#I-I had a feeling that I belonged I-I had a feeling I could be someone be someone be someone You got a fast car Is it fast enough so you can

[caotictimmy]

Chapter 1: Oh my dear lamb, your heart is to big for you… (Madoka magica!reader)

Authors note: I know someone also posted a Madoka magica! Reader to. I promise our stories will be quite different (and very good! Please check their story out!!) anyways finally posted the first chapter. Please send requests or asks about this!!! Not proof read we die like almost every magical girl.

You weren’t special by any means.

You’ve known this for a while. You weren’t as athletic as Dick. You weren’t as intelligent as Damien. Hell, you weren’t really great at anything. You were good, but you weren’t great. There was something you were good at, hell even great. No one else in that family could ever come close to . Love. You were a creature of love at heart. Kindness overflowed from your mouth, seeping into anything around you. Most thought that was a gift. A kind heart, with only the purest intentions. The bat family didn’t though.

They all thought you were weak. You weren’t cut out to be a hero. You weren’t strong, you weren’t incredibly smart, you didn’t have any powers. You’re nothing like them. Would your kindness be able to save someone from a joker attack? Would your big heart be able to rescue people from a burning building? It wouldn’t. You just aren’t special like them, and you had to live with that fact every single day of your life. That you would never compare to anything, especially your family.

But you wanted to be like them so bad… You wanted to be able to save people like them. You wanted to be like them so desperately that you even tried to train yourself, but it wasn’t very affective… You kept accidentally hurting yourself one way or another, whether that be by accidentally cutting yourself while trying to train with a sword, to tumbling to the ground trying to practice defending yourself.

You felt so isolated from them. They were supposed to be your family. You felt like you invaded their space, like you didn’t belong there. It didn’t help that they could barely spare you a glance. Let alone have a conversation with you, even just a simple hello from Jason would surprise you.

It was like you were a ghost in the manor, more like an angle. You would do your best to help around, clean a room. Leave Advil out for Tim after an all nighter he had. Leave reminder notes of positivity. Drawing heart, flowers, and smiley faces all of the little sticky notes. You would always do these little things for them, but they never noticed. They never noticed your effort, never noticed your support. They never noticed you.

The silence in there was especially unnerving in your bedroom. It was always just to quiet in there. You never really believed in “so quiet you could hear a pin drop.”, well not until you had to stay in the eerie room. You often had to hold yourself at night. Trying to act like one of them was there. There when the shadows of your room loomed over you. It felt like the darkness was gonna eat you alive in that room.

Alfred told you they were just busy, some even a bit jealous that you got to live a normal life. You never understood why they would be jealous though. You would kill to be able to be like them. Famous hero’s , one that sends villains shivers down their spine and a warm feeling to civilians. Who would want to give that up to well.. be you. You weren’t able to save people like they could. You couldn’t fight like they could. You weren’t even that athletic. So why would they be jealous of you?

You were walking back from a friend’s house. You didn’t wanna bother their parents with asking for a ride home, and Alfred was already busy. It was quite nice outside so you didn’t mine walking home. The only problem though was how the sun was starting to set. It was scary being out alone in Gotham, and the recent joker attacks didn’t help making Gotham’s streets safe. You knew you would have to start taking alleyways if you wanted to make it home before it was completely dark and cold outside. You pull your jacket closer to you, trying to preserve more heat.

You were about to turn a corner into one of the alleyways back home, but then you heard a small whimper in the alley. You paused for a moment. Stilling to try and see if you could catch the sound again. Then another pleading whimper coming from the alley way. You take a deep breath. This could be your moment! You can be someone’s night and shining armor!

You ball your fist up, getting ready to attack if you need to (thought it really wouldn’t do any good.) you quickly turn the corner. “W-who goes there!” You stutter out, the anxiety clear in your voice. You soon stop in your tracks. The wounded..alien cat? It’s white fur now matted with a deep bloody red. It’s what looked like ears coming out of its ears sadly dropping on the ground.”O-oh my god! I’m so sorry are you ok.” You quickly rush to the bleeding cat’s side. Gently scooping it up in your arms.

“Hey hey now.. it’s ok! I’m gonna help alright. I’m not gonna let anything hurt you.” You said to the poor creature. Taking your jacket off and wrapping it around it. You were still freezing and would probably catch a cold, but at least you’re not bleeding out! You stumble to get up. Who knows what hurt the cat, or if it’s still lurking around.

You braced the odd creature closer to you before booking it. You’ve never ran faster in your life, but it wasn’t much problem keeping the same speed with the feeling of someone watching you, practically tracking you. No matter how much your lungs hurt. No matter how much your heart rattled against your ribcage. You ran for your and it’s life.

You closed the door of the mansion as fast as you could. No only were you glad to be out of the freezing cold, but also glad that whatever was CERTAINLY following you couldn’t get in. “It’s ok..kitty”, you hesitantly say, not wanting to offend it by calling it the wrong species. “You are in good care!”, you proudly say.

You walked as quietly as you could to the downstairs bathroom closest to the bat cave. They always kept a first aid or two under the sink. You open the door. The old wood groaning in protest. You gently set the little thing on the counter. Grabbing one of the first aid kits from under the sink.

“Hey kitty this is gonna hurt…”, you softly muttered, mostly to yourself to get yourself ready to clean its wounds. You applied the rubbing alcohol on the cotton pad. Starting to softly dab it against its wounds. You were surprised to see it not phased at all. “Wow you’re better at pain than I am.”, you giggled. Trying your best to keep the atmosphere lighthearted.

You quickly finish cleaning the poor space kitties wounds. Soon bandaging them up. It looked kind of sloppy, and probably wasn’t the best, but it worked. Keeping it from dying is all you cared about.

Now not rushed with the thought of loosing this new hopefully friend, you were able to step back and analyze how the creature looked. It had a pink ring on an its back, contrasting against the white fur. It also had what looked like droopy ears. The drooping appendages coming out of the ears also had some pink tint with some golden rings around he to floppy maybe ears. It looked exactly like a plushie, one that came to life! That would be so cool if your stuffed animals could come to life! You wouldn’t be lonely and would have people to talk to!

You quickly catch yourself from being stuck in thought. You have to focus on the task on hand! Looking at it, you can tell it must be tired, especially after loosing all that blood. You scooped the alien cat back into your arms, it was still silent, but you could tell it’s feeling much better. You quietly shut the door of the bathroom. Tip toeing up the manors stairs and into your room.

“Sorry my bed isn’t really big. My dad’s really busy and I don’t wanna bother him to ask for a new one.”, you whispered. Swallowing the lump in your throat just thinking about your father. You tucked the alien by your plushies, still wrapped in your warm jacket. Now it really looked like a plushie! “It’s my bedtime alien kitty. I’ll see you tomorrow,”, you said cheerfully. So happy to finally be able to talk to someone.

You don’t know what time it is, all you know that it’s storming outside and it’s extremely dark. You feel your hairs stand on the back of your neck. You felt that stalked sensation again. You were being watched. You would take a guest and say it was from your window, but you were way too scared to look up. Then you heard her.

“Listen to me, don’t trust the incubator. Don’t make a wish. Do you hear me. Get rid of him, get rid of that thing as fast as you can. Do it for your family and friends. Whatever you do, DON’T become a magical girl...”, her voice was cold but robotic, like she’s said it over and over again. You were now beyond terrified. You don’t wanna even know what was outside by your window, you grab your blankets as you shake in terror. What did you get yourself into… Maybe the family was right. Your heart was too big for you.

Authors note: I might have forgotten about this draft but it’s ok! It’s finally out and that’s what is most important.(forgot my tag list)

@princesscosmo

@linasrosetown

[allmyhomieshatelawns]

DP x DC

Cackling filled the air, along with the sound of a blade slicing through the air. The whistle it made could drive you just as crazy as listening to the cackling.

Danny wasn’t sure why the man was laughing. Nothing around him was particularly funny. Blood spatters covered the cracked asphalt at Danny’s feet. Blood dripped off of his body, none of it his own.

Danny’s fingers twirled, repositioning the scythe he held, to rest on his shoulder. He surveyed the scene before him, a frown tugging down his lips.

People were standing along the streets, phones up, mouths hanging open. All of them were staring.

I didn’t think people could really see reapers. Danny mused, cackling cutting off as he studied those studying him.

It had been a few hundred years since everyone he knew had died peacefully of old age. Danny, having lived a fulfilled life, entered the Ghost Zone, prepared to be the new King, when Clockwork had merely smirked at him, eyes fond.

“What do you mean I have to serve as a reaper of souls first?”

Clockwork had been very insistent this was the way of things, but Danny was half-convinced he was making it up as he went.

Whatever gets the best timeline, I suppose. Danny looked out at the gathered crowd, then down at the twisted form below him.

“Jack Oswald White, you have been judged of sending those before their time, to the Realms Eternal. You have been found guilty of your crimes. With this slash, I, High King Phantom, Reaper of Souls, sentence you to the Nightmare Realm to be tormented until the end of Time.” Raising the scythe, Danny prepared to send the soul where it belonged.

“Wait!” A man stumbled forward through the crowd. A few people screamed as he broke through the ring, turning and running. The man was built, but what caught Danny’s eye, was the tuft of white hair on his forehead, and the feeling of death that hung around him. The domino mask was also eye-catching, but more background noise.

He stood before Danny and the condemned, drinking in the sight of the bloody man, like someone whom had been lost in the desert.

“Okay, go ahead. I just. I needed to see it.” The man puffed, domino-white eyes wide in anticipation. “Don’t worry, the other bats won’t come and ruin it. I took care of that.”

Danny cocked his head, feeling something humming in the air now that the man had settled in. The humming was bloodlust. Everyone here was eager to see this man die.

It was more than a little startling since Danny had never been seen before as the Reaper. It was more startling since most people who saw him screamed and ran away. What is wrong with these people? Where am I again? Gotham? Well the name seems to fit at least. Danny mused, before he nodded, and brought the scythe down.

*

Jason wanted to scream. Not in the “oh I’ve been hurt” or even “I’m so mad I could fill a bag with heads!” way, but the excitement, the primal feeling welling up within him didn’t want to be contained.

Oracle had reported some kind of public execution near Crime Alley. She hadn’t been able to confirm who it was for, nor who was doing it. All the cameras were bugging out in the area it was happening. Since Jason had been closest, he had managed to get there first.

In the middle of a massive crowd —and wasn’t that odd? Most people ran away from stuff like this— could just be seen an ethereal being floating above their heads. The being looked like someone about Jason’s age, but their skin glowed with an unearthly blue, and their hair, the color of starlight, moved in a way that contradicted the wind whipping everyone’s coats. The being was clad in black robes, the folds of which showed either constellations or a swirling green void that made something in Jason’s chest tighten.

And they held a massive scythe.

As Jason got closer, he heard the manic laughing, and froze.

The Joker.

Pushing through the crowd, heart hammering, Jason knew he had to— he had to do what? Save the Joker?

His earpiece made a high-pitched squeal as he broke through the crowd and saw the Joker’s body on the ground, scythe poised to finish the job.

The shriek that filled the air as the soul was sent to the Nightmare Realm, something inside Jason seemed to crack. The Reaper, High King Phantom as he had called himself, looked at Jason, and the crack felt like it wasn’t there.

I need to talk to him.

[foxtrology]

fallin' (3)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 7.1k

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

Harry woke up before her.

Of course he did.

He always woke up early. Even on the rare nights he didn’t drink too much, even on days off. But this morning—it was different.

This time, he didn’t wake up to check the markets or answer a string of emails from London.

This time, he woke up to her.

And for once in his goddamn life, he didn’t want to move.

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet. Pale gold light filtered through the huge windows, casting the entire penthouse in a soft, honey colored haze. The city outside was quiet, unusually so. A stillness blanketed everything, like even Manhattan understood something sacred was happening here.

She was asleep beside him.

Naked.

And stunning.

One leg tangled with his. The edge of the comforter barely covering the curve of her hip. Her cheek pressed against his bicep, hair fanned across his chest like silk threads spun by a dream. She was breathing slowly, evenly—completely lost to the world.

Harry didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

He just stared.

Her lips were parted slightly, lashes fluttering against her cheek. He could still see the faint marks he’d left on her neck, her chest, the insides of her thighs. Gentle. Worshipful. Proof that he had memorized her the night before with lips, tongue, hands. Proof that he hadn’t been able to stop touching her even after she fell asleep.

She looked…at peace.

Like she belonged here. Like this was her bed too.

Harry’s throat tightened.

Last night had been slow and quiet and aching. All softness and tension and the kind of closeness that scared him more than boardroom deals or billion dollar collapses ever could.

And now—this morning—it was just as terrifying.

Because he didn’t want her to leave.

He shifted slightly, just enough to press a kiss to her forehead. Then to her cheek. Then to her shoulder. Her skin was warm and smooth beneath his lips, and he lingered there, breathing her in.

She stirred.

A small, sleepy hum escaped her throat as she pressed in closer, her hand sliding across his bare chest, curling there like it belonged.

He froze.

Then, cautiously, let himself exhale.

He didn’t know how to do this.

He didn’t know how to wake up next to someone and not immediately put his walls back up.

But with her—it felt different.

He tilted his head and kissed the tip of her nose.

She wrinkled it and groaned. “Harry.”

His lips twitched. “Good morning.”

Her eyes stayed shut. “Why are you awake?”

“Because I wanted to look at you.”

A beat.

Her brows furrowed. “Creep.”

He smirked, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Romantic creep.”

She groaned again, burying her face in his chest. “It’s too early.”

“It’s not. The sun is literally up.”

“Barely,” she muttered. “Go back to sleep.”

But Harry didn’t want to go back to sleep.

He wanted to stay awake and memorize every inch of her like he hadn’t already done that last night.

He kissed her shoulder again.

Then lower.

To her collarbone.

Then down the slope of her chest, right to the curve of her breast.

She squirmed slightly, breath catching. “Harry…”

He didn’t say anything.

Just kept kissing her.

Soft. Lazy. Reverent.

Her skin glowed in the morning light, warm and flushed as he licked a slow stripe across the peak of her breast before taking it gently into his mouth. Just for a second. Just to feel her react. Her fingers threaded into his hair, not pulling—just there.

“You’re trying to distract me,” she mumbled.

He hummed against her skin. “Is it working?”

“Maybe.”

He shifted again, moving across her chest with light, open mouthed kisses, stopping to trace a few lingering marks from the night before with the flat of his tongue.

She shivered.

“It’s cold,” she whispered.

Harry pulled back slightly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was busy being kissed awake, creep.”

He smirked, brushing her hair off her forehead. “You want to go back to sleep?”

She shook her head.

“You hungry?”

“Too comfortable to move.”

He nodded, more to himself than to her, then suddenly slipped out from beneath the comforter.

She frowned, half sitting up. “Where are you going?”

“I have to make some calls,” he said, already walking—naked—across the room like it was the most natural thing in the world. “And turn on the heater before you freeze to death.”

She watched him press a button on the wall panel, heard the low hum of the heat system kicking in. Then, still completely naked, he crossed the room, opened a drawer, and returned with a pair of thick socks.

Her brow lifted. “Seriously?”

Harry knelt on the edge of the bed, lifting one of her feet into his lap with gentle fingers. “Your toes are cold.”

“I’m fine.”

He looked at her. “You’re not.”

She huffed, letting him pull a sock onto her foot. Then the other.

“I feel like I’m being dressed by a butler.”

“I’m naked,” he reminded her. “So, no.”

She laughed quietly as he kissed her ankle through the sock. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe,” he said, already reaching for a folded pair of sweats and a soft shirt from the drawer. “Arms up.”

She blinked.

“You’re dressing me?”

“Until you get warm, yes.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

He grinned.

She lifted her arms anyway.

He tugged the shirt over her head, smoothing it down her sides, then helped her sit up and step into the sweatpants, pulling the waistband gently low on her hips before kissing her bare stomach once—soft and slow.

Then again.

And again.

“Harry,” she murmured, breath shaky now.

He met her eyes. “You’re calling out of work today.”

Fuck it was a Friday. Which meant rush hours.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I can’t afford to—”

“You need rest,” he said, pressing a kiss to the center of her chest, right between her breasts. “And you’re staying here.”

“I—Harry—”

He looked up at her, mouth still brushing her skin. “Call.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Call.”

He kissed the slope of her breast.

“No.”

He kissed her hip.

“Harry—”

He kissed her collarbone.

“I hate you.”

He grinned. “You don’t.”

She groaned, grabbing her phone from the nightstand.

He watched her type the number in, still half laughing as she pressed the phone to her ear.

“Yes, hi—it’s me. I’m… sick,” she said flatly, shooting him a murderous look. “Yes, I can’t come in today. Sorry. Yes. Thanks. Bye.”

She hung up and threw the phone onto the comforter. “Happy?”

Harry nodded. “Ecstatic.”

She flopped back against the pillows, hair spilling everywhere. “You’re ridiculous.”

He climbed into bed beside her, pulling the comforter over both of them, kissing her shoulder again.

“You love it.”

She muttered something unintelligible.

And then she curled back into his chest.

Warm now.

Safe.

Content.

Harry waited until she was dozing again before grabbing his own phone off the nightstand.

James was first.

He texted simply:

Day off. Don’t come by. Will call later.

Then, reluctantly, he opened the other thread.

Danny.

Which already had eight unread messages.

Danny: You alive?

Danny: Blink twice if she’s still there.

Danny: Did she spend the night? Did you confess your feelings? Did you cry?

Danny: I bet you cried.

Danny: You definitely cried.

Danny: Why aren’t you answering?

Danny: Are you dead?

Danny: If you’re dead I’m stealing your office.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Harry: Rearrange all my meetings. I’m not coming in today.

Danny: ARE YOU SERIOUS.

Harry: Very.

Danny: You spent the night with her didn’t you.

Danny: YOU DID.

Danny: DID YOU CRY.

Harry: Stop texting me.

Danny: That’s not a no.

Harry turned his phone off and dropped it to the floor beside the bed.

Then he turned back to her.

Still asleep.

Still tangled up in his clothes.

Still curled into him like she’d never done anything else.

He pulled her closer, kissed her temple.

Then let himself drift.

Into something softer.

Something warmer.

Something terrifyingly close to peace.

That’s where Harry had been when he finally drifted into the kind of sleep he didn’t get often. Deep. Dreamless. Unbothered. The kind of sleep you only find when your body knows, on some primal level, that it’s safe. Held.

But she woke first.

It was nearly dark outside—somewhere between late afternoon and early evening. The kind of Manhattan glow that washed the skyline in a dusky lavender and gold. The penthouse had taken on a stillness that felt sacred, like the city had slowed for them. For this.

She laid beside him.

Still warm, still curled up in his t-shirt, one sock covered foot brushing against his shin beneath the sheets.

Harry Castillo—this intimidating, brooding man who carried the weight of billion dollar deals and decades of grief in his shoulders—was fast asleep, mouth slightly parted, one hand curled around the edge of the blanket like he was holding on to something soft. Or someone.

She stared at him.

Took her time.

Traced every crease and wrinkle of his face with her eyes, memorizing the lines at the corners of his eyes, the faint furrow in his brow that remained even in rest. His jaw she itched to touch. His hair was rumpled. He looked younger like this, somehow—but also softer. Human. Undone.

She reached out and gently touched one of the small age spots on his shoulder. Then kissed it.

Then another.

Her lips skimmed the surface of his chest, lazy and reverent.

A breath caught in his throat.

He stirred.

His eyes opened slowly—warm, brown, still hazy with sleep—and landed on her.

“You’re staring,” he rasped, voice low and gravelly, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

She smiled. “You snore.”

His brow lifted slightly. “I do not.”

“You do.”

Harry exhaled, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet.”

“I didn’t want to waste the light.”

He blinked at her, amused. “It’s dinner time.”

“Still light.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then reached up and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered.

“You're wearing my socks,” he murmured.

She grinned. “You put them on me.”

“I was being a gentleman.”

“You were being a pain in the ass.”

Harry huffed a small laugh and leaned forward to kiss her. Slow. Soft. Lips brushing hers like he was still deciding whether this was a dream.

She let him.

Let him deepen the kiss until it turned languid, heat curling between them like it never left. His hand moved down to her waist, tugging her closer, bare legs tangling together under the covers.

They could’ve stayed like that all night.

But then—

“I want a bath,” she whispered against his mouth.

Harry leaned back slightly, one brow raised. “You could’ve just said that instead of seducing me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seduction implies you resisted.”

He smirked, then sat up, stretching his arms above his head, back cracking slightly with the movement. “Fine. Come on.”

They padded through the penthouse quietly. The floor cold against their bare feet, the room lit only by the fading city light.

The bathroom, when Harry turned on the lights, glowed warm and soft. Marble countertops, gold fixtures, and the enormous tub that looked like it had never been used for anything but aesthetic.

She sat on the edge while Harry filled it, testing the water with his hand. When steam began to rise, he turned and reached for her, peeling off his shirt from her frame and tugging the sweats down her hips slowly.

His eyes never left hers.

“Get in,” he murmured.

She did.

The heat enveloped her instantly—muscles melting, breath catching.

Harry stepped in behind her, water sloshing gently as he settled down and pulled her back into his chest. She fit perfectly against him, back to his front, his arms wrapping around her waist beneath the surface.

They sat like that for a long moment.

The water kissed her skin. His breath kissed her neck.

And then—

His hand moved.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Sliding along her thigh beneath the water, fingers gliding between them until he found her heat.

She gasped softly.

“Relax,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“I am.”

“You will.”

His fingers pressed, slow and teasing, circling her clit beneath the water while his other hand smoothed across her stomach, grounding her against him.

She tilted her head back against his shoulder, lips parting as her breath grew heavier. The sound of the water, the flicker of candlelight he must’ve lit when she wasn’t paying attention, the quiet intimacy of it—it was all too much and not enough.

Harry kissed her neck as his fingers worked her slowly, lovingly.

“You’re so fucking soft,” he murmured, pressing his thumb tighter.

She whimpered.

“Let me take care of you.”

She nodded, too breathless to speak.

His fingers dipped inside her, two thick digits curling expertly, sliding in and out with slow, delicious rhythm. She clutched his arm, hips twitching slightly as he moved faster, thumb circling in tandem.

It was overwhelming.

The water. His breath. His hands.

The way he held her like something precious, even while he was making her fall apart.

“You’re beautiful when you let go,” he whispered, his voice wrecked and reverent. “You’re mine when you fall apart.”

That did it.

She shattered in his arms, body going tight, then loose, heat rushing up her spine as she moaned, head falling back against his chest.

He held her through it.

Whispered praise against her skin.

Didn’t stop touching her until she squirmed from the overstimulation.

Even then—he kept his hands on her.

Gently stroking her thighs.

His lips pressing kisses to her temple.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

She nodded.

He turned her gently in the tub, facing him now, her legs wrapped around his waist. The water sloshed but neither of them cared.

She traced his chest, fingers gliding over the soft curve of his stomach, the line of dark hair leading beneath the surface.

Then—her fingers wrapped around him.

Harry’s breath caught.

He was hard.

Thick. Heavy in her hand.

She stroked him slowly, teasingly.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, jaw clenching.

“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered.

She leaned in, kissing the hollow of his throat. “Let me.”

And then—she sank down onto him.

The water made it slow, slick, endless.

She gasped.

So did he.

Her hands clutched his shoulders, his hands grasping her waist as she moved—rising and falling, the water rippling around them.

Every thrust was deep. Intimate.

His eyes never left hers.

“You feel…” he groaned, “Christ, you feel perfect.”

She moaned, hands sliding into his hair, pulling him in for a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperate need.

They rocked together in the water, soft splashes echoing off marble, steam rising around them like a fog. The room felt suspended in time. The entire city didn’t exist outside these walls.

Only this.

Only him.

Only her.

Their age didn’t matter.

The years between them, the decades of difference—they melted away with each thrust, each groan, each whispered name and bitten lip.

But still—it came up.

“You like fucking older men?” Harry growled against her throat, one hand gripping her ass to help her ride him harder.

She moaned. “I like fucking you.”

He grinned darkly. “I’m fifty four.”

She rocked harder. “I’m twenty six.”

He thrust up into her, making her gasp.

“Still want me?” he asked.

She kissed him fiercely. “More than anyone.”

That undid him.

He gripped her hips tight, buried his face in her neck, and fucked her through it—slow, hard thrusts that built and built until the pressure was unbearable.

“Harry—” she cried out, nails digging into his back.

“Let go for me again,” he begged, voice wrecked.

And she did.

She came around him, pulsing and shaking, body spasming in his arms.

He followed seconds later, groaning her name into her mouth, warmth flooding her in thick waves as he held her, trembling slightly from the force of it.

They clung to each other in the water, breathless, wrecked.

And when the tremors faded, when the air settled around them again, Harry pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “Come here.”

She curled against him.

They stayed in the bath until the water went lukewarm.

Until the outside world started knocking again.

But neither of them answered.

Because in that moment—there was nowhere else to be.

And for the first time in his entire adult life, Harry Castillo didn’t feel alone.

He didn’t say it aloud.

Didn’t have to.

It lived in his breath as it slowed. In the way he still held her, even after their bodies had stilled, his arms curled tight around her waist beneath the water, as if afraid she might dissolve.

They stayed like that in the cooling bath. The only sound was the occasional slosh of water against marble, the soft shift of her limbs tangled with his.

Harry finally exhaled against her damp shoulder.

His nose brushed along the curve of her neck. “We should get out before we start to prune.”

She hummed sleepily, arms still looped around his neck. “Maybe I like being pruny.”

He chuckled. A soft, breath warmed sound she didn’t know she’d been craving until she heard it.

“I’m serious,” he murmured. “If we stay in here any longer, you’re going to turn into a raisin.”

She tilted her head back, smirking. “And what if I do?”

“Then I’ll have to keep you in a jewelry box.” He kissed her collarbone. “With the other precious things.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. She grinned.

Harry shifted slightly beneath her, lifting her by the waist with a strength that felt effortless. His hands cradled her as he slowly slid out of her. The sensation made her hiss quietly—she was sensitive now, raw and swollen, and the loss of him felt like a small ache.

Harry noticed.

His gaze flicked up, warm and apologetic. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “Not sorry. Just…tender.”

That made something flicker in his chest.

He nodded once, kissed her shoulder again, and then gently guided her forward so she sat between his legs, her back to his chest.

She expected him to move. To get out and offer her a towel. Maybe hand her something to dry off with.

But he didn’t.

Instead—

He reached for a bottle of shampoo on the edge of the tub. His shampoo.

Something expensive, of course—subtle and masculine, faint notes of bergamot and amber.

He poured a dollop into his palm and began working it into her hair without a word.

His fingers were gentle.

He took his time, massaging her scalp like she was made of glass. She sighed, leaning into it.

“You ever done this before?” she asked quietly.

“Done what?”

“Washed someone else’s hair.”

Harry paused, thoughtful. “Not since I was a kid. My little sister. Before she left for college.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “You have a sister?”

“I did.” He hesitated. “We don’t talk much anymore.”

She didn’t push.

Just reached for his hand and laced their fingers together briefly before letting go.

He kissed the side of her head, and then rinsed the soap from her hair, his hand cupping the water. He shielded her eyes with his empty hand as he brings the water over her scalp, careful, focused.

Then came the soap.

Body wash from a matte black bottle.

He lathered it between his hands and touched her with more reverence than she’d ever been touched with before. Like every inch of her deserved its own moment of devotion.

His palms smoothed over her shoulders.

Her arms.

Her chest—lingering there for a moment longer, fingers gliding over her breasts with a kind of worship that had her biting her lip.

Then down to her ribs, her hips.

He turned her slightly to face him, hand bracing her back, and ran the soap down her thighs.

“You’re spoiling me,” she whispered.

Harry gave her a look that was almost a smile. “I plan on making it a habit.”

By the time he rinsed the last of the suds from her skin, the water had gone warm again, but they both knew it was time to get out.

He stood first.

Taller than she expected, broader when wet—his hair curling, water running down the planes of his chest, dripping from the soft patch of hair beneath his navel.

She stared.

He noticed.

But didn’t say anything.

He just grabbed a towel and wrapped her in it the moment she stepped out, like she was something to protect. Something to keep warm. He dried her slowly, carefully patting her down, not rubbing. Like touching her too roughly would wake him from a dream.

He even knelt to dry her legs.

Pressed a kiss to her shin when he reached it.

And then—

He dried her hair.

Used a second towel for it.

Ran his fingers through the tangled strands, gentle and quiet, humming low in his throat as he worked through a knot.

Once she was dry, he dressed her again.

A new shirt from his drawer. Soft cotton, worn in, probably older than her.

Then another pair of his sweats, these ones even looser than the last, tied with a ribboned knot at the front.

She laughed when he stepped into his own pair of briefs, then a fresh pair of joggers and a long sleeved shirt that still looked vaguely custom made.

“You look like a dad,” she teased.

He smirked. “You’re lucky I didn’t wear the robe.”

“You mean my robe.”

“Touché.”

He didn’t stop there.

He brushed her hair.

Actually brushed it.

Sat her down on the edge of the bed and carefully, slowly, began detangling the strands with his wide toothed comb before switching to a brush. Then—almost shyly—he began braiding.

It wasn’t perfect.

A little messy.

But it was so absurdly, painfully tender she nearly cried.

“I’m not used to this,” she admitted quietly.

Harry paused behind her. “Used to what?”

“Being… looked after.”

His hands stilled.

Then resumed the braid.

“You deserve it,” he said softly. “Whether you’re used to it or not.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

He tied off the end of the braid with a twist tie and kissed the back of her head.

They climbed into bed again, the sheets warm from earlier.

Harry pressed a button on the wall.

With a low mechanical hum, a flat screen TV descended slowly from the ceiling, positioning itself at the perfect angle for lazy watching in bed.

Her eyes widened. “Okay, that’s ridiculous.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s convenient.”

She snorted. “It’s dystopian.”

He handed her the remote. “Pick something.”

“You’re not gonna pick?”

“I don’t watch much TV.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re one of those people.”

He smirked. “I prefer books.”

“But not art,” she teased, climbing under the comforter beside him.

“Let it go.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she spent the next twenty minutes scrolling through every streaming service he had—which was all of them—looking at show after show, movie after movie, never landing on one.

Harry just watched her.

Watched the way her eyes lit up when she saw a trailer for a horror movie, or the way her nose scrunched when a rom-com looked too cheesy.

Watched the way she pulled the blanket higher up her body, cold toes pressing into his calves like she’d been doing it for years.

Eventually—

Her stomach growled.

Audibly.

Harry lifted a brow.

“I heard that.”

She groaned. “Shut up.”

“No. Let’s feed the creature.”

She laughed, sitting up as he grabbed his laptop from the bedside table.

“Okay,” he said, booting it up. “Tell me what you’re craving.”

“Something warm. Cheesy. But not pizza.”

“Pasta?”

“...Don’t say it like that.”

“You want pasta,” he grinned.

“No, I—”

He turned the screen toward her, scrolling through a restaurant’s online menu. Sleek. Minimalist.

Then they saw it.

A photo of handmade tagliatelle with truffle cream sauce, cracked pepper, and parmesan.

Her stomach growled again.

Harry didn’t even blink.

He clicked Add to cart.

“Wait—what if I wanted something else?”

He scrolled down. “You hesitated.”

She scowled. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re hungry.”

He added garlic bread, a side of grilled broccolini, and a second pasta—this one with short rib ragu.

Then glanced up at her.

“What?”

He smirked. “I like seeing you full.”

“Jesus.”

“What? You ate nothing last night after a ten-hour shift.”

She didn’t argue.

Just watched him complete the order and close the laptop.

Then she leaned into him, curling up beneath his arm, cheek pressed to his chest.

And for a long, perfect moment, neither of them spoke.

The TV glowed.

The heater hummed.

And Harry held her like he was holding onto something he hadn’t even known he needed.

Not until now.

Not until her.

That thought—quiet but thunderous—was still echoing through Harry’s chest when his phone vibrated sharply on the nightstand.

He groaned, shifting slightly so as not to wake her completely. Her cheek was still pressed to his chest, lips parted, breath steady. Her braid had unraveled slightly, a few strands curled against her temple.

Harry wanted to ignore the phone.

Wanted to stay in bed with her, wanted this ridiculous little bubble they’d built between the sheets to last just a little longer.

But the vibration didn’t stop.

Persistent.

Insistent.

He sighed, grabbed the phone, and answered in a low voice.

“Yeah.”

The voice on the other end belonged to Greg, the front desk concierge. Greg never called unless it was serious.

“Mr. Castillo, I’m really sorry to bother you, sir, but…there’s a bit of confusion in the lobby.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “What kind of confusion?”

“Well, a delivery driver is here with food—says it’s for you—but security wouldn’t let him up. You, um…don’t usually order things yourself.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Sir, you’ve never ordered food before. We weren’t sure if it was a prank or some kind of breach of privacy, especially with everything that happened with Ms. Lucy—”

He closed his eyes, jaw tensing. “Greg.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I ordered the food.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause on the line.

Then—

“You…did?”

Harry’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Yes.”

Another pause. “Should I allow it up then?”

Harry exhaled, glancing down at her—still curled up against him, starting to stir now. Her lashes fluttered, brows twitching at the edge of sleep.

“No,” he said, slipping out from beneath her slowly. “Tell him I’ll be down.”

“You’re coming downstairs?”

“Yes. I’m coming downstairs.”

“Sir, are you—feeling well?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, Greg.”

He ended the call and reached for a hoodie, pulling it over his head. Then he turned to the bed where she was blinking up at him, sleep laced and adorably confused.

“What’s happening?”

Harry leaned down and kissed her nose. “Apparently I shocked the entire building by ordering pasta.”

She frowned. “What?”

“They think it’s a trap.”

She blinked. “Is it?”

He grinned. “Only if they’re trying to poison us with truffle cream.”

She snorted, sitting up and stretching her arms above her head. “You’re going downstairs to get it?”

He nodded. “Want to come with me?”

She squinted. “Into society?”

“You can stay here.”

She yawned, slipping out of bed and reaching for her coat. “No, if you’re dragging yourself into public, I want to see it.”

The elevator ride was silent.

Harry stood beside her in his hoodie and joggers, hair still slightly damp from the bath. She looked equally undone—barefaced, his clothes swallowing her whole, socks mismatched. Together they looked like two people who'd spent the entire day in bed.

Which they had.

When the doors slid open, the entire lobby paused.

The desk concierge, the doorman, a security guard, and the delivery driver all turned to look at them.

It was the doorman, though—Lance—who looked the most shell shocked.

“Mr. Castillo,” he said slowly, as if confirming Harry was real. “You…came down.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s what happens when you don’t let the driver up.”

Lance’s eyes flicked to her, then back to Harry. There was something hesitant in his expression. A flicker of confusion. Disbelief.

And then—

Recognition.

The wrong kind.

Harry saw it before it could settle on Lance’s face.

The comparison.

Lucy.

She wasn’t Lucy.

The girl beside him wasn’t perfectly polished. She wasn’t in heels. She wasn’t the kind of arm candy expected on a man like Harry Castillo.

She was real.

And Harry stood closer to her.

Not the way he used to stand next to Lucy—half turned away, distracted, scanning the room for exit strategies.

No.

He was grounded.

Present.

Protective.

Her shoulder brushed his hoodie.

The delivery driver fumbled to hand over the bag. “Uh—two pastas and a broccolini side?”

Harry took it with one hand, nodding. “Thank you.”

He handed the man a tip in cash, despite the man’s hands shaking slightly. “Appreciate it.”

And just when they were turning to leave—

Click.

Harry’s head snapped up.

A camera flash.

A woman in the corner of the lobby had her phone out. Her body was angled perfectly for a stealth shot. She wasn’t staff. Wasn’t a resident either. A visitor, maybe.

Harry’s hand was still holding the bag—but her hand was now clenching his.

Tight.

He looked down.

She was frozen.

Eyes wide.

Breath caught in her chest.

Fuck.

She was panicking—but silently. Internally. He could see it in the way her fingers trembled around his, how she didn’t say a word, didn’t even blink.

His jaw locked.

“Stay here,” he said, already stepping away.

She blinked. “Harry—”

But he was already moving.

The woman had turned, phone raised to her ear.

“I just got a shot of Harry Castillo with a woman who is not Lucy. Yes. At his building. No, she’s not famous. She’s wearing his clothes—yes, I swear—”

Harry stopped in front of her, voice low and lethal.

“Delete it.”

She jumped.

Spun around.

Eyes wide.

“Mr. Castillo, I—”

“Now.”

She hesitated. “I’m with the New York Times, and this is—”

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re with God himself.” His voice didn’t rise, but it sharpened like a blade. “You don’t get to blindside someone in their home.”

“It’s a public lobby—”

“She didn’t consent to a photo.”

The reporter’s mouth opened, ready with another rebuttal.

But Harry took a step forward.

And that was enough.

She swallowed.

Flinched slightly.

And unlocked her phone.

“Deleted,” she said. “Happy?”

Harry stared at her for a beat too long.

Then, with a voice that could’ve frozen fire, he added, “If I see that image anywhere, you’ll be dealing with more than just my legal team.”

He turned.

Walked back.

She was still standing near the front desk, arms crossed, her face blank—but her body was tense.

Harry reached her and slid a hand behind her back, guiding her gently toward the elevator.

“Hey,” he said softly, once the doors closed. “You okay?”

She nodded once. Then again. “Yeah. I just—I don’t like that.”

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s over. She won’t use it.”

She let out a shaky breath. “It just... caught me off guard.”

“I know.”

He reached down and laced their fingers again.

And this time, she squeezed back.

But it wasn’t just a squeeze.

Not really.

It was a silent plea.

A question.

A trembling whisper beneath the surface that she wasn’t sure how to say aloud. Not yet.

Harry felt it.

He didn’t push.

Didn’t speak again until they were back in the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind them like the city hadn’t just clawed a piece of her peace away.

She looked down at her hands—still curled inside the sleeves of his hoodie, fingers stiff from tension.

Harry reached out.

Softly.

Gently.

His knuckles brushed hers, then slid up until he could curl his entire hand around hers again. He squeezed once. Then again.

She stayed quiet.

“Darlin',” he said softly, voice a low hum. “Talk to me.”

She shook her head.

Not in a “no”—but in a not yet.

He gave her that.

The elevator rose in silence.

When they reached the penthouse and stepped inside, she walked ahead of him for the first time all night. Straight toward the bedroom. Not angry. Not retreating. Just… needing a moment.

Harry set the food down on the kitchen counter, then followed. Not too close. Just enough to be there if she needed him.

When he reached the doorframe, she was sitting at the edge of the bed, her head in her hands.

“People are going to know who I am now,” she murmured.

Harry stepped in. Slow. “No one knows anything yet. That photo’s gone.”

She looked up at him, brow furrowed, lips parted slightly in frustration—or maybe something deeper.

“You can’t control everything, Harry.”

“I can try,” he said, and meant it.

That made her smile. Barely.

But it didn’t last.

Her eyes flicked away.

Then back.

And finally—

“Am I a rebound?”

His chest went still.

It was a whisper. So quiet he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been standing close enough to hear her heartbeat.

But he heard it.

And it hit him harder than any camera flash ever could.

He moved, then.

Sat down beside her.

Not touching her yet. Just there.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t need to.

Because she felt his presence in every inch of the room. His heat. His attention. His silence.

“I’m not going to insult you by pretending Lucy doesn’t exist,” he said, after a long beat.

She closed her eyes.

“I loved her. I thought I was going to marry her.”

Her jaw tightened, just slightly.

“But,” Harry continued, turning now—really turning—to face her, “Lucy never saw me.”

She blinked.

He went on, voice softer now.

“She saw what I represented. A future. Money. Control. She saw the suit, not the man wearing it.”

“You’re saying I see you?” she said quietly.

Harry leaned forward.

Rested his elbows on his knees. Hands clasped between them.

“You talked back to me on the steps of the Met. You rolled your eyes at me in front of a crowd. You wear my clothes and steal my socks and talk with your mouth full and look at me like I’m not this...billionaire asshole people tiptoe around.”

He turned his head, eyes locking with hers.

“You see me.”

She stared at him.

And Harry did something she wasn’t expecting.

He got up.

Walked out of the room.

She frowned.

Then—

He returned with the food bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

Two glasses balanced between his fingers.

Without a word, he kicked off his shoes, set everything on the nightstand, and began unpacking the food.

He didn’t ask if she was hungry.

He didn’t make her talk again.

He just uncorked the wine, poured two glasses, handed her one, and slid the tray of pasta between them as he crawled up onto the bed.

“I’m gonna feed you now,” he said.

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m annoying like that,” he smirked, twirling a forkful of pasta and holding it out.

She hesitated.

Then took the bite.

Exactly what she needed.

She moaned—again—and Harry closed his eyes.

“Every time,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “What?”

“Every time you make that noise, I forget how to breathe.”

She flushed, biting her lip as he twirled another forkful and offered it to her.

“I can feed myself,” she mumbled.

“I know,” he said. “But let me.”

So she let him.

They sat cross legged on the bed, plates balanced between them, their bodies pressed close. He fed her bites of tagliatelle and broccolini, offering sips of wine in between.

She fed him too.

Not as neatly.

At one point, a strand of pasta landed on his chest.

“Oops,” she said, completely unbothered.

Harry looked down, then grinned. “You did that on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said sweetly.

He leaned in.

Nose brushing hers.

Voice soft.

“I’d let you ruin every shirt I own.”

She stilled.

Harry reached for her hand again, thumb brushing the back of it slowly.

“Everything about this is new,” he said, quieter now. “I don’t know what we are yet. But I know how I feel when I look at you. I know what it meant when you walked downstairs with me. When you reached for my hand.”

She didn’t answer.

So he kept going.

“I’m not looking for a rebound,” he said. “I’m looking at the first person in years who makes me feel like I might want to start over.”

A pause.

“Not to get over Lucy. But to get to you.”

Her heart cracked open.

Just a little.

Just enough.

She leaned forward.

Kissed him.

Not rushed.

Not passionate.

Just…present.

Like she was finally meeting him at the edge of something real.

While across state lines...

Lucy wanted peonies.

Specifically, pale pink ones with feathered petals, soft enough to match the shade of the bridesmaids’ dresses she had not yet chosen and delicate enough to photograph well against the backdrop of a Cape Cod marina wedding.

She did not want roses.

“I think the peonies say soft luxury,” she said, flipping her hair behind her ear with just the right amount of dismissiveness, “and the roses feel…desperate.”

“Babe, roses are literally the symbol of love,” John offered, dragging a finger across a glossy floral mood board.

Lucy shot him a look like he’d just offered to serve frozen shrimp cocktail at their rehearsal dinner.

“They’re pedestrian, John.”

John blinked. “I—I like shrimp cocktail.”

The florist, a woman named Erika with a clipboard made of anxiety, smiled nervously and cleared her throat. “We can source the peonies, but they’re out of season, so it would be—uh—an elevated price point.”

Lucy raised a brow. “Elevated how?”

“Per stem?”

“Yes.”

“Twenty-three.”

Lucy smiled tightly. “That’s fine.”

John coughed. “Per stem?” He turned to the florist, switching into what Lucy privately called his humble bartering voice, which made her want to evaporate into a vase. “Hey, is there like… a bundle option or—”

Erika blinked. “A bundle…?”

“Yeah, like if we get a bunch of peonies, can we do, I don’t know, like...a florist’s dozen?”

Lucy closed her eyes.

Jesus Christ.

She could feel the blood drain from her face.

Erika glanced toward Lucy like you invited this man into your life. 

Lucy inhaled sharply. “Excuse me. I need to take this.”

Her phone was vibrating in her lap.

CARRIE ROTH flashing across the screen in smug little letters.

Carrie had always been one of those women who smelled like Diptyque and journalistic chaos. They met during a Vogue hosted gala in Manhattan seven years ago and bonded over a shared hatred for mutual acquaintances. Since then, Carrie had moved to The New York Times , Lucy had moved to Boston, and the friendship had dulled into one of those semi-occasional connections fueled by gossip, envy, and transactional curiosity.

She stepped out into the hallway of the floral studio, smoothing down her coat.

“Carrie,” Lucy answered, voice clipped. “Kind of in the middle of something.”

“Well,” Carrie said, tone syrupy, “then this won’t take long.”

Lucy sighed. “What?”

There was a pause.

And then—

“I saw him.”

Lucy froze.

“…Him?”

“Don’t make me say his name, it’ll make you twitch.”

Lucy’s jaw tightened. “Harry.”

“Harry fucking Castillo,” Carrie confirmed, practically purring. “I saw him in the flesh, at his building, and babe he wasn’t alone.”

Lucy’s stomach turned.

She stayed quiet.

Carrie went on, delighted.

“He was with a woman. ”

Another pause.

And then—

“She was wearing his clothes.”

Lucy felt something sharp twist in her chest.

She exhaled through her nose. “So? He’s allowed to date.”

Carrie hummed. “Sure, yeah. Absolutely. But don’t you think it’s a little soon?”

“He’s not mine anymore.”

“Oh please, don’t be noble. You were supposed to marry him. This is fascinating.”

Lucy’s throat felt tight.

She hated the way her skin prickled. Hated the flicker of something ugly curling in her chest. Not jealousy. Not really. Just…the unfamiliar discomfort of knowing Harry wasn’t still pining. Of realizing he might be okay.

And she wasn’t ready for that.

“Did you take a photo?” she asked, already regretting the question.

“I did,” Carrie chirped. “He made me delete it.”

Lucy blinked. “He what? ”

“Marched across the lobby and threatened me with a lawsuit unless I wiped it. It was hot, honestly. He had his hand around her back like she was something worth protecting.”

Lucy’s stomach flipped.

She swallowed. “So…you don’t have it?”

“Oh honey,” Carrie laughed. “Please. This is me. I AirDropped it to my editor before he even reached me.”

Lucy closed her eyes.

“I’m writing a piece.”

Lucy’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

Carrie was already rolling.

“It’s about Harry. About how the most untouchable man in New York is suddenly—poof—off the market again. The mystery girl, the penthouse delivery  incident, the whole ‘is this a real relationship or a well timed distraction’ angle. I’m thinking Castillo’s Comeback! A Billionaire’s Return to Romance. What do we think?”

“I think it’s tacky.”

Carrie laughed. “That’s why I called. I want a quote.”

Lucy blinked. “You want me to give you a quote? For an article about my ex and his replacement?”

“Well when you put it like that…”

“Jesus, Carrie.”

“Come on. Just one line. It’ll make the piece.”

Lucy opened her mouth. Then shut it.

Carrie waited.

“Well?” she pressed.

Lucy stared out the window of the hallway. At the crisp Boston afternoon sun spilling through the panes. At the rows of orchids dying in a glass case nearby. At the reflection of herself—still elegant, still perfectly poised, but not untouched.

And for the first time, she realized she might’ve miscalculated.

She thought Harry would wait.

She thought he’d hurt longer.

Lucy swallowed.

Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke.

“I’ll give you a quote.”

Carrie perked up. “Go on.”

“But it has to be anonymous.”

A beat.

Then—

Carrie practically purred, “Off the record attribution, got it.”

Lucy exhaled slowly.

“She won’t last.”

Carrie chuckled. “Ooh.”

“She doesn’t know what he’s like yet. How intense. How obsessive. How cold he can be when he wants to. She’s not built for it.”

“Mm.”

“She’ll realize eventually,” Lucy said, mouth flat, voice sharper now. “It’s a facade. All of it. He doesn’t do warm. Not really.”

Carrie’s smile was audible. “So…source close to the ex?”

“Make it sound smarter.”

Carrie grinned. “Done.”

Then the line clicked off.

Lucy stood frozen in the hallway, phone still pressed to her cheek.

Behind her, John called out from the showroom.

“Babe? Do you think if I offer to DJ the wedding myself we can get the deposit waived?”

Lucy didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

She just stood there—

Still.

Silent.

And suddenly not so sure that leaving Harry Castillo had been the power move she once believed it to be.

[haniette]

right at the fingertips. // ln4

pairing | lando norris x fem!reader

genre | angst, friends to ???, childhood best friends au, unrequited love, hurt-comfort

word count | 2.1k

warnings | no use of y/n, panic attack, emotional distress, themes of regret and longing, jealousy, use of alcohol, slow burn heartbreak, cursing, crying.

inspired by: sombr — back to friends

summary: once, they were childhood best friends. but one missed chance has changed everything. at sixteen, she stayed silent, and he chose someone else. love slipped through her fingers—before she even realized it was there.

a/n: i am in my angst mood rn im sorry 😭😭 this is definitely NOT inspired by a real situation taken right from my life haha- :’) just thought it might be nice to somehow write about it as it had a potential lololo but still hope you’ll enjoy !!

Oh, how you wished you could turn back time and not come here tonight.

The house was alive. Music pulsed through the air, the bass thudding in time along with your heartbeat. Laughter and conversations overlapped, a chaotic mix of voices shouting over the noise. The smell of alcohol, sweat, and too-sweet perfume clung to the air, making everything feel thick and heavy.

Inside, people were packed together—red solo cups in their hands, pressed into corners and against the couches, bodies swaying in the rhythm of the music. The lights were dimmed, just bright enough to catch the occasional flash of a smile, the flicker of someone’s gaze across the room.

Somewhere in the kitchen, a game of beer pong was met with loud cheers. Someone else cranked the volume on the speaker, sending vibrations through the floorboards. And the others had a good time, partying on that Saturday night. The world around you was drenched in chaos, color, and movement.

But none of it mattered, because all of your focus was locked on him.

Lando was leaning against the wall, one hand holding his half-empty drink. But that view—breath-taking view—wasn’t what had your chest tightening, your stomach twisting into painful knots.

It was his phone.

The glow of the screen illuminated his face, reflecting in his slightly parted lips as he grinned down at whatever message he had just received. His thumb moved across the screen quickly, typing something before stopping, waiting. And then, the softest chuckle left him as his phone buzzed with a reply.

You didn’t need to see the name to know who it was. Olivia. His new girlfriend.

Something in you snapped. You tore your gaze away, the weight of it unbearable. It was like being punched in the ribs, the breath stolen from your lungs in one swift motion. You shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t want to walk over, snatch the phone out of his hands, demand why he was giving her the attention that used to belong to you.

But you did care. And you hated yourself for it.

Your chest felt tight, heat creeping up your neck as emotions you had spent months suppressing began to crawl back up. You couldn’t sit here and watch this. You couldn’t let yourself spiral in the middle of this suffocating, crowded room with the music reverbing through your body.

So you left. You didn’t think much about it—you just moved. You weaved through the group of bodies, ignoring the calls of your name, the outstretched hands trying to pull you back into conversation.

The second you stepped outside, the air felt different. It was sharp and cool, a stark contrast to the suffocating warmth inside. It bit at your skin, but you welcomed it—anything to ground you.

You walked around the house, your hands gripping the sleeves of your sweater, your heartbeat still uneven. You needed to escape, to be alone, to let the tension drain from your body before it consumed you.

A small ledge near the fence caught your eye. It wasn’t much—just a flat piece of concrete, probably some part of the foundation—but it was away from everyone. That was all that mattered. You sank onto it, pulling your knees up to your chest and tilting your head toward the sky.

The stars were scattered across the darkness, tiny pinpricks of light, so far away they barely seemed real. It was quiet here, save for the faint hum of cars in the distance and the muffled thumping of the music inside.

It should have been peaceful. But it wasn’t. Because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t push away the image of Lando’s smile. Not the one he used to give you. Not the one that made your chest warm and your stomach flutter.

No, the one he gave his phone. The one meant for her.

A lump formed in your throat. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to take slow, even breaths, but it didn’t stop the sting behind your eyes.

God, you were so fucking stupid.

How had you not realized it sooner? How had you been so blind when he was standing right in front of you, waiting—hoping—for you to see it?

A few months ago, he had literally told you.

“You know.. I think I might like you more than I expected.”

And you—stupid, teenager you—had just rolled your eyes, nudged his shoulder, and said something like, “Shut up, Lando. It’s not funny.”

You had waved it off like it was nothing just because it was Lando—always joking, always teasing. It had never even crossed your mind that he would have meant it.

But he had.

Yet, you hadn’t let yourself realize it, because you had never even considered the possibility that he could love you in the way you were now aching for him to.

And then, a few years later came the infamous Instagram post.

You were scrolling absentmindedly when the picture popped up on your feed. Just a casual picture of him and Olivia in his new car. Her legs draped over his lap, his hand resting on her knee like it had always belonged there. The caption was simple— an orange heart.

At first, you felt… weird. Off-balance, like the ground had slightly tilted underneath you. But then, a second later, as if someone had taken a knife and driven it straight through your ribs, you felt an unbearable pain. Your breath caught in your lungs, your stomach twisting in anxiety.

You reread the caption once. Twice. 

No.

No, he would have told you. Right..?

He would have told you. It wasn’t like Lando to not tell you about his secrets. You were sure he had told you about everything, yet it turned out not to be true.

You remembered how your hands had started trembling, how you had immediately called your best friend, breath shallow, chest tight, panic clawing at your throat.

“Hey, what’s up?” Her voice came through the speaker. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You were shaking, and your chest felt tight. It felt like something was crushing your ribs.

“Hey—are you okay?”

“I didn’t know.. he never told me— … why didn’t he tell me?” You were choking on the air, first hot teardrops rolling down your cheeks.

“Oh, sweetheart...”

It wasn’t enough. The space felt too tight, your lungs too small. You collapsed onto your bed, clutching your chest as the world tilted. Your breath came in shallow gasps, and the room spun around you like a sickening carousel.

The screen of your phone still glowed in your hand, but you couldn’t focus on it anymore. The next picture of the post was the image of Lando and Olivia, their faces warm with affection, that kept spinning in your mind. You felt like a weight was pressing down on you, drowning you in a flood of emotions you couldn’t process.

Why didn’t he tell you?

You felt your heart pounding in your throat.

Why didn’t you see this coming?

Then the tears began to spill uncontrollably, hot and heavy. It wasn’t just the pain of losing him. It was the feeling of failure, of being too late, of missing every signal he’d sent and completely ignoring them.

The world felt so small now. So empty.

Your breath caught as you tried to force the panic back, but it wasn’t working. Your chest heaved. That’s when your phone buzzed again. You almost didn’t see it—didn’t want to see it. But when you finally gathered the courage to glance at the screen, you saw her name flash.

Olivia. And that was your breaking point.

You slammed your phone down and grabbed the blankets, pulling them tight over your head, suffocating yourself in the darkness. But then, through the haze of your panicked thoughts, your best friend’s voice cut through like a lifeline.

“Hey, calm down. Just breathe with me, okay? Focus on breathing, you’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

You clung to her words like a drowning person reaching for a rope, and slowly, the trembling stopped. Slowly, your heartbeat returned to a more normal pace, but the pain—the ache—didn’t go away.

And the thought of Lando with someone else…

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried not to let the tears fall again. But even after the panic faded, the silence in your room felt deafening. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he hadn’t chosen you. You hadn’t let yourself believe it.

And now? Now, you have lost your chance.

Your eyes burned. You blinked up at the sky, desperate to keep the tears at bay, but the ache in your chest was suffocating. You had let him slip away, straight into the arms of someone else. And now, all you could do was sit here, under the same stars that had once witnessed your late-night conversations, your laughter, your unspoken moments—and mourn.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Your breath caught as you stiffened at the sound of an oddly familiar voice, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Lando stood a few feet away, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, curls slightly tousled like he had been running his fingers through them. His expression was unreadable—soft, curious, maybe a little concerned.

“You left.” He said simply, taking a step closer to where you sat, observing your face.

You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Just needed some air. Got a bit overstimulated.” He hummed in response, nodding slightly. 

Lando took another step forward, then crouched in front of you, resting his forearms on his knees. His eyes flickered across your face, studying you. “You okay?”

No.

“Just tired, I guess.” You murmured, turning your head away to break the eye contact between you two.

He exhaled, shifting his weight. His gaze was soft while searching yours. “Hey, talk to me. What happened? You’ve been very distant lately.”

Your stomach clenched at his mention of the last few weeks. You hesitated, then chose your words carefully. “You have a girlfriend now, Lando. I didn’t want to interfere or anything.”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head slightly. “That’s nonsense.”

“Is it?” You questioned, finally looking at him again and meeting his hurt but also frustrated gaze. 

Lando’s jaw tightened, but then he sighed. “You’re my best friend. You’ve been in my life for ten years now, and I’ve only known Olivia for eight months. There’s a difference in who I prioritize.”

The words struck something deep inside you, something raw and aching. And suddenly, you hated how much you wanted to believe him and his words.

But it didn’t matter. She was the one he eventually chose, and not you.

Your breath hitched as his words settled over you like a weight, heavy and suffocating.

“Does she know that?” You asked softly while playing with the sleeve of your sweater.

He hesitated for a while before answering, and for the first time that night, you saw something flicker in his eyes—uncertainty. But then, he shook his head slightly, brushing the thought away. “It’s not like that.”

Your chest ached. Because it was. And you had no right to say it, no right to fight it, no right to want him to see what was so obvious to you now. But it was too late.

The weight of it all—the regret, the longing, the unbearable ache—crashed over you in waves, and before you could stop it, the first tear slipped down your cheek.

Lando’s eyes widened slightly, and then, without hesitation, he reached forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him.

“You’re crying.” He murmured, amusement lacing his voice, like he was trying to lighten the moment.

But if only he knew. If only he understood that you weren’t crying because of the exhaustion, the school stress, or anything else. You were crying because of him. Because he had once been right there, waiting for you to notice him. And now, he was right here, too—arms wrapped around you, heartbeat steady beneath your cheek—but still just out of your reach.

“Lando, come take a shot with us!”

The distant call snapped the moment in half. Lando turned his head toward the noise, and for a second, you thought he would go. Thought he would untangle himself from you, get up, and leave you alone with the mess of feelings suffocating your chest.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he exhaled, tightening his grip around you slightly. “Not now,” He called back. “I need to stay here for a bit. Drink without me.”

That dickhead. How could he play with your heart and mind like that?

Closing your eyes, you pressed your face into the fabric of his hoodie, breathing in the familiar scent of him that you missed so much.

So close — right at the fingertips. But still, somehow, not yours.

© haniette | 2025, all rights reserved.

reuploads and likes are highly appreciated ♡

[plethorawrites]

Okay, first of all, I genuinely love your blog, your writing, everything, it's so great

Second, would you be willing to do a Jason todd x reader where it's basically a boxing au and Jason got injured, so reader is taking care of him and they end up sleeping together? It can be anything else you want, just thought this would be cute

Love you (platonically, you and your blog are just really amazing)

Boxer Jason would be AMAZING, I think. Especially if it's after he came back from the dead.

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

He'd be angry, rightfully so, after climbing out of the Lazarus pit. Feeling shunned, it wouldn't surprise me at all if he needed an outlet for that rage and since Bruce's golden rule of never killing stuck in his head too deep to forget it, he had to find something less violent. Not by a lot, of course.

Boxing was good.

At first, at least. He'd go to a gym, get a decent amount of his anger and frustration out. Not enough though. He needed to hit something that wasn't moving.

So, despite not entirely trusting himself, he signed up for a few fights. He was good. Stupidly good. To the point the owner asked him if he'd want to get paid for it. Originally he'd been doing it just to blow off some steam, but this was Gotham, so of course there was something darker and more illegal nearby.

An underground boxing ring wasn't all that surprising to him, neither was the number of people who took bets.

Really, the only thing that surprised him was you. The owner's kid, who... really didn't seem to belong in a place so dirty or gritty. You were always dressed so much nicer than the creeps that were crowded around the ring, yelling and screaming. He'd watch you get hit on time and time again only shut down any advances or have your father do it for you.

He'd see you, sometimes, in the gym on your own at night when no one was around, just boxing for fun or to destress. Not the way he fought, which was typically to maim someone. He was good at that. Always had been. It took a lot for him to lose.

But watching you in the crowd, as some guy you clearly didn't want to be near tried to grab your ass, that caught his attention long enough to get pummeled. It wasn't the first fight he'd lost (even if it was rare) but it was the worst.

That's why you were sitting with him, in the empty, dim gym after everyone left, pressing a towel to his busted face. It burned as you wiped the blood from his brow, but at the same time you were so damn sweet about it he almost felt the cavities forming when you smiled.

He couldn't say he wasn't attracted to you, because he obviously was. It seemed most people were. But you were off limits according to your dad and since he paid Jason's check every fight.... he'd try to listen.

It wasn't easy though, and that little voice in his head telling him to back off grew weaker and weaker the longer he felt your soft hands on him, listening to your steady breathing as you gently wrapped bandages around his wrists.

"What happened?" You asked, slowly pulling at the gauze. "You're never caught off guard." Overpowered? Occasionally. But never distracted.

He didn't want to admit the truth, that he'd been so caught up in watching you that he forgot about the fact that someone was about to punch him. But you were impossible to lie to. "I just...saw some guy harassing you," he confessed quietly, resisting the urge to ask if you were alright from it.

"Oh." Your voice was equally quiet as you tucked the bandage in and picked up the towel again as his lip started to bleed once more from how hard it got hit. "So... I'm the reason you're bleeding."

He could tell you felt guilty, not only because he lost but because he was hurt and you were the cause of it. He shook his head as you pressed the rag firmly against the corner of his mouth. "No, no I just- I had a bad night. They happen."

He could see you thinking through his words, reluctantly nodding as you pulled the towel away and ran your thumb over the edge of his lip. "I'm sorry," you whispered, suddenly very aware of how his hand fell on your knee after you'd finished bandaging it. "I wish I could make it better."

You meant that, truly. You cared about him in more ways than one, even if you'd never told him that before.

His heart beat felt a bit faster as he felt you touching his lip and he hesitated, the voice in his head shouting at him to pull away, gather his stuff, and go home. But he couldn't help but lean in a bit closer.

"Maybe...maybe you could," he breathed, his breath warm on your lips which were closer to his than ever.

Your mouth fell open for a second, before it met his, kissing him gently out of fear that one of you would stop or that you might hurt him. When neither seemed to be the case, the towel fell from your grasp, and you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

His hand squeezed your thigh, the other finding your waist, digging his fingers into your skin as it moved back and forth trying to find the best grip possible.

Out of breath, you pulled back, resting your forehead against his. "My father is going to kill me," you muttered, fussing with the hair on the nape of his neck.

Despite your words, there was little regret behind them. In fact, none.

Jason knew that he was probably out of a job now, but if he was going to lose his source of income, it wouldn't be over one damn kiss. "That's not worth killing you over," he replied, his hand tugging at your shirt, seeking approval. "This could be."

You knew as well as he did that it was a bad idea, but you'd liked him since he first stepped foot in the gym, since you saw how passionate he was and watched his tired, lonely eyes every night he tended to his own injuries.

Bad idea or not, you wanted it. Wanted him.

You didn't resist when he pulled your shirt off, just reached back to hold him again as soon as it was off. With your arms around his neck, his large hands roamed your ribs and waist for a moment before pulling you off the bench and kissing you again as you walked backwards towards the ring.

"So unhygienic," you mumbled as he lifted you with ease until you were sitting on the edge of it, laying back as your head fell below the ropes. He lifted one, ducking under it as he always did.

"You're in an illegal boxing ring," he reminded you, his hands wrapping around your wrists as he pinned you down gently, his lips near your ear. "Nothing about this place is clean."

Least of all what you were doing.

But that didn't seem to matter nearly as much as the feeling of his lips on your jaw, peppering kisses along it as he held you down, his weight settled on you as his legs rested on either side of your hips.

"Guess not," you agreed, a breathy sigh falling from your lips and you closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of his touch. Perhaps the only gentleman to ever exist in this place.

The place was dark, dirty, violent. So was he, in a lot of ways. But the boxing ring you always considered so grotesque seemed much more beautiful when you were in it with him.

[afsalovescats]

hii, i just love ur works!!

can i request yandere megumi x fem reader smut? the reader is just very inexperienced and yan! megumi is superrr perverted and wants to corrupt her!!

ofc angel !!

Megumi's heart raced with excitement and desire as he gazed upon you. All innocent, yet alluring form. Poor girl, you had no idea what you were getting into, did you? Megumi would make sure of that. A small wicked grin spread across his face as he crept closer to you like a predator stalking its prey.

Then In one swift, sudden movement, Megumi pounced, pinning your inexperienced self against the bed. He could feel your racing heartbeat and hear your shaky breaths. Megumi leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered "Shhh, shhh, don't be scared. I'm going to make you feel things you've never felt before." He was excited to be your first. To corrupt you, to make you beg for more. He'll make sure their wont be another man at all who can please you like him. Gosh what a pervert.

He slid a hand down to your side, feeling the soft curve of your waist and hip, before gripping your ass possessively. Fondling it as he slips your pants off, leaving you in your panties. Pulling your hips flush against his own. Megumi captured your chin, forcing you to meet his intense crazed gaze. His other hand slid under your shirt, palming your breasts through your bra. He was going to claim every inch of you until your addicted and you'll be begging him to ruin you.

Megumi forced your legs apart, exposing the most intimate area. The fabric of your panties strained against your core as Megumi's fingers shoved them aside, feeling the damp wetness of your pretty pussy.

He eyes it. You're embarssed, as he then brings his fingers through your slick folds and plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt without warning. You threw your head back, mouth wide open as you allow yourself to be touched by him.

He wanted to fill you up with his cock and cum right now.

Your back arches as Megumi started pumping his fingers at a specific speed, curling them to hit that spongey spot deep inside that made you see stars. 

"That's it, moan for me. This cunt belongs to me now, understand? I'm gonna to ruin it." This was not even a good amount of what was running through his mind. The filthy disgusting perverted thoughts would cause someone a stroke if they could read his mind.

Megumi used his thumb to rub harsh circles around your clit as he finger-fucked you hard and you instantly moan loudly! the pressure on your clitoris is doing wonders. Megumi could feel your pussy clenching and quivering around his fingers, he knew you were close but instead he yanked his fingers out. Leaving your puffy hole all lonely and unfilled.

"No, please, don't stop!" you whimpered, trying to grind your hips against Megumi's hand, desperate for more friction.

Megumi just chuckled cruelly, undoing his pants with his other hand and pulling out his hard throbbing cock. He gently slapped it against your entrance then made the head run over your clit, making shivers hit your back.

"Beg for my cock, beg me to breed this tight little cunt," Megumi murmured, rubbing the swollen head of his cock through your soaked folds.

"Please, Megumi, please fuck me...I-I need your cock so badly, please breed me, fill me with your cum!" You babbled, too far gone in lust to care how desperate you sounded.

He starts fucking you. You moan and write under him. It was so heavenly, you were in pure bliss. His cock hit every inch right. He brings a hand to your tummy, fingers holding you so gently in contrast to how hard he’s fucking you. He raises your hips slightly and spreads your legs more as he watches the bulge of his cock in your stomach appear and disappear. He loved how big he was, compared to your small figure.

His thrusts were deep and fast making you unable to control anything. Soon enough you both come. White, warm and sticky fluid fills you up. He came in you. You're so spent and tired. But he starts thrusting again and you whimper.

"Your not going anywhere."

[wholoveseggs]

Reverence

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Request(s)~ #1 - "Could i request for elijah pls? maybe something like the fic you did a while back about klaus making her insecure. as a bigger girl its nice to see the comfort from my man LOL! so yeah just something about someone/something making reader upset about her body and she kinda shuts elijah out? he finds a way to reassure her/comfort her! (can definitely be smutty) thank you angel! have a great day 💜" #2 - "Could you possibly write something with Elijah about body worship? Maybe the readers a bit insecure and he reminds her of all the physical things he loves about her as well as the mental and like personality traits… like just soft fluffy smut?"

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader} Elijah protects you from a stranger’s insult, then shows you why it was never true...

♡♡ Thank you for the requests beautiful anons!!! I adore this idea, struggling with body issues is a subject close to my heart and I hope I did it justice, and that this feels like a comfort to anyone who needs it.~ ♡♡

4.3k words - Warnings: smutt, heavy body image insecurity, reader is plus-size and self-conscious, fatphobia (insult from a side character), crying, hurt/comfort, very soft Elijah, white knight Elijah, fingering, slow sex, body worship, praise kink && tiny bit of violence...

You didn’t want to leave the house. You barely had the energy to exist, let alone face the world. But your job at the bar didn’t care about bad days. It didn’t care that you wanted to curl up in bed and pretend the world didn’t exist. It didn’t care that your body felt too heavy. It just demanded you show up, slap on a customer-service smile, and tolerate people you had no patience for today.

Your uniform didn’t help. The black t-shirt was too tight, the logo stretched across your chest, and the skirt was even worse. No matter how much you tugged it down, it still felt like it was working against you. It was hard to feel comfortable in it, especially when you felt like every set of eyes lingered too long. Like every glance held something unspoken. You could sense their judgment, could feel it pressing down on you, and you felt shame bloom hot and heavy in your chest. It was as if the world was reminding you that you took up too much space. That you shouldn’t exist.

You sighed, laced up your sneakers, and threw on your leather jacket, tugging it tight around you like armor. Maybe it would offer at least some comfort.

The night was a mess. You were short-staffed, the customers were assholes, and the clock seemed determined to move at a glacial pace. Every minute felt stretched thin, dragging endlessly. When you finally got a breather, you slipped out back, leaning against the wall and dragging in lungfuls of cold air. The night bit at your skin, sharp and bracing, but at least it was real. At least it was something other than the weight in your chest.

Just one more hour. One more hour, and you could go home, take a long shower, and maybe scrub away the feeling of existing in your own skin tonight.

"Is there anyone working here?" A voice bellowed from inside, slurred and impatient. "I've been waiting for a refill for, like, fifteen minutes!"

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly through your nose. Fucking prick.

"I'll be there in a moment!" you called, shoving yourself off the wall and forcing your legs to move.

The man at the bar looked wasted, his hands flat on the counter as he scowled at you.

"Finally!" he spat.

You didn’t bother responding, just grabbed his empty cup and refilled it. "There you go." You slid the drink toward him.

He downed it in one go, then slammed the glass back down. "Put it on my tab," he slurred, "and get me another."

"No problem. What's your name?"

His bleary eyes narrowed. "What? Why should I tell you?"

You sighed, already regretting this conversation. "I can’t put anything on your tab if I don’t know who it belongs to."

He reached for the drink, but you pulled it just out of reach.

"Name?"

"Fuck you."

You arched a brow, unimpressed. "Right. Then you’re paying cash."

His lip curled. "Oh, fuck off, stupid fat bitch," he spat, his words sharp as broken glass. "You can't do shit."

The breath left your lungs.

For a second, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The bar noise faded, drowned under the roaring in your ears. Heat crawled up your neck, but your body felt frozen. Locked in place, your hands gripping the counter as if letting go would send you crumbling to the floor.

He was still talking, still slurring insults, but you weren’t really hearing him. Not over the voice in your head that whispered, See? Everyone could see just how awful you looked. Even this drunk asshole. You should be ashamed of yourself, embarrassed.

Glass shattered.

It took you a second to realize what had happened. That he had smacked his empty cup off the counter, sending shards flying. He was standing now, a sneer twisting his face as he leaned toward you.

"Fucking cunt," he snarled. "Give me my damn dri-"

He never finished the sentence.

One moment, he was lurching forward, and the next… A blur of movement. A hand, firm and unyielding, slammed down on his shoulder.

The man gasped as he was shoved back into his seat, his body caving under the pressure. His face paled, and he let out a choked, strangled sound.

The hand didn’t move. It didn’t need to and a familiar voice, calm and cold as steel, cut through the air.

"That," Elijah said, "is quite enough."

Elijah stood behind the man, his fingers digging just enough to make the drunk squirm, but his expression was unreadable. controlled, collected. But you knew better. You knew the quiet, simmering rage that lurked beneath his civility.

The bar had gone silent.

The man tried to move, but Elijah’s grip didn’t falter. He only leaned in slightly, voice as smooth as ever.

"Apologize."

The drunk swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling under the weight of Elijah’s presence. "I…" His voice wobbled. "I didn’t mean…"

"Apologize."

The word was softer this time. Deadlier.

The man turned his panicked gaze to you. "I-I’m sorry," he stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

Elijah didn’t release him right away. He let the silence stretch, let the man feel his power pressing into him. Then, finally, with an almost dismissive flick of his fingers, he let go.

The drunk bolted from the stool, muttering some half-hearted excuse as he stumbled away.

The moment he was gone, the tension in the bar broke, conversations resuming in hushed tones. But you were still frozen. Still stuck in the moment before Elijah had intervened, in the moment where the words had hit you like a slap.

You turned away, suddenly desperate to escape. To hide, to try to breathe, to not let Elijah see the cracks forming in your expression.

You ran into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. The tears came then, spilling down your cheeks as you pressed your forehead to the cool wood of the door.

It was stupid. You were fine. You were a big girl. You were used to this, and it didn’t hurt. It wasn't like you hadn't called yourself worse. It wasn't like you hadn't spent nights wishing your body was different. You weren’t the kind of person to get upset over a few words.

So why did it feel like you couldn’t breathe?

A soft knock on the door.

"Y/N." Elijah's voice was gentle.

You didn’t answer.

"Y/N," he repeated, softer this time, "may I come in?"

You drew in a shaky breath, rubbing furiously at the tears on your face. You couldn’t hide from him, not forever, so you pushed yourself off the door, unlocked it, and stepped back.

Elijah eased the door open, slipping inside and closing it behind him. His expression was calm, but his eyes were bright with concern.

"Are you alright?"

You nodded quickly, turning away from him and trying to wipe the remaining tears away. "It's fine. Sorry. I'm fine."

You were mortified. Elijah had seen everything. The scene. The confrontation. And now, your tears. The two of you had just recently begun dating, and the last thing you wanted was to start the relationship off with your baggage.

You couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn't look up from the floor. You were a mess, and he was immortally chiseled and beautiful. How could he possibly find you attractive, especially after he saw how weak and pathetic you were acting.

Elijah took a slow step toward you.

"It is okay if you are not fine," he murmured, his words warm and soft. "It is okay if he upset you."

He brushed his knuckles along your arm, then he took your hand, lifting it to press a gentle kiss against your skin.

His sweet gesture broke the last remaining shreds of your composure, and the tears fell harder. You turned to face him and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. You buried your face in his shirt, breathing in the scent of his cologne as his hands stroked along your back.

He pulled off his heavy woolen coat and draped it over your shoulders. The weight was comforting, and the lingering heat of his body surrounded you, easing the trembling of your limbs.

He didn't say anything. He just took your hand and led you out the door, and then outside, the cool night air a relief on your flushed face. You followed him, letting him guide you to his car.

"Stay here," he said, opening the passenger door for you. "I'll return shortly."

You nodded, climbing in and shutting the door. Being inside his car muffled the noise from the bar, and you leaned back, closing your eyes and exhaling.

When the driver's side door opened, you looked over, watching as Elijah climbed in and started the car. For a moment you wondered what he had gone to do, but the question didn’t linger. The answer came when you saw the small specks of blood on the cuffs of his sleeves.

He handed you your leather jacket and purse, which he must have collected from the break room. You smiled to yourself, and the knot in your stomach loosened a bit.

"Thank you," you murmured.

"Of course."

He pulled out of the parking lot and into the night. The ride was quiet, the radio playing some low, soft classical music. After a while, he glanced over, and you felt his eyes on you. You still couldn't look at him, and you kept your eyes down, staring at your lap.

Your soft belly was sticking out slightly, the skin between your shirt and skirt exposed. You could see the way the flesh dimpled, and a rush of shame heated your face.

Elijah placed a strong, warm hand on your thigh, squeezing gently.

"May I ask," he began softly, "why did his words hurt you so deeply?"

You looked up at him, his expression calm and open.

You sighed. "I don't know."

It was a lie. A poor, pathetic attempt at a shield. Because you did know. You knew why the words bothered you.

He nodded, but didn't push. He just returned his hand to the steering wheel, his attention on the road ahead.

It wasn't a long drive, and when the car pulled up to your apartment, it was well past midnight and most of the lights were off. The large building felt so cold, empty, imposing, and you didn't want to go inside. Not alone.

Elijah got out, coming around and opening your door. He took your hand, helping you out, and you didn’t let go. Not as he led you to the elevator, not as he opened the door to your apartment, not as he guided you inside.

The apartment was dark, and Elijah moved to the lamp by the couch, switching it on and filling the room with a warm, gentle light.

You shrugged off his coat, handing it to him. He folded it carefully, setting it aside, and for a moment, you just stood there, arms curling around yourself, like you could shield your body from his eyes.

You swallowed hard, shifting uneasily, staring at your feet. You crossed your arms tighter, wrapping them over your stomach. Just a feeble attempt to shield yourself from Elijah’s gaze. You didn’t want him to see you like this: hurt, weak and ashamed.

Elijah watched you carefully, his expression unreadable, but you felt the weight of him, the way he saw everything even when you wished he wouldn’t. He didn’t move closer, didn’t press you to speak. He let the silence settle, warm and patient.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"For what?" His voice was gentle, but firm.

You hesitated, then exhaled. “For… tonight. For making a scene. For ruining the evening.” Your head shook, your throat tightening. "For being-"

"Stop," Elijah said softly.

"Why do you stay with me?" You said a little harsher than intended. The words spilled out before you could stop them, sharp and raw and ugly. Your voice wavered, and the shame burned hot and painful in your chest.

"Am I a pity case? Are you bored by beautiful women, so you chose to date me?" The words came faster now, tripping over themselves, tumbling from your lips before you could cage them.

"Stop," Elijah said again, stronger this time.

The quiet authority in his tone cut through the air like a blade, sharp and deliberate. It made you pause, made you glance up despite yourself.

He was watching you with something almost… pained in his eyes. As if the idea that you could blame yourself for any of this physically hurt him.

"I know how you feel about yourself, and I know that there is nothing I can say or do to change that." His voice was warm, heartbreakingly gentle, yet unyielding in its certainty.

"But allow me to ask you one thing. If someone said those words to another you care for, would you blame them? Would you think less of them for being hurt? Would you think them weak, or that they deserved it?"

"No." You muttered, the word slipped out before you could think. It was immediate, instinctive. Reflexive.

"Then why," Elijah asked softly, "do you think that of yourself?"

You let out a choked breath, your fingers curling into your sides like you could claw your way out of your own skin. "You don’t get it."

Elijah stepped closer, filling the space you tried to shrink away from. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to ground you, to remind you that he was here. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking your head. 

“Elijah, look at me.” The bitterness in your voice startled even you. You stepped back, pushing him away, your arms unfolding as you gestured to yourself. "Really look at me."

"I am."

"No, you’re not."

Your breath stuttered. The words were rising now, acid in your throat, too much to hold back.

"I'm fat." The word felt heavy, like a curse, like something filthy. "Not just soft, not just curvy in some romanticized way. I have rolls, Elijah. I have stretch marks, my thighs rub together when I walk. My stomach isn't flat, my arms jiggle, and if I sit the wrong way, I feel like I’m spilling out of my clothes."

Your voice was rising, cracking under the weight of your self-loathing. Your hands pointed to all of your unsavory parts, you grabbed at your stomach and arms, the tears falling in earnest now. 

"You could have anyone. Someone effortless. Someone who fits into the world the way they are supposed to-"

"Enough."

His voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t harsh.

But it stopped you like a wall of stone.

And before you could blink, his hands were on you. Not rough. Not unkind. But firm. Unyielding.

His fingers closed around your wrists, stopping your frantic gestures, silencing your spiraling words. His grip was steady, grounding. Holding you together before you could shatter.

Before you could protest, before you could even breathe, he moved.

Effortless. Controlled.

One moment, you were standing. The next, your back hit the wall, and his body was against yours, pressing you into it like he could mold you into him.

A sharp gasp broke from your lips, and instinct took over. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands clutching at his shirt, the heat of him overwhelming.

"I am looking," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble, "at exactly who I want and what I want,”

His hands stroked down your legs, hooking under your thighs, his fingers pressing into soft flesh like he wanted to commit the feel of you to memory.

His mouth traced slow, reverent kisses up your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"I have seen women starve themselves to fit into corsets, their ribs near breaking. I have seen them darken their skin, pale their skin, carve their features to fit a mold that would be reshaped within a decade. I have watched beauty be declared, discarded, rewritten over and over again."

His lips brushed over your jaw before ghosting over your own lips. "But none of it has ever been real. Not like this. Not like you,”

You let out a shaking breath. Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him like an anchor.

"Elijah-"

He silenced you with a kiss.

Tender and insistent, cutting off every self-destructive thought before it could take root. His grip tightened, his body shifting, and suddenly, the wall was gone.

Your arms locked around his neck, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you with effortless strength, the motion smooth and deliberate. The bed met your back in the next breath, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he settled you there.

His lips never left yours, his hands never stopped touching. Trailing reverent paths down your arms, your waist, the softness of your belly.

He pulled away for a moment, his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, his movements unhurried. You watched as he shed his clothing, his body beautiful and chiseled and perfect.

And for a moment, it was a reminder of how imperfect you were. How soft you were where he was hard. How different.

But then he was kissing you again, his lips insistent, claiming, and his touch chased away all your negative thoughts, at least for a moment.

He gently pulled off your top, revealing more soft curves, more places to touch, to hold. Your breasts spilled out awkwardly, your bra unable to contain them, but Elijah only smiled, undoing the front clasp, and kissed the swell of skin there.

He helped you peel away your bra, and you covered your chest instinctively. He brushed his hands over yours, guiding them away, and pressed his lips to the valley of your breasts, the tender flesh beneath, the sensitive spot where the swell of your stomach curved.

Your skirt was next. Elijah slipped it off, letting his palms drag along your legs.

His hands left fire in their wake, the heat of his touch sinking deep, setting every nerve alight. Every time you tensed, every time your body tried to curl in on itself, he was there, lingering longer, chasing every instinct to hide. His fingers traced each curve with purpose, as if learning you, mapping you, claiming you.

"’lijah," you whispered, voice unsteady, caught between need and uncertainty.

His only response was to press his lips to yours. The kiss was slow and deep and overwhelming, pulling you under, drowning you in him. And for a moment, everything faded. Everything gone but his hands and his mouth, the heat of his body against yours, the steady, deliberate way he took you apart.

His fingers skimmed between your thighs, teasing, testing, spreading the wetness he found there. His touch dragged along your slit, and you gasped against his lips, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

His tongue brushed over yours, stealing the sounds from your mouth, his thumb tracing teasing circles over your clit.

"So beautiful," he breathed. "And all mine."

The words made a rush of warmth pool low in your belly. You couldn't form a reply, not with the way his fingers were working you over, the way he was looking at you. You squirmed, arching your back, trying to grind yourself against his hand, but he only smirked, pulling away slightly.

"Not yet," he murmured.

His fingers moved down, slipping inside, and you let out a shaking gasp. Your hips rolled instinctively, needing him deeper.

Elijah watched with a satisfied expression, his lips brushing against your cheek, looking down to where you were connected.

"You grip me so tight, so warm, wet and lovely," He curled his fingers, watching as your eyelids fluttered shut. "I like the way your body moves, the way you give into pleasure."

He kept the perfect pace, the heel of his hand bumping your clit in slow, easy rhythm. Wet, filthy sounds filled the air, the slickness coating his fingers and your inner thighs.

He watched as his touch coaxed a wave of heat over your skin, as it left you panting, and a small, helpless sound caught in the back of your throat. Your body was tightening, every muscle winding into a knot, and when he sucked your nipple between his teeth, the tension snapped.

Pleasure burst through you, sharp and overwhelming, and his fingers didn't stop, dragging the climax out until your entire body was trembling.

He let out a low groan as your pussy clenched around his fingers, his lips found yours. You felt him undo his pants, the head of his cock dragging over your slit. You gasped and lifted your legs, wrapping them around his waist.

Elijah's eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide, and his hands slid beneath you, grabbing your ass and lifting your hips, easing himself inside.

"Y/N," he hissed, a low, feral sound, his lips pressing to yours as his cock sank deep.

"’lijah," you moaned, clinging to him, letting him take control.

His mouth sealed over yours, muffling the soft, desperate sounds spilling from your lips. Your hips rocked into his, the pressure building in slow, aching waves, each movement pulling you deeper into him.

Elijah pressed deeper, his thrusts turning sharper, his pace quickening, more desperate now. The room filled with the wet, sinful sounds of your bodies moving together, of your breathless moans and the quiet, strangled curses slipping from Elijah’s lips, the only sign that he was losing himself in you.

He adjusted, angling you just slightly and the shift sent pleasure sparking up your spine. A gasp broke from your throat, and he drank it in, his chest pressing flush against yours, pinning you to the bed.

He didn't care that the soft skin of your breasts spilled out, didn't care that the squish of your belly crushed his sculpted abs. No. He leaned into it, drank in the feel of you, how soft and lovely you were. His tongue slid up the curve of your neck, tasting the salt on your skin, drinking in the way you moaned his name.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging and pulling, your legs locked around his hips, every little detail in you wringing pleasure from him. Your sweat slicked skin, flushed and trembling, the greedy, needy way your body took him.

You felt his control begin to slip, a growl, low and visceral building in his throat. He leaned back, his dark eyes glittering as he looked down at your body.

He watched the way your body bounced with each deep thrust, the way your breasts and belly moved with him. One hand skimmed down, and his touch teased over your clit, the other tightening on your hip, holding you in place.

You wanted to cover yourself, feeling so utterly exposed underneath his intense stare. But his fingers were relentless, circling and stroking, your entire body tightening and trembling.

"That's it, darling girl," he growled. "Let go."

You broke.

You shattered with a helpless cry, pleasure rushing through every nerve, leaving you trembling beneath him. The moment your body clenched around him, his perfect rhythm faltered, grinding deep as he followed you over the edge. He had held on, resisting until he had unraveled you completely, until he could finally let go, spilling inside you, filling you with warmth.

It was hot, messy, primal…but neither of you cared.

You clung to him, holding onto every last wave of pleasure, every last tremor that wracked through your bodies.

Slowly, your breathing evened, the heat of the moment giving way to a softer, quieter intimacy.

Elijah shifted, carefully rolling to the side, but he didn’t let go. He pulled you with him, keeping you pressed against his chest, like letting you go was out of the question.

His fingers traced absent patterns along your stomach, a slow, idle reverence. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it, you realized. He simply couldn’t stop touching you.

You hesitated, watching as his hands traced over the softest parts of you. Without hesitation, without doubt. Normally, you would swat him away, retreat into yourself, discomfort creeping in before his touch could linger. But you couldn’t. Not now. Not when you could see it so clearly in his eyes. How much he loved you, every curve, every so-called flaw. He didn’t just accept them. He worshiped them. And who were you to deny this adoring man the very thing he cherished?

“Do you really mean it?” you whispered, your voice barely above the hush of the night.

Elijah’s eyes lifted to yours, dark and unwavering. “Mean what, darling?”

You swallowed. "That you…” The words caught in your throat. "That you think I’m beautiful."

His hand flattened against your stomach.

"Look at me."

Your eyes slowly met his as heat crawled up your neck to your cheeks. 

Elijah leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm, steady, unshaken.

"I do not think you are beautiful," he murmured, voice as certain as stone. "I know you are,”

A tear slipped down your cheek, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness. And Elijah kissed it away before it could fall.

"You will believe me one day," he promised, his voice threaded with something fierce, unshakable. "Until then, I’ll keep showing you."

He gathered you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin. For a moment, you stayed stiff, uncertain. But then, slowly, you let yourself melt into him, your body relaxing against his, your breathing syncing with his steady, unshaken rhythm.

Your hand drifted over his, where it still rested against your stomach. You hesitated, then laced your fingers together, holding him there. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe him.

Just for a little while.

And that was enough.

[rhyslarsenlover]

his exception

warnings: bsf!rafe cameron x innocent!reader, power imbalance, loss of virginity, rafe being a softie, p in v, praising, breeding kink, 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

rafe wasn’t entirely sure when he started caring this much. it wasn’t like he woke up one morning and decided, yeah, i think i’m going to be completely obsessed with my best friend today. it just happened.

maybe it was the way you’d trail after him at parties, like a loyal puppy, trusting him to keep you safe when it got too crowded. or how you always had that soft, wide-eyed look when you turned to him, like you expected him to know all the answers. it made him want to be someone worth trusting. someone you could lean on.

which is why you were on his yacht, tucked into his side like you belonged there. you sighed, curling deeper into the warmth of his chest. “you didn’t have to bring me out here, you know.” rafe scoffed. “you looked miserable in my room. what was i supposed to do? leave you there?”

you peeked up at him, eyes gleaming under the dim deck lights. “most people would have.” he rolled his eyes. “yeah, well. i’m not most people.” that was an understatement. he’d ditched all of his friends, the country club, just because you looked so lonely in his room, where you’d usually spend the day waiting for him to get back from the club. he’d stolen you away, steering you onto his yacht without so much as an explanation, and now you were sitting on his deck, legs curled beneath you, sipping the drink he made you like this was just another saturday night.

and the worst part? it felt normal. like this was just something you did. like you weren’t wrapped in his hoodie, all soft and sleepy, making his chest ache in a way he didn’t know how to name.

you nudged him with your elbow. “you’re quiet.” rafe hummed, fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your sleeve. “just thinking.” “about?” he shrugged. “dunno. life.” you. you smiled, like you knew he was full of shit but weren’t gonna call him on it. instead, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. it was easy, natural. you always did things like that. touched him without thinking, folded yourself into his space like you belonged there.

rafe had never minded before. but today, something about it felt different. like he was standing on the edge of something big, something that had been waiting for him to notice it. maybe he had noticed. maybe he’d just been ignoring it.

your voice broke through his thoughts, soft and teasing. “you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

rafe looked at you, at the way your fingers played with his, like it was the most natural thing in the world. at the way you trusted him enough to fall asleep on his shoulder when you got too tired, to let him take care of you without question.

he squeezed your hand. “yeah,” he murmured. “i’d tell you.” you grinned, satisfied, and leaned your head against his shoulder. “good.” rafe exhaled, letting his chin rest lightly against your hair. yeah. he was so screwed. you stood up with your now empty glass, bending down to place it on the low table. little did you know that your short mini skirt had risen as you bent over, revealing a glimpse of your panties. rafe’s eyes caught sight of the scene, widening as he involuntarily groaned which caused you to turn your head, “you okay?” you ask, worry laced in your tone. “c’mere, princess,” he says as he opens his arm, motioning for you to sit in his lap, and you happily oblige. one strong arm wrapped around your waist, another holding his beer bottle, one that he hadn’t touched. you frown slightly, “you want some water?” you ask softly, watching as he looks up at you, his thumb rubbing circles on your hip, “got all i need on my lap, right here,” he says, a small smile on his lips.

his words had an indescribable effect on you, and you shift in his lap, trying to ease the tingling feeling you could feel in your pussy. his next words were low and warning, “stay still, or you might regret what i’ll do.” you grin, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you move your hips again, teasing him. “such a fucking brat,” he says, placing his beer on the floor beside his chair.

you didn’t really expect he’d do much, rafe was always so good to you, as far as you were concerned your rafe was an angel. but push an angel too hard and he might just fall. He moves his now free hand to the hem of your skirt, pushing it up slightly, “always dress so pretty for me, don’t ya, princess?” he says, eyes focused on your reaction. expressions of shock and then a flash of desire as you stared at his big, veiny hand. “you okay with me touching you, y/n?” he asked, seriousness written across his face, you nod quickly and let out a quick, “please.”

he chuckles and his fingers run over your panties, rubbing over your clit, eliciting a whimper from your lips as your eyes flutter closed. “this what you do when your own, hm?” he asks, not looking away from every micro expression on your face. “i’ve heard you, y/n. when you think i’ve left and your all alone in my room.” his voice is gravelly, thick with lust. “hear you whining, dreaming about my dick,” he continues as he slips a finger beneath your panties and pushes it inside of you. “god, y/n, you’re so wet for me.”

your lips part, heavy breaths leaving your lips as rafe adds another finger inside of you, his thumb circling your clit each time he slides his fingers in. he pulls his fingers out abruptly, licking his fingers as he maintains eye contact and a whine leaves your lips again, feeling empty.

instead of responding, he hooks an arm under your legs and picks you up bridal-style, carrying you to his cabin down the steps of his yacht. you leave kisses along his neck, wanting so desperately to make him feel good. he kicks his door shut behind him and sets you down on his plush king-sized bed, an adoring smile on his lips as he takes you in, his princess.

rafe leans down, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. he runs his hands through your hair, deepening the kiss as he presses you gently onto the bed. pulling back slightly, he whispers against your lips, "god, i’ve been dreaming of this for so long, y/n. you don’t know what you do to me.” you blush, avoiding eye contact as you realise your inexperience, “rafe i’m not sure you mean that, especially since.. i’m you know..” you take a breath, “a virgin.”

his expression turns tender, his voice gentle as he looks into your eyes. “y/n i already knew that, and being your first makes me feel like the luckiest guy alive. being your only means that i promise to make you always feel good.” he says, his voice a million times softer than you had ever heard. of course, rafe was always soft with you, but this was extra. and it made you feel all soft and special. “please, need you rafey,” you beg, eyes big and pleading.

“you have no idea what hearing that does to me,” he slowly starts undressing you and himself, his hands trembling slightly with anticipation. he had never been nervous in his entire life, especially not with girls. but you were his girl, sweet y/n. he couldn’t say it out loud, but he loved you and he wanted to make you feel like the royalty that you were.

“want my cock inside you baby?” he asks, watching for your reaction, instead you whine again, unable to form words as he trailed the tip of his length along your slit, catching on your pink clit. rafe groans softly, his eyes darkening with desire as he feels your wetness against his tip, he couldn’t bear it any longer. forcing himself inside of you. he thought he could go slow, but you were insatiable. “taking me so good, baby, mm,” he groans, as he feels you clamp around him.

you moan loudly, appreciative of his side, he filled you up perfectly and you were so wet that it was easy for him to thrust. “faster, rafe!” you shout, lifting your hips with him as he fucked you faster.

his hand moved to your clit again and you couldn’t contain yourself, a loud moan tumbling from your lips as you came unexpectedly. your juices pooled around his dick, a loud squelching as rafe continued to pound into you. his breath became ragged as he neared his high, quickly pulling out and coming on your stomach.

a pout formed on your pink lips, “wanted your cum inside me, rafey,” you say, your voice small as you worry that maybe he didn’t think you deserved it inside you. “oh baby, that’s for round 2,” he grins, dipping his finger in his cum and bringing it to your lips. you instantly wrap your lips around it, sucking and humming in pleasure before popping off with a smile, “delicious!”.

“god, i can’t wait for round 2,” he says, chuckling as he leads you to the bathroom.

a/n: ok i NEED him rn. also sorry if theres typos, i didnt proofread :/

[killiaia]

Bratty Jiu.

One girlsband. One fic by members. Leader to Maknae.

Start with Dreamcatcher.

The first time Jiu saw a video of you performing with the other group, she didn't react immediately. She blinked, staring at her phone screen as if she didn't understand what she was seeing.

You were there, center stage, surrounded by those girls. You were dancing with the same intensity that had always fascinated her, with the precision and energy that made him such an exceptional dancer. But what struck her wasn't your technique or your passion for dance.

It was the way you looked at them.

Those girls.

You smiled at them. You guided them with fluidity, your movements perfectly synchronized with theirs. Sometimes, you'd place a hand on the waist of one of them to adjust a posture. Other times, you'd meet their eyes with that natural assurance, that charisma that made you irresistible on stage.

Jiu felt a lump form in her stomach.

She had always told herself that she wasn't a jealous girl. That she trusted you. But at this very moment, that confidence seemed to be wavering, cracking under the weight of a feeling she had no control over.

The video continued, and the more she watched, the tighter her heart became.

There was one girl in particular who caught her eye. An idol known for her beauty and charisma. And you... you were giving her knowing glances. The kind of looks he usually reserved for people he felt comfortable with. To people he liked.

"Since when is he so close to her?"

An unpleasant heat invaded her chest. She tried to tell herself that this was just professionalism, that on stage, dancers had to exude that chemistry to captivate the audience.

But she couldn't convince herself.

The hardest part was watching you dance a duet with this girl.

It was sensual, fluid choreography. Your movements were perfectly coordinated. You guided her with ease, and she let herself go, her eyes plunged into yours.

Jiu felt her stomach twist.

She knew what it was like. A dancer herself, she knew that a good performance required connection, trust between partners. But seeing you, her boyfriend gives that connection to another girl hurt.

Too much.

She abruptly switched off her phone and threw it on the bed, as if the object were burning her fingers. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm the panicked beating of her heart.

But the damage was done.

Jealousy was seeping into her like a poison, slow and insidious.

And worst of all, she knew you probably weren't doing anything wrong.

But that didn't change the fact that she hated seeing another girl in your arms, feeling that you'd shared something with someone else while she was away.

--

The air was electric in the training room of Dreamcatcher. After several weeks' of absence, you were finally back. You'd been on tour with another girlband as a dancer, an incredible opportunity you couldn't refuse. But now you were back where you belonged, with the girls of Dreamcatcher... and especially with Jiu.

Jiu sat in a corner, her gaze fixed on him. She said nothing, but her silence was louder than any words. From the moment you'd walked through the studio door, a radiant smile on your face, she'd never stopped watching you. Not in the tender, loving way she was used to looking at him. No, this time it was different.

You could feel the tension. You knew it by heart. Jiu wasn't the type to hide her emotions, and here they were written in big letters on her face: she was jealous. Terribly jealous.

- Jiu, aren't you going to welcome me? you asked, approaching her.

She crossed her arms, her gaze hard.

- You're already welcomed, aren't you? I'm sure your little touring companions have made your day.

You sighed. You'd expected this, but he still hoped she'd give him a chance to explain.

- You know very well it was just a job. That's all it was.

- A job? Really?" she hissed. Did you see the videos ? Because I have. Those girls looked at you like you were their regular dancer... or more.

- Stop being a fucking brat. I was just doing my job! Nothing happened!

- I saw how one of the members was looking at you like she wanted you to fuck her like a slut on stage. 

- I'm leaving. When you stop being a fucking brat and stop behaving like my girlfriend, you let me know. 

- You like it when I'm a brat. 

- I do! I do! I like it when you're my submissive little brat but not when you're a jealous bitch. So I'm outta here. You know where to find me. 

--

You come home completely exhausted from training. You'd have liked to have had a bit of a vacation, even though you've just come back from tour, but no. As soon as it's over, you're back at it. As soon as it's over, you're back at it. 

It's been a hard day. You had to train with several bands. Some to appear in their video as an extra, others to be a back dancer.

You didn't see Jiu all day, and her reaction irritated you, but on the other hand you understood her. You were jealous of her performance at some tour , but you're more the type to say nothing. You'd have liked to see her and tell her it was all childish and that you wanted to be with her.

But that's not how it goes. 

As soon as you've put your key in the lock of your apartment door, you notice that it's not locked. Suspicious, you slowly step back on your guard.

A burglary? You wrap your keys around your hand, ready to fight, but what lies ahead doesn't make you want to fight. Quite the opposite, in fact.

In front of you, dark hair in a mess, nibbling lips, enchanting curves, long legs, thighs that just want to be kissed, hardened nipples where your tongue just wants to lick them, but above all that pussy. That pussy just begging to be fucked.

Jiu is completely naked in front of you.

"Hey daddy. I wanted to apologize for my behavior. So I got you something. " 

You swallow slowly and ask 

"And what's that?"

With seductive steps, Jiu moves towards you. You don't dare move and Jiu clings to you. The warmth of her body, her nipples you feel against you.

Jiu grabs your hand and you let her, intoxicated by her.

Jiu licks your fingers and you hold back a moan.

"My mouth. " 

She moves your hand down to her breasts and with her hand forces you to grab one of them.

"My breasts. "

God, her voice. 

Gently, almost painfully, she brings your hand down, you expect to touch her pussy but at the last moment she puts your hand on her thigh.

"My thighs." 

You nod, you don't know why, but you nod anyway. With a sensual gesture, Jiu sticks closer to you and directs your hand to her ass and whispers in your ear. 

"My ass."

You want to fuck her right now. 

But Jiu still hasn't made you touch the last place. The most important, your favorite part of her.

So gently, sensuously and almost intoxicatingly, Jiu takes your hand, spreads the folds of her pussy with your fingers and murmurs erotically against your lips.

"My tight little pussy. "

You don't wait any longer. You kiss her and push a finger straight into her pussy and Jiu hasn't lied, it's tight.

Plastered against the wall Jiu looks up in pleasure, the intrusion sudden but too good. You don't give her time to think, you insert a second finger and the noises her pussy makes are obscene but so sensual. 

Jiu moans into your mouth and runs her hands around your neck to deepen the kiss. 

"I've missed you, Daddy. " Jiu says against your mouth.

"It's that Jiu I've missed. My little brat ."

Jiu wants to say something but you quicken the pace of your fingers. You pull your fingers out of her vagina, Jiu wants to protest but her protest dies in her throat when you start touching her clit. 

"Do you like it? You like Daddy touching your pussy? My needy brat. "

Jiu undulates her pelvis to get more friction from your fingers but you slap her pussy, making her tremble with pleasure. 

"Don't you fucking move. Stay against the wall and spread your legs. "

Jiu nods and spreads her legs. You kiss her and get down on your knees. Before you her pussy looks so appetizing. Gently, you step forward and lift your head, staring into Jiu's eyes, and lick her clit.

"Oh my god. " Jiu says, biting her lip.

You're licking everywhere. Her clit, with your fingers you spread the folds of her pussy and lick. You grab her leg and pull it over your shoulder.

"Daddy! "

With this new angle, you have better access to her pussy. You place a few kisses on her clit and feel Jiu's hands in your hair. 

With your tongue, you make circular movements on her clit and Jiu presses her pussy against your mouth. You grab her buttocks and stick to her pussy, making Jiu wobble. She catches herself on a shelf behind and your next move is unexpected. You put both hands under her legs and lift Jiu off the floor.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD" Yells Jiu, overwhelmed by pleasure.

Plastered against the wall and in the air. You feast on her pussy. Jiu presses your face against her pussy and you feel the young woman roll her pelvis, she wants to cum. 

This happens when you insert a finger into her asshole. You feel Jiu's legs trembling and you quickly pull out of her vagina to grab her and place her gently on the floor.

You're face to face and Jiu is still trembling. Breathing hard, she looks up at you and you see envy, desire and, above all, love. Gently, you approach her. You grab her chin and Jiu plants her gaze on yours. You approach her and kiss her. Jiu wraps her arms around your neck and deepens the kiss. You place your hand on her cheek and insert your tongue into her mouth. 

After several seconds, you part breathlessly. 

"More? "You ask.

"I want to suck your dick daddy. "

"That's my brat. "You say, kissing her on the forehead. "Here? " 

Jiu nods and you stand up. Your gaze anchored in hers, you remove your belt and pants. Jiu supports your gaze but she quickly looks away when you pull out your cock. 

Just as you're about to say something, Jiu swallows your cock. No game, no tease, in one motion your cock hits the back of Jiu's throat. 

"Holy shit," you swear. "Did you miss it that much? " 

Jiu says nothing. She doesn't answer you, she's focused on sucking your cock. With a wet pop, she takes your cock out of her mouth and looks at you. She grabs your cock and starts to wank you gently. She places several kisses on your cock. She starts from the tip and works her way up to your balls. 

"I've missed your cock so much. " 

You'd like to say something, but the way Jiu is licking your balls is stopping you. On top of that, Jiu starts jerking you off. Slow movements, then speeding up. 

Jiu licks all over your cock and engulfs your dick again. She bops her head and you groan.

"Fuck, princess." You moan.

The only sound you hear is Jiu's gags. Jiu is starving, the speed at which she bops her head makes you lose your mind. 

With a wet pop, Jiu pulls out your dick and jerks you off, licking the tip.

"Daddy gonna drop a big load of cum down my throat?"

"You bet. "

Jiu gives you a beautiful smile and takes your cock back into his mouth.

"Fucking bratty princess. You suck my dick like a pro. "

Jiu moans around your cock. She loves compliments.

All of a sudden you grab Jiu's hair and without warning, you thrust.

Although surprised, Jiu takes it like a pro. She grabs your hips and even forces you further down her throat.

It suits you.

Your thrusts are faster and more violent. But Jiu holds on, she gags and her eyes fill with tears. You don't stop, you feel yourself coming and with a sharp thrust, you sink into her throat and spill your hot cum.

After a long, hoarse moan, you withdraw your cock and fall gently to the floor. Jiu catches his breath and looks at you.

"You are so fucking good princess. "

Jiu looks you straight in the eye and opens her mouth. Without a word, she swallows your cum. 

You waste no time and grab Jiu. You bend her over the sofa armrest and spread her ass. Jiu says nothing and lets out a moan as you start inserting two fingers into her pussy.

"Tonight I'm taking care of all your holes. I'll start with your pussy."

"Please..." begs Jiu. 

You position yourself behind her and take your cock in hand. With your cock you tease Jiu. You run your cock over the folds of her pussy. 

"Put it in. " 

Jiu rests her head against the sofa and with her hands spreads her buttocks. The view is absolutely breathtaking. You don't hesitate for a second to ram your cock inside her, wringing a moan of pleasure from her. 

"I've missed your pussy so much. "

Jiu would like to say something but you speed up the strokes of your pelvis. The only sounds that come out of her mouth are moans.  With your hands you grab the young woman's hips and speed up again. 

"And you dared to think I'd fuck another idol when I've got you. How is it possible to do without you? This tour has been hell. "

"Oh god!" Jiu moans.

"Evenings of loneliness. "You penetrate Jiu. "Evenings imagining you sucking me off." Another blow. "I imagined you like tonight, bent over and me taking you like the brat you are. "

"Don't you dare compare yourself to others ever again. You're my brat. Is that clear? "

"YES DADDY! "

You pick up the pace and the sound of flesh against flesh gets louder and louder. You lean over Jiu and kiss her neck, drawing a little moan from her. You kiss the back of her neck and, with one hand, knead her breast. Jiu wants to moan, but suddenly you grab her face and turn to kiss her. Jiu moans into your mouth and you continue to fuck her pussy.

"I'm going to cum. "Jiu moans against your mouth.

"Go for it. "You answer against her mouth. 

Jiu closes her eyes and concentrates on her pleasure. You straighten up and grab Jiu's hips firmly. You don't hesitate for a second and fuck Jiu like the brat she is.

The strokes are more powerful, faster. You feel Jiu's pussy tighten around your cock. 

"Oh Fuck! "Jiu shouts. 

You feel her pussy clench and Jiu starts shaking, her breathing jerking. Gently, you lie on top of her and kiss the back of her neck.

"Good girl. "

You don't give her time to come to her senses. Your cock is quickly replaced by two of your fingers. 

"It feels so good," says Jiu. 

"And this will be better," you reply to Jiu.

With your hand you spread her ass and start licking her asshole.

Jiu arches her back in pleasure as you lick her hole. 

"Oh...Daddy.. That's...so...so...good."

You concentrate on licking her hole as you continue to move your fingers in and out of her pussy. 

You feel Jiu undulate her pelvis to get more friction and you decide to slap her ass. 

"Don't fucking move. "

Jiu relents and with her hands spreads her ass even wider. 

After licking her asshole you stand up and position yourself behind her. You grab your cock and put it in front of her asshole.

"I'm going to take it slow. "You warn Jiu.

"No!" 

"What? " 

"Don't be gentle! Fuck my asshole like the brat I am. "

My god the voice with which Jiu said that. If you weren't hard, you'd get a hard-on straight away.

You push your cock into her ass and Jiu encourages you. 

"Come on daddy. FUCK ME IN THE ASS. "

A powerful thrust drives you into her ass and Jiu screams with pleasure. Your thrusts are powerful and bestial. You grip her hips, your thrusts move the couch and Jiu grips the couch. 

Jiu puts her hand under her body and starts touching her clit.

"I love having your big cock in my ass so much. Fuck me. "

"Your ass is so tight. "

"Fill me up. Fill my ass with cum. "

Your thrusts are slower but much deeper. You manage to shove your entire cock up Jiu's ass. 

"I'm so going to fill your ass."

"Do it. Do it daddy. "

One last thrust and you cum in Jiu's ass. Jiu, still busy touching her clit, follows you a few seconds later and your cock is expelled from her ass.

Completely out of breath you stand back and admire your art. Your cum shoots out of her ass and down to her pussy. You slap her ass for the last time.

"Fucking brat. “

Jiu laugh softly.

[cheezb6llz]

can you do yan shadow kidnapping reader

YANDERE SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG KIDNAPPING READER!!

kinda a prequel to the one where he holds u captive… rubs hands together deviously

———

Shadow isn’t going to act on impulse. He’s calm and calculated. Before he dares to lay a hand on you, he makes sure everything is perfect.

He studies your routine, when you’re most vulnerable, when nobody is around to interrupt him, taking note of your favorite places, favorite things, and most importantly the times when you’re most distracted.

He secures a safe house somewhere remote and untraceable, just big enough to house the two of you. He doesn’t plan on keeping you in a cell, he plans on keeping you in a haven. He fills it with all your favorite things, favorite books, blankets, snacks.. Anything to keep you from resisting as much as he expects you to.

The only flaw? The heavy duty cuffs he plans on keeping you secured to the bed with.

Shadow waits until you’re completely alone. Not even on a phone call or texting someone or anything. (Not that you really could, he had already distanced off most of your friends.)

Whether you’re taking a late night walk, or just enjoying a moment of peace in your own home, he moves silently, striking when you least expect it

One moment, a swift, gloved hand covers your mouth, you could immediately smell a strong chemical scent on his hand as darkness filled your vision.

“Shhh.. Don’t fight it..”

and the next moment the world distorted around you as he quickly teleported away. (I’m sure you can guess where!)

When he arrives at the house, the one he prepared oh so special just for you, he’s disturbingly gentle as he secures you to the bed, facing no resistance as you’re fast asleep.

~~~

You slowly awaken, you feel drowsy, exhausted. Your head is heavy, and something feels.. off. The soft weight of a blanket draped over you, and for just a moment you believe you’re home.. Until you try to sit up and stretch and you feel the cold bite of metal around your wrists.

“Wha-…” You spat out tiredly, yanking your wrists forward.

A low, smooth, voice breaks through your sluggish words.

“You’re awake.”

Your heart drops, you quickly turn your head only too see Shadow, sitting on a chair, legs crossed, crimson eyes locked onto you with eerie calmness. He had the smallest smirk on the corner of his lips.

You yank at the cuffs once more.

“What the hell is this!? Let me go!”

He doesn’t move, but the smirk is quickly wiped off his face.

“I can’t do that.”

He says firmly, leaning forward a bit, uncrossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve done too much to keep you safe, Y/N. This is where you belong now.” he gestured to the room around you.

Your breath quickened

“Are you serious!? You— You kidnapped me!”

He looks at you softly, tilting his head before standing up from his seat.

“I saved you.” He corrects. “You’ll understand soon.”

He watched as your angry expression morphed into disbelief, maybe even sadness. He liked when you fought, it meant you still had some fire in you. But he knew that you’d see it someday.

You’d see and accept that you’re his.

And he was going to make sure of it.

[nyxanarchy]

SOTR SPOILERS

more thinks I noticed/thought about

-drusilla saying to maysilee that she doesn't know what awaits for her. She really would have gone the Gloss route (or maybe Johanna, but I think she would have had to play their rules if she wanted to save her family) Also. The implications on Merrilee. We know there was the possibility of selling Katniss and Peeta as a package. Do you really think someone who looks just like a victor would have been safe from that fate?

-Plutarch asking "why didn't you?". Listen. Listen. I know Plutarch is trying to do the greater good here. But also. If I catch you Plutarch. Don't let me catch you Plutarch. I know. I know, he is an ally. He tried to be good to Haymitch. But nonetheless.

-Maysilee and Haymitch talking in the katniss bush

-the fact that it takes one hit to Asterid for Burdock to back off. He really loved her. I'm convinced that if Haymitch hit him, he would have kept going to him

-Haymitch developing an addiction because of the fact Asterid keeps bringing him the syrup (it's not her fault tho!! It's just very unfortunate. I think it would have happened anyway, but maybe slower)

-The whole snake and loulou thing. Do you think maybe she was accustomed to snakes because there are a lot of them in the labs? Maybe she was housed with one.

-Loulou screaming "you are killing us, you are killing us!" My god. My shayla. Poor baby, stolen from her parents. She lost everything, even her own name. Can you imagine some relative looking at her without knowing who she is? Maybe someone could recognize something in the way she moves. I also think her parents could have been alive till her death. It feels like it's a worst punishment than death watching your own baby girl transformed in someone else get sent to her death.

-Also confirmation that the seam residents are melungeons. We already knew that, but this is your reminder katniss is not white.

-maysilee and merrilee godbye "and for a moment the donner twins become one, arms locked around eachother's neck, foreheads, noses pressed together. A mirror image that the peacekeepers tear in two." They became one. Oh, Merrilee. How could you ever cope seeing her in your mirror everyday? Thinking about Merrilee seeing herself dying on the tv.

-also "in the girls' pen Maysilee is gripping Asterid hand while a weeping Merrilee embrace her, their three blond heads pressed in a tight knot" I don't know why but the wording is just so touching, maybe because it's such a clear image. A knot. It destroyed me, it still does.

-haymitch coming back home with the coffins. In the first reapings they really didn't care at ALL about the appearances eh

-so now that we know the reapings are rigged a lot (i mean we had our doubts but now it's confirmed), what are we thinking about prim's reaping? Not in the sense that she was reaped to punish katniss or something like that, more in the sense "in the games there must be a percentage of really young children because it makes for a compelling narrative". We know it's a "tv show" for the capitol and i feel like they have to have a diversified cast. Don't know if i'm making sense.

-Lenore Dove screaming in the wind instead of crying in front of the camera "the moment our hearts shattered? It belongs to us" I literally can see her. I literally can see them.

-Maysilee's "I'll be your sister". And Haymitch calling her sis? My god.

-The cistern being empty because Haymitch went to see Lenore Dove. It was inevitable anyway. They would have died either way, they were always gonna kill them.

-Haymitch sweetheart being a little girl he saw as a sister. It was never a mockery for katniss

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

I saw someone post this on reddit as an issue: '' Whenever I was with him I just felt like it was all a big joke. I genuinely couldn’t fathom the idea that he found me attractive enough to date me. It didn’t feel real and it terrified me, I would look at myself before I went to go see him and think to myself “how could he possibly even find me attractive” '' and then she broke up with him because she couldn't handle comparing herself to other girls. So...maybe Reader is going through this and does not get why Rafe would ever be with her when REALLY pretty barbie bombshell girls are out there that he's exposed to on Figure 8. So she slowly pushes him away, distance herself, takes long etc until she breaks up with him. He GIVES IT HIS all to pursade her from leaving him but she walks out on him crying. But you know....happy end and they find their way back to each other

always yours - rafe cameron x pogue!reader

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ content: reader has self esteem issues, angst, insecurities, fluff ending

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ yap: thank you for this request xx

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ word count: 920

You’d never been able to shake that gnawing pit in your stomach—the one that whispered Rafe Cameron being with you didn’t add up. He was Figure 8 royalty: chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, the kind of guy who belonged on a yacht with sun-kissed Barbie dolls dripping in gold, not in your cramped Pogue trailer with its peeling paint and leaky faucet. You’d catch yourself in the mirror before he came over—hair a mess, skin flawed, clothes cheap—and wonder what the hell he saw in you. Those bombshell girls on his side of the island, with their glossy lips and perfect curves, made you feel like a punchline. Every time he touched you, kissed you, called you “baby,” it felt like a prank you weren’t in on. The doubt festered, growing into a quiet terror that he couldn’t possibly mean it—not when he had them as options.

It started small. You’d take longer to text back, let his calls ring out, make excuses about work or your dad needing you. He’d show up anyway, all intense eyes and easy grins, and you’d sit there, arms crossed, feeling like a fraud next to him. “You okay?” he’d ask, voice low, and you’d nod, forcing a smile, but inside you were spiraling. Comparing yourself to every tanned, leggy girl you’d seen him nod at on the Cut, imagining him waking up one day and realizing he could do better. The distance grew—days between seeing him stretched into weeks. You stopped letting him hold you, stopped laughing at his dumb jokes, building walls he couldn’t climb. He noticed, of course he did—Rafe wasn’t stupid—but you brushed it off, muttering, “I’m just tired,” until it wasn’t a lie anymore.

The breaking point came on a humid night, the air thick with salt and regret. He’d cornered you in your kitchen after you’d dodged him for days, his hands gripping the counter as he stared you down. “What’s going on with you?” he demanded, voice rough. “You’re shutting me out, and I don’t get it.”

You swallowed, heart pounding, the words clawing their way out. “I can’t do this anymore, Rafe. Us—it doesn’t make sense. You don’t belong with someone like me.” Your voice cracked, but you pushed on. “You’ve got all those girls on Figure 8—perfect, gorgeous girls—and I’m just… me. I don’t know why you’re even here.”

His face twisted, disbelief turning to desperation. “Are you serious? You think I’m just—what, fucking around ‘til something better comes along?” He stepped closer, hands reaching for you, but you backed away. “I’m here because I want you. I don’t give a shit about those girls—they’re not you, they’ll never be you.”

Tears stung your eyes as you shook your head. “You say that now, but you’ll see it eventually. I’m not enough. I’ve never been enough.” Your chest heaved, the self-loathing you’d buried spilling out. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure that out.”

“No—don’t do this,” he pleaded, voice breaking as he grabbed your wrists, pulling you toward him. “I love you, alright? I fucking love you, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re enough—more than enough. You’re everything.” His grip tightened, eyes wild, like he could physically hold you together. “Tell me what to do, baby. Tell me how to prove it.”

But it was too much—his words, his touch, the hope in his voice you couldn’t let yourself trust. You wrenched free, sobbing, “I can’t,” and stumbled to the door, grabbing your keys. He followed, begging, “Please, don’t walk out—don’t leave me like this,” but you couldn’t look back. You ran into the night, tears streaming, the sound of his voice cracking on your name echoing in your head as you drove off, leaving him standing there, broken.

Weeks bled into months. You avoided the Wreck, the docks, anywhere he might show up. Your days were gray, hollow, the ache of missing him warring with the certainty you’d done the right thing. But Rafe didn’t fade. He left voicemails you deleted without listening, sent texts you couldn’t bear to read, even slipped notes under your door—“You’re wrong about me. I’m still here.” Your dad grumbled about “that damn Cameron kid” lurking around, and JJ told you he’d seen Rafe looking like a ghost, hollow-eyed and quiet. It hurt to know he was hurting, but you told yourself he’d move on, find someone who fit his world.

Then one night, a storm rolled in, rain hammering your roof, and a knock shook your door. You opened it, and there he was—drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes red-rimmed but burning. “I can’t do this without you,” he said, voice raw. “I tried—I fucking tried to let you go, but I can’t. You’re not a joke, you’re not less than anyone. You’re mine, and I don’t care how long it takes—I’ll keep proving it ‘til you believe me.”

You stood there, soaked in the rain spilling through the open door, tears mixing with the wet on your face. “Rafe, I’m scared,” you whispered, the truth finally free. “I don’t know how to be enough for you.”

He stepped in, closing the distance, hands cupping your face like you might break. “You don’t have to be anything but you. I see you—every part of you—and I’m not running. I’m not those girls, I’m not my family. I’m yours.” His lips crashed into yours, desperate and sure, and for once, you let yourself fall—into him, into the messy, real thing you’d been too afraid to want.

taglist: @littlelamy @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt

[cosmowgyral]

Villain's Festival 2025

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

⊹▸ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

In the midst of the ongoing chaos in the training grounds, Darius, having brushed against Nica, foresaw a ‘worst-case future’.

Nica: Haha, a fool huh? I’m kinda curious to see how that’s gonna play out.

Jude: If yer that keen, I’ll knock ya flat and let the whole lot watch ya make a right show of yerself.

Jude swung his sword at Nica.

The powerful strike would be devastating if it landed, but its movement was straightforward and easy to predict.

Nica easily dodged the first strike—but the moment he evaded, the next swing was already in motion.

Jude: I ain’t lettin’ ya slip away that easy.

Jude’s relentless onslaught drove Nica further into a corner.

His only weapon was his gun. Without a blade to block with, he had no opening to counterattack.

Realizing he couldn’t dodge any longer, Nica leapt backward.

Darius: Aah, Nica. You’ve done it now.

Nica: Huh…? What..is this….

Nica looked back and noticed that Elbert had stepped on his shadow.

Elbert: …Sorry. I was trying to avoid stepping on anyone’s shadows.

Elbert: But I couldn’t quite handle someone coming at me so suddenly.

Nica: This…is the worst….

The gun slipped from Nica’s hand, and he sank to the ground as if dragged down by gravity.

Nica: No, I don’t believe that…I won’t accept this, no way..!

Nica: Only I…

Nica: This can’t be….I’m the only one….who ended up like this..!

Ring: Nica!

Ring clasped Nica’s outstretched hand, as if answering his silent plea for help.

Nica: …..!

After taking his hand, the pallor on Nica’s face gradually gave way to a healthier flush.

Roger: Elbert’s ability got overwritten by Ring’s, huh.

Elbert: I’m glad…you didn’t have to suffer for long.

While the others talked, Ring peered anxiously into Nica’s face.

Ring: …Are you okay?

Nica: Shouldn’t you be worrying about yourself, Ring?

Freed from Elbert’s ability, Nica picked up his gun and pointed it at Ring.

A gunshot echoed—but his target wasn’t Ring. It was Ellis, standing behind him.

Ellis: …gh

Ellis, who was about to attack Ring from behind, quickly pulled back to dodge Nica’s bullet.

Ellis: What a shame…I thought I could take Ring down just now.

Nica: Playing dirty, huh? And with that innocent looking face too.

Ellis: When everyone’s this strong, I can’t be too picky about playing fair.

As time passed… the sound of clashing steel and gunfire in the training ground was joined by the heavy panting of exhausted fighters.

William adjusted his grip on his longsword, his shoulders rising and falling slightly as he fixed his gaze on Victor.

Victor: Will, you know…it’s alright to take a break now.

William: I’m okay. No need to worry.

The two were evenly matched, and the deadlock showed no signs of breaking.

Victor: We used to spar together so many times back in the day, didn’t we?

Victor: Back then, I couldn’t believe there was someone out there as strong as you.

Victor: Even now, it’s the same. Your sword has only grown sharper—more refined and powerful.

William: I should be the one saying that.

William: When we first started training, I meant to hold back so I wouldn’t hurt you, but now…

William: …You didn’t leave me a choice, forcing me to draw my sword in earnest for the first time.

Even as they reminisced about the past, neither of them eased their relentless attacks.

While they spoke, both kept a keen eye out, waiting for the slightest opening to strike.

It was precisely because they knew each other so well that William and Victor’s battle dragged on.

Meanwhile, Roger was starting to feel the strain as well.

Harrison: …What’s wrong, Roger? Already tired?

With a defiant grin, Harrison brought his sword down on Roger.

He raised his gun vertically, using the barrel to block the attack.

Roger: Look who’s talking. What’s the big idea, not using your gun?

Harrison, who usually relied on his gun, was wielding a sword today.

Because of that, Roger was finding it harder to predict his moves.

Harrison: I just figured a sword would give me the upper hand here… so I left my gun behind.

Harrison: Honestly, it’s stranger that you’re sticking to that rifle of yours.

Roger: As long as I can keep you on your toes with this rifle, that’s all I need.

Roger: I’m only interested in measuring the physical abilities of the cursed.

In that instant, Harrison’s sword movement shifted—from a sweeping slash to a sudden thrust.

To respond to the sudden change, Roger adjusted his gaze… and met Harrison’s eyes.

Harrison: That bit about just wanting ‘to measure physical abilities’—that was a lie, wasn’t it?

With a sly grin, his sword slashed against Roger’s barrel, only to be pushed back.

Roger: Well, well... I thought I was being careful not to meet your eyes, but I guess I couldn’t fool you after all.

A dark shadow suddenly darted between the two.

Ellis: So, Roger… you want to become the strongest man and make Kate happy too, don’t you?

Ellis mercilessly brought his knife down on Roger, forcing him to instinctively block the strike that came from his blind spot.

Roger only managed to pull it off because he barely caught the rustle of Ellis’ clothes.

Ellis: If you’re not just here for data, then I’ll come at you seriously.

He aimed his knife at Roger’s rifle.

Ellis: Hah…!

His attack sent the rifle flying, landing in the corner of the training hall.

Ellis: ….Now you’re out of the fight.

With that, Ellis closed in on Roger, ready to deliver the finishing blow.

However—

Roger: Too naïve.

Roger’s fist struck Ellis squarely on the underside of his jaw.

Ellis: ….gh!

Ellis leaned back with the punch to lessen the impact, but he still took the full force of Roger’s powerful uppercut.

Roger: Come at me. I’ll take you down with these fists alone.

Harrison: …That’s more like it.

Harrison steadied his breathing and aimed his gun at Roger.

Roger: …What the hell? Didn’t you say you left it behind? So you had a gun all along..

Harrison: You know I’m a liar, don’t you?

The men will keep fighting as long as they remain standing—until only one is left.

[Chapter 3] [Masterlist] [Chapter 5]

➽──────────────❥

Nicaaa! 😭💔

[belit0]

Loooove your takes on the Uchihas. Could you please do some hcs of the men being jealous or even possessive? 🥺🥺

Love me some yandere dummies

Madara

Madara Uchiha does not get jealous. Or at least, that’s the lie he tells himself. The truth is far uglier, simmering beneath the surface like an earthquake waiting to crack the earth open.

The moment he senses another man getting too close, his entire demeanor shifts—his usual arrogance sharpened to something more lethal. His hand finds the small of (Y/N)’s back, firm, claiming.

He doesn’t ask her to stay away from certain people. He expects it. "-You belong to me. You know this, don’t you?"- It’s not a question; it’s a reminder.

If anyone dares flirt with her in his presence, he doesn’t need to say anything. One look—cold, dark, absolute—is enough to make them reconsider their life choices.

But when it’s just the two of them, his possessiveness is quieter. It’s in the way his fingers tighten when she tries to move from his lap, in the way he pulls her closer at night, whispering, "-Mine.-" against her skin.

Izuna

Izuna doesn’t get insecure jealous—he gets petty jealous. He won’t say anything outright, but his actions are impossible to ignore.

If someone flirts with (Y/N), suddenly, he’s the most affectionate man alive. An arm draped lazily around her shoulders, a hand tracing the curve of her waist, a smirk that dares anyone to challenge him.

"-Oh, were you talking to her? My mistake—I thought you had a death wish.-" His words are light, teasing, but the underlying threat is real.

The moment they’re alone, though, the teasing vanishes. He pins her with a look that’s all heat and frustration, fingers gripping her chin as he murmurs, "-Tell me you don’t want anyone else, and I’ll let this go.-"

Of course, she always reassures him, but he likes making her say it. Making her prove that she belongs to him.

Obito

Obito is bad with jealousy. He has lost too much, and the thought of losing (Y/N) too? It’s enough to make his blood boil.

He doesn’t even realize how menacing he looks when he gets possessive—shoulders squared, Sharingan flashing, jaw tight with barely restrained anger.

If anyone dares look at her the wrong way, he gets uncharacteristically quiet, dangerous. "-You should leave.-" It’s not advice. It’s a warning.

With (Y/N), he’s not much better. He doesn’t know how to handle the fear of losing her, so sometimes it comes out in sharp words, in desperate kisses that linger too long, in the way he holds her so tight she can barely breathe.

But later, when the anger fades, all that’s left is raw vulnerability. "-I just… I need you to be mine. Only mine.-" He buries his face in her neck, voice low, almost broken. And she always soothes him, because she understands.

Shisui

Shisui is the type to laugh when he’s jealous, like it’s all a joke. But there’s something dangerous in his eyes, in the way his smile never quite reaches them.

He doesn’t believe in making a scene—he just makes sure the other guy knows exactly who (Y/N) belongs to. "-Oh, you think you have a chance? That’s cute.-"

If someone gets too close, he doesn’t lash out—he outsmarts them. Twisting words, making subtle threats with a friendly grin, ensuring they never try again.

But when he and (Y/N) are alone, he drops the act. His fingers curl around her wrist, tugging her close. "-I don’t like sharing. And I never will.-" His voice is soft, almost pleading. "-So don’t make me.-

Itachi

Itachi is not the type to be openly jealous. He doesn’t scowl, doesn’t make threats—he simply watches. Cold, calculating, utterly unreadable.

But make no mistake—just because he’s quiet doesn’t mean he isn’t feeling it. If another man gets too close, his presence alone is enough to send a chill down their spine.

The way he lingers at (Y/N)’s side, the way his fingers ghost over her wrist, the way his eyes darken when she laughs at someone else’s joke—it’s all subtle, but unmistakable.

He won’t confront her about it, but he will remind her of who she belongs to. Later, when they’re alone, he’ll press his forehead to hers, voice barely above a whisper. "-I don’t need to say it, do I?"-

And she’ll smile, because no, he doesn’t. She already knows.

[enhaflixer]

HII i just wanted to ask if we could get a bonus scene of jake and reader just being together because the fic was so family surrounded I FEEL LIKE WE NEED A MOMENT WHERE JAKE AND READER ARE JUST FIXING THEIR BOND IF U GET WHA TI MEAN (love love love strikes out and marriage law btw.)

A Strikes Out Bonus Scene-

The house had never been this quiet before. Not really.

There was always something—a cartoon playing faintly in another room, a drawer left half-open with tiny socks spilling out, the sound of Jade narrating her own daydreams with dramatic flair. But tonight… the silence settled like a blanket over everything.

You’d just checked on her for the third time. She was fast asleep, mouth open, one arm flung across her stuffed elephant, a foot hanging dramatically off the bed like she’d conquered a mountain. The hallway light spilled over her face, soft and warm, and for a long moment, you just stood there, watching her chest rise and fall.

When you finally padded back to the living room, Jake was still there.

He was curled up on the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair still damp from the shower. His phone lay face down on the coffee table, forgotten. His head tipped back against the cushions when he heard your footsteps, and for a moment, he just… looked at you.

Not like a man who had something to prove. Not like someone waiting for permission to belong.

Just a man who loved you.

You curled up beside him without speaking. Pulled your knees under you, tucked your feet beneath a blanket. The weight of the day clung faintly to your skin, but there was peace here too—in the quiet hum of the AC, the faint city lights slipping through the curtains, the way Jake’s thigh pressed warmly against yours like it never left.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, resting your cheek against your hand. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

Jake smiled softly. “You’ve been doing everything.”

“So have you.”

He didn’t answer, but you felt the way his gaze lingered. The way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he could.

“Do you think we forgot how to do this?” you asked, the words slipping out quieter than you meant.

Jake turned to look at you fully, brows furrowing. “Do what?”

You gestured between the two of you. “This. Just… be with each other. No lawyers. No school forms. No talking in circles.”

For a moment, he was quiet. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice thoughtful. “I don’t think we forgot. I think we got scared to remember.”

That landed hard. Right in your chest.

Because the truth was… you had been scared. You were scared to feel the softness again. Scared to trust it. Scared to sit beside him like this and admit that part of you still remembered every inch of who he used to be. The boy who used to wake you up with forehead kisses and half-whispered I love yous. The man who knelt beside your belly and called you “mama” long before Jade was born.

So much had happened. So many cracks had formed between what was and what could be.

You shifted, pulled your knees up to your chest. “When you look at me now,” you asked, not daring to meet his eyes, “what do you see?”

Jake blinked. “What?”

You shrugged. “I wonder if… if I’m still the same to you. If you look at me and see the girl you loved or just the one you left.”

The silence stretched.

Then Jake exhaled.

“I look at you,” he said slowly, “and I see the mother of my child. The woman who kept her head up when everything was falling apart. The one who never stopped fighting. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You finally met his eyes, and what you saw there nearly broke you.

He wasn’t trying to charm you. He wasn’t saying the right thing. He was hurting with you. He was choosing you.

“Some nights I hate you,” you whispered. “Some nights I miss you so much I can’t sleep. And sometimes… I still love you.”

Jake let out a shaky breath. “I never stopped.”

His hand brushed yours—slow, tentative. When you didn’t pull away, he laced your fingers together like he had all the time in the world.

“Do you think we could get back there?” he asked, voice barely audible.

You were quiet for a long moment, listening to the quiet hum of the room, the distant hum of the fridge, the steady weight of his hand in yours.

“I think we already are.”

Jake looked up at you, something tender flickering in his expression.

Then, without a word, he reached for you. Pulled you onto his lap, slow and sure, like muscle memory. Your legs folded around his waist, your arms curling around his neck. You buried your face in the crook of his shoulder, breathed him in. He still smelled like the same damn soap he always used. Like him.

His hands slid up your back, slow and reverent. One cradled the base of your skull. The other stayed at your waist like he couldn’t quite believe you were real again.

“I missed this,” you murmured, lips brushing his skin.

Jake held you closer. “I missed you.”

You didn’t kiss at first. You just sat there. Held. Breathed. Felt.

And for the first time in what felt like forever—no one was asking you for anything. No one was pulling you in different directions.

It was just you and him.

It was quiet.

And it was enough.

[coriihanniee]

Guess WHO! - boynextdoor smau

𓂃۶ৎ SYNOPSIS : When multiple leaked photos ignite a wildfire of speculation, the world is certain—BOYNEXTDOOR'S Y/N is secretly dating one of the members. But who? No one knows, and you refuse to clear the air. Instead, you turn the chaos into a game, scattering cryptic clues and half-truths while every member plays along, deepening the mystery. Every glance, every post, every moment is a riddle waiting to be solved. Is the answer hidden in plain sight, or are you leading everyone in circles? How far can a secret stretch before it unravels? And when it does—will anyone be ready for the truth?

BONUS CHAPTER 3 : our youth is free

The fansign venue buzzes with an electric energy, the air thick with excitement as fans eagerly await their turn. The line snakes through the room, each person holding something—a poster, a shiny album, a hand-written note, all for BOYNEXTDOOR. But for you, today carries an unfamiliar weight. The familiar sounds of the venue and the soft rustle of pages only make you feel more acutely the eyes on you. It’s your first real interaction with fans in public ever since everything came to light, and the fear of being scrutinized feels overwhelming.

"I’ve done this before," you tell yourself, "It’s just another event, another performance."

But your heart refuses to slow its frantic beat.

The line inches closer, and you find yourself glancing at Taesan, who stands beside you like an anchor in the storm. He’s quiet, almost too calm for someone who has just as much attention on him as the others. His eyes, however, tell a different story—those soft brown eyes that have always had a way of seeing through your defenses. When they meet your gaze, there’s a flicker of understanding in them, like he knows exactly how you feel.

He leans just close enough for only you to hear. "Hey," he says, his voice low and soothing, "You’re doing great."

You don’t know why, but those words—a simple reassurance—are enough to slow the frantic fluttering in your chest. You offer him a weak smile, but inside, your heart is still racing.

“Thanks,” you manages, your voice barely above a whisper.

Taesan chuckles softly, the sound as comforting as a soft blanket on a cold night. "Don’t think I didn’t see that," he teases, his smile growing. "But if anyone’s going to freak out, it’s gonna be me, not you."

A breath of laughter escapes your lips despite yourself. “You?” You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you were the type to get nervous.”

He shrugs, the corner of his lips curling up. "I’ve got my moments."

The playful banter between you feels like a lifeline, something you cling to as the moments stretch on. Each fan that steps up to meet you feels like a countdown, a test of your nerves. But with Taesan’s quiet presence by your side, it becomes a little easier to breathe. It feels almost like a shared moment, something private amidst the chaos of your lives.

As the last fan in line approaches, you exhale, thankful for the end of the event. The young woman before you smiles brightly, holding up a signed poster for you to see. “YN,” she says, her voice almost shy, “I just wanted to say that you and Taesan... you two really seem happy. It’s like you both belong together.”

The words hang in the air longer than expected, and you freeze for a fraction of a second, your pulse quickening. Taesan, just next to you, looks at you for the briefest moment before responding for you both. His voice, casual yet full of a depth you could hear without words, responds smoothly.

“You could say that,” Taesan says with a soft smile. “We’re lucky to have each other."

Your chest tightens at the way his words feel like a secret, something shared only between the two of you. Your eyes flicker to him, and for a moment, the whole room blurs. It’s just him, his steady presence, his warmth enveloping you. The world feels quieter with him here, as though it’s been waiting for this—this very moment when you’d realize how much he means to you.

The fan moves on, and Taesan meets your gaze again, his eyes soft but knowing. He leans closer, his hand brushing against yours with a light touch, but the spark of it sends something electric through you.

“You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” Taesan asks, his voice softer now, the noise of the venue fading into the background.

You swallow, nodding slowly. “Just... how much they expect from us. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

He looks at you, really looks at you, like you're the only person in the room. The usual playfulness in his expression softens, and in its place is something far deeper, far more sincere.

“You could never disappoint them,” he says quietly, his hand finding yours, fingers gently intertwining. “You’re enough. You’ve always been enough.”

A shiver runs through you at the sincerity of his words. You look down at your joined hands, the weight of it almost too much to bear—how easily he makes you feel safe, how effortlessly he can break through the walls you've built around yourself. The vulnerability is terrifying, but it’s also comforting, like the promise of something steady, something you can count on.

The event winds down, and the final fan leaves. The place is still buzzing with the residue of excitement, but your heart is quieter now. With Taesan beside you, the world outside feels like a distant echo. The two of you step away from the table, the chaos behind them. For the first time that night, you feel like you can breathe.

Taesan takes a slow breath, pulling you aside to a quieter corner, away from the crowd. The night air is crisp, and there’s a gentle hum of the city around them, but everything feels muted, softened by the weight of the moment.

He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours as though asking a question without words. And for a moment, you can’t look away, not because of the pressure or the anticipation of what’s to come, but because in that instant, everything between you is clear.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you...” His voice is low, almost hesitant, but there’s something in the way he holds your gaze that makes your heart race.

Your breath catches in your throat, your mind scrambling for words. "What?"

He takes a step closer, his voice a tender whisper in the stillness. “You’re everything to me.” His words are simple, but the emotion behind them is overwhelming. They hang in the air, thick with meaning, like the silence before a storm.

For a long moment, you don’t know how to respond. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst, like it could fill the entire world. You close the gap between you and him, your hand reaching up to gently touch his cheek. His skin is warm beneath your fingers, and you feel a surge of something powerful—the need to say something, to admit what’s been building between you for so long.

“I think... I think I’ve always known,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of your own feelings.

His eyes soften, and he tilts his head slightly, as though trying to memorize the moment. “We’re just getting started,” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth curving into that signature, soft smile.

And for the first time in your life, you realize that some moments don’t need words. You can feel everything in the way his thumb brushes over your hand, in the way his eyes never leave yours. He doesn’t need to say anything more. You know.

In this quiet, perfect moment, nothing else matters.

The moment between you and Taesan is soft, quiet, and entirely your own. You’ve finally stepped out of the shadows, the weight of secrecy lifted. As you gaze up at him, your heart still races in a way that feels fresh, new, even though the world now knows what you've known for a while. That you're with him. That you're his.

Taesan’s gaze softens, his hand gently cupping your face as he leans in closer, brushing his lips against your forehead. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion.

You nod, the warmth of his presence settling the last of your nerves. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just... feels unreal.”

“You’re more than okay, YN,” he whispers, his lips grazing your hair as he smiles. “You’re perfect. And this? This is real. All of it.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you lean into him, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat. Just as you close your eyes, the sound of muffled voices breaks the silence, followed by a burst of laughter.

Suddenly, the rest of BOYNEXTDOOR emerges from behind a cluster of trees, their playful expressions impossible to miss. Sungho, his usual mischievous grin in place, raises an eyebrow and glances between them. “Well, look at this. The cat’s out of the bag, huh?”

Leehan gives a small, knowing smile, crossing his arms and leaning against a nearby lamppost. “We’ve known for months, but still—seeing it in person? It's entertaining to say the least."

Woonhak, not even attempting to hide his grin, steps forward with a teasing look. “I hate to admit it, but you two are adorable.”

You laugh softly, feeling the sudden flood of warmth from the boys, all of them genuinely happy for you. For them.

“Well, the whole world does know now,” Jaehyun says with a smirk, his arms folded loosely. There’s a softness in his eyes, though, something like understanding and approval. “So no need to keep hiding in quiet corners anymore.”

Riwoo, who has been quietly observing from the back, steps forward with a small smile. His calm presence always feels like a quiet anchor in the storm, and now, more than ever, it feels comforting. “We’re happy for you,” he says, his voice steady, yet full of sincerity. “You’ve got all of us.”

You feel a flush of warmth rush to your cheeks. They’ve been by your side from the start, even when you tried to keep everything a secret. It’s not just Taesan who’s always supported you—this family, this group of incredible people, have been with you every step of the way.

Taesan chuckles softly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah, well, the hiding part never worked anyway. Can’t say I’m sad about it.”

You glance up at him, your heart filled with a quiet, peaceful happiness. “Neither am I,” you admit. You turn to the group, smiling at all of them. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Anything for you, YN,” Woonhak says, winking. “But seriously, when’s the next date night? I’m tagging along."

You laugh, the sound light and carefree. “I think we can all agree that this night belongs to me and Taesan, don’t you think?”

“Fine, fine,” Sungho grins, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “We’ll leave you two alone... for now.”

The playful banter continues, and you find yourself completely at ease. It’s not just about Taesan anymore. It’s about all of them—the boys who’ve watched over you, supported you, and even if they’ve teased you, have always had your back. There’s no more need for secrecy, no more fear of judgment.

As the conversation fades into laughter and casual chatter, Taesan turns to you, pulling you close, his arms encircling your waist. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“This is it, isn’t it?” you murmur softly, looking up at him. “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

He smiles, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Yeah, and now we get to enjoy it. Together.”

And in that moment, as you all stand together, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights, something in the air shifts. It's a quiet realization that settles within you, like a deep breath after holding it in for far too long. The warmth of Taesan’s embrace, the familiar banter of the boys, and the gentle rhythm of the night create a sense of peace that you never knew you needed so much.

In the midst of it all—the excitement, the chaos, the uncertainty—there’s an undeniable truth. This is only the beginning. The end of all the secrets, all the silences. No more hiding in the shadows or pretending for the sake of others. From now on, it’s about what’s real. What’s true. What’s theirs.

There’s a lightness in your chest, an unspoken promise between you and Taesan, and the rest of BOYNEXTDOOR. The world might have its opinions, the fans might have their theories, but none of that matters. Because this moment—this group, this love—is everything that’s right. The truth is out, and it’s nothing like you expected, but in the best way.

No more secrets. No more pretending. Just love. Just them.

With every step forward, there’s a sense of freedom, like the weight of the world has been lifted from your shoulders. Laughter spills out of the boys behind you, playful teasing and casual jokes filling the space around them, but for you, it’s like they’re in their own little world. A world where the future is bright, and it’s filled with endless possibilities.

As the night stretches on, and the group continues to enjoy the moment—like a dream you’re living in real time—you let the reality of it all settle into your heart. There is nothing else you could ask for. With Taesan, with the boys, and with the love and support surrounding you, you're finally free.

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@coriihanniee ☁️

🕊 - I can't believe it's officially over 🥹 thank you for staying with me till the end! PLEASEEE DON'T LEAVE YET bcs I have a gongfourz fic and enhypen smau coming up real soon so do stay tuned to that if you're a fan of both groups! I'm also opening perm taglist so do cmt if you'd like to be in it!

taglist : @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @heeheesang @molensworld @wondoras @taesanfav @bbyinni @minfolio @mbella607 @cinnamonshuaa @defnotsanni @amarecerasus @enaile23 @nujeskz @janjoonty @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @pumpkg @cosmicwintr @mimimimiaa @hanniehq @s0shroe @slowlylefttyphoon @s1lkrabbit @missychief1404 @fae-renjun