#BECAUSE he's the only one to recognize them

[boasamishipper]

sooooooooooooo many things to scream about tonight but number one on the list is the difference in the ways dylan and mark's outies talked to their innies. from the get-go mark scout is nothing but patronizing to mark s. he created mark s as an escape from his grief, and now he wants to use mark s as a means to an end to save his wife and pick up his life where he abandoned it. he gets helly's name wrong and calls her 'the person you're seeing' because he doesn't recognize mark s's humanity. he sees mark s as an extension of himself, and he only loves gemma, so of course whatever mark s feels for helly can't be real or worth fighting for. and when mark s understandably doesn't see it his way, mark scout lashes out, calling mark s a child.

but then you have the letter dylan george wrote to dylan g. in three paragraphs dylan george talks to his innie like an adult, like they are peers. he's angry at dylan g, but at the same time, he understands why dylan g did what he did. he would have done the same if he were in dylan g's place. after years of being jealous of his outie, dylan g learns that his outie thinks he (dylan g) is the one to emulate, the self-assured badass. and where helena and mark scout made their innie's decisions for them ("i am a person. you are not.") dylan george breaks the cycle: he offers his opinion, but ultimately puts the decision back in dylan g's hands.

at the end of this season, dylan g is gifted agency. and after fulfilling his purpose, mark s steals his agency back.

[trivia-yandere]

Can I request a very smuttyyy storyyy? Pairing a successful & huge actor yandere jungkook x starlet/newbie actress reader pls!

starstruck (1)

jungkook, a highly award-winning actor, has his eyes set on you, an upcoming actress, to be his love interest in his new movie.

word count: 5.652

warning: yandere themes/tendencies, power imbalance, naive reader, manipulation, coercion, dub-con, non-con (acting) scenes, oral sex, dirty talk, face-fucking, ass-slapping, choking/w belt, squirting, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie,

“I want her.”

The director’s lips snap shut as Jungkook points at your portrait photo. Dare he say he takes several deep breaths before he speaks. 

“She has little acting experience.” the direct murmurs. “She’s only ever starred in indie horror films that are complete trash-”

“I happened to enjoy “Attack of the Killer Space Beetles”.” Jungkook jokes. He couldn’t help but begin to laugh at how ridiculous the name sounded. “Besides, you said you wanted a fresh face, right?”

The director sighs, but nods his head. A new face alongside Jungkook, an academy award-winning one, was needed. He wanted the audience to come to the theatres because of Jungkook, but stay long enough for the story.

“Exactly. She auditioned. Her credentials are…” Jungkook trails off. 

You did a lot of horror movies that only “horror lovers” would watch - for the sake of saying they’ve watched a lot of horror movies. They weren’t blockbuster or household names. They did, however, have a cult following. You were a newbie, but you did have a small fan base that enjoyed you being dragged across the ground covered in fake blood.

“This is a horror movie, as well.” Jungkook shrugs. He leans back into the leather seat and stretches his arms out. “Right in her element.”

“Yes but…there’s sex scenes.” the director shakes his head. “She’s never done that. She hasn’t even been nude before. I don’t have time to coach a new girl-”

“You don’t. That’s what the intimacy coach is for.”

The director ponders why Jungkook was fighting so hard for you specifically. Being a big name  in the industry, Jungkook cost millions and was the highest paid in any movie franchise or television series he starred in. He directed a few movies himself, and even assisted in producing them. He was the reason as to why a few celebrities had careers today - he had an eye for talent.

Jungkook’s current eye was now on you - a fresh face. Your acting was good and you had the potential. You went to college for acting and all; a degree not everyone had. Your heart was in it, you just needed the opportunity.

Jungkook was going to be that opportunity for you. He watched the way your eyes widen as you walked into the audition room, script in hand. You were immediately nervous when your eyes locked with his that it caused Jungkook to smile with how innocent you were.

So new and naive to the world of cinema - anyone would take advantage of such naivety. 

“Fine. If you think she’s good, then I’ll give her a call.” the director throws his hands up. Jungkook wasn’t a fool. He put on many celebrities - Kim Taehyung was one of the highest paid actors a part of a soap opera right now. The man hadn’t even come to the audition for himself, but instead as support for his friend. It was Jungkook who spotted the deep voiced man and asked him to audition for a role and said “Jungkook sent me”.

When your phone rings with an unknown number you hadn’t recognized, you assume it was either a spam call or a call from your agent telling you that you didn’t get the role but “there will be other roles available”.

You weren’t expecting to get a call from the same director as a week prior telling you that you got the role. You had forgotten how to breathe when the news was given to you that when the director asked if you were still there, you almost fainted.

“I’ll get in contact with your agent and pass her the details. In the meantime, Jeon Jungkook-” Your heart instantly pounds at the name. “-will be speaking with you soon. I hope it wasn’t bad that I’ve given him your contact information.”

“No!” you nearly scream, and you want to slap yourself. “I mean no, it’s not an issue.”

“Good.” the direct chuckles. “Jungkook has a good eye for talent, Ms. Y/L. He chose you himself.”

Your heart jolts and your eyes widen.

“If things go as planned, you could be just as big as him one day.”

Just as big as Jeon Jungkook one day.

Jeon Jungkook - thee Jeon Jungkook - had picked you. The award winning actor who’s graced your screen since you were a teenager had chosen you. You out of hundreds of female leads.

Upon your arrival at the audience, you were already nervous. You were in a room full of beautiful women, some you recognized. You contemplated turning around and going back home to this very apartment you rent for far too much than you can truly afford.

But you hadn’t. You stayed for hours and once your name was called, you entered. You audience and you got the role.

All because of Jeon Jungkook.

You could faint right now, your eyes swelling with tears. This could be the moment you studied so hard for. The acting classes you took daily cost you to work night shift, along with you studying in college for acting. You took your dream seriously and now…

“It’s paying off.” you say to yourself. You’re in complete silence now, head against your satin pillowcase. You’re staring up at the ceiling.

Your phone begins to buzz against your chest. You’re alarmed by the amount of notifications that are coming all at once.

Instagram notifications were coming through rapidly, all too quickly for you to grasp as to why. You open the app and find out for yourself.

You were an actress, yes, and you did have a bit of a following. You posted behind the scene pictures to your instagram sometimes and it garnered you over 10,000 followers.

You were shocked to see the following count rise from over 10,000, to nearly 100,000.

“W-What…?”

You understood why. The post shows up right as you click “home”. 

Jeon Jungkook has followed you. He had uploaded a picture of him with a script in his hands, smiling. His lips are a rosy pink and the lip-piercing adds a touch of attractiveness - how was that even possible? 

jeon.jk can’t wait to start filming our new horror movie “starstruck” with @yn. we’re both going to look good covered in blood 😭

Your breathing quickens. 

Breathe.

Breathe.

“Oh fuck.” you gasp out, palms sweaty. This was an exact reminder that this was all real. Jeon Jungkook acknowledging you publicly. He appeared excited to work with you - fuck, he was the one that chose you.

Not to forget that Jungkook also said you were going to look good covered in blood.

“Oh fuck.” you repeat.

You’re running, your feet nearly getting caught on the pavement. The sky is dark and cloudless, and the street lights don’t do enough to shine your path. 

Your heart is racing outside your chest and you feel as though your body is going to give out any moment now. You want nothing more than to stop and catch your breath, but you don’t. You don’t dare to.

Your footsteps are not the only ones you hear. The ones behind you are catching up - growing closer and closer. You don’t look back - that would only distract you. You could only wish that they are further than what they sound.

A loud screech releases from your throat when your hair is being pulled and you’re set backwards and right onto your back. Your manage to not hit your head on the way down, but your body is soaked in mud.

“Why are you running?”

That voice.

Your ankle is grabbed tightly and you’re being dragged. You continue to scream and cry as the man drags you closer to him. You attempt to kick your feet and to free yourself from this crazed man, but you’re unable to.

“Stop fucking screaming.” the man roars suddenly, his yells echoing off of the trees. “You,” a hand is slammed against your lips. “are only alive because I want you to be.”

Your heart pounds with how close the man was.

With how handsome, too. A handsome man like him didn’t do things like this. Handsome men with good jobs and money didn’t stalk you. They didn’t threaten your livelihood.

They didn’t chase you in the middle of the night, either - yet here he stood.

“Please.” you shake your head, crying. The tears finally spilled down your cheeks and your vision of the handsome man was blurring. “Please…”

“You’re so pretty when you cry.” the man laughs. His thumb rubs away a stray tear. “You’re pleading now because you’re scared. Where’s the woman that fought me earlier?”

You cry harder when the man shakes you roughly, now screaming in your face.

“Where is she? Where is she?!”

Your eyes grow wide when the man clenches your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His dark eyes stare a hole through you. Almost if he was looking right through you - inside of you.

“Open your mouth.” the man commands.

You stiffen. Slowly, your eyes drifted to the side.

The director is seated in a chair. He’s watching the scene unfold, intrigued with how well you are acting. He doesn’t seem fazed that Jungkook had deviated from the script.

“I said,” Jungkook, in character, hissed. Without much thought, he squeezes your cheek until your mouth opens. He forces two of his fingers inside of your mouth and you’re entirely distraught to do anything. “open your mouth.” he repeats.

DId you somehow forget this scene? You’ve read the script countless times - there was no way this was in it. You’re far too shocked to do anything and neither Jungkook nor the direct stop. 

“Let me see what that mouth of yours can do while you’re afraid.”

Your chest rises and falls, eyes widening. Jungkook’s fingers force themselves deeper inside of you, holding onto your limp form.

“Cut!”

You gasp when Jungkook’s fingers remove themself from your mouth. He wipes them onto his pants without a care and smiles at you. “You okay?”

The demeanor changes instantly. Jungkook’s eyes soften and the hardened expression you witnessed before is gone entirely. 

This was all an act, of course. Jungkook was an actor. Of course he wasn’t some psychotic psycho chasing you through the woods.

“Y/N, you’re a natural.” the director calls from his chair. “I’m actually shocked by how well you’re doing. We’ve filmed all day now so we should have enough.” he says, clapping his hand. “Need everyone back here first thing tomorrow morning. Jungkook, Y/N,”

Your eyes turn back to Jungkook who is now standing. He offers you his hand - it’s covered in makeup to hide the tattoos - and you hesitantly take it.

“I’m sorry about the sudden change in script.” Jungkook murmurs to you. “I was told to improvise. He likes raw reactions.”

Raw reactions.

You nod your head, cheeks warming. “No problem, really.” you assure, yet you’d be lying if you say the change in script didn’t terrify you. It all seemed too real, even with countless people around you watching. Jungkook had a way that made you feel like it was only you and him around - and that’s just with the little scenes you and he acted in already.

“Intimacy coordinator wants to meet with the two of you.”

You bite your lip.

You knew that this was a horror film and there were scenes you’ve never done before. Sex scenes to be precise. You’ve read the script and you were left an embarrassed mess when you had to read the lines over with Jungkook, but he was professional. He made it easier for you with how polite and reassuring he was.

“You’re doing great.” Jungkook says as you and he walk down the grassy hill towards the trailers. 

Jungkook had his own trailer and much to your surprise, he had even rented you one. Typically, there was a trailer for people to share, but you’ve never had your own. It was never in the budget for the films you’ve done.

“Thanks.” you smile at him. “I was hoping I wouldn’t fall on my ass before you got to me.”

Jungkook chuckles. “You’re a natural on camera.” he says, and the compliment causes your body to warm up. “You can tell that you’re accustomed to the horror vibe.”

You nod your head a bit. “I try to be. I’ve been in corny horror movies though.” you joke. 

You recall when you and Jungkook had officially met to go over the script and he mentioned he enjoyed ‘Attack of the Killer Space Beetles’. You were immediately embarrassed, but Jungkook had actually watched and enjoyed it. He recounted scenes from the movie that even you forgot about. 

“Corny movies are only a stepping stone to your big break.” Jungkook says. He places a hand onto your shoulder and squeezes it gently before bringing you closer to his side in a sideways hug. 

Meeting with the intimacy coordinator had only reminded you that you’ve indeed never experienced anything like this. She was sweet in asking for your opinions - if you felt comfortable in the amount of sexual activity that would be happening behind the camera.

 A sex scene was new to you, but not to Jungkook. That also caused more nerves to be added onto your shoulders. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself too much in front of him and the rest of the crew.

Jungkook, however, was more supportive. He insisted that things weren’t as they seemed and most outcomes were just illusions.

“So since you’re new,” the intimacy coordinator states. “you’re possibly wondering how scenes are executed on set. These are modest garments.”

The coordinator shows you different skin-color shades of garments. “They’re strapless things with a barrier inside of them. Do you want to feel?”

Though you’re humiliated, you are also intrigued. You touch the garment and hum as you nod your head. You suppose this is how things are done - so you wouldn’t actually be feeling Jungkook.

“For men, we have them wear something called a modesty pouch.”

Jungkook leans back into his chair. He watches the way your eyes examine all of the garments, genuinely intrigued by it all as the intimacy coordinator explains to you how everything is done. Your naivety with how everything works is what causes Jungkook’s lips to form a small smile - you were cute, he thinks. This was like a whole new world to you that you’ve never been a part of; one that he was showing you.

“We have different types of garments you could wear and try on. Since you are new, we’ll have to find your size.” you nod along to her speech.  “And we’ll also have to work on what we call “faking it”.”

“Fake moaning.” Jungkook nods his head at your confused look. 

“We have to make it look real while we’re filming so the final product appears as such. But as you can see, it’s all fake at the end of the day.”

For the next hour, you were explained step-by-step of how intimacy works, camera angles, faking sounds and all. Once the meeting was over, you felt that this was something you could actually do without feeling like such a newbie.

“Feel better?” Jungkook asks. 

You and Jungkook are side by side now as you make your way out of your own trailer. You changed back into your clothes and decided that it was best for you to head back home. The evening sun casted a burnt orange type of hue over the set entirely.

“Yes.” you nod your head with a soft grin. “I can’t wait to watch the movie when it’s all done. I want to redeem myself from my past work.”

Jungkook snickers. “You’ll be amazing. Trust me.” he assures. “I waited to ask if you wanted to grab dinner and go over the script.”

You blink a few times, uncertain. Your stomach was rumbling and you could go for food right now - but did you truly want to go over the script? “What scenes did you want to go through?”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “A few. Especially if we’re going to get told to keep improvising.”

Improvising. Your mind flashes with the way Jungkook looked and sounded earlier, followed by the way he forced his fingers into your mouth. It was eerie, especially when you didn’t know it was happening. You’re positive, however, that the raw reaction the director was looking for was highly evident.

“It shouldn’t be an issue, I guess.” you shrug your shoulders. You didn’t want Jungkook to think you weren’t passionate about the project - you were!

This is how you and Jungkook found yourselves, eating takeout while attempting to go over the script. You willingly drink the wine Jungkook gives you, admitting to yourself that it actually was an amazing taste - he told you it was thousands of dollars and you cannot comprehend just how someone could spend that much on it.

“Okay, let’s get back to the script.” you say after another sip of wine. “Where did we leave off?”

Jungkook turns a few pages before looking up at you. “We should try an intimate one. Get it out of the way so tomorrow it’ll be easier to perform.”

Nodding your head, you take a deep breath. You had read this scene countless times to memorize your lines. Watching Jungkook get into character was amazing. Even while practicing, he still gives a stellar performance.

“I missed you.” He says, taking a few steps towards you. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I-I haven’t.” you say. This scene involves you being in bed, but you and Jungkook are in his living room, so the couch would have to do.

“Yes you have. Are you afraid of me?” Jungkook comes closer until he’s hovering above you, dark eyes tracing over your body. “You know I’ll never hurt you.”

You flinch when a hand comes near you. “I-I��you told me you’d kill anyone who touched me. That’s not normal.” you quip.

“I can’t help how I feel!” Jungkook hisses. He plops down besides you, his eyes softening. “Please, baby…I’m sorry. Just give me another chance. You know I’ll never hurt you. Sometimes I get angry and…”

This was where the intimacy got started. Jungkook’s lips are on your neck immediately, kissing at the nape of it. His hand places itself onto your inner thigh and he squeezes.

“You drive me crazy.”

Your eyes close for a moment, swallowing. Jungkook kisses up your neck, hand growing closer and closer to you.

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” you murmur. “...you-”

You stop immediately when Jungkook’s hands touch your clothed heat. He cups it in his palm, your cheeks warming.

“Sssh…” Jungkook hums, continuing to rub. You weren’t wearing any safety garments - Jungkook knows this. You’re unable to move as he continues to rub. “...just let me.”

Jungkook squeezes your cupped heat, eyes flickering to see your reaction. Your shy face appears bewildered and you’re unable to move.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks. That wasn’t part of the script, and neither was him touching you. “Does it feel good?”

“Jung…kook?”

You say his name so sweetly that it causes him to moan.

“I like the way you say my name.” Jungkook admits. He’s so close to your face. It’s warm with embarrassment and nerves. This wasn’t part of the script - was he improvising again? Even this is too much.

“W-What are you doing?” you ask. He’s close like he was before, his eyes dark with someone else that you couldn’t put your finger on. Your heart is pumping so loudly, your thighs quivering.

“We’re going to be around one another for months. You and I have to look like we’re intimate on camera.” Jungkook’s tongue swipes along your neck. The hair on your skin rises. “We mind as well get comfortable.”

Comfortable…

The way Jungkook’s hands forces it’s way into your pants, you’re entirely stiff. You’re afraid to move, especially when his fingers rub along your clothed heat through your panties. A soft gasp comes from your lips.

“It feels good, right?” Jungkook hums against your neck. His tongue slides up towards your ear, his teeth nibbling slightly on it just to tease you further. “Talk.”

“Is this…okay?” you ask him, as if you aren’t the one that should be assured. Jungkook looks into your eyes and it drives him crazy. Those sweet, innocent eyes. Such naivety behind them.

“Of course this is okay. You feel good, don’t you?” Jungkook asks.

You nod your head a bit. It felt good - but you and Jungkook were co-workers. You didn’t want to go too far with him and have things be awkward on set later on. Nor did you want him to think you were a groupie who is willing to jump his bones at any given moment.

“We’re going to have to act in front of the camera, Y/N. You’re going to have to moan…” Jungkook murmurs. “I want you to be completely comfortable for me. It’s just us.”

You don’t move when Jungkook tugs your pants down and discards them on the floor. His eyes are intense, watching you the entire time. He places his hands back between your legs, continuing to rub your wet core through your panties.

“You’re new to this.” Jungkook chuckles. “But it’s just you and me. I want you to be comfortable enough for me, okay? Tell me how you feel.”

You aren’t new to sex, but those hookups weren’t Jeon Jungkook. You were self-conscious already. You’re positive he’s done this with countless women - all beautiful models and actresses. You were just you; a newbie in the world and you’re positive you look it.

“It feels nice.” you mumble.

“Yeah?” Jungkook chuckles again, just because you were so cute. “And now?” 

Pushing your panties aside, Jungkook slides his fingers across your wet clit. He rubs a bit more profusely, hissing as just how good he knows your pussy feels. He knows it's tight and would milk him for everything he has.

“In order to look convincing on camera, we’re going to have to experience it behind the scenes.” Jungkook explains. “Don’t you want this? This movie is going to be big.”

Jungkook wouldn't say he was manipulating you. You could push him away and say no - he just knows you won’t. You did want this. He was going to open doors for you that would’ve remained closed if it wasn’t for him.

"The scene we’re acting out is a bit aggressive, but not all of them are.” Jungkook assures. His cock tightens at just the thought of handling you the same way his movie character handles yours. “You trust me right?”

Slowly, and slightly unsure, you nod your head.

“Good.” Jungkook removes his hand from your clit. “Get up. And strip.”

Jungkook was blurring the lines between reality and the script. But you wanted to be good - good enough for him to realize that he didn’t make a mistake in choosing you.

“Yes, sir.” you nod your head, following along with the script.

Jungkook watches you peel off the remaining clothing. Your bra falls right besides your panties, erect nipples staring back at him.

“Go up the stairs and to the right. That’s my bedroom.” Jungkook instructs. “We can’t act this scene out on the couch.”

You can feel Jungkook watching you as you do as he says. Being fully nude before him is nerve wrecking and you just hope you can appear sexy as you’re supposed to. You and him were actually going to do this - there’s no garments to hide either of your parts from one another.

“You think I’d allow anyone else to have what’s mine?” Jungkook hisses. He removes his belt as you sit on his bed, innocent eyes looking up at him.

“N-No, sir.” you murmur back.

“Exactly. I’d kill anyone who thinks they’ll take you away from me.” Jungkook pushes his pants off. You don’t want to stare at the obvious bulge in his underwear, but it’s hard not to. “How should I punish you then? You tried to run away from me.”

You swallow. “Sir-”

“How about you get on your knees?”

You lick your lips. Your character is supposed to be frightened, doing whatever it takes to survive Jungkook’s character - the obvious bubbling psychopath. Witnessing you on your knees, naked with those eyes causes something in Jungkook’s chest to rumble. His cock throbs, wishing you’d touch him already.

“I’d do anything, sir.” you say. Your soft hands lift up to touch him, sliding up his bare legs until they are on either side of his thighs. 

“Open your mouth.” Jungkook demands. His free hand is placed on your chin. “Wider.” he instructs over and over until your tongue is out.

You’re trembling when Jungkook pushes his underwear out. This is something you’ve never done. Oral sex wasn’t something you were interested in with simple hookups. His cock is big, veiny with a wet tip. Without warning - though you should’ve expected, he rubs his tip against your tongue. It’s salty and at the first sign of your hesitance, Jungkook tightens his fingers on your chin.

“You’re doing good.” Jungkook instructs. “You’ve sucked on a lollipop before, right? Treat it like that.”

This was Jungkook talking to you, not his character. His breathing increases when you listen. You were such a good girl - and your compliance would be rewarded. He could make you into the perfect actress - highly awarded just like he was. In due time, of course.

You do as Jungkook says, licking his tip just as you would a lollipop. It’s new to you and you aren’t sure if you’re doing it correctly, but Jungkook’s gasping lowly so you assume you are. Your eyes flicker up to look at him for reassurance.

“You’re doing good.” Jungkook says as if he knows. “Just…take more of me, yeah?”

Jungkook thrusts himself deeper into your wet mouth, groaning when you allow him to with little resistance. His hand holds onto your cheek. “Stay like this, okay. Let me…”

Jungkook begins to pump his cock in and out of you slowly. His moaning increases, his dark eyes fluttering every so often. You’re shocked with how wet you were, your thighs clenching together. Doing this for Jungkook and witnessing how good it makes him feel makes you feel good.

“You’re so beautiful taking my cock.” Jungkook speaks, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. “You’re so good.”

Jungkook picks up the pace, as does his moans. Watching the way your wet mouth takes his cock deeper and deeper with little resistance, even if he can see the whelming tears forming to your eyes with how overwhelming it was. Fuck, you were such temptress.

“You’re such a good girl, Y/N. I promise you’d have it all. Just be good to me, okay?” Jungkook’s cock is so deep in your mouth that you cannot physically respond, but a hum vibrates from your throat and sends Jungkook into a frenzy. 

You’re unsure how you haven’t gagged more than a couple times with how deep Jungkook was, growing more aggressive by the second. You’re breathing through your nose heavily for air, your eyes glossy.

Jungkook spills entirely into your throat, the salty, warm substance causing you to actually gag. You swallow it, unsure what else to do after he removes his cock from your mouth. You finally breathe from your lips, blinking away the tears from your eyes.

“Look at you,” Jungkook hisses. “turn around.”

You were going by the script again. Once you can see again, you do as you’re told. You already know what’s next - the belt still in his right hand. You had to prepare for when you and him do this scene you suppose.

Jungkook wraps the leather belt around your neck, tightening just enough that it isn’t choking you. He forces you onto your feet.

“This is what I do to whore’s who don’t listen.”

You’re forced onto the bed. You immediately know what position to get into, having read the script. And Jungkook thinks you’re such an obedient person that it drives him crazy.

You aren’t sure how this scene was going to play out in front of the camera, but Jungkook isn’t hesitant to slam a hand directly on your bare ass. You yelp at the sudden action - and the sensation of it.

“Count.” Jungkook demands.

“One.”

SLAP!

“Two.”

SLAP!

“T-Three…”

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

Your thighs are quivering, forced apart so Jungkook could watch the way arousal trickles down your thighs helplessly. Your ass is stinging, a pleasurable feeling you’ve never experienced until now. 

Jungkook yanks at the belt and you’re forced upward and against his chest. You struggle a moment, eyes widening. 

“You’re wet.” Jungkook says against your ear. “You like this, don’t you?”

You nod slightly, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“That’s okay.” Jungkook assures. “I want you to feel good, too.”

Jungkook’s free hand slides between your legs. He doesn’t allow you to move and his grip onto the belt is firm. He likes the way you helplessly lean against his chest while his hand rubs along your wet clit.

“Let’s see how well you take my fingers.”

Jungkook’s fingers are intruding, but he doesn’t care. He slides them between your folds and  right in you. You’re tighter than he thought, fully taking him entirely. 

You gasp at the feeling, your pussy clenching instantly. Jungkook doesn’t intend on being soft with you - no. It’s what you were going to have to get used to. This wasn’t a soft movie - it was hard. It was intruding and invasive - showcasing just how obsessed Jungkook’s character was with yours.

Your pussy is squelching so loudly that Jungkook adds another finger. You’re moaning helplessly, your thighs aching too close to stop the overstimulation but Jungkook isn’t going to allow it. He forces his knee between your legs to assure you stay exactly like this.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, a hand on his wrist. “s-slow down, please. I-i can’t-”

“Shut up.” Jungkook hisses. He was enjoying fucking his fingers into your pussy. He can feel it - the throbbing and clenching and unclenching. 

“I have to…” you’re breathing heavily. Your eyes squeeze shut and your hands, to no avail, are attempting to pry Jungkook off of you. His hand only tugs on the belt.

There’s pressure building up in you. You felt as though you had to pee and you weren’t going to humiliate yourself and do that now. “P-please…!”

“Let go, Y/N. I know you feel it.” Jungkook’s voice is so deep that it tickles something in you. He wasn’t going to release you - not until you did what he said.

You have no control over the pressure that builds and builds until your body forces it out. It sprays entirely onto your thighs and onto the silk bed sheets.

“Such a good girl you are, Y/N.” Jungkook shakes his head, his wet fingers removed from your hole.

Jungkook isn’t going to let you regain any peace - not when you and he had to perfect your roles. When you feel something else at your entrance, you’re too overstimulated to say anything.

Jungkook enters you. You’re so wet that he slides past your walls effortlessly. He groans, feeling your wet pussy around his cock is mind blowing. You were amazing, he thinks, so wet and willing. He finds pleasure in knowing that it was him that is going to discover you and all your talents.

Jungkook begins to pump, forcing you onto his bed so he can get a better grip on you. Your legs are forced apart and your head is shoved into the wet sheets. You’re unable to form words and your eyes are still shut. He’s so deep, pounding into you with every ounce of aggression the script calls for.

“You’re going to be a star, Y/N. I’ll make sure of it.” Jungkook hisses. He’s positive that you’re only half listening, the other half of you babbling and moaning to yourself. But he’ll make sure to tell you once more in the morning. 

Your hands grip the sheet, unsure if you were going to be able to handle another orgasm, but Jungkook wasn’t going to stop until you both were there.

Your ass bounces against his abdomen, your wet pussy gushing with more and more juices that he’s unsure just how this was possible. You’re creaming around his cock, so good that he’s positive you’re cumming over and over again.

“You love this, don’t you? You get to get fucked by me and have the world at your hands. You and I…” Jungkook speaks, now more to himself. To think about it, he could be your guide. Someone to protect you from harm in this industry - you were new and naive. Anyone could take advantage of you. “...I’ll protect you, Y/N. Make sure no one has their way with you.”

You whimper once more when you feel another sensation flowing though you and Jungkook are chuckling with delight. You’re limp, forced to allow Jungkook to have his way with you.

“Maybe we should become the next power couple, huh? Dominate the industry…the perfect actress I can have you be…”

Jungkook’s thrusts become sloppy, satisfied with the possibility of making you the star he knows you can be. The one you and he could be together - fuck, he was going to cum. His eyes squeeze shut, a few more thrusts and-

You feel warmth pool through you and Jungkook falls right on top of you. Your thighs are trembling and your eyes are heavy. You’ve cum more than you ever had before and you had no energy in you to move.

Jungkook is panting, his mouth right against your shoulder. He’s still pumping cum into you, sweat forming on his forehead. One thing for sure, Jungkook couldn’t wait to make you a star.

@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @minshookie29 @darkuni63 @chimmy-licious

trivia-yandere: i think this calls for a second part :3

[sakuraszn]

may I please request a Luffy x fem reader (they aren’t together yet) but Luffy has a big crush on the reader without realizing and he’s always super touchy with her without thinking anything of it, like always holding her or picking her up when they’re on adventures and protecting her too all without realizing until the crew makes a comment about it to him, I think it would be super adorable. thank you!

unconscious affection, ft. monkey d. luffy

note: OMG YESSS, this will be my first time writing something for luffy so I’m excited! I hope you like ittt🥰.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the Sunny as it glided through the calm waves. The salty breeze carried the sound of laughter and the occasional clatter of plates from the kitchen. It was a peaceful day at sea, the kind that made adventures feel like dreams rather than dangers.

And yet, something entirely different was happening right under the crew’s noses—something that had been going on for weeks, if not months.

Monkey D. Luffy, captain of the Straw Hat Pirates, was smitten. Not that he realized it, of course. Luffy wasn’t the type to dwell on his emotions, much less recognize them. But to everyone else, it was painfully obvious.

Especially with the way he was holding you right now.

“Luffy, put me down!” you huffed, though there was no real anger in your voice—just exasperation.

“Nope!” Luffy grinned, his arms locked securely around your waist as he carried you across the deck like a sack of treasure. “I wanna sit up on Sunny’s head, and it’s more fun if you’re there too!”

Robin chuckled behind her book, Sanji rolled his eyes as he lit a cigarette, and Zoro muttered something about “idiot captain behavior.” The rest of the crew wasn’t even fazed anymore.

This had become normal.

Luffy, whether he realized it or not, had a habit of keeping you close. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing—he would sling an arm around your shoulders, grab your hand while running through a town, or, in moments like this, just pick you up and take you wherever he wanted to go, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And the most infuriating part?

He never acted this way with anyone else.

It wasn’t just on the ship, either.

On an island you had docked at a week ago, you had been walking through a dense jungle, eyes scanning the towering trees for any signs of danger. It was an unfamiliar place, and caution was necessary.

Luffy, however, had decided that caution was boring.

He had climbed ahead, jumping from tree to tree with his usual reckless energy, leaving the rest of you to navigate the ground below. But just as you were stepping over a tangle of vines—

“Wha—Luffy!”

Without warning, he had snatched you up, one arm hooking under your legs and the other supporting your back as he launched into the treetops.

“Look at this view!” he had laughed, holding you securely as he perched on a thick branch.

You had been too stunned to respond at first, but once the initial shock wore off, you smacked his chest lightly. “You can’t just grab me whenever you feel like it!”

“Why not?” he tilted his head dumbfounded.

“Because I have legs,” you deadpanned.

Luffy had only laughed again, tightening his hold just a little before leaning forward as if sharing a secret.

“But I like carrying you.”

Your heart had skipped a beat at that, but before you could even process what he had just said, he was already stretching an arm to swing to another branch, completely unaware of how flustered he had just made you.

Then there were the fights.

Luffy was always protective of his crew—fiercely so. But when it came to you?

It was different.

He never let you fight alone. Not if he could help it.

On a recent island, you had been fending off a group of enemy pirates, your weapon clashing against theirs. You were holding your own just fine—until a particularly nasty opponent lunged at you from behind.

Before you even realized the danger, a rubbery arm shot past you, stretching at lightning speed before slamming into your attacker’s gut.

Luffy landed beside you in an instant, standing between you and the remaining enemies. His usual carefree grin was gone, replaced by something sharper, more dangerous.

“Hey,” he had said, voice dark with warning. “Don’t touch her.”

The fight had ended quickly after that.

It took the crew making an outright comment for Luffy to even begin noticing his own behavior.

One evening, you were all gathered around the dining table, enjoying one of Sanji’s extravagant meals. Luffy, as usual, was sitting next to you. And, as usual, he had an arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as he talked with his mouth full.

At this point, no one even blinked at it.

Until Nami, eyes glinting with mischief, casually said, “Y’know, Luffy, you really can’t keep your hands off her, huh?”

Silence.

Luffy blinked, swallowing a mouthful of meat. “Huh?”

Usopp leaned forward, grinning. “She’s right, man. You’re always touching her.”

“Like, constantly,” Zoro added with a smirk.

Sanji, who had been stewing in silent jealousy for weeks, exhaled a cloud of smoke. “It’s honestly impressive how oblivious you are, dumbass.”

Luffy frowned, confused. He turned to look at you, as if seeing you for the first time. You were staring at the table, face burning as you tried to focus on your food.

“Wait,” he said slowly, eyes widening. “Do I really…?”

Robin smiled knowingly. “Oh yes. It’s quite adorable, actually.”

The realization hit Luffy like a punch to the gut. His eyes flicked between you and his own arm still draped over your shoulders. His grip on you had always been instinctual, like second nature. He had never thought about it before.

But now that it was pointed out…

He felt warm. Too warm.

His fingers twitched against your skin, and for the first time in his entire life, Monkey D. Luffy blushed.

“oh.”

The crew burst into laughter.

And you? You just covered your face with your hands, knowing that things were never going to be the same after this.

SAKURASZN © 2025 !

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS Men with a Deity Reader

AN: Read Rumi and felt like yapping so here's my poetic nonsense. IK I should be getting to requests but that is for the weekend.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn deity reader

Ingredients: 60% pining, 40% comfort/feels

My Fav: Sylus and Caleb for sure in this one.

Xavier:

Dusk. You are the god/goddess of dusk. You carry the quiet ache of homesickness. The urgency of birds returning home before dark. You are beautiful, yet restless. A fleeting light bleeding into darkness. A transition between day and night, a breath held between states of being.

Xavier would sacrifice a thousand days and a thousand nights just to have you. To feel the way you shift between light and shadow. To stand beneath the sky as you lull the sun to sleep, your hands stained with the fading hues of gold and red.

To witness the caress with which you guide lost souls home. His heart aches to follow them, to rest beneath your dusk.

Perhaps that mercy will lead him back to Philos. Perhaps you are the only home he’s ever truly known.

Rafayel:

Memories. You are the deity of nostalgia. That is why he refuses to forget. Memories are his way of keeping a part of you close.

He does not remember the first time he met you, but he knows he has known you forever. In every lifetime, your face returns to him.

You are the echo of Lemuria, the last music of a dying world. The sound of tides receding. The haunting sweetness of something lost yet still lingering.

He withers under the weight of you. Blossoms in the presence of you. In your blessing, he is both made and unmade at every encounter.

Perhaps that is why no birth or rebirth, has made him forget you.

Zayne:

Will. You are the deity of will and hope. The anchor that steadies him in the tyranny of fate.

Your presence was his only respite from the destiny Astra carved into his skin. When the walls closed in, when the stars themselves turned to ash, it was your hand that pulled him to his feet.

In every lifetime, he bares his heart and pushes through pain, to seek what his soul craves. He has faced death, war, and ruin for the chance to stand beside you.

Because he knows: as long as he does not give up, you will stay with him.

And even if you do not speak, your silence is enough. Your presence alone is the promise that not all battles are lost.

Sylus:

Love. You are love. Not the primordial, all-encompassing love of lust and creation. But Agape. The selfless devotion of purity. A quiet, unrelenting affection.

He remembers the first moment he saw you, how your sight settled into his eye with the fragment of your power. He did not need to learn to love you. He simply recognized you.

Since that moment, nothing else has mattered. His devotion is not loud, frantic or desperate. It’s quiet. Steady. The kind of love that could survive a thousand years of absence and still bloom the moment you return.

You exist in his bones now. His veins carry the ache of your presence. There is no pain in separation anymore because separation is an illusion. .

Separation. Reunion. Loss. Return. It’s all the same cycle. The recognition never fades. He would wait through lifetimes, wait through countless deaths, just to stand before you again.

Because to Sylus, love isn’t possession. Love is becoming. And he has already become yours.

Caleb:

Dreams. He finds you in your absence. You are sleep. You are dreams. The quiet, pleasant ones that bring him rest.

When he turns away from you, he is lost. Haunted by nightmares. Fire and destruction unravel the truth of his own self. The ruin beneath his skin. The world crumbling under the claws of his rage.

But when you return, your hand in his hair, your breath against his cheek, you bring him to rest. As if the weight of gravity, his own evol, pulls his very bones to earth beneath your touch.

You shield him from the awakening god of end. You keep him from the truth. The terrible truth buried in his nightmares.

You keep the god of end asleep beneath his bones. For the worlds of creation, and for him.

[foxtrology]

bette davis eyes (2)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 9.1k

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

Harry Castillo still didn’t know her name.

And it was driving him insane.

It had been three days.

Three days since he sat on the steps of The Met, seething over Lucy’s engagement only to stumble into a conversation with the most aggravating woman he had ever met.

Three days since she stepped out of his car.

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

He had taken it as a challenge.

Of course he did.

He had spent years making impossible things happen. He had turned himself into one of the richest hedge fund managers in the country. He dictated the movement of money on Wall Street with a flick of his wrist. People waited months to get a meeting with him.

When he wanted something, he got it.

But he still didn’t know her goddamn name.

He had spent hours.

Hours, going through his friends’ Instagram followings, convinced that she had to be in there somewhere. She had been outside that party on those steps. That meant she knew someone.

Right?

Wrong.

Instead, all he got was accidentally following half a dozen people he didn’t even like and no clue how to unfollow them.

"You could just Google it," Danny had suggested, watching as Harry scrolled through Instagram with the confusion of a man trying to defuse a bomb.

"I shouldn’t have to Google basic fucking technology," Harry snapped.

Danny had just laughed. "This is why Lucy did everything for you."

Lucy.

Right.

Harry shut his phone off and tossed it onto the table like it had personally offended him.

He needed to let this go.

She was just a stranger.

A nobody.

But...

She wasn’t.

She was somebody, at least to him. Someone who had looked at him like he wasn’t some billionaire hedge fund manager but just a man sitting on the steps of The Met, sulking about his ex.

And that was risky.

Because for the first time in a long time he wanted to know more.

She was balancing a tray when she spotted him.

Harry Castillo.

Sitting at the corner of the high end Manhattan restaurant she was currently serving at, looking like he would rather die than be here.

Her grip on the tray tightened. No fucking way.

She had spent the last three days assuming she would never see him again.

Rich men didn’t go looking for strangers they met outside of parties. Not unless they had some weird obsession or a savior complex. And he didn’t seem like the type.

Yet, here he was.

Dark suit. Sharp jaw. Brooding like the miserable, wealthy asshole she suspected he was.

And worst of all—he didn’t see her.

Not yet.

She had to get out of here before he did.

Her name tag was visible.

If he saw it, if he recognized her—

"Table six, go," her manager barked, pointing toward the very table Harry was sitting at.

Fuck.

She briefly considered quitting her job on the spot. Just throwing her apron at the nearest wall and storming out.

But unfortunately, she had rent to pay.

So with a deep inhale, she straightened her shoulders, gripped the tray tighter, and walked straight toward him.

Harry wasn’t paying attention.

Not to the menu. Not to his surroundings.

His mind was still back in his office, replaying every attempt he had made to find her.

And failing.

His phone buzzed. Another news notification. Probably some article about the market or a New York Times op-ed about billionaires ruining the economy. He didn’t care.

Then—

A shadow passed over him.

Someone setting a drink down.

And before he even looked up—before his brain even processed it—he heard her voice.

“Whiskey neat.”

His head snapped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

And there she was.

Standing right in front of him.

His breath hitched.

Her.

Her.

His eyes flicked to her name tag, sharp and laser focused.

Finally.

She saw where he was looking and immediately reached for it, ripping the tag off with a sharp tug before shoving it into her pocket.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head.

His lips twitched.

“Afraid?”

“Of you?” She snorted, shifting the tray in her hands. “Not even a little.”

He exhaled, leaning back in his chair.

“You work here.”

She raised a brow. “Clearly.”

“You were at the Met party.”

“I was working the Met party.”

Realization dawned.

She wasn’t a guest. She wasn’t friends with anyone there.

She was a server.

A server.

Harry’s fingers tapped against the edge of his glass.

He didn’t know why that made something settle inside him. Maybe because it explained why she hadn’t given a shit about who he was. Maybe because it meant she wasn’t part of his world, wasn’t another socialite or heiress looking for an investment banker to marry.

Maybe because it meant that night was real.

“You’ve been looking for me.”

It wasn’t a question.

His eyes lifted to hers.

She was smirking.

She was amused.

And he hated how much he liked that.

Harry exhaled slowly. “Maybe.”

“Well. Now you found me.”

He studied her.

The restaurant bustled around them. The clink of glasses, the low hum of conversation, the scent of expensive wine and seared steak filling the air.

But none of it mattered.

Not when she was standing in front of him, arms crossed, head tilted, watching him like he was the one on display.

He reached for his drink, swirling the liquid before taking a slow sip.

Then—

“Have dinner with me.”

She blinked.

Paused.

Then laughed.

Again.

Like he had just told the funniest joke in the world.

Again.

“You really don’t like being told no, huh?”

His jaw ticked. “That’s not an answer.”

She tilted her head. “What do you think I’m gonna do? Take off my apron and sit down at your table? I’m working, Castillo.”

The way she said his name made something tighten in his chest.

Harry leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Then when do you get off?”

Her lips twitched.

“You gonna wait here all night?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

A pause.

“Fine.”

Harry’s brows lifted.

Her eyes flicked to the clock on the restaurant wall before settling back on him.

“I’m off in an hour.” She turned, already walking away. “Let’s see if you’re still here by then.”

He watched her go.

Watched as she weaved through tables, balancing drinks, chatting with customers, completely at ease.

And for the first time in three days—

He felt at ease.

Because this time, she wasn’t getting away.

Harry wasn’t a patient man.

He had built an empire on control, on precision, on the ability to anticipate movements before they happened. That was how he stayed ahead, how he won.

Yet here he was, sitting at a table in an upscale Manhattan restaurant waiting for a woman who barely spared him a second glance.

A woman whose name he still didn’t know.

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass, watching as she moved effortlessly through the restaurant.

She was good at her job.

Efficient, quick on her feet, balancing trays with ease.

And she smiled at customers.

Not the way she had smirked at him earlier. Not with that sharp edged amusement that made something itch beneath his skin.

No, these smiles were polite. Professional. A little forced, maybe, but nothing that suggested she was even remotely bothered by his presence.

It annoyed the hell out of him.

Because he was bothered.

She had been stuck in his head for three days.

And here she was, acting like their encounter meant nothing.

Like he meant nothing.

It was infuriating.

And intriguing.

And maybe—just maybe—exactly what he needed.

His fingers tapped against the rim of his glass.

An hour.

He could wait an hour.

Hell, he had waited longer for board meetings that didn’t even matter.

So he settled in.

And watched.

She could feel his eyes on her.

The weight of his gaze followed her everywhere.

She ignored it.

Or at least, she pretended to.

Because if she acknowledged it, if she met his gaze, if she let herself wonder why he was still sitting there—then she would have to admit that she cared.

And she didn’t.

Not really.

Not about Harry Castillo.

Not about his perfectly tailored suit or the way his dark eyes followed her every movement like she was some kind of puzzle he was determined to solve.

Not about the way her heart had kicked up just a little when she realized he had actually been looking for her.

Nope.

Didn’t care.

Not at all.

She refilled a wine glass at table twelve, smiled at a group of finance bros who didn’t deserve it, dodged her coworker carrying a tray of desserts, and did not look at the man still sitting at table six.

But she could feel him.

And it was driving her crazy.

Harry was losing his mind.

Every time she passed his table without sparing him a glance, something inside him tightened.

This was ridiculous.

He didn’t wait for people.

People waited for him.

He could leave right now. Get up, walk out, and be done with this whole thing.

But he wouldn’t.

Because she had said one hour.

And he was going to make sure she kept her word.

His phone buzzed.

He ignored it.

Buzzed again.

Danny.

Danny: Why are you ignoring my texts?

Danny: Did you figure out how to unfollow people yet or are you still stuck?

Danny: Are you seriously still looking for that girl?

Danny: …You are, aren’t you?

Danny: I hate you.

Danny: Text me when you’re done being pathetic.

Harry rolled his eyes and slid his phone facedown on the table.

The hour crawled by.

And then—

Finally—

She walked back toward his table.

Apron off. Jacket on. Bag slung over one shoulder.

Her shift was over.

And Harry sat up a little straighter.

“You actually waited.”

She didn’t sound surprised.

More amused.

Like she had expected him to wait but still found it funny.

He lifted a brow. “You said an hour.”

“And you’re a man who listens?”

“I can be.”

She huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Dangerous skill.”

Harry smirked. “You have no idea.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched.

It wasn’t a no.

Wasn’t a go home, Castillo.

It was something else.

Something better.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “So?”

“So.”

“What now?”

Harry exhaled, watching her carefully.

She was testing him.

Waiting to see if he was serious.

If he was worth the trouble.

And Harry Castillo never backed down from a challenge.

“Dinner,” he said simply.

She arched a brow. “You just ate.”

“You were working. I don’t eat alone.”

She crossed her arms. “That’s a dumb rule.”

He shrugged. “It’s my rule.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then—

“Fine.”

A single word.

But it sent something sharp and victorious rushing through his chest.

He stood, pulling a few crisp hundreds from his wallet and tossing them onto the table without a second glance.

She eyed the money but didn’t say anything.

Just turned on her heel and walked toward the door.

Harry followed.

The wind cut sharp against his skin as they stepped out onto the Manhattan sidewalk, the world around them alive with the hum of the city at night. A taxi honked a block away, a couple laughed as they passed, and the crisp scent of winter curled into the air.

She shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her body.

Harry didn’t shiver.

He barely felt the cold.

His eyes flicked toward her, noting the way she huddled into herself slightly, as if suddenly self conscious. She had been confident inside the restaurant sharp, unbothered, teasing—but now, beneath the glow of the streetlights, something in her had shifted.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She scoffed. “You think I’m just gonna tell you that?”

His jaw twitched.

She was impossible.

And yet, somehow, he found himself waiting for her answer anyway.

She sighed, exhaling into the cold air. “It’s just…I just got off a shift. I’m not exactly dressed for whatever expensive place you’re about to drag me to.”

Harry blinked.

Then looked her over.

Dark jeans. A fitted black sweater. Scuffed up ballet flats.

She looked fine.

Better than fine.

She looked real.

She looked like her.

And that, he realized, was the problem.

She didn’t belong in his world.

Didn’t fit into the mold of women he was usually seen with.

She wasn’t draped in designer. She didn’t have a last name people recognized. She didn’t float through life with the quiet, effortless privilege of someone born into money.

But she was still the most interesting person he had met in years.

And that was dangerous.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I don’t care.”

She blinked up at him.

“What?”

“I don’t care what you’re wearing.”

She hesitated.

Her eyes searched his, looking for—what? Lies? Pity? Some hidden agenda?

She wouldn’t find any of those.

He had none to give.

Instead, he tilted his head. “Are you hungry or not?”

She rolled her eyes. “I just worked a ten hour shift. What do you think?”

His lips twitched.

Without another word, he turned and started walking.

And after a beat—she followed.

To her surprise, Harry didn’t take her somewhere suffocatingly high end.

No pretentious Michelin starred establishment. No reservations only steakhouse with white tablecloths and chandeliers worth more than her apartment.

God, her roommate was in for a treat when she gets home.

Instead, they ended up at a cozy, tucked away bistro on a quiet side street. The kind of place that didn’t have a dress code. The kind of place where people actually talked instead of posing for Instagram photos.

She narrowed her eyes as she followed him inside. “How do you even know about a place like this?”

Harry didn’t answer.

Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he pulled out a chair for her like some old fashioned gentleman and waited for her to sit.

She hesitated, lips twitching in amusement. “Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

He ignored that too.

She sat.

He took the seat across from her.

A waiter appeared almost instantly.

Harry ordered whiskey.

She ordered a glass of wine.

She knew her wine, he'll give her that.

And then—for the first time since they met—there was silence.

Not uncomfortable silence.

But silence nonetheless.

She leaned back in her chair, watching him.

Harry was hard to read.

Brooding. Intense. Reserved.

The kind of man who looked like he had a thousand thoughts running through his head but no intention of saying any of them out loud.

The kind of man who could crush someone with a single, well calculated decision in his office during the day and then sit across from her in a dimly lit restaurant at night like none of it mattered.

She tapped her fingers against the table. “So, are you gonna ask me anything? Or are we just gonna sit here and stare at each other?”

Harry’s brow lifted slightly.

“I don’t ask questions I don’t care about the answers to.”

She blinked.

Then huffed out a small laugh. “Jesus. You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of wine.

He watched her over the rim of his own glass, studying the way she moved.

She wasn’t nervous.

She wasn’t trying to impress him.

And he hated how much he liked that.

She started talking first.

Not because he asked.

But because she wanted to.

“So, what do you think I do?” she asked, resting her chin on her hand.

Harry took a slow sip of whiskey. “You’re a server.”

She smirked. “Wow. Good job, detective.”

His jaw twitched. “That’s not a real question.”

“Fine. How long have I been doing it?”

He studied her.

Noticed the way she held herself, the way she had moved through the restaurant earlier, the way she hadn’t hesitated when her manager snapped at her.

“Years,” he said simply.

Her smirk faltered.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Since I was nineteen.”

Something flickered in her eyes.

Something he didn’t understand.

Didn’t push.

But still—he noticed.

She exhaled, rolling her wine glass between her fingers. “It wasn’t supposed to be permanent.”

Harry’s fingers drummed against the table. “It never is.”

She lifted a brow. “You say that like you know.”

He didn’t answer.

Because he did know.

But he didn’t talk about it.

Didn’t talk about the nights he spent as a kid listening to his mother cry in the next room because she didn’t have the money for rent.

Didn’t talk about how she had worked three jobs just to keep food on the table.

Didn’t talk about how she got sick.

How the bills stacked up.

How money would have saved her.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He never did.

She watched him for a moment, like she was trying to figure him out.

Then she leaned back in her chair, lips curling slightly. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

Harry exhaled. “Not if I can help it.”

She grinned. “Well, lucky for you, I talk enough for the both of us.”

And she did.

She told him about the worst customers she’d ever had. The ridiculous things people asked for at restaurants. The way rich men treated servers like they were invisible.

She didn’t include him in that category.

And for some reason, that mattered.

She laughed at her own stories.

Harry didn’t laugh.

But he listened.

More than he should have.

More than he ever did.

She didn’t push him to share.

Didn’t ask him about his life, his money, his past.

She just talked.

And it was the first time in a long time that Harry didn’t mind someone filling the silence.

When their food came, she didn’t pick at it like the women he usually dined with.

She ate.

Finished her entire burger.

Made a satisfied noise as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

Harry’s lips twitched. He wanted to smile. But he didn't.

By the time they left the restaurant, it was late.

The air was even colder now, the city quieter.

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “Alright, big shot. Where’s your driver?”

Harry exhaled, glancing down the street.

James was waiting, parked at the curb.

But for some reason—

For some stupid reason—

He didn’t want the night to end yet.

So instead of answering, he met her gaze.

And said, “Let’s walk.”

She blinked.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

And just like that—

Harry Castillo found himself walking through the city with a woman he barely knew.

And, for once, he didn’t hate it.

The streets of Manhattan were quieter at this hour.

The usual chaos—the honking taxis, the chatter of impatient pedestrians, the ever present hum of a city that never slept had settled into something softer. The streetlights cast golden pools of light on the pavement and every now and then, a stray gust of wind sent a flurry of dry leaves skittering across the sidewalk.

She walked beside him, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, her unhurried.

Harry had no idea where they were going.

She was talking again, the words flowing effortlessly, her voice filling the quiet space between them like it belonged there.

“I don’t know how people live alone in this city,” she mused, her breath visible in the cold air. “I mean, sure if you’re a billionaire hedge fund guy, then yeah, easy. But for the rest of us mortals? Forget it.”

Harry glanced at her. “So you have a roommate.”

She huffed out a small laugh. “More like a personal angel disguised as a roommate.”

His brow lifted slightly.

She kicked a small pebble across the pavement as they walked. “Her name’s Maya and she’s the only reason I can even afford to be in New York. She’s an artist—one of those ridiculously talented people who’s always sketching on napkins or leaving paint stains on everything.”

Harry hummed, tucking his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. “And she sells her work?”

“Oh, yeah. To people like you,” she teased, smirking up at him.

His jaw flexed slightly. “Like me?”

She shrugged. “Rich. Intimidating. Definitely the type to spend five grand on a painting because some gallery curator convinced you it was ‘evocative of the human condition.’”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, something just short of a laugh. “I don’t buy art.”

She gave him a pointed look. “So you just have blank walls in your penthouse?”

He hesitated.

She gasped, dramatic. “Oh my God, you do!”

His jaw twitched. “I don’t see the point.”

She groaned, shaking her head. “That is actually the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”

Harry smirked slightly. “Maya sounds lucky to have you as her publicist.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not her publicist. Just her number one fan. And her unpaid assistant, apparently, because every time she has a gallery showing, I end up playing bartender.”

“You work events for her?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, I mean... I don’t want to be useless.”

Harry frowned slightly at that. “You’re not useless.”

She blinked up at him, something flickering behind her expression like maybe she wasn’t used to hearing that.

She recovered quickly, exhaling through her nose. “Try telling that to the people who snap their fingers at me when they want a refill.”

Harry’s jaw tightened.

There was something about that, about the idea of her being treated like she was nothing, about people looking past her like she didn’t matter.

That irritated him more than it should have.

But he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he glanced over at her, taking her in.

Her hair was slightly tousled from the wind, strands curling around her face. The dim glow of the streetlights softened her features, casting a warm hue against her skin. She looked…

Gorgeous.

Pretty.

She caught him staring and arched a brow. “What?”

Harry looked straight ahead. “Nothing.”

She huffed a small laugh, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. “You’re weird.”

“Good to know.”

She grinned but didn’t push it.

They kept walking.

They hadn’t planned on stopping anywhere, but when she spotted a small, hole in the wall coffee shop still open, she made a beeline for it.

Harry watched as she pressed her hands against the glass, peering inside like a kid outside a toy store.

She turned back to him, eyes bright. “I need something warm.”

Harry exhaled. “You could’ve just said that.”

She grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He sighed but followed her inside anyway.

The shop was small, filled with the comforting scent of coffee and fresh pastries. A tired looking barista was wiping down the counter, clearly ready to close up for the night but she bounced up to the register without hesitation.

“One hot chocolate, please.”

Harry stared. “Hot chocolate?”

She flashed him a look. “What?”

“You’re a grown woman.”

“Wow, ageism?” she gasped. “How very hedge fund of you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Hot chocolate is for children.”

She smirked. “And yet, I bet I’m gonna enjoy my drink way more than whatever depressing black coffee you’re about to order.”

Harry clenched his jaw.

Then turned to the barista.

“…Make it two.”

She lit up.

Not a smirk, not a teasing quip...just a genuine, unfiltered grin. “See? You’re not completely soulless after all.”

Harry huffed but said nothing.

They sat by the window, watching the street outside as their drinks cooled.

She took the first sip and sighed dramatically. “Oh my God."

Harry lifted a brow but took a sip of his own.

It was…warm. Smooth. A little too sweet.

Not terrible.

She grinned at him over the rim of her cup. “You love it.”

He set his cup down. “I tolerate it.”

She snorted. “Liar.”

Harry exhaled, shaking his head.

He was lying.

But he wasn’t about to admit that to her.

By the time they finally made it to her place, it was late.

The entrance to her building was old but well kept, tucked into a quieter side street. The kind of place that probably had thin walls and a temperamental landlord.

She stopped at the door, turning to face him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then—

“You gonna be weird about this?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Harry tilted his head slightly. “Weird about what?”

She smirked. “You look like the kind of guy who doesn’t walk a woman home unless he’s expecting to come up.”

His jaw clenched. “I wasn’t—”

She grinned, cutting him off. “Relax. I’m messing with you.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Hilarious.”

She stepped back, pressing her shoulder against the doorframe. “But hey…thanks. For dinner. And the hot chocolate.”

Harry held her gaze.

She was looking at him like she wasn’t sure what to make of him yet.

Like she hadn’t quite figured him out.

And that, somehow, made him want to see her again.

Before he could say anything, she yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

“You gonna try to find me again?”

His jaw tightened.

But his lips twitched.

“I already did once.”

She hummed, tilting her head. “Then maybe next time, I’ll let you find out something about me.”

Harry exhaled.

He should have left.

Should have walked away.

But instead, he lingered just long enough to watch her disappear into the building, just long enough to hear her footsteps fade.

And then, finally—

He turned.

And walked away.

He still didn't get her name.

But he knew where to find her.

Harry had gone back to the restaurant.

But she wasn’t there.

Two days.

Two entire days of walking into that overpriced Manhattan restaurant, sitting at the same damn table, ordering the same damn whiskey neat, only for some random server—not her—to take his order.

It was infuriating.

He didn’t know her name.

Didn’t have her number.

Didn’t know anything except where she lived.

And that made something settle in his chest that he wasn’t ready to examine.

Danny noticed.

Of course he did.

“You’re sulking,” he said, lazily swirling his cocktail at their usual bar.

Harry scowled. “I don’t sulk.”

Danny smirked. “Right. You just glare at your drink like it owes you money.”

Harry clenched his jaw.

Then exhaled sharply. “She’s not at work.”

Danny blinked. Then grinned. “Oh my God, you are sulking.”

Harry resisted the urge to throw his whiskey at him.

Instead, he pulled out his phone and stared at her building’s address for the fiftieth time.

Danny sighed, tilting his head. “You know, if you really wanted to, you could—”

“I’m not hiring a private investigator,” Harry muttered.

Danny huffed. “I was gonna say Google it. Jesus, man.”

Harry scowled.

But he did Google it.

Or rather, he, Danny, and James—his driver, the only person in his life with more patience than a saint—spent two hours tracking down any lead they could.

It was a long, painful process.

But finally—Maya.

Maya Klein.

Her roommate.

Her best friend.

Her very online best friend.

It wasn’t hard to find her art portfolio.

Okay, maybe it was a little hard.

But after squinting through three different Instagram accounts, a Tumblr page, and a very outdated LinkedIn profile, they found it.

And in bold, clean font on her website—

GALLERY SHOWING TOMORROW.

TRIBECA

8PM-11PM

Harry leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against his desk.

“She bartends for her friend’s events,” he murmured.

Danny’s brows lifted. “And you’re planning on showing up.”

Harry exhaled. “I want to see her again.”

Danny smirked. “Wow. You’re down bad.”

Harry ignored him.

He stuck out like a sore thumb the moment he stepped inside.

Danny, of course, fit right in. Already drifting off into the crowd, chatting up a woman in a fringed leather jacket holding a glass of something overpriced.

James had stayed outside, leaning against the Maybach with a cigarette between his fingers, avoiding any part of this ridiculous endeavor.

And Harry?

Harry stood in the middle of an art gallery, surrounded by people who clearly hated him.

The walls were filled with abstract pieces. Raw depictions of capitalism and greed, of money and power and the corruption that came with it.

A statement.

A big fuck you to billionaires.

A big fuck you to him.

And here he was—one of the richest men in the country—standing in the middle of it.

He definitely stuck out.

Eyes flickered toward him.

Some curious. Some amused.

But most?

Judgmental.

Harry sighed.

Danny was gonna love this.

He scanned the room.

And then—

He saw her.

Behind the bar.

Her hair pulled back in a clip, sleeves rolled up, effortlessly balancing bottles and glasses, moving like she had done this a million times.

His jaw unclenched.

Something settled inside him.

Something he didn’t have the time—or patience—to name.

He walked over.

She didn’t see him at first.

Not until he was standing right in front of her.

Then—

Her eyes lifted.

And froze.

Her fingers stilled over the cocktail shaker, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

Then, slow and deliberate...

She smirked.

“You again.”

Harry exhaled. “Me again.”

She hummed, setting the shaker down. “Didn’t peg you for an art guy.”

“I’m not.”

Her smirk widened. “So you’re here for the free drinks?”

He tilted his head. “No.”

Her lips pressed together, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Then why are you here?”

Harry held her gaze.

And then—

She sighed, shaking her head.

“You really don’t like answering questions, do you?”

He exhaled. “You weren’t at work.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

Harry leaned forward, resting his hands against the bar. “I noticed.”

Her expression softened just for a second.

Then she sighed, rolling her eyes. “My legs gave out.”

His jaw tensed. “What?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “It happens. I overworked myself too much. I needed a break.”

His fingers curled against the bar.

Harry didn’t like that.

Didn’t like the idea of her pushing herself until she physically collapsed.

Didn’t like the fact that she was still working tonight.

Didn’t like any of it.

She noticed.

“You’re brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

She arched a brow. “You definitely brood.”

Harry exhaled sharply.

She smirked.

Then casually, she grabbed a napkin, scribbled something on it, and slid it across the bar.

He frowned. “What’s this?”

She smiled.

“My name.”

His fingers brushed the paper.

His jaw flexed.

Finally.

Finally.

Then—

Across the room, a conversation caught his ear.

Loud. Purposeful. Like it was meant for him to hear.

It definitely was meant for him to hear.

“I don’t understand how these people live with themselves.”

Harry’s fingers stilled.

He turned slightly, gaze narrowing at a group gathered near one of the paintings.

“They show up, throw their money around, act like they’re saving the industry when they’re the ones who ruined it in the first place.”

Another voice chimed in. “It’s capitalism at its finest.”

Harry exhaled through his nose.

Same conversation. Different setting.

Nothing he hadn’t heard before.

He should have ignored it.

But then—

Then, he heard her.

Her voice.

Sharp. Defiant.

“You do realize the only reason these paintings are selling at all is because of the people you hate, right?”

Silence.

Harry blinked.

His gaze snapped back to her.

She wasn’t looking at him.

She was facing them, eyes narrowed, jaw set.

The guy—some twenty-something in a turtleneck—sputtered. “That’s not the—”

“No, go ahead,” she said, tilting her head. “Explain to me how you think art survives without the rich. Who do you think is buying these paintings? Who do you think is keeping galleries open? I’ll wait.”

The group shifted uncomfortably.

Harry smirked.

The guy scoffed. “That’s not the point.”

She arched a brow. “Then what is the point?”

More silence.

She exhaled. “Look, I get it. The system’s fucked. But if you really hate capitalism so much then maybe don’t take a paycheck from a company that thrives on it.”

The guy’s face turned red.

Then, huffing, he spun on his heel and walked away.

Harry exhaled through his nose.

And when she turned back to him—

He was looking at her.

Really looking at her.

She raised a brow. “What?”

Harry’s jaw ticked.

Then, slow—steady—

He reached for the napkin with her name.

Folded it.

Slipped it into his pocket.

“Nothing,” he murmured.

And, for the first time in months—

Harry Castillo smiled.

Actually let out a smile.

It was a rare thing. Unpracticed. A little uneven.

And it caught her off guard so much she forgot to breathe for a second.

That smile.

The real kind, not the smirk, not the polite billionaire press photo kind. It was all quiet softness and amusement, like a secret between the two of them. It was the kind of smile you could fall into if you weren’t careful.

“Wow,” she murmured, recovering. “You do know how to do that.”

Harry’s smile didn’t falter, but he said nothing.

Typical.

The gallery began to thin out as the night wore on. Coats were retrieved from racks, the sound of shoes echoed across the polished concrete floor, and people began floating toward the exit in clumps, cheeks flushed from wine and conversations.

Harry stayed.

He didn’t know why he stayed.

He could’ve left after thirty minutes like most of the other well dressed nuts in the room. But something about the way she moved behind the bar—tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, laughing quietly when Maya came over to whisper something in her ear—held him in place.

She kept sneaking glances at him too.

Never long. Never obvious.

But enough.

He stayed perched in a corner, away from the art critics and the performative intellectuals with their wine sick grins and disdain for everything they secretly wanted. He watched her wipe down glasses and stack them methodically, her body moving slower than usual now, more deliberate. Her energy was dwindling down.

She was tired.

Exhausted, actually.

He could see it in the way her shoulders sagged when she thought no one was watching.

Around midnight, the final few stragglers filtered out. Maya was surrounded by compliments, champagne, and laughter as she waved people goodbye. She was magnetic.

But Harry’s focus was only on one person.

Her.

She was drying a wine glass with a rag that had seen better days when he approached the bar again.

“You’re still here?” she asked without looking up.

“I tend to see things through.”

She scoffed. “That doesn’t sound exhausting at all.”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his coat and placed something on the bar. A lemon ginger lozenge.

She stared at it. “What is this?”

“You’ve been clearing your throat for the last hour. Thought you might be getting sick.”

She blinked.

And then quietly, “Thanks.”

He nodded once. “You ready to go?”

She furrowed her brows. “Go?”

“You were going to walk home, weren’t you?”

“I—” She hesitated. “Yeah. I was.”

“Not happening.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Harry—”

“Maya said she’s having people over.”

Her mouth opened. “She what?”

As if on cue, Maya bounced over, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. “There you are! Just wanted to let you know we’re having a tiny get together back at the apartment. You’re coming, right?”

She forced a smile. “Yeah…totally.”

Maya beamed. “Perfect! I’ll see you there!” And just like that, she twirled away in her silk pants and heeled boots like a whirlwind of chaos and charm.

Harry looked at her, quiet.

“You don’t want to go,” he said plainly.

She paused. “No, I mean—I don’t mind—”

“You need rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re exhausted.”

She made a face. “Thanks.”

“It wasn’t an insult.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t sound like a compliment.”

“It was. You’ve been on your feet all night and still managed to argue with an entire table of art anarchists without flinching.”

She blinked. “You were listening?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m observant.”

Something warm crept up her neck. “That’s actually…kind of sweet.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Still is.”

He exhaled, glancing toward the door. “Let me take you somewhere quiet.”

She looked at him carefully. "Okay." She nodded.

Harry smiled. “Come on.”

As they walked toward the exit, a low whistle echoed across the room.

“Ooooh, look who’s leaving together,” Danny called out, arm slung lazily around a girl wearing metallic eyeshadow and an alarming amount of lip gloss.

Harry cringed visibly. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, I planned on it,” she muttered, quickening her step.

Outside, James was leaning against the Maybach, his cigarette burning low between his fingers.

He straightened when he saw them. “Evening,” he said coolly, holding the door open without a single question.

Once inside the car, she leaned her head against the window, legs tucked beneath her. The car purred beneath them as it slid through the streets like a shadow.

“You always have a driver?” she asked after a moment.

“Yes.”

“Even when you’re just, like…getting groceries?”

Harry looked at her. “Do I look like I get groceries?”

She snorted. “Fair.”

He glanced at her again. “Do you want me to take you home?”

She paused. Her apartment would be loud. Crowded. Too many people, too much laughter, and she was tired.

Bone tired.

“I…wouldn’t mind going somewhere quiet,” she said softly.

Harry didn’t reply. Just gave James a nod. And James didn’t need to be told twice.

The car ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. The city lights flickered through the windows as they sped through Manhattan, the hum of the engine steady beneath them.

She was curled up in the passenger seat, head resting against the cool glass, eyes flickering between exhaustion and quiet thought.

Harry didn’t say anything. Didn’t push.

He liked the silence with her.

When they finally pulled up to his building, James barely looked surprised. He simply put the car in park, gave Harry a knowing look and muttered, “Have a good night, sir.”

Harry ignored him.

She hesitated when the elevator doors opened, glancing up at him.

“You sure about this?” she murmured.

Harry met her gaze. “You need rest.”

She exhaled. “You’re really committed to this whole taking care of me thing, huh?”

Harry didn’t answer. Just stepped into the elevator.

After a beat—she followed.

The penthouse was quiet when they entered.

It was huge.

Dimly lit, the skyline of Manhattan stretching out before them through the floor to ceiling windows. She looked around, taking in the sleek design, the impossibly neat kitchen, the pristine furniture.

Then—

“You really don’t have anything on the walls.”

Harry exhaled. “We’ve been over this.”

She smirked. “Still depressing.”

Harry ignored her, shrugging off his coat before turning to her.

“Go take a bath.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

Harry huffed. “You need to relax.”

She scoffed. “I’m fine.”

He raised a brow. “You’ve been on your feet for how many hours straight. Worked so long your legs gave out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I said I’m fine.”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

Then, slowly, pointedly, he turned and started walking toward the bathroom.

“What are you—”

“Follow me.”

Against her better judgment—she did.

The bathroom was nothing short of luxurious.

A massive tub sat beneath a soft glowing light, marble countertops lining the space. The air smelled faintly of something expensive, probably whatever soap billionaires used.

Harry turned on the water, letting the tub fill, steam curling into the air.

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “You really think I’m about to take a bath?”

Harry gave her a look. “Yes.”

She scoffed. “Why?”

“Because you deserve to rest.”

Something flickered in her expression.

Soft. Unreadable.

Harry stepped back, nodding toward the tub. “Take your time.”

She hesitated.

Then—finally—sighed. “Fine.”

Harry nodded once before leaving the room.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the tub, at the ridiculous luxury of it all.

Then—she caught sight of the robe hanging by the sink.

A man’s robe.

His.

She swallowed.

Slowly, she peeled off her clothes, stepping into the warm water letting the heat soak into her muscles, melting the exhaustion from her bones.

She leaned back, closing her eyes.

And then—

She caught the scent of something in the air.

His shampoo.

His body wash.

Without thinking, she reached for the bottle, pouring a small amount into her palm before lathering it into her hair.

She didn’t know why she did it.

Didn’t know why the idea of smelling like him made something tighten in her chest.

But she didn’t stop.

Not until the scent of Harry Castillo was wrapped around her.

The warmth from the bath had seeped into her bones, leaving her skin flushed, her limbs loose.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt good.

Not just better—good.

Rested.

Weightless.

And wrapped in the scent of him.

She exhaled slowly, fingers dragging through her damp hair as she stepped out of the tub. Water dripped from her skin, soaking into the thick, plush bath mat beneath her feet.

She reached for the robe hanging by the door.

His robe.

It was heavy, rich, expensive fabric, meant for a man built like Harry.

She pulled it on anyway, wrapping herself in it, feeling swallowed whole by the warmth of something that belonged to him.

Something about that made her stomach twist.

Not in a bad way.

Not in a way she could name.

She let her fingers toy with the fabric as she padded quietly out of the bathroom, stepping into the dim glow of his penthouse.

Harry was waiting.

Not in a way that was obvious, but in a way that was distinctly him.

His posture was casual, leaning against the back of his couch, one hand resting lightly on the armrest. He had changed, too—no longer in his suit jacket, just his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the veins in his forearms, the carefully restrained tension in his body.

His gaze flickered over her, slow like he was taking his time, committing every detail to memory.

She knew what he saw.

Bare legs peeking out from beneath his robe. Damp hair curling against her collarbone. The softened edges of her normally sharp expression.

And for once—

For once, she let him look.

She watched his throat bob slightly, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes before he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Come here.”

Her lips twitched. “Bossy.”

He didn’t deny it. Just waited.

She crossed the room, bare feet pressing against the smooth floor, stopping when she was just a few inches away.

Harry’s hands curled into fists against the couch for a second, like he was fighting the urge to touch her.

Then without a word he turned, disappearing into his bedroom.

She blinked, startled.

Then—

He came back.

With clothes.

A pair of sweatpants.

A plain black T-shirt.

Things that were clearly his, judging by the size of them.

He handed them to her, jaw tight. “Put these on.”

She took them, amused. “You actually own sweatpants?”

Harry exhaled through his nose, running a hand along his jaw. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t sleep in a tux.”

She grinned. “Shocking.”

He said nothing.

Just watched as she took the bundle of clothing and walked back toward the bathroom to change.

His sweatpants hung low on her hips, the waistband tied in a loose knot to keep them from slipping. The shirt was too big, drowning her frame, the fabric worn in and soft against her skin.

It felt like being wrapped in him.

Warmth lingered in the cotton, in the faint scent of his cologne. Something expensive.

She padded barefoot through the penthouse, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the shirt. The city glittered outside the floor to ceiling windows.

Everything about this place was so immaculate. So clean. So structured. It screamed of control—of a man who ruled his world with precision.

But the moment she entered it some of that control seemed to slip.

She could feel it in the way Harry watched her, the way his fingers twitched when she walked past him, as if resisting the urge to reach out and keep her close.

She stopped in front of the window, arms crossing over her chest, her breath fogging slightly against the cool glass. “You can see everything from here.”

Harry was behind her, watching her quietly. “You like it?”

She exhaled, eyes scanning the skyline. “Yeah. But…”

His brow lifted slightly. “But?”

She hesitated. Then with a small teasing smirk, she turned to face him. “It’s kinda depressing that you live up here all alone.”

Harry’s jaw twitched. “I’m fine.”

She huffed. “That’s what all lonely people say.”

His lips curved just slightly, something almost amused flickering behind his sharp gaze. “And you’re an expert on loneliness?”

She shrugged, moving closer, the fabric of his shirt swaying against her thighs. “I know what it looks like.”

Harry watched her approach, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “And what do I look like?”

She tilted her head, scanning him playfully. “Like a very, very rich man who doesn’t know what to do with himself outside of work.”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Accurate.”

She grinned, victorious. “Told you.”

For a moment they just stood there.

Him watching her.

Her watching him.

The silence between them wasn’t empty.

It was heavy. Charged.

Harry’s gaze flickered to her legs, to the way his sweatpants hung off her frame, the fabric pooling at her ankles. Then to the curve of her hip, the way his T-shirt stretched over her body, swallowing her whole.

Something deep and dangerous stirred in his chest.

She looked good like this.

Too good.

Her chin tilted up, eyes meeting his. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”

His hand lifted, brushing her damp hair back behind her ear. His touch was light, barely there, but it made her breath catch.

His fingers trailed lower, down her jaw, grazing the edge of her throat.

She swallowed.

His voice was deep when he finally spoke. “I say what matters.”

Her lips parted slightly, something unspoken hanging between them.

She felt it before she realized what she was doing.

The way her body leaned into his.

The way his fingers skimmed over the fabric of his shirt against her skin, so close, yet still too far.

His touch was careful.

Like he was memorizing her.

She exhaled shakily. “You keep looking at me like that.”

Harry’s thumb brushed over her hip. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure something out.”

“I am.”

She blinked. “What?”

Harry’s hand slid lower, fingers teasing along the edge of his sweatpants on her frame. His voice was softer this time, almost dangerous.

“If I can control myself.”

Her breath hitched.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was her.

But suddenly—

They weren’t talking anymore.

His lips crashed against hers, urgent and deep, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him. She gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in the fabric of his dress shirt as he devoured her.

The world blurred.

She barely registered the way he picked her up, his hands firm around her thighs as he hoisted her up, murmuring quietly against her ear, “Jump.”

And she did.

Wrapped her legs around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He carried her through the penthouse with effortless strength, like she weighed nothing, like holding her close was something he’d done a thousand times before.

And then—

He walked her backward towards his bed, his mouth never leaving her skin, breath warm against her jaw.

The mattress hit the backs of her knees, sending her falling onto it in a slow, melting sprawl of limbs and want.

The soft silk duvet caught her, cool against the fever of her skin, her hair spilling across his impossibly expensive sheets. The room was dim but warm, the city humming just beyond the glass windows, the skyline glittering like a thousand secrets no one else would ever know.

Harry stood above her, his breathing deeper now, his eyes locked onto her like he was trying to memorize the moment. Like she was a painting he hadn’t expected to fall in love with.

She propped herself up on her elbows, staring back. Waiting. Wanting.

Harry’s fingers moved to his collar first. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time, revealing inch after inch of warm, lived in skin beneath it. He wasn’t carved like marble—wasn’t the chiseled fantasy that Hollywood sold in glossy posters.

He was real.

His chest was broad, his arms strong but not perfect. Age spots dotted his skin like constellations, a faint scar ran along the side of his ribs, and when his shirt slipped off his shoulders, she saw the slight softness of his belly.

A pouch.

Honest. Natural. Human.

And when her eyes lingered there—he froze.

She could tell.

The way his breath caught. The flicker of hesitation in his brow.

He was used to being looked at like a power figure. A man in suits. Behind desks. Holding titles and leverage.

But being seen like this?

Like a man—just a man—baring everything? That was different.

She sat up slowly, still watching him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t tease, didn’t fill the space with false comfort.

She just reached for him.

Her fingers skimmed across the skin of his abdomen, soft and warm beneath her touch, and she whispered, “Come here.”

Something in him shifted.

Like maybe he believed her.

That she wanted all of him.

He slid out of his slacks, slow and deliberate, leaving him in nothing but his briefs for a moment before they, too, joined the pile of fabric on the floor.

Then he reached for her.

She let him.

His hands were careful when they peeled off her borrowed T-shirt, pulling it over her head and dropping it aside. Then her body lifted instinctively as he slid the sweatpants down her hips, revealing soft skin, flushed and ready beneath him.

Now they were skin to skin.

Warm and real.

Harry hovered over her, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly as he held himself above her, his gaze moving slowly down her body.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Just like that.

No flourish. No performance.

Just a truth that had been sitting in his chest since the moment he first saw her.

She reached up and cupped his jaw, her thumb brushing just beneath his lip. “So are you.”

His breath hitched.

And then he kissed her.

Not rough. Not greedy.

Deep.

Warm.

Slow.

The kind of kiss that says I see you. I feel you. I’m here.

His hands roamed her body like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to touch first—her ribs, her hips, the soft curve of her breast beneath his palm.

And then—

He began to slide lower.

Kissing down her neck.

Dragging his lips across her collarbone.

Sinking further and further until he was kneeling between her thighs, the backs of his hands brushing gently along the insides of her legs, coaxing them apart like he was opening something sacred.

She was already breathing heavy, already undone just from the look in his eyes.

He settled between her legs like he belonged there.

And maybe—he did.

He didn’t dive in like a man with something to prove. He took his time.

Let her feel his breath first.

The heat of his mouth pressing gentle, almost shy kisses to her thighs.

Then—

He licked a slow, deliberate stripe up her center, groaning low when he tasted her.

Like she was the answer to a hunger he didn’t know he’d been carrying.

Her hips jerked. Her fingers scrambled for the sheets.

He pressed his palms to her hips, grounding her, murmuring something too quiet to make out.

Then his mouth opened on her again.

Tongue.

Lips.

Heat.

Every part of him focused on unraveling her.

She moaned, soft and choked, as his tongue circled her clit, slow at first, then faster with just the right amount of pressure.

He adjusted when she squirmed.

Groaned when she whimpered.

Moved with her, not against her.

Like this was a language only he spoke.

She looked down once—just once—and saw him watching her.

Eyes locked to hers.

Dark. Hungry. But more than that...captivated.

Like he could spend the rest of his life right here, on his knees tasting her like he needed her to survive.

His mustache scraped lightly against the tender skin of her thighs, a delicious burn. His fingers dug into her hips as his mouth worked in steady rhythm, not relenting even when she gasped, Harry, please—

Especially then.

He moaned against her like her begging was the most beautiful sound in the world.

And then—

She broke.

She came with a soft, shattered gasp, her body buckling as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. Her hands found his hair, her legs trembled, her hips rolled up into his mouth.

He held her through all of it.

Licked her through it.

Didn’t stop until she was whimpering from overstimulation, her fingers tugging weakly at his hair.

Only then—only then—did he lift his head.

His mouth was slick, his jaw tense, his chest heaving.

He crawled back up the bed, lips brushing her cheek, her neck, the corner of her mouth.

He kissed her slowly.

Didn’t try to speak.

He just laid beside her, naked and warm and quiet.

Letting her curl into him.

Letting the silence stretch.

Letting himself feel.

And when she finally caught her breath, when she looked up at him and whispered, “You okay?”

Harry gave her a look so full of tenderness it nearly undid her all over again.

“I am now,” he said.

And she believed him.

They laid there, skin to skin, her fingers tracing slow, thoughtless shapes against his chest while his hand rested on the curve of her hip not wanting to let go, grounding them both in something quiet and real.

For the first time in months, Harry hadn’t thought about Lucy.

Not once.

Not her laugh, not the space she left behind.

He only thought about the girl breathing softly in his arms, asleep against his chest like she belonged there.

And when his eyes finally closed, he felt safe.

Maybe for the first time in his life.

[trustmypoison]

SVT when you're intimidating

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘Hi! How would the SVT members react to the other members partners being extremely intimidating but becomes a softy once they see their partner 😂 🐅 to 🐈’

A/N: well if this doesn’t describe me perfectly!!! I’m constantly perplexed by people finding me intimidating given the kind of features I have.

A/N #2: the requester asked for other members reactions in this situation but it seemed cuter to do his reaction to an intimidating partner/crush. To the requester, I hope you still enjoy!

Seungcheol

High key loves that you’re a little intimidating because he’s a jealous boy. He doesn’t like that he is, but he’s big enough to admit that he kind of likes that the members might be a little skittish around you. But more than that, he likes that you let go of some of that privately with him.

Jeonghan

Oh, he plays this up big time. He knows you’re totally harmless, but he has to have his fun. Like, if a member breaks something of yours accidentally, he’ll hiss and go, “ooo I’m sorry, I can’t help you. Have you written a will yet?” He knows full well that you’ll brush it off, but he likes the fear in his member’s eyes lol.

Joshua

Actually so proud that he knows you well enough to know that you aren’t all that intimidating. If his members ever express some skepticism about how his relationship with you works, he simply shrugs and says, “it’s okay, you don’t have to get it.” He low-key thinks you’re the cutest, but he’s okay with being the only one to know that for now.

Jun

He spots that it’s an act right away. It’s a good act, don’t get me wrong. But he’s incredibly patient when it comes to some of your walls coming down. If anyone ever implies that it’s not worth the wait, he’ll sternly insist that it is. You might not always outwardly laugh or smile, not even at the lamest of jokes he has for you, but he likes the amusement in your eyes when you tell him just how bad it is.

Hoshi

Talk about someone that melts the moment you let that mask slip just a little. He rambles on about something in his typical hyperactive way and when he spots that you’re smiling a little with a much lighter look in your eyes than usual, his brain goes fuzzy. That mask comes back up the moment he shrieks about it, gaining the attention of the entire room. He resolves to be cooler about it next time.

Wonwoo

You think he can’t handle a resting bitch face? Him, of all people? This is totally a kindred spirit sort of relationship that blooms. You guys keep things really low key in public, with those really light-hearted moments reserved for a more private setting. But trust that if any of his members ever spot you guys act even a little cutesy, they’ll be sooo confused.

Woozi

You’re number one defender, actually. He finds you exceptionally sweet and thoughtful, despite whatever mask you wear, and doesn’t take too kindly to anyone implying that you can’t be friendly. If someone, including his members, says something about it, he’ll simply say, “you must not have made them feel welcome. They aren’t like that with me.”

DK

Definitely an opposites attract sort of thing. His members might be terribly confused to find out that Seokmin asked you, someone known to be a little prickly, out. And you said yes?? This turns into them be believing that they’re living in an alternate universe when you join them for dinner one night and Seokmin greets you with a usual sunshiney grin and some sweet words. And you beam back at him?? What is this???

Mingyu

Another one that recognizes your prickly nature as a protective measure. When flirting and straight up hitting on you don’t get him anywhere, he just resolves to be someone you feel safe with. And he’s very proud when you call him for help and he gets to excuse himself from an outing with some of his members saying that you need him.

Minghao

You think with all of the Scorpio energy that he has that he’d be intimidated?? It might throw you for a minute that he doesn’t even blink at your attitude sometimes. It’s not that he thinks that you’re all bark and no bite. Rather, he just relates to you in that regard and it doesn’t unnerve him even a little bit. In fact, no one would be surprised that him of all people can break through to you.

Seungkwan

Petrified of saying the wrong thing, I fear. He’s friendly and outgoing and might not be able to fathom why you’re so closed off. You might actually be under the impression that he doesn’t like you much because he doesn’t go out of his way to bother you. But he’s always got an eye on you and will do little things to help you. He might just fall apart if you ever thank him or so much as smile at him. (His members love to tease him about it.)

Vernon

Totally unfazed. I don’t think he’d relate to this mood exactly, but he doesn’t really bat an eye at your icy nature. So he’s not intimidated to come up and talk to you. Like, say you’re a staff member, and you’re the only person that can help with something, he has no problem going to talk to you about, sometimes on behalf of other members. Not that he’d admit to developing a little bit of a crush, but he will tell his members over and over that you aren’t that scary, you’re just shy or reserved.

Chan

Another one that might be a little unnerved, but he’ll gather his courage and best flirting because you’re attractive. He lives for the little lifts at the corner of your mouth like you’re trying not to smile and it eggs him on. From anyone else’s perspective, his advances don’t appear to be going well. So imagine how floored the members are when he casually announces that he has a date with you.

[veal7creative]

Neither the Department of Inefficient Cunts and Killers (DICK) (I will not respect the name of a ""agency"" named after a meme about someone dog that was used to scam people out of their money by some random generational-wealth asshat.) nor Elon Musk were voted in by the people of the US or approved by Congress. DOGE does not have a staff, a budget, any sort of codified prime directive, or oversight and checks/balances policies. Elon does not have any legally recognized power, and is only allowed to act as an advisor, nothing more, and even then only when asked.

And yet here he is, doing things neither the President or Congress are allowed to do on their own. With no oversight, constitutional power, or even so much as trained staff. The man got college students who use Twitter to find language models for PDF FILE CONVERSION. If a single word in that sentence made sense in the context of any other one, seek help, because trust me that is not how language models, file conversation, or fucking searching for things on the internet work.

This is blatantly unconstitutional, with Elon and his minions having no power of any sort vested in them. Trumps inaction against him, and avid support of him, is constitutional Treason. The fact of the matter is that both of those rich white assholes are committing acts of actual, legitimate, explicitly-as-written-in-the-constitution capital-t Treason, and I will not mourn either of them. May Elon's tesla stock crash hard enough he defaults on all his loans and dies sad and afraid, and may Trump finally get locked the fuck up. I don't care if Secret Service would be a logistics nightmare, I don't care if you have to enforce a social distancing barrier around him, make his actions have consequences.

More Americans want to eliminate DOGE than any other government department. Pretty telling.

Imagine being the least popular federal department

[emmiesoverthemoon]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he’s so boyfriend: two

Pairings: choi seunghyun x reader / kwon jiyong x reader / kang daesung x reader

Word Count: 7,899

Summary: just cute little scenarios between u and each guy, the second edition! i got a little carried away this time,,, enjoy!!! part one here !

note: again, i purposely didnt include taeyang because he’s married and it felt weird to me so sorry about that! pls forgive me🙏🏻

you get stuck in the rain without an umbrella

jiyong: cheesy cliché

The first cold droplets splatter against your skin, a slow drizzle turning into a full-on downpour as Jiyong tugs you by the wrist, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Come on," he grins, "what kind of lovers would we be if we didn’t have a dramatic rain moment?"

"You’re ridiculous," you laugh, half-heartedly resisting, but he's already dragging you into the open, past the overhang of the café where you’d been taking shelter. The rain hits instantly, cool and shocking, drenching through your clothes in seconds.

Jiyong doesn’t care. His arms spread out like he’s drinking in the sky itself, hair slicked to his forehead, his white shirt clinging to his frame, becoming slightly see through—which did not go unnoticed by you. He looks like he belongs in a movie—some reckless, lovestruck fool dancing in the middle of a storm, eyes twinkling as he turns to you.

You shake your head, exasperated but grinning. "You're actually crazy."

"And yet," he steps closer, looping his arms around your waist, "you love me."

You roll your eyes, but it’s true.

The world fades into soft, grey static, the rain a gentle rhythm on pavement, against your skin, the chill soaking through to your bones. Jiyong sways you, humming some old love song you don’t recognize, his laughter mixing with the music of the storm. He spins you once, then twice, and you go along with it, both of you slipping and sliding on wet pavement, giggling like idiots.

Then, he stops. Looks at you like you're the only thing worth seeing. His hands cup your face, fingers damp and chilled, but his lips—when he finally presses them against yours—are warm, sweet, lingering like he wants to stay in this moment forever.

It’s perfect.

At least, until reality smacks you both in the face.

Jiyong pulls back, blinking through the rain. “Wait—how are we getting home?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, your car—”

The two of you whip around to stare at his sleek, very dry sports vehicle parked under the streetlamp. As if on cue, a fat droplet slides off the tip of your nose.

Jiyong curses. “We’re gonna soak the seats.”

You groan. “We should’ve thought this through.”

But then he’s laughing—loud, carefree, absolutely unapologetic—and you can’t help but join in. The two of you bolt for the car, jumping into the seats with a wet splat. Jiyong winces as he grips the wheel, his soaked clothes sticking to the leather.

You glance at him, half-scolding, half-amused. "You and your movie moments."

He flashes you a cheeky grin. “Worth it.”

And as the car fills with the scent of rain and the sound of your shared, breathless laughter, you think—yeah. Maybe it was.

daesung: the noble sacrifice

The afternoon rain had started softly, a gentle pitter-patter against the windows of the café. But the moment you and Daesung stepped outside, it was like the sky couldn’t hold back anymore. The downpour began, soaking everything in an instant, and you squealed, pulling your jacket closer around yourself.

Daesung, ever the charmer, paused and dramatically looked at you, his eyes widening. “You’re cold,” he stated, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, no kidding, Daesung. It's raining cats and dogs out here,” you quipped, pulling your collar higher to shield yourself from the storm.

Without a second thought, Daesung grinned, took off his hoodie, and threw it over your head. "Here, wear this. It'll keep you warm!"

You blinked in surprise. "You’re giving me your hoodie?"

“Yes!” he said with such conviction, as if he had just solved all your problems. “It’s the most romantic thing I could do for you right now.” He puffed his chest out proudly, clearly thinking he had pulled off something dramatic and sweet.

You looked at him, blinking in confusion. “Daesung, it’s a little too big for me. I’m literally drowning in this thing…”

“Exactly! It’s cozy!” He smiled, oblivious to the fact that you were now swimming in fabric, practically a human tent.

“I can barely see through this thing,” you chuckled, your arms struggling to keep the oversized hoodie from dragging you down. But Daesung was so proud of his “romantic gesture” that you didn’t want to crush his excitement.

The rain continued to pour harder, soaking your hair, your shoes, and his hoodie, which was now weighed down with water. "Okay, Daesung, let’s be honest here," you said, laughing as you started to walk, “I’m pretty sure this wasn’t the most practical choice…”

He looked down at the way the hoodie dripped water and then back up at you with the most earnest expression on his face. “No… no it wasn’t.”

And then, like a lightbulb moment, he grinned widely. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not fun!”

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Daesung skipped into a nearby puddle, splashing water up to your knees. You gasped, stepping back. “Daesung!”

He threw his hands up in victory. “Splash fight, right now!”

You didn’t need another invitation. With a laugh, you jumped into the next puddle you saw, sending water flying in all directions. Daesung mirrored your moves, and soon, the two of you were splashing around like children, laughing at how ridiculous everything was.

“Who’s winning, huh?!” Daesung shouted between fits of laughter, his hoodie now thoroughly soaked and stuck to his body.

“You’re about to get drenched even more, Daesung!” you warned, trying to dodge his next splash.

“Not if I beat you to it!” He lunged, catching you by surprise with a gentle splash straight to your face.

You gasped dramatically, wiping your face, and then, grinning like a mischievous child, threw a full splash back at him. “Take that!”

By the time you both had thoroughly soaked each other, you could hardly keep up with the laughter, dripping wet and barely able to stand up straight from all the giggling.

“I swear,” you said between laughs, “this has to be the most ridiculous thing we’ve done.”

Daesung wiped water from his eyes, his cheeks flushed from the cold and the fun. “We’re pretty amazing, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, amazing,” you chuckled, now fully drenched but not caring one bit. “Just a bit impractical, though.”

“Well,” Daesung grinned, “the hoodie still looks cute on you. Even if it’s a bit too big.”

You nodded, still laughing. “That’s because I’m wearing your impractical hoodie, genius.”

He just smiled and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close despite the water soaking into both of you. “Worth it.”

seunghyun: nice and 'prepared'

The rain had caught you both off guard. You had barely made it out of the café before the skies opened up, and now you were both caught in a downpour with no umbrella in sight. You pulled your jacket closer to your body, shivering from the sudden chill.

Seunghyun, with his usual cool demeanor, looked over at you, eyes scanning the weather. Then, with a small sigh, he glanced at you with a sheepish smile. "I... may have left the umbrella in the car," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "But hey, we’re here now."

You shot him a playful look. "Did you think this rain was going to hold off until we got back?" you teased, your voice full of amusement despite the situation.

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Hey, I was the one who checked the forecast this morning, okay? You can't blame me for forgetting one small detail."

The two of you stood there for a moment, both laughing at the irony of it all. Without missing a beat, Seunghyun grabbed your hand and started to jog in the direction of the car. "Alright, let's just make a run for it. We'll beat the rain."

You both ran, your feet splashing through puddles as the water soaked you from head to toe. Seunghyun stayed close, but in that classic Seunghyun way, he was still trying to stay cool about it—one hand casually holding yours, the other wiping his wet hair out of his face.

Halfway to the car, you started to laugh, the situation completely ridiculous but somehow perfect. “I can't believe we’re doing this," you said, breathless from both the running and the laughter.

“I can’t believe I forgot the umbrella,” Seunghyun responded, his voice tinged with mock annoyance, but the playful glint in his eye told you everything. "But hey, look on the bright side. It’ll be a great story to tell later."

As you both reached the car, laughing and dripping wet, Seunghyun opened the door for you, then paused to look at your soaked state. “Well,” he said, running his fingers through his hair and smirking, “at least we’re in this together.”

You couldn't help but smile, the day’s misadventures only making him more endearing. "Next time," you said with a grin, "you better bring the umbrella."

“Deal,” he said with a wink, pulling you into the car. "Next time, we’ll be dry. Hopefully."

locked in a small space

jiyong: seven minutes

You and Jiyong had somehow ended up stuck in a small, cramped pantry together. It wasn’t intentional, of course. Just a random series of events that had led to both of you being trapped in the tiny space, the door somehow locking behind you.

You leaned back against the only wall without shelving units, arms crossed, trying to make the best of the situation. "Well, this is... great," you said, laughing a little despite the light awkwardness. "Guess we’re stuck here for a bit."

Jiyong, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, the small, confined space seemed to only amuse him. He flashed that playful smirk of his, leaning in closer, and with a teasing glint in his eye, he gave you a seductive once-over.

"You know," he started, voice low and smooth, taking a step toward you, "this is like a movie 7 minutes in heaven situation, isn’t it?"

You couldn’t help but laugh at his sudden change in attitude. “Jiyong, really?”

He took a step closer, his body pressed against yours now, and he leaned in even more. "I mean," he said, his voice practically a whisper, "you know what I can do in 7 minutes?" His eyes glinted with mischief as his hands brushed lightly against the edge of your sleeve.

You froze for a second, a little caught off guard by how close he suddenly was. The small space made everything feel just a bit more intimate, and Jiyong’s teasing, flirtatious energy only amplified the tension.

“Stop it,” you said, trying to sound serious, though you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

Jiyong chuckled softly, his hands now flush to your waist, holding you against him. “What?” he asked innocently, though there was nothing innocent about the way his eyes were locked onto yours. “I’m just making the most of the situation.”

You shook your head, but an embarrassed smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "You really know how to make the best of being in a tight spot, huh?"

Jiyong grinned mischeviously, his lips just inches from yours now, his teasing energy completely undeniable. “Tight spots are my specialty.”

seunghyun: closeness is most comfortable

You and Seunghyun had been in a rush earlier that day, trying to get everything done before the storm hit. But now, here you were—stuck in an elevator, and it didn’t seem like it was going anywhere anytime soon. The storm raged outside, the rain hammering against the metal walls, but inside the elevator, it was just the two of you.

Seunghyun, as usual, didn’t seem phased by the situation. He gave you a smile that was part mischievous, part carefree, as if this was just another little hiccup in your day. And, to be fair, it was.

“Well, since we’re stuck, might as well get comfortable,” he said, his tone entirely too casual, and before you could even respond, he lowered himself to sit against the back wall of the elevator with a sigh of contentment. Without missing a beat, he pulled you into his lap, settling you there like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked in surprise, but as always with Seunghyun, it didn’t take long to adjust. You were already used to his easy, affectionate nature, and the small space didn’t even faze him. He simply wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close with a lazy grin on his face.

“Seunghyun,” you started, trying to keep your voice serious, but it was hard when you could feel the warmth of his body, and he looked so comfortable already. “Is this really necessary?”

He shrugged as if it were the most logical thing. “Of course. We’re stuck in here. No point in standing around being all stiff and uncomfortable.” His hands casually rested on your waist, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm against the fabric of your shirt. “I like being close to you anyway. Plus, I’m not going anywhere. Might as well make the best of it.”

You tried not to laugh, but the way he was acting so nonchalant about it made it impossible. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Seunghyun only chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face before letting his hand rest there. “I’m just making the most of our time together. No point in being grumpy when I get to hang out with my favorite person, right?”

You smiled, shaking your head at his antics. Of course, he would make something so normal feel like an adventure. But that was Seunghyun for you—easygoing and always making the best of everything, even a stuck elevator.

And before you knew it, the moment had become comfortable. You let yourself settle into his embrace, leaning your head on his shoulder as the sounds of the storm outside became a distant hum. “You’re right,” you said, your voice soft, “I guess this isn’t so bad after all.”

“See?” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, still holding you close. “Stuck in a small space with you, just the two of us? Could be worse. Plus, this is the best kind of company.”

And just like that, the storm outside seemed far away, and all that mattered was being there, in that small, quiet space with Seunghyun. It was something that had long since become normal for the two of you—the comfort of being close, no matter where you were.

daesung: an attempt of an icebreaker

You and Daesung had found yourselves trapped in the cramped supply closet after a series of unfortunate events. The door had somehow swung shut behind you, and now you were both stuck in the small space, with barely enough room to breathe, let alone move.

As you shifted, trying to make yourself a little more comfortable, you suddenly became acutely aware of how close Daesung was. His shoulder brushed against yours, and the proximity between you both seemed to magnify everything. The air felt heavier, and even the tiniest movements felt like they were echoing in the tiny room.

Daesung, usually so confident and easygoing, froze. His body went completely still, as though he was suddenly aware of every inch of space between you two, or rather, the lack of it. His eyes darted to the side, then quickly down, and then up again—clearly avoiding your gaze. A nervous smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he scratched the back of his neck.

“So...” Daesung mumbled, his voice suddenly much quieter than usual, a touch of awkwardness in his tone. “You come here often?”

You blinked, unsure if he was joking or genuinely trying to break the tension. His face was slightly flushed, and the nervous energy radiating from him was almost tangible. You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at how awkward his attempt to break the silence sounded.

Daesung immediately went redder, his eyes widening as he realized what he'd just said. “Wait, no! That—ugh, forget I said that.” He quickly flailed a hand in the air, clearly embarrassed by his choice of words.

You smirked, enjoying the rare moment of seeing him flustered. “Oh my god, Daesung. Really? 'You come here often'?" You teased, trying to keep your voice light. “That’s your icebreaker?”

He fidgeted, clearly not knowing how to recover from his awkwardness. "I—I mean, I don’t really have a backup line, okay? I was just trying to say something to—y'know—ease the tension." He chuckled nervously, his fingers still anxiously twitching as he tried to regain some composure.

You were absolutely charmed by how flustered he was. There was something so endearing about seeing Daesung, the confident and carefree guy everyone knew, suddenly so unsure of himself. “You’re so cute when you’re nervous,” you said, teasing him gently.

Daesung looked at you, eyes wide, as his face turned even redder. “Stop, I can’t take this,” he muttered, trying to hide his face in his hands, but the small space made it impossible for him to escape from the situation. His fingers rubbed the back of his neck in nervous habit, as if he could distract himself from how awkward it was. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

"Well," you said, leaning a little closer, still amused by the situation, "you’re stuck with me now. You might as well make the best of it."

Daesung exhaled sharply, trying to seem nonchalant, but the way his eyes flicked down at your hand brushing against his arm gave him away. "Right... I guess I could get used to the whole... 'stuck in a closet' thing," he said with a sheepish grin, though he still couldn't seem to make eye contact.

You chuckled, the tension slowly fading as you both stood there, practically shoulder to shoulder, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours. The awkwardness was still lingering, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was... sweet. Daesung wasn’t perfect, and it was moments like this—vulnerable and unsure—that made him even more endearing.

"You know," you said with a playful grin, "you could have at least said, 'Nice weather we're having' if you really wanted to be awkward."

Daesung gave you a mock glare, but his smile was already returning. "You’re just full of great ideas, huh? I’ll keep that one in my back pocket next time."

You laughed softly. "Well, it’s always a good one for the next awkward situation."

For a moment, neither of you said anything, and the silence was comfortable now. You were close enough to feel the warmth from Daesung’s body, but the situation didn’t feel quite as claustrophobic anymore. The rain outside had picked up a little, and all you could hear was the soft pitter-patter on the windows.

“You still think we’re gonna get out of here soon?” Daesung asked, his voice quieter now, the playful edge replaced with a bit of genuine curiosity.

You smiled, brushing your hand against his arm gently. “Honestly, I have no idea. But if we’re stuck here longer... at least we’ve got each other, right?”

Daesung’s eyes softened at that, and for a moment, his usual carefree energy returned, the shy awkwardness melting away. “Yeah,” he said with a quiet smile, "at least we’ve got that."

And somehow, in that tiny, awkward space, everything felt just right.

absentmindedly playing with hands or hair

seunghyun: perfect balance of collected and confident

Publicly, Seunghyun doesn’t even give the slightest indication that your touch is having any effect on him. On the outside, he’s the same calm, collected presence he always is—quiet, reserved, and effortlessly cool. But the moment your fingers slip into his hair, gently running through the strands, there’s a subtle shift. His jaw tightens for a fraction of a second, and his eyes soften, though he doesn’t dare to look at you fully. The corners of his mouth twitch just enough to show his enjoyment, but it’s so fleeting, most wouldn’t notice. He’s melting inside, completely at ease, as if the world around him has slowed to a halt. Your touch has this uncanny way of unwinding every bit of tension from his body. He feels a warmth spread through him that’s more soothing than anything else. He’s swooning, mentally, but there’s not a word spoken, no public display—just a quiet relaxation that only you can bring. In fact, he makes sure to keep his composure outwardly, so no one can ever guess just how much your simple touch is affecting him. His hand might twitch, ready to grab yours and pull you a little closer, but in the end, he just lets the moment pass, silently appreciating it.

But as soon as you're in private, everything changes. The calm and collected Seunghyun you know in public is nowhere to be found. Instead, he becomes a little more smug, a little more self-assured. He knows exactly what effect you have on him, and now it’s your turn to feel that same effect. He watches you with a teasing grin, leaning in just close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin. His eyes flicker down to where your hands are—already making their way to him, unable to resist touching him, even just for a moment. “Can’t keep your hands off me, hm, princess?” he says, his voice low and smooth, dripping with playful confidence. The words are casual, but the glint in his eyes tells a different story—one that says he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Before you can even answer, he grabs your hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles with a flourish, like he’s making some grand gesture. “Are my hands that interesting?” he teases, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes growing.

You nod far too eagerly, your excitement spilling over, and Seunghyun’s grin only widens, enjoying the fact that he has this power over you. “A bit too excited, aren’t we?” he comments, amusement dancing on his features as he brings your hand back down. Then, with a soft but unmistakable shift, he pulls you closer by the waist, his arms settling around you possessively. “You’re so easy to read, you know that?” he adds, the teasing in his tone laced with something a little deeper—something soft, though wrapped in all the cocky confidence that makes him him.

His lips hover near your ear for just a moment, his breath warm against your skin. “But I don’t mind it,” he whispers, his smile turning a little softer. “I like knowing you’re mine.”

You can't help the way your heart flutters at his words, the warmth of his hands, and the complete shift from teasing to affection. He’s playful, but in moments like this, you can feel how completely he’s wrapped around you—and you around him, just as much.

daesung: return to sender

Publicly or privately, Daesung simply does not care—he is absolutely devoted to making sure you feel loved and appreciated at all times. It’s like a natural instinct for him, no matter where you are or who’s around. When it comes to you, there’s no such thing as too much affection, too many thoughtful gestures, or too many ways to show you how much he cherishes you. If you softly touch his hand, his first reaction is to kiss it. Not just a quick peck, but a tender, lingering kiss, as if he’s holding your hand for the first time all over again. He makes sure it’s clear that your touch is the most precious thing in the world to him. Then, after pulling away, he will massage your hand, gently rubbing each knuckle and the palm as if he’s trying to give you all the warmth and love he has to offer, a soft, soothing rhythm that mirrors the way his heart beats when you’re near.

If you fix his hair, Daesung is positively glowing with happiness. Instead of just saying thank you and leaving it at that, he wants to return the favor, and he does so in his own, playful, and sweet way. "Well, if you're fixing my hair, I guess it’s only fair that I try doing yours," he’ll say, his grin making his eyes sparkle. He’ll carefully take your hair between his fingers, running them through the strands with such tenderness it feels almost reverent. His fingers move gently, as though he’s trying to memorize the feeling of caring for you in this way. It’s a simple act, yet there’s so much love behind it, and you can feel the warmth of his affection in every delicate stroke. The moment is intimate, calming, and grounding—one where you can feel how much he treasures being this close to you.

And if you touch his arm, well, that’s when Daesung completely takes over. He doesn’t need to be asked twice. Without hesitation, he’s right behind you, his hands moving to your shoulders in an instant. His touch is light but strong, as his fingers knead the tension out of your muscles. He massages slowly, with so much care, making sure every inch of stress is melted away. You might have touched his arm, but now he’s the one caring for you, taking that moment to pamper you instead of being pampered. The way his hands move is almost instinctual—he’s so gentle, so considerate, it feels as if he’s giving you the world with just a simple massage. What was meant to be a brief act of tenderness towards him turns into a quiet, loving act of service from him to you.

Daesung isn’t just about the grand gestures; he knows that love is often shown through the small, everyday moments—these tiny, thoughtful acts that say everything without needing a word. And he makes sure you know, every single day, just how much you mean to him, through all the little things he does to make you feel cherished, adored, and completely cared for. To him, it’s the small moments that truly matter, the ones that prove just how deeply he loves you, because he knows that love is in the details.

jiyong: inked stories

Jiyong, always effortlessly calm and composed, never questions when you begin tracing over his hands or arms, just allowing you to do whatever you wish. It’s as if there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you, a quiet rhythm that feels so natural. He finds solace in it, as if your touch grounds him in a way words never could. Every movement you make is met with patience and a soft smile, and he’s absolutely enchanted by the way you seem to get lost in these moments—tracing the lines of his palms, following the curves of his arms. It’s intimate in its simplicity, and it’s something he looks forward to without even realizing it.

What truly makes his heart swell, though, is when your fingers trace over his tattoos. He knows you adore them. He’s aware of how your eyes light up when your fingers skim the ink, the designs he’s carried with him through his journey. They’re more than just tattoos to him; they’re pieces of his past, each one telling a story. But seeing you trace them so reverently, with such love and appreciation, makes him feel something deeper—like those tattoos are even more meaningful because you’re the one noticing them, the one paying attention to these parts of him that aren’t immediately obvious. He treasures that you take the time to appreciate the things that define him, to make him feel seen in such a personal way.

“You always make my tattoos look so much better,” he says with a teasing grin, though there’s an underlying sincerity in his words. He catches your gaze as your fingers hover over one of the designs on his arm, a smile tugging at his lips. “I think you’re the only one who sees them the way I do.”

You glance up at him, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you continue tracing the intricate patterns. “I just think they’re beautiful. You’ve got stories etched on your skin, and I love hearing them without words.”

His heart skips a beat at that, and he watches you for a moment, his eyes softening. “I’ve got all these tattoos, but none of them mean as much as the way you look at them,” he admits quietly, his thumb brushing over your wrist.

When you’re satisfied, when you finally pull your hands away, Jiyong doesn’t rush. His fingers gently close around yours, his thumb softly running over the back of your hand, his touch warm and steady. He intertwines your fingers together without a second thought, his hand enveloping yours like it was always meant to be. There’s something tender, something almost reverent about the way he holds you, like he’s holding onto something precious. His eyes meet yours, soft and full of affection, the quiet intimacy between you both speaking volumes. He doesn’t need to say anything—he already knows. The connection is there, woven into the smallest gestures, the ones that speak the loudest, and he treasures every second of it.

he walks in on you singing (you're amazing)

daesung: harmonies and vocal training

You’re mid-song, completely lost in the melody, when a second voice slips in seamlessly with yours. At first, you don’t think much of it—just an echo in your head, maybe a trick of the music. But then it grows stronger, harmonizing perfectly, the warmth of familiarity making your stomach flip.

You freeze.

Daesung.

Before you can react, he’s no longer just harmonizing—he’s belting at full power like he’s center stage at the biggest concert of his career. The walls practically vibrate with his voice, and you let out an involuntary yelp, startled out of your skin.

He yells back, louder, eyes wide, like he’s the one who’s been caught.

There’s a split second of stunned silence where you just stare at each other, and then, as if on cue, you both burst into laughter.

“I—Why did you scream?!” he wheezes, clutching his stomach, barely able to get the words out between giggles.

“Why did YOU scream?!” you shoot back, still trying to process the sheer volume of what just happened.

He grins, eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes a step closer. “Okay, but seriously,” he says, nudging you. “You’ve been hiding that voice from me? From me? I literally sing for a living, and you didn’t think to mention this?”

You groan, face heating. “It’s not like I was hiding it—”

Daesung cuts you off with a dramatic gasp. “So you mean you just forgot to tell me you’re secretly amazing? Wow. Betrayal.”

You shove him lightly, rolling your eyes, but he’s already launching into another playful over-the-top vocal run, still grinning ear to ear. Then, before you can protest, he throws an arm around you and sways dramatically, humming the melody you were just singing.

“You know,” he says, eyes twinkling with mischief, “I think I should become your vocal coach. We’ll train every day—warm-ups in the morning, practice in the afternoon. We can do duets! Matching stage outfits! A unit name! Oh, this is happening.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” he whines, giving you a gentle shake. “I’m Daesung! It’s literally my job to make people sing. And now that I know you have this secret talent, I have to help you unleash your full potential.”

“I don’t need to unleash anything—”

“Too late. You’ve been discovered.” He gasps again, eyes gleaming with fake betrayal. “Unless… unless you hate my singing! Oh no. That’s why you didn’t tell me, isn’t it? You’re tired of hearing my voice.”

You snort. “You are so dramatic.”

“I have to be. For the industry.” He puffs out his chest, then nudges you again. “So? When’s our first rehearsal?”

You sigh, shaking your head, but you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

"Tomorrow morning? Great! I'll see you in the morning baby!" He excitedly ran out of the room, causing you to laugh aloud—you live together you will see him as soon as you exit the room as well. Oh, Daesung.

seunghyun: totally starstruck

You don’t notice him at first.

You’re too lost in the song, letting the melody spill effortlessly from your lips, the way it wraps around the air like something tangible, something alive. It’s just you, your voice, and the quiet room—until the weight of a gaze suddenly makes you falter.

You glance up, startled, and there he is.

Seunghyun stands frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, lips parted slightly as if he had something to say but forgot how to speak. His entire posture—still, rigid, like he’s afraid to move—tells you everything before he even opens his mouth.

“…Do that again.”

His voice is hushed, reverent, but there’s an intensity beneath it, like this moment is something sacred.

You blink, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”

“Sing again.” He steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast. “Please.”

You let out a flustered laugh, trying to shake off the weight of his stare. “Seunghyun, it’s really not—”

“It is,” he interrupts, shaking his head, still looking at you like he’s seeing something unreal. “Why aren’t you doing this as a career?”

You scoff, shifting awkwardly under his unwavering gaze. “Because I couldn't get up on stage in front of people! I got anxious when I found out only you were listening—”

“Ridiculous,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “That’s ridiculous.” He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s trying to process something huge. “You sound better than—” he hesitates, eyes flickering over your face as if searching for the right words. When he finds them, his voice is almost breathless. “Better than anyone I’ve ever heard. Ever.”

Your face warms under the intensity of his words, but he isn’t done.

Suddenly, he’s closer—so close that you barely register the moment his hands find yours, his grip firm but gentle, grounding. “Let me record you,” he says, almost pleading. “Sample your voice. Something. Anything.”

You laugh, flustered, shaking your head. “Seunghyun, no—”

He ignores your protest, his thumbs brushing lightly over your knuckles, his gaze still holding that same quiet, devastating awe. “I need to hear you like that again.” A pause. “Do you know what you just did to me?”

You swallow hard, unsure how to respond, because you’re the one who feels undone under the weight of his devotion.

To him, it’s like he’s falling in love all over again. And he has no intention of getting back up.

jiyong: your first fanboy

You’re lost in the music again, wrapped in your own little world, when you suddenly feel a presence behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and instinctively, you turn—only to find Jiyong standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smug grin plastered across his face. His eyes gleam with mischief, and you can already tell that he's about to make this moment so much more than it needs to be.

“You really didn’t think to tell me about this?” he teases, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “I mean, I knew you were talented, but this?” He shakes his head as if he’s genuinely offended. “I’m hurt, baby.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling nervously. “It’s not a big deal, Jiyong.”

“Not a big deal?” he scoffs, already pulling his phone out of his pocket. “You’re basically a superstar and you never even mentioned it? Unbelievable. Well, if you won’t tell me, I guess I’ll just have to do it for you.”

Before you can protest, he taps his phone screen and a playlist of your favorite songs starts playing. He uses his phone as a makeshift lightstick, dramatically waving it in the air as he steps forward, his smirk never leaving his face. “Alright, let’s do this properly,” he announces, as though he’s about to manage a full-scale performance.

You laugh, feeling completely exposed now, but Jiyong’s energy is infectious. He steps into the middle of the room, sets his phone down on a nearby table, and hits play on the next song. He starts dancing around you, pretending to be the most enthusiastic fan, fully immersing himself in the “show.” Every so often, he pulls exaggerated, overly dramatic dance moves—his “fanboy” act is too much, and you can’t help but giggle.

“You’re so cheesy,” you say, trying to hide your embarrassment, but also thoroughly entertained.

“You love it,” he grins, spinning you around like you're both part of some spontaneous duet. “You’re welcome. This is the kind of spotlight you deserve.”

As the song comes to a close, he steps back, using his phone to “judge” your performance like a panelist on some reality show. “And a perfect ten! Unbelievable! You’re incredible, but I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me all this time,” he teases, dramatically wiping away a fake tear.

You roll your eyes, but your heart is full of affection. “I wasn’t hiding it, Jiyong. I just—”

“Nope!” he interrupts, cutting you off with a hand up. “You’re a star. And I knew it.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. “I think you were just trying to keep all the attention for yourself, huh?”

You can’t help but laugh at his theatrics. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jiyong just winks, sweeping you into his arms. “I’m just the best manager ever. Now, go on, show me the next song, superstar.”

returning home after a tour and finding out you missed him

seunghyun: human charger

The second you opened the door, Seunghyun was standing there, looking composed as ever—hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly, that unreadable expression on his face. But his eyes. His eyes gave him away.

“You’re back,” you breathed, a little stunned even though you knew he was coming home today. It still felt surreal after all those weeks apart. “I missed you so much Seunghyun.”

For a fraction of a second, his lips twitched—like he was fighting back the urge to actually react. Then, with the smoothest, most indifferent tone, he said, “Oh? You missed me?” He let out a soft scoff, looking off to the side. “That’s funny. I didn’t even notice you weren't with me.”

Before you could even pretend to be offended, he had already closed the space between you, wrapping his arms around you tight. No hesitation, no delay. Like he had been holding himself back for far too long, and now that you were in front of him, he wasn’t wasting another second.

You melted into him, letting yourself be enveloped in his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the weight of his chin resting on your shoulder. “Liar,” you murmured, smiling against the fabric of his jacket.

His arms only tightened around you in response.

It wasn’t until later that you noticed the real extent of how much he had actually missed you.

The next morning, when you asked about his schedule, he just shrugged, sitting comfortably on the couch with you wrapped up in his hold. “Cleared it,” he said simply, scrolling through his phone.

“…Cleared it?” You blinked. “Like—what do you mean, cleared it?”

“I mean exactly that.” He didn’t even look up. “No meetings. No interviews. No rehearsals. Nothing. I’m busy.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Busy doing what?”

At that, he finally glanced at you, expression unreadable for just a moment before he spoke, voice completely steady—like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Being here. Need to recharge. You're my charger,” His words were so matter-of-factly that you had no case if you were to deny what he said—you would be crazy to do that.

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and endeared. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me.” He smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he tugged you closer.

You sighed, defeated, and let yourself melt into him. “Yeah,” you admitted. “I really do.”

He hummed, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “Good. Because I’m not letting you out of my sight for a while.”

And sure enough, for the next few days, he refused to let you go anywhere without him. If you had errands? He was coming with you. If you had plans? He adjusted them so you could stay in instead. If you so much as moved from the couch, his arm would subtly tighten around you, an unbreakable vise grip that you welcomed warmly.

daesung: everything is a reminder of you

The moment Daesung stepped through the front door, his suitcase rolling behind him, his face lit up the second he saw you. He barely had a chance to say anything before you blurted it out.

“I missed you.”

For a brief second, he just stared at you, his eyes widening as if those words had flipped some switch inside him. Then, suddenly, his whole expression softened into the warmest, most radiant smile.

“You missed me?” His voice was filled with so much genuine happiness, like he couldn’t believe it even though he had been hoping to hear it. Then, before you could even answer, he closed the space between you in a heartbeat, wrapping you up in his arms. “Oh my god, I missed you too! You know that, I told you every day by text, but it wasn’t the same.”

You laughed against his shoulder, feeling how tightly he was holding you, like he had been waiting for this moment the entire tour. He smelled like airport air and faded cologne, but underneath it was something distinctly him, something that made you want to stay right there forever.

Then, just as suddenly as he had hugged you, he pulled back, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “Oh! Wait! I got you something.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Something?”

Daesung grinned. “Okay... maybe a few things.”

And then he grabbed his suitcase, unzipped it with so much enthusiasm that you swore he almost broke the zipper, and started pulling out item after item after item.

“This reminded me of you.” He placed a small trinket in your hands—a keychain shaped like a little cartoon animal, one of your favorites.

“And this one too. Oh, and this! I saw this and immediately thought of you.” A little stuffed animal, then a handmade bracelet, then a snack from one of the local markets.

You watched in awe as the pile kept growing. “Daesung, how much stuff did you buy?”

He looked sheepish but only for a second before laughing. “A lot… but I couldn’t not get them! Everywhere I went, something reminded me of you, and I kept thinking, ‘Oh, she would love this!’ And I couldn’t just choose one thing, so I got everything.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of souvenirs but also by the sentiment behind them. He had spent all that time away, traveling from city to city, but he had still been thinking of you the entire time.

Your chest felt warm, overflowing with affection. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, shaking your head, but you were smiling, and he knew you weren’t mad in the slightest.

Daesung beamed. “Ridiculously in love with you.” Then he held up one more thing—his arms, wide open. “Now come here and let me make up for all that lost time.”

And, of course, you didn’t hesitate to fall right back into his embrace.

jiyong: planning and eavesdropping

The moment you sighed out the words—“I missed you.”—Jiyong stilled. His lips parted slightly, eyes glinting with something smug. Then, his expression shifted into full dramatic mode.

“Oh?” he said, tilting his head. “Say it again.”

You blinked. “What?”

He leaned in, grinning now. “One more time. Just for me.”

You narrowed your eyes, about to protest, but then he was already pulling you forward, locking you in his arms with a delighted sigh. “Actually, forget that. You’re not going anywhere, little lady. You belong right here for at least the next hour.”

A huff of laughter escaped you, but you didn’t try to pull away. There was no point—Jiyong had latched onto you like a koala, his arms wound tight around your waist, legs tangled with yours as if to physically make up for all the lost time.

The two cats, clearly attuned to the energy in the room, jumped up onto the couch beside you both. One curled into the space between you, the other settled by your legs, their purring blending seamlessly with the warmth of Jiyong’s body against yours.

“You’re acting like I was gone for a year,” you teased, running a hand through his hair.

“Felt like it,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your shoulder. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes scanning every inch of your face like he was committing it to memory again. “Next time, I’m bringing you with me.”

“You always say that,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, and one day it’s actually gonna happen.” He pulled you even closer, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I already planned, like… seven different dates for us in different cities, by the way.”

You let out a short laugh. “Seven?”

“Obviously. Do you know how much time I spent thinking about you?” He pulled back slightly, just enough to kiss your temple. “A lot, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me.”

Before you could retort, he suddenly gasped, his entire body tensing with excitement. “Oh my god, I almost forgot. You will not believe the gossip I heard.”

You blinked at the abrupt shift. “What?”

Jiyong leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to tell you the biggest secret in the world. “So, you know how the hairstylists and makeup artists talk to each other while they’re working?”

“Yeah?”

“Well.” His lips curled into a devilish grin. “They think I’m not listening. But I am.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.” He practically vibrated with excitement. “Okay, listen to this—so apparently, one of the stylists is secretly dating this one idol but no one is supposed to know, but—”

And just like that, the next hour disappeared into a flurry of hushed whispers, gasped reactions, and Jiyong acting out dramatic reenactments of everything he overheard. The cats dozed beside you, entirely unbothered, as he spilled every single secret he had collected like a gremlin hoarding forbidden knowledge.

It wasn’t until much later, when you had both completely melted into each other, his voice softer now as he murmured about places he wanted to take you, that you realized just how much he had missed you.

And how much, without even realizing it, you had missed this.

thanks for reading!

i love making these so like if u want part 3 do lmk!

part one here !

[thatneoncrisis]

ok so im not going to directly reblog that john post with my rebuttal because it is. very long. but i will link to that post for context

here are all the reasons people feel very strongly about john being a shithead, and while reducing him to merely Flat Out On Purpose Evil flattens him as he is an incredibly complex character, the man does cartoonishly evil shit on the daily. it cannot be more obvious, in fact. and if he did all of this with good intentions, we cannot forget what the road to hell is paved with. john has been hurting people for ten thousand years

i cant entirely tell if this is a legitimate defense of him, but im going to treat it as such and offer a good faith rebuttal

"they were already going to die" is not a defense of his actions. it is an excuse. a very poor one in fact. i can recognize the amount of stress he was under, but killing every living person on the planet in the pursuit of revenge- because thats what this is about to him, revenge- is not something you can handwave away. would it be fair if someones entire family was gunned down because they happened to be in the same building as a very bad man? john has a very extremist way of thinking, and often conflates his sense of morality with the only way that is correct

you can recognize that he wants to be good, but wanting to be good and doing good are two entirely separate things. plenty of actual evil is committed in the name of "protecting children," however we can plainly see many cases of bigotry and abuse happen under the umbrella of that supposed cause. if john says he wants to protect the earth and saves humanity, and is directly the thing that kills them, not only with nukes but by snapping the necks of everyone the bombs didnt kill first, is that not antithetical to his entire mission? he killed the entire solar system just to fail to even kill his targets

additionally, he was granted great power by alecto. we see that not only can he prevent the rot of bodies and puppet them among other things, such as curing cancer and other illnesses, he grows roses for his friends wedding. he can manipulate plant matter. he could solve the food shortage if he wanted. he could do any number of constructive things, but instead the only thing he could keep his attention on was what bad people were doing, and how to hurt them the most.

later on in the timeline, we are plainly shown the world hes made when hes left to his own devices. hes crafted a feudalistic system powered by the death of his own people. his armies employ child soldiers, some as young as 11. there is a severe population crisis, many people suffer from furtility issues, the sixth house has to keep close records of their geneology just to prevent too much inbreeding. as a reminder, john has a stash of the dead from earth he kept tucked away, and gave some to harrow when she asked him to renew her house. he could fix this problem at any time, but he doesnt

planets outside the nine houses are routinely killed just so his necromantic soldiers have more fuel for this power. this is is shown to have devestating ecological consequences- every plant, animal and microorganism sentenced to death because necromancy eats through it so quickly. this also results in any people living on those planets to have to relocate quickly, or face starvation or any other number of horrors from one mans actions. oh, and speaking of the people

corona mentions in nona the ninth that she finds it odd that john does not integrate any of the non house people or their resources into their empire. it has been ten thousand years. BOE has guns, cars, televised announcements. our main characters grew up in a world where paper and real wood were expensive novelties because john keeps killing everything that can sustain a renewable resource. in the john chapters of nona the ninth, he makes a glib joke about how him destroying the internet was a good thing, but isnt it strange that in a world with spaceships capable of travel between planets in a matter of hours, no one in the in houses has found a way to wirelessly transfer digitized information? they still have to send letters on shuttles to communicate from planet to planet

with BOE mentioned, his treatment of them is particularly vile. they are a small, disorganized resistance group trying to unclench the fist that has been choking non house people for ten thousand years. the ones we meet on a personal level (mostly wake and pash) are vicious and uncompromising in their methodology- namely reducing necromancers and those who collaborate with them to non people, zombies, but the fact of the matter is they have to be. there is no polite way to resist fascism. there is no asking John to pretty please stop killing planets and illegally occupying our settlements to declare his authority that is only recognized bc he has the history and manpower to back it up. they are fighting an enemy that literally gets stronger the more of them they kill. they are fighting someone who can puppet the corpse of your friend and use it to attack you, or even blow you up. their extremism doesn't exist in a vacuum, and johns dislike of persists because they 1. undermine his authority and 2. are, in the haziest sense of the word, possibly kind of connected to the trillionaires he was mad at a myriad ago. people who are literally fucking dust. their wealth was not passed down to their descendants, their wealth means absolutely jack in the current situation. John is literally the rich powerhungry self preserving asshole he was pissed at when earth was alive. speaking of earth

John has been hoarding the planet earth for ten thousand years. obviously we never saw much of it due to everyone on the first in Gideon the ninth being confined to Canaan House, but it appears hospitable to life. no extreme temperatures, no food shortage, cythereas sitting under a tree outside so there appears to be no issue with vegetation growing. at any point, John could stop having his long suffering populace living in holes on Pluto and space stations next to the sun move to earth and live out more humane lives and he just doesn't. he keeps it as a holy ground. a place he himself doesn't even live on. he hoards it, this innate object, its soul kept trapped in a body it hates billions of miles away, and we can't even say why. given everything else he's done, im not inclined to believe he has a good reason for this, or even a particularly rational one. some people just like squirreling away their favorite things where no one else can touch

the handwaving of johns treatment of the cavaliers leapt out to me as very strange. it is that very lie that condemns him to death in Augustine and mercymorns eyes, his oldest and closest friends besides g1deon (who was dead at that part of the grand reveal, who knows how he would hav reacted). its not just a lie, it is The lie, a lie that exposes how expendable he sees the people around him. based on harrow the ninth alone, its pretty clear John is a terrible friend and mentor. his advice to harrow having a months long break in her sanity is to tell her to get a hobby and some rest. he is interested in the idea of her, but puts no effort into materially helping her (does his empire even have antipsychotics?) she is left alone and terrified for ten months, everyone around her assuming shell die in the conflict with the ressurection beast and he makes it all the worse with g1deon. not only telling him to kill her, but denying any involvement to her face

as for his other new Lyctor, he all but neglects Ianthe, abandoning her to augustines clear contempt. as vile and weird as Ianthe is, she has also experienced a pretty severe trauma. she has no clue where her sister is, is losing her sense of self after the consumption of her cavalier causes him to slowly start integrate into her personality (again, her own fault, but I imagine it feels weird) and she had her arm cut off by a woman who was driven half mad by johns apathy towards any of his lyctors suffering. he may claim to care for his friends, but it is entirely possible he just resurrected them to have some people from his old life to talk to, or to have powerful soldiers to fight his battles, or to have some scientists on hand help him workshop the early days of necromancy. we can never be sure, but what we can see is that he allowed seven people to be killed and eaten when he knew he had achieved the same result in a way that preserved both souls, and told none of them. its possible he thought he was doing this for their own good, whatever that means in this circumstance, but they were all adults, and should have been given all information possible before making their choice

even the way he treats his daughter is very. earnestly misguided. he immediately appoints her to be a soldier and sends her off on the front lines to fight the soul infecting devils crawling up form hell. he(allegedly, kirionas words) also tells her to open the tomb and kill Alecto, thus making her her fathers new cavalier. we have seen extensive treatment of cavaliers in this series- pack mules, batteries, body guards, even partners, but it is usually understood that the life of the necromancy is prioritized even at the cost of the cavalier. it is the foundation upon which lyctorhood is built, why Gideon killed herself in the first place. if he was serious about making her his cavalier, he's allowing his daughter to enter a very dangerous and potentially fatal position for no particular reason. he of course can resurrect her, but using your own kid as a regenerating meat shield is what some may consider scummy. on the other end, there is the possibility he was lying, he just wanted Gideon to open the tomb and face the very real possibility of Alecto killing her on sight. which there is a good chance of- johns power is borrowed from her, we have no clue what she can really do.

so three options here, two John is endangering his long lost daughter, one she was lying about what he said or if they even talked about it and just wanted a go at Alecto. while I do find the third option to be the most incharacter for Kiriona at this point, we've already seen he's named her and ianthe his tower princes and basically have them act as his proxies. he really really doesn't seem to care about actually protecting her

overall. John is certainly a guy who talks about doing things the right way, about caring for people and the world. and in every instance where he was given the chance to, he immediately hard pivots into the most destructive, manipulative route possible. everyone who has ever been close to him is either dead or has attempted to kill him or both. he committed an extinction event on a scale that is unheard of in human history. he gaslit and lied to harrow when he was the only authority she could appeal to, while being hunted by a man John told to kill her. he took the soul of a planet, wrapped it in the skin of some random childhood object, and shut her off and packed her away on a cold dark distant planet to be forgotten about until the end of time because she was too inhuman to control. he's declared a never ending war against people who died thousands of years ago, the now living people who have grown up only knowing the horror of undead soldiers and planets dying under their feet. he's cultivated a culture that disrespects the dead, that cannibalizes it, that uses the bones of its people for free labor

people are harsh on John because John does harsh things, and thats putting it lightly. he IS a deeply complex character, and I think the odd time I see someone trying to reduce what he's doing to basic heteronormative white supremacist ideals is uh. tone deaf. lets not call him a white guy just because he sucks thats insane. but many of the points you make in your post either take what he says about his motivations at face value, when he is a known liar, or presume good will on his behalf.

or the whole "they would have died anyway" defense which is uniquely terrible. you can say that about anyone, were all dying all the time. is it cool if someone kills the elderly or a cancer patient because they were already going to die and the rich people hoarding the resources such as affordable healthcare and housing are really to blame because it could have bought them more time? no. you stabbed a guy, thats murder. John killed ten billion people, most of whom are either stuck in a permanent sleep until he decides to defrost them so his empire can have more people, or who's souls are literally trapped because as htn and ntn heavily imply/straight up show, something is wrong with the river. this is an objectively bad and his motivations for his actions will never outweigh the ten billion he sacrificed while blinded by his own rage. this makes him an interesting character, not a good person

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

always first. l Harry Castillo

Harry Castillo [The Materialists] x Reader

summary: this evening was just perfect

warnings: fluff, angst, chocolate soufflé, some champagne, one broken heart

a/n: i don't know what you'll think about this. or what you'll think about me.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist] [Harry Castillo masterlist]

This restaurant was probably the most elegant and exclusive you had ever been to. You felt like you didn’t belong there, but you were there with him. Porcelain plates and delicate glasses of iced white wine sat on a crisp white tablecloth, candles flickered softly, their light reflecting off the eyes of the man in front of you.

Harry Castillo. In a perfectly tailored suit, with well-styled hair and a wonderful smile, he looked at you with his brown eyes. He was handsome and at that moment he looked simply stunning.

“Does everything taste good?” he asked in a soft voice that made every nerve in your body vibrate.

"Mhm." you mumbled, taking a sip of wine. "Delicious."

He tilted his head, smiling at you. A pleasant warmth crept up to your neck. Maybe it was the wine... Or maybe Harry.

When you put down the cutlery, he nodded to the waiter standing by the wall, who quickly approached you and cleared the plates.

“Dessert will be served soon. May I recommend the chocolate soufflé?”

Harry looked at you, and you raised your eyebrows in approval. "The lady accepted. Thank you."

The boy walked away, leaving you alone.

“I have another surprise for you,” Harry said, gently running his fingers over the glass on the table. “I hope you enjoy it as much as you enjoyed dinner tonight.”

"I'm sure of it." you replied. "Are you going to tell me what it is or do I have to guess?"

Harry straightened up and reached into the pocket of his jacket. A small velvet box flashed in his hand. Before you could say a word, or at least take a breath, he knelt down next to you and gently took your hand.

"Darling..." he began, and your heart began to pound in your chest. "The day I met you, I knew I had been waiting for you my whole life. You're everything I need and want."

"Harry..." you sighed, but he just smiled, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“I’ve never met a woman as beautiful, smart, brilliant, and funny as you. You’re perfect for me, and I can’t imagine my life without you.” He carefully opened the box, and your eyes met the ring, which was a small work of art in itself. An elegant diamond surrounded by several smaller ones, exactly the same as the one you’d seen at one of the most expensive jewelers in town. Harry continued, his gaze never leaving your face. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to grow old with you, have children with you, and watch them grow up. I want to support you and love you for the rest of my life. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Your throat was so tight that you weren't sure if you'd be able to utter a single word. Harry must have noticed, because he didn't rush you, but only looked at you with the same tenderness as before. 

You finally managed to take a breath, and a quiet "Yes, I'd love to" escaped your lips.

If Harry was happy, now you saw true joy in his eyes. A diamond ring was slid onto your finger, and warm lips kissed your hand.

"You've made me the happiest man on earth, baby." he said.

"And you've made me the happiest woman."

He got up from the ground and sat down on a chair, finished his wine and looked at you with happiness written all over his face. Your heart was still pounding in your chest, but you managed to glance at your hand. You almost didn't recognize it. The diamond reflected the dim glow of the candles, it looked even more beautiful than in the box.

"How much does it cost?" you asked quietly, gently turning your hand to look at it closely.

“Does it matter?” Harry burst out laughing, but you looked at him expectantly, so he quickly added, “Over two hundred thousand.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you quickly reached out to him. “Take this before someone cuts off my finger!” you said and he laughed.

The ring quickly returned to the box, and Harry put it in his jacket pocket. He watched as you finished your wine and shifted in your chair. He waited.

"And what do you think? Will she like it?" he asked.

You looked at him and sighed quietly. "If Meredith isn't thrilled after all this, I don't know what could make her happier." You answered honestly. "That's all..." You made a hand motion encompassing the entire restaurant and Harry. "That's perfect. No director could have come up with this better, Harry."

The man smiled, clearly pleased with your answer. You knew he had been planning this for a while. Of course, he told you because you were his friend. The best friend he had, who knew him like the back of her hand.

He and Meredith had been dating for almost half a year, and Harry was completely committed to it. He really wanted this relationship to be long-term. Every outing, every gift, every time spent with Meredith, he consulted with you first. You didn't want to do it, but he begged you so hard that you gave in.

Every restaurant he took her to, he was there with you first.

Every dessert she ate, you had to taste it first.

Every bouquet of flowers, you had to see first.

Every gift had to be accepted by you.

And now even their engagement had to pass the test in your presence.

You didn't want this. Every time you felt like it was slowly killing you. Harry had been your friend for a few years and you didn't even know when you had fallen in love with him. The most charming, caring, loving man you had ever met in your life was about to propose to another woman.

No, she wasn't a bad woman. Meredith was beautiful and smart. Or at least that's what Harry said about her, because you'd only met her once. You didn't hate her, but you were incredibly sad that such a man had come your way only for you to help him marry another woman.

“You seem sad about something.”

His warm voice pulled you out of your thoughts for a moment. You plastered an innocent smile on your lips. “I was lost in thought, sorry. Everything will be so beautiful... Maredith will be thrilled for sure.”

“I hope so,” he sighed. “Of course, I’ll let you know when she makes a decision.”

"Of course. Thank you."

“Your dessert, chocolate soufflé.” You almost jumped as the waiter appeared right behind you and placed your order on the table.

An ironic thought flashed through your mind like lightning. The chocolate soufflé was your last meal before your execution. Soon, the man you loved would marry another woman, and you would congratulate him with a smile on your lips.

"It looks wonderful, doesn't it?"

“Yes, it does.” You replied, looking at Harry, even as your eyes stung with the tears that were slowly forming. “You thought of everything, Harry.”

How many more smiles could you make? You didn't want to convince yourself of that. His happiness was the most important thing, and you were glad you could help him achieve that.

Because that's what friends do, right? They help, not love.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[caffeinated-moogle]

No-ish, and no... ish?

Aeryn is very exceptionally terrible at knowing what it is she wants, let alone expressing it once she figures out whatever it might be. The notion of binding partnerships was another one of those confusing things she both did and didn't comprehend when she awoke on the Source with no memories, so she never really considered it for herself. I also don't think she's the type to confine herself or her myriad thoughts/feelings with labels or titles, and I like to think of Urianger as a bit of a free-spirit in the label department, as well. Aeryn is grateful for the comfortable, reserved affection they come to share, and she doesn't really concern herself with trying to iron out what exactly they are to each other.

That said, I do have a very silly headcanon about archaic elezen courtship rituals involving hair braiding, which I've quietly written into Aeryn's fic. It leads to them forming a quiet sort of bond with each other—though I haven't decided if it's part of her canon... or just fluff fic for me to kick my feet over.

Heaps of rambling about Aeryn's hair lore behind the cut!

(Just gonna drop this here and run away quietly screeching because I feel so extremely awkward talking about these two even though I love them and the silly little ship I built for them so hecking much so aaaahhhhhhh okay have some wolship rambling and hair braiding lore, it's trite, okay bye for days.)

Aeryn instinctively keeps her hands occupied, especially when thinking or discontent. She has a habit in ARR/HW/early StB of regularly unbraiding and rebraiding her pigtails.

Though she's not cognizant of it until much later, she feels her appearance is her only potential link to her lost identity. She endeavors to "look" the same, pigtail braids and all, in hopes that someone from her past might recognize her.

In HW, during the Extended Camping Trip, Aeryn starts braiding Ysayle's hair. (i haven't yet written this, so I haven't ironed out how it starts. Regardless, it becomes part of their nightly routine while journeying.)

After parting with Ysayle, Estinien notes Aeryn's discontent with The Everything. He offers to take Ysayle's place, claiming every warrior has their vices. He jokes that Aeryn's, at least, will help keep his vision clear in battle.

Emmanellain later learns of this and, knowing the old custom, gushes to all the world that the Warrior of Light has been courting the Azure Dragoon. (I just assume it went viral via the Alphinaud > Tataru > Emmanellain > Everyone chain.)

Emmanellain eventually explains to Aeryn that, in more archaic times, braiding each others' hair was an elezen sign of courtship. The more serious a couple's relationship became, the finer and more intricate the braided styles grew. If the couple chose to promise themselves to one another, they symbolized it by twining a special bead or charm into their braids. The more magically inclined forged these of their own aether.

Aeryn is mortified, and even more so after learning Estinien knew of the old custom. (He didn't care, calling it old-fashioned nonsense; he was simply glad to offer some moments of peace to a fellow dragoon and respected friend.)

In StB, Zenos cuts off one of Aeryn's braids in their first battle, triggering her underlying identity crisis; and Tataru gives Aeryn her first haircut to even it out en route to Kugane. Aeryn struggles with the loss, still instinctively reaching to braid hair that is no longer there, haunted by the now-all-too-real possibility that she is never going to be recognized—that she can no longer be "found."

In ShB, Feo Ul regularly plays with Aeryn's hair, twining flowers, ribbons, shells, and other pretty things into it. Since they have a unique insight into things Aeryn often keeps to herself, they know this is special to her. When they prompt her, Aeryn opens up about how it felt to lose her braids.

Aeryn has a little fall in Pla Enni. She and Urianger share a quiet moment while he "heals" her (a ruse he regularly entertains in efforts to ascertain how she's adapting to her light absorption). She's slowly becoming more tactile, and because this is her first time in close proximity to him without his hood, she touches his hair. (It sounds silly, but it's such a pivotal moment of growth for her.)

While the Scions recover back on the Source, Aeryn spends a great deal of time resting with them. She's growing less repressed with her own emotional needs and, seeking comfort, asks if she can braid Urianger's hair.

Urianger is a giant dork, so of course he knows of the old customs—but he assumes Aeryn doesn't. In spite of this, he offers to braid her hair in return. It becomes a very sweet little routine for them. Urianger assumes nothing of it, though it's special to him nonetheless.

Thancred quietly teases Urianger about his "courtship." Urianger maintains it has no deeper meaning, particularly not for Aeryn. Thancred calls him out, though, suggesting that, given the opportunity to make an educated choice, Aeryn might still continue the practice, deeper meaning and all.

Urianger is a Very Awkward Fellow when he finds out Aeryn knew. She doesn't quite manage to express herself clearly, but in her own roundabout way, she explains that changing her hair as it regrew helped her become someone new, and she's grateful that he was part of that change.

After reuniting with Moenbryda's parents, at some point before they find Hydaelyn, Urianger forges a bead of aether and asks to twine it into Aeryn's hair. She is upset she can't do this in return (magic block crisis), but she instead takes the bead from her necklace and twines that into his hair.

Nothing changes, because they don't consider the act truly binding in any way—it's more a quiet expression of love, the idea that no matter where they go, they will always have a part of each other close.

Anyway, that's it. I'm a Ridiculous Sap, and they're possibly married? Ish?

I just love them a lot, okay.

Is your WoL married, or is that something they want in life?

[dreamdragonkadia]

As Written Above, So Shall It Be Below Part - I.I Word Count: 3.2k A/N: I like doing mini-parts for the other characters. Feedback, comments, thoughts, and theories are always appreciated! Main Pairing: Rhysand/Reader/Feyre Prev - Next ✦ Ao3

There were two things Mor never expected to happen in her life. Not once had the thought crossed her mind—not in all the centuries she had spent at Rhysand’s side, through war and peace, through his long, aching absence Under the Mountain.

The first was Rhys returning after fifty years by himself. Alone. Without her.

Without the woman who had fought, laughed, and ruled beside him. The woman who had soothed Rhys’s darkest moments, who had been Cassian’s fiercest sparring partner, who had made even Azriel—silent, brooding, unreadable Azriel—smile in that rare way of his. The woman Mor had known since she was young, who had been her friend before she had even known what true friendship was.

She had known—they all had known—that things were bad Under the Mountain. That Rhys had endured horrors none of them could fathom. That you had been there, too, suffering beside him. But none of them had ever, ever thought you wouldn’t come home. That when Rhys returned, you wouldn’t return with him.

The second was when Rhysand—her cousin, the most unshakable male she had ever known—collapsed into her arms and wept as she asked where his wife, where you were.

Dead.

The realization had shattered something in all of them.

The Lady of the Night Court was dead. Gone. No longer breathing, no longer standing in their ranks, no longer offering that quiet strength that had carried them through so many battles. You were simply…gone.

Cassian had let out a sound Mor would never forget, one of pure rage and grief, something torn from the depths of his soul. He had nearly torn through the house in his grief, as if he could undo it, as if fighting hard enough could bring you back.

Azriel had said nothing. He had only disappeared into the shadows, gone for hours, for days, Mor didn’t know. When he returned, his face was stoic, his shadows whispering, coiling tight around him like even they couldn’t bear the loss.

And Rhys—

Rhys had looked at her, at Cassian, at Azriel, at Amren as if he didn’t recognize them. As if the world he had clawed his way back to was not one he wanted to be in anymore.

Mor didn’t know how to hold them together. How to fix this. How to grieve you. She didn’t know how to walk into the townhouse and not see you curled up in the armchair with a book, how to go to Rita’s without you tugging her onto the dance floor, how to live in this city—your city—without you.

Amren had only placed a hand on Rhys’s shoulder, murmured, “I am sorry for your loss,” before turning away. Not out of cruelty. No—Mor had needed time to realize it, that Amren had not known how to react. How to grieve someone who had felt as eternal as the stars.

And then—then there had been the final, gutting blow.

Rhysand, their High Lord, their broken brother, had found his mate.

And she was betrothed to the High Lord of Spring.

A mortal girl.

Mor had stared at him, at the name that passed his lips—Feyre. A name she did not know. A name that meant nothing to her. Because how could it? How could it compare to the woman they had already lost?

A mate, when his wife was barely cold in the grave. 

At least, to them.

Mor did not know whether to weep for him or scream at the Mother for such a cruel twist of fate. 

She tried—gods above, she tried—to find comfort in the idea that maybe, maybe, the Mother had taken pity on them. That maybe this girl, this human girl, was a reincarnation of you. That after twenty long years, the Mother had given them back their Lady of the Night in another form.

Maybe it meant something that Rhys had tried to stay away and yet still found himself drawn to her. That he had gone to her wedding, torn her from it like it had been destiny.

But then Mor met Feyre Archeron.

And she was not you.

There was no flicker of recognition in her soul, no trace of the woman who had stood at Rhys’s side and defied the world for him. There was no laughter shared between them, no secret glances of knowing, no familiarity in the way she moved, the way she breathed.

Feyre Archeron was not you.

And that—that—was the day Mor finally had to accept that her Lady of the Night was truly gone. That her friend would not return with answers, would not be one step ahead of the Hybern threat. That the burden of ruling Hwen City in your stead now lay heavy on Mor’s own shoulders. That she would have to look into your parents’ grief-stricken faces—the only other good thing to come out of the Court of Nightmares besides their daughter—over and over again.

No, Feyre Archeron was not you.

But maybe… maybe she was something else.

Maybe she was a way forward.

Maybe this was the Mother’s last gift to Rhys—this broken, furious, made-fae girl who was his mate, who was, despite everything, starting to put the pieces of him back together.

Perhaps that was why, when Mor finally pushed Rhysand to do something, to try, she used your name.

"She was not your mate, Rhys. No matter how much either of you wanted it to be true. So maybe she sent this one as an apology. I do not think death would keep our Lady from interfering with her court one last time."

And for the first time in days, a snort of laughter—soft, broken, real—escaped Rhysand’s lips.

Mor leaned back against the couch, tipping her whiskey toward him in silent victory.

"I just want to know why," he admitted at last, his voice hoarse as he stared out at the night sky. Whiskey sat in both their hands, the golden liquid catching the light. Not Mor’s drink of choice, but damned if she was going to drink anything else tonight. "Not a single word to me, but a letter. One letter that I burned so no one would ever find out that even Under that awful place, she kept trying to help others. Tried to help me."

"Did her plan work?" Mor muttered, swirling her drink in her glass.

Rhys let out another humorless chuckle. "To perfection. Amarantha’s trust in me skyrocketed after that—deserted by my own dead wife? That was enough to leash me for the rest of time was everyone’s thought. The rest think my wife was a fool, that she got someone from their courts killed." 

Something dark flickered in the room. A pulse of power. A physical manifestation of Rhys’s barely leashed rage. 

Because this court—this family—would defend their Lady of the Night until their own deaths. "I don’t want Feyre to think she’s a replacement for another. Because she’s not—"

"I don’t think anyone who knows you would think that, Rhys." Because you couldn’t be replaced. "She’d want you to be happy. The least you owe her is to be happy."

Rhys stared down into his drink. "I know."

And for the first time in days, Mor almost believed him.

So she didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t hesitate when Rhys gave the order to retrieve Feyre from Spring, to pull his mate from the suffocating golden cage Tamlin had locked her in. Didn’t hesitate to make the girl feel welcome in their court, to offer her a hand despite the ghosts that still lingered in their halls, in their hearts.

Because if Cassian and Azriel—who had known grief longer than most had been alive—could accept Feyre, even while mourning the one they had lost, then so could Mor.

But what did make her hesitate—what had made her stomach tighten, her throat go dry—was when Feyre had seen that portrait in the Townhouse.

One of several Rhysand had commissioned centuries ago. One that, no matter how many years passed, would remain untouched.

"Who is this?" Feyre marveled aloud, fingers brushing along the frame, delicate, reverent.

Despite the gentleness of the touch, Mor wanted to pull her away.

It was instinct, that unyielding need to preserve what little remained of the Lady of the Night Court. To protect the few pieces of you that still lingered, still existed beyond memory, beyond stories whispered in the quiet hours of the night.

Feyre tilted her head, brows furrowing slightly. "She looks familiar."

Mor’s breath caught. A trick of the mind, surely. A passing resemblance buried somewhere in Feyre’s subconscious. It was impossible.

"That’s not possible," Mor said, forcing a casualness she did not feel, hands clasping loosely before her. "She’s dead."

"Dead?" Feyre turned toward her, blinking.

She should have left it at that. Should have let the moment pass. But Feyre only studied the portrait again, gaze tracing the elegant lines of your face, the ethereal glow the artist had captured in your immortal features. Then, softer, almost to herself—

"I wouldn’t forget seeing someone this beautiful."

Mor let out a slow breath, willing herself to stay composed. "She was," she admitted. "Beautiful. Kind. Clever. Too clever for her own good, sometimes." Her lips twitched, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "But she’s been dead for over twenty years now. She—" The High Fae hesitated, staring at the painting, as if expecting you to step out of it, to prove her wrong, to laugh and scold her for being so sentimental. But you never would.

So she turned back to Feyre and said, voice gentler now, "The woman in that portrait was the last Lady of this Court. Rhys’s late wife."

Silence.

Feyre stiffened, her fingers retracting from the frame as if she had touched something sacred, something forbidden.

Mor only continued, because someone had to say it, had to make Feyre understand what that portrait meant, what you had meant. "She died while they were Under the Mountain."

“He never said.” 

"It’s hard. We all just found out about it while he lived with the knowledge for over twenty years."

It should have been that. It was that.

Even when Rhysand and Feyre had secretly married, when Mor had stood in front of his High Lord, her anger had not been at the bond or the ceremony. It had been at him. At the fact that he had let Feyre go back to Spring alone. That he had risked losing her, too.

But when he had finally told them, She is not just your lady. She is your High Lady.

Mor had felt the smallest, quietest relief.

Because your title was still your own.

Every other Lady of the Court was but a high title for a consort, a place beside their High Lord and nothing more. But you had taken that title and made it into something greater. You had honored Rhysand’s mother with it, had turned it into a crown forged in power and shadow and fear.

You had made the world know the power of your name.

And when she still heard the whispers—the Illyrian warriors murmuring of the Lady of the Night coming to claim their souls, the Court of Nightmares speaking your name in hushed reverence, in fear—

It brought a smile to Mor’s face.

Because even now, even dead, you were still a legend.

Even he—her father, cruel and wretched as he was—would not dare speak against you. Not in front of others. Even if the Court of Nightmares hated Rhysand, even if they despised her, they had, at the very least, respected your name.

Even if it should have been that—should have been only that—it was all ruined for her when Feyre’s sister, Elain, found that portrait in the old office in the House of Wind.

When she had wandered into a magically sealed room that no one had opened in over a decade—doors that should have remained locked, untouched.

And yet, there Elain had stood, in the middle of that forgotten space, staring up at the portrait as if it had spoken to her.

Mor had barely managed to get out a sharp, “Elain, what are you doing in here?” before the seer whispered—

"She’s waiting."

A chill slithered down Mor’s spine. "What?"

Elain didn’t look away from the painting.

Didn’t blink.

Her eyes, too bright, too knowing, stayed fixed on the face immortalized in that portrait—on you.

"She’s waiting," Elain repeated, softer this time. "She was lost, but the stars kept her safe. Kept them both safe. A daughter of darkness, cradled by fire. Hidden, hidden… but the storm is coming. Slipping faster than she could catch it. Stop it."

Mor's stomach plummeted.

No.

No, Elain had to be wrong. Had to be seeing something else, someone else.

Because you were dead.

But even as they left that room, even as Mor slammed the doors shut, sealed them tight with wards no one should be able to break again—

Something in her chest knotted.

Anxiety. Dread. Sorrow.

And the tiniest flicker of hope.

Her feet carried her forward at a slow pace.

Mor wasn’t sure if that whisper of hope had stripped all sense of reason from her. If it was something she should crush beneath her heel, should let go.

Because if you had been alive—if you were alive—you would have come back.

And if you were—somewhere—the political disaster that would unfold…

Mor exhaled, rubbing her hands over her face as if she could scrub the thoughts away. Maybe she was just angry. Still furious with Rhysand for promising her father access to Velaris, for opening up the Moonstone Palace.

For giving access to your things, to the rooms you had once filled with your presence. Mor had made sure to seal them twice over. 

It wasn’t fair—to Feyre, to her High Lady, to the female who had done nothing but try to find her place in a court still haunted by ghosts. She didn’t want to hurt Feyre. Not in any way.

Feyre, who had never asked for any of this.

Feyre, who had willingly left the portraits untouched, who had once sat near them and said, “It brings me a strange sort of comfort. Like she’s holding my hand.”

Feyre, who had wandered into that old, abandoned room—the one that had belonged to you—because it was the only place she had felt like she could breathe with everything happening. "I would have liked to meet her."

Maybe Mor was just awful for wanting to know the truth so badly that she was willing to drag another down this pit of hope and anxiety.

But…

She knew where to find Az at this hour.

A small lake just outside Velaris.

A place pulled down with memories—of stolen afternoons, of you lounging on a blanket with a book in one hand and a drink in the other. The laughter so loud and bright it made her chest ache. Of a night that had ended with her doubled over, vomiting into the bushes while you—drunkenly snorting—tried to rub her back, only to kneel over and throw up right beside her.

Az had been beside himself, torn between disgust and amusement. "Idiots," he had muttered, handing both of them water. "The worst drunkards I’ve ever seen."

And you—gods above, you—had only groaned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "You love us. Not a word to Cassian about this.”

She found him standing at the edge of the water, wings tucked in, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders as he stared out across the lake. The moonlight turned the surface silver, broken only by the ripples of a passing breeze.

Azriel had barely glanced over his shoulder at her, brow raised.

"I need your help, but you can't tell anyone what we're doing." The words tumbled out too fast, rushed, breathless.

Az blinked at her. He should have told her no. Should have said that if Rhys asked, he would tell him. Should have reminded her that they had all made promises, all sworn. But Azriel remained quiet, letting her continue.

She only had to say your name once to prompt the slightest reaction—so slight that anyone else might have missed it.

The faintest hitch in his breath. The way his shadows coiled tighter around his shoulders. And then Mor was spilling it.

Everything.

Elain’s words. The way she had looked at that portrait, the way her voice had gone distant, hollow. The certainty that laced her tone, as if she knew. As if she had seen.

Mor’s theories followed, unraveling in rapid, desperate succession. Outlandish, impossible, reckless—but still she said them. Because if she didn’t say them, if she didn’t speak them aloud, she might drown in them. "Tell me I am going crazy," she finally pleaded. "Tell me I am grieving and this whole Hybern-at-our-doors nightmare has made me insane."

Her voice cracked.

Azriel just stared at her. Did not say a word. He should have said something. Should have reassured her, told her she was being ridiculous, told her that grief was making her see things that weren’t there.

But he didn’t.

And that was what terrified her the most.

Because Azriel did not waste words. Did not entertain fantasies. If there was no truth to her theories, if she was simply unraveling under everything, he would have told her.

Mor crossed her arms, trying to ground herself. “Say something.”

He hesitated. Too long.

"I don’t know what you want me to say," he admitted at last. His voice was quiet, careful.

"Say I’m wrong. Say it’s impossible."

A muscle feathered in his jaw. His eyes flickered with something she couldn’t place.

"You’re grieving," he finally said. "That much is true. We all still are."

Mor clenched her teeth, looking away, looking at the lake, anywhere but at him. He hadn’t said she was wrong.

"Az—"

"Elain sees things we don’t understand," he interrupted. "Not all of them make sense. Not all of them come true in the way we think."

But that wasn’t a denial.

And Mor knew—knew—that if Azriel had any doubt about something, he would hunt it down until he found the truth.

"So you don’t believe me," she muttered, shaking her head. "But you don’t not believe me either."

He said nothing. That silence was worse than any answer he could have given her. Silence meant he was considering it.

Silence meant that somewhere, buried in that impossibly mind of his, he had asked himself the same question she had:

What if?

What if Elain’s vision was true?

What if you had survived?

What if there was still some part of you out there, waiting in the dark?

The thought made her chest ache.

She ran a hand through her hair, laughing bitterly. “This is ridiculous. She would have come home.”

"Maybe she wouldn’t. Not if it would hurt Rhys. Not if it would hurt this court."

The words were so quiet, so carefully spoken, that it took her a moment to realize he had actually said them.

Mor’s stomach twisted.

"You think—" She shook her head. "No. No, Rhys would have felt it if she were alive. They’re minds were link—"

"That was only a thread," Azriel murmured. "And it can be severed. Blocked out. A wall as cold as death."

Mor went still.

"If there is even a chance Elain is right," Mor whispered, barely able to say it aloud, "we have to find out, Az. We have to know."

His shadows swirled, as if responding to her words.

A long silence stretched between them.

Then—Azriel exhaled, long and slow.

"There is a rumor…”

[getaapologist]

The Geta x Servant!Reader lore just keeps getting better and better 😍😭 If it ever strikes your fancy, I would love to see what happens if someone else (a bold servant or a drunk senator perhaps) tried to put their hands on her. Or literally anything else you want to write because I will continue eating it up and enjoying every moment of it!

More servant!reader because why not? We all deserve happiness.

[ Prior entry in the servant!reader blurb saga here ]

Loud, boisterous laughter. Soft music filtering in, a cool evening that drew the guests out into the gardens. 

The stars were bright pinpricks of light above, the sky clear.

Large hands gripped your calves, your ankles, your legs strewn across Geta’s lap. He was deep in conversation with a senator, who thought the wine and merriment might make Geta more amenable to whatever his desires were.

Or perhaps, having you in his lap would do the trick. 

If there was any discomfort in your legs, it would have been worked out quickly as Geta kneaded your muscles. 

“Emperor?” you whispered, not wanting to interrupt him, but greatly desiring one of the sweet cakes back in the main room.

He didn’t take his eyes off the Senator, but gave your ankle a squeeze, as if he sensed you wished to get up. His touch returned the shackle, but it was no longer a burden or a restraint. It was a soft band of silk, a tether, a way back to him. 

His hands left your legs and he glanced over as you slid off his lap, his eyes raking over you. “Do not be long, little lamb.”

The grass was cold beneath your bare feet, and the stone floor was even colder still. Geta had stolen your sandals earlier, deft fingers pulling at the thin leather cords keeping them on.

Still, your destination was just ahead, the table piled high with sweets and other things. You took your time, adding things to a small plate that you enjoyed, but also things you knew Geta particularly liked, just in case he wanted something. 

“I have not seen you at these gatherings before, for I would surely remember you.” The voice carried a smile with it, and you looked up, laying eyes on a man you did not recognize, clad in the white robes of a senator. “What is your name?” 

The smell of the bitter wine on his breath was unavoidable. You could see the slight sway in his posture as he stood, emboldened by the alcohol.

You knew better, you knew this was a situation you wanted to avoid. You missed the protective aura that Geta provided. You felt untouchable when with him. You wished you could tug on that tether, bring Geta over. But in lieu of that, you tried to remain polite as you dismissed his interest. “I must go, excuse me.”

A firm, unrelenting grip wrapped around your upper arm, stopping you, pulling you back to where he stood, his brows drawn together in barely veiled frustration.

“You refuse to answer me?”

“You really shouldn’t do that,” Caracalla warned, his voice lilting as an amused grin spread across his face. "That's his favorite." He approached the table, loading up a small plate of his own as if this confrontation were not occurring.

You could not ask Caracalla to intervene, You did not enjoy the same latitude with him as you did with his brother. You could only bring your arms up to try to shield yourself from the man’s prying eyes.

The hand at your arm tightened its grip, yanking you forward. The plate in your hands fell to the floor with a loud clatter, drawing all attention to where you stood.

Embarrassment and fear filled you, remnants of your former work not feeling so distant now as you looked down at the mess on the floor. You longed to scoop it up, lamenting the wasted sweet cakes.

“You will unhand her, senator!” Geta spoke, his voice laden with fury.

Before the man could, his hand was wrenched away from you, his breath leaving his lungs in a forceful huff as he was pushed up against a nearby column. Your skin burned painfully where the man’s hand had been. 

Caracalla leaned against the table nearby, watching with great amusement.

Geta raged, the halls echoing with his threats. His face and throat were bright red, neck flexing, veins prominent. You overheard something about being fed to lions before you needed a distraction from the attention.

Discomfort overwhelming, you knelt down to the floor, scooping the ruined cakes onto the empty plate in an effort to forestall the tears. The cakes were so destroyed, they were in small pieces, your hands growing quite messy as you attempted to clean them up.

“Leave it,” Geta whispered, his large hands stilling yours. The sticky sweet mess did not bother him, his large brown eyes worried. As he saw your expression, he moved his palms to your cheeks, urging you to look at him.

Shame burned through you, as if this was all your fault. “I am sorry, Emperor.”

Geta shook his head, anger in his expression, though it was not directed at you. “No, little lamb,” he whispered. “This is not your fault.” His tenderness was almost shocking after the volley of verbal abuse he’d just spewed at the senator. 

Geta stood, orders leaving his reddened throat. The senator was cast out, never to be invited again. The mess was cleaned up, a fresh plate laden with more sweets sent to his chambers. He even managed to ignore Caracalla’s derisive chuckling as he used a wet cloth to clean the both of your fingers.

“Cheer up, little lamb,” he smiled softly, nudging your chin with his knuckle. His large chestnut eyes watched you, eventually falling to the arm where the man had grabbed you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, reaching for his wrist. His eyes flitted down to the point of contact before meeting yours again, something else in his gaze.

He seemed to hesitate, something unexpected causing him to falter for a moment. And only a moment. Hunger surfaced in his eyes, his desire to smooth things over, to get you to forget about the handsy senator surely at the forefront of his mind. “Come, let me feed you all the cake you care to enjoy, mea mellitula.”

A/N: 'mea mellitula' is roughly my honey. Maybe we forgot about the finger incident, but clearly Geta didn't.

[directdogman]

Hi dogman!

Would it be possible to get more information on the Dialtown Mob? Please and thank you :)

Most of the relative facts about the Mob in present day are mentioned in-game. They're shown to be a weak + incompetent underclass that operate as bottom-feeders who only get to exist because they're in the Mayor's pocket. Barely any members, no influence outside of their connection with the Mayor and live in constant fear of her. Of course, it wasn't always this way.

The history of the Dialtown Mob is quite a long + interesting one. It's probably best to think of it less as a singular organization that has always existed within DT and more a rotating group of people with overlapping interests, with a rough and ever-changing internal hierarchy. Its purpose changes as often as its members. This'll be quite a history lesson.

DT Pre-Crown basically only suffered from petty crime for the most part. Being a rural town with not much to offer, the most DT faced in terms of genuine activity were occasional members of the Chicago outfit stopping through on their way to Michigan from Ashland, who generally just passed through, staying for a night at most.

During Crown's tenure as Mayor, the mob as it exists now didn't exactly exist. But, Crown had a lot of passionate supporters in the town, and not all of them were strictly law abiding citizens. While Crown's own directives as Mayor generally involved him re-writing laws or bending the wording of laws to fit his will, rather than breaking them, a pseudo-legal presence did exist within DT at this time.

This loosely affiliated organization of people were not targeted by Dialtown's police force, but rather, worked alongside them. Crown's all-inclusive vision of Dialtown had many moving parts, you see. Due to Dialtown's relative wealth and prosperity during this time, Callum understood that the only way to keep Dialtown from being ran over by gangs in other Midwestern cities was to have reliable people with contacts (who could identify crooks from other cities + recognize trouble a mile away.) Crown had an understanding with these people, that non-violent and petty crimes, forgery, fencing and the like were okay... So long as the line was towed and they maintained standards for themselves AND anyone who wished to make trouble in town.

This was a marriage of convenience, an extra-legal wing of Dialtown's residents who ensured that nothing worse could form in town and provided useful intelligence to Crown's police force.

In truth, many members of this network had jobs working for Crown's subordinates and the crime rate in town was always relatively low for a city of its size and wealth. Due to their connections with Cal's industries, they knew who every important visitor in town was and they knew who to leave alone. Anyone who got too greedy or caused seriously trouble for the town (within and outside this network) were dealt with. Brutally. They had a good thing going and knew how to protect it.

After Crown became a senator, he appointed a replacement Mayor, who kept the deal going. When Crown needed muscle at rallies, he made a phone call and soon, men dressed in suits with tire irons were watching the back of the crowd. As Crown's company moved around the country and installed itself in more big cities, more and more of his supporters became affiliated with this network nation-wide, rapidly growing in numbers.

Quickly, a more radical element formed within this network. A political element, prepared to intimidate and threaten politicians who opposed Crown's revolution. This wasn't just a case of looking after their own interests. They were fiercely loyal to Crown and believed in his movement as much as he did. During Crown's run for president, the Kennedy campaign became quite concerned about this development, realizing they now had no viable way to get rid of Crown, as he was the only thing barely reining in his fanatical supporters, and if he were to suddenly disappear, no one would be protecting their own associates' businesses (or themselves) from their rage, guaranteeing Nixon a win and badly crippling their support come the next election.

When Callum became president, his scope widened and his focus on his home state waned. This caused his followers to realign themselves further and new hierarchies formed within the network that Crown wasn't aware of. With general autonomy (but occasional direction from Crown), Dialtown continued to flourish. Of course, then Crown's memory went.

What followed in Dialtown was political chaos. So much of Crown's movement had become synonymous with himself and no one on the ground in DT knew what should happen next. Many of Crown's associates tried to get Marla to run the town and try to revive his movement, which she staunchly refused to do, instead returning to private life to raise her son in solitude.

Infighting became the norm and many of leaders of Dialtown's industries, all still officially ran by the city, vied for power to gain control of the town. Violence was common during this interregnum. Ironically, the network dividing themselves along political/systematic lines wound up not only weakening each composite industry's grip on the town, but also reduced the sum power of the network's members. Many leading officials were charged with RICO predicates, constantly leaving the town in political turmoil as each last remaining leader of the Town was swept away + many subordinates arrested.

Eventually, nothing was left but petty crime, ran by the few within this network who weren't affiliated with the town's unions/industries and thus, didn't have enough influence to draw Federal attention. Most of Dialtown's industries were privatized and ran by companies led by citizens who kept their distance from criminal elements as a means of self preservation. Even the unions wound up getting cleaned out and lost much of their political power.

THIS is when this network began truly resembling DT's mob. A conglomerate of criminals who hadn't picked a side, led by middlemen who were deposed when DT's core industries were picked apart. Many shod their previous identities as they no longer amounted to anything. The only remnant of their former connections now being that they headquartered in the Lock and Whiskey, a bar frequented by members of Dialtown's largest service trade-union (though the two entities kept their distance from each other outside of their lower-tier members intermingling.) As time went on, the Lock and Whiskey became the sole thing keeping the Mob afloat.

Dialtown became a place for punks from other Midwestern cities to occasionally filter into. With a lack of good work going around town, a relatively small number of these guys became affiliated with DT's mob, which couldn't afford to turn recruits away, due to how many of their own kept getting shot or arrested. Soon, the new outnumbered the old. This is where you get guys like Stabby/Shooty, who have little clue just how powerful their predecessors truly were.

Mingus predecessor, Chett Alderman, kept the town relatively safe by increasing police funding, but this came with a greater tax burden on DT's struggling middle class. Amidst Dialtown's stagnant economy and relative poverty, the Mob maintained a consistent power structure but struggled to financially support themselves outside of maintaining their working class bar. This made them easy prey for Mayor Mingus, who gutted their power structure and attempted to use what was left for her own benefit, providing lackluster muscle on occasion and kicking up a meager amount of cash just to avoid being wiped out by her entirely.

Hope this helps!

[bluetooththereptile]

The other family

(Yandere batfamily x reader) (Coraline coded au)

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

This fic was inspired by this post.

Note: I've loosely based this on Wika by Olivier ledriot and tales of Bogymen taking abused and neglected children away to punish the parents.

Tw: yandere tendencies, child neglect, horror?

The sound of the crickets outside your open window was mixed with the distant noises of the fan in your room working to help with the heat that had haunted Wayne Manor for a week now, the heat wave that had hit Gotham a few days ago was unbearable, even during the nights. You tossed around in your bed, refusing to let go of the green dragon plushie that had been your loyal companion for your days at daycare. You looked into its faded eyes because of rough use and a pout came to your lips, maybe you should take Hamlet with you, yeah, the other mom would allow it right?

You had spent your days enjoying your slushies, and milkshakes, playing video games, and rolling on the cool sheets of your bed, but whatever you did you found yourself slowly losing your patience, they had said you could go back to them every weekend so where was the other cat? You poked your head out of your bedroom now and then to catch a glimpse of its white fluffy fur but it was nowhere to be seen in the dark hallway that seemed to stretch on.

Trying to pass the time you snuck out of your room to take another ice cream from the freezer, maybe its taste would calm your nerves, you were supposed to be asleep by nine pm but you knew you had to stay awake until midnight for the other cat to come and find you, it was it's routine by now even if it meant you'd get scolded by Alfred, the only person that cared for your sleep schedule, it was worth it!

You walked past the empty rooms of Others who had gone to patrol that night, your feet made little noise as you walked past the rooms one by one, turning past the corners to get to the main staircase of the Manor, you glanced at the few doors you could recognize in the dim light, holding hamlet closer to your chest as you walked past Dick's guest room, he always said he'd be there for you, but you couldn't remember the last time he had sat down to talk to you like he did with others, maybe it was because he was too old for you? But he always told others that he didn't care about that. You couldn't comprehend why you were invisible to your oldest sibling.

You walked past Tim's room as well before poking your head to the corner that lead to the room Mom and Dad shared, you padded closer, peaking in with curiosity through the ajar door to see your mom sitting behind her vanity desk, lazily filing her nails as she talked to her phone. Her back facing the door. She had put on her usual hair curling rolls, the sound of her soft chuckles in the air as she spoke with her friend. Mom never laughed like that when she was with you or Dad, unless she was shopping, maybe she liked buying gifts for herself so that was why she was happy shopping? You loved gifts too!

"Yeah I don't know, Bruce is getting rather boring, to be honest" Selina sighed as she leaned back in her seat, putting her slender legs up on the low-level vanity, "yeah, good thing I've dragged on the engagement, imagine I bite the trap" She snorted as she filed her forefinger, "Y/N?" You tensed at hearing your name "I'm not sure about the kid, I mean I never wanted a child to begin with but now that I'm strapped to a grown-up toddler what else can I do but stay? I don't know maybe I give up the custody to Bruce or something like that, you know me, I'm not for the domestic life"

Hearing your mom say those things was both confusing and sad, you didn't understand why mom didn't love dad, dad loved her so much! To the point that he always made sure to call her every day! Dad rarely called to the daycare to talk with you, unless he wanted to say happy birthday or something like that since rarely came home at night, Alfred would pick you up or send someone trusted to take you back home, but Dad made sure to take Mom everywhere himself! Plus if mom didn't like you why did she give birth to you? Were you unwanted?

You clutched Hamlet to your chest and buried your face into its fur as you walked passed the door towards the kitchen. Maybe you would take a bag of snacks with the ice cream, yeah eating always soothed you. Getting down the stairs you walked inside the kitchen, sneaking in to open the door of the double freezer only to be stopped by Alfred who gave you a knowing look, making you freeze as you sheepishly looked up.

"I just wanted a chocolate ice cream, it's too hot in my room," you said trying to give your best puppy eyes look, the older man put his hands on his hips giving you a scolding look in return "Too much dairy makes your stomach hurt, remember?" He spoke, his voice firm but not harsh, you pouted as you held the handle of the freezer's door "Please just tonight? I've been good today" you pleaded, Alfred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before he gave in and handed you a small tub of ice cream with a spoon. "Just be careful to not spill it alright?" He spoke softly, his eyes saddening a little as he watched your small smile, you rarely smiled these days.

You walked out of the kitchen, holding the cold tub in your hand before you froze at the sight of the white feline at the end of the hall, looking at you expectantly, the tub and the spoon fell from your hand as if you were under a spell and you enthusiastically followed the cat, eyes wide with excitement "Alfred!" You called in a hushed tone to the other cat who was sitting patiently for you, its crimson eyes blinking softly as its long tail swished about, Damian's cat Alfred never liked you for some reason, but this one loved being around you purring as it came to your vicinity.

"Hello, kitty kitty!" You bent down to pet the fluffy creature who arched its back to your touch, lovingly rubbing against your legs, gently kneading your slippers. The soft "mrrp" sound of the cat made you smile more, searching under its chin. "Good kitty!" You cooed, before giggling softly as the cat licked your fingers gently, rubbing its head to your fingers to make you pet it a little more, purring a storm.

After the cat had its fair share of your attention it turned around and padded away before turning back to look at you as if to say "What are you waiting for? Follow me!" You followed the feline creature with a big smile on your lips, walking through hallway after hallway, not noticing the walls and temperature shifting as the other cat guided you to another world. It was your weekly routine now.

It soon turned too cold as you walked deeper into the hallways and you started to shiver, holding Hamlet even closer as you finally walked through a single door at the end of the hallway you were at, entering the entrance hall of the Wayne Manor again, where you had started your journey with the other cat, but the coldness of the air and the eerie lights of the lamps and candles gave you the signs that you were at the Other Side.

You looked around squealing with joy at the sight of the other Alfred who held a large blanket for you, standing by a large chair close to the light fireplace greeted you with a warm smile, chuckling as you ran to him, opening his arms before snugging you in the warm blanket in his hands. He gently wrapped you up fully, putting you on the chair to warm you up. He hummed a soft song under his breath, making you giggle as he wiped your face with a warm towel he had nearby. The other Alfred rarely spoke for some reason.

"My baby!" The other mom called for you loudly, making your head snap up and you nearly fell from your seat from excitement at the sight of her in a comfortable set of clothes, so much different than what your mom used to wear, making you feel uncomfortable even if she was at home with you. "Mo-!" Before you could say anything you were in other mom's arms, showered with her kisses. "Oh, my baby! How I've missed you!" She kept kissing your now rosy cheeks, giggling with you as she held you close. She smelt of lilacs, and she was even more beautiful than your own mom, her silvery eyes were warm, just like her smile. She didn't wear too much makeup that would cake on your skin like whenever your own mom kissed you. Her skin was soft and her unpainted lips were always smiling, making your little heart flutter.

You let out a soft squeak when you felt more pressure around you, sneaking a peak from the other mom's embrace to see the other dad holding both you and the other mom, smiling warmly. "How have you been my sweetling?" The other dad's voice was deeper and he had the same silver eyes as the others on the other side. You felt your cheeks hurt from how much you were smiling. A loud laugh left you as the other dad tickled you through the blanket, the couple chuckling at the sight of your joy. The other dad was always home when you were visiting the other side, even if others were on patrol he was there, he still loved the other mother just like your dad did, but the other also loved...you.

The other dad held you two for a long time, as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn't run away just like the first time you did when you had gotten into the other side. Which had become a side joke with your other family. "You need a good bath and new clothes before dinner" The other mom hummed as she sniffed your hair, her comment finally breaking the hold of the hug around you.

The other dad picked you up without a struggle, making you giggle "Daddy!" You called, making a soft shuddering breath leave his lips at the way you called him that, you had started opening up to the couple and it filled them with joy, you had heard the other Alfred and the other Dick discuss this before, apparently, the other mom and dad were depressed for a long, long time. You couldn't see how the other mom put her hand over her mouth as she nearly teared up at the way you called the other Bruce that. "Again" the other dad whispered "hm?" You tilted your head to the side, holding Hamlet with your hand as the other held onto the other dad's shoulder "Call me again" the other dad insisted, and you smiled as you called him again "Daddy!", he closed his eyes as he buried his face into your hair for a whole minute, his board shoulders tense as he tried to hold back his tears, his baby was alive again, alive!

The other dad took you to your other room filled with everything you liked after he had come to his senses, the other mom had made sure to decorate your room to your tastes and had even changed the wallpaper three times for you. The fireplace there was on, and the bathroom was already filled with steam coming off of the glistening marble bathtub there, when you got close to the bathroom you curiously looked at the bubbles in the air, gasping. You had never seen a bathbomb make bubbles! "Bubbles!" You squealed in joy as you popped one, making the other dad's smile widen. He kissed your forehead before he put you down gently, the other mom undressed you carefully, and then she shooed her husband away when she started to take off your underwear "It's a private moment with me and my baby!" She had said,  making the other dad groan. You jumped on your feet as the cold air hit you, making the other mom coo as she picked you up by your sides "It's okay! It's okay!" She then lowered you into the warm water, watching with satisfaction as your body eased down.

The other dad left the bathroom as the other mom washed you, soothingly wiping the dried sweat off you with a soft loofah. You had never been washed like this before, sure Alfred washed you nearly daily or you'd manage to shilishali your way in a shower, but it wasn't as enjoyable as this one. The other mom would coo and softly praise you for heeding her gentle orders to put your arms up, holding her hand over your eyes as she poured water on your hair, making goofy hairstyles with you as you watched yourself in the mirror at the other side of the bathroom. Your giggles filling the air, ignorant of the snow falling outside.

After washing you up the other mom carefully rinsed you, drying you up before she gently put soothing lotion on the soles of your feet and your knees that you had scrapped after a rough play at daycare. You loved seeing the other mom dote on you and pamper you like no other. She even made sure to dry your ear canals, making you scrunch up your nose as she hit a spot while drying up your left ear "It was itchy wasn't it?" She asked, chuckling as you nodded. The other mom laughed a lot with you, and you never grew tired of it. Her voice was like an angel's always making you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

The other mom dried your hair with a blow dryer, brushing it carefully before putting on a pair of very cozy and warm pajamas for you. "But Mommy I shouldn't wear pajamas to dinner!" You said, confused "Mommy makes the rules and you can wear whatever you want to dinner" She booped your nose after that, She then gave Hamlet back to you before putting on your fuzzy socks. You wiggled your toes to watch the googly eyes of the bears on your socks move, oh how much you had begged your mom to buy you those cute socks but she hadn't, calling them too silly.

The other mom held you as she walked to the dining room and by the moment she opened the door others burst into energy and mirth at the sight of you, Everyone was there, even the other Damian was smiling! Speaking of your other brother he was quick to rush towards you and hug you tightly after the other mom put you down, Damian never hugged you like this, even if he said he was your older brother, him saying that always rang hollow, but with the other Damian? Oh, it was something else!

Damian held your hand as he guided you to your seat and helped you sit on it, petting your head and Hamlet's. The other mom sat at your left side and the other Damian sat at the right, and as others spoke with each other the other mom put a napkin on your lap and neatly snug one on your collar and chest before she put a spoon full of your favorite stew in your mouth, and you ate with enthusiasm. Chewing the savory roast with both your cheeks full.

The other dad smiled leaning on his elbow as he watched you eat, putting his hand on the other mom's shoulder as she put spoonful after spoonful into your mouth, his eyes soft and full of love for you. You still remembered the first time you had met him, his face was of shock and confusion "Angel?" He had called you but you had meekly mumbled out your name, making him gasp and speak of something along the lines of "Our prayers were answered, glory to Balor!" Who was Balor? No one answered you that.

The other mom was so kind, dabbing napkins on your mouth if a bit of food smeared the corners of it, watching you chew and swallow before putting another spoon of the hearty stew, giving you the juiciest cuts of meat that melted into your mouth. You scrunched up your nose again at her as you tasted a tangy bit, making her giggle "It's alright sweetie, just try to swallow it" and you did with slight difficulty. "Good job!" She clapped her hands together, the ring on her finger shining. The other mom had married the other dad, unlike your mom who seemed to hate that.

You noticed the small dark tint to her nails, her nails had started to darken more and more since the first time you had met, maybe she liked black nail polish? Your mom put on some now and then, but your mind couldn't see how she had grown taller at each visit, oh how her actions had turned more and more clingy, you weren't privy to her tearful night with her mate, when she'd hiss and growl as she shredded the body of another child by the alter of Balor, begging him to give her a chance of a sacrificial ceremony, to which the being had agreed to. Her lost child was coming back home once more.

Your gaze looked around as the other mom put a piece of bread for you to munch on in your hands as Hamlet sat on your lap. You noticed Dick, smiling at him as your memories with him flooded your mind. Even if the other Dick was busy speaking with the other Jason but he still waved to you every time you looked at him, as if he could sense your gaze.

You noticed the other Jason waving your way as well "Nice plushie" he commented, making you hold up Hamlet proudly "Ooh very nice!" The other Jason was so much kinder than the Jason you were used to, he would pick you up and tickle you, blowing raspberries on your belly and smile whenever you talked to him, even if you still could see the pain in his eyes he made sure to dote on you, playing with you and Hamlet.

The other Tim was busy eating his food, but he gave you glances, each time smiling as your eyes met, he had insisted on reading you books when you took naps at the other side since the very first time, though it had turned into more a rivalry with him and the other mom and the other Damian to take turns tucking you in.

The other Damian held your hand as he ate his food in silence, gently squeezing your hand every so often, offering his piece of food as if to mimic the other mom "Damian you know my baby gets stomachaches if you give your baby sibling too much dairy" She gently reminded the other Damian who with a loud "Hmph" took his spoon away from your mouth, making you pout. "It's okay sweetie, I'm just looking out for you" She chuckled as she pinched your nose gently. 

The other Duke and Cass were nowhere to be seen, maybe they were on patrol that night, but you missed Cass's warm hugs and Duke's play times as you and him made pillow forts, having the other dad and Damian force siege onto it.

Everyone was happy, you were happy, and blissfully...ignorant. Maybe it was for the better as the other Alfred once had said to the couple "Let the child be oblivious to everything happening, it helps the transition to proceed smoother, stress and anxiety affect a child's choice."

It all had started with the bridge between the parallel worlds becoming thin when you had passed into a door during a restless night, entering a darker version of the world you lived in that was shrouded in perpetual night and winter, where the dark fae resided. You didn't know every human alive had a fae double living their own life on the other side, that was why you didn't know your own double had been long dead at the hands of the other joker, and how much your other family were overjoyed to find you there. And the other Selina, became obsessed with the idea of taking her child back by any means possible.

"It is against the rules" the other Bruce had said as his wife suggested the idea of taking you into the fold of the kin residing on the other side, but she had reminded him "They don't want the poor thing! We can give the sweet angel the love a child like the little one deserves! Look how eagerly the child clings to you! The child needs us, my love, the child needs me!" And that was when the family decided on setting a plan to turn your weekly visits, into a permanent stay.

"Sweetie" the other mom called for you" Everyone quieted down as they realized the moment of truth was going to happen "Do you want to stay with us?" The other mom asked softly as she rubbed your back "I'd love to stay the night Mommy!" You answered, making Alfred smile at your blissful innocence "No sweet baby, I mean do you like to stay with us forever?" The other father chimed in and you frowned as you tried to think. The other mom bit her lip nervously, maybe it was too early for her to suggest it? The couple watched anxiously as you tried to think about your decision "If I agree, I will be with mommy and daddy forever?" "Forever sweetie, and we won't leave you, ever" the other mom cooed, holding your hand as Hamlet fell onto the ground. "We will have lots of fun, mommy will be your best friend, and Daddy and others will play with you nonstop!" You smiled at the thought of it, melting the dark hearts of the fae sitting around the table. "Yes, mommy!" You agreed, and upon that, the mood shifted.

At hearing that the lights turned a greenish hue, as if on cue, and everyone seemed to grow taller and taller as your own body turned heavy, the illusion magic was wearing off and yet the couple was surprised to see you weren't panicking. "I'm sleepy Mommy" you mumbled with a soft yawn, and the female fae cooed softly at hearing that "It's alright sweetling, mommy will make sure to tuck you in" She reached out and picked up Hamlet from the ground, the plushie morphing into a grotesque figure of a dragon in her clawed hands before she tucked the toy in your arms. Your eyelids grew heavier as you sunk into the large seat behind the table, not noticing how everyone stood up from their seats, bowing to the haunting shadow appearing in the room.

A hissing voice spoke in a language you didn't know, and the female fae picked you up, holding you by the back of your knees and shoulders, passing you into the massive bony arms of the God of the dark elves, Balor, who wrapped you in its tangible shadowy form "Do not worry for the babe, rest this night my children, for tomorrow we will rejoice for a fae, reborn."

Your eyes closed as you slipped into a peaceful slumber. Before you found yourself in a bed of flowers, lying beside an angelic man in a lush garden. "Shush my child, sleep" the man soothed you "Birth will be painful" he murmured, gently tapping your chest as he lulled you into rest in your dream before the emergence of another life. "Your parents are waiting for you" he whispered in your ear with a warm voice, and then, your mortal heart stopped in his arms, your soul leaving your body that would soon the body of the many children in the garden of Balor, to land into the carefully preserved one of the sweetling of the other family of yours.

Born anew, in bliss and pain.

It took three days for everyone to notice you were gone, without a trace, nothing was lost but you and your favorite plushie, leaving your parents forever haunted by the memories of the child they took for granted.

Tags: @craulo13 @gaozorous-rex-blog @090909yh @demonprodegy @marise-eternal @jersules @goodsoup19 @candlejuice @worshipcoffee @geniegirlrocks @ghostgangleader @obsessedwithromance @theblacksirenofwinter2004 @ranshin03 @prettyboys247 @kinuraoj @iwannabeapinkaesthetic @legendarylearner18

[4thwallbreakerdraws2]

THE LOGIC OF SELF-INSERTS IN THE RTV! AU & BRAINWASH/MIND CONTROL

Getting this lore out now, to finally to stop procrastinating on school work lol

When it comes to RTV’s abilities you have to differentiate between Brainwash and Mind Control. Both are results of being exposed to a) RTV himself or b) his media. However, there are differences.

Brainwash:

People exposed to brainwash will start becoming incredibly attached to RTV. They will believe everything he says and feel a sense of loyalty. However, they also keep all their personality traits and characteristics, it’s simply their opinion that changes. Some even voice criticism, though it’s of course with the intent of helping RTV or seeking his approval. One big impact of this ability (aside from the tons of fan mail) is the uniting effect. RTV unintentionally United a lot of the Mushroom Kingdom as they bond over liking one thing: Him. However, that’s also leads to them turning towards everyone RTV dislikes. He just has to point his finger.

Example characters that are under brainwash: Chris & Swag

Mind Control:

When a person is hit with Mind Control, they turn into a puppet of RTV’s will. People like this will lose their personality traits and grow oddly stiff, monotone in speaking until RTV gives them an order on how to act. To be a victim of Mind Control, you have to be exposed to either RTV directly or his media for a long time. Ironically enough Mind Control is easier to break out from, as soon as a person starts becoming self-aware again, RTV will find it more and more difficult to put them back into a unconscious state. Because the person will remember and RTV can’t erase memories, he can only create.

Example characters for such a case: SMG3

Alright, not to the next lore part of this post: How Self-Inserts work in the RTV!AU

And I shall ping my fellow self-insert creators for that, since it may interest you lol (I JUST NOTICE HOW MANY U ARE HELP)

@fenicearts420, @runrabitrunrunrun, @lari-the-dragon, @selfshippinglover, @entityarts, @angelic-entity121, @untitled14360, @nia1sworld, @stalkersamsrptumbler, @niranutcake

Anyway, let’s get to it.

The different types of Self-Inserts:

Self-inserts appear in different forms in the RTV!Au and I’m sorry, I usually tend to go very meta with my lore SOBS Gotta stay true to my name. Anyway, beforehand: RTV can recognize self-inserts.

We will start off with the 1st type:

The self-insert that represents you through and through.

This self-insert is basically just yourself. There is no character, there never was someone else before, it’s simply a representation of yourself in the fictional world. Your self-insert acts like you, but most importantly: You have no backstory in the world. It’s like you simply just appeared.

How RTV recognizes you: RTV will immediately feel that you don’t belong in his world or the fictional in general. He will have no trouble recognizing you if he’s interacted or seen you on the site before.

2. The posessed self-insert.

With this I mean that the self-insert is supposed to represent you, but also has a story behind it, a past and maybe some characteristics that differ from you. Now, in the RTV!AU logic this means that you basically possessed a character that lived in the world beforehand. When you started writing/drawing yourself int the AU, you took control of said character. Some characters are aware of a change happening to them, while some remain oblivious. The ones that notice, often have to deal with the consequences of self-awareness about their existence. You’re basically like a symbiotic entity latching onto them.

How RTV recognizes you: In these cases RTV will slowly notice that something is off with the character, it’s all about how obvious the character or you make it. But at some point RTV will recognize that you are in control of the character, no matter how good it’s hidden away. It will take some time for him to always tell who is speaking however.

3. The self-insert by proxy.

This type of self-insert is not even supposed to represent you, but simply your OC implemented in the RTV!AU. In lore that means that you are practically just latching onto said character, able to experience what they experience. You don’t truly influence them, you simply observe their life.

How RTV recognizes you: RTV will only recognize you having a connection with this character if a) he sees it here on Tumblr, b) you told him or c) he spends a long time with said character.

Self-inserts and their history, as well as RTV’s feelings on them:

Self-inserts only started appearing in RTV’s world after he got his five stars because that’s when I started picking up his AU. Hence why his first encounter with a self-insert, is mine: Animsay.

RTV’s worst introduction to the concept, because Animsay is a Type 2 Self-insert. She previously existed as a nameless employee at the studio, one of the first, before RTV gradually started noticing behavior changes and something else being there. He finally figured out what it was when Animsay started talking about stuff she shouldn’t know about. So he dealt with that by ████████████████████████.

RTV’s opinion on self-inserts is conflicted. On one hand he sees them as useful. They give him more power, better his connection past the 4th wall and offer him knowledge. On the other hand they get into his business, disrespect him and know too much. If he has bad experiences with you guys, he will also have a bias for the self-insert.

Self-Inserts and Brainwash:

Self-Inserts can be brainwashed, if only Type 2 and 3. Type 3 gets the full brainwash experience like any other character in the AU if they are hit, Type 2 however may have moments of clarity, questioning things or noticing something is off because of your influence on said character. Type 1 cannot be brainwashed as it’s just you. You know his shtick.

For Mind Control it’s a bit different. Once again Type 2 and 3 are affected, but this time Type 2 is fully affected like Type 3. That’s because RTV is practically taking control of the character’s mind. You basically get pushed to the sidelines. Type 1 can this time get affected as well, if you allow it. But you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?