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wavypotatochips · 9 months ago

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Elevator Mishap || Central Cee

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 : CentralCee x Female reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 : You find yourself trapped in an elevator with a mysterious stranger who turns out to be the famous rapper Central Cee in disguise. [FLUFF/ LIGHT TENSION]

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: HIIIII GUYS omg so much stuff has happened personally in my life but I am back and better!! Central Cee is so fine and I just always wanted to write something with him lol. Its been a while since I have wrote something, so bare with me c': I have no requests, so feel free to send some in!

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ♥

"I find it hard to believe I'm actually here," you murmur under your breath, a mix of disbelief and disinterest coloring your tone as you wait for the elevator to reach your floor. While most girls would gush with excitement at the prospect of attending a Central Cee concert in the UK alongside their best friends, Stacey and Rosalina, you find yourself unable to share in their fervor. The trio, inseparable since middle school, practically dragged you along when they scored free tickets to the concert, complete with all expenses paid. Despite their infectious enthusiasm for Central Cee, you couldn't summon the same level of excitement, feeling rather indifferent towards his music. Meanwhile, your best friends are back in the hotel room, immersed in making TikToks while belting out Central Cee's tunes. You made an excuse about needing to run down to the convenience store on the ground floor to grab a snack, eager to escape the impending festivities. As the elevator doors finally slide open, you step inside, your mind already elsewhere, contemplating the potentially underwhelming night ahead, especially given your lack of interest in the artist.

Absentmindedly humming to yourself, you press the button for the ground floor before casually leaning against the elevator wall. A brief moment of panic strikes as you pat your pockets, realizing your phone must have been left behind in the hotel room. Before you can fully process this inconvenience, the elevator lurches upward, and a figure clad entirely in black, sporting a ski mask, shades, and a hat, enters. You brush off the peculiar attire, attributing it to the chilly weather outside, but a faint sense of unease begins to gnaw at you as the elevator door closes.

The person does not press any buttons, signaling they were also going to the bottom floor like you were. You tried not to stare at the person beside you, but the clothes they were wearing screamed wealth. You look at their shoes as the elevator begins to go down. Suddenly, the elevator comes to a stop with a shake. You widen your eyes as anxiety kicks in, confused on what is going on. You look over at the stranger, not being able to see their expression before walking over and pressing the first-floor button again. This time, the elevator doesn't seem to budge nor is it telling you what floor you two are currently on.

“There's no way,” noticing the elevator may be stuck, your heart sinks down. The stranger walks closer to you, giving them a try themselves to press the buttons. You step back to give them room. Noticing the buttons will not budge for them either, you sigh and press the red button that signals a representative. A few minutes pass before someone speaks, “Hello? Is everything alright?,” the statically voice states.

“Yeah, ummm I think the elevator is stuck. We also can’t see what floor we are on,” you respond.

“Okay, please remain calm we are sen-,” the voice cuts off.

“Hello?,” you question, “HELLLOOOOOO?,” spamming the button again.

“Lady we can't hear YOUUU!,” You state pressing the button.

“You should stop before you break it.” The voice of the person speaks with a deep British accent, you now know they are a male. You turn to look at him, continuing to press the button a few more times before stopping. You sigh, sitting down on the floor.

“Just great,” you mumble while lowering your head in defeat. You are not someone with claustrophobia, plus the elevator was a decent size so it's not as if you were scared you were trapped. Only annoyed. While your head is low, you hear clothes shuffling causing you to look back up. The man begins to take off his coat and hat, probably also realizing we are not going to be getting out anytime soon. You shift your legs so you are now sitting criss-cross on the floor, your back against the wall as you look up at the elevator's ceiling.

“Don't worry, I bet they will come soon,” the man speaks once again with a reassuring voice. You keep your head up, “I know, it just sucks. This is my first time in the UK and I'm spending my first night trapped in an elevator with a stranger, no offense.” You hear a chuckle, ”None taken. What are you in the UK for if you don't mind me asking?” You can tell he just wanted small talk, and you didn't mind. I mean after all, you are stuck here for who knows how long.

“My Best friends and I are here for the Central Cee concert,” you respond, continuing to study the French painting that is plastered on the ceiling of the elevator.

“Are you excited to go?,” he questions, resulting in you shrugging,” I don't care too much about him. Nothing against him, but you know, not really my taste.”

Silence settles between you for a moment, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the intercom and the faint hum of the elevator's mechanisms.

"So, what brings you to the concert if you're not a fan?" he asks, curiosity evident in his voice.

You offer a half-smile, considering your response. "Honestly, I'm just here for my friends. Stacey and Rosalina are huge fans, and they practically begged me to come along. Figured it would be a fun night out, even if the music isn't really my thing."

He nods in understanding, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "Ah, the sacrifices we make for friendship," he muses, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. “Maybe after the concert you will be my fan.”

His unexpected comment catches you off guard, and you find yourself momentarily taken aback. With a furrowed brow, you glance down, your eyes widening and eyebrows raising in confusion. And there he stands, Central Cee himself, his presence suddenly filling the confined space of the elevator. His pearly white teeth glint in the dim light, a charming smile gracing his lips.

If your best friends were in your position, they probably would have passed out by now. But you? You simply let out a small laugh, shaking your head slightly. “Mmmmm I don't think so. Your music just isn't my type,” you reply, your tone casual yet resolute. You glance back up at the ceiling, your interest clearly elsewhere.

Central Cee seems momentarily taken aback by your nonchalant response. He had perhaps expected screams of excitement or frenzied fangirling – or perhaps even both. But your composed demeanor only serves to intrigue him further. He closes his lips, the smile still lingering on his face, his gaze lingering on you with newfound curiosity.

"Really now?" he questions, a playful glint in his eyes. "What exactly is your type, hmm?"

“Not you, so it doesn't matter,” you respond with a casual flick of your gaze, focusing on your nail as if it holds the answers to the universe. Impatience begins to creep into your movements, prompting you to rise from your seat and stride over to the control panel, where you futilely press the buttons at random.

"Well, I would like to know," he persists, closing the distance between you with a deliberate step.

"It doesn't matter," you retort, your tone edged with determination.

"Yes, it does," he insists.

"No, it doesn't," you counter.

"Yes, it does."

"No, it do—" You cut yourself off mid-sentence, the absurdity of the situation dawning on you. "Wait, why am I even going back and forth with you?" The question is more to yourself, but Central Cee decides to respond.

"Because you do like me."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I—" You catch yourself falling into the same cycle, causing him to chuckle.

"You know, you're cute when you get mad," he remarks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His words elicit a soft blush from you, prompting you to turn away and face the wall. "Leave me alone," you mumble.

"Awww, I'm sorry, love. Let me make it up to you," he responds cheekily.

"Make it up to me by getting this damn elevator to work," you grumble under your breath.

"If you can admit that I am your favorite artist, then I will make that happen," he confesses, catching you off guard.

You raise an eyebrow, turning to face him. "How?"

He tilts his head to the side, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Say it, and I will make it happen."

You exhale heavily, skepticism evident in your expression. "Why does it matter to you so much?" you question.

He shrugs, smiling. "Simply because."

You glare at him, his grin only widening in response. You decide to humor him, considering his celebrity status and the possibility of connections. "Fine. You are my favorite artist."

He raises his eyebrows, amused by your half-hearted admission. "I don't think that was sincere enough for me."

You let out another small breath. Stepping closer to him, you meet his gaze head-on. "Oakley, you are my favorite artist. I love your music so much; you are so talented."

His demeanor softens, his eyes meeting yours with sincerity. Something about saying his real name seems to have an effect on him. Whether it's your beauty or simply the use of his name, it stirs something within him, making him feel... nice.

You find yourself studying his features, admiring the way his light tan skin complements the arch of his eyebrows and the depth of his chocolate eyes. His small smile draws your attention, and you instinctively take a step back, coughing lightly to dispel the tension.

"Uhm... okay, I said it. Now, do your magic."

"You're right," he responds, retrieving his phone from his pocket.

"YOU HAD A PHONE THIS ENTIRE TIME??" you exclaim, incredulous.

"Yes," he simply responds, unlocking his phone.

You sigh. "Why didn't you say something?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Who wouldn't want to be trapped in an elevator with a beautiful girl like you?"

You open your mouth to reply, but the fluttering sensation in your stomach leaves you speechless. Despite your indifference towards his music, you can't deny his charm.

For a few moments, you find yourself lost in thought, your gaze dropping to your shoes. His voice interrupts your reverie, causing you to lift your head.

"Damn. I don't have any service," he says, raising his arm in a futile attempt to get a signal.

You watch as Central Cee furrows his brow in frustration, tapping futilely at his phone screen in a desperate attempt to find a signal. Despite the annoyance of being stuck in an elevator, you can't help but feel a strange sense of camaraderie with him, a shared bond forged in the confines of this metal box.

As the seconds tick by, the silence between you grows heavier, the tension palpable in the air. You glance at Central Cee, taking in the way the dim light of the elevator accentuates the contours of his face, casting shadows that dance across his features. Despite your best efforts to ignore it, you can't deny the flutter of excitement that flits through your stomach at the sight of him.

"Anything yet?" you ask, breaking the silence with a voice that comes out softer than intended.

Central Cee shakes his head, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Nothing. It's like this elevator is in its own little world, cut off from the rest of the universe."

Central Cee chuckles softly, the sound echoing in the confined space. "and here I thought being a famous rapper would exempt me from getting stuck in elevators," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You smile, appreciating his attempt to inject a bit of humor into the situation. "Guess even celebrities aren't immune to elevator mishaps," you reply, your lips quivering in a half-smile.

He returns the smile, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. "At least I'm stuck in here with someone interesting," he says, his tone laced with sincerity.

A blush rises to your cheeks at his compliment, and you quickly avert your gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. "Thanks," you mumble, "I guess you aren't so bad yourself.."

Central Cee's smile widens at your response, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment," he says, his tone teasing yet genuine.

You chuckle softly, feeling a sense of ease settle over you as the tension between you dissipates. "Consider it one," you reply, meeting his gaze with a shy smile.

As the moments pass, you find yourself drawn into conversation with Central Cee, the topics ranging from trivial matters to deeper discussions about life, dreams, and everything in between. Despite the unusual circumstances that brought you together, you can't help but feel a sense of connection with him, a feeling of understanding that goes beyond mere words.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity but is likely only a few hours, the elevator lurches back to life with a groan of protest, the sudden movement catching you off guard. Central Cee reaches out a hand to steady you, his touch warm and reassuring against your skin.

"We're moving again," he says, a note of relief in his voice.

You nod, a sense of anticipation building within you as the elevator ascends towards the surface. “Finally,” you say, though a pang of reluctance tugs at your heart. Deep down, you wish the elevator would stay broken, prolonging the fleeting moments you've shared with him. In the brief interlude of confinement, you've come to appreciate not just Central Cee, but the person behind the persona, Oakley. As the elevator hums back to life, you resign yourself to the inevitable parting that awaits you both, returning to the separate paths your lives had veered from.

Central Cee begins to adjust his attire, meticulously covering his features with the ski mask and glasses, returning to his "disguise". “Don't worry," you assure him, offering a small smile, "I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. It'll be our little secret.” Before he can respond, the elevator doors glide open, ushering in a flood of light and fresh air. Eager to break free from the confines of the elevator, you step out quickly, wary of being trapped again.

“Hey,” Central Cee calls out to you, his voice laced with a hint of concern, “I’ll see you tomorrow,yeah?” A flicker of something indefinable passes between you, a silent understanding that transcends words. Though you yearn for a deeper connection, you suppress the urge, unsure of what you truly desire. With a small smile, you nod in acknowledgement, “Yeah.”

As you both walk away, your steps leading you in opposite directions, you can't help but feel a sense of resonance, a shared moment that binds you together in thought. Despite the divergence of your paths and the separation of your lives, in that fleeting instant, your minds are aligned, fixated on each other, entwined in a momentary bond that defies explanation.

#central cee #centralcee x female reader #central cee fanfic #centralcee imagines #central cee x y/n #central cee x reader #fanfic #imagines

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inkdrinkerworld · 10 months ago

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no cause dick getting protective when they're at a gala and some old rich guy starts implying that y/n doesn't belong there cause they don't come from wealth

you're the best writer on this app btw!!!

That’s so sweet! I hope you enjoy this

“Why are they here?” You hear it once when you walk in and then again when Dick comes up behind you and drops a kiss to your cheek.

“They just don’t fit.”

Dick doesn’t hear until he’s dishing out your dinner, your plate being shared for both your tastes.

“You could do better, Grayson.” First he thinks it’s about his choice of food- which he doesn’t care about but then he follows the man’s gaze and frowns.

His eyes narrow, taking in the heavy set man beside him.

“Excuse me?”

He’s really trying not to flip out. He doesn’t want to make a scene at Bruce’s fancy gala but he will, he knows he will, if this man says anything out of place.

“Your date. You could’ve gotten anyone, anyone who fit in with the rest of us.” The way he says ‘us’ really grates on his nerves. As if money would matter to Dick, as if it would make a difference to your personality.

“You’re wrong. Money doesn’t always equate to value you know. Maybe you should worry more about your house than what goes on in my life.”

Dick walks off without another word and finds you sitting at your table with only Damien as company- he isn’t as bad as Dick tries making him look.

“Hey baby,” you smile softly, eyes pleading with Damien who doesn’t look the least bit remorseful as he tattles to Dick.

“Some of these old guys are real pieces of work. They don’t even realise that they’re being robbed right under their noses but they think they have the right to comment on dating preferences.”

Dick’s eyes are ablaze. “They said something to you?” You shrug.

“It’s not a big deal, bigots are bigots no matter where you go.”

Dick and Damien find it very big deals but you distract Dick, Damien’s called off by Bruce who gives you a nod that makes you smile.

“Baby, it’s fine. It’s what they’re like and they’re old; they hardly change their mind. Not until they’re on their deathbeds anyway.”

Dick sighs and you decide to pull out the big guns. You walk over to his chair and sit across his lap, your nails burying in his hair as your lips press to his ear.

“Let it go Grayson, it doesn’t bother me and it shouldn’t bother you.”

“Boils my fucking blood that they think they can just say those things no problem.” You hum, kissing his jaw.

“Don’t do anything crazy, Richard.”

He only groans, holding on to your hip as his hand reaches for something off the plate.

“No promises. I love you, just the way you are.”

You smile, eating straight from his hands. “I love you just the way you are, too. Which is why I know you and Damien are going to retaliate, but at least make it untraceable.”

Dick chuckles, “I know my way around tech, pretty girl. It’s one hundred percent untraceable.”

#dickgrayson #dick grayson #dick grayson one shot #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson drabble #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson fic #dick grayson x black reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x yn #dick grayson x gender neutral reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x female!reader

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rebeltarot · 11 months ago

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FUTURE SPOUSE ➕ VDay Special - Love Letter from your Future Spouse

“I was, and I remain, utterly and completely and totally in love with you.”

[3 piles] ・ [5 decks] ・ [29-39 cards for each pile] ・ [letters, quotes, songs]

Hello friends! It's almost Valentine's Day, and I am so excited to share this Special with you. What are your plans for this Valentine's Day? Are you spending it with a cherished person, your friends, or are you your own Valentine this year? Definitely let me know. I love holidays that bring people together which is why I dedicated a reading for it. Enjoy.

Painting: Diana and Cupid - Pompeo Batoni (1761)

Helpful Links: How to choose your pile ➕ Request a reading

18+ only - This is not a blog for minors. Warnings: Some piles have sexual innuendos.

Your reblogs are highly appreciated. Thank you so much for supporting my work!

PILE 01 ➕

Disclaimer: All Tarot readings on this blog are meant for entertainment purposes only. My Pick-a-card readings are based on my knowledge of the tarot and my intuition. Tarot is a divination tool and should not be considered a replacement for medical or professional guidance. It is not intended to be used as such, and any choices made in response to my readings are your own responsibility. All interpretations are speculative, and whether you believe in it is your choice. Readings are for self-reflection purposes only; take what resonates, and leave the rest. My readings are timeless unless stated otherwise.

CONFIRMATION

Signs and confirmation that this is your pile. This can be anything from your initials, astrological placements, significant messages or signs, places, songs, etc. Please use your discernment.

B, L, A, I, N, E, H, blank, 11:33, 11

Quote: Even if the stars fail to shine and the moon refuses to light up the world, I know I have nothing to fear. I have my guardian angel to look after me, care for me and love me forever and always. I love you!

Song: Love Me More - Sam Smith

LOVE LETTER FROM YOUR SPOUSE

Cards: Dear, Always by your side, I want to start a family with you, I am open to compromise, I have an offer for you, I am lost without you, It was always you, My nerves have been getting the best of me, Yeah nah, We have known each other in other lifetimes, I left because you told me to, I was in denial, You have so many choices and options, Make space for it, dance with me make me sway, I like it like that, destined, you cam to me at a time when my heart was selective, I'm a slave for your love, You don't own me, I don't wanna play no games, New beginnings, Feminine moon, Childhood, Wealth, Support, Ego death, Tower moment, Crush, Evil eyes

Hello, Pile 01, and welcome to your reading. How are you spending this Valentine's Day? Your spouse has a message for you, enjoy!

Dear Pile 01,

To us, distance is nothing. You’re right here in my heart, and I love you more than ever. It's impossible to put into words how much I love you or to describe how you make me feel, but that doesn't stop me from trying. You are my home, the person I trust with everything. There is no one else I would rather start a family with. It could just be you and me, or mini versions of us as well. I am more than willing to compromise with you because, at the end of the day, you are all I need and want. And I am not embarrassed to say that I need you, because I do. You, to me, are a want that turned into a need. There is no going back after knowing you. I can't possibly deny myself the magic that is loving you, so I have an offer for you, and that is my love, my devotion, and my forever. It could all be yours; you just have to say the word. I am lost without you, and there is just no one else who could even compare. It has always been you. You. You. You. Lately, my nerves have been getting the best of me. Could you tell? Did you feel my anxiety? I hope not. But if you did, I find solace in our connection. Your energy feels like home. It's like history has threaded us together and made us one. I know you. And I have known you for lifetimes. I apologize for having left you. It wasn't easy, but I respected your wishes. Honestly, I was just so afraid of your rejection that I cowardly believed you when you said I should go. I was in denial. It's intimidating to see how many people see what I see in you. How many other people are willing to risk it all for you! I can't claim to not understand, though, because here I am doing the same. Your light and your energy are just impossible to ignore and unsee. But I am working on myself. I am actively making space for you and us.

There is just no one who does it like you do. Your energy and your eyes compel me to do things I had never considered before. You are the only person—no, angel—that can ever make me sway. For you, I'll second-guess everything. For you, I'll leave everything. And I like it like that. I wouldn't change it, and I wouldn't have it any other way. You have so much power over me, but I trust you. You could do anything you wanted and ask for the world, and I would give it to you. But I know that, despite everything, you will never hurt me. No, you would never take advantage of me. With you, I am safe. And with me, you are safe. We are destined, my love. There is no way around us. When we met, I was selective with the people in my life, but you just made your way into my world effortlessly. Like it was nothing. Like there wasn't any wall built around my heart. It's as if you have always belonged. And you are right; you have. I am a slave to your love. But although I am bound to you, I am still free. There is nothing about you that makes sense, and simultaneously, you are the answer to every question I have. I want to be crystal clear with you. It's you. And I have no intention to play any games or make our journey any harder. You don't have to prove yourself to me. You are enough just the way you are and exactly as you come.

I want a new beginning for us. I dream of a fresh start with you. You are my counterpart, and we are connected in every realm possible. I feel you, always. I understand you, always. I feel honored to see every side of you, and I am so blessed to learn about the wonder of the world that is you. You are a person who is so rich and abundant and so full of life that I just can't stay away from you, ever. I want to help you and support you through everything. For you, I would take on the hardest challenges and the scariest obstacles out there. If it helps you, soothes you, or even puts a smile on your face, there is nothing that could stop me from jumping without being afraid of falling. I am there for you, always. I am around you every second of the day. Because, darling, I love you. I would die a thousand deaths for you. Whatever you need me to do or whatever you need me to be, just say the word. Nothing will ever tear us apart. I love you so much that even Cupid is jealous.

Always by your side, your future spouse.

Your reblogs are highly appreciated. Thank you so much for supporting my work!

PILE 02 ➕

CONFIRMATION

Signs and confirmation that this is your pile. This can be anything from your initials, astrological placements, significant messages or signs, places, songs, etc. Please use your discernment.

P, E, N, T, T, O, O, C, 11:40, message/dm, sirens

Quote: I want to drown with your lips, in the ocean of our kiss.

Song: Lemonade - Internet Money, Gunna, Don Toliver, NAV

LOVE LETTER FROM YOUR SPOUSE

Cards: My dream come true, With all my love, I respect you, Let me hold you, I am absolutely in love with you, I am coming trust, I am healing my broken heart, You light up my life, Love is not fair, I have been distracted, Yeah nah, We have known each other in other lifetimes, I am lost without you, I was always you, I talk about you a lot, You are too far away, If I follow you I could lose everything, We are from two different worlds, Clarity of mind, You make me want to do better and try harder, You like me mad you think it's funny, I hear your messages in songs, Baby would you ever want to be my girlfriend, You touch me like no other, Sexual energy, Who do you love, Follow me into the dark break up a piece of your heart, I'm facing my truth, Do you want me the way I want you, Masculine Sun, Trust, Helplessness, Clash, Unwanted change, True love, Power, Child:wounded, Trauma, Confession

Hello, Pile 02, and welcome to your reading. How are you spending this Valentine's Day? Your spouse has a message for you, enjoy!

My dream come true,

I want to get drunk in your skin, as it glistens drops of love, pouring from our sin. You are the essence of life for me. I respect you. Your thoughts, your ideas, your words, your willpower, and your intelligence. All of you! I am yearning for you; please, just let me hold you. I am absolutely and irrevocably in love with you. Darling, soon. Soon I'll be able to hold you, touch you, and breathe in your scent. I am coming; trust me. There is nothing that would ever be strong enough to keep me away from you. I am healing myself so I can be there for you wholeheartedly. My heart was broken before, but for you, I'll risk another heartbreak. For you, I'll even risk my life. Because you, my dearest of all, light up my life, my entire world, even. Although love might not be fair, when it comes to you, I'll give up everything without asking for anything in return. Lately, I have been all over the place and distracted, and I apologize. Although that is true, and although I am healing and hurting; my mind, my heart, and my energy, all of me still can't stay away from you. We have known each other for lifetimes. You are no secret to me, and I am no secret to you. Without you, I am lost. You are my guiding light, and you are the sole reason why I am finding my way back to myself. You are my only motivation and my only inspiration. It was always you, my love. There is no confusion here. No matter our pasts, it all eventually leads to us. That is the only logical conclusion. The only thing that makes sense. You and me. I talk about you often, you know. I tell everyone and everything about the wonder that is you. But you are still so far away from me. Following you could cost me everything I have. You and I are from two different worlds. Worlds that are not compatible. And although it's everything I have known thus far, I will abandon it instantly. I will sacrifice everything so I can be with you. Because you clearly do not understand that everything I have had is just a fraction of everything that you are. I am not losing. With you, I am only winning. So no, I am not sad about it. And no, I will never regret it. This is something that I will never question, and believe me, I'll make the same choice over and over again. With you, there is no confusion, no doubt, just clarity. Wherever you are is my home.

You make me want to do better. You inspire me to grow, to change, and to open myself up and be vulnerable. I am an intimidating person, but to you, that means nothing. You just laugh when I get mad because you think it's funny. And because you trust me. My god, your trust is just as sweet as honey. It's worth all the gold in the world. It's worth all that I have. We are connected, always. Even if I am not in your life right now, I can still hear your messages. You are in everything that surrounds me, but especially in the songs I hear. You are in the lyrics that capture my attention and in the melodies that move me to tears. It was never hard for you to reach my heart, because for you, there are no barriers. With you, I am open and vulnerable. Would you ever consider being with me? It's a silly question, right? But will you be my Valentine? forever? Until we both lose our breath and beyond that? Everything pulls me toward you. Like a magnet, I always find myself around you, touching you, kissing you, and pleasing you. No one heats me like you do. One simple touch and I am a puddle, water bending at your command. I have never experienced such an attraction before. I am a composed person, hardly shakable. But it takes one single look—the tiniest microexpression—and I am ready to go. I am ready to worship. Who do you love? Is it me? Will you choose to spend the rest of your life by my side? I am aware of other energies. And I have to admit that it startles me. It scares me. The slightest possibility of losing you instills fear within me that rattles my bones. Nothing, absolutely nothing, in existence puts me in as much fear as the idea, the tiniest thought, of losing you. Are you as deeply in love as I am? I want you to be. I want to touch your heart as much as you touch mine. I want to make your body ache for me as much as my body aches for you. Let's get entangled in our passion and stay here forever. I want—no, I need your love. Do you want me the way that I want you? When you are in love, in true, deep love, there is no way around facing yourself. And I am facing my truth right now, so I can be the best version of myself. You don't deserve any less than that.

I want to be strong for you. I want you to be able to rely on me. I want to provide for you. Your trust—it's the only thing I need in this life. No, your love. It's my life elixir. I am helpless without you. We're just like fire melting into ice, and I love the way that we collide. I'm pitch black, drowning’ in your light, and you are the only one who can put me in my place. You are the only person who can set my whole world on fire. My equal. And I would not have it any other way. I know that our paths to each other lead through loss and tears. You have to let go of something to be with me, just as I have to let go of everything to be with you. It's a change that neither of us asked for, but if it leads us to each other, if it leads us to true love, isn't it worth it? You are so breathtakingly powerful. A force to be reckoned with. The entire world trembles to see your beauty, your power, and your intelligence. You are the only person I trust, the only person who will ever know me for everything that I am. The good, the bad, and the ugly. It's all yours. There is no point in hiding it; you see through me so effortlessly.

With all my love, Your future spouse

Your reblogs are highly appreciated. Thank you so much for supporting my work!

PILE 03 ➕

CONFIRMATION

Signs and confirmation that this is your pile. This can be anything from your initials, astrological placements, significant messages or signs, places, songs, etc. Please use your discernment.

S, U, R, E, B, E, U, I, blank, 11:47, sirens

Quote: I want to make love with my tongue, and whisper kisses, through your mind, until your body comes, undone- Body language.

Song: LAW - Yoon Mirae, BIBI

LOVE LETTER FROM YOUR SPOUSE

Cards: My cherished, Devotionally yours, I don't think I ever truly knew you, I left because you told me to, I hold back because I don't want to be rejected, Other opinions have clouded my vision, I don't want to lose you, Definitely, My surroundings don't approve, I need more time, I was a fool, We are too different, I'm ready, I think we should slow down, It's ok to feel feelings, I hope we can love through the pain after the honeymoon fades, I wanna marry those eyes, Sexual energy, I don't understand, You don't own me, Baby would you ever want to be my girlfriend, don't be scared I ain't afraid, Love making, Judgement, Surprise, Withdrawal, Tower Moment, Support, Privilege

Hello, Pile 03, and welcome to your reading. How are you spending this Valentine's Day? Your spouse has a message for you, enjoy!

My cherished Pile 03,

If there is a parallel universe, I will fight through the stars to find you. Darling, I don't think I ever truly knew you. I don't think I will ever truly know you. You are the entire cosmos, ever-changing, and it will take lifetimes, if not forever, to discover everything that makes you you. I am sorry that I left. I turned away from you and us because you told me to. And I hold back because I don't want to be rejected. Losing you once has nearly broken me; I don't think I'd be able to survive another time. There is so much noise around us. There are so many opinions and so many views that have clouded my vision. I am confused. I don't want to lose you. ever. I exist, so I can live on a planet graced by your presence. Just knowing that you are alive and well keeps me going, and it makes life worth living. Your presence humbles me to the point where just breathing the same air as you feels like a blessing. There are people in my life who are jealous of our connection. People who do not approve of us being together. I need more time to sort out all the thoughts in my head. So many doubts have been planted in my mind that I need space to clear out the clutter that clouds my vision. I was a fool. Such a fool! I regret hurting you. I loathe that I was the cause of your hurt, the cause of your tears. We are so different, yet we get along so well. I am ready for you, darling, but I think we need to take things slow. Rushing into it will only hurt us. It's okay to feel your feelings. Love, true love, evokes so many emotions in us. It makes us feel deeply, and it makes us hurt deeply too.

I hope that we can love through the pain, even if our honeymoon fades, even once you take off your rose-colored glasses. Your eyes. Oh my god, your eyes. I want to marry them. You bring me to my knees with your gaze. I have never met a person before who had me in a chokehold like you. I don't understand it, and it confuses me. When you look at me with your beautiful and hypnotizing eyes, I'll say yes to anything. Whatever you want, it's yours. You don't own me, not yet. I am not yours, and you are not mine. But would you be my forever person? Would you marry me? I know it feels like a big commitment, one that might scare you. But it doesn't scare me; it never will, because I trust you. I yearn for you deeply and passionately. I imagine us making love. I imagine you, naked, looking into my eyes and screaming my name. Don't judge me, please. I just can't help it. The pull you have on me is just as surprising for me as it is for you. I might be withdrawing right now, but it's because I need to collect my power and my energy, so I am ready for the change that is you. For the new beginning and world that you promise. I want you; I crave you. It's primal. I want to support you, I want to be strong for you, and I want to earn the privilege that is your love.

Devotionally yours, Your future spouse.

Your reblogs are highly appreciated. Thank you so much for supporting my work!

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yeopoet · 4 months ago

Text

MEET ME IN THE HALLWAY

`౨ৎ~ pairing: ateez x gn!reader genre: forbidden romance, fluff, kinda suggestive if you read between the lines ౿ ׂ ִ warnings: kissing (?) word count: 2k.

author's note: highly inspired by this post. ps: the divider does not belong to me.

﹒ ◠ ✩ hongjoong ⊹ ﹒

Two powerful families competing fiercely in the construction industry, locked in a never-ending battle over urban development projects: his family prioritizes large, luxurious complexes, while yours is dedicated to eco-friendly, sustainable initiatives. The differences between you go beyond business, turning what should have remained professional into something personal and deeply entrenched. Your parents have made it clear—they never want you anywhere near the Kims, and his parents share the same sentiment. But Hongjoong couldn’t care less about the rules. He sneaks to your bedroom window in the dead of night, not with malice, but driven by an irresistible urge to explore what he’s been told is forbidden. You’ve tried pushing him away, again and again, but nothing works. He’s relentless, and despite all the barriers that should keep you apart, to him, you’re the only thing that matters.

“You can’t just show up here like it’s no big deal,” you whisper-yell as you open your window. “They’ll find out, and that’ll be the end of both of us.”

“I’ve tried to forget about you, but it’s impossible.” Hongjoong exhales deeply, slipping through the window with ease, like sneaking into your room is something he’s mastered. “I missed our midnight talks.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What? Are you in love with me or something?”

He smiles, stepping closer until he’s near enough that you can feel his warm breath on your face. “And what if I am? Would that be so bad?”

﹒ ◠ ✩ seonghwa ⊹ ﹒

Someone born into a life of luxury, with a future carved out by endless wealth, isn’t supposed to waste his time with people of "lower status." As the heir to a well-established hospital chain, Seonghwa has never had to worry about anything—not even the clothes on his back. His sole purpose in life, as dictated by his family, is to follow the path toward taking his father’s place. But with dreams of his own, he somehow ended up in your studio, signing up for a beginner's sewing class. It wasn’t exactly the best first encounter, especially since your classes weren’t designed for heirs of empires, but over time, Seonghwa managed to capture your attention. He now pays for private lessons, driven by his passion to become a fashion designer. He shares sketches of outfits with you, designs he’s never dared to show anyone else. What was supposed to be a professional relationship between teacher and student gradually became something more. And honestly, how could he not fall for you?

“I know I shouldn’t be here, but I couldn’t stay away.” His words spill out the moment you open the door, sadness pouring at your feet. “Please, just give me a chance to fix all of this.”

“You’ve already caused enough damage.” You take a deep breath, holding back tears. Watching him beg for something you both know he can’t change feels like a knife to the heart, and if you’re not careful, you might cave. He steps closer, and you know this is the moment to slam the door in his face—before his father shows up again, threatening to destroy everything you've built if you don’t leave Seonghwa alone. But your heart wavers, seeing the redness in his eyes. “Don’t make this harder than it already is, Hwa. We can’t be together. If anyone sees us, it’ll be the end for both of-”

“Just one last time.” He’s crying now, his hand gently cradling the back of your neck like he's afraid you’ll disappear. “Let me be with you one last time.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ yunho ⊹ ﹒

It’s not easy having parents who watch your every move as if you’re incapable of taking care of yourself. But if it weren’t for their overbearing protectiveness, you never would’ve met Jeong Yunho, your bodyguard—the one who pulled you out of your monotonous life and gave you a taste of freedom. He sneaks you out for daring, late-night adventures, always careful not to push things too far and jeopardize both your lives. Yunho tried to keep his distance; he was never the kind of employee to cross the line. But avoiding his inevitable downfall with you was impossible.

“They warned me about you,” he says softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand gently cradling one side of your face. “But I didn’t listen.”

“And I’m glad you didn’t.” You smile openly, wrapping your arms around his waist before pressing your lips to his with intensity.

﹒ ◠ ✩ yeosang ⊹ ﹒

When the extravagance of your world becomes overwhelming, you find yourself seeking a place to breathe. Conveniently, that place always ends up being in the arms of Yeosang, the butler of your household. You've known each other since childhood, long before he took over his father’s role and before you were promised to marry someone you don’t love. The quiet meetings behind the tallest hedges in the garden offer you a peace you’ve never experienced around your family. The love that has never faded grows more painful as your wedding day draws near, and no matter how much you both long to escape, you know you've been condemned since the day you were born.

“This is the last time,” you whisper, casting a sorrowful glance at the man lying beside you. “We can’t keep doing this.”

Yeosang doesn’t respond right away but holds your gaze with a quiet tenderness. Then, after a few torturous seconds of silence, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “We said the same thing the last time we met,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you slowly, lingering. “The truth is, I’d have to move to another continent to ever be able to stay away from you.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ san ⊹ ﹒

He fought hard to get where he is. It wasn’t easy landing a job at one of the most prestigious networks in the country, and once inside, he quickly realized why the selection process was so difficult. His bosses are strict; they don’t tolerate irresponsibility and push him to the brink of exhaustion. Still, the salary makes it all worth it. San is building his life, shaping his dream career as a reporter, doing everything he can to avoid trouble. That is, until you, the boss’s daughter, showed up and threw all his plans into chaos. It wasn’t your intention to disrupt anyone. You’ve always kept a distance from the company’s employees, taking your duties as an heiress seriously. But who could have predicted that at a party with over 100 people, you’d end up kissing the newest intern?

“No one can know about this, promise me,” he whispers, gripping your elbow as he keeps the two of you dangerously close. “That was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

“As if I wanted it to,” you fire back, your breath mingling with his as your gaze locks onto his—eyes that are saying something completely different. “But if you keep pulling me into closed-off spaces out of nowhere, people are going to get suspicious, and it won’t be my fault.”

“Right, we should keep our distance,” he says, yet doesn’t move an inch. “I just wanted to make things clear.”

“I got the message loud and clear.” With every passing second, your faces inch closer. San tightens his grip on your arm, though not enough to hurt. He tilts his head, muttering a soft “good” against your lips before making the mistake of kissing you again.

﹒ ◠ ✩ mingi ⊹ ﹒

A friendship that has lasted for years could never be shaken by something trivial—or so you thought. But could your feelings for her brother be enough to ruin everything? She’s always made it clear that Mingi is off-limits. He constantly breaks her friends’ hearts, and they always end up drifting away. So, to keep the friendship intact, she put up a wall between the two of you. Too bad it only makes things more exciting from his perspective. You try your best to resist Mingi’s advances, but he makes it nearly impossible when he walks around the house shirtless after training, or when he finds lame excuses to touch you at random moments—like holding your waist to squeeze past you when there’s clearly plenty of space. It’s ridiculous.

“You really need to stop doing that,” you say, crossing your arms like you’re throwing a tantrum. Mingi looks at you, eyebrows raised, with that same clueless expression that drives you insane. “I’m serious, Mingi.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he shrugs, leaning forward to reach something in the back of the fridge.

“There are literally two other ways to get to the fridge, and you chose the tightest spot—right where I’m standing.” You stomp your foot. “And not only that, you—”

Your sentence is cut off by the sound of the fridge door closing. Mingi steps closer, and you hold your breath. “And I what?” he asks, leaning against the counter without breaking eye contact. “Last I checked, this is my house, and I can walk wherever I want.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze and staring at your toes. Mingi gently lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him again.

“I thought you liked it when I touched you.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand slowly trailing down your shoulder, along your arm, until his fingers entwine with yours.

“We shouldn’t…” your voice falters. “Yena is—”

“I know, but I can’t help it sometimes.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ wooyoung ⊹ ﹒

He’s never been the type of guy to care about his friend’s girlfriend. It’s one of the most disloyal things you could do to a friendship. But when it comes to you, Wooyoung loses every last shred of honesty within himself. Falling for you was never part of his plan, and he tried everything he could to push those feelings away. If he had known that taking care of you when his friend messed up would spark such a dangerous affection, he would have let you handle your problems on your own. You, on the other hand, are deeply grateful for the countless times Wooyoung has saved you, and for showing you that love isn’t what you thought it was. All the lingering hugs, unfinished sentences, and the longing to give in to something forbidden have made you both question how much you're willing to sacrifice for each other.

“Every time I see you, I have to remind myself that you’re not mine,” he says, standing just far enough away to keep himself from giving in to his darker desires. He’s held back all this time, never crossing the line—but here you are, at his doorstep on a Saturday night, minutes after his best friend just left your house.

“So please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?!” you explode, pushing his chest hard enough to make him stumble back a couple of steps. “You decide one night that you’re going to cut me out of your life, and you expect me not to react?”

Wooyoung grabs your arms, stopping you from hitting him again. “I’m trying to make things easier,” his eyes fill with tears, or maybe it’s yours—both of you just staring at each other, struggling not to sob out loud. You finally weaken, collapsing against his chest, muffling the sound of your pain as Wooyoung holds you tight, the way he always does.

“There’s no easy way out of this. No matter what we decide, someone’s going to end up hurt.”

﹒ ◠ ✩ jongho ⊹ ﹒

The life of a celebrity isn’t always glamorous. The fear of appearing in the tabloids caught in a dating scandal can feel more terrifying than the fear of death itself. After appearing on a variety show with you, Jongho developed a silly crush that, over time—fueled by risky texts during award shows and innocent meetups while everyone else was asleep—grew into something much bigger. To keep things discreet, you both decided to act indifferent toward each other, even though it’s become nearly impossible for him.

“Every moment we spend together is a risk, but I just can’t stay away,” Jongho says as he plants a flurry of kisses across your face. He made sure to clear out everyone from the dressing room just to have a few minutes alone with you before the show.

You laugh, trying to pull away from his eager touch to keep him from messing up your appearance. “Jongho! I have a performance in half an hour. You can’t mess up my makeup!”

He immediately steps back, placing his hands behind his back in an exaggerated effort to keep them off you. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“We’ll see each other later, okay?” You give him a playful, reassuring smile.

“Okay, I’ll try not to die until then.”

#ateez scenarios #ateez headcanons #ateez fluff #ateez smau #ateez fanfic #ateez x you #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #choi san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez texts #ateez reactions #ateez imagines

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noira-l · 5 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦

⋆ ★ '𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞' - 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

chapter summary: you are looking around for a flat, but there is just one problem...

pairing: gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader

warnings: kinda fluff, teen gojo is annoying, but also sweet, swearing, reader must understand what sleeping with gojo means, mentioning of depression.

author's note: well. I hope I get it right :) teen gojo is kinda bratty, no?

"The hell you mean we can't have separate bedrooms?!"

You looked at the requirements from social services in disbelief.

You were sitting in Satoru's room, spread out on his bed, still on the school grounds, going over the papers that social services had delivered to the address of the Gojo clan headquarters. You were fortunate that Satoru had obtained the paper before his mother.

If you wanted to adopt Megumi and Tsumiki, social services had to look at your flat, to determine that it was suitable to live in. And since you didn't have your own flat yet, you decided to look for one that met these regulations - immediately.

Stupid social services. If Satoru had made you an offer earlier, or if he hadn't "needed time to think about it" as far as Tsumiki thread was concerned, then you wouldn't had to deal with social services at all, who found the sibling in an empty flat with no family. You didn't know how they were able to find them. You only suspected, that it might be Zen'in's clan doing, Satoru is know for his yapping, so maybe they found out this way? Or maybe neighbours were alarmed about thier mothers long absence? Well, you are not sure. But, because of this situation, unfortunately, you are forced to go down on a fairly legal route.

No... it couldn't have been the Zen'in clan's doing, they would have made it difficult for themselves by calling in social services, you thought.

"Who comes up with these regulations?" he scoffed, placing his feet on the top of desk, leaning back in his chair.

"Unfortunate for us, someone who genuinely wants to look after the wellbeing of children, at least by definition. They want confirmation that a loving and compatible couple will take them in." you slightly squeeze the paper, he fiddled with a pen, you sighed looking around.

"Still, I didn't sign up for the lack of privacy and one room with you." you continue to read the paper.

"You signed up to be 'married' to me, but you didn't sign up to share a room?" he smiled towards you. He continued to play with the pencil, twisting it into every possible position with his fingers. "You're weird."

"I-I didn't expect it, and I didn't think it through very well." you were trying to hide the fact that you really don't know what you're doing with your life. Although your tone still sounded normal. At least you tried to make it so.

"It's been a few weeks since we got married and you're already regretting it? Ouch." he gasped, grabbing his heart dramatically. He was having fun from this conversation. Satoru liked to play this little theatrics with you.

"The only thing that hurts is my pride." you don't even pretend to read the pages in front of you anymore.

"You should be bursting with pride..." he pointed the tip of his pencil at you, his eyes piercing with glimmer from under his dark glasses "you're a Gojo now." smile only grew bigger. You scoffed.

"Does this mean that after your death I get all your wealth?" your smile was cheeky. You loved to bite back with various combacks.

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of clogging up your mouth with some remark. Dancing with him in this verbal way satisfied your need to rival him.

He blinked twice, looking at your face. You started laughing, leaning forward. "Now you haven't thought it through?" now you're the one pointing the finger at him.

"I'ld look good in clan attire" smiling, you began to imagine yourself in white, expensive robes. At least you thought that they were white, you never had the chance to see him in ceremonial garments, or yourself in something more expensive than second-hand clothes. Your gaze somehow drifted to him, taking a look at his clothes and figure. You once saw him in something that wasn't casual or his uniform. Through your eyes, you put him in the same thing that he wore when you were signing the marriage certificate. You couldn't deny that the term "attractive" is combined with the word "Gojo".

"I doubt it." He cast a glance at you, scanning you from top to bottom, frownig through the process "No amount of colour can save this face." you threw a pillow at him, he was taken aback, eyes wide.

"You look pale, didn't you forget to put on make-up today?" hoped your snarky remark will leave an effect on him. He took a pillow in his hands, aggressively, and place it at his chest, hugging it.

"Ah, yes, I forgot that with you all my pores are opening up." said rolling his eyes with annoyance "I need to invest in some good anti-aging creams if I'm going to live with you." you were surprised that he even knew such a thing existed.

"And I need to invest in earplugs from your constant yapping." you pointed at your ears. "Do you talk in your sleep too?" you pitched your voice, cooing.

"You're always such a complainer? I would have moved out to another room the very first day if it wasn't for these regulations and this theatrics of pretending." turned his head towards you "You whine like an old hag".

"Said the one who turned down 4 perfect housing offers!" now you raise your voice, pointing at him.

"The first was too expensive, the second was too small, the third did not have a nice view from the window and the fourth did not have air conditioning." he began to list it to you on the fingers of his hand "They weren't ideal, since we're going to share a room together anyway."

"You were just being picky." you crossed hands. You reminded yourself walking the streets of Tokyo with him, with a map, asking where a particular flat was, while he cheerfull looked around unbothered to help you, or worse - he was being late. However, once you proceeded to take look at the flat, Gojo would either start barraging the owner with questions, to the point where it was unbearable, or he would stand quietly in a corner without saying a word while you, were the one doing the talking.

"UGH. How am I going to survive you every morning?" you lay back on the bed, banging your head against the pillow.

"Only mornings? I would worry about afternoons and evenings too."

Just as you were about to throw some witty remark at him, your phone rang. You dug it out from under your pillow.

"Good morning, (L/N) he- I mean Gojo here." you answered the phone quickly, you still couldn't get used to his surname, mistakes still happened sometimes. In presence of someone outside your social cirlce, you smiled sweetly and said you still couldn't believe you married him. You had to keep up appearances, especially in the company of officials or landlords who called you back.

You rose from the cushion, sitting up rapidly.

"Today? And what time?" glanced at the clock on the wall "of course, the date suits us just fine." gaze fixed on the clock "No apology needed, as I said the date suits us just fine." you began to laugh nervously, consoling the caller. Moment of silence. "Please wait!" you found yourself right next to him, throwing his legs off the table and reaching for a piece of paper and a pen. You clipped the phone to your ear "Please, repeat the address again." you began to write the street name down on a piece of paper. "Yes, of course, we'll be there." voice was full of satisfaction. "Of course, thank you, I'll see you there." your caller hung up.

You almost squeal with joy.

"They called me back! He called from this flat in this beautiful neighborhood!" you squeezed the phone with satisfaction. "It wasn't available before because someone had booked it, but since they called back, apparently it's still in stock!" turned to him "It meets all the requirements from social services!" you thought you were in heaven, you hoped it will turned out like that in person, falling in love with the photos from the catalogue you saw.

"Does it meet my requirements?" he continued to hug the pillow, smiling.

"You'll love it." your smile was smug.

★ --

Of course you rent this flat.

He has loved it since his foot stepped in it.

Satoru looked around. It was spacious by Tokyo standards, well lit and had a thoughtfully constructed kitchen with an island. Three fairly large bedrooms and a bathroom with a bathtub and shower.

Can you even afford it?

He began to wonder if it wasn't better to look for another alternative. You don't have that much money and that standard is quite expensive. He was just about to articulate this to you, but you dissapered from his seight.

He moved to the next room.

You were standing in what was probably your future bedroom, staring breathlessly at the view. Usually the balcony in such blocks have a view of the city, or kiss the wall of another block as soon as you step outside. In this case, this balcony had a view of a small children's park, a lot of greenery, and in the background, buildings obstructed the view of the river.

"We take this." Satoru didn't look away too focused on beautiful scenery.

"I told you you'd love it."

★ --

Moving in was hard, at least for you. You were a bit stressed, the company you hired to move in was really helpful. More so than "your husband" who didn't take a single cardboard box from you, stating that "you're strong, you can do it."

So here you are, out of breath, sitting on a carton of books, taking a sip of water from a bottle. Gojo brings in the last box, you hired a moving company for two hours, they helped with the helped with loading everything from your dormitories into the car and into your flat and carried the heaviest items. Yaga let you take his old desk, which was in perfect condition but didn't match his current office décor, so he gave it to you as a 'wedding gift'. You must say, your Sensei had a sense of humor.

You put the water bottle down next to you.

"Moving in is harder than fighting curses?" he teased. You caught your breath "Sort of." reponded.

"I was so stressed today." you lay down on the floor, finding that sitting was no longer comfortable. Your shoulder blades painfully pounded into hardness.

"Why so?" he put the box down at the very top of the small pile. It seemed like you'd have less stuff, but when you started packing everything up, it turned out to be quite a lot. Gojo also added a few boxes from himself, which came from his family home.

Obviously he was not tired. His black blouse did not show an ounce of sweat. You didn't either, you were more mentally exhausted, afraid that you would have to pay the company a premium for another hour's work. It cost extra and would went beyond the budget. Lucky, you manage to do everything in time.

"If we couldn't bring everything in, in time, we'd pay extra," you felt your breathing slowly return to normal.

"I would cover the cost of if the need came up" he put his hands in pockets, looking at you lying on the floor. You scoffed.

"Do you have the budget for the extra cost?" you rose to the sitting position.

"I have a lot of savings I'm not talking about," he leaned in.

"If you do." you rose fully "We should go to the shop, buy some groceries" you headed for the kitchen and opened the fridge. Water and a few cans of sugary drink. "We don't have anything for dinner."

"We'll take food to go, they have a nice place nerby." He stood right behind you, leaning against the kitchen pillar. You glanced at him with a raises eyebrow.

"You're not joking?"

"You're lucky to have married rich." his smile was striking. So were the clavicles that protruded from under his collar.

"Then why did I bother to save money?" now you start to get angry that all your stress has gone to waste.

"If you'd said earlier, I wouldn't have been afraid to book the company for longer." you frowned. Verily could have just told you about his finances, you would have agreed on a budget. In theory you'd be splitting the cost of the move in half anyway, but still.

"Ayay~" his smile was killing you. It was so dismissive, as if he thought you were exaggerating. His facial expression despite that smile expressed it too.

"I'm rich, by design. So far not enough for me to sponsor everything." he passed you and took a can of sweetened soda from the fridge.

"So you're not that rich."

"Geez, just talks about money, such a gold digger." he continued, turned and started walking towards the bedroom, swigning the can in his hands.

Gods have mercy.

★ --

You have unpacked, arranged almost all your belongings into their respective rooms. Fortunately, most of the furniture was put straight away by the moving company. You didn't have to buy much furniture, as Yaga and Nanami helped a lot by donating some of their equipment. The previous owner also was really generous, by leaving you his bedroom furnishings. Probably when you first met him, he pulled out his phone, Satoru, disrespecting someone's privacy as always, saw that he had wallpaper with one of the Digimon characters. The owner's happiness was immense when they both shared various details about the game, that you were completely unaware of. The conversation went on for far too long, but at least you gained a really good set of furniture and claimed a friendship with the men. Satoru's "personal charm" is on to something, though.

So there you are.

In "your bedroom".

Gods, how strange that sounds.

You've stacked the last of your T-shirts in their place, folding them neatly so they don't get crumpled. Satoru did exactly the same. You were surprised when taking out his elegant trousers or shirts, how much he takes care of his clothes. Not to mention how he cares about their price, because you saw these brands in the most expensive shops. He may sometimes be a bit of a mess, but he cares about cleanliness and his belongings.

"Do you have a blindfold for sleeping?" you pulled a blue piece of satin fabric out of the box. He looked over to glance at what you were holding in your hand.

"Sometimes I get migraines, my old room was too bright and I couldn't rest properly. My eyes are very sensitive." you were surprised by his direct answer and his tone of voice, which was not provocative at all, it was just direct.

"And that was enough to get rid of your migraine?" you asked curiously. In fact, you don't even know why you want to find out.

He sat down on the bed, looking in your direction.

"Normally yes, sometimes I would ask Suguru for a head massage and sometimes I would beg Shoko to help me because the medicines weren't working." He lay down completely on the bed.

"I hope to rest here, it seems comfortable." he added, putting his hands behind his head as support.

Well, yes, "your" bed. King's size. Satoru was in heaven as he lay down and had room for his legs. With his height, it must be a real luxury to have a bed that doesn't bruise his ankles or calves.

For that, you were not so happy. Having to share a bed with him is so.... Weird.

"Don't look at that piece of furniture with such disgust." his voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

Perhaps you have indeed been looking at that bed for too long. Although your thoughts were not focused on the furniture. You looked away, as if someone had caught you at something.

"Isn't it strange?" gaze in the floor.

"You mean? Yeah, I'm also surprised that such a short guy had such a big bed. That was probably his complex." you snorted with laughter, his humour could sometimes defuse tension. Although at the same time, he annoys you after a while.

"I mean..." you pointed at the bed, unable to find the strength to make a sound, lips set in a thin line.

"Sleeping together?" he asked raising an eyebrow, looking as if you were odd.

"Yes," you admitted, taking a deep breath. Sometimes you wondered why you found such trivial matters embarrassing.

"What about this? You've slept with me more than once." these words sound strange when he says them...

"Yes, but the circumstances of that were different..." your gaze is suddenly next to the pillow next to his head. You are reminded of all those nights where you simply passed out on him. You would come to him, or he to you, when times were worse and you would just cuddle, both of you trying to soothe each other. More often than not, you would just collapse from exhaustion, mentally and physically unable to do anything, and you did not care where you lay, the important thing, was that you felt safe, to a certain extent. You didn't eat, you didn't talk to anyone exept him, you only slept when you had shed all your tears and head was spinning enough to make you lose consciousness. Dark times..

"I don't mind sleeping with you." he said looking up at the ceiling and the lamp, "It's nothing special to me. You're the one getting weirdly excited."

"What." You furrowed your eyebrows at his remark, he turned his head towards you.

"Look at you." he pointed at you with his hand, his smile sly "You're concerned as if we were going to sleep with each other, and not sleep in the same bed together." your face in disbelieve.

"I-I don't-" nervous. confused.

"I'm not going to consummate the marriage," he interrupted you, smiling and putting his hand up, "I'm not interested."

"Ey! What the hell do you mean by that. It's not like that!" your irritated gaze caught his eyes

"It's not?" his eyebrows raised. Satoru waits for you to say something to defend yourself from this situation. Your gaze just turned sad, he didn't even notice when, looking at the floor, your feet in your flip-flops.

"Sleeping with someone always seemed so intimate to me. It was reserved for the person I love. And I don't mean in that context.." you tried very hard not to sound as confused and anxious as you actually are "..but maybe I just need to move away from that concept and start treating this situations more maturely." your sigh was nervous, and your face quite serious.

It's true. You had never slept in the same bed with anyone else before, only with Suguru and only when you were together. Yes, you did happen to fall asleep on his shoulder while watching a movie, but before you became a couple, you didn't have a situation where you specifically came to sleep with him on the same mattress. It seemed kind of strange and new to you.

Satoru expected every reaction, teasing him, an outburst of anger or an easing of situation, but he could not expect that. Minimally, he felt that it probably wasn't the best idea to strike with this kind of joke in that direction. It even started to make him a little awkward. His gaze fixed on the ceiling.

"You're right, it's just a bed." you said, now he shifted it to you, you smiled "There's nothing special about it as long as there are no feelings, right?" he didn't say a thing.

Why was your smile so sad?

"Anyway" you quickly clapped your hands. If you don't change the subject immediately you'll sink into your thoughts again. Face back to normal.

"I'm going to shower and probably sleep. It's quite late and I'm tired." you grabbed your pyjamas from the dresser "We still have some things to talk about, but that's tomorrow. You've got two more days before you have to leave, so we'll make it in time." you left the room, closing the door behind you. You wished there was an option for another room or a sofa.

★ --

It was a long shower, full of thought. You stared at the wall, the white tiles reflecting the distorted face of your person. The steam was rising high, warming your body. You tried to put unnecessary thoughts out of your head, repeating to yourself that you should focus on the present. That this is nothing, and your stress is unnecessary. It's just sleeping in one bed. Stop acting so dramatic. He won't there most of the times, busy with missions and other stuff.

So why were you replaying old memories? Why were you thinking about him again? At one time, you would have said you were looking forward to sleeping in one bed with your husband. Now "your husband" is just your friend. Just someone you share a goal with, nothing more. Well, there is more, you share a bed. Then why are you so heartbroken about this? Because things used to be different? Because a while ago you shared a bed with someone you loved?

You didn't cry like you thought you would. You just stared blankly with the water running down the tiles. I guess that's what adulthood is supposed to be about. Wet hair made your head seem heavy. Eyes staring at one point too much, betrayed how unable you were to think about the present. You don't know how long you were stuck in your head for. Probably enough for Satoru to knock on the door, waking you from your state of reverie.

"Will you hurry up? I know beauty takes time, but don't let it take so long!" voice muffled from behind the door, turned off the shower. You had finished some time ago, you just didn't have the energy to get out.

You came back, your hair still damp. You passed the white-haired one, entering the kitchen immediately after washing, you were still in your dressing gown and decided that a glass of water before bed would be a good idea.

While Satoru took shower, you tried to get comfortable on the new bed, having chosen your section long ago. You shared a duvet and one blanket together. It was indeed comfy. Although the pillows could have been a little more fitted. On the other hand, you could not complain about the bedding. You were surprised that the blue-eyed had such requirements for his sheets. Choosing cotton for winter and satin for summer.

"Why are you covered? It's hot." You turned your head towards him. He was standing in the doorframe, in just shorts, with a towel over his head, one hand wiping his white locks. The room was dark, the lights long since extinguished. His silhouette was in the semi-darkness that spilled over his body and covered all the cavities.

"Because I'm cold?" you weren't too moved by the sight of him.

"Huh? How can you be cold, it's freaking hot." he looked at you in disbelief. His wet hair frizzed. White strands scattered in all directions. You snorted with laughter.

"Huh?! What are you laughing at?" he stopped rubbing the towel over his hair. Blue eyes emitted light in this darkness.

"You look like a white pom-pom." you bit your lip to keep from laughing more.

You didn't make it, when you looked back at him you burst out laughing. In your mind, you had the sight of his head as a fluff ball. Satoru was unimpressed, mouth twisted in a grimace and his eyes were annoyed. You wiped away a tear that had accumulated from laughter. He threw a wet towel at your face, silencing you.

"Did you use my shampoo?" you frowned, smelling your toiletries on the towel.

"It smells nice, so sweet I couldn't resist~ It's a bit strange that you chose such a nice scent." he sighed dreamily. Suddenly you regret buying this shampoo when it was on discount.

"And what's that's supposed to mean?" yes, that's what you needed, for him to annoy you as you were about to go to bed.

"You usually smell like cheap soap or some kind of weed." such shower gels and shampoos are the cheapest - you explained yourself in your mind. No one has ever pointed out to you that you smell bad. Why are you even thinking about it? You know very well it's not true.

He said it so straightforward that you couldn't get the words out for moments. Your mouth was opening and closing trying to catch any words.

"Are you suggesting I stink?" now you felt like punching him. You clenched your fists on the bed sheets. He walked deeper into the dark room. His silhouette was lit now from the side, showing all the sculpting on his shoulders and abdomen. He leaned a little over you, took a deep breath and sniffed.

"Not now."

The towel flew towards him, unfortunately bouncing off the barrier he'd managed to activate. The material stopped in place and fell to the floor. His shit-eating grin was even wider.

He inhaled the scent "Now you smell sweet."

"Asshole." you clenched your teeth, he chuckled, picked up a towel from the floor and dismissed himself to the bathroom.

"I told you to worry about evenings too." he shouted from across the corrifor, reminding you the words from your conversation with him, from a few weeks ago.

You growled, burying your face in the bed.

It's going to be a looong night.

★ --

"Good morning, how did you sleep?" a cheerful voice greeted you in the morning. You didn't even look up to see him.

It was quite chilly in the kitchen, despite the frying omelette. You didn't answer him immediately, so he skirted the kitchen island to look at you from a different angle. You had half-closed eyes, bags under your eyes and were yawning an average of four times a minute.

"Bad." was the only thing you were able to articulate. You put the rest of your energy into preparing breakfast. His plate was already on the kitchen island, waiting next to a mug of brewed tea.

"That's weird." He scratched his temple. "I don't know when I've slept better."

"Cool." your voice was slurred.

He glanced at his plate, which was well laid out and the dish itself perfectly prepared. What you had in the pan didn't resemble it at all. Satoru only now saw that your head was flying down at times.

He approached you, squeezing through and turned off the stove.

"What's wrong?" he put one hand on the cabinet above your head as he leaned over you, his voice quite serious as he tilted his head so he could see your face up close. His six-eyes made it clear that this was no ordinary fatigue.

"Your infinity is terrible." you muttered. "You've been shoving me off the bed all night, this stupid force field kept pushing me out, I tried to say something to you but it was like you couldn't hear me at all. Of course I couldn't just poke you and wake you up. I didn't want to use my powers." Despite being tired, you found moments to be angry. You had something to be angry about. Your first night in your new flat and you already looked like a corpse. You came from missions sometimes more alive.

Satoru could see your cursed energy was barely smouldering. No wonder you're tired. He put his hand on your shoulder.

"I've learned to sleep with it, it activates automatically for me, but I'll try to do something about it, 'key?" You just nodded in agreement.

He thought his infinty was quite stable when he was sleeping, apparently he was wrong, he will work on this. He looked at the pan. Despite being so tired, your prority was to make him a good breakfast. Eyes glanced at your tired face again.

"Come on!" said, suddenly grabbing you by the shoulders, turning you around and leading you into the bedroom. You didn't have the energy to resist him.

"What are you doing?" however, you had the strength for irritation in your voice.

"Sleep a while, get some rest. It would be pointless for you to put up decorations today when your eyes are barely open." you sat down on the bed, pressed down by the pressure on your shoulders.

"No need, Sato-"

"A a a" he waved a finger in front of your nose, his other hand on your shoulder pushing you onto the bed "I'm serious, rest." he ordered, you signed, know there's no point in arguing, you turned so that your head was on the pillow. You're on his side, but so what. The duvet covered your body.

"I'll wake you up in two hours." he made sure you're covered properly. You heard him step away from the bed and close the curtains to make the room darker.

"Fine." you muttered quietly, settling yourself comfortably and pressing your cheek against the pillow.

You heard only a quiet murmur before the door closed.

tl: @kalopsia-flaneur

#gojo satoru x reader #years to come #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #years to come series #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojō x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu gojo #jjk

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affableramen · 1 month ago

Text

Arranged marriage!Pantalone x reader Ch. 1

no smut wedding night angst+comfort (in some ways)

there’s one suggestive joke pantalone makes in the end but the fic itself remains completely sfw pantalone is not 375 y.o. here

note: one person said that she gets strong virgin vibes from Pantalone, so… you get what you asked for xD

Genshin impact masterlist

divider by @anitalenia

Ch. 1

“What will you give me as a collateral?”

The clinking sound of mugs filled the room. There was intense scent of black tea in his private office, though, the lingering smell of cigarettes was much stronger and obvious than the hot drink.

Two men were sharing somewhat a tea ceremony, one that was taller and rather emaciated had his clothes indicate he’s not at all poor. He held his cup of tea in a relaxed but dry manner, his expression didn't really express anything but contempt and his overall look screamed big ego. The other man, shorter and less sophisticatedly dressed who was sitting in front of him, held his cup with a trembling hand. As soon as the first man noticed the hint of anxiety in his motions, he placed his other hand on top to provide support.

“My lord—”, his voice was no less trembling than his hands.

“My lord!” The richer man parodied him. “Seriously, get a grip of yourself”, he took a sip of his tea, sighed, pleased with the taste, and put the mug back on the small plate. There was no behaviour more rude and cold than his current. As if the person were not sensible at all, he could only sadistically smile, addicted to the sense of power in his grasp. “I shall ask once again—what will you provide me with as a collateral?”

The man abandoned his tea and leaned forward hastily to grasp the richer man’s blazer in his calloused old hands.

“I used to be wealthy—just like you sir—please have mercy on me! We are very much alike! Don’t swallow me and my family—oh, I beg of you!”

It took a few seconds for the magnate to process the unwanted physical contact that he used to receive from his customers or debtors frequently, especially when they were borderline begging him. “Get your hands off me!”

Magnate’s aura was extremely condescending, if not disgusting, but the debtor knew he had to be obedient and less repulsive in order to get what he wanted.

“You’re not easy to please, Mr. Pantalone”, he stepped back and ruffled his hair, clueless what he should do.

“That I am.”

The audacity he had should have been quite natural for the man of rich fortune however from the customer’s perspective it looked like the problem was not entirely in his wealth but rather something inside this man, something he was made of that made you feel shivers run down your spine. He had such aura that could be described not only frightening but exhausting too. The poor, defensless man had become so desperate that he started pitying himself, although he knew that the banker evidently felt the same for him. It was horrible! He never felt so looked down on in his life ever. But that man did not leave him a chance, he was relentless and cruel. Oh, how cruel he was - to drive a poor father to such despicable crimes!

“I might have something—someone—as a collateral.”

Pantalone’s lips from had shifted from the sullen thin line into an eerie smirk. The poor man had already made his choice, alas, he couldn't avoid the contract now! But was it right? Was it all right to give his eldest daughter… to this man?

“This man! What is he like—I hope he doesn't beat ladies?”

You roll your eyes at the back of your head and let out a groan.

“I don’t know, little one, guess we’ll have to learn that won’t we?” You touch the cold marble of your bed table, the two of you sitting on your big, king-sized bed in the room for guests. The room looks not less than one assorted for a princess. You continue with a softer tone, sharing your sister’s worries.

“I only met him once. I couldn't even see his face properly - he gave me a short, rather dissatisfied stare and ran out of the room, the heels of his court shoes were louder than the words he uttered.”

“He doesn't sound like he’s interested at all in his marriage, Y/N…”

“Well, he better not be—as I’m never going to fall for him! I hate rich people!”

“But we are rich people, Y/N. Are we not?”

You comb your sister’s hair, putting some of the flowers, dead flowers, into the braids of her hair.

“We were. Now we’re just like everyone else—average if not less—and we’re going to be looked down upon. You have to remember that.”

There is a sigh that escapes from your lips as you run your hands through the ‘gifts to the bride’: various jewellery items and other marvellous accessories which have not yet grabbed your attention for some reason, as the bigger underlying problem is occupying your mind.

“This man won't go easy on us, we’re just ants for him.”

The dress sits tightly but rather conveniently on you. At least they got something right - your body measurements. Your check yourself, the feeling of fabrics convinces you of their high quality, though it does not make you feel any less anxious. Your sister shouldn't know of your worries and how your heart shrinks at the thought your wedding in a half an hour. And the thought of the wedding night, which is more dreadful than anything else. But you can't let her know it, it’s still a child, she must not lose hope, otherwise there will be two depressed daughters in the family which is not exactly your dream plan.

“His mansion is rather big, isn't it?” you ask unexpectedly, staring at the window. So many people have gathered already, as if the whole city wants to watch your wedding, or, rather, your embarrassment. You think back: you could escape this outcome and run from your house as soon as you heard what your father did, but you did not. Perhaps you didn't want? You feel confused with yourself. It must be the natural desire to help your family that has made you stay and witness yourself being scooped by the unexpected wedding circumstances.

“Big…and cold”, she adds.

“Well that’s because you’re not wearing a scarf, my darling. We’re in Snezhnaya, it never has warmth in it. Will you wear a scarf when we’re outside? Promise me.”

The stubborn child wastes a few moments thinking before she rolls her eyes (just like you did before) and utters not eagerly:

“I promise, I will put on a scarf.”

You boop her nose gently and turn around to see your cousin enter the room. He is not the most sociable person, in fact he’s rather shy, that’s why upon seeing you in your wedding dress he only whispers:

“Nice.”

“Why, thank you. I didn't expect you to visit me—I mean, not that I am unhappy.”

“I just thought…” he stands there not making an attempt to step closer. He is always like this - and he never gives out hugs. “That you might need some support.”

“Thank you, really, I appreciate it, especially from you who is not exactly extraverted.”

Your cousin clenches and unclenches his hand a couple of times apart from biting his lips with obvious nervousness. It seems he’s not sure at all what to say as he has never before express his affection, hardly to his mother, by the way.

“I just wanted you to know, if that man—I mean, your future husband—hurts you in some way—you can rely on me. I..I will protect you.”

His voice appears to be slightly trembling but he finishes his sentence, filled with sincerity, successfully. You and your sister are both stunned for a couple of seconds before you finally manage to thank him once again.

“Well, if he does, I will not hesitate to grab a frying pan and smack him properly.”

Your little sister encourages you with a burst of giggle. The cousin gives out a soft smile and shares a few moments united with family. Not long after he nods to you briefly and leaves you to prepare for a few last minutes.

“Y/N, are we going to live together? All in this big mansion?”

“I don’t know, honey. That is if he decides so.”

The wedding ceremony starts and the day remains unapologetically cold. You mentally thank the tailors for providing you with a fur outerwear on top of your wedding dress, otherwise you would simply turn into an icicle yourself. When you start walking towards the altar you pray to the archons that you won’t twist your feet. You are not wearing the highest of heels, but if there was one person who’d argue that it was not a hassle to walk over the ice in the heeled shoes… well, they’d be a fool.

You pictured him in your head many times, especially given the slight knowledge of his features that you memorised from your first meeting. But they are not enough, of course. What could you possibly comprehend about a man you saw only poor thirty seconds of your life? What was his core, his dreams? Does he beat women? - as your sister inquired. There was nothing. And your parents did not seem to be eager sharing a bunch of words on him. There was no praise, but no criticism whatsoever. What was he? What does he hide from the world? And why, by the name of Tsaritsa did he evn agree to this arranged marriage at all? Is he even worthy of—

He.

Is extremely handsome and radiates pure self righteous aura. Wavy blue-black locks neatly combed and styled into a middle parting, a bow on his little ponytail swung languidly on his shoulder. One streak of hair grey, either for style purposes or age - you couldn't know. He wears eyeglasses, the occassional sun light gleams on the glass, hiding his eyes.

You step closer and closer to the altar before the both of you are just as supposed to be. Your eyes meet and you ought to judge him for his acceptance of such hideous collateral, but his whole appearance prevents you from being aggressive, at least right now.

“We’ve never been acquainted properly”, you say, but the words appear slightly softer than expected, almost as if you are being polite with him. No, that sucks, that’s not what you wanted.

“It was for the good of our further relationship. I would dislike unnecessary drama”, he responds, his lips periodically moving from your face to your wedding dress before he turns to the crows and listens to the priest’s speech.

His answer confuses you. “Some things are better left unsaid”, you think. Given the closeness you two share right now, you get a proper understanding of his appearance - the man looks not younger than five-and-thirty, yet there is hardly a single wrinkle on his face. There are, however, dark circles under his eyes, signalling that his sleeping schedule might not be the best. It’s also not difficult to guess that he is an office worker and, to your opinion, a very polished one. His looks are refined, distinguished and so far he seems very well-mannered, knowing the process of wedding all too well. It’s a good sign, after all, it feels much easier to go through this process with someone experienced and not shaking unlike yourself.

“Are you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honour each other for as long as you both shall live?" The priest asks.

You get the familiar feeling of your heart shrinking and you cannot stop yourself from being overwhelmed with thoughts rushing into your head, begging you to say ‘no’, but you do not really have a choice anymore. You could have escaped, earlier, but now? No, you should proceed to this path. There is nothing you won’t handle, even if it is an arranged marriage to the richest man in the world.

“Okay—I mean—yes, of course. I do. I am.”

“And so do I”, the rich man responds.

His cologne is subtle and not irritating which cannot help but revoke some of your stress. But once you get a grasp of yourself, pulling out of your thoughts, you realise that the lot is staring at you.

The man beside you clears his throat.

“Put the ring onto my finger”, he says gently, and he does not need to repeat that as you take the ring in your sweaty hands, feeling so lightheaded that you fear you might collapse just here and now. Your groom senses your anxiety, it is evident in his eyes, but for some reason he only stares at you, not rushing you into the action, instead carefully waiting for you to do as supposed.

You take his hand in yours and start slowly pushing the ring. Finally you manage, but upon letting his hand loose you notice how, despite of him escaping the age signs on his face, he has incredibly dry hands. You take a notice of it even firmer when he puts the ring on your finger after. Though, you are not given much time to comtemplate your observation when the most important question is raised:

“Exchange the kiss that will confirm your bond.”

You feel like fainting, but before you do, he raises your chin and delivers a kiss to your lips. The touch so brief, it was but a peck — nothing more, nothing less. And so, the bond becomes official.

You’re led by his staff to wait in the bedroom. Strangely, there is no maids here, but a butler - a considerable old, but wise-looking man from whom you get no ill vibes at all. He politely asks you to wait in your husband’s bedroom, apologising from on behalf of his master that he has some finishing business to attend. You walk to the bed and caress the silky sheets with your hand. And there you are, in his bedroom, waiting for your wedding night, but Pantalone is still not here. You try to reassure yourself, a weak attempt to negotiate it all inside you, to convince you that nothing bad will happen. It’s just marital activities - all newlyweds have to perform it. But the fact that you’re just given to him as a part of the contract stings somewhere deep in your soul.

It’s not really a long wait when the man finally enters the room, the doors swung wide open and he shuts them gently. He turns his head to look at you, you exchange glances before he removes his thin, frail-looking hands from the door and walks up to the bed very, very slowly. You immediately rise and rush to him, though your feet feel like they’re glued to the carpets. You stop in front of him, the white wine stain still on his shirt. Luckily it is not as visible as if it would be, were it for the red wine, you think.

“I’m once again sorry. My hand slipped, I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of everyone. Let me—” you do what an obedient wife should do, gripping the edges of his shirt and attempting to relieve him of it. But once your finger touches the first button, he catches your hand and slowly but assertively pushes it back.

“I’d rather you not.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not touch me.”

“Oh—I though we—”

“You don't say.”

Your hand is frozen in place and you wait until Pantalone says something. What is the meaning of this? Is this some sort of his mind game? This damn businessman, for archon’s sake, he’s perfectly shady and possibly one hell of a manipulator.

“They are not going to live here”, he suddenly says, breaking the tense silence.

“What?”

“The question you asked before.”

“Ah, right…” It’s the question you discussed with your little sister. How did he evem learn about it?

Your expression falters. You would rather prefer you all together in one place, but perhaps… perhaps it was for the best. Pantalone turns away, he starts rummaging in his wardrobe in search of something but still conscious of your questions.

“But they will be welcomed guests, right?”

He stops in his tracks, pulling something from the wardrobe and closing it tightly.

“Any time.”

Pantalone places a wrapped gift onto the bed, seems to be neatly wrapped clothes. Right, your wedding night…

“So we won’t…” you lower your voice, and then your eyebrows raise in confusion but it was for a good reason. What a relief.

“Spend the night? No, there won’t be anything like that. It’s just that we’re going to share this bed for one night until your family is perfectly convinced that we consummated.”

“But—what are we going to do then?”

“Sleep. Change (into your silk night robe I gave you) and don't ask me questions”, he walks to the further part of the room, his hand clenching around the handle. “I’ll be changing in the bathroom. Let me know when you’re finished dressing and I may come out.” He disappears in the bathroom with the soft click.

Really?!

You look at the wrapped gift: it’s not a lace lingerie, not even a seductive set of nightwear - it’s a dark burgundy night robe, perfectly covered and silky. You start easing yourself of the wedding dress - thank Archons yours was not of complicated designs, it was rather simply-looking, but obviously made of luxurious fabric, tailored privately for your body only.

Strange, but he has no maids in the mansion. Otherwise you’d be already served and helped.

After some suffering you manage to escape the wedding dress and put it neatly onto the chair. The gems sewn onto the dress were still shimmering with cold, moonlight-like twinkles.

“May I come out?”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

The man slowly opens the door, he himself wearing a tightly wrapped black night robe and a pair of trousers, his clothes showing not at inch of his skin except for the small area down his neck. But even witnessing him covered so properly, you cannot deny that his physique is rather bony.

“You have been sweating”, he walks up to the windowsill where a tall glass bottle is stood, and fills a cup with it.

“Sorry?” He offers you the cup before you can get even more confused.

“At the altar. I suspect you might be dehydrated.”

“Oh, I was nervous.”

“It’s a natural response to stress. Drink this.” You waver, and seeing your reluctant self Pantalone sighs with clear dissatisfaction. “It’s just water, not poison.”

You nod to him and gulp it all in one go. Yes, you were clearly dehydrated…

“Are you afraid?”

“Not of you, but of the consequence”, trying to make the conversation up you switch to another topic artlessly. “Why don’t you have female staff?”

Pantalone seems a bit sensitive to your question at first but he covers it pretty well, putting on a solemn smile.

“I have a cook who is a woman.”

“Thank God”, you say and immediately mentally scold yourself. Perhaps it’s the alcohol talking in you, loosing up you tongue and… senses. “I didn’t mean—”

“You seem relieved, or reassured, so I don't mind.”

The empty glass is soon rejected and you face the bed, contemplating. He did say he wants your family to believe the two of you had performed marital duties, which gives you an itchy feeling.

“There were so many people during our ceremony. I thought it was supposed to be humble.”

“They were fangirls. I wish it were humble, though, I am lacking the blessing of such desirable peacefulness.”

“Do women… often act like this in front of you?”

He responds subtly, but his answer is enough to make you an understanding.

“I wouldn't say it’s not uncommon.”

“I don't know if I should feel sorry or happy for you.”

“Oh yes, women throwing themselves at me, it must be such a terrible life”, the corner of his lip twitches in a strange way.

At last the both of you sit on the bed. Pantalone takes his place on the edge of the bed, almost at its tail, as if making a futile attempt to not be a source of your distress.

“When you said ‘until your family is perfectly convinced we consummated’, could you enlighten me what you meant by that phrase?”

His response to you is brief and dry.

“Your mother was most worried about me producing children with you. Her, and your father have two children, so she expressed to me her earnest concern for you to have heir with me. She is a smart woman and knowing that I do not come from an elite background myself she had not a single qualm to ask of me such audacious thing.”

“And… what did you say?”

Isn’t it laughable? Her daughter has just been given to an unknown man (well, actually a very famous man of high standing, but you do not know anything about him!) and instead of worrying wildly over your wellbeing in relationship with this man, she pushes him into consummation? At that moment you did not know if you harbour more disrespect and disappointment to your dad or mom.

“I said that she does not have a single reason to worry.”

“But how will anyone know that me and you slept together if technically we did not? Did not you say you wish me not to touch you?”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Your mother shall be convinced for now, and then… Well, I cannot speak for the future”, Pantalone leans closer, but not in a predatory way, in fact you feel like he eyes everything around you, except for you.

“Grab the headboard.”

“What?”

“Grip. The. Headboard.”

You submit to his harsh demand and do as he says. What the hell is he trying to make you do?

“Now shake it like you mean it.”

You shake it, and the wood makes a… suggestive sound.

Pantalone nods, his voice gets quieter, much quieter.

“Good. That will do it. Now, let me try something…”

The man grips the tail of the bed and with a sudden tug the bed moves in place, making the same creaking noise that you just pulled out from it. Your eyes widen. Oh my god, so that’s what he’s trying to do. He wants your parents, who are staying the night, to be aware of—

“Your mother expects me to properly court you, and the marital activities are of course a part of it. Now, please shake it a few times more.”

You do that, but mentally you lack the focus on the wood shaking in your arms. You think about something else. The mysteries take a toll on you.

“You’re not going to actually make children with me, I presume?”

Pantalone stops his act, his hand clenching the wooden tails. There is something about his look that speaks of innocence, though it’s not exactly on the nose.

“No… I’m not interested”, he stops your hand, with unknown tenderness in his touch. “Oh dear, don’t shake it so violently - they might think I’m being rough with you.”

“Right, sorry.” You shake the headboard, lightweightly. Wait, do people even talk during such activities? You doubt it. But Pantalone speaks quietly, almost whispering to you things, so you pray the two of you won’t be heard blabbering.

“I think they’ve heard enough. We should stop.”

“Hm. That should suffice.”

The performance turns out to be full of fun and upon finishing it you realise how your worries have gone away. You almost feel at ease, and to think that the two of you did not partake in consummation but instead played a little game is almost endearing… almost…

“Fine”, you pull yourself away from dreaming. Your voice a bit firmer than usual, and Pantalone’s attention is grabbed instantly. “Honestly, I’m tired. And I assume, we can't leave our bedroom tonight? Even for a cup of tea?”

“Can’t risk being spotted. Do you have any problem?”

“No… May I use the toilet?”

“To your left.”

“Thank you.”

Just when you leave the bed you feel a soft yawn and request following:

“But please, make it quick. I want to sleep too.”

You return soon, just as he kindly asked you to, and find yourself reluctant to join him in the bed. You don't even know him well, how could you just slip under the same blanket with him?

Pantalone senses your worries almost immediately, and you become even more flustered upon realisation how evident your fear is. But keeping in mind that the man has not touched you except for the ceremony, you let out a long pent up breath and pull the cover to tuck yourself in. The bed part was quite fun from your perspective.

“I’m a very light sleeper. Please, try to not kick me with those long legs.”

“I will behave.”

Pantalone sighs too, he pulls a cover a bit to his side and faces you with his back. Rude or just cautious?

“You don’t seem to be a very sociable person.”

“I find social interaction rather tedious.”

That said a person who was so effortlessly easy-going in public! Or maybe it was simply just a façade that you failed to wrap your head around.

“I thought differently. The way you carried yourself in public… I thought you were wholeheartedly enjoying those interactions.”

“They are but a part of my job. I am a businessman, I have to be able to, basically, talk.”

“I wouldn't dare to doubt you in this aspect.”

“Thank you.”

“May I ask you something?”

“Make it quick.”

“If you do not use me for… heir…. then what do you need me for, I wonder?”

After this tingling question is raised, Pantalone takes a long moment to think. You even suspect he considers you too audacious and unworthy to ask that, but instead he just responds in his usual dry manner:

“I might have my reasons, but that’s enough information for you today. I don't wish to overwhelm you. Sleep tight.”

“Good night, Pantalone.”

“Good night.”

You now face your back to him. Well, all’s settled, whatever tomorrow brings you got to survive it. The worst has happened, there are only a few shallow uncertainties left.

#pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #pantalone x y/n #pantalone x female reader #genshin x female reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #tsundere pantalone #reader x character #genshin impact x female reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #arranged marriage au #arranged marriage

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lurkingshan · 2 months ago

Note

Hi Shan

I've been watching your commentary on Peaceful Property with regard to its mishandling of its class conflict themes and I have to admit that I'm coming to agree with you on it.

I had to basically go "Welp, I can't see how they get out of the mess they've made now - I guess I just have to give them a pass on the grounds of found family?" in order to keep enjoying the show, which did let me do that but also left a bit of an icky taste in my mouth.

So I guess I wanted to ask - do you think there's a way they could have handled the wealth disparity and classism issues more gracefully within the show's narrative? And also whether there are any QLs you would recommend that do handle the topic to your satisfaction? I could use something good to watch!

Thanks for sharing your thoughts. I feel like you always make me consider topics more deeply and reflectively, even when I don't agree with you.

Hi, thanks for dropping in! I feel you on this, and I want to be clear that my criticism of the show is not criticism of people who still like it despite these failures. If you have still been able to connect to the friendship and family themes without this getting in the way, that's great and I'm glad for you. Just because the show is doing one thing very poorly doesn't mean there's nothing of value in it.

That said, you're right, they've passed the point of no return on their missteps with the class disparity themes. Early on in the show, after several episodes in a row of ghost stories involving poor or working class folks harmed by Home's wealthy real estate developer family on top of the class disparity between Home and Peach/Pang, I said I was confident that the show had something to say about this issue. And that was true! Unfortunately, what it had to say was garbage.

To your first question, I actually think it would have been very easy for the show to handle the wealth disparity and classism issues more gracefully, and that's a big part of my frustration. They had all the ingredients--a family history of exploitation, a ghost busting team including working class folks to shed light on the family's sins, and an ignorant grandson uncovering wrongdoing case by case and learning that there was always a price for his privilege. All the show needed to do was allow Home to come to some natural realizations about his family's treatment of others, via both the ghost case work and his relationship with Peach and Pang, and then use the power and resources he has to take accountability in the form of restitution and reparations to the people and communities they harmed. My ideal story line based on what they set up in the first half of the show would have had Home setting out to right his family's wrongs and take real steps to restore the communities they harmed. Even if a full on wealth redistribution narrative was too much to hope for, at the very least Home should have been made to reckon with what his family did and set out to do better in the future, both by Peach and Pang and by his family's countless victims (including Kan).

But that's not what we got. Instead, the narrative tried to sell us on the idea that none of this is anyone's fault, and that any harm that came to people at this family's hands was the result of a "curse" or one bad apple's wrongdoing. Instead of saying anything meaningful about systemic inequality and the responsibility of the wealthy and powerful to avoid extractive and exploitative practices, they painted Home's Gramps and family corporation as benevolent, concluding that they destroyed a bunch of people's lives by accident and without intent or even knowledge. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how utterly absurd and insulting that is. On top of all that, despite Home being the one with the most power in this little friend family and making some very serious mistakes that caused harm to the others, the show consistently centered him and his feelings in all conflicts, including Peach's near death and the death of Kan's father and destruction of her community. It also ignored the very real stakes it set up for Peach and Pang's dire financial situation whenever the plot demanded. The second half of the show became all about the poor people Home and his family have harmed forgiving him without any accountability because they felt guilty he was sad, and then those same people spending their time and energy fighting to save this rich family's reputation and livelihood. That's not me offering an interpretation, that is what literally happened on our screens!

So yeah, it was bad! It was clear weeks ago that it was not going in the right direction, but I understand holding out hope that they'd pull a rabbit out of a hat or look into the camera and say sike. But that ship has sailed at this point, and Peaceful Property becomes another in a pattern of GMMTV shows that try to incorporate class disparity in their narratives and get it very very wrong.

Which brings me to your second question: are there any QLs I recommend that do this better? Yes! Here is a short list for other Thai shows that have genuinely done this better:

Moonlight Chicken: not a class disparity narrative, but the only GMMTV show to date that has depicted working class people with full dignity and empathy

Dark Blue Kiss: the only GMMTV bl to tell a romance story that involves class conflict and not completely bungle it (snaps to TayNew for having another show that did better on this)

My Ride: a slow burn romance between a doctor and a motorcycle taxi driver that gets the way their class disparity would shape their relationship right

Love Sea: this one isn't perfect (I think the working class character in the pair gets too little narrative attention relative to his rich counterpart) but it does take the class disparity seriously and ensures it informs the relationship the whole way through

Laws of Attraction: don't laugh at me, I'm serious! This show is mostly absurd but the core narrative is all about class conflict, and it informs the romance quite thoroughly, too

The Loyal Pin: including this one on the word of @twig-tea because I haven't watched yet, but I understand it's dealing with class very directly in its core relationship (with the disclaimer that it still has two episodes to go so something could go sideways)

I'd also throw in some shows that aren't really about class disparity but do include it as part of the narrative background to inform characterization and plot like I Told Sunset About You, Love By Chance, Khun Chai, and 3 Will Be Free

Outside of Thailand, South Korea is always a safe bet for strong class disparity narratives, and in QL you'll find the best examples in Hwang Da Seul's works (Where Your Eyes Linger, Blueming, To My Star 2, and currently Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo). Japan and Taiwan actually don't do much of this, because most of their shows are about middle class and working people as a rule. Miseinen, a Japanese BL that just started airing, looks to be tackling a class disparity narrative, though, and doing it well so far (not a coincidence that the source material is from Korea). And We Best Love is a classic Taiwanese BL with a significant class disparity informing the romance conflict. Blue Canvas of Youthful Days is a currently airing Chinese BL that is doing a class disparity romance and has been killing it so far.

So there is my incredibly long answer to your questions! Thank you again for sending me this kind note; I'm so appreciative that we can chat about this stuff and still maintain our love for these shows. I hope you find some things you like on the rec list, as well. :)

#peaceful property #thai drama #shan recommends #class disparity narratives #shan answers #long post

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gullemec · 1 month ago

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole

Golden Cage - Chapter One

ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: After living in the throes of grief for over a year, your world is turned upside down in the space of a few hours.

Warnings: use of chloroform, mention of death, depiction of grief, cigarettes, swearing, mild non-sexual bondage

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 4.3k

A/N: Hello and welcome to my first ever fic (that I'm sharing with the world lol). I have this fully written already and will be uploading new chapters weekly. I'm so excited to share this and I hope you enjoy <3

Click. Click. Click.

Your painfully tall Louboutins emit an incessant clatter against the linoleum as you speed-walk down the hall, each step echoing louder than the last. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly, threatening to carve a fresh headache into the already frayed edges of your mind.

You hate these heels. The nude patent leather straps always dig into your Achilles tendon, rubbing your skin raw and leaving blisters you’ll have to nurse later. You didn’t even want to wear them today, knowing you’d stick out like a sore thumb amongst the other interns in their practical loafers and sneakers. As a matter of fact, you didn't want to be here today at all, coerced into this internship by your domineering father.

But you did all of these things at the behest of your father's new wife. Monica.

You tried not to hate your father's new, uncomfortably young wife from the moment you met her, tried not to fall into that tired, clichéd resentment people would expect from someone in your position. But, to be fair, she didn't try very hard not to be hateable. The fact that your father had been having an affair with her while married to your mother didn't help. It was the part where he married her less than six months after your mother died that really sealed the deal for you, though.

Some days, you almost can’t blame her. Your father is a very rich man, with the kind of wealth that transcends mere comfort and slips into legend. Fuck you money, some might say, courtesy of CytoGenix, the pharmaceutical empire he built from the ground up. A foster kid turned multi-billionaire, he had worked obsessively, channeling his past struggles into an unrelenting ambition. He ate, lived, and breathed CytoGenix. When he'd had a bedroom installed next to his office at CytoGenix headquarters, you and your mother had made many a workaholic joke at his expense. While this was true, it was an open secret that your father partook in multiple extramarital affairs, and a bedroom in the office certainly wasn't the worst place to take a mistress. If it wasn't Monica that caught his attention there were troves of other twenty-something beauty queens that would have gladly taken her place, prior marriage vows be damned.

Only, Monica didn't need his money. No, Monica Jones-Morgan is an executive at Vought International. Today's heroes, tomorrow's future. A veritable wunderkind, Monica did just fine for herself. Her motivations for pursuing your father remained a mystery to you.

And when your mother passed unexpectedly, leaving you bereft and reeling, Monica wasted no time taking the barely cold title of Mrs. Stanley Morgan.

So Monica could fucking spare it when she insisted you dress the part of the Chairman and CEO’s daughter during your internship at CytoGenix. She had wasted no time asserting herself, down to the smallest details, like how you should dress for the internship your father insisted you take. Each morning you strolled into CytoGenix headquarters in the kind of outfits that screamed nepotism: Prada pencil skirts, Balmain blazers, and the Gucci lab coat that was embroidered with your initials.

The only thing this accomplished was earning you bemused looks from the other interns dressed in sensible business casual. You couldn't be certain that this wasn't some obscure hazing ritual intended to keep you from making friends in the office, because that was exactly what was happening. Despite your best attempts at endearing yourself to the other twenty-something interns on your rotation, you received nothing in return but pursed smiles and polite rebuffs to your suggestions to grab a drink after work.

Earlier today, you tried—really tried—to prove yourself, clipboard in hand as you descended thirty floors into the basement lab with two other interns, Adam and Emily. The silence in the elevator was suffocating, but you held your head high. Down in the lab, you collected samples, filled a centrifuge, and for a fleeting moment, you felt competent. Useful. Like maybe your four years studying Biological Sciences at Cambridge weren’t just a vanity project.

But then Adam stopped you. His hand closed over the beaker you were holding, his smile tight and patronizing.

“I’m sure you don’t want to ruin your fancy lab coat. Let us handle this,” he said, his tone reeking of condescension, like a parent reasoning with a stubborn child.

Your mouth opened, ready to argue, but the words caught in your throat. The Gucci logo on your lab coat suddenly felt like a neon sign blinking above your head. You wanted to disappear.

Months spent trying to prove yourself and fit in with your peers, taking on the brunt of the workload and smiling politely through jokes made at your expense, all for nothing. Despite your airtight credentials and humble attitude, these people would simply never be able to see beyond your surname. You never had any strong desire to partake in this internship, but your father and Monica had needled you for months about it, insisting you needed the experience for when you would inherit the family business. If either of them had any interest in ascertaining whether or not you wanted that, they didn’t make it known.

So you left. Rode the elevator back up, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. You told yourself you wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t give them the satisfaction, but the tears stung at the corners of your eyes anyway. Briefly, the thought crossed your mind that you might call your mother and vent to her. But only briefly, before the crushing weight of reality quashed that idea, sending an icy jab to your heart. In the time since her passing these moments happened less and less frequently, but the breath-stealing pain you felt each time you were reminded of her absence had not dulled in the least.

Now you storm down the hallway, heels clacking angrily against the tile. The remarks from the past few months replay in your head, each one another tiny dagger:

“What a surprise, the CEO’s daughter got an internship.”

“Some of us actually had to work to get here.”

And your personal favorite: “Your dad married that lady from Vought, right? Oh my god, have you ever met Homelander?”

Your pace quickens until you can’t stand the sound of your own footsteps. You stop abruptly, reach down, and rip the heels off your feet. Looking the part be damned, if you hear another click you're going to start pulling your hair out by the root, and that certainly wouldn't be becoming of the CEO’s daughter. The relief is instant, but your anger doesn’t ebb. You toss the shoes and your lab coat aside as you shove open a side door, stepping into the cool air of the alley outside.

The smell hits you first: the sharp tang of garbage mingling with the faint diesel fumes of passing trucks. You grimace, but it’s a welcome reprieve from the sterile, clinical air of the building. Leaning against the rough brick wall, you reach into your waistband and pull out a pack of cigarettes, retrieving a lighter from your bra. Your little secret, your covert rebellion against the carefully crafted image Monica insists you present to the world.

You place a cigarette between your lips and flick the lighter, shielding the flame from the breeze with your hand. But just as the spark catches, the sound of footsteps freezes you.

Someone’s coming.

Did Adam follow you out here? Had your father been watching the cameras, sending out a security guard to extinguish the flame before you could taint your precious lungs?

But then you see a shadow move closer, and before you can react, a cloth presses against your face.

The chemical scent is overpowering, seeping into your lungs, and panic sets in as you struggle against an unseen grip. Your cigarette falls to the ground, forgotten, as darkness rushes in from the edges of your vision.

Then, nothing.

~~~

You awake to darkness and a pounding headache, like a bass drum reverberating through your skull.

Slowly, as consciousness filters back in, details trickle in: a tightness across your chest and arms, the rough rope biting into your wrists, the scratchy material chafing your face. A burlap sack, maybe? The unforgiving metal of the chair you're tied to bites into the cushion of your ass. Most bizarrely, though, is the cloying smell of cheap laundry detergent permeating the thick air around you.

Swiftly, mercilessly, your head covering is removed. You wince at the sudden intrusion of light and blink at the three amorphous figures swimming in your vision.

One is tall and lanky, mid-twenties at most, with a mop of dark brown hair. He stares at you with his head cocked to the side, confusion clouding his features. To his left, a wiry man with sharp cheekbones and an unmistakable French accent is holding up a photo, tilting it side to side as if the angle might help him make sense of it. The third figure, a hulking man in a trench coat, leans against the wall at the back of the room, arms crossed and scowling like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Dude, that looks nothing like her,” the lanky one says, scrutinizing your face, and then the photo.

“Quoi? Look closely, Hughie, it is ze same hair!” The shorter one gesticulates, moving the photo around as to provide different angles. His accent is thick, French if you had to guess. “Perhaps ze light in ze alley, it was… unforgiving, no?”

“It’s not her, Frenchie.” says Trenchcoat in the back. His voice cuts through the room, sharp and gravelly, his British accent undeniable. His gaze is pure disdain as he points at you. “You grabbed the wrong bloody person. How the fuck did you manage that?”

The three of them descend into chaos, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of accusations.

“You said she was in a lab coat!” Hughie yelps. “She was! And she had ze shoes!” “Well, her shoes are gone now and—” “Maybe you should’ve bloody checked her face!”

Their bickering makes your headache exponentially worse. You press your wrists against the ropes, but they’re bound tight, and frustration bubbles over.

“Hey!” you snap, your voice cutting through the argument like a whip. “I’m right here! Would someone mind telling me what the fuck is going on?”

The three abruptly stop and turn to look at you, clearly having forgotten about your presence in the room. The men exchange frenzied glances, none particularly eager to explain your present circumstances.

“Uh… so, funny story…” Hughie glances nervously at the others, clearly hoping one of them will jump in. When they don’t, he grimaces. “We, uh… we made a mistake.” His tone is pleading, his expression desperate, but it does little to assuage the anxiety bubbling inside of you.

“A mistake?” you repeat, incredulous. “You kidnapped me!”

“Technically, Frenchie kidnapped you,” Hughie blurts.

“Merci beaucoup,” Frenchie mutters, rolling his eyes.

Hughie sighs. “Look, we thought you were someone else, okay? This is just a… misunderstanding. No harm, no foul, yeah?”

“No harm, no foul?” you echo, your voice rising. “Who the hell were you even trying to grab?”

Trenchcoat steps away from the wall, his jaw tightening. He looks at you, then at the other two, and shakes his head in disgust. You take a mental note that this one must be the leader. “Hughie and Frenchie here were looking for some Pharma bigwig’s little wife and nabbed you instead.” He takes a moment to shoot the other two a look. “Now obviously you’re not her. Not even close. Bloody amateurs.”

Some Pharma bigwig's little wife? He can't be serious right now.

You stare at him in disbelief, your pulse spiking. “You tried to kidnap my fucking stepmother?”

That gets their attention. Frenchie’s brows shoot up, Hughie’s mouth falls open, and Butcher actually pauses mid-step, his head tilting like he’s trying to piece together a complicated puzzle.

“Your stepmom is Monica Jones-Morgan?” Hughie asks in disbelief. He holds the photo up in front of you for the first time and you recognize it as her insufferably photoshopped LinkedIn profile picture. Her impossibly smooth skin, perfectly laid tresses, and inhumanly white smile seem to taunt you despite their current 2D form. Of fucking course Monica has indirectly caused even more trouble for you, because why wouldn't she?

“The one and only,” you sigh, not bothering to hide your disdain.

Hughie swears under his breath. The three of them exchange glances, Trenchoat shooting them both daggers.

“Fucking hell,” Trenchcoat mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Your old man married her? You’ve got some shit luck, love.”

“Tell me about it,” you deadpan.

“What are we gonna do now?” Hughie asks, his voice rising in panic. “We can’t just let her go—she’ll tell Monica, and then—”

“Oh, shut it,” Butcher snaps, silencing him with a glare. “You two’ve cocked this up enough already.”

For the second time in as many minutes, you watch the men fall into a barely comprehensible fray, voices overlapping and intruding upon one another as they deflect responsibility and place blame anywhere else.

And, once again, you force them to remember your inconvenient presence.

“I won't tell her.”

Your words cut through the air, silencing the men. They all turn to you, suspicion etched into their faces.

Trenchoat narrows his eyes. “Why not?”

You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to flinch. “I fucking hate that bitch. If you'd abducted the right woman,” you shoot a contemptuous look toward your kidnappers, “I can't say I would have complained.”

The room falls silent, tension thick in the air. Trenchcoat watches you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Bullshit,” he finally says, though there’s no real conviction behind the word.

“Untie her,” comes a firm, commanding voice from the doorway.

You're convinced you're hallucinating this entire experience now because the woman that appears in the doorframes is the very girl that adorned the walls of your preteen bedroom, the very woman you'd seen grace every television in the city when she joined the Seven.

“Fucking Starlight?!” You gasp out. You suddenly feel incredibly lightheaded, the room around you taking on an unreal quality, head lolling to the side as you dip down toward unconsciousness.

Starlight rushes to your side, placing her palm on your cheek and forcing you to look at her.

“Hey, look at me,” she says, her voice soft but urgent. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

You shake your head weakly, still reeling. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Not yet,” she says with a faint smile. Then, turning to Butcher, her expression hardens. “What the hell happened?”

Hughie speaks from behind her. “We messed up, Frenchie took Monica's stepdaughter instead of Monica.”

Starlight shakes her head at Hughie. “Frenchie, what the hell? They look nothing alike.” She turns back to look at you. “Are you going to be okay?”

You nod limply.

“We're letting her go,” Starlight speaks with such conviction that you're given a glimmer of hope that the men might listen to her. “Butcher, I'm serious.”

Butcher.

You lift your head to take in the man you'd only identified as Trenchcoat before now. You think Butcher is an appropriate name for the man, with his broad shoulders and cold, unflinching gaze. The kind of man whose mere presence in a room elevates the danger level, who takes up space unapologetically.

Butcher clicks his jaw, shaking his head. “And how exactly are you going to explain this to them, hm? Sorry sweetheart, we ain't buyin’ it.”

You swallow deeply, rallying up the strength to sit straight in the chair. “I guarantee you neither she nor my father have even noticed I'm even gone yet.” You hold Butcher's gaze, refusing to shrink under his scrutiny. “Maybe I could help you.”

He scoffs. “And how exactly would you help us?” His implication pisses you off, that even this stranger that just fucking kidnapped you finds you as seemingly incompetent as everyone else in your life.

But you hold strong, refusing to wear any emotion other than resigned bemusement. You shrug.

“You obviously wanted Monica for something. Was it a ransom? I can get you cash,” you offer, but something tells you it's not that simple. You turn your gaze to Starlight, now knelt beside you. “Do you need information for Vought or something? Why are you involved in this?”

She just turns and looks at Hughie who shakes his head at her. Everyone in the room just looks at you, equal parts pity and worry playing on their faces. It pisses you off even more.

“Will someone please just tell me what the fuck is going on?! I have no loyalty to Vought or to CytoGenix or to my father or his wife, okay? Just fucking untie me and we can work something out.” Despite your outward coolness, you're afraid, and you're willing to make any deal that will secure your freedom from this increasingly bizarre situation.

Starlight huffs from beside you. “I'm untying her.”

“Like hell we are,” Butcher snaps, stepping forward to stop her. He stops when she shoots him a look, the lightbulbs in the room flickering with the threat.

“She’s not Monica. She’s not Vought. She’s just caught in the middle of your mess, Butcher.”

Finally, with a frustrated grunt, Butcher waves her off. “Fine. Untie her. But don’t come crying to me when this bites us in the arse.”

As the ropes fall away, you rub your wrists, staring at the group that’s just turned your life upside down. You’re free. For now.

You wrap your arms around Starlight in a desperate embrace.

“Hey, it's alright. You're okay,” she soothes. She takes a step back to look you over, ensuring you're alright. “What happened to your shoes?”

You look down to find your bare feet on the dirty cement floor. An incredulous laugh escapes your mouth as you realize those damned Louboutin heels must still be in a heap with your lab coat, left in the alleyway. Like you'd evaporated and left behind a puddle of overpriced luxury brands.

This was no dream.

~~~

You're nestled on an old couch, warm cup of tea in hand. It’s lukewarm now, but you cling to it like a lifeline, its earthy aroma the only thing grounding you in this surreal nightmare. A scratchy blanket is tucked around your shoulders and it absolutely reeks of the same cheap laundry detergent that assaulted your nose when you first awoke in this place. This is because, as Hughie explained, you are in fact in the basement of some rinky-dink laundromat in Brooklyn. The dark and damp space is currently serving as a clandestine base of operations for the group you've suddenly found yourself thrust into.

Around you, the room feels too quiet, too full of unspoken tension.

Butcher sits across from you on the coffee table, his elbows braced on his knees, his intense gaze drilling into you. Starlight lingers by your side, her presence warm but oddly dissonant in the damp, shadowy basement. Hughie leans against a defunct washing machine, while Frenchie lingers on the periphery, the two exchanging occasional glances. You know they're uneasy having you here, and you can’t blame them. You’re a liability. Still, the vulnerability cuts both ways; you’re not exactly thrilled to be trapped in a basement with people who kidnapped you less than an hour ago.

Butcher finally breaks the silence. “Your stepmum, is Monica Jones-Morgan. She’s an executive at Vought, yeah?”

You nod, unsure of where this is heading but too stunned to push back.

“She’s been orchestratin’ some very interesting deals between Vought and CytoGenix. That ring any bells?”

You nod again. You knew that your father's marriage to Monica had been mutually advantageous, outside of the fact that he was filthy rich with a couple heart attacks under his belt and she was young and did Pilates twice daily. It had been their plan all along to partner the companies. In fact, it had been at a meeting to discuss the venture that the two had initially met.

Butcher narrows his eyes, watching your reaction like a hawk. “You heard anything about a new project? Something they’ve been keeping quiet?”

That you didn't know. “No? I mean, I know some things, but I'm not exactly sitting in on board meetings.”

His lips press into a thin line. “That’s what we were hoping your dear stepmum could tell us. Something big’s brewing between Vought and CytoGenix, something nasty. And if it’s nasty enough for them to be so secretive, we need to know what it is.”

You glance at Starlight, desperate for some sense of sanity in this madness. “Okay? Why is this worth kidnapping someone over? I mean, so what if my dad is working with Vought? How bad could this project possibly be?” You search her eyes for answers, but she avoids your gaze. “You're in the Seven, for fuck’s sake. What are you doing here if these guys are trying to kidnap someone that you work for?”

Butcher and Starlight share a look. You really wish everyone would stop fucking looking at each other and just tell you what's going on. She turns to look at you and places a hand on your knee.

Starlight sighs, her shoulders slumping. “It’s worse than you think. Vought isn’t… what you think it is. They’re not saving people. They’re killing them. Covering it up. They’ll do anything to protect their power.”

You pull back from her, head reeling. There's no way. She has to be lying. Sure, you hated Monica, but you trusted the work she did. You'd toured Vought Tower, shook hands with Homelander and Queen Maeve. Despite having grown out of your preteen obsession, you'd been pleased when you saw Starlight join the infamous crime fighting team. Vought was as American and trustworthy as apple pie and baseball.

You blink at her, struggling to process her words. “Killing people?” you repeat, your voice almost a whisper.

But then an image flickers in your mind. A Vought stamp adorning a manila envelope, the image of it in your mind alone nauseating you. A year and a half of grieving your mother. Eighteen months of filing requests, calling office after office, and dealing with a barrage of bureaucratic red tape. The envelope was slipped under your apartment door, no postage attached. Inside, page after page of incomprehensible medical jargon, anatomical diagrams affixed with chicken scratch notes you could barely decipher. There was one thing you understood, though, and it was written in thick, block letters next to ‘Cause of Death’.

Accidental. No sign of foul play.

They’re not saving people. They’re killing them.

“Who?” you ask, searching the Supe's eyes.

“All of them, Homelander, The Deep, Ashley Barrett, they're all‒”

“No,” you interrupt. “You said they're killing people. Who are they killing?”

Starlight pauses, gaze falling to her lap. She considers her next words carefully, unsure of just how much information is safe to give you. With a deep breath she returns your stare.

“Anyone that stands in their way.”

You want to vomit.

“Katherine Morgan,” you murmur, your voice cracking. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

Starlight tilts her had. “No. Was she—?”

“My mom,” you say. “She died last year. They said it was an accident, but the report… it came from Vought.”

The room stills. Even Butcher looks momentarily thrown.

You swallow, suddenly unsure of why you're sharing this with a room full of strangers and your childhood hero. But there was something here, something that confirmed a suspicion you'd never voiced before today.

“Holy shit,” Hughie breathes. He straightens, pushing off the washing machine. “That’s how they do it. Same thing happened to me, with Robin. They covered it up. Called it an accident.”

“So does that mean…?” Frenchie asks, staring at a stricken Hughie.

“We don't know that for sure, we don't need to scare her more than we already have,” Starlight says, patting your leg over the blanket, but it provides no comfort.

You turn to face Hughie. “Who’s Robin?”

Hughie’s face crumples, the pain raw even now. “My girlfriend. A-Train ran through her… Literally. Killed her. Vought made it disappear.”

If you weren't already sitting, you're certain you would have collapsed onto the floor. The pungent air feels thin and suffocating.

“So you’re saying…” You swallow hard, your chest tightening. “You’re saying a Supe might’ve killed my mom?”

“It’s possible,” Starlight says, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry, but… it’s not out of the question.”

The weight of her words hits you like a punch to the gut. Your grip on the mug tightens as your world tilts on its axis. Before you can stop yourself, you’re on your feet, the room spinning around you.

“Whoa, easy,” Butcher says, catching you as your knees give out. He guides you back to the couch with surprising gentleness, his hands firm but steadying. He crouches before you, eyes fixed on yours.

The man still fills you with fear, and his demeanor is frankly off-putting, but something about the gentle way he pulls the blanket back around you quiets the rageful beating of your heart. You tether your consciousness to the firm grip he holds on your shoulders, forcing your mind to steady. He gestures to Frenchie, ordering that he get you another cup of tea.

You clutch the blanket tighter around yourself, staring down at the scuffed floor. “If I agree to help you,” you finally say, your voice shaky but determined, “will you help me find out what happened to my mom?”

Hughie and Starlight exchange a look, both nodding almost in unison.

Butcher tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “And what exactly are you offerin’ to do for us?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, meeting his gaze despite the fear prickling your skin. “But if it means taking down Vought, I’ll do whatever it takes. Just tell me what you need.”

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, and he leans back, his hands resting on his knees.

“Alright boys, looks like we've got ourselves a bonafide mole here.”

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julieee404 · 3 months ago

Text

Kinktober day twenty-eight!!

A little too close

❥ Incest, Edging, Breeding, Double penetration, Anal ❥ Tom Riddle and Mattheo Riddle

POV: You've always been a bit closer to your brothers than most siblings, logical with the parentage you share. One day you come home, and you brothers decide to claim you as their own finally.

Trigger warnings: Incest, P in V, P in A, Edging, Breeding, Taboo. Swear words, Unprotected sex.

Today had started out really good. After I woke up I had breakfast with my brothers Tom and Mattheo, before all of us went out for work.

Tom worked for our dad as a death eater. Mattheo worked in the muggle department of the Ministry of Magic. And I worked as a healer in Saint Mungos.

We always made sure we had around the same work schedules so we would have meals together. Two years ago the three of us moved out of Riddle Manor and into an apartment in muggle London.

When I say apartment I do mean penthouse, our family is quite wealthy, and we were used to that wealth.

Work was busy since a lot of wizards came in with burned marks from muggle fireworks. The wizards had been invisible walking through muggle England, and obviously, the muggles who were setting off fireworks during the holidays didn't see them.

Because of this, I missed dinner, which my brothers and I always ate together. I came home around eight, absolutely starved.

"I'm home!" I yelled out as I walked into the house nd locked the front door behind me. Mattheo was in the kitchen and Tom walked out of his room. "You're late." He said matter of factly.

I nodded giving them both a hug "Yeah I know sorry, it was a rush at the hospital and we were understaffed since Mandy and Jade are in America."

Tom still glared at me and I sighed. "I'm sorry Tommy, truly." His gaze softened slightly. Mattheo spoke "It's okay sis, we would've just liked it if you could have let us know."

"I will next time I promise, is there any food left?" I asked when my stomach rumbled loudly. Mattheo laughed and nodded "Yeah there's left over pasta el limone in the fridge, I'll warm it up for you."

"Thank you, Matty," I said gratefully, sitting down at the table and yawning softly. Tom was looking at me with an intense and possessive gaze.

Before I could ask what was on his mind he turned and left walking into his bedroom and shutting the door. When I looked at Mattheo he shrugged, gave me my food and went after Tom to see what the problem was.

After dinner, I took a shower and walked into my room with only a towel around me. Without knocking my bedroom door opened and Tom and Mattheo walked into my room.

Their gazes were dark and intense, having a hint of desire and possessiveness in them. Tom spoke as he and Mattheo walked up to me. "We talked little sis, and we came to the conclusion that we don't like you working over time as much. You're ours and you're picking that job above us."

The anger in his voice was clear. "I'm sorry Tom, I'll make sure that I won't happen anymore okay." Mattheo shook his head "Not good enough princess."

By now they reached me and Mattheo pulled me against his chest, making my towel fall off my body and on the floor. Tom's eyes darkened with lust. "You're ours doll."

I looked at them confused, but Mattheo spoke before I could ask "We love you little sis, more then brothers should." My eyes widened in surprise as I looked at him.

"But that doesn't matter, we love you, and you're ours. We want you." Mattheo went on. He gave me time to respond, this was so wrong, they were my brothers, by blood. But I couldn't deny that I felt more then brothers for them. Always have.

Tom spoke, "You know you want us as well, don't pretend." He said his voice harsh and cold.

Finally, I gave in. "Okay yes, I do want you two." That was all they needed before Mattheo pushed me on my bed and they looked at me, eyes raking over my entire body. Like predators looking at their prey.

With a flick of Tom's hand, both of them were naked as well. I salivated at the sight of them, and my walls clenched around nothing at the sight of their cocks. I was ashamed to admit that this turned me on this much, I was soaked.

Mattheo moved between my legs and spread them widely, eyes darkening at the sight of my wet cunt. "Fuck little sis, you don't even need any prep, you're soaked."

That made Tom chuckle "Yeah does the idea of fucking your brothers make you wet doll." I let out a whine at their words and blushed.

"I'm going first, I'm the eldest." Tom said to Mattheo, making him glare at Tom. He however moved away laying behind me and pulling me against his chest.

Tom moved over me and lined up with my entrance, stroking himself before slamming inside of me. A loud moan left my mouth as he stretched my walls deliciously. He wasn't that thick but really locked, his tip trying to push through my cervix.

In the meantime, Mattheo was playing with my breasts while sucking hickeys on my neck. "C condom" I managed to say wanting to know if Tom was wearing one.

He stopped his movements and growled. "Fuck no, the only way Mattheo and I will be fucking your pussy little sis, is raw, I'm not gonna let anything be between us, understand." His grip on my thighs tightened painfully.

"O-Okay" I said and he huffed before starting his movements again, setting a brutal pace that made me rock against Mattheo.

Mattheo kept whining that he wanted to fuck me as well, which annoyed Tom and made his thrusts harder and sharper.

"I- I'm gonna cum." I said, the joined motions from Mattheo's fingers and Tom's thrusts, being too much. As soon as I said both of them stopped their movements, making me whine and try to clench around Tom to orgasm as well. Hating that it was being ripped away.

Tom slid out "Okay your turn," Mattheo smiled and flipped me over so my chest as against his and his cock was against my cunt.

Mattheo smiled at me and slipped inside of me. I let out a loud moan at the stretch, he was much thicker than Tom and a bit less long, but he still touched my cervix when he was deep inside of me.

I let my head drop on his shoulder and I clenched around him, sensitive and desperate to get my release. Mattheo smiled and held my hips starting to thrust up into me.

Moans left my mouth as I clung to him, hiding my head in his neck and scratching his back making him growl and fasten his pace.

Tom however was really impatient wanting to be inside of me again, aching to be inside of me again. "Hurry up Matt." Mattheo however ignored him and slowed down, just to spite him.

I whined at the shift in pace, not liking it much since my approaching orgasm was again ripped away from me.

This continued for a while, Mattheo sped up his pace and slowed down again, keeping me from orgasming and irritating Tom.

"Okay, that's it," Tom said and he moved over me pressing me firmly on Mattheo's chest so I was sandwiched between them. Tom's thumb pressed against my tight ring, making my eyes widen and let out a gasp. "Wait no no one ever-"

Tom cut me off "Don't worry sis I won't hurt you, and stop moving Mattheo."

He grumbled but did as Tom said and stopped moving. Tom started pressing his cock against my back entrance. "Relax doll," He said and Mattheo stroked my clit to get me to relax.

It didn't hurt. Tom had used a lubing spell to make him slide in easily. The stretch was foreign and a bit uncomfortable, but when he was fully bottomed out, I felt full—incredibly full.

Both of my brothers were stuffing me full with their cocks. I let out little moans which turned into screams and loud moans as soon as they started moving.

They moved in tandem making sure I never felt empty. The sensations soon became too much and I came around them, eyes rolling back as I had one of the most pleasurable orgasms I've ever had.

Neither of them stopped, letting me ride out my high. They didn't slow down after that either, in fact, they sped up their pace.

"Are you gonna let us come inside of you?" Tom asked.

"Yeah? Are you gonna be a good girl for your brothers?" Mattheo added.

Tom spoke again, "Feels good huh, your brother's cock in your holes."

Their filthy words drove me further and further towards the edge of a second orgasm. I know Tom and Mattheo weren't far behind me from the stutter and unevenness of their paces.

I clenched down around them and came once again. My body went limp against Mattheo. He let out a loud groan and came, spilling his seed inside of me and painting my walls white with his cum.

Tom followed quickly after us, the sensations from me clenching around him, and him feeling Mattheo's dick pulsate from the thin wall that separated them was too much for even him.

He came shooting him cum inside of me before slowly pulling out, watching his cum drip out with dark eyes, completely fascinated.

Mattheo pulled out of me and turned me around so my back was against his chest. "You're ours, princess." Mattheo said "Don't forget it.'

I nodded "I won't, I'm yours, only yours."

Both of my brothers smiled and kissed my cheek. "We love you sis." They said softly before they shared a devilish look. I knew we weren't done yet, not for a long while.

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