Just like that.

Hi.

The simplest greetingwhose true meaning – I missed you – remained hidden to the world outside of you two. Much like other small gestures today.

A smile; I’m happy you’re here with me.

Catching you when you had slipped; I’ve got you.

Treating your wounds; I’ll always take care of you.

Cradling your hands; you’re precious to me.

Checking up on him; I’m here for you.

Squeezing his shoulders, brushing your fingers over his skin; you’re safe with me.

Agreeing to share his tent; I need you close.

‘Not on my watch’; I’d fight the world for you.

‘We shouldn’t’; I want you.

“Hi,” you said back, smiling too despite the reprimand to come. “You’re a terrible influence.”; I adore you.

Steve ran his hand up and down your back gently, chuckling, brushing your nose with his before retreating and finding your gaze in the dark.

“I love you too.”

Unlike the first time he had uttered it during the trip, you whispered the words in return, rewarded by another sweet kiss, slow and deep, a confession of love written into your very soul, bodies so close they could merge into one.

“Missed you. Missed touching you. Almost kissed you on at least ten different occasions. Wouldn’t even care who’d see,” he confessed, sealing his words with another kiss as if to make up for all the lost opportunities.

“Yeah, me too. You are very distracting.”

Steve grinned boyishly into the next kiss, teeth pulling briefly on your lower lip, the hand on your back urging you to erase ever half an inch between you.

“You tell me. Especially now,” he mused, fingers tugging at the hoodie for explanation, a flicker of satisfaction igniting your chest. Good; for all his shameless attempts to break your will, as gentle as they had been, you had been teasing him in return by simply walking around wearing his clothes. Good.

It took a split second; that flicker turned into a wildfire of another kind as his dextrous fingers slid under the hem of the hoodie, tenderly – and so purposely lightly – brushing the sensitive skin under your ribcage. Your fingers dug into his shoulder reflexively, a soundless moan escaping you at the sensation of muscles flexing under your touch.

“You know, this one’s my favourite.”

Fondness battled with desire in your chest, the awareness of why feeling warm and burning at once.

“I know.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve hummed, lips trailing along your jaw, wordlessly asking you to tilt you head back. Oh how gladly you gave him the space... “You know why?”

You did. You were certain of it, but Steve’s hand on your back slid under the hoodie too, teasing alongside the clasps of your bra and the first and only word coming off your mouth was a pleading yes, the clasps undone a fraction of second later, your fingers plunging deeper into his hair, his lips returning to yours.

“What was that, sweetheart?”  

“It’s my favourite too,” you confessed, eyes fluttering open to meet Steve’s burning gaze. “Makes the blue of your eyes pop up…”

He caressed the bare skin over your hip, causing you to almost lose your train of thought again as his fingertips continued their path alongside the hem of your leggings, a deviously innocent smile adorning his lips as he watched your lips part with a sigh and your hips unwittingly buck forward.

The hitch in his voice at that was music to your ears.

“That so?”

“Yeah… and because I-- wore it, the first morning... after,” you whispered, the fond memory of Steve’s lips on your temple coaxing you to greet a new day with a promise of a breakfast and a lazy morning together, both forgotten for a while when you had followed him to the kitchen a few moments later and he had seen you walk in nothing but this very hoodie, deciding he was in a mood for a different kind of a feast and nothing all that lazy.

“That’s right,” he praised, hand sliding under your leggings at last, cupping your heat. Biting your lip to keep quiet, a silent keen of pleasure escaped you still at the relief and the tease all at once, Steve’s lips instantly on yours to drink up the sound with a groan. “Have to be quiet, sweetheart.”

“Thought you liked hearing me-”

“I always hear you… every little sound you make for me, every little sound I coax out of you,” he husked, dextrous fingers working to do exactly that, stirring the flames in your veins hotter, a muted grunt forcing its way past Steve’s lips as his fingertips explored with delight just how aroused you were. “God sweetheart, you’re dripping for me.”

“And whose fault is that? You’re the one who insisted on giving me this hoodie---- ah, and ripped logs apart with bare hands through half of this evening-”

Steve smile tasted devious on yours as you couldn’t but grin at his menacing ways – but by god, what a sight that had been. Lightning could have struck right next to you and you wouldn’t have noticed, entirely hypnotized by the display of sheer strength, the action barely making your lover break a sweat.

Now, when you tugged him closer to take more, to taste more, to get closer, always closer, already drunk on hip lips and nowhere close to having enough, his muscles danced under your hands again, a sheen glow of perspiration forming, the hardness responding to the undulation of your hips a testimony of you not being the only one affected, succumbing to primal desire.

Yet, you felt his obvious upper hand in his voice, the way he preened at your praise, even when hidden under the veil of a faux-complaint.

“You liked that, honey? Like it when I show off my strength?”

He knew the answer and yet you granted it to him in a silent whimper, hand sliding down the hard bulge of his arm, a sensation almost as divine as his fingers sliding past the soaked fabric of your underwear and entering you, the first step on the ladder towards the stars.

“Yes, Steve—love, I-”

“Yes, honey?” he coaxed, lips an inch from yours. “What were you saying?”

“Gentle and strong---and big,” you managed to breathe out as he pumped his fingers in a way he had already learned would lift you higher and higher towards your peak, his gaze hungry as he watched the pleasure distort your features, every little sound you tried your goddamn best to muffle as not to give your friends a show fuelling his effort to make you lose that game and driving him wilder in retun. “Should manhandle me more often-“

“Is that right?” he chuckled warmly, so warmly and content you didn’t have time or space in your mind to feel shame for admitting it, less so since he curled his fingers just like that, mouth pressed to the column of your neck in a demanding kiss, a graze of teeth that nearly knocked your breath out of your lungs, your whole body burning like a supernova about to explode. “I’ll take a note. But for now… I gotta be gentle so you don’t let everyone know how close you are to your Captain.”

And gentle he was; a gentle tease. But as devious as he could be, dark eyes drinking in the sight of you falling apart for him but few second later, a sinful smile on his lips shining with your arousal when he took you apart for the second time, sucking a bruise to your inner thigh as you came down from your high – he drew plenty of his pleasure from your own and was still a giver. He kissed his way up your still trembling body, exposing more and more skin to give love to, until he reached your lips again, muffling both yours and his moan as he slowly entered you at last, taking for himself too, once, twice, no need for rest, but pausing still to feel the shared bliss spreading through your bodies.

Despite Steve’s lips being nothing short of wicked, his hands both tender and all kinds of greedy – an honour you so willingly and enthusiastically reciprocated – the words spoken between you were soft and sweet; and as quiet as you tried to be, there was plenty of space for I love yous without uttering a word.  

A gentle touch to angle your hips.

A caress alongside his jaw.

A kiss to your collarbone.

A hungry kiss to his lips.

The grip on your waist.

The dirty roll of your hips you knew made him see stars.

A press of his lips to your lower back when he flipped you over, a lingering moment of reprieve and torture before he entered you again in one smooth movement.

Confessions whispered to your ear and just as sweet and delicate breathed in return.

Love you; need you; gonna keep you.

Yes. More. Always want more of you.

You have all of me.

I’ve got you, love.

You did have each other. Body humming in quiet aftershocks of bliss, contentment settled deep in your soul, you fell asleep curled to Steve’s front, his arm draped securely around your waist, keeping you close.

The one sleeping bag which he had unpacked was but draped over your bodies, way too small to cover you both fully. And yet, you were perfectly warm and safe from the cold and the outside world, Steve’s breathing lulling you to a peaceful sleep full of gentle fire and stars-littered skies resting just at your fingertips.

Waking up came with flickers of blurry images you could hardly distinguish from a dream; but as you found yourself alone, colder than before despite being safely tucked into a cocoon of a sleeping bag, you smiled as you recognized some of them as real.

A morning ritual of a kiss to your temple; a gentle advice for you to sleep a little longer; your body seeking Steve’s on instinct, the hard planes of muscle relaxing again as he gave in and held you for another while, lips pressed to your hairline, an embrace full of love. Bucky’s grumpy voice whisper-yelling from an immense distance, reminding Steve that he had been the one to plan the morning run so he’d better get his ass out and stop shagging his lady; Steve’s sweet grunt so quiet that perhaps not even supersoldier ears could hear it from outside of the tent that yes, but that had been before he knew he’d have you for himself.

The dreams after that you didn’t remember, but you recalled they were awfully sweet and you wished to be woken up just like the first time.

Still, despite finding yourself alone, body slightly aching, the memories of last night and earlier this morning brought a wide smile to your face. The inside of the tent was already perfectly bright, so sun must have been high despite the relatively early hour. In your high spirit, the idea of warm sunrays even made you consider going for a swim in the lake, just to have the excuse to wear Steve’s hoodie later, discarded in a corner, again.

You pulled it over your head, fingers running through your hair to have the worst of your bed hair go away and pull it into a lose bun, you slowly climbed out of the tent, your smile only widening at the beautiful scenery awaiting you – and you didn’t mean your friends barely just getting out of their tents too. The woods, the sun reflecting in the crystal-clear lake, the remnants of the morning mist, the dew sparkling on the grass like thousands of soft diamonds.

Eyes slipping close to feel the sunrays on your skin, you stretched your arms above your head, breathing in deeply, the slightly crisp and gorgeously fresh air-

“I BLOODY KNEW IT!”

Your heart nearly gave out at the sudden cry, making you wince and drop your arms in an instant, seeking the source.

Pulse thundering in your ears from the fright, your gaze found Hunter, turning to Bobbi by his side with his mouth hanging open with shock as if he had just witnessed a real-life Loch Ness monster peek out from the lake and dive back again. Maybe he had.

The tension melted from your shoulders as you sighed, willing yourself to relax again.

Whatever was his issue, it was way too early for you to deal with his shenanigans – you’d leave that to his ex-wife.

You shook your head and turned back, letting yourself to take inventory; your body was aching all over, a testimony to a long pleasant night, thighs, lower back and neck a little stiff. You rolled your neck to relief the tension a bit, then shoulders, tilting your head to one side and then the other, nearly groaning at the stretch and satisfying ache--- only for your work to be instantly undone by Daisy’s loud voice. 

“Hunter, what the-- oh my god YES! Fucking finally!” she all but shrieked, the undiluted excitement in her voice causing you to snap back to her, panic rising in your chest.

Because you knew that tone.

This was exactly the tone she had used when she told you to shag Captain America, to share the sleeping bag with Steve. Had she seen your sleeping bag packed, assuming you had listened to her? But she couldn’t have possibly known you hadn’t had a head start and already packed it back again, so why would she give into that excitement so easy, that couldn’t have been-

“What is it?” you blurted out, heart in your throat, brain in an overdrive as you tried to think, think, think-

Your gaze found Steve’s as he and Bucky emerged from among the trees, slightly breathless, the loud ruckus clearly having startled them and making them race back to the camp.

You took a precious second to appreciate the absolute god-like appearance of his, red, red lips, chest heaving, arms bulging now that he put his hands on his hips and looked around with slightly worried and entirely confused blues that reflected the colour of the sky, his hair ruffled by the wind, sticking to several directions as it had lined with sweat.

“Nice badge, agent,” May commented dryly.

And yet, her voice dripped with amusement, the corners of her lips twitching in a smile, causing you to frown.

Nice badge? What did she mean by-

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

Your hands immediately flew up to your neck, covering the incriminated spot she was referring to, even as you hadn’t been aware there was one.

But there must have been.

A hickey.

You had a visible hickey, not just the one on your inner thigh which you knew Steve was so bloody proud of.

You had a hickey on your neck and now everyone saw it, an undeniable proof that you and Steve had most definitely not shared a tent platonically, but had shared a whole lot more.

You doubted you could blame the bruise – you didn’t even know what it looked like, oh god, you were mortified,why hadn’t you checked your appearance in a mirror, why – on some super-powered mosquitos drunk on Daisy’s Inhuman blood as Hunter had mentioned. And even if you could – you were hundred percent sure your spy training had flied out of the window and if the hickey hadn’t given it away, your imitation of a deer in the headlights when caught certainly had.

Speechless. You were rendered absolutely speechless and while this wasn’t any kind of tragedy, you felt the world spinning a bit. Oh no.

“Not that it’s any news,” May added, a smirk on her lips as all the gazes of those who did consider it news snapped to her.

“What do you mean?” Hopkinson asked, grumpy and entirely stunned.

Bucky snorted by Steve’s side, clearly highlyamused unlike your love and lover.

“You call yourself spies? They’ve been together for like two months and he’s been giving her heart-eyes from day one-“

“A-HA! Called the heart-eyes!” Daisy cried out pointing at you victoriously – and pausing.

Steve used the opportunity to put himself together, approaching you sheepishly and slowly as if he was worried you might actually throw something at him for leaving a badge of honour and shame on your neck. Which you might. Dammit Steven! If you found out that this was some kind of a ploy to make Hopkinson piss off if he really did have hots for you or whatever, you might spend the next night in your own tent alone just because.

“…wait, that means-- so you’re saying I quaked apart the buckles for nothing?”

At that, all eyes turned to her; and Bobbi let out a small sound of surprise.

“Oh! You quaked the— oh. That makes sense,” she said. “Well, I guess I unsecured the food container for nothing too, then.”

It was like watching a cartoon; at her admission, all heads turned to her in comical speed, stunned – and yours and Steve’s most of all, even as he stood at your side at last, a tender brush of his hand to your forearm for support.

Bobbi had done what?!

Something awesome in Daisy’s opinion, that was for sure. The women exchanged a conspiratory smile full of mutual respect and understanding.

All you could do was stare at them mutely. Daisy, well, she hadn’t surprised you all that much, even as you’d never dream of her doing that – but Bobbi? She had a wicked sense of humour and she certainly possessed a no-nonsense approach to things, but-

“Well, now I feel like a sucker,” Hunter said, glancing at his almost-wife. “I mean, all I did was not to tell her that her shoelaces were undone so she’d trip and someone would give her some TLC.”

You turned to him, gaping, no air coming in or out.

Y tu, Brutus?

All three of your friends had been on this, though apparently without cooperation? You were done. You were so completely done. And to think you had considered Hopkinson had been playing pranks on you. He was probably the only person who hadn’t been on this.

“Hunter, that’s awful,” Daisy commented at the sneaky act, causing him to raise his hands palms up innocently. “What if she’d have twisted her ankle or something?”

“Well then even better, wouldn’t it? He’d have to carry her in those--- arms with the biceps the size of bowling balls. And it worked, ain’t it? TLC, big time. Have you seen them when he treated her hands?”

Daisy paused, briefly lost in thought; then, she made a face. She couldn’t argue about that. Just like you couldn’t argue about the possibility of Steve’s solution being exactly the one and you being very much affected by being carried bridal style in his arms like that.

Not that that was the point.  

They really might have as well all worked in sync even if they hadn’t, huh?

Except all these things, arranged to get you and Steve together or somehow make you realize your feelings and act on them, were a little late to the party.

“Well, good work, everyone. I mean, it was fun to watch you try,” Natasha said, moving to continue packing her tent, slowly setting the scene in motion again.

“Almost as much fun as watching you two try to keep it under wraps,” Bucky smirked, walking past Steve and patting him on the shoulder. “Sorry to break it to you, but when it comes to undercover, you’d be more convincing as a couple of newlyweds.”

You sputtered at that remark, still to stunned to react otherwise, your famed ability to work under pressure and in unexpected circumstances suddenly nowhere to be found. You guessed it only applied to the field.

“I-” you started, unsure how to continue, feeling too busted – but also relieved somehow – turning to the man whose fault all this was. “Steve?”

He just opened his mouth, too taken aback as well; which you took as a prove that he hadn’t been aware of that hickey, bless him. Which… was curious at least, but he had enough wits to look guilty, so you’d leave that for after you’d process this.

May cleared her throat loudly.

“Alright, now that we established the bad luck that’s been following you was not bad luck at all, I believe we have a long hike ahead? We should move on with packing…”

Yes. Packing. That sounded wonderful. Anything to get the attention off you – though you weren’t sure it would help all that much.

Daisy, Hunter and Bobbi seemed simply too amazed by the revelation and satisfied with their work all the same. And Hopkinson was… something. Processing probably. Certainly not happy for you; you didn’t want to examine why. Even if it would support Daisy’s theory of him actually liking you, which was a wholly different can of worms you did not want to open at the moment.

You shook your head, your smile tight.

“Good call, Agent May. Thank you.”

She casted a small smile your way, actually shooting Daisy a pointed look so the younger agent would stop staring at you. She did; but not before she showed you a pair of painfully unsubtle thumbs-up, setting your cheeks aflame even more than earlier.

Once no one was looking, you lightly slapped Steve’s thigh with the back of your hand, staring him down despite truly feeling relieved you wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the trip hiding anything besides the incriminated spot on your neck. …and your inner thigh when you’d go for a swim.

He observed you sheepishly and gently took hold of your left wrist, lifting your palm from where it had been covering your neck still; his gaze zeroed on that side of your neck – the very side on which you had been lying on when you had woken up, probably having been hiding the testimony to your passionate night from him when he had left you.

His pupils grew a little wider, eyes a shade darker, the hold on your wrist tighter-

“No!” you whisper-yelled at him, the corners of his lips twitching even as he seemed genuinely apologetic. He let you go when you tugged your hands free. “No, mister. You’ve already done enough.”

“Yes, I did… four times,” Steve whispered as lowly as possible, a loud responding groan sounding from both you and Bucky, who probably regretted having enhanced hearing at the moment.

“What?” Natasha asked.

“Believe me… you don’t even want to know.”

Your plan was to pack as fast as possible and get on your way; but there were things to be done. The team was onto packing, cleaning up after the yesterday’s fire, rinsing in the lake – and thankfully, chatting about various things of which none was you.

With Steve’s help, you had put down your tent, now finally dry, and moved on to a the group of trees where you had hung your clothes – now also dry and clean of the smell of marinade if not the stains.

You heard the shuffle of feet before you saw him; you froze in your movements, recognizing the pattern.

Hopkinson cleared his throat, signalling his presence, causing you to sigh and slowly turn to him.

You expected a snidey remark, bracing yourself for him boasting about how he had been right, about the pimping all those weeks ago and about Steve keeping you warm through the night – but to your surprise, his face was set in a pleasantly neutral mask.

It took you aback so much you didn’t make a sound before he spoke.

“So uhm… I’m all packed. You need any help?”

Your eyebrows shot up near your hairline before you could school your expression, your jaw falling a bit slack; a voice in the back of your head, one that sounded a lot like Daisy saying ‘Grade-A display of jealously’, whispered of the guy actually liking you,as unlikely as it had seem.

It did not seem all that impossible now; his posture was stiff and careful, which could be just him being nervous now that he knew you were under Steve’s protection on a whole new level, or being unsure how to approach you – but there was a hesitant interest and warmth in his eyes when you allowed yourself to look at him for long enough. And despite the tension in his shoulders, there was something rather welcoming. As if he was genuinely offering help.

Well, you’d be damned-

The creeping realization must have shown on your face, because his own expression fell, heat colouring his cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Oh. You know. Well, this is embarrassing.”

“I little, yeah,” you admitted, your voice a little breathless and a little too high. Did an exchange just happen between you without a single insult yet? Did he really just admit to feeling anything else than the grandiosity of his ego, pointing out he was rather uncomfortable because of something? Wow. Just… wow. “I mean… I didn’t even realize. I’m… sorry.”

Your felt your features twist into a frown, confused by your own words – and feelings. The ‘sorry’ sounded strange to your own ears and tasted even stranger on your tongue, because from the two of you, it wasn’t you who should be apologizing. It hadn’t been you who had been the absolute douche.

And yet, here you were.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. A guy can’t exactly compete with… that, can he?” he suggested, chuckling bitterly.

Your eyebrows, having return to their normal position, arched again.

You understood his point: Steve truly was quite the competition for about anyone. But not for the reason you just knew flashed through Hopkinson’s mind. It had little to do with the size of Steve’s shoulders, the mantle he carried or his absolutely brilliant smile – as much as you admired or adored these things about him. It had much more to do with who he was without the shield; whom he’d still be if the serum fell out of him tomorrow.

You didn’t think he’d understand; he wasn’t in love with Steve Rogers.

“You mean… compete with the guy who’s not acting like an asshole around the woman he likes?”

Hopkinson grimaced, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“…I kinda deserved that. I’m… sorry.”

“Yup. You di-”

You stopped mid-sentence, his words actually registering in your brain. Did he… did he just apologize? And acknowledged that he had been an ass? Today really was full of shocking revelations.

The satisfaction of this one was too good not to enjoy. And yet. Maybe it was the emotional turmoil you had been riding out the whole morning, maybe the relief of you and Steve not having to hide, maybe it was the lingering euphoria of the previous night – but seeing Hopkinson stand there awkwardly, him, awkwardly, you did feel a little bit sorry for the guy.

You sighed again, this time mostly at yourself. “But hey. Some people are into the whole… golden hearted jerk thing.”

“What?!” he snapped, arms crossing on his chest defensively, as if the word jerk wasn’t the nicest one you could think of when it came to his behaviour. Then, he apparently heard past it – and his face cleared up. “Oh… what?”

Oh you were so going to regret this… and yet, it felt somehow right. Setting your folded clothes on the ground next to you, you met his gaze reluctantly, resisting the urge to sigh again.

“Look… have you’ve been a jerk? Yes. Absolutely. Jealous too, even when not entitled to it. But… I’ve seen you cover people in the field with your own body. Catch a bullet for them too. Save people. I’m not an idiot. Someone who does that? They’re not all bad. Hence the golden-hearted added to the jerk,” you said softly, unable to smirk as you threw in the insult just once more, because damn did it feel good to say it to his face after having to deal with his assholery. “And someone, like, I don’t know, maybe Agent Summers for example, are into that-“

“Wait what?! Angela?”

You had to blink as he interrupted you swiftly, surprised he knew who you were talking about – and that knew her first name. That was a good sign; maybe he wasn’t a completely lost cause yet. A flicker of warmth in your chest lit up, a silent reassurance that you had done the right thing telling him that. It seemed he did care for someone else than himself.

“Uhm, you didn’t hear that from me, but… let’s just say that maybe if you look around back home… you’ll be surprised there are people who have an eye on you,” you concluded.

Hopkinson watched you for a few beats of silence, something in his face softening in a way you didn’t think was possible. There was a hint of a smile, a genuine one, without a biting edge – and to your surprise, without the air of irony, it made for quite an attractive image. You hadn’t been blind to the fact he was a handsome man – one who was all too aware of it – but combined with something resembling kindness, it simply hit different. 

“Thanks, Libra. Really.”

A small smile spread on your lips as you hesitated for but a moment before you extended your hand – the final gesture of offering peace even as you hadn’t been the one to disrupt it. Surprised flickered on Hopkinson’s face; but he shook your hand, almost a gentleman’s grip.

Almost.

“But if you break her heart, I’ll break your arm. Minimum,” you said, deadly serious.

He retreated his hand, observing you with uncertain smile.

But oh he’d better be certain. Because you would. If he’d muck up his chance to be better, he’d pay.

“I’d trust her if I were you,” a familiar voice carrying a weight of authority and promise sounded behind you. “And you should know that I’d help her do it if she wanted.”

Hopkinson shot Steve a respectful glare and took a step back, causing the corners of your lips to twitch when he looked back at you. “Understood, ma’am… sir,---Captain.”

You bit your lips to stop the laughter at his sudden nervousness and prompt leave – but seeing Steve squared to a fight, wrapped in an aura of an uncompromising protector, did things to you, so you couldn’t say you blamed Hopkinson for being affected, albeit drastically differently than you.

Heat swelling in your belly, you tried to gather your wits by gathering your clothes; before you could, warm arms wrapped around your middle from behind, gently pulling you to Steve’s front, lips pressed to your neck, right over where your hickey was, now hidden by a scarf.

Smiling and revelling in the contact, you chastised him all the same. “PDA, Steve… and I’m not forgiving you that hickey, by the way. You’re possessive, mister. You’re gonna get me into trouble with my boss.”

“Can you blame me? And I have it on good authority at least one of your bosses approves,” he said decisively. You couldn’t feel his smile over the scarf, but you heard it in his voice, a silent whisper of an apology and seduction at once. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you or get you into trouble. I honestly didn’t even realize. I just got… lost in you. Always do… you drive me crazy in the best ways.”

The little sweep in your belly at his flattering confession was undeniable; smiling wider, you melted against his body, earning a brush of lips against your temple, drawing a content sigh from your lips. You could get used to that. Steve’s voice in your ear, his arms around you, a beautiful view of nature…

What had you been talking about?

Ah.

“Same… but your hickeys heal right away. It’s so unfair.”

“True,” he hummed, nuzzling your neck softly when your hand settled over his. “Speaking of fair and unfair… you were far too kind to that jerkface. You’re a good person.”

“I try,” you said with a grin, pleased all the same.

Suddenly spun around, you couldn’t help the small yelp erupting from your lips, and neither the laughter as you landed in Steve’s arms, palms steading you against his chest as he looked down at you with a heart-melting smile.

“And I love you.”

Hopkinson who? The guy had been right. There was no competing with Steve and this moment, seeing him so happy from something as simple as holding you, four simple words that made the world shrink into the small bubble of your embrace, was just one of million reasons why.

Why even after barely two months, you were utterly, undeniably his.

Utterly and undeniably in love.

“I love you too… even when you’re about to drag me god knows how many miles,” you added cheekily, your breath hitching in anticipation as he leaned his head down, alluring lips you already craved again but an inch away.

“I’ll carry you if it comes to it-”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time-”

“Always, sweetheart,” he promised, finally erasing the distance, mouth pressed to yours softly, warm hand between your shoulder blades pressing your closer as your hand slipped to his nape and into his hair.

The awareness of not being alone was but a distant thought in the minuscule corner in the back of your mind. You sighed when Steve moulded your lips to his liking, mouths parting for but a split second and then connecting again, your head beginning to spin, heat spreading through your veins that had nothing to do with the sunrays caressing your skin. You didn’t fight the sensations, letting them consume you, revelling in the fact you two could do that now, publicly; and whenever you would say no to Steve?

When he retreated with a smile, nose nudging against yours, you found yourself grinning like a fool and griping on his t-shirt, the profound happiness in his eyes causing your heart to flutter.

God, you were so very, very lucky. The fact you had good friends looking out for you in their questionable but well-intended ways, only spoke in favour of that assumption.

“Well, I guess that with that… despite all the little misfortunes I had on this trip, I feel pretty lucky then.”

“Yeah? That makes two of us.”

Steve’s grin tasted sweet as he kissed you again, your fingers caressing along his throat awakening a silent rumble in his chest, his hand moving to your nape to keep you in place as his lips grew more demanding, your lips parting oh so willingly to accommodate him, your core burning as the kiss became so fierce you felt a strain in your back from bending backwards just a bit.

“OI PUNK! Just because they all know now, doesn’t meant we want the front row to you necking your girl!” Bucky yelled with too much laughter to his words for anyone think he was truly annoyed. “Knock it off!”

You grinned into the kiss at Steve’s not-so-gentlemanly curse, blinking away the daze when his lips left yours with a muted pop, hands remaining exactly where they were.

Wow, okay.

“Speak for yourself. I’m super happy to finally see them together…” Daisy said, crossing her arms on her chest, a cheeky grin on her lips.

“Oh, it gets old pretty quickly, trust me,” Natasha uttered with a fond smile. “They’re gross.”

“Amen…”

“Come on, guys… we have a long trail ahead,” May reprimanded you all, throwing her backpack on, nodding towards Steve. “Where to, Cap?”

That finally had Steve release you – not before pecking your lips once more, much to your shared delight – his figurative leader suit slipping on, making him stand taller, his voice earning a quality that made everyone fall in line; and you look at him with pride.  

“I’m on it, Agent May,” he said dutifully. “Let’s go.”

With that, gathered your clothes in one arm and he headed up towards the rest of the group and to your backpacks; the pile of clothes on one hand, his other wrapped securely around yours.

You were still wearing his hoodie; if he’d let you, you’d proudly wear it for the rest of the trip.

Something told you he’d be more than happy about it.

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Here we go! I hope you enjoyed the little twist and the shenanigans 🤭 I certainly did. But also boooooy this is so much longer than intended.... ah well, Story of my life.

Thank you for reading and should you leave feedback, I thank you tenfold 💕 May your August be generous to you 🥰

P.S. - check out the rest of the masterlist for the challenge/celebration! I sure have my eye on it 👀

P.P.S - just because I can:

[admiringlove]

[13:21] . . .

out of nowhere, one summer afternoon, your best friend asks you a question you never thought he would.

“you still got a thing for me?”

you raise your eyebrows, eyes poring off the book you were reading as you laid on your stomach in bed. your legs, blissfully held up in your knees find their way back to the bed, as you watch him. he’s playing with some trinket he found on your windowsill; an old figurine you loved to collect back in highschool. he’s not looking at you—he won’t look at you, and you know it.

the summer air hadn’t bothered you until now. now, it just felt too hot and too stuffy and too humid in your room. the bedsheets with cherries printed on them felt too childish and you felt as if you were being transported back to the times in highschool when you trailed after him like a lost puppy even though you were his best friend and his partner in crime after his twin brother.

“osamu, you knew?” for the first time, you call him by his name. not “‘samu”, or “bear” or any cheeky nicknames you’d given him. just plain old osamu. you had half the mind to fuck with him and call him “miya” but you think it’d take it too far.

that’s when he looks at you. he’s laying on your bed too, with his back against the fluffy pillows you like. you’re laying half-way down the bed, whereas he’s on your right, a little above you. the window above his head is open, and a small breeze flitters its way inside, the linen curtains swaying above his head as you watch him. your glasses perched on top of your nose as you scrutinize him. you’re judging him—or at least that’s what he thinks you’re doing because you never ever call him by just his name.

“i had an idea, i think,” he says, looking back at the figurine in his hand. it was some video-game character, he reckons. you and atsumu used to fight to play it in the arcade with your pocket money for the week. and then osamu had to buy all three of you meat buns because you’d run out of money at the arcade.

“right,” you say, a bitter and avoidant tone lacing your words as you look back at your book. he can’t tell what you’re thinking, and you can’t tell what he wants.

had he always been like this? were you too much in love with him to notice that he knew all along and didn’t bother to say anything?

“you didn’t answer my question,” he says. and it makes you wonder how much audacity he has running through his veins. you make a face, as if you’d smelled something pungent. your lips scrunched and your eyebrows knotted as you try to think how to respond, “i don’t want to.”

“why not?” he asks, perching himself up onto his elbow. you look back up from your book, and the sunlight that falls on his face and highlights his freckles makes you almost swoon. you catch yourself though. “because i don’t want to, miya.”

a deep physical pain festers itself in his chest when he hears you say his last name with gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. he blinks, sitting up, the figurine still in his hand as he rubs its face as hard as he can with his thumb to ground himself. “but i want to know.”

“and i don’t want to fucking tell you,” you quip, sparing him nothing but a dirty glance. he sucks in a sharp breath, watching you. had he distanced himself from you so much that being near him hurt you too? but he’d only been busy. in the last year of highschool, there was some obvious tension in between you, him and atsumu because of osamu’s decision to not pursue volleyball. you’d been crushed in between two men with big egos and big dreams, and you’d somehow managed to stay neutral. and then college happened. everyone moved to different places. osamu and you to tokyo. atsumu to okinawa for camp. then osamu got busy with his multiple part-time jobs and certification prep for his restaurant. he’d exchange five to ten minute phone calls with you once a week. but in the last six months, he hadn’t managed to do that either.

so he’d thought, at least it was summer now. he’d have more time to slow down and look around him.

“why not?” he asks, voice shaky and intuitive. he wants to read you again. he wants you to be his abditory again. he wants you back in his life the way it used to be before tokyo. he remembers the feeling still—you and him, standing in his kitchen in hyogo, as you try something he’d cooked. you’d always have that excited look in your eyes. and he’d always assumed you’d continue to have it till the end of time. maybe he was wrong.

“because it wasn’t a stupid fucking crush, ‘samu,” you laugh, but it’s not funny, “i was in love with you and you never noticed. as simple as that.”

“i said i had an idea,” he furrows his brows. it’s like you didn’t want his company anymore. did you not like being around him? what was the problem? he had taken notice, he just hadn’t taken any action. he reckons he wasn’t ready.

or was he just scared? he doesn’t know. but he watches as you turn your attention back to the book, and he feels a crack form under the two of you. as if you were slowly slipping away, and he couldn’t do anything about it. he scoffs slightly, prying the book away from you and placing it somewhere on the bed haphazardly as you protest. “osamu, seriously, stop being such a dick!”

“i’m talkin’ to you,” he says, sitting up straight. he rubs his thumb against the figurine’s face feeling its nose against the pad of his finger. he presses down hard, wanting to feel something. he hopes you’d notice how nervous he is.

“and i don’t want to talk to you because you’re a selfish prick,” you say, taking off your glasses and running a hand through your hair. you’re looking up at him with an emotional he can’t quite place, but he thinks it aligns somewhere with disgust. it makes him sick.

it’s not like he never noticed. he knew that the way you clung to him when you were younger had to be more than platonic. you’d stare at him with big eyes, blinking as if he hung the world together by strings and stars—and he’d feel that flutter in his stomach as if he were a child.

you’re both sitting in an awkward silence, the tension thickening the air like the humidity outside. osamu looks down at the figurine, its face now marred by the rough treatment. he feels like it’s a metaphor for you and him—something once cherished, now tarnished by neglect and misunderstanding.

“do you remember that summer festival in hyogo?” you suddenly ask, breaking the silence. the question catches him off guard, and he looks up, momentarily surprised that you’re shifting the conversation back to a happier time. but it’s a welcome distraction, he thinks.

“which year?” he replies, leaning back slightly, curiosity flickering across his face.

“the one where you tried to eat all the dango, but ended up just staring at the fireworks with half a stick in your mouth,” you chuckle, and it’s a sound he’s missed. the soft melody of your laughter contrasts sharply with the heaviness that has settled between you.

osamu feels warmth creep into his cheeks at the memory. he remembers the way the sky lit up, vibrant colors bursting in the night, mirroring the excitement in his chest as he watched you watch the fireworks. you had looked so beautiful, illuminated by the kaleidoscope of colors, your eyes sparkling with wonder. he had been so caught up in how pretty you looked, he forgot to chew. perhaps that was some kind of infatuation that he just didn't understand at the time. maybe if he simply had-

he shakes his head at the thought. there's no use thinking of what could've been.

“yeah, and ya made fun of me the entire time,” he smiles, trying hard to lighten the mood and to forget his current train of thought.

“because you looked ridiculous!” you tease, but there’s a hint of painful nostalgia in your voice. “you had this concentrated look like you were on a mission. i couldn’t stop laughing.”

he chuckles softly, but the sound feels hollow. “you were just jealous i because I could eat my weight in dango.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, and he takes that as a small victory. “i don’t think i ever ate that much. but-” your voice trails off, and he can see a shadow passing over your face. “it was nice, wasn’t it? being young and… oblivious?”

“yeah, it was,” he admits, a hint of melancholy creeping into his tone. “we had so much fun back then. it feels like we were invincible.”

and it did. back then, when he'd drag you out to try random foods at stalls or simply to go on a walk. it felt as if he could do it forever. have you by his side as his constant in this ever-changing world of his—where his brother was a professional volleyball player and he would simply be a restaurant owner someday.

“were we?” you asked, voice incredulous as you tilted your head, “the whole time, it kinda felt like you were the invincible one and i was just there. it’s like how you feel with atsumu.”

this makes osamu pause. had you really felt that way all this time? inferior? the thought lodged itself deep in his chest, a heavy weight he couldn’t shake off. he had never meant for you to feel that way. in his eyes, you had always been the spark—the one who brought color to his world when everything else felt gray and predictable.

“i never thought that, you know?” he finally says, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “i thought- i thought you were always the brave one. always ready to dive into new things, while i was just there. playing it safe.”

your brow furrows as you process his words. “brave? me? i was just following you around, trying to keep up,” you reply, a hint of bitterness creeping into your tone.

“but you did keep up. you were always right there beside me,” osamu insists, his gaze searching yours, desperate for you to understand. “you made everything more fun. without you, i’d just be-” he hesitates, the reality of his words hanging in the air, “i’d just be some guy in a kitchen, flipping meat buns and rice balls.”

“but that’s what you want, isn’t it?" you challenge, a fire igniting in your eyes.

“it is,” he admits, his heart racing as he watches you, “but it’s not the only thing i want.” he swallows hard, unsure if he should say more, if he should reveal the way you had always been a part of that dream, a silent partner in the chaos of his life.

the silence stretches between you, charged with unspoken words and tangled emotions. osamu feels a wave of uncertainty crash over him. the weight of his thoughts, his feelings, it all feels too heavy to carry alone. “sometimes, i wish i could go back,” he confesses, “to the way things were before everything got complicated.”

a small flash of a memory passes by in front of his eyelids. just for a split second, he sees a younger version of himself chasing fireflies alongside you in his backyard. jumping up to the first branches of the apple tree his grandfather had planted, the two of you miserably failing. the thought makes his lip curve upward.

“complicated? bear, we’re not kids anymore. we can’t just go back.” your voice is firm, but there’s a softness in your eyes that he can’t ignore.

“i know,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “but sometimes it feels like... like i’m losing you in all this.” he gestures around, to the walls that had once held laughter and secrets but now felt like a cage.

“losing me?” you echo, your expression shifting to something more vulnerable. “do you even know how many times i’ve sat here wondering if you even wanted me around anymore? it’s like you’ve been drifting away, and i- i don’t want to be just a memory for you.”

the truth of your words hits him like a cold splash of water, and he’s left grappling with the realization that he has indeed let the distance grow between you. osamu feels his heart ache, the weight of regret settling over him like a heavy fog.

“i never meant to push you away. life just... got in the way. and with 'tsumu doing so well, it’s hard not to compare myself.” he pauses, the vulnerability of admitting that laying bare the fragility of his ego. “i thought if i focused on my dreams, i wouldn’t lose you in the process.”

“but that’s just it,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “you’re so focused on what’s ahead that you forgot to look around and see what you have right now.”

osamu feels the sting of your words, a deep ache forming in his chest. “i don’t want to lose you,” he says finally, the honesty hanging heavy in the air. “but i don’t know how to fix this.”

he feels an estranged sensation pool at the pit of his stomach. it’s an unsettling mix of longing and disillusionment, a swirling tornado of emotions that seems to siphon away the warmth he had once felt in your presence. he remembers a time when everything between you had been easy—like a favorite song playing in the background, its melody effortlessly weaving through the fabric of his days. his relationship with you was always like a distant childhood memory; as if he were sitting on his bed whilst rain poured outside and laughter could be heard in the next room.

he can’t help but feel like he’s caught in a dream that has turned surreal, where the colors have faded, and the edges of reality blur into something unrecognizable. the laughter that had once come so easily now feels like a ghost haunting the hallways of his memory, a faint echo that reminds him of what he’s lost.

"maybe it's not about fixing it," you say, sitting up. he blinks a few times, as you push up your glasses. his eyes focus on your frame—the way you criss-cross your legs and look at him with that expression he could never pinpoint properly. something like how an older mentor figure would in disappointment, but with a hint of hope. "maybe, it's simply about trying."

and maybe, just maybe, he wasn't trying hard enough. maybe he wasn't trying at all.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[ashjade19]

Siren Aemond x (fem) reader

TW: SMUT, dubcon, breeding (?), threatening, alcohol consumption (not much tho)

“I feel like this camping trip will be good for us! There’s nothing quite like reconnecting with nature,” Alys, my best friend since childhood, smiles at me as we set up our tent.

“If that’s what the birthday girl wishes,” I grin back at her. We’ve hiked to a hill overlooking a giant lake, green surrounds us from every angle. While Alys and I have practically grown up in our backyards, it's been a while since I’ve been in the woods, due to me having moved to the city five years ago for work. As an office worker, I have barely been able to take a few days off to relax, so for me to be able to come out into the mountains with my best friend is a miracle in itself.

The day is spent setting up camp, taking smaller hikes through the mountain and fishing in the lake next to our campsite. We are the only people we’ve seen so far, but Alys and I both love the tranquility and the opportunity to be truly ourselves. The strange thing is that I feel like we are being watched the entire time as we fish. When I bring it up to the dark haired woman, she just shrugs.

“Maybe ghosts,” she jokes and though I may laugh along with her, I still feel the prickling sensation of a stare. It isn't until later that evening that I loosen up and forget about the piercing stare with the help of some alcohol and a fun campfire dinner (of ramen noodles) with my best friend.

“Right, well I’m tired. Bedtime?” Alys gets up to start getting ready for bed. She braids her long black hair and makes sure her nose piercings and earrings are still in place before grabbing her toothbrush and toothpaste.

“Go ahead, I want to put my feet into the lake,” I take a flashlight and blanket with me to the shore, it’s early summer so my sweatpants and old t-shirt should keep me warm enough.

“Okay, see you in a bit,” she calls out to me and I simply grin back and make my trek down to the water that laps gently at the sandy shore.

I sit near the water, taking my shoes off and letting my feet soak in the cool water while admiring the brightness of the stars, full moon, and how tranquil nature can be. Just as I close my eyes, I hear an agitation in the water. I open my eyes to be met with one lilac eye and a…gem? I fall back after making a startled gasp.

“What the hell?!” I study the figure in front of me. Long, pin straight, silver hair that practically glows in the moonlight. A piercing lilac eye and a sapphire in place of the other eye. As the figure lifts itself out of the water more and more, I notice that what I’m looking at is not human. I scramble to my feet and back away, studying the…thing in front of me that has a very apparent midnight black tail and a dorsal fin on his back.

“Did I drink too much? I’m hallucinating, right? Merpeople aren’t real, maybe I’ve read ‘The Odyssey’ and other mythologies a few too many times,” I mumble to myself, mostly trying to convince myself that this isn’t real. I flinch, however, when the monster in front of me chuckles, his sharp teeth on display. They look as sharp as shark’s teeth, making a shiver go down my spine.

“Hm, smart human,” his voice is deep, smooth, and sultry.

“Now the hallucination is talking, great. Alys! Alys, we may have a problem-” I turn to run towards the campsite, but am stopped when a slick hand closes around my ankle and yanks me into the creature’s chest. My eyes widen, the creature is not a hallucination, I know this from his cold skin touching my back. His skin is wet, cold, and I can feel patches of scales while the majority of his chest is made up of soft and smooth skin. Right as I’m about to scream the monster tugs me closer to him and puts his free hand over my mouth.

“Sh, humans certainly are loud,” his mouth is so close to my ear, I can feel his breath drift from the shell of my ear to the side of my neck.

“But you smell so perfect,” he mutters and if I wasn’t panicking before I am now.

“Please don’t eat me! I swear I won’t taste good!” I managed to spit out from behind his fingers.

“Eat you?” He chuckles, which should probably make me less nervous, as the words imply that he won’t be eating me, but it only makes me more anxious.

“Hmm, no. I wouldn’t be a good mate if I ate you, now would I?”

“Mate? As in, like, friend?” I ask nervously, hopefully, after he removes his hand from my mouth.

“No.”

“Well I don’t know any other kind of mate-”

“Humans, so smart yet so stupid,” the creature growls.

“Well then, explain it to the ‘stupid human’, will you?!” I make my own snide remark, though my voice still shakes slightly with fear. He hums thoughtfully for a moment, turning my face slightly to the side so I can see him better. He traces my jawline and then my lips with his frighteningly sharp nails, reminiscent of talons. My eyes follow his nails as best as I can, fearing he might cut me.

“You smell like you are my mate, and my mate must be an intelligent one. So, figure it out, darling. I’ve given you enough clues,” I can’t think for a moment, I’m so scared that nothing enters my brain. Then everything floods the gates of my brain. Mate: associate or companion, match or peer; (transitive verb) equal, match, or couple. Couple…as in copulation? Well shit.

“You can’t be talking about the animal kind of mate…right?”

“Very good, the gods chose you well for me,” his grin is unnerving, partially due to the sharp teeth he has on display, but also because of a certain glint in his eye. It’s dark, sinful and full of lust.

“Sirens may live long lives, but heirs come approximately once every fifty or so years. We have certain years in our prime when we are more likely to produce heirs. When the time nears, we hunger for our mate. Our bodies will connect with the mate chosen for us by the gods, and it would seem that you are my chosen mate,” the creature explains while dragging me more into the water. No matter how much I kick and fight against him, his grip is unrelenting.

“But I’m a human! We can’t mate!” The water is to my waist now, my sweatpants are soaked and it looks as though I won’t be able to escape his grasp anytime soon.

“It matters not, I know sea witches capable enough to turn you into a mermaid or siren. Now, say goodbye to land, your feet will never touch dry land again.”

I look at him, confused.

“This is a lake, where are we going?”

“Oh, what a cute human I have. There are tunnels that connect this lake and a few others to the ocean,” he coos and explains while I frown, that shouldn’t be possible. Even if it is possible, humans have done enough exploring around here to have known about that.

“It’s well hidden and guarded, humans would not have found it and lived.”

“Take me back, or I will scream. My friend will get help before you can take me out to sea,” it’s somewhat of a bluff, and apparently a poor one as the creature doesn’t stop his movements of swimming us both farther from the shore. I take in a deep breath, ready to scream, when he slaps a hand over my mouth.

“Scream, and I’ll sing so that friend of yours drowns in front of you, and it would be your fault,” he threatens and I immediately stop, not wanting Alys to get hurt.

“Good girl, that’s my mate. You have some common sense after all, my darling,” he coos into my ear. He finally takes his hand from my mouth after not-so-playfully nibbling on my neck. A small squeak makes its way out of me before I can quell it. I feel his smirk on my skin before he kisses the spot he just nibbled on.

“What do I call you, my sweet nymph?” His velvety smooth voice is so close to my ear. I tell him my name and he hums.

“My name is Aemond, though I wouldn’t mind if you call me your mate or…mm, no. I can’t wait to hear you scream my name over and over again until it’s all you know.” He moves me quickly so that my chest is pressed against his before he finally drags the both of us beneath the water.

Cold water envelops my body and my squirming body’s movements are halted by Aemond's arms wrapping themselves tightly around me. I try to hold my breath for as long as I can, but he had given me no warning before dunking us beneath the murky water.

In only seconds, although it feels more like hours, I run out of air. Aemond is close enough so that I can see his wicked smirk even in the dark water. The bastard can see that I’ve run out of air! He’s practically reveling in it! My eyes shut after a moment, my lungs burn, and I’m choking on water. I don’t want to die like this.

Only a second after I close my eyes, I feel cold lips claim mine. My jaw is forcibly opened and air is pushed into my mouth. I suck in the air, allowing him to pull me closer.

I feel my shirt ripped off of my body.

I feel my bra get unhooked and forced off of me.

I feel him tear off every article of clothing that remained on me.

His claws feel every inch of my skin.

It almost feels like he is worshiping every freckle, stretch mark, bump, beauty mark, and scar. His hands draw circles and other shapes into my skin as I can do nothing but breathe in the air he is giving me. His finger circles my sensitive pearl like a shark does its prey. I try not to gasp too much, as I’m still relying on him for oxygen.

Relying on him for oxygen. I hate this. I hate that he’s forcing me to rely on him to do something as simple as breathing. But most of all, I despise how good he’s making me feel. It feels like there's an electric current running through me, from the tip of my fingers to my toes. His tongue darts into my mouth and I feel my tongue caressing his.

His touch leaves me breathless, his lips starting a fire in me. He swallows my moans when his fingers leave my pearl alone and start to pump in and out of me. My walls pulsate around his pointer and middle finger while one of my own fingers travels down to rub circles on my clit. I don’t know which of us breaks the kiss, but suddenly my head is tilted back and his lips are around my left nipple. A moan is drawn out of me and I regret that as soon as I accidentally breathe in water. I barely notice Aemond chuckling while I panic, needing oxygen. The panic breaks whatever spell like trance I was under and I am back to clawing at him, desperate for air. I see him roll his eye before flicking his tail and taking us above water.

I cough and gasp, not being able to get enough air into my burning lunge. As I am focused on breathing, I vaguely feel the sensation of Aemond’s hands wrapping my bare legs around his waist, where scales meet skin. I hadn’t even noticed him gliding us through the water until my back met the cool sensation of a rock. I look around me, now noticing we are in a small cave. The cave is about ten feet wide, but there is air and that is all that matters to me at the moment.

Then I feel it. The sensation of being speared open by Aemond.

It burns at first, as it would if you aren’t prepared well enough.

“You can take it,” he grunts as he continues to enter me inch by inch. When he finally sheaths himself all the way in he stills his movements, allowing me to breathe and for my body to become accustomed to him. In the meantime, he places hot kisses down my neck, to my shoulder, and back up my neck.

“Ready, little nymph?” I gaze into his lilac orb and sapphire in place of his other eye and give a short nod. He moves slowly but is so deep in me, that it feels euphoric. His lips meet mine again and I melt into the kiss. I can’t hold back anymore, can’t hold back the pleasure. Aemond feels so right, so perfect. It really does feel like he’s a match made for me by the gods. Our lips break apart and he dives his head into my chest, giving sloppy kisses down the slope of my breasts before stopping at my right mound. I throw my head back in ecstasy when I feel myself about to fall over the edge.

“Come for me. Let go and feel my love for you,” he moans after lifting his head from my breast. His lips let go of my nipple with a wet pop, before he moves his head down to the other nipple to give it the same treatment.

And I do, I fall right over the edge for what feels like an eternity. All I see is white, I can hear nothing but the blood rushing to my head. I can’t tell if I’m moaning or screaming his name, I only vaguely feel my mouth moving and the vibrations in my throat. When I come down from my high, I see him falling from his own high. Then I feel his essence deep in me, dripping out of me like honey when his member leaves my hot cavern.

“Such a perfect mate,” Aemond breathes out, tugging me into his chest as his arms wrap around me.

“I can’t wait to see you with our heir.”

Author’s note: to anyone reading this: hi! It’s been a while and I’ve really missed writing so hopefully I’ll start posting more 🤷‍♀️ BUT in honor of Halloween and monstober, I really wanted to post this fic. Also, I’m gonna be so real, this is the first time I’ve ever written smut. so if anyone has any tips or feedback for me, I’d love to hear it! Thanks for reading this far, I really hope you have a great day! And HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!🎃

[evie-sturns]

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ - ᴍᴀᴛᴛ ꜱᴛᴜʀɴɪᴏʟᴏ

(part 3) (part 2) (part 1)

summary: you and your best-friend matt, have decided to sign up to be a summer camp counsellor for your school's summer project! will you two stay as just friends? or will this summer turn out different for you guys.

a/n: glad you guys are liking this series, this part is smutty af, but i like it, i might be wrong but i think this is a little shorter than part 1 and 2.

contains: SMUT! fluff, making out, swearing.

—------------╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝------------——

he pulls away slowly as his phone lights up, he scrolls through it before letting out a soft laugh "no way" he scoffs, rubbing his eyes. "tonight were sleeping in the kids hall, like me and you, supervising.."

"you're kidding matt"

"nope, apparently theres a small cabin that connects off the kids hall, its got 1 bed that we share" he laughs

my cheeks flush, sharing a bed with matt, after this?..

-

after my makeout session with my bestfriend ,matt, we both went back to our own cabins, packing certain things to prepare for sleeping next to the kids sleeping-hall.

"xaiveerrr!" i yell, swinging the door to our cabin, hes sitting comfortably on his bed, still wearing his swimshorts as he scrolls through his phone. "y/n! i was waiting for you to come back to the lake?" he says, slightly confused.

"oh i just went into the kayak shed with matt." i smile, trying to wipe the blush off my face.

he raises an eyebrow "why'd you go in there? you totally abandoned me, i had to try make friends with fucking lincoln, hes weird as fuck.."

my mind scrambles, trying to think of a believable excuse for why i disappeared with matt into a dark shed for 25 minutes. i open my mouth, nothing comes out.

silence grows in me and xaivers shared cabin before he interrupts "no way, you kissed matt!?" he laughs, i slam my hand over his mouth "ew no what the hell!" i say defensivley.

"you're getting defenssiiivveee" he teases, my face goes cherry red. "we didn't do anything xaiver." i mutter, walking over and packing my toothbrush and pyjamas in a small tote bag.

"oh girl, i know you're not moving out right now, i was kidding!!!" he says, staring at me while i pack everything i need for a night.

"im not moving out, me and matt have to spend the night in the kids hall."

he gasps "oh my god, its luxury in there, i heard paige and dani were in there the other night, the cabin which you guys stay in is relativly close to the kids hall, so you're not actually in with the kids, its just a private room near it." xaiver says.

"oh thank god, though id have to sleep in a bunk in the middle of the kids hall." i sigh, throwing my tote bag over my shoulder, hugging xaiver goodbye.

"don't have too much fun with matt" he whispers, resulting in me slapping his arm "shut up."

-

I walk down the long gravel path towards matts cabin, its got a small sign outside which reads, 'MATT & LINCOLN' i walk up to their cabin, knocking twice. matt swings open the door, hes got a toothbrush in hand.

"where the fuck is your bag" i laugh.

"bag?" he questions

"yeah? overnight bag, like pyjamas, toothbruhs, face wash..."

his face stays deadpan "oh uh, this is all i need." he laughs pointing to the toothbrush.

"doesn't matter, lets go." i say unlocking my phone and reading the time 7:34pm

matt subtly holds my hand as we approach the kids hall, theres a small cabin about 20 meters away from it, "theres our room!" he says, walking me over to it and swinging open the door, theres one double bed with a book of rules on it. i place my bag down on the bed as matt flicks through the book

"all the campers must be in bed by 9pm, uhh, any complications call jessie in the main office.." he trails off "seems easy enough."

after a few minutes of unpacking matt grabs my hand again, my heartrate increases as he stares into my eyes, "c'mon, lets go check out the kids hall." he says before letting my hand go and walking out into the evening air.

we walk up the stairs to the kids hall, opening the double doors.

theres about 100 bunk beds, with around 200 hundred kids scattered across the room, wall diveders in some parts so its not just an open room, a group of kids are doing gymnastics, another couple are reading, its chaotic but controlled.

i look up at matt, he seems slightly overwhelmed.

instantly three six year old girls run up to us,

"are you guys boyfriend girlfriennddd!" one of them says, smiling up at me and matt. another group of slightly older girls come up to me, "can we braid your hair?"

i look at matt, hes smiling at me, a small blush painted on his cheeks, "yeah sure!" i say as one of the nine year olds pulls me towards her bunk bed, sitting me and matt down.

she giggles as she pulls out two hairbands, tying up matt's hair into pigtails above his head. matt rubs his eyes, as they start placing bows in his hair. "looking good matt" i say, nudging his arm.

-

i check my watch again, 8:55pm

shit.

i stand up from her bunk bed, my hair decked out in glitter hairspray.

i drag matt away from his makeover, "hey, we're just getting to the good part!" matt whines, "matt we have 5 minutes to have 200 kids asleep." i say, stressed, running my hand through my crispy hair.

"you guys have to be in bed in 5 minutes guys! whoever falls asleep first gets a candy!" i yell from the middle of the hall, instantly all the kids leap into bed, screaming as they gather their stuffed animals.

the whole room goes silent, apart from a few whispers, i look at matt whos got a suprised expression spread across his face. i grab his hand before walking towards the door, flicking off the light and stepping out into the night breeze.

we approach our small cabin for the night, matt opens the door, pulling me inside and locking the wooden door behind us.

"we should finish what we started earlier." he mumbles, looking down at me in the dimly lit cabin.

"what?" i whisper, but im cut off by his hand on the side of my cheek, he leans down, pulling me into a gentle kiss.

"we can't matt." i say pulling away.

"why not, you scared?" he teases.

"anyone can walk in or hear us, the walls are paper thin." i sigh.

"who said we have to do it in here?" matt says seductively

"im not fucking you in a public bathroom, thats gross." i sigh, walking over and grabbing my toothbrush.

"come with me." matt whispers, taking my hand and unlocking the door to the cabin. he grips onto my hand as he runs towards the trees, he picks me up, taking me into the garland until theres a patch of soft grass.

he waits for me to say something.

"i think i need you.." i mumble as he lays me on the grass on my back.

"tell me what you want me to do to you baby." he whispers, grabbing the inside of my thigh.

"fuck.. please fuck me." i whisper shakily.

i pull my tanktop off over my head, to his suprise i have no bra on underneath. my nipples instantly become hard as the breeze hits them. i pull down my pyjama shorts, leaving me revealed for him

"its gonna be okay baby, just tell me when." matt says, pulling his sweatpants down.

his length springs out, tapping his stomach lightly.

"oh my fuck-" i groan, throwing my head back as he kneels between my legs, lining himself up with my entrance "you gotta be nice and quiet for me, can you do that for me?" he says, holding my hand.

he slowly pushes inside of me, his length stretching me out, i wince. "breathe." matt says, "look at me sweetheart." he mumbles as he thrusts deeper inside of me, my eyes stay sealed shut. "watch me baby or i'll stop."

he pulls out to his tip, then thrusts back in "taking me so well."

i let out a loud moan, "shut up, and take it." he says slamming a hand over my mouth. his thrusts intenseify, my moans are muffled by his palm. "im gonna fuck-" i groan, "hold it for me." he says, continuing to fuck me. without warning i clench around him, letting myself go.

he abrubtly pulls out, stroking himself a few times as he whimpers, realeasing all over my stomach before collapsing down beside me.

"im so proud of you." he whispers shakily as he pulls up his sweatpants. he hands me my shorts as he stands up, pulling me onto my feet as my legs tremble. "you okay?" he looks down at me, concern spread across his face.

"mmfgh." i mumble out, still processing what just happened, matt chuckles before picking me up and running us back to the cabin.

(the next morning)

I wake up to the godawful sound of dani's voice, i open my eyes slowly looking at her as she looks down at the bed, her arms folded.

i tap matt, forcing him awake. he groans as he yawns, his eyes springing open. his face drops as he sees danielle.

"saw you two last night." she says, her arms folded.

my stomach drops.

"jessie wants you two in her office, such a shame that you have to go home so early, you were only here for such a small amount of time! guess someone didn't read the no romance between staff rule.." she tuts.

"god, i feel soo sorry for you guys, also gonna fail business class cause you couldn't even keep a job here." she says in a fake sympathetic tone.

tears well in my eyes, threatening to fall.

"oh well, go on get dressed and pack your bags, better to be prepared before you see jessie." she sighs before walking out of our cabin.

—------------╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝------------——

taglist which i forgot earlier

@iammattsturniolo @iloveneilperry @tatumrileyslover @chrisstopherfilmed

@leprechaunbirthdaygirl

not too sure wtf just happened none of it workin

[cheriecelestial]

Ocean Eyes Pt.I

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ mild angst(?), not proofread

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Percy Jackson x Gojo fem!OC

synopsis *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ In which, fate leads an aspiring jujutsu sorcercer to discover her destiny as a half god in a camp for demigods.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Revamping an old series on a whim. And as my previous a/n read “based on this one dream i had and also cuz pjo was my first comfort series and jjk is my current one (only s1)” And as always

Comment, Like and Reblog ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth and try to lead a normal life. Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened. But if you recognize yourself in these pages - if you feel something stirring inside - stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Gojo Kanao—or Kanao Gojo, following Western naming conventions. I’m fourteen years old and raised in Tokyo, Japan. As the youngest member of the Gojo clan, niece of Gojo Satoru, and an aspiring sorcerer, my life was unfolding just as it should. Days were spent training and studying jujutsu, while nights were dedicated to assisting on missions—though only under supervision, since my uncle deemed me too young to go on missions alone but too old to remain entirely inexperienced with curses.

Everything was going smoothly until three weeks ago when my uncle received a call from an “old family friend”. Before I knew it, I was packing my bags to enroll in a so-called “summer camp” for “kids like me.” The irony of that statement isn’t lost on me—because aside from my uncle, I’m pretty much one of a kind. It’s not like every other generation produces a Six Eyes user blessed with Limitless. My existence is what many call an “anomaly in the world's power balance,” sparking endless debates among the higher-ups. Not that it bothers me anymore—especially since Uncle Satoru has no qualms about threatening to obliterate anyone who so much as looks at me the wrong way.

He took me in after my father passed away when I was four, and he was just eighteen. With my father gone, the Gojo clan was essentially reduced to just my uncle and me, as little was known about my birth mother. In fact, the first time my uncle even learned that he had both a sister-in-law and a niece—thanks to his absentee older brother—was when the so-called family friend showed up at the Gojo Clan’s doorstep, dragging along a drooling four-year-old with white pigtails.

As shocking as it must have been to suddenly become a single parent, my uncle—or as I call him, Satoru nii-san—adapted to the role with surprising ease. His reasoning? “The baby looks like a mini-me, and I vibe with that.” And, of course, in typical Satoru fashion, he never missed a chance to remind me and my also-adopted siblings, Megumi and Tsumiki Fushiguro, that “having you kids just adds to my dilf appeal.” This was inevitably followed by Megumi deadpanning, Tsumiki offering an awkward smile, and me audibly gagging. Needless to say, he’s nowhere near as beloved—or as tolerable—as he seems to think he is.

“How could you do this to me?” I mumbled, my eyes following the blurred silhouettes of trees rushing past the car window. The only response I got was a string of barely audible curses— pathetic, really.

After countless fights, screaming matches, tears, scratches, and even a few failed escape attempts, I had ultimately been forced to attend this so-called camp. My uncle’s whimsical descriptions—strawberry fields, flying horses, Greek gods, and half-goat people—were enough for Megumi to call absolute bullshit. But as much as I hated to admit it, I knew it was real. After all, it was where I had spent the first four years of my life.

“Nyao-chan, this is the 30th time you’ve said that in the past fifteen hours of flight time. Do better.”

I didn’t even need to look—I could feel nii-san rolling his eyes from the front seat.

“Toru-nii, don’t call me that,” I hissed, turning away with a dramatic hmph, hoping—just maybe—that a shred of guilt would creep into his conscience.

I remembered that place well, and it wasn’t exactly unpleasant. Under different circumstances, I might have even enjoyed visiting. But he refused to acknowledge how much this would derail my progress as a sorcerer. Instead, he’d brushed off my concerns with, “Your development as a demigod is just as fundamental to your growth as your development as a sorcerer. Take it as a learning experience. Have fun. And for the love of god, make some friends that aren’t the Fushiguros or your creepy pet snake.”

Yeah. Like that would end well.

The last time I tried socializing, some boy called me a brat, and I instinctively activated my cursed technique—for the first time ever—in an attempt to kill him. A stunning breakthrough, sure, but not exactly a great first impression. Fortunately for them, the whole incident was ultimately brushed off with an ‘all’s well that ends well’ verdict.

I, on the other hand, walked away from that disaster with a solid 2-star rating. Would not recommend.

“I mean, considering how much you love small spaces, scratching, and hissing, you might as well be one,” he teased. “But hey, cheer up! You’re going to see your Chiron-sensei and Dino oji-san again. Won’t that be fun? All those childhood memories flooding back. Plus, I hear summer camps are really fun.” The exaggerated emphasis on those names made me cringe internally.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized my so-called Dino-oji-san was actually Dionysus, the Greek god of wine. I could only imagine what he must have felt, holding a toddler in his lap while she gleefully butchered his name to suit her convenience. The sheer secondhand embarrassment of the memory made me even less willing to go.

“What kind of summer camp runs in November ?” I shot back, earning an exasperated sigh from him.

Our satyr chauffeur casually mentioned that we were fifteen minutes away from camp. At that point, turning back wasn’t even an option. As the car sped along the winding road, I sank deeper into my seat, arms crossed, scowling at the window like a kid being dragged to school. My fingers drummed against my knee—an unconscious habit I had picked up from nii-san, though I’d rather die than admit it.

"You’re pouting," he pointed out, amusement lacing his voice.

"I’m brooding," I corrected, turning to glare at him. "There’s a difference."

He only grinned. "Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that, Nyao-chan."

I clenched my fists. "Stop. Calling. Me. That."

Before I knew it, the car came to a screeching halt in the middle of the road. There was nothing ahead but an empty stretch of asphalt, surrounded by dense vegetation on either side. “What happened ?” I asked, leaning forward.

The satyr turned to me and blinked. That’s when I realized I had spoken in Japanese instead of English. With the exception of my struggles with dyslexia, English had been fairly easy to learn—I credited Satoru-nii’s obsession with Friends and Britney Spears for that. But learning in general had always come naturally to me. I never had to try too hard to pick up a skill, something that both puzzled and frustrated others. Even I didn’t fully understand it. Apparently, it was a trait of a true Gojo—being godly perfect. That applied to everything except my cursed energy technique. At some point, I had hit a plateau, no matter what method I tried. My growth had stalled. Maybe that’s why he was sending me here.

“She meant, why did we stop?” Nii-san asked, his tone laced with amusement.

“We’re here,” the satyr replied simply. 

I glanced around in confusion. I saw nothing. Then, without a hint of urgency, the satyr stepped out of the car, gesturing for us to follow. With luggage in hand and no better options, we did. As we walked, the dense vegetation seemed to part before us, revealing a familiar yet distant world. My stomach twisted as a rush of forgotten memories threatened to surface—the scent of strawberries in the air, the distant sound of laughter, a warm voice calling my name.

I shook my head. No. That was then. This is now.

I let out a slow breath, steeling myself. Nii-san, of course, was already opening the door, stepping out with his usual carefree swagger. I had no doubt he was about to make a grand spectacle of my arrival, much to my horror. 

“Alright, kiddo,” he said, stretching. “Time to make some demigod friends!”

I scowled. “ I’d rather be cursed.”

He smirked. “That can be arranged.”

I swallowed hard. This is really happening.

After a short hike through the woods, we arrived at a large stone arch. It was a mix of weathered wood and ancient stone, covered in cracks and patches of moss. Greek symbols were carved into the top, their edges worn with age. I stared at the inscription, and to my surprise, the letters began to shift. At first, I thought my dyslexia was acting up, but then I realized—the symbols were rearranging themselves, forming words in English. Within seconds, the inscription clearly read: CAMP HALFBLOOD

“You look surprised. What do you see, Kana ?” Nii-san asked, his eyes on me. I described what had just happened, and he smirked, muttering something under his breath. Curious, I reached out and extended my hand toward the arch. Much like a jujutsu curtain, my fingers passed effortlessly through the barrier, which emitted a faint blue glow upon contact.

“Nii-san, you try it,” I gestured for him to do the same.

He reached out, but the moment his hand touched the barrier, it resisted, pulsing as if rejecting him. A flicker of amusement crossed his face before he pulled back.

“This barrier is stronger than I expected,”he remarked to the satyr, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I'm impressed.” The satyr puffed up slightly at the praise, his hooves shifting in the dirt. “Well, of course. It keeps out unwanted guests,” he said pointedly, glancing at Nii-san, who only grinned in response.

“Nii-san, if you really wanted to break through, how long would it take?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. If you asked anyone to describe Gojo Satoru in a single word, it would undoubtedly be ‘strongest’. There wasn’t a barrier he couldn’t break or a curse he couldn’t exorcise—as long as he put in the effort. He tilted his head, considering it. “Hmmm… it’s strong, I’ll give it that. But we wouldn’t want to put an entire camp full of kids in danger, right?”

I shrugged, accepting that as a fair enough reason despite him not giving me a straight forward answer.

“From here on out, it's just her. No one else can go inside,” the satyr said. “Yeah, we got that,” Satoru-nii replied, clapping his hands with a bright smile. “Just give us two minutes, okay? You know I need a moment to say goodbye to my precious baby.” The satyr blinked, then silently stepped away, out of earshot. Satoru-nii cupped my face in his hands, his voice soft and trembling as if he were about to cry. I rolled my eyes at his theatrics. “You didn’t feel any guilt over the past few days, and now you’re crying?”

“It’s not that simple!” he protested, his lower lip quivering. “I know I have to let my baby bird leave the nest because it’s what’s best for you, but I—” His voice broke, and a pang of guilt hit me. I sighed and hugged him. “I’ll miss you too. But I’ll be fine.”

“Call me every day, you hear me? And make sure you eat well and get enough sleep. Oh my god, I sound like an old woman!” Gojo Satoru had a talent for completely ignoring the fact that Megumi, Tsumiki, and I technically had mothers —albeit either an absent or dead one—and acted like he was the one who’d carried us for nine months and given birth. But hey, who doesn’t appreciate a little extra coddling now and then?

“I can't believe you're leaving already.”

He chuckled, quickly shifting his tone to cover up the emotion in his voice. “What, you thought I’d stick around? I’d love to play the doting guardian, but this camp doesn’t exactly cater to ‘normal’ people like me.” He winked. “Besides, I’ve got my own life, you know.”

I scowled. “Debatable.”

The satyr cleared his throat. “We should get moving, Kanao. Chiron’s waiting.”

I rolled my eyes at the satyr before looking back at Nii-san. “But in any case, I’ll be just fine. Don’t worry.”

“I know. You'll be fine. Always. You'll be better than me, I know it.” Satoru nii-san’s voice softened, dropping into a low, almost wistful whisper. “Even though you're the best there is?” I asked, offering him a gentle smile. To that, he said something I didn’t expect. “You've inherited only my powers, I don't want you to inherit my tragedies too.”

His words left a bitter taste in my mouth. People often assumed that because he was the strongest, his life was easy. But it was people like him who suffered the most—so much so that sometimes, it made you wish you didn’t have power at all.

“And lastly,” he continued, as if the previous conversation had never happened, “don’t kill anyone. But if you do, get rid of the witnesses and call Nii-san first. Nii-san will take care of it.”

I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. First of all, shouldn’t he be teaching his kid to be nice to people? And second, why was he referring to himself in the third person?

“Shouldn't you be saying ‘don’t bully people and be nice’ or something?” I asked, though his advice wasn’t the first of its kind. My brother Megumi had a reputation for beating up people at school, but Nii-san never saw an issue with it. The people Megumi fought were rarely innocent, and besides, he never lost a fight—so no shame was brought to the family name.

“If there's anyone you think shouldn’t be alive, then they shouldn’t be. Just remember, the world’s your playground. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” he replied with complete conviction. One thing everyone knew about Gojo Satoru was that he was a firm believer in Gojo family supremacy—and he wasn’t wrong.

“Then what about those sleazy higher-ups?” I quipped, knowing full well what he was trying to do. I was aware of his grand plan to tear down the old order and build a new jujutsu world, which was the real reason he’d become a teacher. It was a vision I’d bought into the moment he showed me the dream of it. But for that dream to become a reality, I had to grow stronger. I needed to become more, become unstoppable. So, I’d gladly accept any wisdom the Greeks had to offer. By the time I was done here, I’d make sure I was the strongest demigod they’d ever laid their eyes on.

“All in due time Kana-chan.”

A/n: comment to be added into the taglist :)

[odyssean-flower]

The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 16 - Summer: A Homecoming

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: You go home to attend your sister's birthday party.

Note: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a pic of Neuvillette standing in wherever this is

Previous | Next

“The guesthouse has already been prepared for you, Monsieur Neuvillette. I hope it is to your standards. If you find anything lacking, please inform me or Mrs. Bernard immediately.”

“Thank you, madame, but considering the warm hospitality and consideration I have received from you and your family since I arrived here, I doubt that will be needed,” Neuvillette assured your mother, who seemed to blush at his words. 

“Oh...oh my, such kind words,” your mother stammered out, ignoring your pleading look. “W-well then, I shall take my leave now. Breakfast shall be served to you first thing in the morning. I wish you a very good night.”

With that, your mother left the room, closing the door behind her, which, in turn, locked you in with Neuvillette.

The two of you looked at each other in silence for a moment, neither of you knowing what to say in this unthinkable situation you somehow found yourself in.

“It appears that we are to share a bed for the night, Madame. I hope that doesn’t cause you any discomfort,” he said at last, though the furrow in his brow indicated that the question should have been asked to him instead.

“Yes. It appears so,” you nodded, trying to quell your flipping stomach. “It’s only for a night, though, so I, um, hope you can put up with me until then.”

“No, Madame, I should be the one requesting that of you,” he insisted. “I should apologize for the uncomfortable position I have put you in.”

You decided not to say anything more, lest you fall into a never-ending loop of apologies...again.

Neither of you moved from your spots. His gaze was uncharacteristically unfocused, looking at anywhere but you. Though you didn’t have the ability to read emotions like him, you knew exactly what he was thinking then. It was as though you were looking into a mirror.

How did things turn out this way?

Let us return to the beginning of the day...

While you didn’t expect fanfare or anything when you returned home, you didn’t expect the house to be completely empty.

Your father being away wasn’t a surprise. His favorite pastime was wandering the countryside and climbing the jagged mountains near the village with a zither or notebook under his arm. You just hoped he didn’t stumble into a hilichurl camp or something like last time. 

As for your mother and your sister Justine’s absence, it was soon explained with a letter given to you by your taciturn housekeeper, Mrs. Bernard.

Dear Sister,

I’m so sorry that I couldn’t welcome you back home! Dominic (do you remember him? He’s the viscount’s son I danced with) has invited me to a tour around Fontaine on those new flying machines for my birthday! He says he knows someone at the Institute and that they can lend it to him for the day. Mother is chaperoning us. 

Oh, by the way, I’ve decided not to have the usual garden party this year. We’re going to hold an evening ball at the assembly-hall! Since you so insist on us not celebrating or even mentioning your marriage in any way, this ball will serve as a stealth celebration for you as well (don’t worry, we didn’t tell anyone. But just to warn you, Mother isn’t happy about it). I know how you feel about balls, but I do hope you can enjoy yourself as well. It’s a shame that Monsieur Neuvillette can’t come, but I suppose it can’t be helped. Everyone in the village is invited, and they’re all really excited. It’s been so long since we’ve had a large party like this, after all. Dominic says that he’ll invite some of his friends too. Anne, unfortunately, can’t attend as she’s busy with her babies.

I’ll be back around late afternoon, and I expect to hear all about Monsieur Neuvillette from you (I still can’t believe he’s part of our family now!!!!)

Love, Justine

“A flying tour...and a ball?” you said incredulously as you finished reading the letter. “I don’t think I had that much energy when I was her age.”

Still, you were happy that she was having a grand birthday celebration. Even if you had mixed feelings about a ball. Well, I suppose it’s fine if it’s just a village ball, you told yourself. If worst comes to worst, I can volunteer to play the role of musician all night. 

Indeed, you shouldn’t let your personal feelings cloud such a happy event. Even you enjoyed listening to the music, watching others dance, and eating the refreshments. Though, it was a shame that Anne, your best friend, couldn’t be there, as you hadn’t seen each other in ages. 

Neuvillette’s dodged a bullet by having to be in court today, you wryly mused to yourself. He frequently received invitations to balls and dinners, but almost always declined them. 

“The guest list is here, Madame Neuvillette,” Mrs. Bernard said, handing you a list of names. As your sister had written, all the families in the village were invited, and almost all of them accepted. The unfamiliar names, you assumed, were Dominic’s friends. 

“That’s a lot of guests. Did Mother hire any help for you?” you inquired as you followed Mrs. Bernard into the kitchen. Your family only had one housekeeper, but sometimes temporary help was hired from the village when it was needed. “Oh, and you don’t have to call me Madame Neuvillette, you know.”

“I am merely calling you by your proper title, Madame,” Mrs. Bernard said, unsmiling. You could count the number of times you saw her show emotion on one hand. “And no, several of your mother’s friends have offered to help prepare the refreshments. I am only baking the birthday cake and Conch Madeleines.”

“How far have you gotten with the cake?” you asked, rolling your sleeves up and putting on an apron. You usually helped with the measurements and the mixing, as Mrs. Bernard’s eyesight had worsened slightly over the years. 

The housekeeper stopped and gave you a look. “What?” you frowned.

“The wife of the Chief Justice has no place in a kitchen, especially after a long trip. I would advise you to rest in your room until the night’s entertainments.”

“Oh, come on, Mrs. Bernard, I’m not too good for kitchen work now just because I’m married to someone important. And you know how things are with our family. We need all the help we can get.” 

It wasn’t uncommon for members of the rural nobility to do work that their urban compatriots wouldn’t even deign to do, particularly if they lived on a meager income like yours did. You had grown up accustomed to mending your own clothes and helping with meal preparation.

“It is because I know our circumstances that I cannot approve of you helping me,” Mrs. Bernard replied curtly. Suddenly, her expression turned stormy. “Are you running into any issues with the staff at Monsieur Neuvillette’s household?”

“No, no, not at all,” you said, waving your hands in denial. Mrs. Bernard had been working for your family since your grandfather’s time, when there was still wealth and a fully staffed household, so she remembered a time when young ladies of the family didn’t need to lift a finger for anything except to ring the bell to summon a servant. “I’ve never run into any trouble there. Everything’s being done for me.”

It was the truth. In the beginning, you had tried to help out with the cooking and cleaning, but was firmly turned down every time. “You are here as Monsieur Neuvillette’s wife, not a tenant,” Marie had said. “He would be greatly aggrieved to hear that you feel obliged to do chores in his household.” Personally, you didn’t really understand the problem. You weren’t actually his wife and it wasn’t an obligation to help out in the house that you lived in. To go even further, you thought he ought to hire more staff if he were to live in a house of that size, even if he didn’t dwell there all that often. 

Come to think of it, there wasn’t much difference between the two households, particularly in the number of staff. But you decided that it was wiser to keep that to yourself.

“I’m glad to hear that. You must remember that you are of an old, noble bloodline and entitled to all the dignity and respect that entails,” Mrs. Bernard said, fixing you with a steely look. “Do not shrink yourself, even if your husband is the Iudex.”

“I know, I know,” you said, biting back your comments about all the good that a noble bloodline had done you. You knew Mrs. Bernard meant well, though a part of you shuddered at how she would react if she knew the truth behind your marriage. “I’ll be in my room, then.”

Mrs. Bernard nodded and turned back to the kitchen counter, which was fully taken up by mixing bowls and baking ingredients. You studied her stooped back and gray hair tied neatly in a bun. Had she gained more white hair since the last time you saw her?

You went upstairs with those uneasy thoughts in your mind. Mrs. Bernard had stayed loyal to your family even as family heirlooms and parts of the estate were sold to pay off debts, and servants quit in succession. In a wealthier family, she would probably be retired by now and settled comfortably in a cottage, receiving an annual income. 

If I were to truly comport myself with the dignity of a noble, then I would be giving money to my family to hire more servants, you thought as you gazed at a faded patch of wallpaper. An oil painting had once hung there, though you had no idea what the subject was or where it was now. The wall there had been bare ever since you could remember. At least one or two people to help in the kitchen and with the laundry, particularly now that Justine is out in society. Ah, come to think of it, she also needs a lady’s maid. And a footman... And... 

You did have money from Neuvillette, but it wasn’t enough to pay the yearly wages of a few servants.  You would have to ask Neuvillette for more. 

Wasn’t this the point of marrying rich? To help one’s family? If only this were a normal marriage, if only you weren’t married to the one person in Fontaine who you didn’t want to ask anything more of...

You shook your head, clearing the thoughts away like cobwebs. You had gotten into this marriage of your own accord and knew exactly what it was. It was pointless to have regrets about it now. 

Pushing open your bedroom door with more force than you intended, you breathed in the sweet-smelling air of your room. It was kept dusted and polished even after you moved out. Even the plants on your windowsill were watered. Seeing your familiar wooden writing desk and floral bedspread filled your heart with overpowering gladness, as though you were a weary traveler who had finally come home. 

Your bedroom was about half the size of Neuvillette’s guest room and didn’t have a window seat or its own bathroom, but it had always served as your sanctuary. If a room could be the embodiment of one’s soul, then this one would be yours. 

You went over to the window. The morning glory vines hanging from the eaves hadn’t been trimmed, so the visibility wasn’t good, but you always liked the way the vines framed the window. When you were younger, you pretended that it was the overgrown window in a crumbling castle. The house was practically covered in ivy and morning glory vines. It lent a wild and rustic appearance that you found charming, but your mother always complained about the “overgrown weeds.” 

I think Neuvillette’s house would also look lovely with a bit of greenery on the outside. Not excessively, of course, But a window box of flowers never hurt anyone, or perhaps a wisteria tree near the front door...

You turned to the tall bookcase that housed your carefully cultivated collection of books. Living in a small town far from the city meant that your means of buying new books was limited, but you made do. Your eyes drifted to the leather-bound spines occupying the middle shelf. Those were the albums and journals of your late teacher which she had bequeathed to you. She had more books, but they were donated to the school and local library. While you had brought your favorites with you to the city, you didn’t bring any of these with you out of fear of losing them. And because it still hurt too much to look at them.

But now... You ran a finger across their smooth, cracked spines. You hadn’t visited your teacher’s grave in a long time. You should find time to do it today. There are a lot of things I want to tell her about. 

Before that, you decided to take a little nap. The trip here had been rather taxing. You changed into a shift and closed the curtains on the blue sky beyond. It won’t be blue for long though. I hope it doesn’t rain during Justine’s tour.

The thought of rain reminded you of Neuvillette. He was probably still in the middle of a trial, as it hadn’t rained yet. You felt a little guilty, knowing that you promised to attend one of his trials. I’ll go to the next one for sure, you told yourself. I hope he doesn’t stand in the rain for too long. You had grown accustomed to the sight of him standing in the garden as rain fell upon him and readied towels for him whenever he came back indoors. He never talked about it, but you gathered that standing in the rain was soothing for him somehow. 

You climbed into bed and slipped under the covers, then stared up at the ceiling. Sleep wasn’t coming easily. 

Birdsong sounded outside the window. Faint shadows played on the wall opposite your bed. You could hear Mrs. Bernard moving around in the kitchen downstairs. Everything was so familiar and unchanged that you could almost fool yourself into believing that you had never left your village at all. The woman who had married the Iudex, petted a vishap’s snout, got attacked by a drunk at night (O Archons, how were you going to bring that up to your parents?), and spoke to the Hydro Archon, seemed to be someone else entirely. 

I feel like everything that happened in the past few months was a dream, and now I’m back to reality...

You could even sense the difference between your two lives in the bedding. The sheets in my room in the city are silkier and smell like detergent, while these sheets are more worn and stiffer, and smell like wildflowers...

You blinked at the intrusive thought. It would not do to compare. Or to grow accustomed to this, because it would all be over in the blink of an eye. The life that awaited you would be difficult, so it was better to prepare for it beforehand.

You tried to think about things that were more relevant to your future, like how you would advertise yourself or do some networking (perhaps you could ask Neuvillette to do some inquiring for you), but for some reason, your thoughts kept straying to other things. Like saving two slices of cake for Neuvillette and Marie. Marie would love the cake, and even though Neuvillette rarely ate sweets, you were sure he would enjoy it as well. It should be moist enough for him. The only question was, how were you going to keep the cakes fresh on the way home tomorrow? That reminds me, didn’t Neuvillette promise to take me to a restaurant? I hope he hasn’t forgotten about it. Well, he’s so busy these days that I wouldn’t be surprised if he had. Still, I was really looking forward to it...

A little voice in your head asked you if you were perhaps thinking about Neuvillette a little too much, but it was soon pulled under by a wave of drowsiness. 

“I hope you’re not going to hide away in the corner with the piano all night.”

You glanced up from the sheet music for a high-spirited country dance as Justine strode into the parlor. Her hair was up in curlers, and she was wearing her bathrobe and a facial mask. 

“Who else is going to play the music for all the dancing you and your friends are going to do? There’s no one as skilled on the piano as me in town, and no one else willing to take on the role of the musician all night.” 

You weren’t bragging. You had plenty of practice playing reels and jigs for Justine and her friends, who lived for dancing. Though, you had been a little rusty as of late, which was why you were warming up right now.

“Mr. Guillaume will be playing the violin, and Mrs. Allen has agreed to lend her harp. And Mother can take your place on the piano. You have to take a break at some point,” Justine leaned against the piano. “Just do one or two dances, please?”

“Oh, all right.” You supposed you could dance a cotillion or a longways set.

“You can practice with me, if you want. ...I doubt Monsieur Neuvillette danced much with you.”

“How do you know that?”

“It would have made the headlines of all the newspapers if he attended a ball with an unknown woman on his arm,” Justine said, as if it was obvious. Then, her face brightened. “Unless those secret evening balls the tabloids talk about are true...?”

“I wouldn’t know about that.” Though the thought of Neuvillette sneaking off at night to go dancing was rather amusing.

“Why wouldn’t you know? You’re his wife!”

“Well...just because two people are married, it doesn’t mean they have to know everything about each other,” you said. It occurred to you then that this was the perfect opportunity to “foreshadow” your eventual divorce. “To be honest, we don’t see each other all that often. His job keeps him very busy, you know, and he comes home very late. We live separate lives, and neither of us has much interest in each other. It’s not exactly the fairytale marriage you’re hoping for, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I know that,” Justine waved her hand. “There’s some kind of circumstance behind it, right?” Your expression must have been comical because she let out a snort of laughter. “Come on, my serious and level-headed sister suddenly getting married to the Iudex in a secret wedding within a week? You have to be an idiot not to see something’s up. I think Mother suspects it as well, but she’s choosing to ignore it.”

“I see...” Now you felt foolish. “Um...you must want to know--”

“I won’t pry. As long as he’s good to you and supports you in every way, then it doesn’t matter,” Justine peered at you closely. You were surprised. She had always been a romantic and, like your mother, devoured romance novels. “He is good to you, right? He’s not cold or neglectful? Everyone says he doesn’t like humans and is only kind to the Melusines. If he's cruel to you, then--”

“No!” you said, a little too quickly. Justine raised her eyebrow. You cleared your throat. “I mean, he’s been nothing but gentlemanly and considerate. He’s very kind and gentle--nothing at all like how he presents in court. I don’t think he hates humans at all. It’s just that he...keeps a distance from most people due to the nature of his work.”

You thought back to all the conversations you had with Neuvillette, and what you had observed of him. He simply didn’t give off the air of someone who hated humans. Would someone like that sit in the seat of the Chief Justice for centuries? 

But you couldn’t say he wholeheartedly loved them either. There was a deliberate distance there, but the reason for it was unknown to you.

“Mm-hmm,” Justine made a sound. She was grinning. You then realized that you had fallen into deep thought. “So, tell me more about my brother-in-law.”

“B-Brother-in-law?” you spluttered.

“Isn’t that what he is?”

“Well...yes, but...” It had only occurred to you then that Neuvillette was technically related to your family now. You had never gave it much thought before, so focused on other aspects of the marriage. You cleared your throat again. “What do you want to know? Just so you know, I don’t know his true identity or anything.”

“I don’t care about that! I want to know what living with him is like. He’s so mysterious, after all! Ooh, I don’t know how you can bear seeing that handsome face every single day!” Now she was sounding more like her old self.

You had a feeling that she would keep pestering you if you didn’t throw her a bone. What’s the harm in telling her a few things, you thought. Plus, you did kind of wanted to talk to someone about him. 

“You get used to it after a few months,” you started, and Justine leaned forward in rapt attention.

“So...he’s an old man, basically?” Justine said after you finished talking. You were currently in the kitchen, watching Mrs. Bernard icing the cake. The three-tiered butterscotch cake was decorated with pink and blue roses (“Didn’t I tell you? It’s to celebrate your wedding!” Justine answered when you asked about the blue roses) and looked every bit as delicious as something you’d see in the window displays of the fancy cake shops in the Court. 

“What...? How did you get to that conclusion?” you whirled around to her. Mrs. Bernard let out a quiet snort.

“According to you, he enjoys long, solitary walks by the water, has a preference for moist foods, and loves talking to his daughters and asking about their day. That sounds just like Old Man Julien,” Justine replied matter-of-factly. Old Man Julien was an elderly neighbor of yours who had no teeth. And he did enjoy long walks and chewable foods. 

“...No, it doesn’t,” you said, even as you inwardly thought that you might have inadvertently ruined Neuvillette’s image. Although, he is old...and a man...so she’s technically correct...wait, why am I thinking about this!? “So what? Is that a crime? Nothing wrong with having distinctive tastes, is there?”

“Never said there was,” Justine was still grinning. You turned away from her with a huff, and she hopped around to face you. “And Sister, you’re a terrible liar!”

“What do you mean?”

“You are interested in Monsieur Neuvillette! I’ve never seen you talk so much about someone who isn’t some musty old historical figure!” Justine clapped her hands together.

“And smiling at that,” Mrs. Bernard added. You didn’t recall smiling. 

“That’s because he’s an interesting person. Like you said, he’s mysterious. No one knows what he is or where he came from. And he’s hundreds of years old, and...” Realizing that you sounded far too defensive, you clamped your lips shut. 

“Oh, Sister, you should just be honest with yourself,” Justine shook her head.

“I do not know what you are talking about. I did not lie about a single thing. And you should watch how you speak about your brother-in-law.”

“I know, I know... Ooh, I have an idea. Let me do your makeup! And then I’ll take pictures and send them to my brother-in-law, and then he’ll be so awestruck by your beauty that he’ll be eager to take you to balls every night!”

“Please don’t do that. It’s a secret marriage, remember?” you reminded her as she dragged you upstairs.

But she wasn’t listening to you as she chattered to herself. “...And then I’ll tie blue ribbons into your hair, to match those blue things in his hair.”

“Actually, those are horns,” you couldn’t help but correct her.

“They are!? ...I bet he let you touch them, didn’t he?” 

You suppressed a groan. You were beginning to regret telling her anything at all.

I hope Neuvillette’s having a more relaxing time than me, you thought.

Previous | Next

Taglist:@just-simping-over-genshin, @xalphafox, @jqnehr, @favficdump, @thetwinkims, @cielclassy, @the-mxs-of-many, @mxyarylla, @lynettezz, @rosedpetal, @blue-sapphire-ink, @cringeycookies, @cherie-soup, @rilllvri, @anyaeuh

[changbunnies]

Piece of a Puzzle (18+)

♡ Pairing: Duke’s Son!Seungmin x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: royal au, fake dating, angst, fluff, love triangle, best friends to fake lovers to real lovers, so much pining from seungmin, slow burn-ish?, eventual smut

♡ Word Count: 20.6k (lmao it was not supposed to be this long...)

♡ Summary: For as long as Seungmin can remember, he’s been in love with you; and for as long as he can remember, you’ve been in love with Hyunjin. Desperate for Hyunjin to see you as a woman and no longer as a best friend or metaphorical sister, you ask Seungmin to pretend to be your boyfriend to make him jealous- you have nothing to lose, and nothing could go wrong! At least, that’s what you both think until your fake relationship with Seungmin begins to reveal feelings for you that he wanted to keep buried, and feelings in you that you didn't realize you had.

♡ Warnings: i know some people hate love triangles so if that is you then this fic is not for you i am sorry gsddgfd, i also wouldn't read this if you're not okay with characters who make mistakes and act selfishly lol, seungmin says mean things but it's all in the spirit of teasing and banter and he is not actually a mean person i promise, mentions of falling in freezing water, being sick + taking medicine, and reader makes 1 joke about killing seungmin.

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): virgin reader + virgin seungmin, loss of virginity, no intended d/s dynamics but reader is usually the one taking the lead lol, lots of kissing per usual, handjob, nipple play, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: it took me forever to come back to this series but the next member to get their royal au fic is seungmin <3 unlike my previous royal au fics, this one is in a modern setting which i hope makes for a fun dynamic and is a good change of pace from my other aus ! 

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

If you were to ask Seungmin what his favorite thing about having two best friends was, it would've been how special it was to be a trio. You, Seungmin, Hyunjin– the three of you inseparable since you were babies, spending hours giving the attendants and guards watching over you trouble, getting into snowball fights in the winter and camping out in the gardens during the summer.

Countless days spent splashing around in the lakes and ponds near your estates and coming back with muddied feet, making messes in the kitchens when you disastrously tried to figure out how to bake a cake for your upcoming birthday, and giggling to each other even as your elders got red in the face from scolding you.

It was perfect, really– the happiest days of Seungmin's life, all spent in carefree bliss.. until you all started to get older. It was all so mindless when you were children; all Seungmin ever really comprehended back then was that you were all of similar age, and becoming friends was a natural and perfect arrangement thanks to your parents (who Seungmin realized were all important people, though he was too young at the time to understand why or how.)

You, the princess in the east, Hyunjin, the prince in the west, and Seungmin, the duke's son born in the middle of both territories, whose father allied himself to both nations and was a revered peacekeeper.

He can still remember fondly the nights before it all became so different; when you'd have guard sanctioned sleepovers in the ballroom, how you'd run and splash in the rain, your laughter carrying even as the three of you became soaked and eventually scolded for dripping water onto the pristine castle floors.

You'd slip out of royal events to go hangout together on the balconies, in the library, or anywhere really, as long as it wasn't full to the brim with your pretentious elders talking politics and future marriage.

But Seungmin made the mistake of falling in love with you, and you fell in love with Hyunjin, and that's where it all falls apart.

The situation is dramatic, you're dramatic– the way you whine and flail on the bed, claims of how you'll "just die" if Hyunjin doesn't finally realize you're the woman of his dreams. Seungmin sits across from you on your chaise near the balcony of your extravagant bedroom, trying not to react too strongly one way or the other. As the only person you can confide in on this topic, Seungmin is used to hearing you pour your heart out to him about Hyunjin.

He likes to think he's used to it, anyways; that it doesn't hurt anymore because he simply doesn't let it, but any outsider looking in would be able to tell that isn't true. His smile falters, his bright eyes dull, his heart sinks to the pit of his stomach– because you will never love him with the same intensity you love Hyunjin.

But it's been this way for years now; you are hopelessly in love with the prince of the neighboring country, while Seungmin is tragically in love with you. He really should just get over it already.

You've gone on and on and on about how Hyunjin is the ideal man– beautiful, educated, kind, dependable, artistic; everything Seungmin feels he cannot compare to. It's so pathetic, he feels pathetic; he never even put much thought on being of equal standing to the two of you until you started confiding in him about your feelings for Hyunjin, pouring out your heart and simultaneously breaking his with each new admission.

Seungmin himself didn't even realize how in love with you he was until he was firmly faced with rejection; and it's almost funny how he's rejected before he can even try.

"I just want him to like, finally see me as a woman, y'know? I'm not the little girl you guys grew up with anymore!" you wail before shoving your face into one of your many pillows, huffing and whining in frustration as you kick your feet up and down.

Apparently, you have come to find out that Hyunjin still views you as more of a sister than a potential lover, and you've spent the entire afternoon whining as you try to think of what else you can possibly do to make Hyunjin see you differently.

Seungmin wishes he could do the same– make you see him differently, as someone other than the best friend, almost brotherly figure you grew up with. But it's not meant to be, and Hyunjin has already won the race for your affection without even realizing he was part of it.

"Stop being so dramatic," Seungmin complains half-heartedly, hoping you think his deadpan tone comes from just being mildly annoyed and not in fact utterly heartbroken.

You lift your head from the pillows and glare at him, but he just rolls his eyes before he lets his own head fall back against the cushion of the chaise, staring up at your impossibly pristine ceiling. "But we're a perfect match! He's a prince, I'm a princess, and I love him!" you whine, throwing one of your pillows at Seungmin when all he does is scoff instead of console you.

He throws the pillow back at you without even turning his head in your direction, and you throw it back harder than you did before, making him finally turn his gaze back in your direction. "Will you stop? Crybaby," Seungmin says, hoping to shift the conversation back to something that doesn't tear his heart to shreds. "Maybe he'd like you more if you weren't such a brat when you don't get your way."

"Seungmin!" your frown grows as you cross your arms, "do you have to be so mean to me when I'm literally heartbroken?" He has a point, that's true enough– you are acting a bit like a spoiled brat right now. But he could at least wait until later to call you out on it!

You don't understand why he's always so mean when it comes to your feelings about Hyunjin. It's his personality to tease and be playfully mean in his banter, but when your feelings for your other best friend are the topic it never feels like it's purely in jest.

"Look, I get that he and his family are starting to consider who he'll marry, but it's not like he's actually seeing anyone yet. I'm sure you still have time," Seungmin suggests after a frustrated sigh, and you huff, falling back to the pillows and staring up at your ceiling with yet another dramatic sigh. "Maybe you just don't get it because you've never been in love. The thought of losing him to someone else is.. painful.."

It's a moment of real vulnerability at the end, the pain and fear in your voice when the last words leave your lips evident. If only you knew he does understand all too well, faced with the very same reality every single day. You deal with your pain by complaining to Seungmin in overdramatic displays, while he bottles it all up and shoves it as deep inside his heart as it can go, hoping that he won't have to acknowledge the pain again until he's alone, in the safety of his bedroom where no one can see or hear him agonize over his unrequited love.

But like Seungmin said, there's still time.. Hyunjin and his family are looking over marriage prospects together, but at the end of the day the choice is entirely Hyunjin's, and surely there's something you can do before he starts going on dates and falls in love with someone else. You shoot up quickly, the apparent clarity zapping you with an idea. "You're a genius, Minnie! I don't have to wait for him to return my feelings at all, I can do something!"

"Uh... you're welcome..?" Seungmin sits back up and looks over at you, and he instantly regrets it. You're looking at him with puppy dog eyes, lip pouty and hands clamped together in what is clearly a plea for help. He's not even sure he wants to know what you're thinking of roping him into– whatever plan it is you're crafting, nothing good can come from it. Especially not when your plot is being conjured by pure emotional need.

"Seungmin.. Be my boyfriend, please! Help me make him jealous," you plea and his eyes instantly widen, mouth hanging open in complete shock. He and Hyunjin have had to talk you out of a lot of irrational acts during their time as your friend, but this takes the fucking cake. There's no way you are asking him to do this. "You can't be serious," he says after the initial shock passes and now you scramble to the edge of the bed, pout growing as you try to convince him.

"Seungmin, please–" "Absolutely not, no," he cuts you off and the desperate, heartbroken look he's met with shatters the already microscopic pieces of his heart into even smaller pieces– a feat he didn't even think possible. It's almost impressive how you manage to break his heart without even realizing it.

"Please, you know there's no one else I can ask," you plea, now completely off the bed and just inches in front of him, clasping his hands in yours. There it is– Seungmin, the consolation prize. Seungmin, the one you turn to simply because Hyunjin isn't available. Seungmin, who gets dragged into schemes like this because he just can't live with himself if he knows you're genuinely upset.

Your puppy eyes looking at him so pleadingly paired with your soft hands desperately clutching his is enough to make him melt. He swallows, averting his gaze from your pouting lips and glassy eyes, trying to stay firm in his sentiment. "It's a bad idea," he says, voice short and impossibly tense, "what will you do if it doesn't work? If he's just like.. a good friend, and supports us being happy together?"

"But what if he doesn't? C'mon Minnie, we at least have to try!" you push on, your hands squeezing his tighter. The fact that his statement doesn't seem to deter you at all somehow makes the pain in his chest even worse. Like there's no reality in which Seungmin is the viable love interest for you, like the possibility that Hyunjin would concede your heart to him couldn't ever be reality, like the idea isn't even worth entertaining.

"I.." He hesitates as he finally looks at you again, your face still impossibly close to his, the earnest desperation for him to help you with this stupid idea making his chest feel impossibly tight. Seungmin likes to think he's good at pretending to not have feelings for you, but he doesn't think he can do it while also pretending to be your boyfriend.

How is he supposed to be so close to you and pretend it was all empty acts and words when the night is over? He'll tell you he loves you and you'll think it's part of the act, praise him for being so committed to the bit for your sake, thank him for pretending so effectively. You'll take his heart in your hands and twist and bleed and crush it, and you won't even know you're doing it. "Please?" you try once more and his resolve utterly crumbles.

It's stupid how much power you have over him. It's stupid how he can't stand firm against what is very clearly a disastrous idea. It's stupid how he's going to willingly allow his heart to be trampled upon just to make you happy. "..Fine," Seungmin finally breathes out his answer, conceding without all that much of a fight in the end.

You happily squeal and wrap your arms around him in a tight hug, thanking him over and over again. And despite himself, Seungmin smiles– because even though he's going to suffer, at least you'll be happy because of him, even if it's only for a short while. "You're the best, Minnie! I love you!" you beam, eyes crinkling with pure joy that he's going to help you.

"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome," he says as he wraps his arms around you in return. It's a mistake, but if it's for you then isn't it a mistake worth making? And he has to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat when you told him you loved him, has to remind himself that you'll never mean it in the way he wants you to, that every show of affection from this point onward will all be part of an elaborate performance.

The first rule of every fake relationship: set expectations and make a plan.

That's exactly why Seungmin finds himself visiting your room again following his foolish promise to be your pretend boyfriend. You bounce up to him in delight when he enters your room following a knock on the door, and he wishes that your excitement was genuinely for him, and not because you were going to be using him to make your shared best friend jealous.

Seungmin doesn't even believe Hyunjin will be jealous in the first place; he's never expressed having a romantic interest in you, and he thinks Hyunjin would confide in him if he did. But then again, it's not like Seungmin has ever confessed his feelings over you to Hyunjin either.. And the possibility that Hyunjin does love you, but simply never brought it up in the same way that Seungmin hasn't fills him with dread.

If this stupid plan works, and Seungmin actually helps you two come together.. he wants to think he'll be happy for you two, but who is he kidding? He'll be fucking gutted.

"You look handsome today, boyfriend," you tell Seungmin happily, and he immediately freezes in place, hoping his expression is more incredulous than it is embarrassingly flushed red. What a way to be ripped out of his spiraling thoughts.

"Can you warn me next time you're about to say something stupid?" Seungmin tries to play it off as he takes his usual place on your chaise. "Sorry, just practicing," you follow up with a giggle, and he simply sighs as he watches you sit next to him. He's really gotten himself into trouble this time around, but it's too late to rescind his agreement to help your cause.

"I don't think most couples literally call each other 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' to their faces," Seungmin says, trying to smoothly ignore the 'handsome' part of your comment. It's superficial, you don't mean it, he already knows that; best not to let his mind dwell on a false hope of you one day meaning those words.

"Well duh, I already know that," you say as you roll your eyes, "I'm just getting into character!"

Ouch. You have to get into character to love him, huh? It's not like he's surprised to hear it, but it hurts all the same. "Can't be too sure with you, sheltered princess and all," he teases and you roll your eyes again. "I'm not that sheltered. And tv exists! I'll have you know romance is my favorite genre."

"Great, so you get all your knowledge on romance from tv? How promising," Seungmin continues and you shove him, though all he does in response is smile at you. "Whatever, it's not like you know what you're doing either. You've never even had a girlfriend," you say and for a moment you think Seungmin is going to shove you back, but he doesn't.

His hands rise and almost touch you, but he hesitates before ultimately lowering them back down to his lap. It's been that way since you started getting older, as if the days you'd play wrestle or sleep while hunched together or hold hands while skipping through the castle never happened. Thinking about it, he stopped doing things like that around the same time you brought up your feelings for Hyunjin.

You assume he was being considerate, trying to be hands off so Hyunjin didn't get the wrong idea, but.. You wonder why you didn't realize how much he's been keeping his distance from you and hesitating to touch you until now? (And in reality, he stopped touching you when he realized he had feelings for you, and not when you admitted you like Hyunjin, but he's never going to clarify that fact to you.)

The other day, when you clutched his hands in yours in a desperate plea, it was the first time you held hands since you were kids. That's a sad thought, for some reason.. Maybe part of you missed it more than you realized. Taking his hand in yours, you really allow yourself to experience it this time.

It's nostalgic, holding his hand; though Seungmin's hands are much bigger now than when you were kids, they feel the same. Warm, comforting, gentle. You wonder when the last time you did this was; you almost feel bad that you can't remember. You were once holding hands every single day and then you just.. stopped. You're not sure why the thought makes you as sad as it does; probably just the natural melancholy that comes with nostalgia, if you had to guess.

Seungmin awkwardly accepts your hold, looking at you curiously after he stops fidgeting his hand. "I kinda missed this," you admit, cheeks growing pink with the admission. You're not sure why saying it makes you blush– it's just Seungmin.

"Me too," he responds, his own face equally as pink, though he hopes you don't notice. He looks down at your hands, fingers laced together, and his heart stirs. Ignoring it, he looks back to you, expression nervous but entirely serious.

"So uh– your plan.. what exactly is it?" he asks, surprised when you answer immediately. Guess you put a lot of thought into it; because while your answer isn't rehearsed necessarily, it is confident. "Well, you got your invitation to the ball right? That's where we'll tell Hyunjin we're dating! It's the perfect setting."

"But you literally hate going to that thing– are we really going to go just for that?" The annual Hwang family ball is much more politics than it is dancing. Seungmin can't think of a single time you all attended and actually had fun without having to sneak away or cause a scene. At best it's boring and at worst you're spending the entire night being lectured on the future of your countries and how important it is to marry the right person for political power.

"Yeah, unless you have a better idea?" you frown as you look at Seungmin. He doesn't, unfortunately. He's not even sure he'd suggest it if he did have one, to be fair.

God, this is so stupid– he's stupid for agreeing to go along with this. Curse you and your ability to rope him into the worst things possible just by giving him a cute look.

And in the end, he easily accepts the plan; attend the ball, act like a lovey dovey couple, activate Hyunjin's underlying jealousy (that may not actually exist), and hopefully profit. In the meantime, you'll be "building credibility" by getting past all the awkwardness now, so that you can pass as a legit couple in front of Hyunjin when the time comes.

"You're really okay with this, right? It's okay to change your mind," you say with a compassionate squeeze to his hand. It takes Seungmin by surprise that you're actually considering his feelings– not to insinuate that you're entirely selfish or don't care about him, but you do tend to have a one track mind when it comes to your romantic feelings for Hyunjin.

You watch him carefully, his expression entirely unreadable to you. You wish you could tell what he was thinking in times like this, but he always becomes a stonewall when you bring up romance and your long harbored feelings.

You know it must be for a reason, but he never tells you what it is, and you can only assume the topic of love makes him uncomfortable; and while you're grateful for his help, you don't want him to push through discomfort just for your sake.

"..Yeah, I'm good. This is fine, everything's fine," he finally says. You don't entirely believe him, but you don't press him on it– he'll just argue with you if you don't take his word for it.

Stupid. You were clearly offering him an out and he just accepted his role as your emotional martyr. But who is he kidding– it's not like he would've been able to answer any differently, ever a slave to your whims. Whether you realize it or not, you have him in the palm of your hands, and Seungmin would do anything to make you happy– even at the detriment to himself.

"So.. uh, do you want to kiss me?" you transition and Seungmin has to make a conscious effort to not choke on his own spit. Because how are you asking him that so casually?

"No, you're gross," he answers; a lie, obviously, but he didn't realize this fake relationship would entail anything other than mild displays of affection and maybe the use of pet names. If he kisses you, it's over for him. Completely, utterly over– he'll never be able to pretend you're just his friend ever again.

You roll your eyes as you let go of his hand, and he frowns; he misses the warmth already, but what right does he have? "You can just say no without the 'gross' comment, asshole," you shove him again.

Seungmin is always mean to you, so it's not like you weren't expecting a comment like that when you decided to bring up kissing. You might've hoped for a different reaction, but you certainly weren't expecting anything profound or romantic.

...Why were you hoping for a different reaction in the first place?

"No, that's– I'm sorry, that's not what I meant, I just–" You blink at him, surprised to see him floundering to admit you're not actually gross to him; it's almost endearing how Seungmin fumbles with his words.

Poor Seungmin– being mean to you is his only defense mechanism and now it's going to bite him in the ass. No wonder you don't have feelings for him.

In reality, he thinks you're pretty. So fucking pretty. And he wants to kiss you more than he's ever wanted anything. "Force of habit," he finally says, swallowing down his true thoughts and feelings, as usual.

Thankfully, you accept his answer easily; he's not sure whether you truly believe him or not, but he'll take what he can get. "Have you ever kissed someone?" you decide to ask, moving swiftly along after taking his answer at face value. Thank God.

"Once," he answers, and oh, that's a surprise; you expected him to say 'no,' to be like you– with zero experience. You're best friends– why hasn't he told you..?

To be fair, it's not that Seungmin kissed someone– he was the one being kissed by someone else. The distinction is very important! And he can see the question lingering before you even ask it, so he takes the initiative in answering. "It was awkward. I didn't.. feel the same way as them."

"Oh. I didn't realize there are people that like you," you say and Seungmin instantly shoots you with an incredulous look. "Ouch," he deadpans.

"No, sorry– I didn't mean for that to sound so mean, I swear," you promise with an awkward laugh. At least now you're equal on the 'making unintentionally hurtful comments' front.

You've thought at great length what it would be like if Hyunjin started dating someone, but you're just now realizing you never put any thought into Seungmin dating someone. You guess you just always expected that he'd be there; you never stopped to think about what would happen if he wasn't, never even considered it a possibility that he wouldn't always be right there next to you.

And it would happen eventually, wouldn't it? And what about when you and Hyunjin are a couple; you two will have each other and Seungmin will.. well, you don't know what he'll do. But you don't like the thought of him being anymore distant. What a way to realize how selfish you're being.

“Sucks that it was awkward,” you eventually say, ignoring the way guilt starts to eat at you. No surprise that the selfish princess doesn’t want to confront the issue of potentially having perpetuated a one sided friendship just yet.

“Yeah.. honestly, I felt bad. I’m sure it took a lot of courage to confess and kiss me, but I,” already had feelings for you, he thinks, but obviously opts to say something else, “just didn’t feel the same.”

Lord knows Seungmin will never have that same level of courage; to put yourself out there and confess only to be met firmly with rejection is terrifying. And he knows you don’t feel the same, so why even try? Being a coward suits him perfectly fine in this case. 

“Why didn’t you accept anyways? You might’ve returned the feelings after becoming a couple and growing closer to them,” you ask, earnestly curious. You think you would give someone a chance if they confessed to you if you weren’t already so in love with Hyunjin.

But as far as you knew, Seungmin didn’t have feelings for anyone, so there would’ve been nothing to lose from trying. If only that were true– his life would be much easier if he wasn’t earth shatteringly in love with you. 

“Mm, maybe. But if months went by and I still didn’t, I would’ve felt scummy. Like I was stringing them along and giving them a false promise, y’know? And I don’t wanna be that guy,” Seungmin answers, keeping out the major detail of ‘I’m also impossibly in love with you and dating someone while being in love with your best friend is definitely frowned upon.’

“Wow. I think I respect you more after that,” you say and Seungmin scoffs, unable to hide the smile that breaks on his lips. “Gee, thanks. Glad to know you didn’t respect me before now.”

“Hey, I clearly said ‘respect you more!’ Meaning I did respect you, thank you very much,” you laugh. There’s a silence that follows when the giggling dies down and the smiles fade, with Seungmin looking at you carefully. Right. He’s here to be your fake boyfriend. Better get back to the quest at hand.

“So.. I’m not actually gross, huh?” you ask, bringing the conversation back to where it began. “Only a little,” he teases, laughing when you grab a spare cushion to shove at him. 

“Stop being mean, I’m trying to be serious!” You whine as he tosses the cushion you shoved in his face to the floor. “Okay, okay,” Seungmin says, his expression softening as he looks at you.

In reality, he thinks you’re perfect; but it’s much easier to tease and pretend you disgust him than to face how beautiful he thinks you are. But with how seriously you’re taking this entire thing, it seems he’s going to have to be more earnest with himself, and you, than he was prepared to be.

He really fucked himself over this time around.

"Theoretically.." you start, chewing on your lip before you continue, "Hypothetically–"

"Those words mean the same thing," Seungmin can't help but interrupt, laughing as you shove him and tell him to 'shut the fuck up.' You hate him sometimes– fucking menace to your sanity, you swear.

"Hypothetically," you continue when he's done laughing and you're sure he's ready to take you seriously, "assuming you're being honest and I'm not gross. Would you want to kiss me?"

Well, guess there's no avoiding it now. It's time for the thing Seungmin fears most– some good, old fashioned honesty about his feelings. "Yes," is all he says; no further elaboration, no talk on whether or not this is still strictly in the realm of hypotheticals, or if he'd only be okay with it under some sort of condition being met. Just.. yes, he'd want to kiss you– wants to kiss you. That's it.

You can’t believe how easily he conceded in the end; you wonder if another mean, teasing joke is inbound, or if he doesn’t quite get what you’re insinuating.

"You know I mean on the lips right? Like.. an actual kiss?" You ask, wanting to ensure you're on the same page and he's not just thinking, like.. forehead or cheek kisses or something. All of which will still be part of this fake relationship, but still; better to make sure everything is clarified.

"Yeah, I assumed that," he replies and you simply blink. You're not sure why, but that does something to your heart. "And.. you're okay with that..?"

"Yeah..? I thought we established I didn't mean it when I said you're gross. I was just teasing," he says plainly, as if the topic you're discussing is completely normal. And well, maybe that's the attitude you should have too– it's no big deal, right?

It's not that strange for two best friends to kiss, it happens all the time! And this was all your idea in the first place; you don't even understand why you feel so weird about it all of the sudden. Sure, not thinking you're gross and wanting to kiss you are two different things entirely, but you're thinking about it too hard.

Seungmin is just being a good friend to you. He's nonchalant about it because all of this is simple; it's supposed to be simple. Just one friend casually helping out another. If anything, it's a relief he has no hang ups about it, right? It makes this whole thing easier!

(The reality: he is not nonchalant in the slightest. He is practically screaming inside over the idea of kissing you– you just don't know it.)

Blushing and heart twisting for reasons beyond your understanding, you opt to just take his hand in yours again instead, averting your eyes from him and training them off to the distance. Your bedroom walls are very interesting all of a sudden.

"Maybe later," you mumble and he nods, relieved as he squeezes your hand. Yeah, maybe later. He doesn't think he's ready to fall for you even harder just yet anyways.

Weeks pass, and your fake relationship develops slowly but organically thanks to the Hwang's ball being further away still. You expected becoming "natural" in your relationship would take time, which is why you wanted to get a headstart on practicing being close. Your heart still stirs in unexpected moments, but mostly you feel comfortable, which is perfect.

Some awkwardness and shy closeness would be natural, but you can't appear stiff in front of Hyunjin if you want to pass as a genuine couple– the goal is for the relationship to look fresh, not forced. Due to this, you and Seungmin hold hands a lot these days.

You like it, to be honest. It reminds you of all these thoughts and memories you hadn't lingered on in years. Of play dates and toothless smiles and laughing as you trip and tumble and grow dirty. You missed it.

You missed this too– cuddling, same as the hand holding. It's something you hadn't done since you were kids, and similarly, you couldn't remember the last time you had done it before now. You find yourself thinking it's a shame you ever stopped.

You're currently laying against him, head on his shoulder while one of his arms is wrapped around your waist, legs tangled together on your obscenely large sofa while some movie you long since stopped paying attention to plays on your equally large tv.

You practiced calling each other pet names, but they all felt weird– in the end, the only thing that felt natural was sticking to calling each other stupid, idiot, asshole, brat.. And somehow hearing Seungmin call you a selfish brat before he hugs you with a smile makes your heart skip a beat these days.

It doesn't make sense, but you don't let yourself dwell on it or think about it too hard– this is all for a purpose, and it's better to just leave it at that. When you suggested trying out cuddling today, you didn’t expect your mind to go to so many complicated places.

"Hey Minnie, do you remember the last time we cuddled like this?" you decide to ask him, tilting your head up to be able to catch a glimpse at him.

"Yeah. We were 12," he answers easily, and you can just barely see this corner of his mouth lifted in a fond smile.

"Really?" you question and he tilts his head to look at you. He answered so quickly; no delay in the slightest, didn't even have to waste any time thinking on it or trying to remember– he just.. already knew. The instantaneous ease in which he responded surprises you as equally as it fills you with guilt.

"Of course. You don't remember?" he asks and the pangs of guilt over not being able to remember yourself grow painfully. You never expected to feel so terrible over something so small.

"Not really.." you answer with a frown; you wish you did, especially since Seungmin seems to have his own memory of your childhood closeness perfectly intact, but you simply.. don't remember.

"Wow, I'm so hurt. You care for me so little," Seungmin teases, but all you can do is continue to frown. You can't bring yourself to hit him with a witty quip or joke that you hate him– because part of you worries that how inattentive you've been thus far would give rise to him one day believing your statements made to poke fun are how you truly feel. And right now you just honestly, truly feel bad.

His expression softens when he realizes you're genuinely saddened, assuming it's because he took the teasing too far by insinuating you don't care about him. In reality, it's not him you're upset with, but yourself. And it stings to realize that maybe what he says isn't completely wrong– maybe you really have cared about him too little.

Maybe if you weren't so hyperfocused on love and romance with Hyunjin, you'd have realized sooner how much you put your friendship with Seungmin on the wayside. You wish you'd been a better friend.

"It's to be expected actually,” Seungmin attempts to rectify his mistake in wording (though truly it's not his fault, or a ‘mistake’– your guilt is your own, and all he did was unintentionally spark some much needed self reflection.) “You were sick as fuck and loaded on cough syrup."

"Oh!" You exclaim suddenly, a vague memory in the very back of your mind becoming clearer now. Just as Seungmin said, you were 12 and suffering from the worst cold you'd ever had in your entire life. You felt like you were dying and it was your own fault it happened; a blizzard had just passed, and you insisted on playing in the freshly fallen heaps of snow with your two best friends.

The lake near the castle had completely frozen over in the storm, and despite being repeatedly warned how unsafe it is to play on a frozen lake, you were just a kid who thought you were invincible. Every kid is overconfident and zealous, truly believing no harm or wrong can come to them until the world teaches them a lesson in humility– and that's exactly what happened that day.

You skated around on the frozen lake, paying no heed to any of the warnings you received, laughing and giggling without a care in the world even as you slipped and slid around on the slick surface of the ice. But eventually you fell, of course you did, it was ice– and the moment your weight collided with the surface of the lake, it cracked.

It's hard to remember what followed– all you really remember was how your whole body froze the minute it touched the icy water, as if all your limbs had become pure lead. But Seungmin was there, and Hyunjin too, and they pulled you out and got you back inside as fast as they were able. It honestly came as no surprise that you got sick following your unceremonious ice bath.

Seungmin and Hyunjin got a bit sick too, but their sniffles and slight coughs paled in comparison to your symptoms. Hyunjin's parents made him return home to shake off his cold, but Seungmin's didn't mind if he got over his slight cold with you in the castle. Even with the spark of clarity it's all still vague, but you can just remember it now– how Seungmin was glued to your side the entire rest of the week as your body tried to fight off the illness.

He was there when your attendants woke you to take your medicine, he was there when you drank your water and sipped your soup, he rubbed your back when you coughed and stroked your head when you complained that it hurt. He was.. sweet. The entire time. The usual Seungmin who teased and complained was nowhere to be seen, even when you unintentionally got snot on his shirt.

Instead, he was just sincerely caring. And he cuddled you, let you soak up all his warmth because no matter how many layers of blankets you were under and despite the constant fueling of the fire in your fireplace, you still felt so impossibly cold.

"I remember now," you tell him and the smile you're met with stirs something within you. Or maybe it's the memory of how sweet he can be when he's not being a jackass. Maybe it's how underneath his layers of teasing comments and sarcastic words, he's genuine.

He remembers things, always remembers things, even when the moments are small and fleeting. And maybe it's how even when he complains or calls you a selfish brat, he'd still do anything for you. Even now, years later, he's still just the same in that regard.

Seungmin cares about you, would do anything for you, wants you happy even when your happiness causes him trouble and inconvenience. All his sarcasm and jokes at your expense will fade the minute you're genuinely unwell, he'll drop everything he's doing the minute you need him for something serious; because underneath his layers and walls, he'll always be someone selfless and kind.

You sit up ever so slightly, just enough to get a clearer view of him while still tangled in his arms and legs. You breathe his name in a whisper, and his eyes dart around your face as he tries to figure out what you’re doing, what you’re thinking while looking at him so.. attentively. It makes him nervous when you look at him like that, makes him feel like you can see right through him and read his every thought, like he’s nothing but cellophane.

And you kiss him. You kiss him. Soft and chaste, your lips just barely pressed to his, but still he crumbles, his sandcastle heart caught by your wave. His weak heart pounds, his blood races through his veins, he blinks in surprise and still can't seem to find himself or formulate a thought even when you pull away. What even just happened?

"S-Sorry," you flush instantly as you turn your eyes away from Seungmin's heating face.

You can't believe you just kissed your best friend like that. And like.. you fully expected to give Seungmin your first kiss as part of this whole charade, but it was supposed to be a moment that only happened after meticulous planning and mental preparation. This was undeniably, purely the heat of the moment.

"Uh, I– it just.. felt right. For practice..?" you stumble as you try to formulate an excuse for your own unexpected actions. Yeah. It was for practice, that's all. You aren't in love with him– you love Hyunjin. What you felt when you kissed him just now was.. something else. That's what you tell yourself, because it's the only thing that makes sense.

"Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense," Seungmin utters quietly, sounding almost.. disappointed. You look at him again, and catch just a glimpse of sadness in his eyes before it fades completely, almost as if it was never there.

And maybe it wasn't– maybe you're projecting, somehow? Do you want Seungmin to be sad that the kiss doesn't mean more? You don't know. It's confusing.

And you hate that you don't know why it's confusing, that you don't understand where all these conflicting thoughts and feelings are coming from and what they mean. You don't want to admit it, but maybe he was right; maybe this whole thing wasn't a good idea.

He sees the struggle on your face, but there's no way for him to know that it's due to confusion about your feelings, how you liked kissing him and how you don't know what that says about you or about your feelings– for him, or for Hyunjin.

Instead, he worries that you hated it, that kissing him filled you with disgust and regret and now you were trying to figure out how you can ever look at him again. But you do look at him again, of course you do.

And despite the confusion and the struggle from your complex, raging emotions, you meet his eyes softly. You reach for a hand and squeeze, and once again he feels like you see right through him, see all the ugly dread and guilt and sorrow that comes from being in love with you.

You see him and he sees you; and though it's confusing, and clearly disastrous, neither of you want to let whatever this is go just yet.

"Do you.. want to keep practicing..?" he asks hesitantly, a hint of hope in his unsteady voice. A hope he shouldn't have, a hope he feels you will sternly reject.

But you don't. You smile at him, a timid one he thought only ever reserved for Hyunjin, and you nod. "Yeah, do you?" you ask, and all Seungmin replies with is a simple "yeah" of his own before your lips are on his again.

You kiss him and he kisses you, and sometimes it's awkward as you bump noses or ever so slightly miss and instead kiss the corner of his mouth, but in the end it all becomes natural, rhythmic, easy.

Butterflies thrash in your stomach, your heart races, your face burns, his lips are soft and warm and perfect, and through it all, for the first time in all your years, you stop thinking about Hyunjin, and linger exclusively on Seungmin.

Kissing Seungmin makes you feel strange. It doesn't feel bad, nor wrong, or uncomfortable; but strange because of what it evokes in you. When he left for his guest room that night, and you had more time to think about what you’d done, you came to the conclusion that the butterflies would pass now that it was over.

You only felt them because kissing, regardless of it being with your best friend, was foreign and new. You thought that as you got used to kissing him, that deceitful fluttering in your stomach would gradually fade.

You expected that kissing him would become as second nature to you as holding hands, and eventually you’d feel.. maybe not nothing when kissing him, but certainly you wouldn't still be so reactive.

What has actually happened is rather the opposite; your heart skips a beat when he enters your room now, you unconsciously flush whenever he holds you closer, your stomach knots itself when he smiles following a kiss. 

He smiles a lot more these days; or maybe you only perceive it that way because part of you wants it to mean something more than it does. That’s what frustrates you most of all; no matter how much you tell yourself it’s just practice, that this means nothing to either of you and is only a means to an end, you find yourself struggling to come to peace with that idea.

Confusion and guilt eat at you, complex feelings and emotions you didn’t even know you had rising to the surface one after the next, protesting being ignored and making themselves acutely known. And there’s a question that burns in the back of your mind, something you’re scared to confront but know you must before this is over– is your love for Hyunjin genuine or superficial?

Do you love him the way a lover truly would, or do you love the idea of being with him? The idea that your romance would be a picture perfect fairytale, because he’s a prince and you’re a princess and those two things just naturally go together.

Perhaps your understanding of love is inherently naive and flawed; perhaps all these years spent pining, you were chasing an ideal rather than a person. But misguided though it may be, your love for Hyunjin has to be true; because apart from being one of your best friends, he’s objectively perfect for you.

Seungmin is rough and jagged, while Hyunjin is polished and smooth. Though more tempered and refined than yourself, Hyunjin matches your flair for the dramatic, while Seungmin is oppositely rooted firmly in reality. Where Hyunjin is elegant words and gentle smiles, Seungmin is sarcasm and rolled eyes.

But that’s not entirely true, you know it isn’t; because while Seungmin is indeed sarcastic and mean and sometimes rough around the edges, he’s also gentle, and sincere, and passionate.

He doesn’t show that softness within as easily as Hyunjin does, he's built up walls as he grew older for reasons that you couldn't begin to understand, but maybe that’s what makes it more special when he does let them fall, how you know he truly means it when he does something kind. His sweet smiles carry far more weight and depth than you ever stopped to realize.

“You okay? What’s up with you today?” Seungmin asks, careful but with a hint in his voice that he’s ready to tease depending on how you respond. Right. The reason you called him over today.

You chew your lip as you look at him, and you know he’s been able to tell all day that something was off with you. You wanted to call this whole thing off, if you’re being honest; tell him you realized he was right, he’s always right, and this was a terrible idea that you shouldn’t have dragged him into. 

But the moment you faced him you lost all your nerve. Your mouth ran dry, the words lodged themselves in your throat, and you couldn’t bring yourself to speak them. It’s so fucking selfish, but you realized that without this fake relationship keeping you together, the distance between you would return.

Once the charade is over, he’ll go back to hardly ever returning your touch, to emotional walls stacked so high you fear you could never climb them, to strained smiles and equally strained words. You’re not sure why Seungmin is more open these days; maybe intimacy and closeness, no matter the cause and regardless of lack of romantic intent attached to them, is enough to naturally break down a person’s barriers.

You don’t even know why he has barriers, why he shields himself from you so strongly when you’re his best friend, but now that you’ve experienced him without his walls, you don’t want to go back. You’re terrible and selfish and it’s hardly a justification to keep your fake relationship going, but still..

“Are you getting nervous?” he tries again; the ball is approaching quickly now, and he suspects maybe you’re off because you fear your performance as a couple won’t be good enough, that maybe you won’t be as believable as you need to be.

You want to tell him he’s probably right, that it’s just nerves and you’ll get over it and everything will be fine with the moment comes, but you know that’s not all there is to it. 

It feels so stupid looking back on how excitedly you chose a new dress for the occasion, planned how you’d match with Seungmin, parade yourself on his arm and bat your eyelashes at him while calling him the sweetest names you could come up with, all so Hyunjin would look on and maybe get jealous.

You didn’t listen when Seungmin warned you it was a bad idea, didn’t entertain the truth that Hyunjin would likely be a good friend and not intervene, didn’t want to acknowledge how tunnel-visioned and selfish the fairytale romance you pursued made you. 

You kissed Seungmin, held his hands, hugged him close and cuddled him tight. Your heart ached and stomach fluttered and you ignored every blaring alarm in your brain because the ends were supposed to justify the means. And now you’re going to ruin not just one friendship, but two; because you don’t know how you’re going to face either of them when it all inevitably crashes and burns.

“I just.. aren’t I being really selfish? You told me this was stupid but I didn’t listen, and now I feel like.. like I'm taking advantage of your kindness, and I'm going to lose you when this is over," you blurt it all out, watch as his eyebrows furrow and his expression changes.

Emotions flash through his eyes, indiscernible and unreadable as they always are before he steels himself and hides whatever it was away. What does he feel, and why won't he share it with you? Is it regret, frustration, exasperation..? All of them would be perfectly justified.

It hurts, but you realize Seungmin will never tell you what he's thinking or feeling. He will never sincerely admit it when you've wronged him, never confess to having any negative feelings beyond superficial teasing over it. Is it because you're the princess, and he feels like it's what he should do? Is it just how he is as a person?

You don't know; but even if he won't tell you himself that he hates this, you can't let it go on. You swallow, clench your hands into fists and finally make a selfless decision; one you should’ve made before all these weeks passed you by, and you became attached to a version of your best friend you were never supposed to have. “We should stop.” 

Seungmin looks almost hurt before he lets out a laugh; you can’t tell if it’s based in self-deprecation, irony, annoyance, or something even further beyond what you can understand from him.

“I agreed to this,” he says, grabbing your arm and making you look at him again when you try to turn away and avoid his gaze, “I wanted– I want to help you. You know that, right? I know I can be difficult sometimes, but I’d never lie about that.”

Maybe you are terribly selfish, and maybe you are taking advantage of him, and maybe his heart will shrivel and die the moment this ends, but he doesn’t fucking care. He can be selfish too, and his selfishness makes him want to hold on to you for as long as he can, even if it’s fake, even if you never love him; pretending to is enough, it’s all he needs.

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it? You’re always so selfless, you always indulge me, and I just..” you trail off; you don’t know what more you can bring yourself to say. 

He’s difficult, he’s frustrating, and he’s mean, but he’s not cruel. You know how sweet he actually is, how much he’d sacrifice for you if you asked him too. It’s time you stopped relying on him for stupid shit like this, stop dragging him into your petty, dumb, naive problems and grow up a little.

Stop being the selfish princess you were raised to be and start being someone worthy of Seungmin’s unwavering friendship instead. You’d never intentionally hurt him, but the problem is you certainly have– countless times that you probably aren’t even conscious of because your self reflection has come just a little too late.

You started this whole thing because the idea of losing Hyunjin made your heart ache; but the idea of losing Seungmin, that knowledge that you’ve very likely taken and hurt and been a terrible friend for years doesn’t just make your heart ache– it rips it out entirely.

It’s strange and awful, how you always considered them both best friends but are only just realizing how different those friendships actually worked– and how losing Seungmin as a friend is far more gutting than losing a potential lover in Hyunjin. 

And logically you know Seungmin would never hate you, would call you selfish or stupid or annoying but would absolutely never actually think badly of you, and that makes it all the worse. He wears a mask for you, you know it’s true even if you want to deny it; but the mask he wears is cracked, the paint is worn, and knowing it could all be your fault makes you feel impossibly anguished and sick. 

Seungmin frowns and lets you look away, though he still hesitates to let you go. He does though, eventually, and he falls to his back on your bed with a sigh. “You don’t need to worry about me, this is all fine, I’m fine,” he says but you don’t entirely trust him.

He’s too stubborn and selfless to admit you’ve ever hurt him, knows it would gut you to realize what you’ve done to him, and so he chooses to say nothing about it at all. Because regardless of the boundary of friend and lover and where you both lie in between those words, he loves you– not that you feel you deserve it. 

This isn’t entirely your fault either; he gave in way too easily. He knew it was a bad idea and he should’ve been more stern, made you see reason even if it made you cry and pout and whine for hours on end.

He knows you're selfish and spoiled and a little naive when it comes to what romance means but he didn’t do anything to genuinely shut you down– because beneath it all, he’s just as selfish as you, and he wanted to be your boyfriend for a just a little while, even if being your boyfriend meant nothing. 

His walls are down but he’s still not being completely honest, you know he isn’t. The mask is back on but the cracks have grown, exposing more of the real Seungmin beneath, and he can’t hide himself away as easily as he used to– because now you’ve seen them.

The cracks, the imperfections, the instability. And you’ve taken them all in, deduced that they’re your fault, and you won’t let it go– because that’s what stubborn people like you do. You pick and you prod and you poke, until something bends or breaks and you finally get the result you want. 

But what do you want? To stop playing pretend? For Seungmin to admit that yeah, you have hurt him sometimes– not that he blames you. He knows it wasn’t ever once intentional, and he was never going to hold anything against you or leave you behind.

Or maybe you want him to admit he’s in love with you. Maybe you want him to say that he’s just as fucking hopelessly in love with you as you are with Hyunjin, and that the love he feels for you foolishly allowed for things to get way farther than they should have. 

You look at him hesitantly, the way he’s fallen onto your bed, his shirt ridden half up his stomach from the fall and the way his caramel colored hair fans out around him. He’s beautiful and despite everything you’ve just said, you want to crawl on his lap and kiss him. You try to blink the thought away, to scrub your mind clean from thoughts you shouldn’t be having. 

He sees the way your eyes linger on his lips, how you internally struggle between what you think you should and shouldn’t do, how even now you are trying to spare him when he doesn’t need to be spared. Consume him whole, eat away at him until there’s nothing left, he doesn’t fucking care– he just wants you, even if it’s temporary, even if you throw him away in the end in favor of someone better.

Not if, he has to remind himself, but when– because it’s inevitable, because you’ll never love him as more than a friend.

Seungmin reaches out to you, is close to touching you, but just as he used to, he hesitates before he drops his hand. The distance returns, and that should be a good thing; it hurts, but isn’t it what’s right? You don’t.. You’re not in love with him.

You can’t be– you just.. value him as a friend and don’t want to do anything to strain your friendship anymore than you already have. Everything you feel is confusing and weird and you don't know what to do with what you have now. 

What to do with your urge to be closer to him, or the way you blush when he smiles and calls you names, or how the content sighs he lets out while kissing and cuddling makes your stomach do flips. How the way he unconsciously squeezes you tighter fills you with butterflies, or how the way his hands linger before you begin to separate makes you want to go crawling back to his open arms. 

And there’s the impure thoughts– the ones you’ve never even had about Hyunjin despite being in love with him. The ones you have when you see his shirt ridden up like it is now, or how those sighs when you kiss him would sound if you took things just a step further.

You used to daydream about pure things like sharing a romantic dance or being given flowers on an anniversary– now your thoughts linger on things like Seungmin’s tongue in your mouth and his hand between your thighs. Things you definitely shouldn’t be daydreaming about if you’re as in love with Hyunjin as you say you are. 

You suck in a trembling breath and again try to push the thoughts you shouldn’t have away. Seungmin’s expression is contemplative and gentle now, full of a care you don’t deserve. It’s no surprise he can read you like an open book, can tell you’re more upset about this than you should be.

It should be a comfort that this charade is coming to an end, but all you feel is sharp, stinging guilt and unbearable pain in your chest. Your eyes burn and you feel as if you’re going to cry, but how terrible would that be? It would almost feel manipulative to cry in front of him now, after having put all that effort into trying to go back to normalcy.

You’re so frustrated with yourself, so impossibly frustrated; you squeeze your clenched fists, your nails dig into your palms, your tears threaten to spill and you look away from Seungmin before they do. Because he’ll comfort you, and that’s not what you deserve. Obviously he knows, it’s not like you can hide it very well, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Instead, he reaches out again– and this time, he doesn’t stop himself or hesitate. The distance you’ve put between you has already closed again. He pulls you down to him, makes you fall against his chest, your head winding up somewhere between his heart and his shoulder.

You can still hear it from your position above it, and the steady thumping soothes you. “The ball is soon,” he says quietly, “we can go as planned, and then decide what will happen with us after. If you still want to stop after that, it’s okay. Just.. don’t give up too soon.” 

You can tell he’s trying to sound sure of himself, but he’s just as lost in all this as you are. And though you still feel rattled with guilt and uncertainty, you nod. You trust Seungmin, and you may as well see this fake relationship through to the end– and the Hwang ball is where you meet that end, one way or another.

“Okay..” you mumble, chest tight and stomach knotted with guilt, but you do your best not to spiral again, to trust Seungmin’s word when he says you haven’t done wrong by him. 

He calls your name and you look up at him expectantly. His mouth opens, he goes to speak, but whatever he wants to say is swallowed back down, and is instead replaced with something more familiar.

“You’re.. really annoying,” he whispers before he kisses you, and there’s a relief that spreads through your veins. “Asshole,” you whisper back and you feel him smile, the comfortable normalcy returning even in this situation that is anything but normal. 

You’re both stupid and stubborn and there’s no way this ends without someone having a broken heart, but for now it’s okay. For now, it’s all Seungmin needs; to be close to you and touch you and hold you and know that you were his, for however brief and false a time it may have been.

“Do you think we should share a guest room to make this more believable?” you mumble while walking through the halls of the Hwang Castle, hand intertwined with Seungmin’s while he carries both his luggage and your own.

Hyunjin obviously prepared your rooms separately as you haven’t announced your relationship to him yet– not that it’s going to last much longer anyways. Whether you end up with Hyunjin by night's end or not, your fake relationship with Seungmin can’t proceed beyond this. 

“I dunno,” Seungmin replies, though your question was more absentminded musing than a genuine question you were expecting to have answered by him. “Maybe? Technically speaking, we’ve been “dating” for a couple months now. It’d probably be normal.”

You hum and contemplate his answer for a moment before you look at Seungmin with a smile. “Let’s share my room then! Hyunjin always gives me the biggest room available.” 

“I fucking knew it,” Seungmin says in faux-exasperation as you giggle. He always felt like his guest rooms were smaller than yours; and he doesn't actually care, but it's fun to act like it bothers him, and it's even better to hear you laugh. “Spoiled brat. Still need luxury even when you’re in someone else’s place, huh?”

“Naturally. What kind of princess would I be if I didn’t get the best of everything?” He rolls his eyes despite the way a smile tugs on his lips and a laugh threatens to break. You turn a hall, and finally your guest rooms begin to come into sight– you've been to Hyunjin's place enough to know the layout, but it still doesn't make getting to the guest hall any less of a trek.

Seungmin unlinks your hands when you approach the double doors of the castle's best guest room, fumbling in his pocket for the keys you were given for just a moment before he finds the right one. He unlocks the door, walks inside with you and sets your luggage down in the corner of the room before turning to look at you.

“You sure you want me to stay? I don’t mind going to my own room,” Seungmin offers and you quickly shake your head– maybe a little too quickly, but you won’t acknowledge how eager for him to stay you seem. 

“Well, I’ll probably need help getting ready,” you say; an excuse, sure, but it’s reasonable at least. But what about after that? When the ball is over and so too is your act, regardless of whether you get results with Hyunjin or not– would Seungmin still stay? Would you want him to stay? You think you would; you don’t know what that means or what it says about you, but it’s honestly what you’d want.

“If you’re sure, I'll make myself comfortable then,” Seungmin says as he flops himself on the extravagant guest bed. There’s still a couple of hours until the ball, and since he won’t take nearly as long getting ready as you, he decides it’s a good idea to get in a short nap.

Traveling always makes him tired, after all– especially when he���s going from your castle all the way to Hyunjin’s. He yawns and stretches out before he closes his eyes, and your eyes linger on him fondly for a moment before you turn to where Seungmin set your luggage. 

You rummage through your bags for everything you need to get ready; toiletries, makeup, your dress– you collect them all in your arms and carry them to the attached bathroom. You spend a fair amount of time in the shower; half of it spent diligently and meticulously scrubbing over your body, and the other half simply standing beneath the hot water, staring at nothing as your mind struggles with the possible outcomes of the night.

You shake your head, try to dispel the bubbling anxiety for the fate of your friendships before turning off the water to dry off. You'll focus on your makeup– be just as methodical and careful in the application as you were with washing yourself. After all, feeling good about the outside can help you feel good about the inside; surely you'll feel better once you're all glamed up!

You hold your dress up to your body when you're finished with your makeup, and imagine briefly how you’ll look in it while standing in front of the large, ornate mirror. That’s the downside to ordering online– you have no idea how the dress will actually fit you, but you hope you’ll look pretty.

Nerves hit you again as you look at yourself, but you swallow them down the best you can as you lie the dress on the sink counter. You don’t know what you’re hoping for tonight anymore; whether you want Hyunjin to see you with Seungmin and get jealous, or if you want him to think you are a sweet couple and support you sincerely. 

It doesn’t matter either way; nothing about this is genuine. And you’re not sure if you can be happy with yourself if Hyunjin is jealous and realizes he likes you over a lie. But you’ve come this far, you’re already here and Seungmin has reassured you over and over again that this is something he thinks you should see through, so.. That’s all you have left to do. Just see it through until the end. 

Getting your underwear on, and then carefully slipping on your dress, here is where you need Seungmin’s help. It’s near impossible for you to pull up the zipper that lies along the spine of your dress, even if you stretch and reach behind you as far as your arm can go. Holding a hand to your chest so that the dress doesn’t slip back down your body, you carefully open the bathroom door and peek outside into the main room.

You weren’t sure if Seungmin really fell asleep after you’d left him alone in the room, but peeking out now, you can tell that he has. He’s in the same position on the bed as when you left him, his eyes serenely closed and breathing steady.

You call his name, but he doesn’t react; so you try once more, raising your voice this time, but you’re still met with nothing in response. You step out of the bathroom and up to the bed cautiously, and you make one last effort to wake him by calling his name just in case.

It doesn’t work, of course; you didn’t really think it would anyways if you’re being honest, but it didn’t hurt to try. You cautiously reach out to his shoulder, and do your best to rouse him awake while still holding your dress up with your other hand. Seungmin slowly blinks awake, mumbling something you can’t decipher as his senses slowly return to reality one by one.

He blinks a few times more, processing the sight before him; you leaning towards him, your dress loosely covering your body with the support of the hand not placed on his shoulder. He refuses to let his eyes linger on the image of your barely concealed cleavage before him, instead putting all of his effort into looking back up to your face.

"Need my help now?" he correctly assumes, and you nod as you straighten back up. Seungmin sits up from the bed, watches you as you turn to return to the bathroom, expecting him to follow.

He does his best to ignore what the sight of your exposed skin does to him; the only reason he has this view is because you trust him and view him as a best friend– he really can't afford to be having any impure thoughts about you. (A little late for that in all honesty, but he'll atone for it later.)

The door is wide open, but he knocks on the doorframe to announce himself before he steps through; a sign of respect and decency. "Thanks," you smile at him briefly as he steps inside the bathroom and takes his place behind you. "I can't zip it up on my own," you explain, and yeah, he can see that clearly; the bottom of the zipper lies on your tailbone, your panties ever so slightly peeking in the v-shape the zipper creates with the two sides of your dress.

He swallows and pretends he doesn't notice, instead looking to where the zipper ends just around your shoulder blades. “Do you think Hyunjin will think I look good?” you can’t help but ask as Seungmin’s hand falls to your zipper, slowly pulling it up. It gives you goosebumps– not the cold zipper on your skin, but the way his hand feels just over your spine, running along it as he zips up your dress.

You're not sure what reply you hope to hear; maybe it's a question with no right answer. “He will, I know it,” Seungmin answers; he’d have to be an idiot not to. “You’re beautiful." You flush as you look at him in the mirror, standing behind you but not at all obscured thanks to your smaller frame. 

You know he means it– he teases and he pretends, but he’d never lie about something like that. You already know that to be true; he’s said it himself– that the thing’s he says with a serious tone are the things he really means.

He’s not looking at you, his eyes fixed on your back until he’s finished with the zipper, ignoring the way the hooks of your bra stare back at him until your dress closes and they are obscured from his sight, the way they should be.

He finally meets your gaze again when he’s done, meeting your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. Your face feels impossibly hot, and you hope he thinks the pink on your face is from the makeup you applied as opposed to the real blush it is.

You still have things to do; put on your accessories, fix-up and style your hair, put on your prettiest pair of heels, but even without all that flashy glamor added on, Seungmin already thinks you’re radiant as can be.

Though he’s done with the zipper, his hand hasn’t left your back yet, and neither of you have broken the gaze you keep in the mirror. There’s a moment where you think he’ll turn you around and kiss you, or that you’ll kiss him; and truly, he wants to, but he shouldn’t. This night is supposed to be about you and Hyunjin, and you don’t need the ‘practice’ anymore– it was only ever an excuse to begin with. 

He clears his throat as he lets you go, and you turn your gaze away from the mirror, swallowing down all your feelings and nerves as you rummage through your bag for the accessories you brought with you.

“It won’t take me much longer to get ready,” you say as you continue to rummage through your bag– you found what you need, but taking it out means having to meet Seungmin’s gaze, and you’re not ready to do that again just yet.

“Right, I should get ready too,” Seungmin mumbles mostly to himself as he turns to leave. You don’t look up from your bag, even as he lingers in the doorway. You can tell he stopped to look at you, you can feel his eyes observing you, but still you don’t glance up at him.

“Yeah, not much time left ‘til we gotta go,” you say, and he responds with a simple, quiet ‘yeah’ before he fully walks out into the main room. 

There’s a sense of dread that lingers– both of you having a similar feeling weighing on your hearts, while ironically thinking you feel it all by yourself, that the other person doesn’t possibly feel the same way.

A situation that would easily be mended by communication, but the gap between what you perceive to be true, and the real truth, is not so easily crossed. The metaphoric rope that connects you and Seungmin together is frayed, and you worry that an uncomfortable conversation will cause that connection to completely snap. 

So you swallow your feelings once more, you put on your earrings and style your hair, and you realign your focus. You can’t keep thinking about what your affection for Seungmin means or why the thought of this ending tonight weighs on you so heavily.

You’re close to getting what you’ve been working for, and that should be where your thoughts linger– on Hyunjin. The best friend you’ve always thought you had feelings for, the one you believed yourself to be in love with. 

Stepping inside the ballroom with Seungmin is utterly nerve wracking; it’s the moment you’ve been waiting for, the moment that 3 months of fake relationship practice were leading up to.

This is where you show your best performance, where you parade around on Seungmin’s arm and look at him with the best heart eyes you can muster. Not that it’s a hard task, these days– you find yourself doing it without even thinking about it. 

You.. love him, if you had to guess. But do you love him more than you thought you loved Hyunjin? You guess that’s the answer you’re really trying to find tonight.

You never thought it’s where you’d be today when you first conjured up this plan, there was no way to anticipate how much your newfound closeness with Seungmin would affect the feelings you thought you were so sure of. 

It’s natural to be confused, isn’t it? Surely anyone would be in this scenario; you can’t kiss and hug and cuddle someone for so long and feel nothing, right? And it’s your own fault, you can’t blame anyone but yourself for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. You reap what you sow, as your grandmother likes to say.

“Don’t be so on edge, everything’ll work out,” Seungmin leans to whisper in your ear. You’ve been so tense ever since you left the guest room together– half nervous to see Hyunjin again after months and half ‘oh my god why does Seungmin look so good tonight.’

As if it wasn’t enough that you were confused about your feelings, Seungmin had to come out looking so devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored suit and neatly slicked hair. “Yeah, you’re right, sorry,” you respond and he shakes his head, offers a reassuring smile before he looks around the room.

“He’s around here somewhere, we’ll see him soon enough,” Seungmin says as his eyes continue to scan the packed ballroom. Oh, that makes sense; he thinks you’re tense because you haven’t run into Hyunjin yet.

If things were the same as a few months ago, you think that may have been true. Now, you’re not really sure what’s true. Hyunjin will see you as a couple and he’ll either silently rage with envy or beam with joy for his two best friends– and you don’t know which outcome is the one you want anymore. 

“Oh, I think I see him,” Seungmin mutters to you, and discreetly points in the direction he thinks he’s found your other best friend. You see him now too, standing near the balconies looking bored out of his mind, champagne glass in hand.

He’s not looking at anything in particular, just vaguely observing his surroundings while occasionally sipping from his drink– probably hoping you two will show up soon and save him from his boredom. You take a breath, wrap your arms around Seungmin's own arm and squeeze it close to your chest.

“Now or never,” you mutter and he nods, steeling himself for the penultimate moment just as do. “Hyunjin!” you call from across the hall, dragging Seungmin along with you as you half-sprint up to him, your designer heels loudly clanking on the marble floor.

Hyunjin returns your smile when he spots you, and laughs when he sees Seungmin practicly scowling as he’s dragged along– it’s classic, really; you always do things like this to them. Just strong arm them along everywhere you want to go, through everything you want to do. 

“Hey! I’m glad you both made it, it’s been forever,” Hyunjin smiles as you complete your approach. He feels bad he hasn’t seen either of his best friends in months, but royal duties and all.. It kept him very unfortunately occupied. He looks at you both inquisitively when you don’t let go of Seungmin’s arm or untangle yourself from him– normally you would have by now, having reached the destination you wanted to drag him to. It’s curious, to say the least. 

Your hand goes from being wrapped around Seungmin and holding his arm, to intertwining your fingers as you hold his hand. Hyunjin raises a brow, but says nothing– he’ll wait for one of you to clear up what he’s thinking.

“Mhm, we’ve been waiting to see you in person to tell you something important!” you say as you squeeze Seungmin’s hand, shooting him your best lovey dovey look before you bring your gaze back to Hyunjin. 

Seungmin wants to sigh and roll his eyes and call you dumb for looking at him like that, but he bites his tongue. It’s the last time you’ll ever shoot him with that look of pure puppy love, and it’s best not to ruin it by defaulting to his usual personality; cherish it while you have it, as they say.

“Well spit it out then, don’t keep me on the edge of my seat,” Hyunjin’s smile grows, looking between the two of you with eager anticipation to hear the confession that lingers on your tongue. 

Hyunjin’s positive reaction deters you a little; surely he can see that you’re clinging to Seungmin to an unusual degree, but he doesn’t seem to react to it negatively at all– not even minutely.

There’s no subtle furrow of the brow, no flash of sadness in his eyes that gets replaced by forced happiness, no twitch in his hands from jealousy or frustration. Seungmin was right, as always; Hyunjin is just going to be a good friend. He won’t have a single negative thing to say. 

“W-Well, we.. uh–” you stumble on your words, and curse yourself for floundering at the most pivotal moment. This is what everything you’ve done has been leading up to, you can’t falter now; and yet, you are.

You look at Seungmin and your grip on his hand tightens, panic unwittingly settling in as a lump forms in your throat. He flashes you a look of sympathy, squeezes your hand in a subtle show of comfort, before he turns away from your gaze to look at Hyunjin. 

He doesn’t like it, but he’ll take the lead from here; for your sake. “We’re dating,” he says as confidently and smoothly as he can bring himself to. He lets go of your hand and wraps his arm around your waist, pulls you closer for added effect, sincerely tries his best to spark the jealousy he knew you wanted to see. But Hyunjin doesn’t look jealous, or sad, or even angry. He just looks.. happy. 

“Gosh, finally! Congrats! I always knew you two would end up together,” Hyunjin grins and gives Seungmin a friendly pat on the shoulder. You blink as you stare between them. Huh..? Finally? What does that mean?

Even Seungmin is taken aback, and mirrors what you were internally thinking. But unlike you, his utterly shocked ‘huh?’ comes out verbally. “Yeah, I always saw the way you were looking at her, Minnie. You were so obvious, I knew it was only a matter of time,” Hyunjin says with enthusiastic joy that sends you completely off kilter.

What the fuck.

You feel like your entire world has been flipped upside down. What does he mean he always saw the way Seungmin looked at you? How did he look at you..? How does he look at you?

Hyunjin’s puzzled now as he looks between you both; you look like your entire sense of reality has been shifted, while Seungmin looks positively mortified. “Sorry, uh– did he not mention that when he confessed?” Hyunjin asks, and then shit– maybe you were the one who confessed.

Seungmin is stubborn and aloof in his cool persona, he's the type to avoid saying what he really thinks by using teasing words, will only look at you softly when he thinks no one else is looking his way. Hyunjin can easily imagine that he has yet to admit the true depth of his secret pining, or confessed how much he actually likes you. He feels bad for outing Seungmin if that’s the case. 

“My bad, I assumed you knew since you’re dating now and all,” he laughs a bit awkwardly while shooting Seungmin a sympathetic look. One that’s meant to say ‘sorry for blowing your stubborn, cool-guy persona.’ It’s just.. Hyunjin thought it was as obvious to you as it was to him.

The way his hard expression would soften the minute you smiled at him, how he’d laugh when you’d banter back after he said something teasing and mean, how his eyes would always linger on even if there were countless other people in the room.. Wasn’t it obvious he liked you this entire time? 

“I guess I’m just surprised to hear you call it out,” you try to recover from the blatant shock, play it off as something different than it is– as if you knew all along, and you’re just surprised that Hyunjin knew too.

Hyunjin chuckles a little, looking a bit more relieved after your statement. “Sorry if I ruined the illusion of Seungmin being the cool, aloof type. He’s actually a big softie, but I guess you’ve realized that by now,” he smiles. 

“Yeah I, uh– I’ve realized that,” you smile back, a bit tensely, but a smile nonetheless, “That’s what I like about him.” Seungmin, still trying to recover from his own world being flipped upside down, finally looks at you again.

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to recover from this wildly unexpected turn in the conversation. Still realizing he has his hand on your waist, and unsure where you now stand and whether or not this is appropriate or okay anymore, he hesitantly lets you go. 

You hold his hand when he does, but it doesn’t feel like solace or consolation the way it normally would. Not hollow, or empty, but just.. not full of the same warmth it normally carries.

He’s so impossibly anxious and scared– that you’re furious with him, that you’ll cut him off when the night is over, that you’ll accuse him of sabotaging this whole thing by agreeing to be your pretend boyfriend when he had very real feelings for you. 

In reality, you just feel terrible about yourself and what you’ve caused. You already felt bad before the night began, and now you feel even worse– you never would’ve asked Seungmin to do this if you'd known he had feelings for you.

And now his feelings were called out in the worst way possible, and you don’t think you’ll ever scrub how mortified Seungmin looked in that moment from your memory. And it was entirely your fault. 

He should’ve been allowed the chance to tell you on his own terms, and you ruined that chance. You probably also ruined any chance at having a normal relationship with him if you wanted one– because how do you recover from the humiliation of being called out on something you thought was a well guarded secret, right in front of the very person that secret was about. This entire time, he’s liked you, maybe even loved you, and you undeniably hurt him. 

He tried to deter you, he told you this wouldn’t work and he tried to resist but you pressed and pushed and prodded until he gave in. And while you could argue some of his acts were not entirely selfless, as you’re sure he must’ve enjoyed kissing you and being close to you knowing what you do now, how could you blame him for indulging in a love with someone he wanted to be with while expecting, believing, knowing, it would come to an end when you got what you wanted?

All those years you spent pining over Hyunjin, Seungmin spent them pining over you, and he just listened, he took it in, and he never stopped supporting you, not even once. Even tonight, when it was probably breaking his heart to do so, he tried his best to reassure you, he tried to make Hyunjin jealous on your behalf..

And he complained, sure he did, but it was more part of the usual banter between you two than jealousy or hurt. At least, that’s what you always thought it was.. You never imagined there’d be anything more hiding beneath the surface. 

You should’ve known, though. It should’ve been obvious– how can you call yourself Seungmin’s best friend and not have realized? And it’s not that you missed the signs because you were willfully ignorant, but you were so tunnel-visioned, selfish, and absorbed that you never stopped to notice any of the changes. It wasn’t even until recently that you realized how much a wall he’d put up, how much he’d forced distance between you..

It makes sense, in hindsight; that it wasn’t for your sake that he stopped doing certain things and acting certain ways, but his own. While you were watching Hyunjin like a hawk for any sign that he might like you, you missed all the signs Seungmin left. You never noticed a single thing, and being reminded of how selfishly you’d spent the teenage years of your friendship makes your heart ache terribly.

“Hey uh, sorry to cut this short but.. I think Seungmin’s feeling embarrassed. Might be in need of a reset, y’know?” you say, trying to come across as a happy girlfriend stealing the chance to tease her boyfriend while also still having his best interest at heart. You look at Seungmin, try to offer him reassurance despite the situation, but he doesn’t look back at you.

He’s facing Hyunjin, but he doesn’t look at him either, not really. It feels like he’s far away, somewhere distant that you can’t reach, busy reconstructing all the walls he’d let fall away, trying to build them back up as high as he can in preparation for the heartbreak he’s soon to face. 

“Of course,” Hyunjin smiles, giving his full blessing, “just come find me again later! I’d rather be a third wheel with you two lovebirds than listen to my father drone on about tax management again.” You giggle a bit and nod, waving him goodbye and forcing Seungmin out of his haze by dragging him away with you.

You glance around as you push through the crowd for a private space to talk– your guest room is much too far away and the tension while going back would likely be too much for either of you to bear; better to find somewhere nearby to have this conversation. You fail to make it to a room after exiting the ballroom; Seungmin stops in the middle of the hallway, preventing you from dragging him along, and you’re forced to let him go and turn around to look at him.

He’s pained and lost but he tries to bring himself back to the aloof persona he once had mastered, to not show how hurt and afraid he is right now. But the cracked mask that is his cool facade has splintered irreparably, and you can only see him for who he really is now. 

“Sorry it didn’t work out how you wanted. Sucks, and I know you must be hurt, but don’t give up, you can still try again, maybe there’s something else you haven’t thought of yet, you can–” Seungmin speaks in a quick ramble, not even acknowledging the massive elephant in the room; his feelings for you.

“Seungmin,” you cut him off with a frown, and he’s hesitant to meet your gaze; he doesn’t know what he’ll be met with, and try as he might to reconstruct himself back to the person he was before this whole thing started, he knows deep down it’d be in vain. 

Your friendship has been irrevocably changed, and to pretend otherwise would be futile. Still, he can’t stop himself from trying– it’s all he can think to do. “You have feelings for me,” you state it plainly, and Seungmin swallows but says nothing.

Doesn’t confirm, nor deny, because both options seem fucking terrible if he’s honest. Denying it is pointless and would just be a blatant lie, and confirming, making it clear that he agreed to be your fake boyfriend despite his feelings for you.. He doesn’t know how that makes him look.

In Seungmin’s head, you’ll either view him as pathetic or as a saboteur, and neither is ideal. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? If I’d known I’d never have..”

He scoffs at your sentiment and looks at you incredulously. “And why would I have? You’ve been obsessed with Hyunjin for years. And I’m supposed to tell you how I feel? Be serious Y/N, there’s no way I could’ve ever told you. And even if I had, you would’ve rejected me, so what would’ve been the point?” 

“I–” you want to say that’s not true, that you wouldn’t have rejected him or broken his heart, but who are you kidding? It absolutely fucking is. It hurts to hear it this way, but he isn’t wrong about any of it.

Still, just because he’s right, that doesn’t mean you’re entirely wrong either. Even if you’d have rejected him, surely he still should’ve been honest with you? You’d never have done this if you’d known. 

You made mistakes, but so did he, right? You know you've been selfish for way too long, but you're not the kind of person to intentionally hurt a friend. You never would've dragged Seungmin through the mud just to get what you want, and the fact that he hid his feelings and allowed himself to be hurt just to make you happy.. That's not the kind of thing you want him to do.

Your friendship shouldn't be built on Seungmin's self-sacrifice, he shouldn't allow himself to be second place just to make you and Hyunjin happy. To be selfless is a virtue, but too much can leave him with nothing, and that's been your concern since the day you realized how selfish you've been.

You realized that Seungmin will give, and give, and give, and he'll never ask you for anything in return. But that’s not what friendship and love should be built upon. Surely he understands that you never wanted this– for your best friend to offer himself up as your emotional martyr.

And with the confusion of your feelings compounding on it, the realization that maybe it’s Seungmin who you love while your infatuation with Hyunjin was hardly more than a fairytale childhood crush– how are you supposed to live with yourself after causing unspeakable heartache to him? And would he even believe you if you told him that you love him? You don’t even know if you can believe yourself.

He sees how hurt you are, the confusion and the guilt and the sorrow, and the anger that grew within him instantly deflates. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped you, I just– I need to be alone,” Seungmin mutters his apology and walks briskly past you, towards the direction of the guest hall.

You call to him, but he doesn’t stop or turn around, and you don’t follow. You want to, but you know you should respect that he needs time to himself; he has a lot to process, as you’re sure you do too. You owe it to him, yourself, and even Hyunjin, to sort out your feelings too.

Seungmin didn't see you or Hyunjin again that night, couldn't bring himself to keep playing the pretend boyfriend after every thing that happened. He went to your guest room for his stuff, isolated himself in his own room for the remainder of the evening, leaving the door to your room unlocked and the key resting on the desk so you could get in and out without having to speak with him.

He felt bad about it, but he just couldn't face you again; it was too difficult. Apparently, you returned to the ballroom alone and told Hyunjin the truth. Seungmin knows because he woke up in the middle of the night to countless texts from Hyunjin– apologizing, saying he didn't know, offering his condolences and to be there for him. It fucking sucked, made him feel like even more of a pathetic loser.

You told Hyunjin the truth because it felt like the right thing to do following what happened; he would've known eventually anyways, so it felt better to rip the band-aid off right away.

And you confessed a lot more than just that; you told Hyunjin everything. About how this whole thing started, about your confusion on how you felt now, about how terribly your heart ached after realizing how much damage you'd caused.

Hyunjin offered you his shoulder to cry on, hugged you and apologized even though he didn’t need to, and ironically, that’s partly what gave you the answer you were looking for.

Because your heart didn’t pound when he hugged you, you didn’t get butterflies when he wiped your tears, your face didn’t flush when offered his hand for support. It was so platonic– and the only time you smiled was when he said he was sure Seungmin would forgive you and everything will work out.

It’s over a day when Seungmin finally sees you again; you have to pass through his city to get to yours, and so it always made sense to leave Hyunjin’s castle together when traveling home. The ride is tense and awkward, to say the least.

You can’t bring yourself to say a word and neither can he, the two of you only taking peeks at each other when you’re sure the other isn’t looking. Seungmin stares out the window and you stare at your hands resting in your lap, while your driver compensates for the unusual atmosphere by turning up the radio.

Approaching Seungmin’s estate makes you indescribably emotional. A lump forms in your throat when the door is opened for him and he exits the car, you clench your fists and try to swallow down the intense emotion when the door closes and you watch him begin to walk away.

It doesn’t feel right, none of this feels right. You’re worried that if you don’t talk now, then you never will; that the damage will be irreparable if you let the distance grow and feelings fester. You need to talk to Seungmin, and you need to do it now. 

You hastily unbuckle your seatbelt and open the car door, running out to chase after Seungmin and not stopping even as your driver calls to you from behind. Seungmin, who is almost to his front door, turns around when he hears the commotion, and is surprised to see you quickly approaching him.

“What are you doing..?” he can’t help but ask; really though, he shouldn’t be surprised. You always do things like this, and once you’ve made a decision to do something, you’ll stubbornly stick to that decision ‘til the end. You’ve decided you’re going to talk to him, and he knows there’ll be no getting out of it.

“We need to talk,” you assert yourself clearly, even go as far as to step past him and into his house before he can. What a brat; he almost smiles from how familiar it is. The guards who were holding the door open for Seungmin look a little puzzled, but they make no comment– it’s not their place to do so. Seungmin doesn’t see you when he steps inside, but it’s easy enough to guess where you went. 

And he finds you exactly where he expected to, waiting for him right outside his bedroom door. Now or never, he thinks as he unlocks it, offering for you to step inside first. You do just that, waiting until follows behind and closes the door to speak.

“What are we now? Friends? More than friends? ..Neither?” you cut straight to the chase, leaving no room for awkward and unnecessary pre-emptive small talk. “I don’t know. Isn’t that up to you?” Seungmin says, stepping past you to sit on his bed. 

You frown as you watch him, but stay firm. “It shouldn’t be entirely up to me. What do you want?” “Does it matter what I want?” Seungmin cuts back. It’s a bit harsh, but he’s still trying to defend against his heart getting torn to shreds; you can’t entirely blame him.

“Of course it matters,” you tell him, voice soft with pain. “Sorry,” he mumbles again, sighing as he flops back and stares at the ceiling. He knows he needs to stop snapping at you, his pain isn’t all in your hands. It takes two to tango, and he did more than his fair share of leading the dance. 

Honesty scares him. Raw emotion scares him. Telling you how he’s always felt about you scares him, and telling you what he hopes you’ll be scares him. But that fear has always been a hindrance, and he needs to stop being shackled by it; especially when you’re trying so hard to hear what he really has to say. 

“I’ve always liked you, for years I’ve liked you. But you– I didn’t think there was anything I could do. So I just.. didn't do anything.” 

You sit down next to him, looking down at him as you do, and he in turn moves his gaze towards you. You can see the apprehension in his eyes, and maybe it’s presumptuous of you to do so, but you lay your hand over his in an effort to reassure him. He looks a bit surprised, but he accepts it, and rotates his hand around so you can hold it properly.

“I try not to, but even now I still want to be with you,” he admits, and it’s not easy for him to do, but he can’t shove down how he feels anymore– not if he wants a chance with you. 

“So I didn’t ruin what we have?” you ask and Seungmin quickly sits up, squeezing your hand as he does.

“Of course not, I mean– I was upset and I took it out on you, but.. You could never ruin anything,” he says, emphasizing the point by moving closer to you; and it makes you feel warm and happy. Because he’s bridging the gap on his own, willingly putting his walls back down, leaving the mask off.

“I'm so sorry for everything, I really am. And it's okay if you don't want to, but can we go back to what we were before? Well– not before before, but like– when you were my fake boyfriend. But not fake this time either, I want you to be my real boyfriend, and–” You’re rambling, you know, but you’re just trying to be clear, you just don’t want to mess this up again, so–

“Shut up already, idiot,” Seungmin says, an affectionate smile and lilt in his voice before he’s pressing his lips to yours to stop your rambling himself. “Don’t be an asshole when I’m pouring my heart out,” you complain, smiling despite yourself.

“I thought you wanted to go back to before though?” he says with a grin, and you roll your eyes and shove him, mumbling ‘I hate you’ while he chuckles. And it feels good. It feels like everything you’ve been missing and everything you needed. No tension, no dread, no fear– the way it should have always been.

You kiss him first this time, and he pulls you in closer, lets you crawl your way into his lap the way you’ve wanted to for weeks at this point (not that he’s even aware how much you’ve fantasized about it– at least, you hope he hasn’t.)

“I missed you,” you breathe as you settle on his lap, and he pulls away, looks up at you with the smug smile that tells you a smartass comment is going to follow. “We were only apart for like, a day,” he can’t help himself from saying, laughing softly when you pout and whine. 

“I know that! But it was the most miserable day of my life, I’ll have you know,” you huff, pout growing as you turn your face away and cross your arms. Seungmin’s expression softens, and he reaches out to your face, rests his hand on your cheek and urges you to look at him again.

He understands, he really does; it was just as miserable for him. So many doubts and fears wreaking havoc on his brain and making him assume the worst had still yet to come. “I missed you too,” he mumbles softly, earnestly, and a bit shy. 

Seungmin isn’t used to vulnerability and honesty, but he’ll get used to it for you. He’ll learn to tell you over and over again how much he loves you if that’s what you need. And the dynamic you have is fun; you like the banter, the teasing, and how much affection lies beneath the surface of his spoken words. You don’t expect him to completely change, nor do you want him to; but he can stand to be a little more open with his feelings. Just a little.

"Got you to admit it," you smile, and he scoffs when he realizes he's been duped. He calls you a brat, lovingly and affectionately, before he’s kissing you again. You push him backwards onto the bed, gentle but still assertive, continuing to kiss him while his hands find purchase on your hips. He lets out that little sigh as you kiss him– the one that always drives you crazy and makes your stomach do flips.

You used to feel guilt over what that noise caused you to think, the way it caused your body to react and where it led your mind to wander. You wonder if it’s okay now; to allow your mind to go there, if Seungmin would be okay with going further than you’ve gone before– kissing new spots, touching new places, experiencing new sensations. You wonder if he’s thought about it as much as you have, and if guilt made him swallow it down when he did, same as you. 

In the few months of your fake relationship, despite all that practiced closeness and kissing, you never made out– you’ve gotten close, hands starting to roam slightly too close to an intimate place, tongues just seconds away from passing parted lips, but one of you would always stop when you realized you were about to get carried away. And he’d gotten hard more than once, but you always pretended not to notice, acting like you didn’t feel it pressing into your thigh while your legs were tangled together. 

Acknowledging it would’ve meant confronting feelings you weren’t ready to at the time, and there was always the possibility it meant nothing, that it was just a physical reaction independent of his brain and how he felt about you. But now that you know all that you do, you hope it means he’s always wanted more with you..

And you have to admit, the self restraint it’d take not to act on his desires makes him all the more appealing. What can you say except consent is key, and knowing he has self control even when he wants you bad is sexy.

He does it again– that unconscious squeeze of your hips the more you kiss him, and you wonder what exactly it stems from; a desire to have you as close as possible, a way to ground himself as he gets worked up, or maybe even both. You hope it's both.

You pull away from his kiss, sitting up and staring down at him, your hands lingering on his chest. “I want to ask you something,” you speak softly, voice almost a whisper, face growing impossibly hot. “And don’t give me a smartass reply, or I’m leaving!” You follow up sternly, and Seungmin chuckles, grabs one of the hands you have resting on his chest, and intertwines your fingers. 

“I won’t, promise,” he says, not a hint of teasing in his voice or his smile. As fun as it is to tease you and poke fun, he can tell when the moment calls for him to be earnest and take you seriously. You breathe a sigh of relief, or maybe you’re letting out a breath to ground yourself before you speak; either way, Seungmin watches you attentively, a bit puzzled but entirely patient.

“Do you.. Did you ever think about, uh– doing more when we were kissing..?” you ask, nervously chewing on your lip as you wait for him to respond. “Oh,” Seungmin blinks, his own face growing hot alongside yours. He promised he’d give an honest, serious answer, but even if he didn’t, he doubts he would’ve been able to play it off.

Looking into your eyes while he tries to admit it makes the words lodge in his throat, so he turns his head and looks away, the hot red of his blush burning all the way to the tips of his ears. Same as when he admitted he wanted to kiss you, all he says is “yes.” No elaboration, no ifs, whens, or buts; just yes. And that’s all he needs to say, really. It speaks for itself.

He hesitates to look back at you and see your reaction, but the moment he does turn his head, you’re kissing him again, more eager and impassioned than you ever have before, the noise of surprise he lets out muffled by your lips. Your tongue peeks out, just barely brushes over his own, almost cautious, and an involuntary noise of approval escapes you when you feel his tongue slip past his lips to meet yours.

You separate your hand from Seungmin’s, and he brings his hand back to your hip while yours returns to his chest. You open your mouth for him, invite his tongue further in, and he squeezes your hips once more when you do. The feeling of his tongue sliding against yours is dizzying, makes your stomach fill to the brim with butterflies, excitement building in your gut in ways you’ve never experienced. 

You feel him growing hard beneath you, and you don’t ignore it the way you would have before; you purposely press into it, grind yourself down on Seungmin’s lap and swallow the gasp he lets out. You lose track of how long you stay like this, grinding on his lap while your tongues swirl around each other's, your heavy breaths and every noise swallowed by the other. You’re out of breath by the time you finally pull away, your chests rapidly rising and falling, his shirt twisted in your palms. 

Seungmin looks almost dazed, and to be fair, you sort of are too; neither of you ever expected you’d be here like this. To Seungmin, you were unobtainable; someone he loved but could never have, and he tried so many times to make his peace with it, though he never could.

There's a part of him that still can’t even believe you’re choosing him, that thinks maybe this is a dream he’ll soon wake up from. And in your case, it took you too long to realize your priorities were wrong, and your feelings didn’t always mean what you thought they did; that love is more than what looks good and correct on paper. 

You realized you don’t need perfection and matching titles and fairytale romance. Love doesn’t follow a formula, it doesn’t adhere to standards of nobility and preconceived notions on who a princess should love. You have two best friends, and they’re both vitally important to you, but the one you truly fell in love with turned out to be so opposite from what you thought your type truly was.

You love Seungmin, with his quips, sarcasm, imperfections, and all. It’s unfortunate you didn’t realize it sooner, but you’re happy you’re sure of it now. And now that you have him, you’re never letting him go. 

“I want you,” you tell him, and though you’re the most shy you’ve ever been, and can’t quite look him in the eye as you admit it, you still get it out, clear and direct. It’s impressive, enviable, how shyness doesn’t prevent you from ever speaking your mind.

“Do you.. want me too?” you ask, and he can feel your hands trembling as you continue to hold onto his shirt, waiting for his answer with bated breath. “Yes,” he assures; always has, and always will. 

You smile before you lean down to capture his lips in another kiss, wet, hot and messy. “This okay?” you pull away just slightly to ask, still so close that he can feel your every breath on his lips, your hand traveling down his chest and over his stomach. More than okay, he wants to say, but all that he can manage to let out is another “yes.” Your fingers ghost over the hem of his pants, his breath hitching when you palm him over the fabric.

It’s embarrassing how much pre-cum has stained and moistened the fabric of his pants, and he’s sure you can feel it beneath your hand. He closes his eyes, furrows his brows as he tries not to become flustered and increasingly more red. A breathy groan escapes him when you slide your hand inside, your hand encircling his cock, and he opens his eyes to look at you, twitching involuntarily when he sees the hungry look in your eyes. 

You kiss him when he starts to bite at his lip, greedily swallow every groan that tumbles out of him. Seungmin can’t believe how much better your hand feels than his own, how soft and warm and perfect– and when you pull away from his lips to stare down at him, he looks up at you like you hold the entire world in your hands. You’ve never done this before, but instinct carries you far, and if Seungmin’s reactions are any sign, you’re doing a good enough job so far. 

Carefully removing your hand from inside his pants and sitting up completely, you move your hands to the end of your dress, where it pools on your upper thighs, and take it in your hands, pulling it up and over your head, tossing it onto the floor behind you. Seungmin’s eyes grow wide, swallowing thickly as he stares at you. He wasn’t expecting it, but it makes sense that you’d do this; you’ve always been the type to act first and foremost. 

You smile at him, shy and sweet, but still impossibly confident too. You take his hands and bring them to your chest, let him grope you over your bra, and it sends him reeling. You’re assertive, direct, a go-getter; when you know you want something, you just go for it, simple as that. But still, this is– you’re gonna drive him crazy before the night is over. You reach behind your back, unhook your bra with familiar ease, the straps sliding down your arm.

Seungmin swallows, knowing the moment he lets you go your bra will fall from your body and expose your chest to him. Deciding to take a page out of your book, and display some confidence despite the fact that his face is impossibly hot, he takes his hands away, lifts his back off the bed and pulls his own shirt off before he can get distracted by the image of you bare before him.

You toss your fallen bra aside, and he allows himself to stare for just a moment before he brings a hand to the nape of your neck and brings you down to kiss him. You squeak in surprise, but then he feels you smiling against his lips as you return his kiss. Mirroring what you did before, his hand travels between your thighs, feeling your heat over your panties. It’s a bit of an awkward reach that causes strain on his arm, but the minute he feels the wet patch, he doesn’t even fucking think about the strain anymore. 

Seungmin brings his fingers to the hem of your panties, glancing at you before he moves any further. You nod at him, giving him permission to slip his hand inside. And fuck, you’re soaked– he barely even has to move his fingers around to get them completely coated. “You’re– ‘s so wet,” he breathes out, almost amazed, and you whine, burying your face in his shoulder as some semblance of shyness finally clutches you.

“Your fault,” you mumble, and Seungmin chuckles, kissing the top of your head affectionately. “You’re cute when you’re being shy,” he tells you, and you quickly lift your head to glare at him.

“Don’t get cocky, I will actually kill you,” you threaten. “And spend the rest of your life without me when just one day makes you miserable?” he teases, and you whine, grabbing one of his pillows and hitting him with it. 

“Remind me to never tell you when I miss you ever again,” you huff, and Seungmin coos, the menace that he is, before he pulls you into a sweet, passionate kiss. You easily melt into it, further complaints dying when his tongue touches yours. He takes your breasts in his hands again, thumbs rubbing over your nipples and making your entire body shudder. You gasp when he takes them between his fingers, squirming and whimpering when he rolls and softly pinches them. 

His cock unceremoniously twitches in response to your pleasured noises, each one driving him crazier than the last; he needs you bad. “Want you,” he mumbles against your lips, and you hum, pulling away to look at him.

“Wanna fuck me?” you ask, head tilted as a coy smile plays on your lips. Fucking hell– you call him a menace, but you’re the real threat here; you make him insane. “Isn’t that obvious?” he asks, ignoring the heat on his face and trying to act as unphased by your words as possible. 

“Yeah, it is actually,” you smile and he scoffs, rolling his eyes as you giggle. Menace. You lift your hips off his lap, moving off to the side of the bed so you can slide your panties down your legs. He watches you intently, swallowing when you turn back to him and gaze at him expectantly.

Right, he has to get undressed too. Lifting off the bed, he tries not to think about the fact that you’re staring at him as he pulls his pants and underwear down his thighs in one motion. You crawl back in his lap when he’s finished kicking the bunched fabric off his legs, neither of you paying any mind to where on his floor it lands.

Seungmin’s brain feels like it’s going to short circuit while he’s staring at you; you’re beautiful, sexy, straddling his lap entirely naked, a moment he thought would only ever exist in his wet dreams. You take a breath, steady your nerves as you reach between your bodies to take his cock in your hand. 

It twitches in your hand, throbs as you align it with your dripping hole. You swallow, glancing back up at Seungmin’s face before you act. He can’t take your other hand in his as you’re using it to support your weight, so instead he reaches for your face, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. You lean into his touch, smiling softly and indulging in his affection for just a moment before you start to slowly sink down on him. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, bottom lip caught between your teeth, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulder as you continue. Even just the sensation of the tip pushing inside is overwhelming, and the more of him you take, the more the pleasure in your gut builds. It’s unfamiliar, there’s a sting and a dull ache, but mostly it just feels good– better than anything you’ve ever felt. 

You open your eyes and look at Seungmin when your hips are finally flush with his, butterflies exploding when you see him struggling to keep himself together. His breaths are harsh and heavy, sweat dripping down his forehead, jaw clenched as he tries to prevent himself from cumming too fast. “You– you okay?” he asks, voice tense with effort, and you nod, leaning down to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. 

He throbs when you do, his hands moving to your hips and holding them tightly, your naked chests pressed together. When you’re ready, you experimentally roll your hips, whimpering softly into the kiss while you cling to his body. He groans with each slow roll of your hips, and it takes all he has not to bruise you in his grip and to stop his hips from chasing yours when you start to carefully bounce. 

It’s slow at first, still adjusting and finding the rhythm you're most comfortable with, what works for you and what feels good, but when you figure it out, God, please have mercy on him. The noises you make turn his brain into an absolute puddle, and when you whimper out his name he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to recover. And the way you clench around him, the wet sounds between your legs and of your thighs slapping together each time your hips rise and fall back to his lap– he can’t fucking take it. 

“M-Minnie–” you gasp, your pace faltering, legs screaming from all the exertion. “C-Close, but– ‘m tired,” you whine and pout, doing your best to push through the fatigue, but you’re not sure how much longer you can. Your legs and knees ache terribly, having been bent long before his dick was even inside you, and they’re in desperate need of a break. “Wanna switch?” he asks and you quickly nod, uttering a small “please,” as you still your hips.

Seungmin helps you lie on your back, quickly taking his place between your legs and pressing himself back inside in one swift motion. You gasp, eyes rolling back when he starts to quickly fuck into you, your hands clutching and twisting the sheets beneath you. He grabs your hands and makes you hold his instead, intertwines your fingers and makes no complaint when your nails dig into the flesh under his knuckles. 

He kisses you desperately, tongue messily swirling around yours, swallowing every loud whimper and moan that spills from your throat. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, your stomach knots and twists, your entire body trembles from the overwhelming pleasure. You snake your dominant hand from out of his grip and bring it to your clit, rubbing it in quick, messy circles. He pulls away from your lips to look between your bodies and watch, cursing when you squeeze him tighter. 

Before you know it, you’re gasping and crying, body jolting and squirming as your orgasm washes over you, hot pleasure licking every inch of your body. Seungmin’s head falls forward, gritting his teeth as he sloppily fucks you through it, his own release not far behind. You’re breathless and panting, but you grab his face and pull him into another kiss regardless, and it sends him over the edge, his eyes rolling back as his cum shoots inside you in long, hot spurts. 

Seungmin pulls out slowly, carefully, paying no mind to the mess his cum trickling out of you makes on his blankets. It doesn’t matter, he can call someone to change the sheets for him later– right now he just wants to focus on you. He lies next to you and kisses you, over and over, holding you close to his chest and squeezing you in his arms.

“Clingy, aren’t we?” you playfully mutter against his lips, and he can’t even bring himself to say something witty in response. “Yeah,” he smoothly admits, not denying one bit how infatuated he is with you, “I’m obsessed with you. That a problem?”

You blink, all the red that left your face instantly returning– you weren’t expecting a response like that, nor for him to say it so earnestly. “Not since I love you,” you say after you recover, smiling shyly and giggling when he seems surprised. “Do you?” he asks, and you pout; does he still not think you do, even after all that? 

“Of course I do! I love you so much, Minnie, you– you’re the only one I want,” you speak from the heart, and Seungmin smiles, playful and smug. “I know. I just wanted to hear you say it again,” he tells you, and you shove him, whining loudly when he laughs.

“You’re such an ass!” you cry, and he pulls you back to him, hugging you close and pecking your lips when you pout. “I love you too,” he says, so sweetly that it makes you melt. 

You stay cuddled together like that for some time, limbs tangled together, comfortable and secure. Neither of you wants to be the one to break away first, and though you teased him for it, you love how clingy Seungmin can be when he lets his guard down. You hope he leaves it down a lot from now on; because you love him, and with how stubborn you are, you’ll never let him be pried from your fingers. He’s yours, and you're his, now, forever, always.

It took longer than you would’ve liked to realize it, but this is the love you’ve always wanted. Seungmin completes you, he’s your missing piece, the one who understands you. Similar in the ways that matters, and contrasts you perfectly in the places you differ.

You bicker and you tease and sometimes you fight, but you love with your whole hearts; and you’ll never again doubt that or be confused on what it is you want, because this is it. It’s not the fairytale you dreamed of as a kid, but it’s better than that; because it’s real, Seungmin’s love is real, and there’s nothing better you could ever ask for.

[youaremyhome]

The Antimatter of You

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, blackmail, manipulation, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk!

Notes: 4.4k!! I did it!!! I promise now that it’s summer (and getting fired from my job) I’ll have more time to write/update. Hope it lives up to the hype lol let a girl know ok love ya ❤️

Taglist: @belcalis9503 @ACRAZYBIOTCH374 @fangirlwithlou @malfoytargaryen @RAFECAMERONSBADUSSY @takin-care-of-business @watersquirtpewpewboomm @magnificantmermaid @mk15x @abbybarnesstuff @lavenderhue @dirtytomatoedwrites

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! (And I’m sorry if I missed you, I love you)

The scent of flowers is nauseating but with a knock on your door, Rafe ignores it as best as he can.

It’s been several days since he’s seen you, the longest he’s gone without any physical contact. His texts were met with one worded replies or none at all. Having done a stellar job of avoiding him. Taking new routes to your lectures, roommates answering the door saying you weren’t home, skipping your Ethics class, the seat glaringly empty beside him.

Rafe knew to give you some space – if only for this once. The incident with you, him and Topper had shaken you greatly, no one had ever seen such an argument between the two of you. His best friend had given him a thorough tongue-lashing that morning after your exit. A reminder from Rafe about Topper’s general creepiness towards his sister had him shutting up instantly.  

Before, Rafe had believed you were slowly - but surely - getting used to him being a fixture in your life. He wasn’t stupid enough to think you were fully submitting, of course, but he knew you would be able to get there. With time.

He’s let you have your little tantrum of silence. It was a mistake to treat you so harshly, even if you had wasted a hundred dollars worth of good product.

You’re home alone today. He’s made sure of it. Camped outside your townhome for the past two hours. All your roommates had gone out for various things, filing out one by one. The only one left was the most annoying: Daniella.  

While Louise and Andi gave knowing smirks whenever the group was together, Daniella always had a strained smile. As if she struggled to let him anywhere near you.

To ensure her absence, he had recruited the help of Carson. Telling him to lure his girlfriend out so Rafe could talk to his.

He rasps on the door again, calling out your name.

“Open the door. I know you’re home.” When there’s no response, Rafe fist hits harder. “Open the damn door.”

He repeats your name multiple times as he jingles the doorknob. After a few more tries, he sighs and gives up. It didn’t have to go this way.

The click of the door is quiet, Rafe soundlessly closing it as he pockets his copy of the key. Slyly walking through the foyer, the back of your head appears when he comes into the open living room. The crinkle of plastic as his hands squeeze the stems makes your head almost fall off from how fast you look behind.

“What in the actual hell, Rafe?” Pushing off the couch, you cross your arms. A faint line creased between your eyebrows and Rafe can’t help but notice you aren’t wearing a bra. “How’d you get in here?”

“Spare.” Rafe simply says. “Y’know, just in case of an emergency.”

“Or to sneak in here like a fucking creep.”

“No…for when my girl is ignoring me.”

Rafe lifts the bouquet up, savoring how you take in the view of your favorite flowers in white and faint pink. Taking a step toward you, a minute flinch ticks at your shoulders. Rafe stops.

“Well, you can throw them in the garbage on your way out.” Your ponytail swishes when you twirl back to plant yourself on the couch. “Go away.”

“Aw c’mon baby,” Groaning, he rolls his head back. He rounds the couch, standing in front of the TV. Extending his arm out, he presents the flowers again. “How about you find a nice vase for these, and I’ll make it up to you.”

The stupid comment grants him exactly what he wants, your attention on him. Eyes like needlepoints hoping to puncture him.

“You can do so by leaving.” You turn the volume up, and you focus back on the TV.

It’s the dismissal that has Rafe’s ire prickling his skin, his patience splintering.  

“Alright, that’s enough. I gave you plenty a time to pout.”

Your lips puff with your incredulous. “Pout? Pout?” You swat at the bouquet. “I’m not pouting. I’m fucking pissed and tired of you.”

'Pissed off' he could deal with. The pouting is cute. Your tears are an intoxicating aphrodisiac. But to be tired of him?

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

Rafe squats down, supporting his forearms on his knees as he looks up at you through his lashes. Staring at the upwards angle of your face, he doesn’t have to wait long for your eyes to nervously meet his. Containing his anger has never been his forte. You simultaneously ignite his fire to a roaring inferno and wash it down until there’s only embers left. At the moment, he was between the two.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He blows out a breath. “I, I should’ve never gotten like that with you. Forgive me, angel?”

Leaning the flowers forward, the petals tap once against your bare knees. A deadlock between wills of opposing nature. Your facial expressions switch like the flipping of pages, the language of you becoming easier to understand the more time he spends with you.

“Apology unaccepted.”

Snatching the bouquet out of his grip, you stand and beeline for the kitchen. Rafe rights himself up, following you lazily. Playing his own game of shadow with each step and turn you make. Your slamming cabinets left and right until you find one beneath the sink, almost cracking the glass of a long vase with your force.

His gaze skims over the flimsy material of your sleep shorts, and the way your breasts slope beneath your tank top. Your hands busy themselves with arranging the stems and such, actively ignoring his presence. Hands in his pockets, Rafe takes measured strides until he’s a hairs length away from your back.

“…I never got my hello kiss.”

Your glare radiates so potently that Rafe doesn’t have to look to know it's there. Placing his hands on your hips, he walks the tips of his fingers inward and smirks when a quiver to your lower belly ripples across. Lips kiss at the tension in your shoulders, thumbs molding like dough into your sides.

“I’ve missed you…” His tongue peaks out, tasting the skin there. A hand travels down to play with the waistband of your shorts. “Missed this cunt, too.”

“Rafe – wait,” The hitching of your breath is so sweet he cups you in his wide hand in a fluid downslide. The pinching pain of your nails into his wrists has him stilling, lingering. Your neck stretches as you look back as your features pinch in. “I’m…I’m on my…y’know, period.”

He wants to believe you – truly he does – but lies spill from those pretty lips all the time so…

Frustrated whimpers break loose between your bitten lip while Rafe continues down, your head leaning on his shoulder in defeat. Swirling the tip of his middle finger closer to your hole, the touch of roped cotton has him pausing. A string.

Damn it.

Rafe sighs and trails up your slit to lightly stroke your clit once more before he’s slipping his hand out, keeping it low on your warm pelvis. It rises a rumbled chuckle from him, peering down at your weak glare. This close to your face, he can see all the small imperfections that add to the mosaic of your beauty. Gliding his other hand up, he passes a ghost of a touch to your chest before it lands with a curl around your throat. The addition of it pushes you fully into perfection.

Humming and eyes hooded, Rafe draws out a peck to your lips. The warm, soft contact is barely a kiss, just a need to feel you closer that has Rafe relaxing a fraction. “C’mon then.”

Leading you back to the couch, you resume your previous seat that looks more like a nest with a bundle of blankets, a heating pad, and candy there. Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline when he lays the warmed pad on your lower abdomen, wrapping a fuzzy throw around you then tucking you under his arm, situated to lean against him. Propping his feet on the ottoman, Rafe focuses on the TV which plays some sort of reality show.

Your suspicion rises like steam, muscles strained with preparation for flight. It isn’t until halfway through the show does Rafe feel your body incrementally slacken and by the third, you’ve fallen asleep.

So, if the show happens to stay on there’s no one around to judge.

Rafe likes it when you’re asleep. Can freely stare at you without an icy sneer or bitchy remark to ruin the moment. Just a doll nuzzled deep into the side of him resonating a humming of snores.

His peace is ruined by the vibrating of his phone. He checks the screen.

Ward

With care, Rafe eases up from the couch and repositions your head so it’s against a pillow then heads into the kitchen.

Ward hardly calls him. The proportion of Rafe’s outgoing calls to him weighs heavily unanswered. Taking a deep breath, he picks up.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” There’s an eager edge to his question and Rafe hates it.

“Rafe, checking in to see how you doin’?” Ward’s deep timbre carries easily through the speaker.

“Good. I’m good.” Rafe looks at the back of the couch, smiling. “Yeah, I’m actually at my girl –”

“Listen, bud,” His father starts. “You got any plans for spring break? Wantcha come down so you can help me start up this new project. It’s a big one.”

Rafe pumps his fist into the air silently, excitement coloring his voice. “No, yeah, totally! I can do that. I’m up for it.”

“You sure? This is legit business and I need you to have a clear head. That means no…partying when you’re here, ‘ight? No funny stuff while we do this. Can you handle that, Rafe?”

It isn’t the serious tone of his father’s gruff voice that has his excitement evaporating. It’s the impending disappointment there like Rafe has already fucked up. Ward giving him a chance and still expecting failure in the end. A flash of hurt burns through but Rafe shakes it off, tells himself that he deserves it considering his track record.

“You can count on me, sir. I swear.”

A pause. Rafe thinks Ward might give encouraging words. A squeeze of a hand for support, words he’s heard him tell Sarah.

Only it’s: “See you soon.” And that’s that.

The dual beep from the phone lets Rafe know Ward’s hung up, just as a ‘love you’ was balancing off his tongue. He must be busy today.

“Who was that?”

Your voice rises from the couch before your head pops up, hair all fluffy and ruffled. Eyes are a bit puffy from sleep as you blink them open. The late afternoon sun creates a soft yellow hue through the windows, catching onto strands of your hair, soaking into your skin. Rafe is momentarily blinded by the view that it takes him a second to respond.  

“My dad.” Carding his fingers through his hair, Rafe smiles as the thrill returns. “He wants me to assist with a new job. This is huge for me!”

Yawning, you stretch and get up from the couch. Rafe keeps his body angled to yours, head nodding along to his babbling as you fill a glass of water.

“If he could see that I’m ready – that I’m ready to get serious, I’ll finally be a part of the Cameron legacy. My legacy. It’s about time he’s bought me into the loop…sure I’ve been tagging along since I could remember but this time, he wants my input. I’ll be able to share my ideas and he’ll have to listen.” He sighs, winded. “It’s too bad I’ll be gone for spring break –”

“Really?”

You’re at the edge of the peninsula, hip leaning against the counter as you take another sip. Your eyes shift from his to elsewhere, fingers drumming an uneven beat. Adjacent to you and with his hands braced on the counter, Rafe slides closer. Spreading his fingers apart to reach out a pinky to stroke your own.

“Don’t miss me too much.”

Scoffing, you swipe your hand away. “As if.” Your face softens a little into curiosity. “What does your dad do again?”

Shock rocks at his heart and it's damn hard to keep it in. He can count on one hand the number of times you’ve shown genuine interest in conversation with him.

“He owns a development company. Operates daily with the construction of buildings and those type of things.”

“Oh.” Your eyes are open and inviting, the slightest tilt in his direction.

Rafe steams on ahead, wanting to keep your attention. “Yeah, he started it all on his own. Born on the other side of the island. Actually made something of himself… unlike those dirty pogues down there now.”

It’s automatic to sneer out the slur. He can’t help the disgust he feels just thinking about that side of town.  

One of your eyebrows raises. “Aren’t you, like, fourth generation to attend UNC?” Your chin juts out. “Wouldn’t that mean your family has had, like enough money to go for so long?”

Rafe could crack a tooth from the grinding of his teeth. You’re not the first to connect the dots but you certainly are one of the few to vocalize it.  

“Third.” Rafe sucks his teeth in. “The Camerons may have started out on the Cut, but they grew to be more middle class. Only the truly elite are on Figure Eight.”

It infuriates him to no end of that simple fact. That just before he was born Ward was making his way through the Cut and into Figure Eight, the right side of the island. Where he – they always belonged.

Your eyes roll with a tilt of your head. “So, not really a pogue, not really a kook. Just an ordinary man like the rest of the world. Y’know, stepping on that island is like being in a fucked up alternate universe.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I am not!” The stomping of your foot says otherwise. “It’s the worst place I’ve ever been.”

“It’s the best place.”

It’s amusing to watch your cheeks puff in frustration. “Only because of the little notoriety your family has there.”

A slow smirk spreads out like elastic, leaning into you. “Well, of course, sweetheart.”

With anyone else, Rafe would be squashing them beneath his shoe like a bug for a comment like that. With you, however…he finds he wants to know all your thoughts regarding him, the good and the bad. Suck in all the information he can, leach off every emotion you hold for him. The anger, the disgust, the begrudging pleasure.

At the same time, Rafe doesn’t have to hide behind a polite smile or use his charm to peruse you. He’s his real self. The most based form of a soul he struggles to hold onto. Wants to lay the shreds of his soul at your feet like a sacrifice, irrevocably intertwined together.

A peculiar look morphs on your face. Like when you’re working through a difficult assignment. Unmoving, focused but this time on him, which is extremely rare. Usually, you shield yourself away in a layer of ice that solidifies you.

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back, lashes blinking rapidly to break your connected gazes.

“What are you thinking about?” He angles his head low to follow your eyes.

Rafe half expects the typical retort of: ‘You don’t need to know all my waking thoughts.’

“Just…Doesn’t everyone on the island think he was a true pouge?”

So, you have listened to his rants before.

“People remember and think what they want to. Ward doesn’t have to answer to any of them.” His eyes narrow. “Why?”

Your fingers begin to fiddle with themselves. Twisting fingers in knots, squeezing the tips in a random pattern.

Again, he asks. “Why’re you so interested?”

“What? Now you’re gonna be mad I’m talking to you?”

Sass is a defense mechanism you use often; one Rafe finds the most annoying but just as addictive to combat with. It continues in his silent stare.

“I guess… I’m just confused why you would want to work with him so badly?” Your tone goes from curious to condescending within a blink of an eye. “If my dad treated me like that, I’d want to be as far away from him as possible.”

The straightening of his spine is immediate. “You don’t know shit about my dad.”

“Just that he treats you like shit –”

“Shut up –”

“Bet he’d love to know his only son is a psychotic rapist!”

His eyes bulge. A moment of stillness that enraptures the both of you. The bickering was reeving him up to ravish you across the countertop. Now, his mind whirls from the total 180 you’ve pulled on him. Never has he heard you utter those condemning words before. Rafe didn’t think you’d succumb to that dark truth, let alone say it out loud.

A scoff hiccups deep from his chest. “What fucking proof you got of that, sweetheart?” Shifting closer, your face pinches in as Rafe leers, “Your wet cunt cumming each time I force it in?”

It’s a low blow you take with stride, a flinch before you're sneering. “What about that little coke problem of yours?”

There.

There it is.

The real reason you’ve gone down this path of conversation. Nosing your way into things pretty girls like you shouldn’t concern yourself with. Much less with the intention set in your shoulders.

“You trying to blackmail me?” The chuckle comes low, barely a sound of amusement. “Oh, honey,” Rafe mocks. “You didn’t know he already knows?”

The façade of your bravado crumbles, a half step taken back with weary eyes. He tsks and cocks his head back, disappointed. With a sudden swing of his arm, the back of his hand knocks your glass of water to the other side of the room. The shattering of glass and your shriek harmonize, creating the perfect symphony to his sudden charging to you, arms an unknown mix until he shoves you against the wall.

Both hands hold your throat. Nails pierce his skin and scratch along the length trying to find a better leverage. The squeezing doesn’t stop until your eyes are pleading and swimming in the dark waters of fear.

“I may be a fuck up but I’m still his son.” Jerkily releasing you, your head wobbles on your neck. Hands barricading you in, Rafe lowers his head until your noses touch. Your panting breaths feed his next ones in.

“Don’t threaten me if you can’t back. It. Up!” His final warning is yelled, vibrating against your lips as his palms smack beside your head with each pointed word.

Your tears have gone unnoticed until you curl to the side and his lips taste the salty moisture upon your skin. Normally, the sight of them would soften his anger and harden his cock, leading the situation to hot make-up sex.

It isn’t enough. Not today.

Not when his future is within his grasp, his for the taking. Not with the knowledge of you trying to get rid of him, the idea as pointless as it is terrifying. Going to desperate measures when you should be desperate for him.

With a practiced move, Rafe retches your hair between tightened knuckles and pulls until your neck is a long arch and facing him. He ignores the pain-filled yelp and weak hands patting his chest.

“You want me to force you? Is that it, baby, huh?” Rafe hisses.

He hauls you down until your knees fold beneath you. A sick delight like seasickness rolls down to his groin as he growls. Weak defiance lives in your eyes, frowning with his name on your tongue. It's a tug of war between Rafe’s hand and your struggle to rise, keeping your hair taunt. It’s the sight of him unzipping his fly that has you hitting his thighs with a renewed alarm.

“Rafe! Stop it –”

“Keep fightin’ and you’re only gonna make it worse f’yourself.” Rafe warns another yank just to hear you shriek.

Fisting the base of his cock, he pulls it out through the opening. He aims for your mouth, but you cringe making the tip smear on your chin. Rafe tuts, guiding your head right where he wants, and flexes his arm, sure to hold you in place.

“C’mon n’ open up,” he drawls. “Take your punishment.”

Stroking up to the tip, his thumb sweeps along the ridge and tilts his hips forward, hovering just above those plush lips. Tapping the red flesh on your closed mouth, Rafe splays his hand on your chin and squeezes on the delicate bones until your jaw unhinges with a wail to relieve the pain.

Like a serpent striking, he’s pushing in before you can react. Bumping against the roof of your mouth, the rigids of your hard palate make him jerk with sensitivity and envelop the next few inches. The hot, wet rush has sparks crackling up his spine. All that heat and anger spirals down to his cock, the need to claim brooding in his balls. Grunting your name with each gag you give, his thumb caresses the corner of your lip as he watches enthralled.

A part of him wants to take his time. Use gentle strokes to coax your mouth open, train you with patience to swallow his cock just right.

Instead with a mean smirk, Rafe plunges half his cock in. The clenching of your throat makes it hard to go in deeper, the constriction of your resistance inflames his pleasure. The underside of his dick feels the rippling of your tongue like a wave, chasing after it eagerly. Your high-pitched whines are muffled by the weight of him, gargles of air getting blocked as he teases the opening of your throat.

“Can’t believe I’ve gone this long without fucking that mouth of yours.”

Saliva accumulates, thick and slippery as his cock triggers your gag reflex, spit dribbling down your jaw. Your drool coats him to create a smooth glide, lower abdomen tensing, and stuffing further in. Such a pretty sight seeing you like this, gurgling and coughing between the space of your cheeks and his cock. Eyelashes clumped, a darkening hue on your cheeks, small fistfuls of his jeans. Your gagging clinches your throat, locking him in tight before it flutters open.

Rafe allows you to pull back far enough to catch a breath. Coughing out into shaky inhales, lips puffy from abuse and slicked with combined spit and precum. Standing above you like this gives him the most delicious view of your stretched neck. From the tip of your chin to the swell of your cleavage in an expanse of skin that should be carved into marble.

Words tangle as you stutter and gasp, Rafe hushing you with faux tenderness. “I’m going to fuck ya throat now…”

Weaving his fingers once more into your hair, Rafe pushes back into your avoiding mouth. Your fighting ignites a primal urge of take, take, take within him. A bloating want fills his void. Sticky and black as tar that he wants to pour onto you, anoint you with his devoted desecration.

There is little mercy with the pistoling of his hips, ass clenching in pointed thrusts. Mummering encouragements of that’s it, such a good girl and various pitches of your name, Rafe feeds you his length with a fevered urgency. The squelching of his dick opening your throat layers with his low moans, watching as each inch disappears until your lips are kissing his pelvis.

His hips jerk involuntarily as a tickling of pleasure jolts him, your wet bottom lip moving on the sensitive spot just below his base and above his heavy balls. It feels so good and you’re not even actively sucking on him. Just a soft wet home for him to press in farther, another place he has laid claim to.

Fringes of hair droop between his eyes, almost hunched over as he pulls his hips to ram back in. Wet spots glisten on your chest, staining your tank top. A relentless pace fueled by rage and an ache.

“Fuck – ah – I’m gonna cum.” Rafe says hoarsely and tilts his head back if only to starve off his orgasm by looking away. “My good lil’ slut…swallow my cum.”

Angling your head up, Rafe slides his cock down all the way to the root. Grip tightening on your head, he rocks side to side to wiggle in as much as he can. You're choking helplessly as he fucks so deep, it feels like he might reach your heart. One hand skates down to your neck and palms the bulge, holding it there to experience the swell of it. Minuscule thrusts nudge the back wall of your esophagus, his thumb rubs up and down where the head sits.

The scrunching of your eyes and difficult breaths boosts his ego but he needs to see you. Needs you to see him.

“Look at me.” His fingers press in painfully. Eyes flickering half open, the devastation set in your irises kindles his breaking point. “Ugh,” he grunts your name like gravel between his teeth.

Stilling in the depths of you, Rafe cums.  

Your muscles intuitively constrict and swallow, suctioning him with hot, white pleasure. The wet of your cheeks is like velvet as you drink his cum.

Seconds or minutes pass before he loosens his hold. Loud choking fits break between your breathing once you're free from his cock, covered in a layer of drool and residual cum. Rafe pets your hair, trying to smooth out the knots he’s made.

You’re still crying as he calms down from his high, face nuzzling into his hip to hide. God, he’s going to get hard again with you looking so pathetic.

“Did you learn your lesson, pretty angel?” Dragging rough fingers through your hair, he bunches a handful and barely pulls, your neck like a snapped cord as your head flops back. An index finger tenderly traces down your cheek to your swollen lips.

“Any more empty threats and I’ll rape your mouth until you pass out.”

[srvbryn]

heyy, I was the one that asked if you're taking requests and I'm so happy you are!!

Could I request Luke x reader, where reader stats sending him some anonymous notes (just small things to avoid being obvious) and ends up getting kinda sad when Luke is considering almost every girl in the camp except her, and the ending can be whatever you like

Hope you're comfortable with this! 🥺

Also, if you're up to make tags with anon identification can I be 🫀anon? (It's so I can find the answers to my asks faster, but it's okay if you don't want to 😊

Hope you have a nice day 👋

Luke Castellan. Secret notes

𐙚⋆.˚ Luke Castellan X f!reader (no mention of Godly parent)

Summary: "I've always admired you" He used to be the sweetest boy in camp, but now he's known as a traitor.

𐙚⋆.˚ light angst, THEY USED TO BE FRIENDS but then idk shit happened man, Luke actually like reader BUT he thought reader didn't like him so he spend time with different girls everyday to ignore his feelings lol, this shit take a whole different turn LMAOAOA

A/n: THIS ONE IS SO BAD - this writing shit block hit hard 😭😭 I barely have any ideas , I'm sorry if this one is BAD 🫀 anon 😔

“For what it's worth

I did love you

And I could have said it a thousand and one times

But I wanted nothing more than for you to hear

To understand and to represent all that it meant

And I would say it again

To make it a thousand and two I do still love you

And it sure still does sound sweet

For what it's worth

I understand you

Maybe as far as you want me to

Maybe even more, but I do

And the consequences of understanding you

I didn't know would be love

Love unabashed and irreplaceable

Love that can't be replicated

A flame that didn't need to be fanned

Because how can you understand the beauty of a rose

And leave it in the garden...”

Maybe knowing it has thorns?”

Eighteen-year-old (name) has her future all planned out - spending the time at Camp Half Blood and move out of the place; attend college near the city; spend the summer in Spain.

The second I close my eyes, the memories play, and I find myself back at the beginning.

He used to be the sweetest boy in camp, but now he's not. It was sweet how he would respond to girls smiling at him. He was kind, the type of man you would want in a relationship.

He's literally the personification of a fairytale man, the way he walks the way he talks.

He's flawless.

i. The first time I secretly gave you a note

I got some paper and wrote down my feelings for him. This is the first love letter I've ever written, and the first I've sent to Luke.

When I was finished, I went in without anyone noticing, folded the paper, inserted it through the slit, and pushed it inside.

You sigh with relief. It was dumb; seriously, a love letter? He's the most gorgeous and strongest swordsman in the camp, and the only way you can confess is through an anonymous love letter??

It was sparring time, and you really enjoyed it because you could admire Luke Castellan.

What you didn't expect to see was an Aphrodite girl batting her eyelashes so hard while staring at him. She's going to fly with that eyelash of hers, you thought to yourself.

But she has courage, and you admire her for it.

Lover girl: 0

Ms steal your man (#1) : 1

Luke Castellan was still awake that night, looking at the moon, as is his usual routine, which no one knows about.

Reading the notes he found inside his locker,

"Dear Luke, I've always admired you since the first time I saw you. - ♡"

It was short, but not meaningless, because it was the first time someone gave him something to remember.

Lover girl: +1

Ms steal your man (#1): +0

ii. 14th February - I hate you

It would've been nice if your crush noticed you. You would be lying if you said you didn't hate valentine the most.

Inside her cabin, (Name) couldn't shake the sting of loneliness on Valentine's Day.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she imagined Luke enjoying the company with other cabin girls. "Why does he always choose them over me?" she questioned, her heart heavy with unspoken emotions.

Meanwhile, in the dimly lit hallways, Luke laughed with the others, blissfully unaware of (Name)'s pain.

"Luke, why not spend some time with (Name)?" Annabeth suggested, sensing her sadness. Luke brushed it off with a casual remark, "She's fine on her own."

Back in her cabin, (Name) clenched her fists, whispering to herself, "I'm always on my own." She tried to distract herself, but every attempt failed. The distant echoes of laughter outside only intensified her solitude.

As the night deepened, (Name) heard footsteps approaching her cabin. Hope flickered, but it dimmed as she realized it wasn't Luke. A gentle knock echoed, "You okay, (Name)?"

Tears streaming down her face, she replied, "I just wanted to spend Valentine's Day with someone who actually cares."

iii. I should hate you

"You should've seen (Name)'s face," one girl giggled, recounting a previous encounter. "She's such a mess."

Deep in her heartache, (Name) wished Luke would notice her suffering. "Am I not enough?" she wondered, dealing with the harsh reality of his neglect.

The cabin's walls appeared to close in as the weight of unspoken words pressed down.

Luke's laughter echoed through the night, a stark contrast to (Name)'s silent sobs.

She craved his presence, his understanding, but he remained blissfully ignorant. "I thought I meant something to him," she murmured, wiping away tears.

iv. Thank you, Annabeth

The evening sun cast a warm glow over the tranquil lake as (Name) joined Annabeth, Percy, and Grover.

Laughter and chatter filled the air as they settled by the water's edge. Annabeth, with her piercing eyes, couldn't help but notice (Name) seemed distant.

"Hey, (Name), you've been quiet. Everything okay?" she asked, concern etched on her face. (Name) sighed, her gaze fixed on the water. "Yeah, just thinking about stuff, you know?"

Percy, ever the perceptive one, chimed in, "You can talk to us. We're like family."

Grover nodded in agreement, "Totally, (Name), we're here for you."

As they enjoyed the lakeside atmosphere, Annabeth couldn't ignore (Name)'s glances toward where Luke was chatting with another girl.

She approached (Name). "Look, (Name), it's been going on for a while now. You can't keep avoiding this. You should tell Luke how you feel instead of sulking every time he talks to someone else."

(Name) tensed, her expression guarded. "It's not that simple, Annabeth. Luke and I are practically strangers."

Annabeth crossed her arms, her voice gentle yet firm. "You're like an older sister to us, and we hate seeing you upset. If you don't tell him, you'll always wonder 'what if.' Trust me, it's better to know than to wonder."

The words lingered between them, and (Name) mulled them over as they decided to take a dip in the lake. The water was cool, and the moon reflected on its surface as they swam.

Percy splashed water at Grover, starting a playful water fight. (Name) couldn't help but smile at their antics, but her thoughts still lingered on Annabeth's advice.

As they swam back to the shore, Percy asked, "Come on, (Name), join the fun! Don't let your worries ruin the evening."

(Name) hesitated for a moment before giving in, and soon laughter echoed around the lake as they played and enjoyed each other's company.

v. Realization

Luke's curiosity got the better of him when he noticed (Name) sneaking into Hermes Cabin.

As he approached her, he had a furrowed brow and a puzzled expression on his face, and the pile of small love notes in her hands revealed the secret he had unknowingly discovered.

"(Name), what are you doing here? And what's with all these notes?" Luke said.

Her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and nervousness. "Luke, I... um, well, these notes are for you. I've been leaving them hoping you will read them"

Luke's eyes widened in realization, understanding crossing his features.

Luke said teasingly. "You're the one behind these notes? Why keep it a secret?"

Glancing everywhere but at him, you replied "you hangout with different girls everyday what makes you think I have the courage to confess?"

Luke's expression softened as he processed (Name)'s confession. The air between them thickened.

"You don't have to hide, (Name). Your notes brought joy to my days. Knowing it's you only makes them more special."

vi. The prophecy

“Luke—”

“Good-bye, Percy. There is a new Golden Age coming and you won’t be part of it.”

He slashed his sword in an arc and disappeared in a ripple of darkness.

The scorpion lunged.

I swatted it away with my hand and uncapped my sword. The thing jumped at me and I cut it in half in midair.

I was about to congratulate myself until I looked down at my hand. My palm had a huge red welt, oozing and smoking with yellow guck. The thing had gotten me after all.

My ears pounded. My vision went foggy. The water, I thought. It healed me before.

I stumbled to the creek and submerged my hand, but nothing seemed to happen. The poison was too strong. My vision was getting dark. I could barely stand up.

Sixty seconds, Luke had told me.

I had to get back to camp. If I collapsed out here, my body would be dinner for a monster. Nobody would ever know what had happened.

My legs felt like lead. My forehead was burning. I stumbled toward the camp, and the nymphs stirred from their trees.

“Help,” I croaked. “Please . . .”

Two of them took my arms, pulling me along. I remember making it to the clearing, a counselor shouting for help, a centaur blowing a conch horn.

Then everything went black.

Oh gods, "Annabeth-" (name) voice breaks the silence.

"I know (name) I know" She replied.

...

“You idiot,” Annabeth said, which is how I knew she was overjoyed to see me conscious. “You were green and turning gray when me and (name) found you. If it weren’t for Chiron’s healing . . .”

The room was quiet when Percy told them the story.

It was quiet for a long time.

“I can’t believe that Luke...” Annabeth’s voice faltered. Her expression turned angry and sad. “Yes. Yes, I can believe it. May the gods curse him.... He was never the same after his quest.”

“(name) can you believe what he just did?!” Annabeth said.

"I don't.. but seeing Percy like this oh my gods... I'm so sorry Perce"

Maybe I was dumb for not noticing you were plotting to betray us.

See you on the other side, Luke Castellan.

[too-deviant]

idk if you’d be comfortable writing this but I was wondering if you could whip up an Aphrodite!reader who’s fed up with her beauty. She stops attending school and stays the full term at camp which makes Luke confused. So she tells him about how random dudes would hit on her and be creepy at her school or something. She’d prolly join him with Kronos bc she wants to feel respected for once. Would be such an angsty but filled with femme rage although totally cool if you choose not to write this~ Just wanted to share it with someone 💛

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Aphrodite!Reader

Summary: Maybe you didn't want to be beautiful anymore.

Content: pretty angsty, brief mentions of male harassment but nothing explicit or triggering, again sorry for the wait i had w block pls forgive me. also not proofread sorry yall its been a rough week.

You were only faintly aware of the noise around you.

The chatter of the city was a mere buzz in the back of your head as you marched down the street. It amazed you, really, just how unbelievably dickish mortal boys could be. This one in particular; Mike Schwartz, a five foot something jock who sat on the bench at every game. He’d been a bother in your life since you started high school. Back then, you took the endless prospects as a compliment – you truly were your mother’s daughter. It was a boost to your weak teenage confidence. 

But as the years went by, the constant asking for your hand became an irritant. Especially when they couldn’t get the hint – at fourteen, turning down guys felt amazing, but when those same guys kept coming back for more, it made your eye twitch. Couldn’t they take the first no, tuck their tail between their legs and fuck off?

Apparently not. 

After four years of putting up with it, you were done. Storming out of the cafeteria, grabbing all your things, hailing a cab and getting the hell outta dodge. Maybe you should’ve stopped to think — called your dad, taken a few deep breaths. But the harder you thought about it, after trying not to for so many years, you came to the conclusion that you would’ve ended up here anyway. 

Here being the peak of HalfBlood Hill in the middle of September. It was only slightly unusual, because when you usually arrive at the start of summer you get to watch the crowds of arrivals setting up shop at camp. Now, however, it was fairly desolate. Less people, you knew. 

It was also a split second shock when you stepped across the border and felt the drastic change in weather. From the cool breeze of the autumn air to the warm summery spring that camp was in year-round. A shift that made you pause, but you kept on down the hill anyway. 

Chiron was waiting for you on the porch of the Big House, and without so much as a word, gestured for you to follow him inside. He was fairly understanding of your situation, but made you Iris Message your dad and tell him of your decision. He, too, was more glad you were safe than angry you ran off. 

“We can talk about this when you feel like talking.” He’d said. 

So you’d done it. Finally, you’d gotten yourself away from the hey hot stuffs and the you seeing anyone baby?s. You were back at camp, you were where you were most happy. 

But you weren’t happy. 

Being a year-rounder, you’d discovered, was a lot less busy than being a summer camper. You got more days off, longer breaks between activities. You found yourself spending more time in your own company; something you never really got to do before. Most of the time you were with your siblings, or your mortal friends, or you were being hounded by some frat boy and their friends.

It took a minute to get used to the loneliness, but you did. You explored camp, found places you hadn’t seen before. A cute clearing near a stream on the east side of the forest, or a Satyr sanctuary on the far end of the beach. You read more books, you trained a little harder, you perfected six new hairstyles on your little sister Elena and Annabeth from the Athena Cabin. 

And yet, you were still pissed off. 

“Why?” 

Luke Castellan was a name everyone knew in this little corner of Long Island. One of the oldest campers, head counsellor of the rowdiest cabin, token tour guide for the new kids. Oh, and the best swordsman camp had seen in, like, three centuries. He was cute, that much you’d heard all around your cabin. But you’d never really held a solid conversation with him until you became a year-rounder. The fewer people around, the more you run into him. 

You’d been practising a few neat tricks with a dagger when he spotted you. Said he was there to train himself for once and that you wouldn’t even notice he was there. You did, though. Especially when he took his shirt off twenty minutes in. 

You shared a water break, he asked you why you’d transferred to being a year rounder, and you indulge him in the story. He was super nice about it too, which made you angry. Was Luke the only nice guy on the planet? 

“But at least you’re happier now, right?” He’d said. You weren’t, you told him that much. He gave you this knowing look you’d never seen on him before, and asked Why?

You shrugged, “I don’t know. I love it here, I do. But I shouldn’t have to uproot my entire life and bring it here just to get some semblance of peace. I shouldn’t have to give up my education, my friends, my dad, just so I don’t have to get harassed every day. It’s not even like my mom gave me anything to help combat it, either. She just made me beautiful and told me to deal with the consequences! I mean,” You let out a weak chuckle, holding up the dagger you’d been toying with, “This was a birthday present from a friend in Cabin Six. Not even my mother, who is a warrior herself, could bother sending me a weapon. They really don’t give two shits about us, do they?” 

He’d parted his lips, eyes shining with something, and looked at you through his bottom lashes, “No. They don’t.”

You and Luke grew closer after that. A lot closer. By the time summer rolled around and the rest of the campers returned, you were inseparable. Many rumours spread but you two ignored them in favour of sneaking into that clearing you’d found and talking in whispers about your hatred for the gods. Who cared if they could hear you? Let them. 

It was Luke who had come up with the idea to steal the bolt. A quick job, in and out, and maybe then they’d listen to what you’d have to say. But they didn’t — they did exactly what they always did and risked the lives of two young demigods and a satyr just because they couldn’t be bothered doing it themselves. Selfish — that’s what they were. They didn’t care about anyone —

“ — but themselves!” You glared at Thalia, who stood before you atop Mount Tamalpais with her spear in your direction. “I mean, look at your dad. He didn’t care enough to stop the monsters from killing you, oh, but it’s okay because he turned you into a damn tree!”

“This isn’t the way!” Annabeth yelled from afar. Her hair was twisted in a style you’d taught her how to do that first year as a year-rounder. It broke your heart that she couldn’t see how right you and Luke were. 

“Curse them, Thalia.” You said plainly, holding up your dagger. Half mortal metal, half celestial bronze. A gift from Luke. “Curse your father and his children. His brothers. Curse them all like they deserve to be cursed! They deserve to be toppled.”

 You tilted your head, looking at them all. Luke and your army were heading steadily up the mountain. If you could convince them now, there wouldn’t need to be a battle. 

“Where are they now, huh?” You raised both your arms, “You’re fighting for your life against a titan on a mountain and the only god who came to help out was Artemis? And that’s just because she was here already.” You scoffed out a laugh, “You should thank us, really, for taking her. Had we not, you’d be dead already.” 

Annabeth watched. You were unrecognisable in that moment — your face streaked with dirt and blood, curled into a dark sneer that any of your siblings would berate you for because of the wrinkles you’d get. You didn’t seem to care all that much, though. Not when Thalia was lunging for you and attempting to pull you out of the rage you were in. Not when her spear and shield were no match for your measly dagger and you went toppling down the mountain. 

The next time any of them saw you was in Manhattan — after believing you to be dead for a year and a half, it came as a shock when you emerged from the crowd of monsters. Your hair was hacked short, and one of your legs had been replaced with a bronze prosthetic. You fought with a ruthlessness none of them had seen in you before, whether it be because you were on the losing side or because Luke had given his body to the Lord of Time before you had the chance to tell him you loved him. You were still angry, and even if you hated Kronos, you didn’t hate him nearly as much as you hated the gods. 

When Luke died, you were kneeled beside him. Your face was dirty, your hair was knotty, and there was a dent in your bronze leg. He lifted a hand to your face, “I’m sorry to have to say this, but…you’re sorta beautiful.”

“Sorta?”

He grinned, and then he died, and you were filled with such unbridled rage that you pushed yourself down to the ground of Manhattan and tore through Kronos’ army with fire in your eyes, not stopping until Apollo got rid of your sight and forced you to calm down. You didn’t know if you’d ever be calm, since the only person who ever understood you just died in your arms, but you dropped your dagger and stomped your way back up to Olympus like a bratty child anyway. 

Zeus didn’t punish you for what you did, but he did say he’d be keeping a firm eye on you. You joined the hunters, much to your mothers disdain, and didn’t ever allow yourself to look back.

[pdpenpals]

hihi! i was wondering if i could get a romantic letter from phoenix drop high gene? she/they pronouns please :)

and for the context of the letter, maybe Gene & Reader recently started dating but can’t text because Reader is away at an academic sleep away camp (preferably centered around literature/writing)? Reader is on the more academic/nerdy side and not officially part of the SK so them doing these kinds of programs is their usual summer thing but it’s the first time Gene and Reader have been away from eachother since they started dating

tysm <33

hihi!! thanks for sending this in, i think this prompt’s absolutely adorable!

unrelated but speaking of literature whenever i see gene now that i’m older i think of heathcliff (more of the name) or the phantom for some reason.

your entire being perks up at the mention that a letter’s arrived, and your heart races as you go through who could have possibly sent it in your head. the moment you have it in your hands, you can almost tell exactly who it’s from. the envelope’s a dark gray, close enough to be black. there are stickers all over its back next to your name and address, same goes for the front. opening it, you catch a whiff of someone familiar’s cologne. that cheeky bastard. 

you notice almost immediately that there’s not only a letter inside, but a bunch of printed photos and some unused stickers. after finding a spot to settle your new goodies upon, you get comfy and get to reading.

Hey cutie. Miss me yet? 

Heard a fair’s coming to town soon. I think it’ll still be there when you get back. There should even be fireworks on the last day. We can go there if you wanna.

Other than that, nothing much happened today. Dante was out, and I had the house to myself for a good portion of the afternoon. Without sugarcoating it, I was bored out of my mind.

It took me a while to figure out my texts or calls weren’t getting through to you. Mom must have seen how frustrated I was about it, so she shared some of her spare stationery with me as a last resort. She said something about wanting to hear about how your summer’s been doing so far.

That’s all the small talk I can handle for today. You might get too tired of staring at only words for too long over there, so you might want to check out the pics taken these past few days. The stickers are from Zenix and Sasha by the way, they also say hi.

Kidding aside, I know how much this whole camp thing means to you.  But I’ve been feeling weird ever since you left. It’s weirder knowing you’re not nearby. When you’re not a walk or a call away. Even though I know exactly how many days and many hours are left until you come back.

Sappy shit out the way, I decided to read that one book you lent me at random. I’m not sure you remember it much since you hurriedly gave it to me without a second thought, but it’s that really old one about the day before the world ends. All that apocalyptic and sad shit. Even though I didn’t get it, I guess it was nice that Vincent and Leticia got their happy ending. To be honest, the book overall didn’t stand out to me much, but the concept of having one day left to live sure did.

If I knew the world was going to end tomorrow I would

Y’know, maybe it’s for the best I save it for when we meet again in person, so you better come back home in one piece, yeah?

With an aching heart and hand, Your Gene, who misses you terribly

PS. I feel like you’ve been rubbing off on me recently, state-of-mind-wise. While it’s not that bad, it gives me the chills.

PPS. If not having you near me hasn't driven me insane yet, I definitely will go mad if this letter doesn't make it to you. Especially after all I've put my wrist through just for this. Maybe I should visit the post office a few more times?

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS:💀 PERSEPHONE: QUEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD, GODDESS OF SPRING, THE DEAD, THE UNDERWORLD, GRAIN, AND NATURE 💐 (PART 1)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is PART 1 of the Persephone Demigod Headcanons. Due to the size limit of Tumblr, I had to split the entire work into two. [LINK TO PART 2 HERE] Hi everyone! It took me a bit to figure it out but here's what everyone has been waiting for! Persephone is just 1 out of the 4 works I have planned and written for, and these works will be categorized as the MISCELLANEOUS GODS due to not the fact these gods are minor or anything, but because I did mention this in an ask before and it's easier to think about due to the canon PJO world building. These works will be a bit more loose since I'm taking a shot in the wild so hopefully you guys like it. Thanks for reading!!

*Disclaimer: mentions of unusual births, life and death*

People have been wondering if Persephone would have a demigod of her own, considering Hades has his own children, but also it’s slightly more believable if people know about the story of Adonis. However, there are very limited ways that the goddess would give birth to a demigod, since she’s very loyal and in love with Hades, and vise-versa.  

How you could’ve been born:

You really could’ve been born normally where Persephone’s eyes fell upon a mortal, when it was during Spring or Summer, or when the autumn and winter months have been delayed. 

Honestly, I can see this going for either gender of mortal: If your mortal parent is male, Hades couldn’t have done much because he knows Persephone’s preferences are strict and the last human she fell in love was Adonis, that Aphrodhite herself loved as well, so, Hades worrying about her being (repeatedly) unfaithful is very rare so your mortal male parent is the exception. So don’t expect any or more demigod siblings of Persephone. Not totally out of Hades’ ire, but given how many demigod children he has, he really doesn’t say anything. If your mortal parent is female, I can see it being this unusual birthing process where some sort of guidance is required: maybe Persephone offered a seed that your female mortal parent swallowed and boom, you were born. 

You’re a cabbage patch baby or a rose baby. or you’re born from a Peach. Turnip baby. Any plant based births. Quite literally. Don’t ask how this exactly works, but it involves the blood, sweat, and tears of your mortal parent planting the seed that Persephone gave/helped and raised you together. 

There’s a story where a woman ate a red and white rose to give birth, and I don't think that's not off the books for Persephone to do. Offering the flowers or something for your mortal parent to eat and boom, here you are-

You were either or an orphan, a completely child/baby that was near earth or had died, and you underwent the same process that (Zagreus)  Dionysus underwent with the weird death-rebirth thing; where you were (SOMEHOW) taken in by Persephone physically then reborn as a child of Perseophone when she gave birth to you. Since you technically died, you lost half of your mortal self because of the whole dying thing, but was replaced with Persephone’s godly portion.

That said, you’re not probably a double demigod if you went through the whole rebirth thing: where before you were a demigod child that died before Persephone gave you a new life. If you are however, oh boy, the Fates have something planned for you and it will not be an easy/happy life for you; doomed or tortured by the narrative. Your happy ending will have to be earned and fought with blood and tears. Afterall, the more powerful the demigod, the less easy it is for them.

 Either way, I don’t really see Hades targeting you on the level Hera does to the children of Zeus; though you still might want to refer to Hades (very) politely as Lord Hades or Godly Step Father. Just good manners, you know.

Regardless, everyone at camp is very confused and looking at you in a mixture of wonder, uncertainty, fear, amongst a few. When you get claimed, it’s like Spring has arrived, even when it’s Autumn or Winter. Nature blooms all around you with such vitality no one has seen before, with flowers, grains, and crops sprouting underneath your feet and all around you. Once the claim is over, if it’s Autumn/Winter, the world reverts back and everyone can see the rot that surrounds them except for you as you walk. 

Everyone expects you to be either a “Flower prince[ss]”, a soft person like Spring, or “A Prince[ss] of the Underworld”, terrifying like your mother. However, while you may lean one than the other, you can be both. Afterall, Persephone may be one to bring growth and fertility to the earth, and everything, she is also just as much as Kore that lends to herself being the Goddess of the Underworld and the dead where destruction follows. On the other hand, it’s a pretty cool thought where you’re wearing a crown of flowers and being all soft looking but switch to something darker with the flower petals falling off, to reveal a crown of thorns with the shadows curling around you to almost seem like your face is a skull, and vise-versa. You do you.

When you walk on the earth, you’ll sprout flowers and plants underneath your feet but as soon as you raise your foot to step away, the plants will wither and die, leaving rot behind. Sort of like the God of the Forest walking in Studio Ghibli’s “Princess Mononoke” .

[PART 2 TO PERSEPHONE DEMIGOD HEADCANONS HERE]