#posting back to back before i disappear for god knows how long

[lunarriviera]

Hey, so I heard about a really popular (atp freakishly popular) ongoing chinese queer romance drama (I think it might have been called revenge love) going 'temporarily' off air, as in, they are not airing next week and it made me think of what I've heard about spirealm. Do you remember how exactly the spirealm banning went down? And how they released all the eps prior to it being available on official sites?

oh gosh i have heard about this one, from my guilty furtive lurking on the Bad App. it's 逆爱 revenged love, it's based on a danmei called 逆袭 counter attack, and there was already an extremely watered down version of it in 2015 (barely a bromance). but this is EXTREMELY not watered down, and, well, let's just say it's streaming via thailand and indonesia. and, um, here's this, from x user yifulover:

what i know so far is that one of the leads, 田栩宁 tian xuning, has been harassed online and i think on his way to/from flights as well, and has been suing various stalker fans (here's his statement posted on weibo a few hours ago). so everyone is guessing that the release of this week's episodes has been delayed because of this scandal, such as it were, to let it die down a bit? but it's been 2 days and the normal episodes + bts video haven't appeared. viki (or viu to be precise) posted on x/insta saying they'd postpone until next week due to an "order from the production company," then deleted those posts. but the other reason netizens/fans are panicked is that ep 12 coming up would have had…The Sex Scene. so they're worried that maybe that's why it was pulled, not tian xuning's PR problems? and they're even more worried that it might not come back at all (cf. blue canvas of youthful days…which did reappear, eventually).

this is however way different from the spirealm, which was without ANY warning dropped onto iqiyi for barely 2 hours in february 2024, with no one saying a damn thing about it, and then disappeared again without a trace, also without anyone officially acknowledging its existence (we pretty much figured some intern got annoyed and just hit the "play" button until they got caught). but netizens never sleep! so it was downloaded immediately and shared widely. then it was some months before viki finally uploaded the whole thing, and in its proper form (not 78 20-minute episodes, but the usual 45-minute kind; at first we feared bits were missing, but it was intact). to this day iqiyi keeps saying "coming soon" and inviting you to make a reservation for it, but there's been no sign of spirealm coming back to iqiyi. viki seems to be somewhat more profit-motivated? hard to say.

the only other thing i know about revenged love is the danmei author chai jidan noted that first few episodes are kind of comedic, so she was worried that viewers wouldn't get hooked and wanted to drop the first 8 all at once (which i don't think she could make happen). anyway, it seems whumpy and steamy and convoluted and actually has dubcon (!) so i hope for its fans that they get to see the rest of it! because god do i know that feel. it's like getting a few thousand feet from the beach, smelling the sand and salt air, and then just turning around and driving back home. but hang in there, revenged love fans. the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice. (PS fun fact, tian xuning was supposed to play earth master [male] in the live-action tgcf, eternal faith, now forever in dangai purgatory…)

[moon-child-goddess]

Pretend part 2

Mattheo Riddle X Gryffindor reader

Part 1

Tumblr won’t let me post it all in one so it will be split up in 2 parts about 10k words each.

Summary: Readers friends (Rory and Lyra*) accuse her of secretly dating their longtime crush. So, she does what any desperate girl would do, she comes up with a fake dating scheme to make them believe her.  

Mattheo agrees to help, as long as she helps him.

There is limited use of y/n, and Mattheo uses princess/Sweetheart

*I made up characters for this story, because I just felt like Hermione wouldn’t act the way I wanted the characters to.

Warnings: Some characters I made up for the story, Slow burn, Cursing, Fake dating, Emotional manipulation (By friends), Toxic friendship, fist fight, mentions of blood, moments of anxiety isolation and betrayal, mentions of underage drinking.

Despite the heavy tension after our last conversation, we fell back in to our routine. I was back in the Slytherin common room for their game night.

We were all scattered around a low table, cards fanned out strategically. Theo and Blaise were bickering about a rule while pansy rolled her eyes. She stole a bowl of unclaimed sweets.

Laughter from Draco and Enzo echoed against the marble pillars.

It was the most at ease I’d felt in the last 5 days.

I sat cross-legged on the rug, nestled between Mattheo’s legs as he sat on the couch behind me. He leaned forward, letting his chin rest lightly on the top of my head.

“Your common room is freezing,” I said, rubbing my arms for dramatic effect.

“It is not that cold,” Mattheo chuckled, the sound low and amused behind me.

I tipped my head back to look at him. He met my gaze with one of those rare, soft half smiles that made everything inside me slow down.

“I have goosebumps. Look.” I held my arm up dramatically in front of his face. Whether they were from the chill or the way he touched me, I couldn’t be sure.

He didn’t tease any further.  Instead, he traced his fingers up my arm, feather-light leaving a trail of warmth behind.

“Come here,” he murmured.

Before I could argue, his hands found my waist, and he pulled me gently into his lap. Arranging me, so my side rested against his chest.  I let out a small squeak and tried to pull away from the sudden intimacy. His arms circled around my waist, locking me there in place.

And merlin he was warm. The kind of warmth that melted straight through skin and bone.

“How is this supposed to help?” I asked, my voice too high to sound casual.

“Body warmth, sweetheart,” he replied in a low tone. “I’m sitting by the fire. And there’s a blanket right there. Use it.”

Without letting go of me he reached for the blanket and draped it over the two of us. The moment and sudden warmth wrapped around me like a spell.  

Everything about him was invading my senses and I couldn’t think straight. Nor could I stop staring at him.

“Gods, you two are disgustingly cute,” Pansy muttered from across the room, popping a toffee into her mouth. “Seriously, can you not radiate couple energy for five minutes?”

I jumped slightly. I was so lost in the moment that I had completely forgotten about his friends sitting around us.

All of their eyes were on us, a mix of amusement and shock on their faces. Our relationship seemed too real, even to me.  We weren’t even meant to put on a show for them.

Pansy arched a perfectly manicured brow at me like she knew exactly what I was thinking. And maybe she did. We had gotten close over the last week.

My face burned. Completely mortified I tried to shift away, but Mattheo only tightened his hold. Effectively keeping me trapped.

“You should just snog already,” Pansy added with a cheeky wink. “You know for authenticity.”

She popped another candy in her mouth shaking her head.

I groaned and buried my face into Mattheo’s shoulder, hoping to disappear. Huge mistake. He smelled way too good. It was intoxicating being so close to him. I could feel the steady rhythm of his heart reminding me this didn’t phase him one bit.

He laughed, a smug rumble low in his chest. He was enjoying this. The cheeky bastard knew exactly what he was doing—especially when he brushed his fingers lightly across my wrist, like he was craving my touch just as much.

“Hey lovebirds, it’s your turn,” Blaise called grinning like a fox.

I let out a squeak, and freed one hand from the blanket, blindly grabbing a card and tossing it on the discard pile. Theo let out a dramatic cheer throwing his hands in the air.

“Yes! Finally. She plays the one I needed. I knew you were my favorite,” he declared.

I gave him a weak thumbs up, still half-hiding in Mattheo’s shoulder like a coward.

The game eventually wound down, but none of us moved. The competitive teasing slipped in to lazy conversations about classes, rumors, and upcoming Quidditch matches.

Mattheo never let go of me. His thumb moved in slow, absent strokes along my hip, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

His touch was calming. Hypnotic, even.

“You’re gonna fall asleep on him,” Pansy quipped, her voice softer now, more affectionate than mocking.

“Shut up,” I mumbled, eyes already heavy.

Mattheo didn’t say a word. He just pulled me closer, like he didn’t mind at all.

And I fell asleep like that—in his arms, surrounded by warmth and laughter. I had never been more at peace.

I woke up the next morning tangled in unfamiliar silk sheets. They were smooth against my skin. The scent that clung to them was unmistakably feminine: soft, floral, with a hint of vanilla that lingered on the skin.

The canopy’s green velvet curtains were drawn tightly shut. Rays of filtered light barely slipped through the edges.

This was not my bed.

Was it Mattheo’s?

No. It couldn’t be. He swore- swore- there would be no hooking up with anyone else during our arrangement. The overwhelming perfume in the air didn’t belong to any old fling. It was too intense for it to be an old fling.

My heart began to pound against my ribs, and I sat up slowly. The sheets fell from my body in a soft rustle. I scanned the space looking for some sort of answer as to where I was.

There was a small note on the pillow beside me. My name was scrawled across the top in familiar, messy handwriting.

I unfolded it slowly, fingers brushing the parchment as if it might vanish if I moved too fast.

Good morning sweetheart,

You looked too peaceful to wake up last night, and when Pansy offered to let you sleep in her bed, I couldn’t say no.  

I had an early Quidditch meeting this morning (bloody brutal by the way) , but I will be looking for you in the stands. Cheer loudly for me. I think maybe my princess might bring me a bit of good luck.

Pansy said she would walk with you to breakfast this morning, so you won’t have to leave alone. She knows how anxious you can get in those situations.

–M

My princes.

I smiled, despite myself, the corners of my mouth curling before I could stop them. Merlin help me I had feelings for him.

And that was dangerous.

We made a promise. No feelings. No attachment.

I folded the note carefully and tucked it into my pocket.  I already knew I was going to read it over and over again.

Just like the note promised, Panzy was waiting for me in the common room, perched elegantly on one of the aged armchairs. In her hands, she held a bundle of dark green fabric.

Her smile was far too pleased. Which honestly worried me a little.

Without saying a word, she thrusted the fabric towards me. It was Mattheo’s extra jersey.

All I could do was blink. 

Was she seriously expecting  me to wear this? I knew what it meant. Everyone at Hogwarts did. This was possibly the most girlfriend-coded thing I could do—and it felt far too intimate. Like I was staking a claim.

A claim I had no right to make. Not really.

“He would love to see you wear it.”  Pansy said, trying to coax me.

“I don’t know…” I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the jersey. “You know what this means. Isn’t this crossing a line for him?”

“I promise,” she said, squeezing my hands gently, “he’ll love it.”

I gave her a skeptical look, but she just smirked.

“You Gryffindors,” Pansy said with a smirk, “always so dramatic about everything. Like wearing a green jersey might suddenly shatter your moral compass.”

I rolled my eyes. “We just have standards, you know. Pride, loyalty, house honor... all those annoying little things we’re famous for.”

She scoffed. “Please. Slytherins have all of those too. We just know when to set them aside for something that actually matters. Like making a boy lose his mind the second he sees you in his colors.”

I bit back a smile as she wiggled her eyebrows.

“Do you want Slytherin to lose?”

“They won’t lose.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Especially not if you’re wearing that. Honestly, he gave it to me without even blinking. No hesitation. You wearing it isn’t crossing a line. It’s exactly where he wants you to be.”

I stared at the jersey in my hands, the fabric catching the light from the fireplace. It was ridiculously soft and probably smelled like him.

Gods, I was so stupidly addicted to the way he smelled.

This would probably be the only time I could wear it. Our whole arrangement was bound to fall apart soon. But this? This moment was still mine.

“I’ll... mix some house colors into my outfit, so I am supporting both.” I said, voice softening a touch.

She smiled like Slytherin had just won the house cup. “That’s the spirit. Red, gold, and green—a forbidden fashion statement. I like it.”

I matched her smile. The friendship between us felt easy. Natural.  

“Thanks for letting me crash in your bed, by the way.”

She looped her arm through mine, tugging me toward the door.  “Any time. Though, if I am being completely honest it was purely selfish, it gave me the perfect excuse to stay with my boyfriend last night.”

I giggled. “Happy to be of service.”

“That’s what friends are for,” she said, then paused. “Well, that and brutally honest outfit advice, carefully timed interventions, and dragging you to breakfast.”

“And here I thought Slytherins didn’t care about people.”

She gave a dramatic gasp. “We care deeply. We’re just... selective.”

I nudged her playfully. “Selective, huh?”

She gave me a sly look. “And I chose you, didn’t I?”

Pansy may be sharp-tongued and always scheming, but with me, there was this easy warmth. She never made me feel like an outsider. She befriended me as if it was the easiest thing she had ever done.

And in a strange, unexpected turn I trusted her more than Rory and Lyra.

Loud chants echoed across the Quidditch pitch; the crowd was electric with anticipation. Rivalry matches were always intense. Not a single seat was empty.

I slid into a spot between Rory and Lyra, wrapping my Gryffindor scarf tighter around my neck. I was suddenly feeling a little self-conscious of  Mattheo’s Slytherin jersey unmistakably draped over my shoulders.

I glanced around the area for Thaddeus. He was missing.

It didn’t take long before the comments started.

“Why are you wearing that?” Rory spat, venom lacing her words like it burned her tongue to say.

I blinked at her, momentarily stunned. “What?”

She gestured dramatically at the jersey; her face was twisted with disbelief and something uglier underneath.  

“That,” she snaped again, her voice rising. “Seriously? During a match against Slytherin?”

I opened my mouth, but no defense came out.

Lyra didn’t speak right away, she leaned forward, her perfectly glossed lips curling into a slow calculated smirk.

“I think it’s cute,” she said.

But the look she shared with Rory said otherwise.

Maybe I was imagining it.

But ever since Mattheo’s warning. I’d started seeing things I hadn’t before.

Little things: tiny barbs hidden in their smiles, passive-aggressive digs I used to laugh off or ignore.

Things I hadn’t wanted to see.

I sat back in my seat and tilted my face toward the sun. It was a perfect afternoon with cloudless blue skies. The kind that should have felt electric and free.

Instead, I felt caught.

Torn between the friends I’d had since first year and a boy I wasn’t supposed to feel anything for.

“I’m still supporting Gryffindor” I mumbled, more to the sky than to them.

Before either of them could reply, the announcer’s voice boomed across the pitch. The match had begun.

My eyes found Mattheo instantly.

He hovered just above the field, dark hair tousled by the wind. His expression was razor-sharp. Even from a distance I could see he was focused like the only thing that mattered was winning.

Our eyes locked for a quick fleeting second. The noise around me dulled.

His mouth quirked upward, just slightly. Not quite a smile, but close enough to set me off balance.  

I didn’t look away for the rest of the match. I told myself I was cheering for Gryffindor, but if I was honest... every scream I let out, every time I stood up with the crowd, it was for the boy in green. My fake boyfriend.

Slytherin won.

I was on my feet before the final whistle even faded, pushing through the crowd and racing down the steps to meet him on the pitch.

Mattheo jogged across the field, still in full Quidditch gear, his collar damp with sweat and his hair sticking to his forehead. The high of the win was written all over his face—pure adrenaline and triumph.

Without warning, his hands were on my waist, lifting me effortlessly off the ground as he spun me in a quick circle.

I squealed, breathless laughter spilling from my lips.

“Mattheo!” I giggled as he set me back on my feet.

“Look at you sweetheart.” He said holding me at arm’s length to get a better look. His eyes swept over my outfit looking extremely pleased. “You look cute in my jersey.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I ducked my head and pressed my face into his chest, ignoring the damp fabric and the fact that we were still surrounded by half the school. His arms wrapped tighter around me.

“I should be sad my house lost,” I mumbled.

“Maybe they lost because my girl was out there cheering loudly for me.” He teased, his voice was playful and proud.

My heart did a somersault. I curled my fingers into his jersey like if I held on tight enough, I could forget this was all pretend.

His hand moved through my hair in slow, gentle strokes.

“You make me sound like a traitor,” I whispered.

He tilted my chin up, his palm warm against my cheek, eyes dark and unreadable. But soft. So soft.

“Nah,” he said. “You just like your boyfriend.”

And then he smiled at me.

Not the usual crooked smirk. Not the guarded half-laugh he used to deflect feelings.

A real smile. Bright. Wide. Unfiltered.

It knocked the air right out of my lungs.

It was the most beautiful smile. I knew it would be. 

“Fake,” I muttered under my breath, a desperate reminder for myself.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against mine.

“What was that, sweetheart?”

“Nothing,” I said too fast.

Everything felt too close. His hands, his mouth, his presence. My thoughts sparked and crashed like fireworks. I was unraveling. Completely.

“You coming to the party tonight?” His nose brushed mine, so softly I barely noticed the movement.

I nodded, afraid my voice would betray me.

“Good,” he said, that devastating smile tugging at his lips again. “That’s my girl. I’ll pick you up from your common room at 8.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t move.

One tilt of my head, and I’d kiss him.

Just one kiss.

Would it really be so bad?

That stupid rule echoed again in my head—no kissing on the lips.

My rule. The dumbest one I ever made.

Someone called his name from across the pitch. His jaw tensed, the moment cracking like glass.

He lingered for a beat longer… then let me go.

And just like that, he was walking away.

I didn’t call after him.

I didn’t move.

I just stood there, staring after him—wearing his name on my back and something terrifyingly close to love in my chest.

I was in a little black dress—simple, but fitted enough to make me feel like someone else for the night. The hem skimmed mid-thigh, and the thin straps exposed more skin than I was used to. A pair of delicate emerald earrings shimmered, as I passed the mirror, catching the low candlelight.

It wasn’t until I caught my reflection that I realized how perfectly the colors matched his house. Green and black. Slytherin chic.

Mattheo was already waiting outside the portrait hole, leaning casually against the wall in dark slacks and a black button-up, the top two buttons undone. His usual scowl was firmly in place, jaw set like the very act of existing annoyed him. He looked devastatingly good and completely unaware of it.

I let out a soft chuckle. He always looked so angry.

The sharp click of my heel on the stone made his head snap up.

And then—he stared.

His eyes were locked onto me. They traveled downward, slowly and deliberately, like he was memorizing every detail.

When his gaze returned to mine, his pupils were blown wide.

Suddenly the dress felt like a mistake. Too much. I should’ve changed.

“Princess,” Mattheo breathed, his voice low and reverent. “You look beautiful.”

My fingers tightened on my small clutch. “Are you sure?” I asked quietly. “Maybe I should go change.”

His eyes flicked down again, slower this time, then back up with a shake of his head.

“You look beautiful,” he repeated, firmer this time. “Come here.”

He reached for my hand.

“I think we should skip the party,” he murmured, pulling me closer. “I want you all to myself.”

I let out a breathy laugh. The butterflies fluttered in my stomach completely out of control. “You promised to take me to my first party.”

His lips twitched into the faintest smile. “That I did.”

The party was already alive with loud music, drunk laughter and far too many unsupervised teenagers with spiked drinks.

It was just as chaotic as I’d imagined.

Mattheo kept our fingers tightly laced. A silent announcement: she’s with me. 

I could feel eyes on us, jealous ones from some girls standing in the back. Rory and Lyra were somewhere in the crowd, but I didn’t care to look for them

“Wait here,” Mattheo said over the music. “I’ll grab us drinks.”

He disappeared into the crowd just as an arm snaked around my waist.

“Finally!” Pansy beamed, giving me a quick once-over. “Oh, you look sinful.”

I laughed. “Is that a good thing?

“Oh, a very good thing.” She said leaning in. “He can’t take his eyes off you. You have him wrapped around your perfectly polished finger.”

I looked over to where he had disappeared, and she was right. His brown eyes were locked on me.

My pulse kicked.

“It’s all part of the plan,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

I didn’t answer.

Her tone softened. “Be careful, love. You’re playing with fire.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” She paused. “He never brings anyone to parties like this. Especially not holding hands. You’re not just part of the act anymore, and I think you know it.”

I hesitated. Everything was so messy. I didn’t even know what to believe anymore.

I opened my mouth, but Mattheo returned before I could deny it, sliding an arm around my waist.

“Miss me?” he teased.

“Every second.” I took the drink he handed me.

He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Come dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question. Mattheo Riddle didn’t ask. He took.

 “I don’t really dance.” I eyed the crowd.

“You do tonight.”  

I downed whatever he had put in the cup.  Liquid courage. I was going to need it if he wanted me out there. Pansy snatched the empty cup with a wink as Mattheo pulled me through the crowd. The crowd parted like they knew better than to get in his way.  

The music shifted into something slower and seductive, with just enough bass to make the floor vibrate. Mattheo pulled me close hands resting heavy on my hips.

We didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Our bodies moved in sync—slow sways and small circles, our chests nearly touching, breath mingling.

His touch was possessive, intimate. Like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

His hands roamed—up my sides, back to my hips—as though he was fighting the urge to touch more, to take more.

“Ok dancing isn’t that bad.” I admitted over the music.

He gave me a sloppy smile in response.

The party stretched late into the night and people became more careless. But I hardly noticed. Not when Mattheo barely left my side.

His fingers grazed the small of my back as we moved through crowds. His breath was hot against my skin as he leaned in to whisper sarcastic commentary.

Around midnight, he leaned in. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah ok.”  I nodded, looking at him through my eyelashes.

I didn’t ask where. He had my full trust, he always would.

We moved through the castle like shadows. When we reached his room, the silence fell heavy. Soft silver moonlight filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor.

He dropped my hand to shut the door. I used the moment to go through his room. I couldn’t help myself. My fingers ran over his desk and shelves.

“Romeo and Juliet?” I asked, picking up the worn copy on his nightstand. “Didn’t peg you for a Shakespeare guy.”

He shrugged. “What can I say he speaks to me.”

My head turned towards him. He was standing a few feet away looking tired. His shirt was wrinkled now, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a few curls had fallen loose. And he was looking at me like I was something he couldn’t quite touch without breaking.

It should be illegal to look that good.

“You tired?” he asked.

I shook my head; my body was exhausted, but I didn’t want this moment to end. “Not really.”

We stood there, the silence stretching.

He took a step forward. I took one back.

“You were so beautiful today,” he said. “Not just the outfit.” His eyes dipped, then rose again. “The way you looked at me during the match… I almost missed the winning pitch.”

I rolled my eyes. “You did not.”

“I almost did.”

The air changed. Thickened.

He stepped forward again. I backed into his desk, heart hammering.

“Mattheo,” I whispered, unsure if it was a warning or a plea.

His hands found the desk on either side of me, caging me without touching me. I stared at his hands and the muscles in his arms.

“I know the rules,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “I repeat them every second of the day. No real feelings. No attachment. No kissing on the lips.”

My eyes dropped to the floor. A thousand reasons to run away raced through my head. I wouldn’t make it far in these shoes. It was worth a shot though.

His voice dipped even lower almost desperate, “But right now, I really want to kiss you.”

My breath caught. Every single nerve in my body was screaming yes.

But I didn’t move.

We hovered there, barely a breath apart. His eyes flicked to my mouth and back. Once. Twice. Then he leaned in—not enough to close the gap, just enough that our noses brushed.

“Tell me not to,” he whispered.

I wanted to.

I should have.

He will break my heart in the end. But I wanted to know what he tasted like. I wanted to know what it would be like to be his.

I stayed frozen lips parted, breathing shallow. And then, slowly, he closed the distance.

His mouth brushed mine, soft at first. Careful. Testing. Like he was scared this was a dream.

I shot forward and kissed him back.

It changed instantly. From soft to searing. His hand cupped my face, pulling me into him like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space. My fingers twisted in his shirt.

I was losing myself in him. It was enough to undo the wall that I had built. And that scared me.

I broke the kiss and gently pushed his chest.  We were both breathless.

There was no color left in his eyes as he searched mine.  “What’s wrong?”

My throat tightened.

He was only doing this because he hadn’t been with anyone in a while. That was it.

He was confused. Caught up in the moment.

He didn’t know what he wanted, and I couldn't be the one who paid the price for that.

“I—” I shook my head. “I can’t”

Mattheo didn’t push me any further. Just reached up slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers barely grazing my skin. Something shattered in his expression. He stepped back, hands falling to his sides.

I wished to know what he was thinking.

“You should stay,” he said after a beat. “Just to sleep.”

I nodded.  Because the truth was, I didn’t want to be alone.

“I can ask Pansy-“

“No.” he was quick to cut me off, “Use my bed. We’ll leave together in the morning. I’ll take the couch.”

There was no way I was taking his bed. He deserved it after playing all day.

“I’ll take the couch. You had a physically exhausting day.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I swear, princess, if you don’t take the bed, I’ll drag you onto it myself and stand guard until you fall asleep.”

He would do it to. I sighed suddenly, annoyed.

“Fine,” I murmured. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stubborn. Bed. Now.” He stepped aside, gesturing to the bed like a knight presenting a throne.

I rolled my eyes. Looking down at my dress.

He handed me a shirt. It was the black one he wore on game night. I had told him it looked comfortable enough to live in. I took it with shaky fingers, and he turned around so I could change.

His mattress was soft, and his sheets smelled like him. I tried not to sink into it too fast, but exhaustion clung to my bones.

Mattheo dimmed the lights with a flick of his wand, then moved toward the couch. He paused for a second, like he wanted to say more.

But instead, he just said, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

I turned on my side, curling into the blanket, inhaling. “Goodnight.”

My lips still tingled from the kiss. I wanted to do it again.

I closed my eyes.

I should have been a fling.

Maybe then I wouldn’t have any regrets.

Just a broken heart.

Saturday arrived with a sharp drop in temperature, the air biting at my cheeks as I dressed. I chose something comfortable but cute – an outfit that said I am fine even if I wasn’t.

Mattheo had been dreading this outing. I could tell. I didn’t blame him. My friends had been cruel to him all week. More than their usual snide jabs about him being a Slytherin.

The walk to Hogsmeade was filled with light chatter and the crunch of frostbitten leaves beneath our shoes. Rory and Lyra buzzed about what shops to visit, while Thaddeus kept cracking jokes only they seemed to understand. I just smiled and nodded, to follow along. Pretending like I belonged.

Mattheo walked beside me, one hand tucked in his coat pocket, the other holding mine. His thumb brushed soothing circles against my skin. He stayed silent the whole walk.

By the time we reached the Three Broomsticks, I was trying too hard. I smiled until my cheeks hurt and offered to pay for the drinks.

We sat at a table near the back— Rory, Thaddeus, and Lyra squeezed in on one side. Mattheo pulled a chair out waiting for me to sit, before settling in beside me directly across from Rory.

He was watching the three of them with intense caution.

I never should have dragged him into this. But I wanted him to see they weren’t that bad. That they were kind and caring. 

I tried to keep the conversation alive with forced laughter and clinking mugs, but the more they talked, the more I felt it—that low simmer of hostility. The side glances. The smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.

No. No. No. He had just gotten into my head that’s all this was about.

They are my friends. They loved me. I loved them. I was putting this show on for them after all. To prove to them I wasn’t the bad guy. That they had me wrong.  

Thaddeus could go though.

Rory leaned in across the table, her voice syrupy sweet. “So, Mattheo, do you really spend your free time reading with Y/N? That’s... new.”

Thaddeus chuckled, swirling the last drops of his drink. “Bit Boring, isn’t it?”

Mattheo didn’t rise to the bait. He just took a slow sip of butterbeer, meeting Rory’s gaze.

“Nothing with her is boring.”

Thaddeus’s smile vanished. His nostrils flared.

Lyra chimed in, tone light but loaded, “You always seemed more the break-things-and-brood type. Not the whole ‘library romance’ Kind.”

I tried to laugh it off, but Mattheo’s jaw had gone tight.

“They’re just teasing,” I murmured to him.

“Sure they are,” he said under his breath, not looking at me.

Thaddeus leaned back in his chair, “Honestly,” he said, voice louder now, slurred just enough to draw attention from the next table, “how did Slytherin trash end up with Y/N?”

My stomach dropped.

“Thad.” I warned, my voice sharp.

“No, he has a point,” Rory added, twirling her straw with a smug smile. “It’s just... surprising. he’s always gone for, you know, a certain type.”

That was it.

I slammed my cup down, the sound loud and final.

“Mattheo is a good person--" Before I could finish speaking, his hand pressed firmly against my thigh under the table.

His voice was low and lethal when he spoke. “Careful with how you keep talking to her.”

“We are just looking out for our friend.” Lyra insisted.

My voice cracked, years of silence finally splitting open. “He was right,” I whispered. “You’re not good friends.”

Their faces shifted in to —confusion, shock… maybe even guilt—but it was too late.

I was already on my feet.

“What poison has he filled your head with?” Rory hissed, jabbing a finger toward Mattheo like he was the problem.

“Stop!” I snapped. “The fact that you, Rory, didn’t believe I’d ever date the guy you’ve had a crush on since second year—that should have been my red flag.”

Rory’s mouth opened, probably ready to say something so I felt guilty. So, I would be the one walking away blaming myself for everything.

“You all ganged up on me,” I continued, voice shaking. “For years. You made me feel like I had to earn your approval when I was already enough. What did you want—status? Money? You wouldn’t still be here if I was piss poor.”

No one moved. No one spoke.

“And maybe you were only ever here for my name. Maybe you liked having someone naive to laugh at. But Mattheo’s friends—the ones you call trash? They’ve shown me more kindness in weeks than you have in years.”

I grabbed my bag throwing more than enough money down to cover the drinks.

“So if we’re talking trash…” I met Rory’s gaze. “I know where it really is.”

And I left.

The cold night slapped my face as I pushed through the doors. I didn’t make it ten steps before the tears came hot and fast.

Years of pretending, of laughing at things that weren’t funny, of shrinking myself to fit in—years of it—all crashing down on me.

“Princess.”

His voice was soft, behind me.

I turned away, scrubbing my cheeks.  I didn’t want him to see me like this. I didn’t want him to feel guilty. This wasn’t his fault.

“Hey sweetheart. Come here.”

I shook my head, trembling. “I can’t—”

Mattheo didn’t ask again. He just wrapped his arms around me in a warm hug. I collapsed in to him, because as much as I wanted to deny it I needed it.

“They don’t deserve you,” he whispered into my hair. “You are brave. Loyal. Smart as hell. You see the good in people even when they don’t deserve it.”

I sobbed harder, burying my face in his shirt. “I was so stupid.”

“No. You were hopeful.” His hand didn’t leave my back. “You wanted to believe the best. That’s not stupid.”

I gripped his jacket like a lifeline.

He placed a soft kiss to the top of my head. “It’s okay, Princess. I’ve got you.”

That broke me.

“Get me away from here,” I whispered, my voice raw. “Please.”

His arms tightened around me. “Anything you want.”

Over a week had passed since Hogsmeade. I hadn’t spoken to Rory or Lyra since that night, and I didn’t plan to. Instead, I clung to Mattheo, and hung out with Pansy in between classes. 

We never talked about what happened that night.

He just… stayed.

He Walked me to classes, kept a hand on the small of my back when people stared. Sat to close to me in the library and pretended not to care when I fell asleep on his shoulder.

The ache from losing my friends dulled. I realized what I missed was the version of them I’d built in my head. The version that never existed.

Thaddeus had the audacity to send me a letter. It remained unopened on my desk. If Mattheo found out, I think he would lose it.

My father had sent me a few letters too, checking in. I didn’t have it in me to lie to him, and tell him I was happy.

My days seemed to be quieter now. I spent most of them tucked away in hidden corners of the castle, combing through my uncles’ notebooks. I owed Mattheo the serpent. It was the least I could do after everything he’d done for me.

That evening I sat in the astronomy tower with all my papers scattered on the floor. I was so close. I was just missing something.

Pansy was beside me, picking at a chocolate frog, her boots kicked up on a ledge, while I sat cross-legged, sipping pumpkin juice from a flask she’d nicked from the kitchens.

“So,” she said casually. “When exactly is this fake relationship supposed to end?”

I hesitated, because I knew the answer. I needed to end it. But I was selfish and holding on to what little friendship I had left. Because I didn’t know if he would disappear when it all ended, and I don’t think I could handle not having him around. 

She poked my forehead.  “I know that brain of yours is overthinking.”

I sighed staring at the paper in my hand.  “It’s just… I know I need to end it for his sake. Being in a fake relationship this long isn’t healthy.”

“Is it fake though?” Her tone softened. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like he worships the ground you walk on.”

My heart fluttered in a treacherous little rhythm. “We had rules,” I said. “No real feelings. No attachment.”

“So?”

I stared at the sky that was now painted pink and purple, trying not to fidget. “It’s still fake,” I said again, but the words felt hollow.

“That’s the deal. We both agreed.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes. “You keep saying that ‘it’s fake’ but every time you do, your voice sounds more and more like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words got stuck somewhere between my throat and heart. She wasn’t wrong.

“I mean,” she went on, brushing a crumb off her skirt, “Mattheo hasn’t looked at another girl in weeks. And let’s not pretend you don’t melt every time he does that ‘princess’ thing.”

“I do not melt.” I muttered, turning the page of my notebook just to have something to do.

“You puddle, actually.”

“Pansy,” I groaned, covering my face with both hands.

She giggled, then leaned in slightly, her tone dropping into something more thoughtful. “If you want it to stay fake, end it. But if you’re holding on you need to talk to him.”

I stayed quiet. She was right, I knew she was right.

There was a soft creak.

We both froze.

It was faint, but definitely there. Then there was a small scrape, like someone shifting their weight behind the tower door.

Pansy’s eyes met mine instantly, all trace of teasing gone. Her hand moved quietly to her wand.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered.

I nodded.

She rose slowly, boots silent as she crossed to the door. I stayed seated, my heart thudding too loud in my ears.

She yanked the door open.

The hallway was empty.

The stone corridor stretched on, dim and silent. Not even the echo of footsteps. No sign of anyone.

Pansy stepped out, scanned the shadows, then turned back to me. “No one.”

I didn’t believe that for a second.

Someone had been there.

Someone had heard us.

But the question was—who? And how much did they hear?

Pansy shut the door behind her, her brow furrowed. “That wasn’t wind. Someone was listening.”

I hugged my knees to my chest, a sick feeling curling in my stomach. “Do you think they heard everything?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But if they did, we better hope they’re not someone who likes to run their mouth.”

Like Thaddeus. Or worse... Rory.

She sat back down beside me, her posture tense now. The playful air between us was gone.

“Maybe it’s time to figure things out with Mattheo,” she said quietly. “Before someone else tries to do it for you.”

I was walking through the North Courtyard when a familiar voice sliced through the wind, colder than the chill on my skin.

“Hey princess,” Thaddeus called, voice dripping with mockery. “Heard a rumor you had to fake a relationship just to be wanted.”

I stopped in my tracks; my blood roared in my ears.

The way he said princess made me recoil. It was a name only one person had the right to use.

“Stop while you are ahead Thad.” I warned, turning to face him slowly.

He stepped closer, smirking like this was just another game. “It’s not a rumor though, is it?” His voice dropped to a sneer. “I heard you and Pansy the other night.”

My blood ran cold.

A crowd had gathered around us.

“Stop. Please,” I whispered, my eyes burning with humiliation.

Thaddeus grinned wider, sensing blood.

“How pathetic. Faking love for attention. That’s really all you are, isn’t it? Desperate.” He yelled out for the others to hear.

Quite ripples of whispers floated around us.  A lone tear slipped down my cheek.

“Stop,” I said again, struggling to keep my voice even. “Please.”

His voice rose, gleeful now. “You’re so starved for affection; you had to bribe Slytherin trash to play pretend boyfriend.”

“Mattheo is not trash.” I cried out.

He wasn’t going to be dragged down for this. I was the one who asked for the favor. I started this.

“Snake fucker.” Thaddeus spat.

That was it. That was the final crack.

My fist flew before I could stop it.

The impact was immediate and extremely satisfying. His nose crunched under my knuckles and blood came rushing out.

Pain bloomed across my hand. I’d thrown the punch wrong. My dad would be disappointed.

Gasps echoed through the courtyard.

“You bitch.” Thaddeus lunged, fury contorting his face.

He never reached me.

His arm was caught midair in an iron grip.

“Touch her and I’ll fucking kill you.” A deadly voice snarled behind me.

Mattheo.

He was behind me, eyes wild, face carved with fury. He shoved Thaddeus’s arm down like it disgusted him, then stepped forward, placing his body firmly in front of mine.

Thaddeus sneered. “What are you going to do? It’s not like you actually care. She bribed you, didn’t she? What’d she give you? A cheap fuck?”

I surged forward, fury burning white-hot in my chest, but Mattheo’s arm snapped around my waist, pushing me back behind him.

Rude.

“You don’t. Know. Shit.” Mattheo growled, every word deadly.

His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His jaw ticked. He was barely holding himself together.  

Mattheo wanted to hit the obnoxious boy. Not just hit, he was looking for blood. And if he got in a fight he was going to get detention. I was not worth that hassle, as his fake girlfriend.

“Mattheo,” I said gently, placing my good hand on his shoulder. “He’s not worth it.”

He turned to me, eyes blown wide, lips parted. He looked feral— unrecognizable. I had never seen him this angry before.

I reached up and cupped his cheek. My hand throbbed, but I didn’t care. I needed him to see me.

“Take a deep breath,” I whispered. “Let’s go, I am not worth it.”

 His lips thinned, displeased with my words. He looked like he wanted to argue with me now.  

“Yeah, listen to your little fake slut.” Thaddeus puffed his chest out like the biggest idiot known to mankind. “Run along.”

Mattheo tensed.

I pulled at his arm, desperate to get him to calm down.  “Mattheo he is just trying to get a rise out of you. Please let’s go.”

His gaze shot to the hand I was cradling. With a gentle hold he pulled it to him to inspect, turning it slowly. His hands were cold and soothing on my bruise. 

“Let’s get your hand looked at,” he murmured, thumb brushing my knuckles. His other hand rose to cradle my cheek, the coldness in his brown eyes slowly melting away.  

I nodded.

Thaddeus grabbed my arm as we went to walk away. “Face me you, bitch.”

Mattheo exploded. Within a millisecond he lunched forward like a storm unleashed.

The courtyard erupted into screams and chants, with students shouting the names of whoever they were supporting

I went to pull Mattheo off, but Balise grabbed me, pulling me back. “Let him handle it.

“I told you if you touched her, I’d fucking kill you,” Mattheo roared, landing a brutal punch to Thaddeus’s face.

“Mattheo, please.”  I cried out against the loud cheers of other students.

He didn’t stop.

Fists flew. Blood spilled. Thaddeus landed a few wild swings, but Mattheo was on top of him —violent, unrelenting.

“Stop.” I struggled against Blaise’s hold.” You’ll only make it worse.”

I scoffed. He would not care. I was a way to get what he wanted.

Theo and Draco broke through the circle and yanked him off before it went too far. I broke free from Blaise and rushed forward.

Thaddeus was half-conscious, held up by two Gryffindors. Rory was glaring daggers at me.

Mattheo spat at Thad’s feet.

I grabbed Mattheo’s face, turning it gently to inspect the split on his brow, and on his lip.

I dragged my thumb across his bottom lip, cleaning off the blood.

“Are you ok?” He asked.

He grabbed my wrist and brought it to his lips. His forehead rested against mine.

Was I ok? This boy.

“I think I am supposed to ask you that” I mumbled, closing my eyes.

Students were still murmuring all around us. This would be all over the castle by dinner. My father would know by morning.

“I just wish I hit him harder.” It was a dry honest answer. 

“Mattheo,” I hissed

He grinned despite the blood, maddeningly beautiful.

I swatted his shoulder with my bruised hand. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Without a word, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

“He made you cry.”

A voice cut through the crowd like a guillotine.

“What is going on here?”

Professor McGonagall.

I froze. We were caught.

Mattheo stood taller in front of me, shielding me instinctively. His hand stayed firm on my waist. I clutched the back of his shirt like a lifeline.

“Why am I not surprised it’s you, Riddle?” McGonagall’s tone was clipped and accusing.

I’d had enough of people thinking the worst.

“Actually, Professor,” I said, stepping out from behind him. Mattheo tried to pull me back, but I wouldn’t let him.

“Princess.” Mattheo whispered in a warning.  

“Thaddeus got violent,” I said. “Mattheo was protecting me. Please don’t punish him.”

McGonagall’s sharp eyes studied my bruised hand, Mattheo’s bloodied face, and Thaddeus slumped and scowling.

She nodded once, curt. “We’ll speak again later. Get those injuries looked at.”

Mattheo laced our fingers together, and I tugged him toward the hospital wing without another word.

In the infirmary, Mattheo refused to sit apart. My back rested against his chest; his arms curled protectively around my waist. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

He pressed a kiss to my temple, then dropped his head to my shoulder. One of his hands trailed down to mine, gently picking at my fingers.

Madam Pomfrey moved around us, muttering under her breath about “idiotic teenage boys” and “over-inflated egos,” but even she didn’t have the heart to separate us.

“Your hand’s going to be sore for a while,” she said gruffly, gently wrapping the bruised knuckles in gauze. “No spell will fix bruises that deep overnight.”

I hissed as she tugged the wrap tight. Mattheo’s hand slipped from mine, his palm landing heavy and warm on my thigh, fingers pressing protectively.

I looked at him.

His knuckles were scabbed over, streaked with dried blood in the creases.

The gash above his brow had already been sealed with a charm, but his lip was still cracked and swollen. His curls were messy, and bruises bloomed faintly across his jaw.

He looked like hell.

“You’re an idiot,” I said softly.

His mouth twitched. “I’ve been told.”

“You shouldn’t have jumped in.”

His brow arched. “You punched him first.”

I looked away, my throat tightening. “It’s not your job to protect me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was worse. It was heavy. Full of everything we weren’t saying.

I slid off his lap, needing space, the cold air biting at my arms where his warmth had just been. I crossed the stone floor slowly, each step echoing louder than the last.

“Mattheo,” I whispered, “we need to stop.”

His eyes flicked up to me, guarded. “What?”

“This…” I gestured vaguely between us. “Whatever this has become. We have to end it.”

He sat up straighter, the amusement from before wiped clean. “Why?”

“You’ve been the best fake boyfriend,” I murmured, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

I turned toward the window. The moon hung low and pale, casting silver lines across the floor.

“I dragged you into this whole thing to make myself feel better. I used you to hide from everything going wrong in my life, and you—” I choked on the next words. “You gave me more kindness than I’ve ever deserved.”

“You deserve something real,” I whispered. “Not a girl who dragged you into a lie because she was too scared to be alone. You deserve... more.”

I forced a smile, but it cracked. “Friends?”

His brows drew together. “You want to be friends?”

“I mean…” I trailed off, my voice barely above a breath. “We could go back to ignoring each other. If that’s easier.”

He shook his head sharply. “No... That’s not what I meant.”

I looked up, finally meeting his eyes. He looked raw. Like I’d ripped open something that had barely stitched together.

My fingers twisted together anxiously. “Then what did you mean?”

He hesitated. Then his jaw locked. “Forget it. But if this is what you need—” he stood up, voice low and rough, “then I’ll let you go.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat burned. My chest ached. I wanted to say don’t go. I wanted to say I didn’t mean it. I wanted to say stay.

But I stayed silent.

“Thanks for being my fake girlfriend,” he said, with a hollow smile.

“Any time, fake boyfriend,” I whispered, and the word fake cut deeper than any insult Thaddeus could’ve thrown.

He walked away.

And I stood there in the quiet hush of the infirmary, with the sting of goodbye blooming in my chest.

Alone, again.

I threw myself into finding the Sapphire Serpent.

It was all I had left to give.

The final clue had been buried in one of my uncle’s journals—one I’d never thought to open. It revealed a map that led deep into the underbelly of the castle, past a rusted gate no one had touched in decades.

The Cursed Sapphire Serpent.

It was heavier than I expected. Cool to the touch. The blue veins pulsed faintly beneath its jeweled surface, as if the thing were alive. Coiled in perfect stillness, but ready to strike. I wrapped it in velvet and held it tight as I walked through the empty corridor.

Rehearsing what I’d say when I saw him. Practicing the casual tone I would try to keep.

This was the reason he agreed to help me, and I had to pay him back. To make it even.

I found Mattheo alone in the old Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He was leaning against the windowsill, arms crossed, head tilted toward the fading light. He didn’t look surprised to see me.

“I found the Serpent,” I said softly, extending the bag between us.

He didn’t move.

“I found it,” I repeated, holding the velvet pouch out farther, like an offering. My hands trembled.

Mattheo stared at it like it was poisoned. Then, slowly, deliberately, he stepped back.

“I don’t fucking want it.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want it.” His voice was calm, too calm. The kind of calm that’s masking something breaking underneath.

“This was supposed to be your payment!” I snapped, my voice cracking with disbelief. “This is what you’ve been searching for since before we even—”

“I know.” he interrupted, still not moving.

“Then take it,” I hissed, shoving the pouch into his hands. He took it instinctively, then looked down at it like it disgusted him.

 “My desire is selfish,” he spat out, “And it won’t work.”

I shook my head, confused. “What does that even mean? You wanted this, Mattheo!”

“Yeah.” His eyes met mine. “And now I don’t want it anymore.”

My chest tightened. My legs felt like they were floating, untethered from the floor.

He stepped forward. “Why did you walk away last week?”

“Wh—what?” I stammered, taking a step back.

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear.” His voice cracked. “You ended things. You walked away. Why?”

“Because!” My fists were clenched. “Because it was getting too real!”

“Good,” he snapped. “Because it was real!”

“No, it wasn’t,” I lied. “It was fake. That was the whole point.”

“Don’t do that.” He took another step.  “Don’t lie to me.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, brushing past him. “Do whatever you want with the stupid thing.”

I didn’t get far.

His hand wrapped gently around my wrist, stopping me mid-step.

“Why did you leave?” he asked again, but softer this time. Almost like he didn’t want to hear my answer.

“The month was nearly up,” I said, eyes forward. “Everyone knew. It was time to stop pretending.”

“Bullshit.” His grip didn’t tighten—but it didn’t loosen either.

“Mattheo—”

“Stop fucking lying, Princess,” he whispered, and something in his voice fractured. “Tell me the truth.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “I broke rule number two,” I whispered, the words clawing their way out. “I caught feelings for you. And I know you’re not the kind of person who wants that, so just… let me go before it hurts more.”

Mattheo blinked like I’d slapped him.

“No.”

My head snapped up. “No?”

“Yeah. No.” His eyes were blazing now. “You don’t get to walk away like that and act like you’re the only one who broke the rules.”

I blinked at him. “Have you gone mad?”

“My desire—” he pointed at the bag I’d forced into his hand, then let it fall to the floor. “—was never that bloody Serpent. My desire is you. You’ve been it all along.”

I stared at him.

“This last month has been the best thing to happen to me,” he said fiercely. “And I know I was supposed to just play along. Keep it fake. But I don’t want to fake it anymore.”

“Me?” I breathed.

He looked like I was the one who was mad. “Yes. You.”

“You don’t… you don’t do feelings.”

His expression shattered into something softer. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, the name fragile and full of ache. “I also broke that rule.”

My knees nearly gave out.

“I’m so fucking attached to you,” he whispered, “I don’t know where I end, and you begin.”

I took a small step forward, and he caught me. Arms wrapping around me like they used to. He was holding on like he couldn’t bear the space between us.

His breathing was shallow.

“You’re not thinking straight,” I whispered, even though I wanted this. Merlin, I wanted this.

And I just liked to Deny myself of any happiness.

“No more rules.” He said.

And then he kissed me

It wasn’t soft.

It was furious.

His mouth crashed into mine like it had been waiting. Like he’d been holding his breath for weeks and could finally exhale. I gasped against his lips as his hands slid up my spine, gathering me closer, anchoring me to him.

I could feel the tension in his jaw, the tremble in his fingertips.

I threaded my fingers through his hair.

He kissed me like he was drowning, and I was the only thing that could save him.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and shaking, his hand cradled my cheek so gently it nearly undid me.

His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, now swollen and tingling from his kiss.

“No more pretending,” I whispered.

“No more pretending,” he repeated back to me.

[syhli]

Reposted. Devil!Sylus x cannibal!reader. Set in the 1600s. CW: depictions of gore.

NOTES: originally written and posted on my previous account, scarletardor. i do plan to continue writing about devil sylus in this time period at some point in the near future, but for now i am planning out a longer fic about him in a modern au. (see angelkiss here!) dedicating this repost to @peascrabbles for adoring this piece even when it disappeared because that means so much to me.

“Poor old man.”

Sylus is more enthralled at the sight than he is intimidated. When one’s a monster for centuries, traversing every part of the Earth for as long as he has, he’s seen more than enough. His knowledge is boundless, meaning he’s studied far too many events and human behaviors. But you? By gods, you’re fascinating.

Here you are, perched over on your knees as you’re a bloody mess. The victim beneath your greedy hands and bared teeth was some innocent old farmer, living out the rest of his days in peace. Where anyone would’ve been feasting on a selection from his livestock, you chose to eat the one who took care of the damn farm. If their heart was beating, they were food. They were yours to feast upon no matter if they had memories or a generosity that was rare.

The squelching sounds of flesh and blood melding against one another is grating. Sylus initially wouldn’t mind—he’s had his own share over the years of consuming the sustenance that keeps him the way he is.

But you? You’re being a mess on purpose. You’re not a child.

He scoffs in disgust, crouching before the farmer’s corpse on the opposite side. You’re barely acknowledging him, too engrossed in your meal. But with each tear and gnaw of spleen, you seem to grimace with each swallow of the fresh meat. Despite your lack of table mannerisms, you’re doing this like it’s not the first time.

He’s only curious now as to how you… clean up after yourself. Or if you just leave the viscera as it is to haunt some poor soul for the rest of their life.

“There’s easier ways to do this, you know,” he muses, dipping his finger into the continually spilling pool of blood. “You don’t have to be so… theatrical, with your indulgence. While I’m enthused by them normally, they don’t always work out in your favor.”

You gag. Something uncomfortable lurches in your stomach, making you hack. A cough is forced through your throat, and discomfort claws within as you hurriedly turn to the side, away from the corpse. Your back contracts as raw flesh travels back up, regurgitating. Spewed from your mouth is red chunky bits and thick liquid.

Still, there’s no visible emotion tethered in the white-haired man’s eyes—save for the slight twitch of the corner of his mouth. His bloody gaze flutters between your puke that now stains the hay-ridden dirt, along with the farmer’s insides.

Hells. Sylus likes you a lot.

© SYHLI 2025. DO NOT TRANSLATE, COPY, OR FEED TO TRAIN A/I.

[kiksniko]

i have hualian disease and it's fatal i'm afraid

[verstappenverse]

Everything He Doesn’t Say

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max has never been good with words, but you’ve never once had to doubt how he feels.

Authors Note: Inspired by this amazing piece from @jungwnies 💕

1.3k words / Masterlist

You find the first one in your glove compartment.

It’s early. The sun is barely up and the pit of your stomach still churns with the anxiety of the meeting you’ve been rehearsing for in your head since 4 a.m. You get in your car, toss your bag onto the passenger seat and open the glovebox to grab the parking permit...

A folded square of paper slips out and lands on your lap.

You recognise his handwriting immediately, messy, slanted a little to the left, almost illegible to anyone else. The edges of the note are frayed like it had been sitting in his jeans for a day or two.

You’re going to kill it today. Like always. Proud of you. –M.

You stare at the note for a long moment. He didn’t say anything this morning when he hugged you at the door. Just pulled you in, kissed your forehead, murmured, “Don’t stress, baby,” and then disappeared back into the bedroom.

But this, this is different, like a whisper he wasn’t brave enough to say out loud. You place it gently into the centre console, fingers grazing it one last time before you shift into reverse.

The second one is inside your gym bag.

You find it after a long day, half-asleep and grumpy and rummaging for your water bottle. You nearly miss it, folded between the towel and your sports bra.

It’s short.

Stop forgetting how hot you are. –M.

You snort. A laugh slips out before you can stop it.

Max has never been great with words. Not when it comes to you. Not in the I-love-you-so-much-my-soul-aches kind of way. He says you’re cute, or you smell nice, or stay close tonight, instead, but you’ve come to realise he says a lot more than he lets on.

You tuck the note into your purse beside your ID, where he’ll never know you kept it.

Max is in the kitchen when you get home that night, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up. There’s soup on the stove. A half-burnt piece of bread in the toaster.

“Hey,” he says, glancing up.

“Hey,” you reply, quietly.

You stop when you see what’s sitting on the counter.

Your old phone charger. The one that frayed weeks ago and sparks when you plug it in, the one you keep saying you’ll replace but never have. It’s not just been replaced but upgraded. A newer, longer cable. Still pink. Still tucked into the exact same cable holder you’d been using.

Next to it is your favourite chocolate bar. The one that's hard to find. The one you mentioned in passing weeks ago, "God, I miss those. Haven’t seen them in ages."

You blink. “Where’d you find that?”

He doesn’t even look up. “Petrol station outside of town. You don’t need to thank me.”

You pause, because you were about to. He always says that ‘You don’t need to thank me’ whether it's setting your alarm when you forget, running you a bath without asking, or quietly re-parking your car after you leave it crooked. He doesn’t say it to be dismissive. It’s almost shy, like he doesn’t know what to do when you look at him with full-blown gratitude.

He sets your mug down beside you, your favourite tea with just the right amount of honey.

You look at the counter again pink charger coiled neatly, wrapper waiting.

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you murmur, reaching for the tea. “Thanks.”

Max doesn’t reply just shakes his head, chuckles and brushes his hand across your lower back. He hands you a bowl and waits for you to sit beside him on the couch, gently tugging the blanket over both your legs.

“I found the note,” you say after a few minutes, voice soft.

He doesn’t look at you. Just spoons soup into his mouth and shrugs. “What note?”

You smile. “The one in my gym bag.”

“Oh.” He blinks like he genuinely forgot. “That was meant for Monday.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, heart stupidly full. “Still worked.”

He never posts about you on Instagram.

It used to sting a little, in the beginning before you understood him, before you stopped comparing him to other people.

Because Max doesn’t care about optics, doesn’t feel the need to declare his love in public or share photos from every date night. He barely remembers to post anything at all unless someone reminds him.

But he does change his lockscreen.

You notice it one night while he’s asleep, phone buzzing softly on the nightstand with some notification he’ll ignore until morning. You pick it up to silence it and catch a glimpse of the photo.

It’s from your trip to Lake Como last summer.

You’re not even looking at the camera, head turned, eyes bright, smiling at something stupid he said. It’s not posed, it’s not perfect, but you look happy.

And he chose that version of you, the soft, unfiltered one.

You place the phone back down without a word and curl closer to his chest, whispering a quiet I love you into the dark.

Sometimes he sends you videos. Random ones.

A goose chasing a guy down a beach. A cat flipping off a countertop. A golden retriever refusing to drop the stick that’s three times its size.

No caption. No context.

It always comes when you’ve been apart too long both of you swamped with work. You’ve learned to read between the lines. It’s never just a meme.

It’s I miss you. It’s Can we talk? It’s I just want to hear your laugh.

You send one back. He replies immediately.

And just like that you’re texting again, heart full.

You walk in on him reading one night.

It’s the same book you’ve been talking about for months, the one you rambled about over dinner, quoting passages like a hopeless romantic.

Max is not a reader. He struggles to sit still unless he’s in a simulator or watching race footage, but there he is, lying on his back, squinting at the tiny print, brow furrowed like he’s concentrating harder than he does in qualifying.

“Max?”

He looks up, startled.

“Are you seriously reading that?”

He shifts awkwardly. “Just wanted to see what it’s about.”

You move toward him slowly, cautiously.

“And?”

“It’s... alright.”

“You hate it.”

“No,” he says too quickly. “It’s just... kinda dramatic... but the girl talks like you. Like, the way she explains stuff. I get it now. Why you like it.”

He flushes and looks back at the page, mumbling. You lean over and kiss the corner of his mouth and hope he understands that this means more than a thousand grand gestures.

Max doesn’t say “I love you” very often.

It’s not that he doesn’t feel it, he just doesn’t know what to do with big, consuming emotions, but he shows it.

In the way he tucks your hair behind your ear when you're too sleepy to do it yourself. In the way he places his hand on your back when you're walking through a crowd. In how he notices when your hands are cold before you do and slips his into yours without a word.

And especially when he drives.

You notice it every single time, how he buckles your seatbelt before his own. Leans over and makes sure it clicks. Tugs it gently to test the tension. Only then does he fasten his own and start the engine.

It’s so automatic now, so ingrained, you don't think he even realises he’s doing it, but you do.

You always do.

One night, months into this quiet, gentle love you’ve built, you find another note.

Tucked into your left sneaker. The old pair you rarely ever wear.

You unfold it and feel your chest tighten.

You make everyday better. –M.

You press the note to your lips, overwhelmed, and decide then and there that maybe he doesn’t need to say “I love you” often, because he’s always saying it in his own way.

In every little thing.

[reveriebae]

Soak Me Sweet

pairing(s) : Seonghwa x reader

word count : 3113

summary : A teasing brat, a soft dom, and a night full of mess.

genre : smut

warning(s) : overstimulation, face-sitting, squirting, spit, fingering, face-riding, pussy grinding on abs, brat x soft dom dynamic, cock worship, deep penetration, crying during sex, praise + light degradation, dumbification, aftercare, feeding water post-orgasm, creampie. Let me know if I missed anything!

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

The moment your back hits the mattress, you already know you’re in for it.

Seonghwa doesn’t even say a word. Just stands at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, head tilted like he’s trying to figure out what kind of punishment best fits your crime — which, for the record, was simply whispering “you’re so slow, grandpa” when he took more than five seconds to unbutton his shirt.

Your legs kick a little in the air as you giggle, pretending innocence.

“Hwaaa, come on~ don’t look at me like that…”

He lets out a soft exhale through his nose, not quite a laugh, but definitely not amusement either. “Grandpa?” he echoes, slowly crawling onto the bed like a lion cornering prey. “I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already mouthing off?”

You squeal when he grabs your ankle, pulling you down toward him with one smooth yank.

“Hwa—! You’re being mean—”

“You called me a grandpa, baby,” he cuts you off with that maddeningly calm voice. His fingers tug at your shorts, slipping them down with ease. “But look at you. Dripping like you need me more than air.”

You want to argue, throw a comeback, something—but the moment the cold air kisses your soaked panties, your thighs twitch on instinct, traitorous.

Seonghwa smiles. Not the sweet smile he gives you when he makes you coffee in the morning, or kisses your forehead when you’re sleepy. No, this one is dark. Mischievous. Dangerous in the most delicious way.

“You gonna behave?” he murmurs, thumb brushing the wet patch forming between your legs.

You pout, hips squirming just a little. “M’not that bad…”

“Mm.” He hums like he’s not convinced. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck the attitude out of you.”

And just like that, his head disappears between your thighs.

Your fingers barely graze the sheets before he’s already settled between your thighs — pushing them open, kissing the inside of your knee like he’s being gentle, but his eyes burn with something else entirely.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, breath hot against your inner thigh. “You start wiggling and squirming, I’ll just tie you up instead.”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it catches in your throat the second his mouth presses over the soaked fabric of your panties. No teasing. No slow build. He groans into it like he’s been starving, tongue immediately dragging along the soaked cotton.

“Oh my god—Hwa,” you whine, hips jumping.

His hands fly up instantly—one across your lower belly, pinning you down; the other gripping your thigh with a bruising promise.

“Still, baby,” he warns, voice low and sticky. “I haven’t even started yet.”

With maddening precision, he pulls your panties aside, exposing your soaked folds to the cool air—and then warmer heat.

His tongue.

It starts with one, slow, filthy drag — a long, purposeful lick from your entrance to your clit, and it’s wet. Messy. Loud. The kind of sound that makes your toes curl, your chest stutter.

“Oh—Hwa—fuck—”

“You taste so fucking good,” he growls, barely pulling back before diving in again. His spit drips from his lips as he laps at you hungrily, tongue flattening then curling, dragging up and down until your thighs shake. “How are you this wet already? What kind of mess are you planning to make for me, huh?”

Your back arches with a whimper, fingers flying into his hair for anything to anchor you.

Then he spits.

Right onto your cunt.

A thick, warm string that lands directly on your clit, and you sob — full-body, high-pitched, like it knocked the air out of you. He doesn’t even wait. Rubs the spit in with the flat of his tongue, circular motions that leave you twitching.

“You’re drooling,” he chuckles darkly, glancing up at your flushed face. “Pretty baby can’t handle a little tongue?”

“I’m gonna die—” you gasp, high-pitched and whiny.

“Then die for me, baby,” he murmurs with a smirk before he shoves his tongue in.

The way he fucks you with it, deep and slow, alternating between curling inside and sucking on your clit like he’s trying to ruin every future orgasm you’ll ever have.

The pressure in your belly builds fast. Too fast.

“Hwa—Hwa, I’m gonna—”

He doesn’t stop. Not for a second. In fact, he groans into you, the vibrations tipping you right over.

You scream when it hits — legs jerking, hips stuttering, liquid gushing out of you as your vision goes white. You squirt hard, soaking his face, and all Seonghwa does is moan like it’s the best reward in the world.

And then?

Then he doesn’t stop.

Tongue lapping up every drop, fingers suddenly slipping in to stretch you open more, curling just right.

You try to close your legs, but he pushes them apart. “We’re not done yet, baby. You wanted to run your mouth, remember?” he pants, face soaked with your slick. “Now be good and cum again for me. Squirt again. Make it messier this time.” he whispers against your cunt, fingers sliding in smoothly right after your orgasm leaves you twitching. “So fucking pretty when you squirt all over me. Think you can do it again?”

You try to answer. You really try.

But all you can let out is a choked sob and a breathless, “Hwaaa—s’too much—!”

He grins.

That stupid, gorgeous, smug grin.

“Too much?” he teases, crooking his fingers inside you just right, angling upward until he hits that devastating spot again and again and again. “You say that, but this slutty pussy keeps sucking me in like you need it.”

Your thighs twitch again. He doesn’t even bother holding you down this time — just lets your hips writhe, lets your body jerk as your slick runs down the inside of your legs. His mouth glistens, cheeks shiny with your mess. And when you manage to lift your dazed eyes, that’s when you see it—

He’s grinning as your juices drip down his chin.

“You made such a mess,” he says, almost in awe. “Let’s make it worse.”

His pace speeds up. Wet sounds fill the room—obscene, echoing. His fingers pump hard and fast, curl deep, then scissor slightly just to watch your thighs fly open and twitch again.

“Hwa—ohmygod—fuckfuckfuck—” You sob, back arching as your eyes roll.

You squirt again—harder this time, right into his face. A splash across his cheek, chin, the tip of his nose. His tongue darts out, licking some of it off with a soft moan.

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters. “Wanna bottle it. Want you dripping all over me every fucking night.”

Your whole body’s trembling, oversensitive, dumbed out—until you feel him pause.

Then—slowly—he brings his soaked fingers up to your lips, sticky and dripping. “Open,” he says, voice lower than before.

You hesitate, dazed.

He taps your lip. “Be a good girl.”

And you obey.

He pushes his fingers into your mouth—your own taste coating your tongue, salty and slick, messy from your orgasm. He groans when your lips wrap around them, when your tongue swirls over his knuckles like you’ve gone cockdrunk off his hand.

“Fuck… you look so pretty like this. Sucking my fingers after I made you squirt all over my face.”

You whimper around them, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes as your hips twitch again—like your body doesn’t even know how to stop reacting to him.

He leans closer, kissing your cheek tenderly.

Then he licks a stripe up the side of your face, whispering right against your ear—

“Bet you’ll let me do it again, won’t you? Make you squirt a third time just so I can drink it this time.”

You’re panting.

Barely conscious. Barely alive. Your thighs are soaked, your voice is hoarse, your brain’s not even stringing full thoughts together—just babbling nonsense through tear-lined lashes.

But then his hands are on your hips.

“C’mere,” he whispers.

You blink slowly, dazed. “Wha—?”

He pulls you up—gentle but firm—guiding your thighs toward his face. “Up here, baby. Come sit on it.”

You let out a strangled whimper. “I-I can’t—Hwa—too much, I’m gonna break—”

“You’re not gonna break,” he says with a dark little smile. “You’re gonna ride. Now come up here and fuck my face like the needy little brat you are.”

Your cunt pulses just from those words.

So you do. Wobbly and wet, you crawl forward and straddle his face, thighs shaking on either side of his head. He doesn’t wait—not even a second. Just drags his tongue up your slit with a deep, needy groan that vibrates straight into your core.

“Oh my god—” you cry, your hands flying to the headboard as your hips jerk forward. “Hwa—Hwa, fuck—!”

He moans into you, hands gripping your ass tight, pulling you down harder against his face. There’s no space to breathe. No air between you. Just your soaked cunt grinding against his tongue and the obscene wet noises of him slurping you up like he’s trying to drink every drop.

Your hips move on their own. Grinding, rocking, chasing that sharp edge again even though you’re already so far gone. His tongue flicks against your clit, fast and filthy, while he fucks two fingers back inside you from below—curling, pumping—

Then he spits.

Right onto your clit again, mid-lick.

You scream. No build-up. Just full-body twitching, a gush of slick releasing again, pouring onto his mouth as you squirt across his chin and neck.

But he doesn’t stop.

If anything, he groans like it’s better than heaven, like your squirt is feeding him. He’s drenched. It’s dripping down his throat, into his hair, his lashes soaked with it—but his tongue stays relentless, licking and sucking like you’re his only purpose.

You’re sobbing, whimpering, brain-fucked into a spiral. “I-I can’t—s’too much—f-fuck I’m gonna—Hwa—please—”

He pulls back just for a second, spit-slick lips glistening, eyes dark and wild.

“Don’t you dare stop moving,” he rasps, voice hoarse from moaning into your pussy. “You ride me like you want it. Wanna feel you cum again on my tongue, baby. Wanna drown in it.”

You whine like you’ve lost control of your entire body.

But you move.

You grind harder, faster—facefucking him, completely shameless now, your hips bouncing with wet, sloppy sounds as his tongue fucks up into you, fingers curling, his mouth messy and hungry—

Until you break.

You cum again.

Harder than before. Screaming his name, sobbing, gasping for air as your vision blacks out for a second from the intensity. Your squirt gushes down over his face, and he lets it, mouth open, drinking what he can while the rest drips down his cheeks and into the pillows.

When you finally collapse forward, trembling and crying, he’s panting under you — lips red and swollen, hair soaked with your slick.

“Fuck…” he whispers, kissing the inside of your thigh softly. “You’re so fucking perfect when you cum like that. So messy. So ruined. My beautiful little slut.”

Your whole body’s still twitching — but instead of flopping down beside him, you crawl lower.

Right over his chest.

Seonghwa watches you with a lazy, soaked smirk. His hair is sticking to his forehead, his entire face glistening with your cum, lips swollen from your pussy, but still — he watches like he knows you’re not finished.

He’s sprawled on the bed, shirt half open, abs flexing beneath you with every breath. And your slick? Still dripping.

“What are you doing now, hm?” he asks, voice low and gravelly.

You don’t answer — not with words. Just sink your hips down and grind your messy cunt along the ridges of his abs. Soaking him. Leaving sticky, shiny trails over his skin with every little rock of your hips.

He hisses.

“Fucking hell…”

You whimper on purpose. Soft, bratty. “You’re so… hard, baby,” you murmur, grinding again — letting your puffy folds press right against the line of muscle below his ribs. “S-so strong… feels so good under me…”

His jaw clenches.

“Are you trying to break me?” he growls. “Is that it? You wanna tease me until I lose it?”

You giggle breathlessly, leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth — sweetly, innocently — while your hips roll again. “You can take it, right? Big boy?”

And that’s it.

With one swift, rough move, he grabs your hips and flips you onto your back, pinning you with his weight. His cock slaps against your inner thigh — flushed, thick, leaking, angry from being ignored for too long.

“I spoil you too fucking much,” he mutters, lining himself up at your entrance, guiding the thick head through your soaked folds. “Now look what you did to me. Look what you made me.”

You whimper, legs wrapping around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“You wanted cock so bad?” he growls, voice breaking as he pushes in, thick head stretching you open inch by inch. “Fucking take it, baby.”

You scream — back arching as he fills you. He’s big. Heavy. And he goes in deep without stopping, until you’re gasping, whimpering, clinging to him like you might lose your mind.

“God, you’re so tight…” he groans, hips snapping once just to feel you spasm around him. “So fucking wet. You like teasing me just to get ruined, huh? You like making me fuck you stupid?”

You nod. Fast. Dumb. Crying. “Yes—yes, please—ruin me—need it so bad, baby—”

He fucks you hard.

Deep, full thrusts that knock the air out of your lungs. His cock kisses your cervix with every push, making your mouth fall open, your brain turn to soup. Your nails scratch down his back. You’re moaning so loud now, wet noises echoing between you both, slick coating your thighs, his cock, the sheets.

“Such a messy little brat,” he pants, staring down at the way your tits bounce with every thrust. “You ride my face, grind on my abs, and then look at me like you’re innocent.”

You cry out again when he angles his hips just right—rubbing your g-spot with every stroke.

“Cum again,” he growls, leaning close, biting your bottom lip. “Squirt all over my cock, baby. Wanna feel you soak me. Be a good girl and fuckin’ let go.”

And just like that — it hits.

You convulse under him, nails clawing his shoulders, legs wrapped tight as you squirt again — all over his cock, your body wracked with trembles as the orgasm rips through you. He moans loud as you gush around him, then fucks you through it, greedy, obsessive.

“Fucking mine,” he breathes. “All mine. Look how dumb you get on my dick. So fucking pretty…”

You barely hear him.

Your body’s limp. Eyes glassy. Brain fuzzy with pleasure.

And Seonghwa just slows his thrusts, cups your face gently, kissing your cheeks as his cock pulses inside you. “Shh… I got you, baby. Gonna cum deep inside this perfect pussy now. You want it, don’t you? Wanna be filled up?”

You nod like you’re drunk on him.

“Good girl,” he whispers, hips rolling one last time as he buries himself, groaning your name like a prayer while he spills inside you.

You don’t even remember how your legs untangle.

One second, you're flat on your back, twitching and crying through your orgasm with his cum dripping out of you—

The next, you're being scooped into warm arms.

Seonghwa presses gentle kisses across your collarbone as he lifts you, bridal-style, ignoring how soaked both your thighs are, how his cock’s still half-hard and messy between you.

“You okay, baby?” he murmurs, voice soft, thumb brushing your cheek. “Still with me?”

You nod—barely.

More like a sleepy nuzzle into his chest.

He chuckles quietly, carrying you across the room, carefully laying you on fresh sheets. Then, he disappears for just a moment—

And comes back with a cold bottle of water.

“Drink,” he says, crouching down beside the bed. His fingers guide the rim of the bottle to your lips, slow and careful. “You squirted like a fountain, princess. Gotta refill you.”

You whimper softly, but sip.

The cold water hits your throat like heaven. You gulp it down greedily, and he smiles like he’s proud—like watching you drink is the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead between sips. “Such a mess. You’re all sticky, baby… all over me. Look.”

He pulls back slightly and shows you: his abs, still glistening with the trail you left when you grinded on him. His mouth? Still shiny from when you sat on his face. The smirk on his lips? Deadly.

You cover your face with both hands, whining through your fingers.

“Nuh-uh,” he says sweetly, pulling your hands down. “Don’t hide. You’re beautiful like this.”

His voice drops to a tender murmur, and he leans down to kiss your thighs—one, then the other—slow, almost reverent. “You did so well for me. Let me clean you up, okay?”

You nod, still glassy-eyed, still overwhelmed.

He wipes between your thighs with a warm, wet cloth, so gently it almost makes you cry again. Every little touch is patient, delicate — like he’s handling something precious. He kisses your knees, massages your hips, brushes damp hair away from your temples.

“I didn’t mean to fuck you that dumb,” he murmurs, chuckling under his breath. “But you were teasing me so much, baby. What was I supposed to do?”

You let out a hoarse giggle. Barely audible. But your smile is soft, satisfied.

When he finally crawls into bed with you, he pulls the blanket up over your legs, snuggles in behind you, and curls an arm around your waist, his chest pressed to your back.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers into your ear, “you’re not allowed to walk. I’m carrying you everywhere.”

You hum, sleepy.

He kisses your shoulder.

“…And maybe next time,” he adds with a grin, “you ride my face and my cock in the same session. For science.”

You groan into the pillow.

He laughs.

And pulls you closer like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

[jkwrites-m]

Daddy Kookie (2)

Pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: childhood lovers to exes to lovers, parents au, idol au, smut, angst, fluff

Word Count: 6.4k

Summary: After Jungkook dropped all contact, Y/N was left broken - and pregnant. Seven years later, fate brings them back together.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, smut, angst, abandonment, young (teenage) pregnancy, unintentional parental neglect, resentment, fighting, boundaries, guilt, burnout, anxiety, confessions, reunions, slapping, anger, heartbreak, cursing, struggle, explicit: PRAISING, kissing, missionary, tension, pillow talk, unprotected sex

A/N: here’s what was originally the ending of part one but for some reason i can’t post that many blocks 😒 so here’s the “part 2”.

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

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I found Namjoon in the hotel gym that night.

He was alone, earbuds in, pacing the far side of the room with a water bottle tucked under one arm, muttering rehearsal notes to himself like he always did before a show. I stood in the doorway for a solid minute before I said anything.

He saw me in the mirror first.

Pulled out one earbud.

“You alright?” he asked.

“No.”

He nodded once and didn’t press me.

Just set down his bottle and motioned toward the bench press like, sit.

I sat.

And for a while, neither of us said a word.

“I met with her this morning,” I said finally, my voice rough from not speaking since the show.

Namjoon didn’t ask who.

He just waited.

“I asked for an hour. She gave me exactly that.”

I rubbed my hands together. My legs were bouncing, and I couldn’t stop.

“I thought I was ready to see her. But I wasn’t.”

Still, Namjoon said nothing.

“She has a daughter.”

His brows lifted just slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“She’s mine,” I added. “Her name is Eun Ae.”

That got him.

Namjoon blinked slowly and sat down on the bench across from me. “You’re a dad?”

I nodded. “I didn’t know. I- God, hyung, I blocked her. She tried to tell me and I just… I disappeared.”

He sighed but didn’t scold me.

I think that made it worse.

“She raised her alone,” I said. “Worked. Went to school. Everything. No help. And I was here, living my dream while she was raising my kid and barely surviving.”

“You didn’t know,” Namjoon said carefully.

“I should’ve.”

“That’s true.”

I buried my face in my hands. “She’s giving me one chance. Tomorrow. At the zoo. I get to meet her - meet my daughter - for the first time and I don’t even know how to breathe around the thought of it.”

He let me sit in the silence for a beat.

Then: “What are you most scared of?”

“That she’ll hate me.”

Namjoon’s gaze softened.

“That she’ll ask me where I’ve been,” I whispered, “and I won’t know how to answer.”

“You don’t have to have all the answers,” he said. “You just have to show up. That’s what matters now.”

“I want to be in her life,” I said. “I want to earn it. I want to be someone she can count on. Not someone she has to recover from.”

Namjoon nodded slowly. “That’s a good place to start.”

“And Y/N…” My voice cracked. “I still love her.”

“I know.”

“I don’t expect her to forgive me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I want her to see that I’m not the same kid who left.”

“You’re not,” he said.

I looked up at him. “What if I ruin it again?”

“Then you don’t,” Namjoon said. “You show up. You listen. You apologize. You be present. And if they don’t let you in, you keep showing up until they do- or until they tell you to stop. Either way, you stay honest.”

I nodded, swallowing hard.

“Thanks, hyung.”

He gave a tired smile. “Get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

I didn’t sleep much.

But I dreamed of a little girl with my eyes.

And Y/N beside her.

═══════

It was her idea to wear her tiger hoodie.

“Because we’re going to the zoo,” she said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

I tied her shoelaces twice- her feet wouldn’t stop bouncing- then stood up and stared at her for a moment too long.

“Mama?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

A pause.

“No,” I said. “I’m just thinking.”

It wasn’t a lie. I was thinking. About everything.

About how I swore he’d never meet her. About how easily I’d broken that rule yesterday. About how I’d watched his hands tremble when I said the word daughter.

He didn’t cry, not fully.

But he looked like someone who had finally understood what it meant to break something that couldn’t be fixed.

I kept that image close as I buckled her into her booster seat and drove to the zoo.

He was already waiting by the entrance.

Sunglasses. Mask. Hoodie. Head tucked down.

It should’ve made him look anonymous.

It didn’t.

Even behind all that, he looked unmistakably like him.

And when Eun Ae saw him, she didn’t pause.

She ran.

Full-speed. Straight up to him like she’d known him her whole life.

“Hi!” she chirped. “I’m Eun Ae. Are you the friend Mama said we’re meeting?”

He knelt down slowly.

I watched his fingers shake as he pulled the mask down from his face.

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m… I’m Jungkook.”

“That’s a funny name,” she giggled. “Can I call you Mr. Kookie?”

He let out a short, stunned laugh.

“Sure,” he said, clearing his throat. “You can call me that.”

She grabbed his hand like it was nothing. Like it was normal.

Like this hadn’t been six years coming.

I followed a few steps behind them, unsure what to do with my arms, my heart, my breath.

They moved together easily.

Too easily.

He matched her pace. Let her pick which exhibits to visit. Lifted her onto his shoulders to see the giraffes. Bought her a pretzel and wiped the cheese off her face without hesitation. They laughed at the same things. Tilted their heads the same way when they were curious. Chewed the straw of their drinks when they were thinking.

They were mirrors.

And I was the frame- holding it all together, barely.

At the tiger enclosure, Eun Ae pressed her palms to the glass and gasped.

“They’re so cool!” she shouted. “I want one!”

“They’re a little big for a pet,” Jungkook said, crouching next to her.

“I’d teach it tricks.”

“I bet you would.”

There was a pause. Then she asked the question I’d been dreading.

“Did you know my mom when she was my age?”

Jungkook blinked.

I tensed.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I did.”

“Was she weird like me?”

“She was perfect,” he said. “Exactly like you.”

She grinned. “So… super weird?”

He laughed, and I heard something in it that sounded like mourning.

Later, while she climbed a small jungle gym near the café, I sat beside him on the bench.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just watched her, eyes full of things I didn’t want to name.

“She’s incredible,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“You already said that.”

“I’ll say it again,” he said. “As many times as you need.”

We sat in silence for a long time.

Then I heard my voice say something I hadn’t planned.

“You’re good with her.”

He turned to me, surprised.

“She doesn’t know who you are,” I added. “But she likes you.”

“I’m glad.”

“She’s never had… that. A male figure. Anyone to play like that with.”

He looked away. “That’s my fault.”

I didn’t correct him.

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled something out.

A little stuffed tiger.

“I bought this on the way here,” he said, holding it up. “I didn’t know if I’d get to give it to her.”

She ran back to us just then, sweaty and smiling.

Jungkook knelt again and held out the tiger.

“For you.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Thanks, Mr. Kookie!”

She hugged him. No hesitation.

He closed his eyes like the moment hurt in a way he needed.

═══════

That night, after Eun Ae was tucked into bed, I sat on the couch with a blanket around my shoulders and my phone pressed to my ear.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Like the kind of quiet that presses in on your skin and makes your thoughts louder than they should be.

“She hugged him,” I whispered.

My best friend on the other end of the line didn’t speak. She waited. She always did.

“She hugged him like she’d known him her whole life. Like he hadn’t missed anything. Like he hadn’t disappeared.”

I wiped under my eyes with the edge of my sleeve.

“And he was… good with her. Gentle. Patient. Funny. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to meet her. Like he already loved her.”

“You sound surprised,” my friend said.

“I am,” I confessed. “I don’t want to be. But I am.”

There was a pause.

“You still love him,” she said.

I closed my eyes.

“Don’t,” I said softly. “Please.”

“Y/N-”

“I can’t afford to love him,” I whispered. “Not again. Not after what he did.”

The words came out raw and wet and cracked.

“I spent years hating him,” I said. “Years trying to forget the way he looked at me, the way he kissed me, the way he made me believe in things that never came true. And today, I watched him hold our daughter’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, and I…This could’ve been real. This life. This moment. All of it. If he had just… stayed.”

I swallowed the sob that threatened.

“I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel hate. I felt… sad. And full. And furious. And terrified. All at once.”

“You’re allowed to feel all of that.”

“I know. But it doesn’t make it easier.”

She didn’t say anything for a while.

Then: “Do you think he still loves you?”

I laughed. Quiet and bitter. “He says he does.”

“And do you believe him?”

I looked out the window. The city lights blinked back like stars caught in a snow globe.

“I believe he thinks he does,” I said. “But I don’t know if he loves me- who I am now. Not the girl he left behind.”

“You don’t have to decide anything now.”

“I don’t want to decide anything,” I said. “I just want to breathe again.”

I hung up after that.

Tucked my phone under the blanket and rested my head on the arm of the couch. My eyes closed. My chest ached. I felt heavy and hollow and full of fire all at the same time.

And then I heard it.

A shuffle.

A creak of the hallway floorboard.

I turned.

Jungkook stood there, just outside the door frame, his hand against the wall like he needed it to hold himself up.

He hadn’t knocked.

He hadn’t said a word.

He just looked at me like he’d walked straight into the center of a storm he hadn’t seen coming.

“You heard all that,” I said, my voice flat.

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly. “I was bringing back the little drawing she made. She left it in my jacket pocket. I was going to knock. I just… heard you.”

I sat up slowly.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

He didn’t budge.

“Y/N,” he said softly, voice shaking. “I love you. Not just the girl I left. Not some idea. You. Right now. All of it.”

And then he crossed the room.

Without another word, he bent down and kissed me.

Soft and sure and shaking all at once.

And for one second - just one - I kissed him back.

It was like breathing again for the first time in years. Like lightning. Like a heartbeat I didn’t know I missed.

But then I pulled back.

And I slapped him.

Hard.

He didn’t even flinch.

��You can’t just do that,” I said, my voice rising. “You don’t get to walk in here, say I love you, and kiss me like it erases what you did.”

“I know,” he said, eyes shining. “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I just needed you to know it’s real.”

A long silence stretched between us.

He finally set the folded piece of paper on the table.

It was a crayon drawing. Stick figures. A tiger. The word “KOOKIE” spelled backwards across the top.

“I’ll go,” he said, stepping back. “But… thank you. For today.”

He turned and walked out before I could say a word.

And I sat there, hands shaking, heart a mess, trying not to chase after him.

Because no matter how much I wanted to…

I didn’t know if I could survive loving him again.

═══════

I didn’t mean to kiss her.

I meant to leave.

I meant to say those words and walk away like a man who’d learned his lesson. Who knew better now.

But when I looked at her- sitting on that couch, eyes full of grief and strength- I forgot what I was supposed to do.

And when her lips touched mine back… for that brief, burning second, I thought maybe I wasn’t too late.

But then she slapped me.

And she was right to.

I walked out shortly after. The drawing Eun Ae made was still on the table. The door shut behind me like punctuation on a sentence I’d rewritten too many times in my head.

I didn’t go to my room.

I went to Namjoon’s.

He was still up, writing in a leather-bound notebook like always. When he opened the door and saw my face, he didn’t ask. Just moved aside to let me in.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands gripping the hem of my hoodie.

“She still hates me,” I said.

Namjoon didn’t reply. Just waited.

“I heard her talking to someone. On the phone. After the zoo.” I exhaled shakily. “She said it could’ve been real. The life. The moment. If I had just stayed.”

My voice cracked.

“She’s right,” I said. “It could’ve been. I destroyed everything.”

Namjoon sat in the chair across from me, elbows on his knees. “You didn’t destroy everything.”

“I kissed her,” I admitted.

That got a raised eyebrow.

“She kissed me back. For a second. Then she slapped me.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. “You probably deserved it.”

“I definitely deserved it.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my thighs, head in my hands.

“She thinks I’m just showing up now because of Eun Ae. But it’s not that. I was going to try before I even knew. I swear. I just… I still love her. That never went away.”

“I know,” Namjoon said. “We all do.”

“She said she doesn’t know if I love who she is now. Not the girl I left behind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “She’s stronger. Sharper. She’s everything I wish I’d grown up fast enough to deserve.”

Namjoon nodded slowly.

“Then show her,” he said. “Not with words. You’ve said enough. Do something.”

“Like what?”

“Think,” he said. “What did she love? What mattered to her?”

I blinked.

“Wildflowers,” I said. “She always picked the ugly ones growing out of sidewalk cracks. Said they were survivors.”

Namjoon smiled. “Then that’s where you start.”

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat.

“I’m going to show up,” I said. “Every day. Until she tells me not to. Or until she believes me.”

“Good,” Namjoon said. “And Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not a piece of shit. You were a scared kid who made a selfish mistake. Now you’re a man who has to own it.”

I nodded again.

I wasn’t running anymore.

Tomorrow, I’d bring her flowers.

Not roses.

Not something expensive or flashy.

Just wildflowers.

The ones that survive.

═══════

He didn’t text the next morning.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t knock.

But when I opened the door to take out the trash, there was a bouquet of wildflowers on the step.

No note.

No explanation.

Just color.

Simple and honest.

I stared at them for a long time before I brought them inside.

I didn’t put them in a vase.

Not yet.

Eun Ae noticed them instantly.

“Oooh, are those for you?”

“Yeah,” I said, almost under my breath.

“From Mr. Kookie?”

I froze.

She giggled. “He smells like sunshine.”

I blinked. “What?”

“His hoodie. It smelled like sunshine. And gum.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

She took one of the smaller stems from the bouquet and tucked it behind my ear before skipping off to play.

═══════

The next day, he didn’t bring flowers.

He brought her a book.

One of those thick picture books with a glittery cover and a dragon on the front. She shrieked like she’d won the lottery. He handed it to her without a word and let her read to him, even though she kept skipping pages and making up half the story.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t correct her.

He just smiled like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.

I watched from the kitchen, trying not to feel anything.

Trying to stay steady.

Trying not to remember the way his hand had felt on my cheek when he kissed me.

And the sting of my own palm after.

═══════

The third day, he showed up with both- flowers for me, a new stuffed animal (a bunny this time) for her, and takeout from my favorite noodle place.

He didn’t ask to stay.

Just handed it over, bowed, and walked away.

I didn’t stop him.

But I didn’t close the door right away either.

═══════

The fourth day, he didn’t come.

And I hated how I noticed.

How the absence felt like a missing rhythm in my day. A skipped beat.

I told myself it was good. Smart. Necessary.

That space was healthy.

But then he texted.

Jungkook: Didn’t want to crowd you today. Just… wanted you to know I’m here.

I didn’t reply.

But I stared at that message for a long time.

═══════

The fifth day, he came by again. This time he asked if we wanted to go for ice cream.

Eun Ae screamed like he’d asked her to Disneyland.

I tried to say no.

I did.

But my mouth betrayed me.

“Okay,” I said. “Just an hour.”

He didn’t smile like he won.

He smiled like it hurt to be that grateful.

We walked to the corner shop with her bouncing between us. He let her pick his flavor. She made him get bubblegum. He pretended to like it. I knew he didn’t.

He caught me watching him.

And didn’t look away.

That night, after she was in bed, I sat on the same couch, stared at the same wall, and whispered into the dark:

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

And I meant it.

I wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

But I also wasn’t closing the door anymore.

Not all the way.

═══════

I should’ve known it was too good to last.

The morning started perfect.

Too perfect.

Jungkook showed up with matching zoo t-shirts he found online. One for him, one for Eun Ae. Hers said “Mini Tiger.” His said “Big Tiger.”

She laughed for five straight minutes and made him wear it out in public.

I rolled my eyes and told him he was shameless.

He just grinned and handed me a coffee with two extra espresso shots- exactly the way I liked it.

“Trying to bribe me?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

I didn’t smile.

But my fingers brushed his on accident when I took the cup.

And I didn’t pull away.

We took Eun Ae to the botanical gardens. Let her feed koi fish and run across wooden bridges with her stuffed tiger tucked under one arm. Jungkook stayed close the entire time. Carrying her backpack, tying her shoe when it came undone, wiping ice cream off her face.

It almost looked like a family. 

Almost.

We sat on the grass to rest before lunch, and she ran over to the koi pond like it was a different world.

“She’s so comfortable with you,” I said, trying not to let it sound like an accusation.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I want her to be.”

There was a quiet pause.

Then he looked at me and said something that should’ve been sweet.

But it wasn’t.

“She’s just like you, you know.”

I blinked.

“She’s strong and stubborn and always needs to be right. She even talks with her hands like you do- ”

“Don’t,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

He froze. “What?”

“Don’t compare us like that.”

“I wasn’t- I meant it as a good thing-”

“She’s not a mirror, Jungkook,” I snapped. “She’s a person. Her own person.”

“I know that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like- ”

“You weren’t around. You don’t know what she’s like. You’ve seen her for what? A week? You don’t get to analyze her like you raised her.”

His mouth opened. Then closed.

And I saw something shift in his eyes.

Something small and hurt.

Then a tiny voice interrupted us.

“I’m sorry,” Eun Ae whispered.

We both turned.

She was standing by the fish pond again, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to make you mad,” she sniffled. “I’ll be good.”

“No,” I said quickly, moving toward her. “Baby, no. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She clung to me like her little heart might explode.

I scooped her up and pressed her to my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice thick. ��I’m not mad at you. I promise. You didn’t do anything.”

She looked over my shoulder at Jungkook. “Are you mad too?”

He shook his head, eyes glassy. “No, sweetheart. Never.”

“I just wanted to have a nice day,” she mumbled.

My throat tightened.

“I know,” I whispered.

We sat on the bench together for a long time after that.

No one said much.

═══════

Eun Ae fell asleep in the car on the way home, and Jungkook carried her inside like muscle memory. He tucked her into bed without needing directions, covered her with her favorite blanket, and kissed the crown of her head before stepping back like it hurt to walk away.

Neither of us said much after that.

He left for the venue early that night to prep for their final concert.

I stood in the hallway after he left, hand pressed against the door, heart aching like it was made of split seams and bad timing.

I didn’t cry.

But I wanted to.

Because I knew this was what I did.

Push away before I could be left again.

═══════

The stadium vibrated under my feet.

Screams rolled like thunder across the roof, and I could feel the beat of the music reverberating through the concrete backstage walls.

It was the final night of BTS’s residency.

Everything was fire.

Everything was electric.

Everything was right- except me.

I stood at the main comms table with a headset snug against my ears, spitting rapid-fire cues to the light techs, the camera ops, and the runners, my voice a metronome of control.

“Camera C, pan stage right. Cue smoke burst. Light rig alpha, wait two seconds on drop- no, two seconds, not four-”

My tone was clipped. My spine straight.

On the outside, I looked like I had it together.

But I could feel it.

The crack behind my ribs. The pulse behind my eyes. The way I flinched every time his voice cut through the speakers.

Every note he sang.

Every lyric he poured his soul into.

It hurt.

I told myself I didn’t care.

I told myself I was over it.

But every time the lights shifted and his silhouette appeared, I remembered the way he’d looked when he kissed me and the way he’d stayed when I slapped him.

I remembered how his voice broke when he said, “I love you. Right now. All of it.”

I remembered the way he meant it.

And I remembered how much that terrified me.

“Y/N?” someone called in my ear. “Spotlight three needs confirmation. We’re doing the slow solo bridge in thirty.”

I blinked, the fog in my head thick.

“Copy that,” I said quickly. “Cue in thirty. Confirm on bridge.”

I watched the monitors as he stepped up to the center of the stage.

Alone.

Golden lights haloed around him. Fans screamed his name from every direction.

And he sang.

Not just to them.

I knew that voice.

I knew when it was for the crowd…

…and when it was for me.

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

Stop it.

Don’t romanticize this.

Don’t soften.

But I did.

I always did.

Every time his voice cracked. Every time he hit a note like it cost him a piece of himself.

He looked straight into the lens during the final chorus- the one that streamed to every screen in the arena.

It was almost too direct.

Too intentional.

And in that moment, I knew.

He wasn’t singing to a sea of strangers.

He was singing to me.

The cue ended. The screen faded to black. Lights cut. Screams exploded.

My heart thudded harder than the bass.

I turned away from the monitor and pulled off my headset.

I needed air.

The crew backstage was already preparing for encore. The guys were offstage hydrating, catching their breath, prepping for the last two songs.

I slipped through a side door and stepped out into the shadowed corridor by the loading dock. It was cold. Quiet. The noise of the crowd muffled by thick walls.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

I didn’t want this to hurt.

But it did.

I didn’t want to care.

But I did.

And worst of all?

I didn’t want to want him.

But God, I did.

═══════

The cheers were still echoing in my bones.

My shirt clung to my back, soaked through with sweat. My hair was dripping. My lungs were still catching up.

But all I could think about was her.

I didn’t see her once during the show. Not backstage. Not in the wings. Not even in the flashes of tech crew darting through shadows.

But I felt her.

Like gravity.

Like silence.

Like a missing beat in the rhythm I couldn’t get right.

I sat alone in the dressing room while the rest of the guys laughed and recapped their favorite fan chants. Jimin had his feet on the table, Taehyung was dancing shirtless with a can of soda, and Jin was complaining about the confetti in his hair.

But I couldn’t join them.

I couldn’t even smile.

My hands trembled as I unlaced my boots. My knees bounced restlessly. My throat was dry, but I couldn’t drink anything.

Because all I could hear was her voice.

“You don’t know what she’s like.”

“You weren’t around.”

“You don’t get to analyze her like you raised her.”

She was right.

Every word.

I’d tried so hard to connect, I didn’t realize I was stepping on landmines she’d spent years trying to bury.

I messed it up.

Again.

“Yo,” Namjoon said, stepping into the room and tossing me a towel. “You good?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“You’re lying.”

I sighed. “I know.”

He sat down across from me, cracking open a bottle of water and sliding one my way.

“She didn’t talk to me tonight,” I said.

“You talk to her?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then maybe she’s waiting.”

“Or maybe she’s done.”

Namjoon didn’t say anything to that. He just leaned back and looked at me with those eyes that saw way too much.

“Do you regret it?” he asked.

I blinked. “Regret what?”

“Kissing her.”

I hesitated.

“No,” I said. “Not for a second.”

“She kissed you back.”

“Just for a second.”

“But she did,” he said. “And that means something.”

“Does it?”

He nodded. “It means she hasn’t closed the door. She’s just scared to open it.”

I stared at the floor.

“I don’t want to scare her,” I whispered. “I just want to show her that I’m not that kid anymore. That I’m not running. That I’m here. I’m here.”

Namjoon leaned forward. “Then tell her. Really tell her. Not to fix things. Not to beg. Just to say it. Say what you didn’t back then.”

I nodded slowly.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” I said. 

“Then tonight’s your last chance.”

“I don’t know if she’ll open the door.”

“Then knock anyway.”

I looked up.

“I’m scared,” I admitted. “If she sends me away, I don’t know if I’ll recover.”

“She won’t send you away,” he said. “Not if you’re honest. Not if you’re real.”

I took a deep breath.

I was real.

I was terrified.

But I was real.

═══════

I didn’t ask what he was doing here.

I didn’t ask why he looked like he hadn’t slept in days or why his fingers were twitching at his sides like they didn’t know how to be still.

I just watched as he stepped inside my apartment, slowly, like the floor might vanish beneath him and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

He stood there for a long time.

Like he couldn’t find the words.

Like if he said the wrong thing, I’d vanish.

I leaned against the wall and waited.

He finally looked up.

“I didn’t know how to leave this city without seeing you again.”

I didn’t reply.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said. “Not your forgiveness. Not a second chance. Not some happy ending I don’t deserve. I just… I need you to know.”

His voice cracked.

“I need you to know that I never stopped loving you.”

My breath caught.

“I didn’t leave because I stopped. I left because I was scared. And young. And stupid. And then I was ashamed. So ashamed I couldn’t even look at myself. So I blocked you. I shut you out. Because every time I thought of you, I remembered what I threw away.”

My throat burned.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he said. “And you raised our daughter without me. You built a life, a home, a future- and I wasn’t there. I missed her first words. Her first steps. Her birthdays. I missed everything.”

Tears welled in his eyes.

“I don’t deserve to be her dad. I don’t deserve to even stand in this hallway. But I’m here. And if there’s even the smallest piece of you that believes I could be more than what I was-”

He stopped.

Swallowed hard.

“-then I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”

The silence that followed felt like thunder.

And then I whispered, “You don’t get to walk back in and say the right thing and expect it to fix the past.”

“I know,” he said, hoarse.

“But…”

He looked up.

“But you said the right thing anyway.”

And then I stepped toward him.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

Until I reached for him.

And he broke.

His hands cupped my face like I was something fragile, like I was glass, like he wasn’t sure if I’d let him keep holding me.

And when he kissed me- this time- I didn’t slap him.

I kissed him back.

Hard. Messy. Real.

It wasn’t slow.

It wasn’t soft.

It was years of ache and regret and longing that had nowhere else to go.

His hoodie came off, tossed aside like it was nothing, and mine followed, sliding to the floor in a forgotten heap.

Hands found skin like they were remembering. His fingers traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, like he was mapping me again, reclaiming territory he’d lost. 

My back hit the hallway wall, the cold plaster a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing against mine. He kissed down my neck, his breath hot and ragged, and whispered, 

“I missed you so much. I missed this. I missed you.”

I moaned into his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. We stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding layers like they were shackles, breathless and desperate. 

The bed creaked beneath us as he lowered me onto it, his weight hovering above me, his eyes searching mine like he needed permission.

“This okay?” he asked, barely above a whisper, his voice raw with need and uncertainty. I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest, but he needed more. 

“Say it.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

He didn’t hesitate. His lips found mine again, hungry and demanding, but his hands were gentle, reverent, like he was worshipping me. He kissed his way down my body, pausing at my breasts, his tongue tracing the curve of my nipples, his lips murmuring praises against my skin. 

“God, I missed these. So fucking beautiful.”

I arched into his touch, my breath hitching as his hands slid down my thighs, his fingers brushing the edge of my panties. He hooked them with a single finger, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Always were.”

He kissed his way back up, his lips brushing mine before trailing down my neck, his hands roaming over my body like he was memorizing every inch. 

“I’ve thought about this every day,” he confessed, his breath hot against my ear. “Every. Fucking. Day.”

I reached for him, my hands tracing the lean muscles of his back, the ink of his tattoo sleeve, the piercings that glinted under the dim light. He was solid and real, and I couldn’t stop touching him, like I needed to prove he was here, that this was real.

He shifted above me, his eyes dark with need, and I felt him, hard and insistent against my thigh. 

“I need you,” he growled, his voice rough, his hands gripping my hips. “Now.”

I nodded, my heart racing, my body aching for him. He didn’t waste another second. He entered me slowly, his eyes locked on mine, his breath catching as he filled me completely. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his forehead resting against mine. “You feel so good.”

He began to move, slow and deliberate, his hips rocking into mine, his hands gripping my thighs like he was anchoring himself to me. 

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and demanding, and I obeyed, my eyes meeting his, holding his gaze as he thrust deeper, harder.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine with each movement. “So perfect.”

His words sent shivers down my spine, his praise fueling the fire burning between us. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, meeting his thrusts with my own, our bodies moving in perfect sync. 

“Jungkook,” I gasped, my nails digging into his back, my voice breaking as pleasure coiled tight in my core.

He growled, his pace quickening, his hands gripping my hips tighter, his control slipping. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

His words were my undoing. My walls clenched around him, my body trembling as my orgasm crashed over me, waves of pleasure washing through me, my breath catching in a sharp cry. “Jungkook!”

He whispered into my neck, his lips brushing my skin, his voice hoarse and desperate. “I love you. I love you so much.”

His words were a balm, a salve to wounds I didn’t realize were still raw. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his back, my body still trembling as he followed me over the edge, his thrusts becoming frantic, his breath ragged against my skin. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice breaking as he came, his body shuddering above me, his release a sharp, primal sound.

He collapsed onto me, his weight heavy but comforting, his breath hot against my neck. For a moment, we just lay there, our hearts pounding in unison, our bodies still joined, the silence thick with unspoken emotions.

He brushed my hair back and kissed my forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said, voice trembling.

I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t ask him to leave either.

And that was enough.

For now.

═══════

I woke up to the sound of his breathing.

Slow. Steady.

It filled the room like the soft hum of a song I hadn’t heard in years.

For a moment, I didn’t open my eyes.

I just listened.

Soaked in the weight of him next to me. The warmth of his arm draped around my waist. The rise and fall of his chest behind my back. His hand, large and gentle, resting against my ribs like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.

The light was pale through the blinds. Morning had barely begun.

But the ache in my chest already knew it was time.

I turned over slowly.

He was already awake.

Watching me.

Not smiling. Not saying anything.

Just looking.

Like this was the first morning of his life that made sense.

I searched his face for hesitation.

There wasn’t any.

Just quiet awe.

And something softer than I knew what to do with.

“You didn’t sleep,” I whispered.

“Didn’t want to.”

I blinked. “Why not?”

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek.

“Didn’t want to miss this.”

My throat tightened.

I looked away.

“You’re leaving today.”

It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “My flight’s in four hours.”

I swallowed.

“Will you tell her?”

He nodded again. “I want to. When you’re ready.”

“I don’t know when that’ll be.”

“I’ll wait.”

I looked back at him.

He meant it.

“I don’t know what this is,” I said softly.

“Me neither,” he replied. “But I want to find out.”

Silence stretched between us like thread.

“Can I see you before I go?” he asked.

“You’re seeing me now.”

He smiled. Just barely. “After I pack. Before the airport.”

I didn’t say yes.

But I didn’t say no.

He leaned in and kissed me once- just once- like he didn’t want to ask for more than I could give.

Then he pulled back, exhaled, and whispered:

“I’m so in love with you.”

I didn’t say it back.

But I didn’t need to.

Because he pressed his forehead to mine, closed his eyes, and stayed there for a long time.

And when he finally pulled away, when he slipped out of bed and gathered his things, I watched him with something heavy and quiet in my chest.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Something like hope.

And when Eun Ae woke an hour later and asked where Mr. Kookie was, I smiled, just a little, and said:

“He’s not gone. Not really.”

Because for the first time in years…

I believed it.

═══════

Post A/N: dont hate me 😭 there’s still so much to their story

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MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 06/24/2025

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[thinkinonsense]

Rotten

dofp!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: boot riding, dom!logan, spitting, slight hair pulling, bratty!reader

a/n: something short for now but the semester is over after next week so all december expect more frequent posts from me. gonna focus on the bewitched and sweet temptations mini series plus the new one im working on with worst!logan x camgirl/of fem!reader :)

"i only got a few more papers to grade, princess."

one of the greatest lies ever told, you think to yourself as you sit on logan's lap while he grades essays. two hours turn into four and before you know it, half the night is gone already.

"c'mon baby..." you whine, kissing his neck and leaving little marks, then watching them disappear. "the rest can wait until tomorrow."

deep down logan almost feels bad but he can feel you softly rubbing your pretty blue lace panties on his thigh.

"told ya' only got a couple left to grade then im yours." he says, paying little attention to you as possible.

a sigh of annoyance escapes your lips. slowly you rock yourself back and forth to gain some sort of pleasure from him.

"quit it, sweetheart." logan says sternly, smacking your ass rather roughly.

"fine." you huff, rolling your eyes over his shoulder.

a beat passes before you slowly kiss your way down his body, leaving a glossy trail down his abdomen and v-line until you're settled on the ground in between his thighs under the desk.

logan tries his best to ignore you. he really does but god, it's so hard when you are resting your head on his lap, inches from his bulge.

"what are ya' doing down there?" he asks, raising an eyebrow down at you. sweet doe eyed angel, peering up at him as if it were nothing.

"just resting here until you're ready." you said, biting back the smirk daring to appear.

he's not sure why he trusted you to keep your word. especially when he's spoiled you rotten over the years, always giving into your needs.

steadily, you wrap yourself around his left leg and take a seat on the front of his leather boot. cheek pressed against the inside of his thigh as you resume your grinding from moments ago.

"fuck lo..." you moan, sinking your nails into the material of his jeans; grabbing fist fulls near his calf.

a small puddle of slick leaks from your panties onto the leather, making it easier to move. quickly, you remove the lace and sit your bare core on his boot. a loud moan spills from your lips at the feel of cool leather on your clit.

"f-feels so, ahh!"

logan watches your head tip back, too fucked out to be care about how much of a mess you were making on his shoe. the essays were long forgotten by now, instead he is busy watching you attempt to get off.

"tell me how it feels, princess." logan says, big rough hand gripping your jaw. his hazel eyes were now unrecognizable, dark and blown out with lust for you. "that bratty cunt of yours is just weeping for me, huh?"

"yes, lo! it's s-so fucking good." you struggle to keep eye contact with him, which only spurs him on further into this game. "need you to fuck me, lo. please, wanna ride you."

logan tsks, shaking his head and leaning in to rest his arms on his thighs. inches away from your pretty face.

"rotten girls don't get to ride."

without warning, logan begins to tap his foot up and now. the front rubbing your button just right. soft bounces and lewd noises flood logan's bedroom.

under his cold looking exterior, logan was struggling inside the dark denim covering his large bulge. truth be told, he was enjoying this almost as much as you were. the sight of your slightly parted lips and scrunched eyebrows were prettier than any painting he had ever seen.

"such a messy pussy." he mocks, moving his foot faster, allowing for more of your pretty moans to escape you. "gonna tarnish the leather, sweetheart."

"uh... uh fuck..." you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut. " 'm s-so close!"

logan's lucky that you aren't the one with claws, considering how deep you are digging your nails into his legs while humping his boot pathetically chasing your high.

without warning, he taps your cheek signaling you to open your mouth. half expecting him to place the pad of his thumb on your tongue but pleasantly surprised by the string of spit connecting the two of you.

the kiss is almost as messy as the scene below you. all teeth and tongue. oxytocin fills the room as you reach your high, moaning in logan's mouth and gushing all over his poor boot.

when the two of you finally pull apart, logan can't help but take in the image in front of him of you clinging to his leg with a hazy stare, and glossy kiss bitten lips.

"finally gonna fuck me?" you giggle as he pulls you back into his lap.

"maybe." he hums, rubbing his hand up and down you back. "seems like someone is pretty spoiled though."

in a split second, logan's got a fist full of your hair wrapped around his rough palm, tipping your head to the side so he can leave marks on your neck.

"it's not my fault, lo." you pout, slipping your fingers under his shirt.

"i know, baby. i know." he chuckles to himself before lifting you over to the mattress and laying you flat on your stomach with your ass in the air, waiting for him.

it's going to be a long night.

[alchemistc]

Yet another post-8x17 fic because I can't help myself

stories of a dead man

Buck stares at the text for a good ten minutes, trying to come up with something to respond with.

Tommy - Tommy knows him. Can somehow discern tone from the way he writes his texts, makes leaps that would seem wild coming from anyone else but he's never wrong and Buck had - God Buck had taken advantage of that so fucking often. Had been so desperately happy not to have to over-explain himself, to just be, and be known, and... and he hates that he hadn't made the effort back, that he made it all about hims-

Doing okay, thanks.

And then:

How about you?

Tommy bubbles him immediately.

The bubbles disappear.

The bubbles reappear, and settle there for a long, long moment.

Then nothing, for an amount of minutes he's not counting off in his head, he swears.

He's considering tossing his phone across the room in a fit of pique when it vibrates with an incoming call.

He stares. He stares some more. He stares a little bit longer and then swipes before Tommy loses interest and decides Buck isn't worth the time he's taking.

"Hey, Tommy," he says, and hopes it sounds normal.

"Evan. Hi."

"Hi."

Tommy laughs.

Buck had always taken special pleasure in hearing that laugh, rich and wry and sometimes, when Buck caught him off guard, just a little giggly. It was a badge of honor to get the belly laugh. This is soft, quiet, short, but it's still - Buck feels a swell of something in his chest. Tries to tamp it down because they - they're not -

"So tell me how you're actually doing," Tommy says, and the swell travels up into his throat, and tears immediately spring to his eyes because he fucking tried - he tried not to make it a thing and - and it's kind of not fair that Tommy could just, like, glean from six words that Buck was lying.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Three separate punctuation marks, Buckley? C'mon."

The laugh that bubbles up makes the tears dip out of the corner of his eyes, and he doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to feel this, doesn't want to burden yet another person with all the feelings he's been throwing around.

"Evan," Tommy says, like it's important, like it means something, and that - well that's just not fair.

"Tommy," he manages to choke out, and then it's time for the waterworks, apparently.

He says some things, through the tears. If someone asked him to recite it back, he couldn't tell you a fucking word, but he knows he says things, because Tommy's there on the other end of the line with his hums and his quiet reassurances, and Buck - he could recite each of those back without a problem, even the little 'tch' noises he makes when Buck says something he doesn't like. He gets one for apologizing, another when he tries to talk about Eddie and can't make it through the explanation, one for the bitten off half-compliment to Gerrard for being a decent human being most of the time. He gets an amused snort when he tells Tommy about googling confession in his Jeep outside Bobby's church, and absolute silence when he admits that he's not - that he can't - that he doesn't have this. That no one needs him.

When he catches his breath, Tommy's quiet on the other end of the line.

"What - Evan, what do you need from me?"

To not have set in motion the worst fucking eight months of Buck's life, for one.

That's not - that's not entirely fair. He'd jumped the gun, hadn't he? Made it all about his own wants without ever checking in with Tommy so of course - of course he'd run. And then when he'd tried again Buck had lost his temper so spectacularly that -

"No one will talk about him," Buck says, once he's had a second to think about it, and Tommy sighs, low and quiet and Buck thinks - yeah. That's a stupid ask. Tommy lost him too.

"I ever tell you about the time he tried to teach me how to prep a turkey?" Tommy asks, and Buck sinks against the wall, tips his head between his knees, and doesn't bother to wipe away the tears as Tommy leads him through a story he's never heard before about a man he'll never have new stories for again.

[sereia4skz]

hi can I request head cannons for each member when you didn’t establish a safe word and he started choking you and you were unconfortable with it and tried to get him to stop and he didn’t until you started crying like not in a good way, and how they would react? (or you can do when you’re a virgin and they go to rough on you)

headcannons | you don't have a safeword

pairing: ot8!straykids x reader

genre: hurt comfort

warnings: unintentional rough sex, choking, emotional distress, crying, and panic, discussion of safe words, consent, and post-incident care

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

AN: HAVING A SAFE WORD IS SOOO IMPORTANT!!! EVEN IF YOU DON'T THINK YOU'LL NEED ONE! EVEN IF YOU DON'T THINK IT'S KINKY ENOUGH TO REQUIRE ONE!

BANG CHAN

He’s focused on being gentle, in his mind, he is being careful. But your soft winces, the shaky sounds in your breath? He misses them in the moment, too wrapped up in trying to stay in control. When he finally looks at your face and sees the tears, everything in him stops.

“Y/N...? Oh, no, no- are you crying? Shit. Baby, did I hurt you? Oh my god!”

He pulls out immediately, wraps his arms around you, tucks you to his chest like he’s shielding you from the world. He’s devastated he didn’t realize, and you’ll see the guilt all over his face as he whispers, “I thought I was being gentle. I’m so sorry. Please can we talk? I need to know how to make this right.”

He won’t touch you again until you initiate it. He’ll research how to have first-time sex safely, talk with you about pacing, about signals, and he’ll beg you to set up a safe word together. 

LEE KNOW

He doesn't mean to take it out on you. He’d been frustrated, pent-up, and you offering comfort turned into rough, hurried touches and sharp thrusts. You tried to keep up, you didn’t want to ruin the mood. But it hurt. And when you started crying, his entire body went still like ice water had been poured over him.

“Wait. Y/N. You’re crying. Fuck. What did I do?”

He pulls back instantly, breath ragged, not even touching you. His jaw tightens with self-directed anger. “I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I- god, I’m so sorry.”

He disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes, not to escape, but to get himself under control. Comes back with water, warm towels, and the softest apology in his voice. He’ll spend the next few days completely tuned in to your emotions. If you still want to be intimate, he won’t let anything happen unless he’s positive you’re fully into it, you’ll see a softer, slower version of him for a little.

CHANGBIN

He was in the moment, loving your reactions, your moans, the way your body moved. But he didn’t realize how strong he was being until he saw your face twist in discomfort… and then the tears came. It hits him like a brick wall.

“Oh my god- Y/N? No, no, no… baby, what did I do?”

His arms wrap around you before he even realizes he’s moving, holding you to his chest like he can protect you from the hurt he just caused. His own eyes brim with guilt. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. I should’ve-”

He’s scared. Not of you, but of himself. Scared that he broke something sacred. He’ll ask you later: “Do you still trust me?”, and you’ll see just how much he needs that answer. From then on, everything becomes gentle with him. You’ll never have to question your safety in his arms again.

HYUNJIN

He thinks it’s something you might like, his hand loosely wrapping around your neck, watching your reaction, but your stillness and the way your breathing changes doesn’t escape him. Even though you don’t say anything, he stops.

“Wait. Y/N? Is this okay?”

And when you can’t answer, when your lip wobbles and the tears start to fall, his hand is gone like he’s been electrocuted.

“No. No, no, I’m sorry- please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He pulls you into his arms immediately, voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have done that without asking. I should’ve asked.”

He’s quiet for a long time after, just letting you breathe. But later, he comes back with a printed article on safe kink practices, softly asking if you’d want to read it together. Hyunjin grows from this. He becomes your safe place, never taking control again unless you hand it to him freely.

HAN

You didn’t know how to say stop, but your body said it for you. Jisung was needy, fast, lost in the pleasure of it all, until your sob caught in your throat and he looked down and saw your face. He immediately pulls out, hands shaking.

“Oh my god. Y/N. No. Are you okay?! Baby- fuck, you’re crying?”

His panic spirals so fast, he’s near tears too. He sits with you on the bed, holding your hands with trembling fingers. He needs to know you’re okay, but he’s too scared to push.

“Was I too rough? I didn’t know. I thought you were okay- I should’ve checked- I should’ve asked. Please say something…”

Afterward, he becomes so gentle. Afraid to hurt you again. He starts asking “Too much?” after every move, slowing down even when he doesn’t need to. And you’ll catch him holding you at night longer than usual, softly whispering, “I never want to make you cry like that again. I swear.”

FELIX

His hand was on your throat, gentle at first, and you thought you could handle it. But then it lingered too long, your breath shortened, and you tried to say the safeword… but it wouldn’t come out. Your eyes welled with tears. Felix sees them the second they fall, and instantly lets go.

“Oh my god! Oh, love. I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear you? Were you trying to say the word? Oh, sweetheart…”

He cradles your face, guilt written all over his expression. He wraps you in the softest blanket he can find, speaking to you in low, soothing tones. He feels like he failed you. And from then on, he asks if you want a non-verbal safeword, a hand squeeze, a tap, something you can always use, no matter what.

SEUNGMIN

He can be a little teasing, cocky, confident, and in the moment, he doesn’t realize how deeply it’s affecting you. Not until your body tightens beneath him and the tears start.

“...Y/N?”  He stops, blinks, startled. “Shit. You’re crying. Was I- was I too rough? Fuck, I didn’t mean to be.”

He backs off immediately, tugs the blanket over both of you. His expression is unreadable,  serious and worried. “Why didn’t I notice? I thought you liked it…”. But there’s no defensiveness. Just guilt. Just quiet hurt at the idea of causing you pain. 

“We’re never doing anything again unless you say exactly what you want, and I check in every step. No more guessing."

I.N 

He’s nervous, eager, and trying so hard to do everything right. But he doesn’t know how to pace himself, and he doesn’t notice how much you’re hurting until your voice cracks and the tears start to roll down your face.

“W-Wait, wait, are you crying?! Y/N, no- oh no, no no, I’m sorry-”

He panics. Like, full-body panic. Pulls back, covers you with the blanket, starts apologizing over and over, hands shaking as he cups your cheek.

“Did I mess everything up? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know what I was doing. Please tell me you’re okay.”

You’ll need to reassure him gently, he’s so scared you’ll never want to touch him again. But after that, Jeongin becomes the kind of partner who always waits for your lead. Always asks. Always watches your face.

“Next time… let’s go slower. Only when you’re ready. Only if you’re smiling.”

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue

[azzibuckets]

all the little things

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: it’s the little things that paige and azzi miss about each other

a/n: i combined a bunch of different requests into one fic so it’s a little bit of a mess but like always, pls bear with me…also it’s been 1 year of me writing on tumblr which is crazy🙈 time flies so fast

word count: 2.8k

masterlist

Paige misses Azzi as soon as she disappears through the automatic glass doors. She cranes her neck, trying to follow Azzi’s increasingly small figure as she walks through the airport, but soon the crowds of busy travelers engulf her and Paige gives up.

She stares at her hands on the wheel, wondering how it’s even humanly possible to miss someone so bad that it feels like a part of her is gone too. Sighing to herself, she pulls out her phone, shooting a quick text asking Azzi to let her know when she boards and when she lands and when she gets home safely.

Azzi’s reply is immediate: you do know you have my location right

Paige bites back a smile, knowing she’d be tracking it regardless of whether or not Azzi texted. She shoots back a reply: god forbid a girl wants to make sure the love of her life is safe

Azzi: fuck, dallas already making you sassy as hell. should i be worried for the next time i see you

Paige: exactly this is why you should turn around and come back right now

Paige: i miss you already

Azzi sends her a selfie, lips puckered up into a kiss, brown eyes glimmering with amusement, and Paige almost drops her phone with how fast she fumbles to save it to her camera roll. She hearts the photo, sends back a quick selfie, and groans when the car behind her honks.

She checks her blind spot before pulling back into the left lane. Home seems like a weird name for her destination, an empty and unfamiliar apartment with only a bed frame and a couch and no one to share it with. Her heart twinges thinking about her teammates at Connecticut, her family spread across the states even further now, and the bittersweet feeling of starting over again in a new city.

Her phone lights up with one final notification, and she checks it briefly.

Azzi: drive safe honey. i love you

Azzi: and i miss you more. text me when you’re home

Paige smiles. The car ride isn’t too long, but she’s so lost in her thoughts she forgets to put the music back on. Azzi and her had always been in close proximity for the last four years, never really spending more than several weeks apart, and god, she’d fucking loved it, wouldn’t change it for the world, but now it’s even harder to be so many miles away when she’s used to seeing Azzi every day. Even the little things Azzi had done that she’d always used to roll her eyes and complained about, she misses now. Her heart clenches again.

༉‧₊˚✧

Paige is dreaming about her next meal when she’s stirred into consciousness by a hand shaking her shoulder. Groaning, she rubs away the sleep from her eyes and dreamy remnants of In-N-Out burgers and Diet Cokes she swears she can taste. It’s been months since she’s been able to indulge in either, and she’s longing for the day season is over to be able to get her hands on both.

“Paige, honey, wake up.” Knuckles brush against her cheek, lingering in her warmth for a moment before trailing down to chuck her chin.

Paige is very much not a morning person, so she sinks deeper into the bed, pulling the sheets a little tighter around her head. Maybe if Azzi sees how deeply she’s sleeping, she’ll leave her alone.

“Paige. Get up.” Azzi’s losing patience, her tone becoming a little more demanding, and usually this is when Paige would roll over and let her girlfriend have her way, but she’d stayed up late the night before finishing up a discussion post and now she can feel the warm, lethargic fingers of sleep pulling her back into its heavenly state of nothingness. So, naturally, she makes the barely-conscious executive decision to cancel the early morning run Azzi had planned, and lets her eyes fall shut, succumbing to the weight of exhaustion.

Paige feels the bed creaking as Azzi slips off the edge, and she thanks God. She decides that when Azzi comes back, she’ll join her for the gym portion; after all, she’s a hooper, not a track star. Doesn’t make sense to waste her energy wearing down the pavement when she could save it for beating Azzi in 1v1s.

Yet Azzi is back in a matter of seconds, this time shaking Paige more insistently. “P, wake up.”

Not wanting to be the victim of Azzi’s wrath this early in the morning, Paige finally untangles herself from the mess of sheets, blinking as her eyes adjust to the piercingly bright yellow light now flooding the room. “Jesus, Az,” she mutters. “You didn’t have to turn every lamp on.” She runs a hand through her mess of hair, yawning tiredly. “What time is it?”

“3 AM.” Azzi at least has the decency to look a little bit guilty, her bottom lip tucking ruefully under her teeth.

“Azzi, what the hell.” Paige flops back into bed, attempting a dramatic attempt of feigning her return to sleep, but Azzi slaps her arm.

“I need to change my pad but I left all my extra ones downstairs.”

“Okay.” Paige grabs a pillow and starts suffocating her eyes with it, willing the light to go away. “Then go get it? Did you bleed through or someth—actually, don’t answer that. I’m way too tired to deal with changing the sheets, I’ll just sleep at the edge of the bed.”

“No, I didn’t bleed through. Chill.” Azzi says, voice strained. “But, like, you need to come with me.”

“What, you need someone to help you walk or sum? You’re not the one with the torn ACL,” Paige complains.

“Paige,” Azzi says exasperatedly, staring at her as if Paige could suddenly understand her logic behind waking her girlfriend up in the ass crack of night to go with her downstairs, but Paige just stares back, lost. “Paige,” she repeats, almost embarrassed as her eyes flick from the door to the blonde still sitting in bed. “It’s 3 AM. It’s dark and the house is making noises and there’s too many windows downstairs.”

“Windows?”

“Someone could be looking at me from outside and I wouldn’t even know it cause it’s so dark.”

“Azzi, you’re being ridiculous. No one’s standing outside.”

“That’s what all the victims who get murdered first in Criminal Minds say,” Azzi replies automaticaly. “God, you have zero survival instinct.”

“If I have zero survival instinct then why are you bringing me with you?” Paige grumbles, but she’s already standing up and slipping on a hoodie, already missing the body heat of her best friend and the warmth of her blanket.

Paige is too tired to argue when Azzi forces her to lead the way. Muttering under her breath, she pushes open the door and trudges across the hallway and down the stairs. She’s too lazy to take the extra steps to flip on the light switches, usually the type to stumble her way through the dark and inevitably bump into five different pieces of furniture, but Azzi demands requests her to use her phone flashlight to guide their steps, claiming that there could be someone hiding in the corner for all they know.

Once they reach the bathroom, Paige leans against the wall, finding relief in its sturdy support against her head. “Okay.” Azzi fingers the door handle nervously. “You’re gonna be here when I come out, right?”

“I won’t move at all,” the older girl promises, raising her hands in innocence.

“I’m serious, Paige. You can’t leave or I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Azzi, I swear to fucking god-,”

“Alright, alright,” sensing that Paige is close to reaching her last straw, Azzi closes the bathroom door behind her. As soon as she hears the lock clock, Paige leaves. But she heads into the kitchen, rummaging around the medicine cabinet for the bottle of Midol she knows is hanging around in there. Spotting the familiar unicorn heating pad on the couch, she grabs that and pops it in the microwave for a couple of minutes.

Azzi’s still in the bathroom when the microwave beeps, so Paige flops down on the fooor and curls around the unicorn, basking in its heat. She’s almost fallen asleep on the ground, which is honestly a lot more comfortable than it looks, when Azzi finally emerges, wiping her wet hands on her t-shirt. “Sorry,” she apologizes. “I had to poop.”

Shaking her head, Paige pushes the heating pad into her hands along with a couple pills. Azzi looks up at her gratefully. “Thank you.” Paige offers a lazy smile in reply, pressing a chaste kiss on her forehead before rushing them back into the room and into the bed.

Azzi bustles around the room for a little bit as Paige gets settled back into the sheets, arm thrown across her eyes. “You good, mami?” she murmurs once all the lights are back off and Azzi’s slipping into bed next to her. She feels a hand on her waist and a chin on her shoulder, and a faint whisper of an “i love you” before she’s fully fading into unconsciousness.

When Azzi wakes up four hours later, she spends ten minutes debating whether to wake up Paige with her. Well, five minutes to be exact - the other five are devoted to staring at Paige as she snores, pink lips slightly parted as she’s curled in her fetal position. She really is beautiful, her blonde hair almost a golden from the hazy sunlight falling through her open blinds.

Azzi decides to let Paige rest. She’s getting out of bed to brush her teeth when a hand curls around her wrist. “I think that midnight disturbance warrants a morning of sleeping in,” Paige says, voice raspy with sleep.

“You can sleep in,” Azzi says. “I still wanna run.”

“Nah, you’re staying. Can’t sleep without you.” Paige folds herself over Azzi, face snuggling into the crook of her neck, hip to hip with their legs intertwined, letting out a sigh of contentment as she relaxes into the younger girl’s body as if they’re one. And really, who would Azzi be to say no to her girlfriend?

༉‧₊˚✧

Paige shakes herself out of her memories. Her chest feels heavy, yet she feels a little silly for getting all emotional about something as trivial and embarrasing as missing her girlfriend’s fear of the dark. Honestly, she should be glad she’ll now be able to sleep through the night without interruptions.

But Paige misses it anyways.

•••••••

Azzi walks through the airport, music blaring in her Bose headphones. She walks past a baggage claim and sees a familiar face on the TV, green and yellow streaked across the image. She smiles and takes a photo to show her parents later.

It’s still a little crazy for her to see her girlfriend’s face plastered across billboards and posters across her new city, a city that welcomed Paige like she’d grown up there. All these people passing by see her, but Azzi relishes the fact that there’s a part of Paige no one else knows, a part reserved solely for her.

•••••••

Paige has been unnaturally quiet all night, and it’s not like Azzi has been stalking her girlfriend, per se, but there’s always been a little part of her acutely aware of what the blonde is up to. The entire team, including the coaches and managers, are at Azzi’s grandparents house for their yearly pre-season barbecue, but the two of them haven’t been able to talk much all night - Paige has been chatting with the coaches, while Azzi was busy helping prepare food before getting thrown into a conversation with Caroline and KK for the past half hour.

KK brightens up when CD excuses herself to take a call, calling Paige over. “Come here Boogers, I’m telling a funny story.”

Paige hesitates for a second before making her way over to join their circle, slumping down into the cushion between KK and Azzi with a tired sigh. “You alright?” Azzi murmurs softly, instinctively leaning into Paige’s space and reaching to brush the hair from her eyes. Paige wordlessly offers a small smile of reassurance before turning her attention to KK’s monologue.

Azzi had stopped listening ten minutes ago, so she’s thankful when KK backtracks so she can give Paige context. Caroline is already out of it, staring at the carpet as she fiddles with her watch. KK’s saying something about the prank she’d plotted with Ice and played on the freshmen the week before, and usually Paige would be eating this up, hollering alongside the sophomore, but tonight she remains restless, nodding along but clearly only picking up half of what’s being said.

Mid way through her story, KK pauses, seeming to catch onto her older teammates’ lack of enthusiasm. “Paige, you aren’t even listening!”

Paige’s eyes snap up towards KK. “My bad, KK,” she apologizes, tone genuine. “Just tired.”

“Man, you’re no fun,” KK grumbles, flicking Paige’s forehead. “What’s up with you?” Paige tiredly swats back at her hand, and KK laughs, pushing back at her shoulder to try and initiate one of their many wrestling sessions they’ve been keeping a running tally of (Paige 9, KK 4).

“Alright, leave her alone,” Azzi defends, sensing that Paige is clearly not in the mood to fool around. “Go play with the freshmen or something.”

“Y’all gentle parent me and shit like I’m a kid,” KK mutters, but takes off to probably go find Sarah.

Paige leans back into the couch, head tipping back. “What’s up?” Azzi says softly, cupping the back of her neck and running her thumb alongside her jawline. Paige’s eyes flutter shut at her touch as she slowly exhales.

“Don’t know,” Paige admits. “Not feeling it today. Too much going on.”

Azzi plants a soft kiss on her temple, lingering and sweet. “Wanna take a break in the guest room?”

“Please.” Paige sends her a grateful look.

After making sure her girlfriend is good in the guest room, Azzi returns to the living room, where the entire team is now piled in and playing Mario Kart. Before long, they get bored and switch over to Fortnite. “Yo, someone get P,” someone calls out, knowing Paige would give them shit for hopping on without her.

Ice pops up, but Azzi waves her off. “I’ll go check on her,” she replies. It’s been an hour, so knowing the older girl is likely asleep, she opens the door quietly and tip-toes inside.

Paige is sprawled out in the bed, unmoving as she clutches a pillow to her chest, but her eyes are open. “Thought you were asleep,” Azzi whispers as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “You been up this whole time?”

Paige flips over and looks at Azzi, grabbing her hand in her lap. The feel of Azzi’s hand, warm against hers, is comforting. “Yeah. Can’t sleep.”

“What’re you thinking about?”

Paige breaks eye contact to stare at the ceiling, mind clearly running. “I don’t know. I was talking to the media after practice earlier, and it - it was just a lot. There’s a ton of pressure and outside noise this season and I know I should be used to it by now but - I’m just tired of it all, you know?”

Azzi nods, quiet. Paige shifts over in bed, and Azzi takes the invitation to slip underneath the comforter and nestle in beside her. “I just can’t stop thinking about how much shit we need to do,” the blonde admits quietly, voice so soft Azzi has to strain to hear. “We lost to fucking Columbia last week. We were down by 14 in the second quarter and usually I can hype everyone up and keep maintaining that good attitude but this time, all I could think about was how much we still need to work on. Couldn’t even look at the other girls in the eyes. And I’ve been meeting up with some of the younger girls, tryna talk about what they need to work on and creating goals for the season and I don’t know, I’m just overwhelmed by all of it and I feel guilty.” Paige’s voice cracks on the last word, and she subconsciously clenches Azzi’s shirt as she buries her face into her chest. “I guess that’s why it’s hard for me to talk to them right now.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Azzi says. “You’re doing a lot. It’s only natural to feel overwhelmed.” She runs her fingers through Paige’s scalp, gently messaging, and tension seems to escape her best friend’s shoulders. “But think about the good things. Ice and Jana are becoming more confident and aware in the paint, you can see it with every practice. Mo and Allie are having a hard time adjusting but god, look at Sarah. She could win a championship just by herself.” Paige laughs a little at that, and Azzi takes that opportunity to start peppering her face with kisses. “The team’s becoming more cohesive by the week and I’m like, half a day away from coming back. And you know when I’m on the court, you don’t got anything to worry about,” Azzi says, her voice teasing.

“You sound like you’re joking but you’re right, you know.” Paige’s hand falls to Azzi’s knee, her palm closing over the scar like a shield. “Fuck, I’m actually counting down the minutes til you get cleared.”

“Yo, you guys decent?” KK barely waits a second before pushing the door open. “Azzi, we gave you one job, now you’re here all snuggled up in bed with Boogers,” she complains, taking in the scene with a wary look on her face.

“Should’ve let me go,” Ice grumbles from beside her.

Azzi groans. “If y’all don’t leave us alone we’re gonna start making out in front of you right now.”

KK, who’d been roaming around the room curiously, immediately turns on her heel, grabbing Ice’s arm to drag her out with. “Y’all are some nasty mother fuckers,” she calls over her shoulder as they both run out.

“You’re such a liar.” Paige laughs. “You hate PDA.”

“I don’t hate PDA,” Azzi defends. “It’s not my fault your definition of PDA included shit like ass grabbing. I’ll never forget the poor look in that one kid’s eyes.”

“His eyes were wandering too much anyways,” Paige says. “What was he eyeing you up for? I hate men.”

“He looked 9, Paige.”

“Don’t care.”

༉‧₊˚✧

Azzi stretches out her legs in front of her. She was able to get a window seat this time. She looks down at her phone again, still open to the photo Paige had sent with her own kissy face in return. Maybe she would be okay with PDA if it meant a few more minutes with Paige, she relents. She would never admit that out loud though.

[stylesispunk]

"whatever you'd like us to be" | part 3

harry castillo (materialists) x fem!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: the one where you and harry have your first fight.

w.c: 5,7k >

warnings: age gap (harry is 45, reader is 29-30), fake dating, fluff, angst, miscommunication. a lot of kissing for two people who are just pretending to date. me, and that's the biggest warning.

A/N: Hi! I wanted to share a brief update with you. This one was fun to write, but at the same time, it feels like coming back to my angsty roots. The game between them is getting too real now. I was thinking about that specific Pedro's fit, that green shirt and bye. Your reblogs and comments mean a great deal to me, so please don't hesitate to share your thoughts, as I truly enjoy reading them. Thank you so much, and happy reading!

Remember, I now have an AO3 account, where I'm also posting the chapters.

The moment Harry’s lips brushed yours again, softer and more insistent this time, something in you just cracked.

You started laughing out of nowhere.

It bubbled out of your chest before you could stop it, and you felt him freeze for a second, pulling back just enough to frown playfully down at you.

“Are you—are you laughing right now?” he asked, one brow arched, trying so hard to look offended, but the corners of his mouth were already twitching.

You pressed a hand to your face, shaking your head as you kept giggling. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why. I think I’m just—” you gasped between laughs, “I’m tired and this whole ridiculous night and… you… and your face when you kissed me like we’re in the middle of a movie...”

“Wow,” Harry muttered, crossing his arms, pretending to be wounded. “My face?”

You doubled over in laughter then, the sheer absurdity of everything hitting you at once. And when you glanced up again, he was laughing too, shaking his head, his hand on his chest like he was genuinely offended but absolutely not.

“I swear to God,” he grinned, pointing at you, “you are magical.”

“I know,” you managed between breathless laughs. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

He moved closer, eyes soft, and without thinking twice, he kissed the tip of your nose.

And you laughed again.

And so did he.

Something broke. Perhaps the wall used as limit between the both of you, perhaps the fear. You had no clue. But all of this…You had no idea how to stop a feeling that had came in a natural way.

You were addictive to Harry in a way he could had never imagined.

And Harry? Harry was the kind of love you had always dreamed of.

After the both of you had stopped laughing. He glanced at you, longer than it was needed.

“Can I use your bathroom?” he asked, brushing up the warmth that tinted his cheeks in red color.

You gave a soft laugh as you stepped aside to let him in. “Yeah, it’s down the hall, first door on the left.”

Harry grinned, brushing past you just close enough to make your heart stutter in your chest again. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to fight back the smile tugging at your lips as he disappeared down the hall. The door clicked shut, and you exhaled a long, shaky breath, leaning your back against the wall for a second.

What the hell are you doing?

This was supposed to be fake. Safe. A harmless deal to get people off your backs, not stolen glances and soft kisses and him making your heart trip over itself like some idiot in a bad rom-com.

And now he was in your apartment. Using your bathroom. Like he belonged there. In the space of your life.

You pushed off the wall and wandered into the tiny living room, absently tidying the already tidy throw pillows, too aware of your own reflection in the dark window, the faintest hint of a blush still on your cheeks.

A moment later, the bathroom door creaked and Harry’s voice floated out.

You didn’t even realize how heavy your eyelids had gotten until you felt yourself sway a little on your feet. The adrenaline, the tension of the night, it all hit you at once like a wave you couldn’t fight anymore.

Without thinking, you made your way to your bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to take off your heels or fix the way your dress twisted awkwardly around you. One of your heels dangled off your foot while the other was half-planted on the floor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The soft, familiar comfort of your mattress felt like heaven after this night.

Somewhere in the haze between awake and sleep, you heard footsteps. A familiar scent, something like clean cedar and warmth, surrounded you as Harry appeared in the doorway.

You barely cracked one eye open, your voice a lazy, mumbled whisper.

“How many hours were you there?”

He huffed a soft laugh, moving closer. “I was in there like for five minutes.”

You let out a weak, sleepy little laugh, eyes falling shut again as you murmured, “Felt like hours.”

Harry crouched down beside the bed, his hand gently brushing your arm, careful, tender. “Hey, do you want to change out of this dress? Or are you committing to this look for the night?”

You smiled; eyes still closed. “Committing.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a stray piece of hair off your face, and you felt the mattress dip slightly as he sat on the edge.

“You have those tiny soaps in your bathroom.”

You laughed. “Hey, those came in a gift basket! And they smell amazing, don’t lie.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as his arms slid beneath you, one around your back and the other under your knees, effortlessly lifting you a few inches off the bed.

“Let’s change you into your pajamas,” he murmured, a teasing edge in his voice. “Okay?”

Your eyes fluttered open just enough to smirk at him. “I sleep naked,” you joked, your words slow and slurred with exhaustion but your grin entirely smug.

He groaned, his head dropping for a second against your shoulder as he let out a laugh. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered, the warmth of his breath brushing against your neck, making your skin tingle.

“Not my fault you’re the one insisting on taking care of me” you teased softly, letting your head fall against his shoulder as he sat you up.

He grabbed one oversized sleep shirt from the edge of your bed that he supposed it was your pajama. The soft fabric smelled a little like laundry detergent and you, your perfume. A scent he had found himself becoming addicted to. He held it up for you to see it.

“Will this do?”

You grinned; eyes half-lidded as you reached out for it. “That’s my pajama.”

Harry helped tug the dress’s zipper down, averting his eyes with dramatic over-the-top modesty as if was fighting looking at the bare skin in front of him, though the faint smirk on his face betrayed him.

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, pulling the sleep shirt over your head.

“If you say so,” he replied, tossing your dress onto the nearby chair before helping you lay back down properly, your head hitting the pillow with a sigh of relief.

He draped the blanket over you and lingered for a second, his fingers brushing your cheek.

“You, okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, the words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. All you managed was a quiet, honest, “Yeah.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then crouched down beside the bed, his face so close to yours you could see the stars inside those brown eyes even in the dim light.

“Do you want me to take your makeup off?” he asked gently, his voice barely a murmur like he was afraid to break whatever strange, delicate thing had settled between you both tonight.

You huffed a quiet, amused breath, your lips curling up. “You offering spa services now, Harry?”

He grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Full package, sweetheart. No extra charge.”

You laughed, something soft and weightless in your chest, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

He stood and disappeared into your bathroom for a second, coming back with a makeup wipe he must’ve found in one of the drawers. He knelt beside you again and carefully started wiping away the makeup from your skin, slow, tender strokes that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t fully understand.

Neither of you spoke. The room was quiet except for your steady breaths and the soft drag of the wipe against your skin.

“You’ve got no idea how beautiful you look like this,” he murmured, almost to himself, like it wasn’t meant to slip out.

Your eyes fluttered open to look at him, and for a second, you didn’t have it in you to tease him.

“Harry…”

He met your gaze, his expression open and raw in a way you hadn’t seen before. Like the carefully crafted version of him that belonged to the world out there didn’t exist in here, in your tiny apartment.

“I’m sorry for tonight,” he said again, his hand brushing a thumb over your cheek. “For being a selfish prick.”

Your heart ached and melted in the same beat. You caught his hand in yours, holding it there.

“I’m still mad,” you whispered. “But you are everything but a selfish prick” you smiled at him.

Harry let out a soft, breathless laugh, the kind that sounded like it surprised even him. His shoulders dropped a little, like the weight he’d been carrying all evening loosened just enough to breathe.

“You’re dangerous to me, you know that?” he murmured, eyes flickering between yours and your mouth like he was fighting the urge to kiss you again. “I come here thinking I’m the one calling the shots and you… you wreck me that easily.”

You grinned, your thumb absently brushing over the back of his hand. “Good.”

He chuckled, leaning his forehead gently against yours, his free hand cradling the side of your face. The warmth of him so close, the soft, unguarded way he was looking at you, it made your heart stumble in your chest.

He placed a kiss on your cheek “Thank you for blessing my life with your light.”

You chuckled, “Goodnight, Harry.”

His smile softened, something almost reverent in his gaze as he whispered back, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, his hand still against your face, your fingers tangled with his. And then, like he didn’t quite want to let go, he gave your hand one final squeeze before slipping away, turning off the bedside lamp and letting the soft hush of the room wrap around you both.

Even in the dark, you could sense him looking your way one last time.

And just before sleep pulled you under, you heard his voice, low and rough and meant only for you.

“Sweet dreams, my treasure.”

During the Saturday midday, the lunch rush was starting to pick up, the warm hum of conversation blending with the whir of the espresso machine and the occasional clang of cups against saucers. You were halfway through rattling off instructions to Mia and Celine about restocking the pastries when the bell above the door chimed.

“Mia, make sure we’ve got enough croissants for the next hour, and double-check the almond ones, they’ve been flying out.”

She nodded, jotting it down on her little notepad. You turned to Evan, pointing toward the register.

“Ev, can you handle the front while I—”

And then you saw Harry.

Standing in the doorway of your coffee shop like something straight out that movie scene you would’ve rolled your eyes at any other day. Hair a little messy fresh out the shower, sunglasses perched on his head, that infuriatingly perfect green shirt with his collar, unbuttoned.

Your heart stuttered so hard you were half-convinced everyone might’ve heard it.

He spotted you instantly, his whole face changing the second his eyes landed on yours, softening, his mouth curving into that boyish, slightly crooked smile that did terribly inconvenient things to your stomach and set your belly on fire.

You swallowed, blinking like you were trying to ground yourself, still holding the half-empty tray of muffins in your hands.

“Uh…Ev, cover me for a second, yeah?”

You barely waited for Evan’s distracted “Yeah, boss, got it” before making your way toward the front.

Harry leaned against the counter, as casual as if he hadn’t nearly broken and mend your heart last night, as if he belonged in this little world of yours.

“Hey, trouble” he greeted softly, his voice a touch rough around the edges, maybe nerves, maybe lack of sleep, maybe… something else.

You crossed your arms, trying for composed and unimpressed, though your pulse was doing its own thing entirely.

“Didn’t expect to see you here at this hour,” you said, arching a brow.

“I didn’t come here for the coffee today,” he replied, that small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He glanced around the place like it was the first time he’d really seen it. Then his gaze settled back on you, they even darkened a little.

“Came for you.”

“Harry, I know I’m the boss here, but I’m working.”

Harry chuckled softly, leaning a little closer across the counter, his voice dropping to that familiar teasing murmur only meant for you.

“Yeah? Well, I’m on my break,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, biting down a smile you weren’t about to let him fully see. “You don’t work here, Harry.”

“Details.” He shrugged, shameless, that playful gleam in his eyes making your pulse skip again. “Can’t a man visit the woman who’s been haunting his thoughts since she kicked him out of her apartment last night?”

You sighed, shaking your head as you grabbed a clean rag and started wiping down the counter just to give your hands something to do.

“I didn’t kick you out,” you mumbled.

“You practically tucked me in and sent me home,” he shot back, grinning wider when your cheeks gave you away, warming with color. “Which was admittedly very adorable, by the way.”

“Harry…” you warned, though the edge in your voice was soft, barely there.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but his expression sobered, that teasing edge melting into something gentler.

“I just wanted to see you,” he said, quieter now. “Make sure we’re… okay. And if it takes me ordering a dozen pastries to keep you standing here a few more minutes, I’ll do it.”

You glanced at him, his eyes open and sincere in a way that tugged at something deep inside you. The little hum of the shop around you faded for a second.

“I’m mad.” you muttered, not quite able to hide the softness behind it.

But harry completely ignored you, “Hey, Mia, right? May you take my order, please?” he asked, leaning casually on the counter.

Mia blinked, cheeks a little pink. “Uh—y-yeah, of course! What can I get for you?”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “Harry…” you warned.

He shot you a sidelong glance, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Since the boss is too busy to serve me,” he teased, “I’ll have whatever pastry she makes best. And a vanilla late. Extra hot.”

Mia gave you an uncertain look, like she wasn’t sure if she was about to get in trouble or win employee of the month. You sighed dramatically, shaking your head.

“It’s fine, Mia. I’ll get it.”

Mia gave a little relieved laugh and stepped aside.

Harry straightened up, that smug grin still in place. “See? Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“I fucking hate you,” you muttered under your breath, ducking behind the counter, grabbing a fresh pastry from the display like you weren’t internally melting under the weight of his gaze.

Harry chuckled, following your movement with a lazy, satisfied kind of grin. “You keep saying that, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning his elbows on the counter to watch you work. “But somehow, you keep feeding me.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, plating the pastry with a little too much force. “That’s called customer service, asshole.”

“Mmm, sure it is.” He grinned wider, tilting his head. “You always call your customers assholes?”

“Only the ones who deserve it.” You slid the plate toward him with a sharp little smirk.

Harry reached for it, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. His voice dropped low enough that only you could hear.

“At least, I’m your favorite?”

Your stomach flipped. Damn him. And you hated how easy it was for him to do this, to walk in here like he owned the place, like last night hadn’t left your heart in knots.

You sighed, shaking your head with a helpless, reluctant smile as you handed him his coffee. “Don’t push your luck.”

You watched him casually grab a seat near the window, his posture relaxed but somehow still commanding the whole space. From behind the counter, you caught glimpses of him making calls, occasionally typing on his phone, all while seeming completely at ease in your little shop.

Evan sidled up beside you, elbow resting on the counter with a knowing grin. “You know, boss, you’ve been staring at him for like ten minutes.”

You rolled your eyes, hoping your face wasn’t too obvious. “I’m not staring.”

“Sure, you’re not,” Evan teased, voice dropping as if sharing a secret. “Boss, you’re practically drooling.”

You shot him a warning glare and quickly turned back to the orders piling up, but you couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through your chest every time you caught Harry’s gaze, even if he didn’t know you were watching.

An hour slipped by. The midday rush had died down, and you were finally catching your breath when the bell above the door chimed.

You didn’t think much of it at first, just another customer, until you looked up, and your stomach did a full somersault.

Harry’s mom and his sister.

Walking into your coffee shop like as it they had picked your café as their weekly meeting place.

Your eyes widened so fast you were sure everyone in the place could hear your heart slamming against your ribs. You felt the unmistakable heat crawl up your neck and into your face, and Evan, ever the menace, leaned in with a smirk.

“Oh my God,” he whispered under his breath. “Boss, you’re so red.”

You sent daggers to him, and he immediately backed up.

Harry looked up from his phone, and the second he saw them, a grin spread across his face, but not before his gaze flickered toward you. Like he already knew this was going to fluster you, and maybe… enjoyed it just a little too much.

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to take a deep breath, wipe your palms on your apron, and walk over to their table like you weren’t internally debating sprinting out the back door.

Harry was already smirking when you reached them, one arm slung casually over the back of his chair, the other nursing a cup of coffee he hadn’t even touched.

His mom spotted you first, and her whole face lit up like she’d just run into a long-lost friend.

“Darling!” she exclaimed, rising slightly from her seat as if to greet you properly. “How are you?”

And if that wasn’t bad enough, his sister, sitting across from her, grinned like she’d just been let in on the world’s juiciest secret.

You swallowed hard, your voice wobbling only slightly.

“I’m good, thank you. Um—how are you both?”

Harry’s mom reached out, catching your hand in hers with so much tenderness.

“Oh, so much better now that we finally get to see your place! It’s adorable, just like Harry said it was.”

You blinked, side-eyeing Harry, who had the audacity to wink at you.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how words worked.

“Uh—thank you. Really. And it’s nice to see you again, Liz.”

Liz leaned her elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand as she grinned up at you.

“You’re even prettier in daylight. And honestly, we’ve been dying to try this coffee ever since someone wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

You felt your face burn again, and somewhere behind you; Evan coughed a laugh.

“I—uh—I’ll get you both something,” you stammered, retreating a little. “On the house.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to—”

“No, it’s fine. Really.” You flashed the politest, not-at-all-panicking smile you could manage before turning and practically speed-walking back behind the counter.

As soon as you were out of earshot, you slapped Evan on the arm. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

He just grinned. “I didn’t have to. Your face did all the talking.”

You didn’t even look back at the table as you practically dove into your tiny office behind the counter, shutting the door and leaning against it like it might protect you from the whirlwind Harry Castillo had just dragged into your coffee shop.

Your pulse was still racing, your stomach a tangled knot of nerves and frustration. God, you could kill him. Who just shows up in your work unannounced, plants himself there like he owns the place, and then drags his mom and sister in like it’s some casual brunch meet-and-greet?

You hated how easily he made himself at home in your world. Hated that your heart still fluttered like some reckless idiot at the sight of him.

A knock came at the office door a moment later before Evan let himself in, carrying a tray of two iced lattes and a pastry.

“Don’t stab me,” he said lightly, setting them down on your desk. “I come in peace. And with gossip.”

You gave him a look. “What now?”

Evan smirked. “Harry Castillo asked for you.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him you were in your office. Which is true.” He shrugged, then grinned. “He looked kinda bummed. Poor guy. Big bad finance guy being iced out by the boss lady.”

“Good,” you muttered, plopping down in your chair and scowling at the door. “He deserves to be bummed. Who the hell does this, Evan? Who brings his family without warning? I can’t—” you gestured vaguely to the air, “—do this. I didn’t sign up for… whatever the hell this is.”

Evan sat on the edge of your desk, one brow arched. “I thought you knew them already?

You glared at him. “I do. But it’s not that simple.”

“Mmm,” Evan hummed knowingly. “Sure seems like it should be. But hey — for what it’s worth? His mom and sister seem pretty crazy about you.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the chair. “I’m going to throw him out the second I step out there.”

Evan patted your shoulder. “I’ll light a candle for him.”

And with that, he grabbed the empty tray and sauntered back out, leaving you alone in your storm of tangled feelings.

The worst part? A small, traitorous part of you didn’t want Harry to leave your side.

A few minutes later, another knock came at the door, but this one was softer. You huffed out a breath, assuming it was Evan again coming back to poke the bear.

“Evan, I swear to God—”

The door cracked open, and it wasn’t Evan.

Harry peeked in, his stupidly handsome face cautious and unapologetic. His hair a little mussed like he’d been running his hand through it, he was nervous. The moment your eyes met his, your heart betrayed you with a sharp, uninvited thud.

“Hey,” he said quietly, lingering in the doorway. “Can I…?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a pointed glare. “I’m working.”

“I know,” Harry murmured, stepping inside anyway and closing the door behind him. “Just… needed a minute.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched as he shifted his weight awkwardly, his confidence from earlier stripped down to something more vulnerable.

“I didn’t mean to blindside you,” he went on, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t thinking. My mom and Liz just… they were nearby and wanted to stop by, and it was a dumb call not to ask you first. I’m sorry.”

You wanted to stay mad. You really did. But his voice had that unguarded edge again, the same one from your apartment last night, and it made it so damn hard.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “You’re breaking all the rules again.”

He smiled faintly, a shadow of the cocky grin you knew. “Yeah… I figured.”

You sighed, your walls crumbling just a little. “You can’t keep doing this, Harry. You can’t drop into my life whenever you feel like it and drag your whole world with you. I’m not some accessory you can introduce like a prop. I’m… me. This is my place. My job. My people. Whatever mess we have, that’s outside and just for pretending, so stop playing with me.”

Harry’s grin faltered, and for a second, you saw it, the flicker of guilt, of something raw and sincere beneath the charm he wore like armor.

“I’m not playing with you,” he said, voice low, steady in a way that made your pulse stutter. “I swear to God, I’m not. I… I get it, alright? I’ve been a selfish bastard about this, about us, if there even is an us, and I keep showing up without thinking how it affects you. That’s on me.”

You kept your arms crossed, every word digging under your skin because part of you wanted to believe him and another part didn’t know if you should.

“Harry, this was supposed to be fake. A plan. A harmless distraction to piss off an ex and get your ego stitched back together. I never signed up for this.”

“I know,” he breathed, his hand dragging through his hair like he was trying to pull himself together. “I swear it wasn’t planned. I wasn’t thinking. I just… fuck, I wanted to see you.”

Your throat tightened painfully, because damn it, this wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.

He took a careful step forward, closing the space between you. His voice softened, the way it did when it was just you and him, stripped of every audience, every performance.

“Let me be part of your life, as a friend at least.” he admitted. “

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I know.”

You sighed, the last of your walls giving way, exhausted from holding them up for so long.

“Fine,” you muttered.

The clocked marked eight p.m. The sun had set a long time ago and you had sent Evan, Celine and Mia home, promising you were going to be in charge of closing the shop tonight. You were wiping down the last table, the chairs already stacked, your playlist of soft acoustic covers playing low in the background.

The bell above the door jingled softly, and even without looking up, you knew it was Harry.

It was getting late, the street outside quieting down, the golden glow of your café’s hanging lights reflecting off the glass.

You sighed, a tired smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you straightened up and turned to the door.

There he was, in the same outfit as before, hair a little messy, two brown paper bags in his hands. His smile was small, almost sheepish this time.

“I brought peace offerings,” he announced softly, lifting the bags.

You crossed your arms, trying your best to look unimpressed, though the warmth blooming in your chest made it difficult.

“It’s late,” you said, glancing at the clock. “Kitchen’s closed. Staff’s gone. You should be, too.”

“I know,” he replied, stepping fully inside, letting the door fall shut behind him with a soft click. “But you weren’t answering my texts, and I figured you’d still be here. You always stay up late.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged with a crooked grin, setting the bags down on one of the tables you hadn’t cleared yet.

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched up. “What’s in the bags?”

“Pasta,” he grinned, opening one to reveal takeout containers from that hole-in-the-wall place you’d dragged him to once and swore by. The kind of place no one would guess a guy like him would even step foot in. “And wine but technically not, since you get a bit tipsy.”

You tried not to melt, but damn it, it was getting harder. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned, pulling out two forks and waving one at you. “

You sighed, dropping the rag on the counter and walking over, the exhaustion of the day settling heavy in your bones, but somehow, seeing him here, looking at you like you were the only thing in the room, made it all feel a little easier to carry.

“Thank you” you melted, sitting across from him as he started unpacking the food.

His smile softened, and this time it wasn’t cocky, wasn’t teasing.

“Do you have glasses?” he asked, looking around.

“No, but I have two mugs inside my office” you replied, walking towards there.

Then you came back with the two mismatched mugs from your office, one with a faded Central Perk logo, the other a plain white one you’d meant to replace for months. Harry grinned when he saw them.

“Classy,” he teased softly, but you caught the fondness in his eyes as he took them from your hands.

“Shut up. It’s all we have,” you smirked, leaning your hip against the counter as he unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured the deep red liquid into each mug.

The café was so quiet now, just the soft hum of the fridge in the back, the faint music still playing, and your heartbeat hammering too loud in your ears as he stood so close. His shoulder brushed yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

Then, you felt him stiffen, his hand pausing mid-pour as if some invisible current passed between you. He turned his head, his gaze locking with yours.

And before you could even take a breath, his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t careful this time. It wasn’t the testing, uncertain kind of kiss you’d shared in the middle of that party, or the hesitant one in your apartment. This was desperate, unspoken words crashing into each other. You melted instantly, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt as he stepped into you, deepening the kiss like he’d been starving for it.

Your back hit the counter, and in one easy move, he lifted you up onto it, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep him close.

He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, both of you breathless. His forehead pressed against yours, his hands gripping your thighs like he wasn’t sure if he should be apologizing or saying something else entirely.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he murmured.

Your lips curved into a smile, catching your breath. “Break the rules?” you asked.

“Oh, shut up for once,” Harry grinned against your mouth before kissing you again, slower this time, like he was savoring it, like you were the only thing in the world worth tasting.

His lips trailed down to your jaw, his hand cradling the back of your neck as he pressed gentle kisses there, then to the hollow just beneath your ear. You let out a soft breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he moved lower, the scrape of his stubble against your skin making your stomach flutter.

“God, you drive me fucking insane,” he murmured against your neck, his words a little slurred from the wine and whatever spell was holding the two of you there, alone in the dark café. “I swear… Lucy had no—”

And you froze. Like ice water down your spine.

Your whole body tensed; your hands stiff against his chest. You felt it, felt the air shift between you like a thread snapping.

“What?” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him.

Harry blinked, realizing what he’d let slip. His face paled, his mouth opening, closing like he couldn’t figure out which words to reach for.

“Wait... I didn’t—”

But it didn’t matter. The crack in the moment was already there, and you felt the ache blooming in your chest.

You slid off the counter, untangling yourself from his hold.

“Get out, Harry.”

“Hey—hey, no, listen to me—”

“I said, get out.” Your voice shook, but you kept your chin up, kept your heart from spilling out right there on the café floor. “Take your dinner, take your wine. And leave.”

He stepped closer; his face was pained. “It’s not what you think—”

“No, Harry,” you cut him off, voice steady now, sharp in a way you didn’t even feel anymore. “For once… don’t break the rules. Just go.”

And you turned your back on him. Because if you didn’t, you knew you wouldn’t be able to.

Harry stood frozen for a heartbeat, watching you turn away like you were slipping through his fingers. The sound of the mug tapping softly against the counter was like a breaking point.

“Please,” he whispered, voice raw.

“I said out!” you raised your voice, words came out sharper than intended, slicing through the heavy, aching silence of the empty café. Harry flinched like you’d actually struck him, his shoulders tensing, jaw clenching as he looked down at the floor.

“I get it,” he said quietly, his voice rough, almost hoarse. “I fucked up.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight, your hands shaking just enough that you had to brace them against the counter.

Harry lingered there for a beat longer, like he wanted to fight for the right to stay, but knew he didn’t have it.

Your stomach twisted, some awful bit of anger, hurt, shame and the sharpest pull of affection you weren’t ready to admit.

The door opened, a cool gust of night air rushing in as he stepped outside. He glanced back once, his gaze catching yours, and the look on his face damn near shattered you.

Then he was gone.

And God, you felt so foolish, still waiting for confessions of love that never would come.

You felt stupid to even think that a man like him could have fallen in love with you.  

💌tags<3: If you would like to be removed of perhaps you don't like this anymore, please tell me.

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@ro-nahime-things @kimi01985 @pastelpinkflowerlife @isabella-rose-trastamara @majuia

[redhoodsdeer]

on wheels (tired!reader x mechanic jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where the reader's car decides to mess it up on the worst day possible, fortunately the mechanic jason was quite willing to help.

a/n: i finally posted again, and tbh, i didn't really like this one, but i have a thing for mechanic jason that just can't be put into words, i hope you guys love this as much as i love mechanic jason.

english is not my first language.

It was 10pm on what seemed like the most stressful day of your entire life, everything you wanted was to get home and take a shower long enough for your neighbors to think you were dead, but since this was definitely the worst day of the year, of course you couldn't, and of course your car broke down on a dark Gotham street at 10pm.

Every little thing that could go wrong today, did. Your ran out of coffee and you were way too late to stop by a coffee shop, your work clothes that you were supposed to pick up at the dry cleaners yesterday? still stuck there, your important meeting with your boss? the biggest disaster of your whole career.

All you wanted to do was curl up in an fetal position and cry on the floor until this day became a really distant memory, but instead, you were calling the tow truck at 10pm on a terribly suspicious street in Gotham.

After what seemed like hours of no one answering your calls, you finally got an answer and arrived at the garage, which seemed to be the only 24-hour garage in town, and you were infinitely grateful for that.

Okay, now, you were expecting a mechanic twice your father's age, on a dirty white tank top and a beer belly, you didn't expect that at ten o'clock at night on the day that seemed endless, you would come face to face with a greek god who had escaped from Olympus.

Biceps so big they could break you in two (and you kinda wished they did), the most angelic face you've ever seen, not to mention the white streak in his hair, because of course your mechanic had to be absolutely divine, on the day you were absolutely mundane, your tight skirt stained with coffee (which wasn't even yours!), your face as tired as a construction worker's on the end of the day, and your makeup had abandoned you three disasters ago.

"Ma'am, so what's the deal with the big guy here?" he asks, his voice so deep you thought you might melt. Your voice barely came out, your eyes struggling to stay on the car between you two.

"I don't know, I was on my way home when it broke down, I have no idea what happened, my dad was the one who used to take my car to the mechanic."

And of course the perfect day for you to get used to going to the mechanic by yourself was the same day you tripped in a mud puddle on your way to work and had to walk three blocks back just to take a shower.

He stares at you like you're from another world, before shaking his head and lifting the hood of the car, looking for whatever was wrong with your car.

Your eyes followed every move of his methodically, as if, if you looked away he would disappear and be replaced by a regular mechanic with a beer belly and a bad attitude.

And when he took his grease-stained hands off the hood of the car and turned his blue-gray eyes to you, you felt like you might faint.

"Lucky for you, it's nothing really bad, you've just been a while without an oil change and it's easy to fix." The raspy voice echoes through the shop and you feel your heart beat faster as you slowly nod your head to show that you understood.

"And how much will this cost?" Your voice asks, politely, already searching through your bag for your wallet, which was a bright pink, because you simply felt like everything around you was black, white and gray, and you wanted to have something colorful to remind you of the existence of colors.

As he walked around the workshop, just before he put his grease-stained hands on the hood to open it and change the oil, he gave a little laugh that could have been mistaken for a smirk, and coming from that man, you felt like you needed to lean on something to keep your composure, more specifically, him.

He finished and closed the hood of your car, wiping his hands on a cloth that was lying on a shelf, it might have just been because it was him doing it, but every movement he made sent a wave of heat over you, because everything looked so fucking hot.

But before you could even find your card inside the colorful wallet, a smirk appeared on the man's face, who was now leaning against the side of your car, looking as attractive as humanly possible.

"Chill, it's just some oil change, it's already 11pm on a Tuesday night, you look exhausted, it's on the house, maybe that way you'll become a regular customer" His voice teases and you swear you just felt your heart entangle with your lungs.

There was no way this divinity in human form was flirting with you, of all people, you, at your worst, you were sure your hair that you had delicately styled the night before had given up a long time ago, and you swore you looked as much of a disaster as you could.

But still, there he was, openly flirting with you. "In the face of such an irresistible proposal, maybe my car will break down more often around here, who knows, maybe I'll forget to change the oil again." You shrug, putting your wallet back at your purse and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you smiled at him.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he tossed your car keys back to you. “Maybe you should get my number in case you need help and you’re too far from the shop.” He shrugged, just before writing his number on a worn-sided post-it note that was stuck to the counter and handing it to you.

Your hands touched for least than half a second, and as cheesy as it may sound, you swear you felt an electric wave run through your body the moment your hands touched.

And right there, on the scribbled paper, was 'Jason' written in a sloppy handwriting that made you smile to yourself as you read it.

"Jason, huh?" You ask, looking up from the small note. He just shrugs, a silly smile on his face.

"You'll have to call to find out."

As you drove out of the garage, driving your now, not-quite-broken car, with a smile so big they might think you were leaving a casino after winning a jackpot, finally get to you that this interaction had actually happened, and that the neatly folded post-it note inside your pink wallet really had the number of the hottest guy you had ever seen.

And now, you were hopefuly waiting for your car to break down, willing to even crash into a tree if it would make him appear faster.

It turns out, in the end, your day wasn't so bad after all.

[gottencents]

BAD BAD BAD - Yu Jimin

pairing. idol!karina x aespa!addedmember!reader

synopsis. When aespa’s self-proclaimed “loser” Y/N shocks everyone with her hidden baseball talent, she not only steals bases—but also Karina’s heart.

Seoul Olympic Stadium — a crisp spring afternoon. A charity baseball game featuring idols from multiple groups is being held to raise money for youth sports programs. The rest of aespa—Karina, Winter, Giselle, and Ningning—have shown up in matching team merch to support their least expected player: Y/N.

“Okay, this is the funniest thing SM’s ever done,” Winter said through a bite of hot dog, pointing toward the field. “They really sent Y/N to play in a baseball game?”

“She’s probably gonna break the bat trying to swing,” Ningning giggled, phone out to record the chaos.

Giselle nodded dramatically. “Ten bucks says she trips running to first base.”

Karina, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, didn’t say anything. She’d watched Y/N quietly stretch and warm up on the field for the past ten minutes, noting the way her grip on the bat was tight, precise, and the way she adjusted her cap just before walking onto the diamond. She didn’t look like she was pretending. She looked… confident.

“She’s been quiet about it,” Karina murmured, almost to herself.

Winter raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Karina said, eyes still following Y/N. “Just… wait.”

Bottom of the 2nd Inning — Y/N at shortstop.

“Ground ball to short!” the announcer shouted.

Y/N moved like lightning, gloved the ball cleanly on the hop, and lasered it to first base.

“OUT!”

“Wait—was that her?” Giselle blinked.

Before they could react, the very next play: a pop fly headed shallow into left-center. Y/N turned and sprinted, making a diving catch that brought the entire crowd to their feet.

“THAT’S TWO!” the announcer yelled.

Karina stood slowly, hand covering her mouth in disbelief—and something else.

“Was she always that fast?” Ningning murmured.

The third out came a minute later: a full-body dive into a sliding grounder followed by a backhand flip to second for the out.

Karina’s heart thudded. “Oh my god.”

Top of the 4th — Y/N’s first at-bat.

“She probably doesn’t even know how to swing—”

CRACK.

The ball sailed out of the park, disappearing over the left field fence.

The crowd erupted.

Winter screamed. “SHE JUST—NO WAY.”

Giselle grabbed Karina’s arm. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

Y/N rounded the bases calmly, helmet tucked low. But as she passed the aespa section, her head tilted slightly—and Karina could swear she winked.

Later in the game:

Five stolen bases. Three more at-bats.

Three home runs.

Every time Y/N stepped up to the plate, the crowd leaned forward. Every time she got on base, she stole her way around the diamond with calculated precision and raw speed. She didn’t even celebrate. She just played.

Karina had barely sat down. Her heart wouldn’t stop racing. There was something intoxicating about the way Y/N moved—sharp, focused, electric. And for the first time, she saw something she hadn’t before.

She saw the girl behind the nerdy anime rambles, behind the loser Twitch streams and long rants about Marvel timelines. She saw all of Y/N. And she was completely, utterly gone.

Post-game. Y/N is named MVP.

Back in the dugout, aespa surrounds her.

Winter grabs Y/N’s shoulders. “You’ve been LYING to us.”

“I thought you were allergic to the sun,” Giselle gasped. “How did you just morph into a baseball prodigy ?!”

Ningning flung her arms around her. “You have stats! You have MVP stats!”

Y/N laughed, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “I played back in the States. Shortstop all through middle and high school. Just… never really talked about it. Didn’t seem like something anyone would care about.”

Karina stepped forward, quiet but steady. “I care.”

The others immediately backed off, eyebrows raised in unison.

Y/N blinked. “You do?”

Karina nodded, lips twitching into a smile. “That was… incredible. I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Y/N’s confidence faltered just a little. “You mean like… not a loser?”

Karina’s smile softened. She reached out and gently tugged on the sleeve of Y/N’s jersey.

“No. I mean, I’ve always liked the loser version of you. The Y/N who debates superhero rankings for an hour straight. The one who rage-quits games on stream and immediately apologizes. That’s the version I started falling for.”

Y/N froze. “Falling?”

Karina stepped closer. “But today? Watching you do what you love, totally in your element, completely owning the field? That just sealed it.”

Y/N’s ears went red. “So… you’re saying you—”

“I’m saying,” Karina interrupted, voice soft, “that maybe you and I should leave early, skip the after-party, and hang out somewhere where I get you all to myself.”

Y/N couldn’t breathe for a second. “I know a rooftop.”

Karina raised an eyebrow. “With ramen?”

“Always.”

After midnight. The dorm’s living room is softly lit by the city lights through the window. The air is quiet, everyone else in the dorm already asleep. Y/N is curled up on the couch in a loose shirt and joggers, a half-finished can of Coke resting on the coffee table. Karina enters quietly, barefoot, in a hoodie and shorts. She pauses when she sees Y/N still awake.

“Can’t sleep?” Karina asked gently, stepping into the room.

Y/N looked up and gave her a sheepish smile. “Adrenaline’s still kinda punching me in the face.”

Karina chuckled, making her way over. “Understandable. You basically turned into an anime protagonist today.”

Y/N groaned and dropped her head back against the couch. “Don’t say that. I’ll never live it down. My DMs are probably full of ‘shortstop slayer’ memes.”

Karina laughed, settling beside her on the couch. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m not used to it. People being impressed by me, I mean. Not in that way.”

Karina tilted her head. “You’re used to people underestimating you.”

Y/N paused. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence between them, not awkward, but charged—like something unspoken had just stepped into the room.

Karina’s voice was softer now. “You didn’t just impress people today, Y/N. You changed the narrative.”

Y/N looked at her, hesitant. “What narrative?”

“The one you’ve been letting define you. The one where you’re the quirky side character. The ‘loser’ of aespa. You’re not just that. You never were.”

Y/N’s eyes dropped to her hands. She picked at the hem of her sleeve. “It’s easier to make the joke first, you know? Be the one who laughs at herself before anyone else does. Then it doesn’t hurt as much.”

Karina’s expression softened. Without saying anything, she reached over and gently took Y/N’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together.

“You don’t need to shrink yourself to be loved,” Karina whispered. “Not with me.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Karina held her gaze, steady and open. “I know you think you have to keep your guard up. That it’s safer to be the weird gamer girl who doesn’t get taken seriously. But I’ve been watching you longer than you think.”

Y/N blinked. “You have?”

Karina gave a soft nod. “Every late-night stream you stayed up for. Every time you randomly monologued about Marvel on a car ride. I didn’t just tolerate that. I liked it.”

Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper. “Even when I went on that thirty-minute rant about why Batman would lose to Gojo Satoru?”

Karina grinned. “Especially then.”

They both laughed quietly, the tension slowly melting into something warmer. Karina’s thumb brushed across Y/N’s knuckles, tender and grounding.

“I didn’t think someone like you would ever look at someone like me,” Y/N admitted. “You’re… Karina. The it-girl. The goddess. The standard.”

Karina’s smile faltered just a little—but not in sadness. More like she was seeing herself through Y/N’s eyes, and it overwhelmed her.

“I wish you could see what I see,” Karina whispered. “You were magnetic today. And not just because of the game. You were you. Completely, unapologetically. And it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N looked at her, stunned. “Karina…”

“Can I kiss you?” Karina asked softly.

There was a heartbeat of stillness.

Y/N nodded. “Please.”

Karina leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to back away—but Y/N didn’t. Their lips met gently, hesitantly at first, before melting into something softer, deeper. Y/N’s hand came up to Karina’s cheek, fingers trembling slightly from nerves, from adrenaline, from everything.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them lingered in the closeness, noses brushing, foreheads resting together.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh. “I think I blacked out for a second.”

Karina grinned. “Same.”

Y/N tilted her head, voice barely above a whisper. “Does this mean you like me? Like, like-like?”

Karina laughed. “I just kissed you, Y/N.”

“You could be doing it for charity.”

Karina rolled her eyes playfully, then kissed her again—firmer this time, more certain.

“This isn’t charity,” she murmured against her lips. “It’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, her hand still on Karina’s cheek. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Karina smiled. “Because I thought maybe you’d never see me that way. But then I watched you on that field, completely in your element, and I realized… I didn’t want to wait anymore.”

Y/N leaned into her, their hands still tangled, hearts still racing.

“I think I’ve loved you since our third vocal lesson,” she whispered. “You sang one note and I forgot how to breathe.”

Karina blushed, eyes wide. “Okay, you win.”

Y/N smirked. “Always do.”

They laughed together, collapsing back against the couch, tangled up in each other and the quiet glow of a moment they never thought they’d have.

Outside, the city sparkled.

Inside, Y/N finally felt like she was home.

[leaawrites]

Freaked Out

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Lando makes his relationship official via Live stream

Warnings: mentions of an engagement, use of Y/n

Masterlist

The lights were low. There was no sound but the breathing in sync of two people deep into thoughts. Two hours went by of lying in the same bed with no eyes closed.

“Are you sure you want to stay with me?” Lando asked, his hand gliding through the hair of the person beside him. She hummed, snuggling deeper into his chest. Inhaling his scent like it would be the last time. “I mean, are you really sure? You can’t walk with me around all holding hands and you have to put up with all those stupid rumors about a life you know ain’t true.”

“Lando,” she mused, propping her head on her hands and looking up at him. “I’ve put up with all this for god knows how long. This doesn’t change anything.” His eyes lingered on her hand a little longer, smiling at the shimmering light reflecting on the diamond.

“Two and a half years,” he said, reminding her on how long they’ve been together. Still surprised at how long they got to keep their relationship in private, away from the media and all of those people around them.

It might seem rather fast, but nothing ever felt as right as asking her to marry him. Nothing ever made him feel so sure of himself as when she said yes. The reminder that he had someone who loved him. The knowing that someone was willing to put up with him forever. It made him feel safe.

“Are you sure you wanna keep it a secret? Keep us a secret?” Lando asked, playing with the ring on her finger.

“I’ll be yours in silence for however long you want me to,” she said, laying her head back down, soothing his chest with kisses.

Lando didn’t answer, he couldn’t. There was never a moment when he didn’t want to just post a pic of the two kissing or making put or whatever it is that will make everyone know that he was a happy man with her. But he knew it wouldn’t work that way. There will always be some crazy fans, offended at the though of him having a future with anyone but them. He felt guilty for not showing her off like he’d want to. It weighed him down day by day, though he knew it was worth it. When he came home from a race weekend and wanted nothing but held, he knew her arms would already be open as he walked through the door. She was everything he wanted. She was more than he deserved.

Being a man, chronically online, Lando knew about almost every trend going around the world. No exception for the one McLaren just posted with Oscar as their star in the spotlight.

“Hey guys,” Lando spoke into the phone as he walked into the living room of his home in Monaco. His girlfriend didn’t look up, already used to him walking around the apartment when he talked on the phone with someone. “Can you watch my girlfriend while I set my sim up?”

Lando placed the phone on the coffee table, camera facing his girlfriend who worked on something on her laptop. At the familiar sentence structure, she looked up, her head following the boy, who walked into his game room.

“What the-” she started saying, before being cut off by Lando putting his head out of the room.

“You can’t swear, I’m still a PR-nightmare, you can’t be one as well,” he yelled out to her, before disappearing again.

“Hello?” The girl said, looking at the screen in front of her. At first she thought it was a normal video, though soon enough she saw the endless comments of unknown people flood the screen. Her eyes widen at the sudden realization of what just happened. “You’re live? Are you kidding me?” She yelled at the boy, who burst out laughing in the other room. He came rushing out, snatching his phone back and reading through the comments of very surprised fans, to say the least.

“Sorry, guys. Sorry,” Lando spoke to the people, still giggling at his little prank and his girlfriends grimace. “Not my girlfriend.”

That made her look at him, a mischievous look in his eyes as he smirked, looking at her and not the screen which was filled with freaked out people. Some saying, “Good lord, thank god. I just had a heart attack, thinking he really cheated on me.” And some saying, “That’s sad, she’s really pretty.”

“My fiancee,” he corrected himself, smiling at her. The girl in front of him, couldn’t help her own smile forming on her lips. Then he ended the live, leaving the people shocked and the world stuck in questions.

“What have you done, Norris?” Y/n asked, pulling her fiance down on the sofa with her.

“I’m not hiding you anymore,” he simply said, snuggling in the nape of her neck and peppering it with small, soft kisses.

[intrepidacious]

bring your hunger

summary: There is a Witcher in your house.

pairing: geralt of rivia x succubus!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ only!!), light dubcon due to demon magic, penetrative sex (p in v), some biting and choking 😌 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: somehow it's been over a year since i posted a full fic but one ao3 writer's curse later here we are. whole new fandom. i've also never written smut until this show rewired my brain so bon appétit (please be kind). my biggest love to @aphrogeneias and @brandycranby who both let me complain about this story for about three months, i adore you!!

masterlist | read on ao3

There is a Witcher in your house.

You smell him long before you lay your eyes on him, the stench of his magic permeating the forest, harsh and acrid. Somewhere in the woods nearby, something is burning.

For a moment, you hesitate, considering your options. A lesser creature would’ve turned on the spot and run, would’ve stolen a horse in the nearby town and gotten as far away as possible, and maybe you should be doing the same. Forsake your home and this region and try to forget them to save your neck.

But your instincts are never wrong, and right now they are drawing you closer, one cautious step in front of the other, until your door creaks open.

He’s sitting in your chair, turned to the side to have a clear view of the entrance. He is propped up against the dining table, his matted white hair sticking to his forehead. The air is heavy with the smell of blood and sweat. Whatever happened across him managed to get him good; he seems to have bandaged himself up, somehow, but the gashes in his chest look painful.

He stares at you, frown deepening on his face, but he stays very still. There is a dangerous look in his amber eyes, full of fire and fury, and for some reason, that doesn’t scare you. Not at all.

Gods, you’re hungry.

There’s a steady pulse of power coming from him, muted but incessant, like his body’s not ready to drop the fight quite yet. He doesn’t, however, reach for the weapons he’s carelessly dropped on your good carpet.

So instead of fleeing, you draw the door shut behind you and you tilt your head.

It’s stronger now, the smell of your own powers. You don’t think it holds as much sway over Witchers as it would do over mere mortals, but it’s still enough for him to white-knuckle the edge of the table.

"I know what you are," he grits.

The low timbre of his voice makes you grin.

"That makes us even, then." You get closer to him, gingerly stepping over his swords. "Are you going to do something about it?"

His nostrils flare a little, but apart from that his face stays unreadable. Only his eyes betray him, still trained on your lips. He can’t help himself.

"I don’t kill your kind," he says.

"How generous of you." You come to a halt between his legs, reaching out to tilt his chin towards you.

He lets you, and there’s the slightest hint of amusement hidden at the corner of his mouth. From up close, the fire in his eyes burns even brighter.

"Let me show my appreciation," you say lowly.

His scent changes ever so slightly with the first small spike of his arousal. It sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

Your fingers trail down his throat, along his broad shoulders, down the taut muscles of his back, leaning into him even more. His hands fall to your hips, almost involuntarily. Slowly, unhurriedly, you let your nose brush against his and he inhales with a shudder.

This is always your favourite part. The final moments before they give into their desire, your meal prepared and served up on a silver platter, ready to indulge in.

"Don’t," he says, barely a warning.

"Don’t what?" You can feel his breath against your smile.

"Don’t tease."

"No?" He’s got remarkable restraint, this Witcher; but you can hear his racing heart. "Alright then."

And between one moment and the next, you let your clothes disappear.

It’s a simple trick, one that everyone of your kind can do as easily as blinking, but it’s never failed you. His eyes turn even darker as he realizes what you’ve done, as you move back a little to let him take you in. You lick your lips as another waft of his arousal reaches your nose.

Delicious.

"Is that better?" you whisper, tipping your head to the side.

He doesn’t reply. He pulls you towards him sharply, and then his mouth crashes against yours, hard and sudden. One of his hands grabs your ass, hauling you into his lap while the other one cradles the nape of your neck.

It’s a brutal kiss, divinely ferocious. Your naked core brushes over the noticeable bulge in his pants and he groans. You move your hips back and forth, just enough friction to make his fingers curl, nails biting into your skin.

This, you think, this is just what you’ve been craving. This sense of presence, of awareness. Your heartbeats growing faster. Pulling, tasting, wanting. More.

You only break the kiss to undo his belt, and he chases after your lips, hazy, starving.

You can relate.

He is already rock hard when you pull him out of his pants, ready and leaking. He pushes into your touch, raw need taking over.

You let out an appreciative hum, positioning yourself in his lap, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest. You want him to feel good, after all, no: you need him to.

You haven’t been sated in so long.

"Witcher," you chuckle breathlessly as his arms tighten around you, caging you against his body. "Aren’t you supposed to kill wicked, evil things like me?"

He growls, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You gasp as he drags his tongue over the bite marks immediately; like he’s savouring your taste, too.

When he looks up at you again, his eyes are like molten embers.

Your hand tangles in his hair and you yank his head back to kiss him again, swallowing the sound he makes when you sink down on him, and it’s a pity, really, because you could get your fill from that alone. It’s delectably salty and bitter.

Finally, he’s fully inside you, and he tilts his hips to allow you a better angle as you start moving.

"So good for me," you murmur.

He slaps your hand away when you try to slip it between your bodies, and then his own fingers find your clit, gently teasing at first, but quickly applying more pressure. You gasp, your walls clenching around his cock.

He lets out a breathless huff. "There, huh?"

"That’s it. Just like that."

It’s too much. Your breaths quicken as the air around you starts to hum and crackle with building energy. It’s making your head swim, each precise stroke to your clit bringing you closer to that edge you’re chasing.

His mouth still trails along your neck, nipping there. Your skin already feels sticky with sweat and magic as you’re hurled ever closer to the peak of your arousal.

Just as the tension in your core gets tight enough to snap, he stills completely. His cock is fully sheathed inside you, but he doesn’t move, his arms around you hard and unyielding, not even allowing a single roll of your hips. Something between a whine and a growl escapes your lips as your canines come down hard enough to draw blood.

The Witcher smiles at you hazily. "Do you want to come, little demon?"

You want to bite him. You want to suck out his energy until he’s nothing more than a sad, empty husk.

Your snarl only brings out a dark glint in his eyes, and his hand moves to your neck, forcing you to hold his gaze. His grip tethers you in your denied pleasure.

"Ask nicely," he says lowly, brushing his lips against yours.

Wicked, evil man.

Underneath your skin, your powers are brimming with unease, not yet refilled, not yet repleted; he knows this. You know he knows, and yet you’re unwilling to give in. "Or what?"

His grin widens just a fracture as his chin juts out in unmatched arrogance. You could burn it off his face. You could dig your claws into the gashes in his chest and widen them even more, feast on his blood instead.

"I know you need it," he says. His cock twitches inside you. "Beg."

A shiver goes down your spine, hot and cold at the same time.

You don’t beg. Ever. You don’t yield control, not even for your meal, especially not to someone like him. But then he expertly applies pressure to your throat and your eyes roll back in your head, all thoughts lost to the thick haze of your desire.

"Please," you whimper, clenching around him again. "Please fuck me."

He groans, hips stuttering into yours involuntarily before he moves in earnest, keeping his hand on your throat. It’s almost agonisingly slow at first, one roll of his hips almost letting him slip out of your cunt completely before he pushes back in with one single, firm stroke.

Your startled cry of pleasure gets stifled by his mouth, coaxing, biting, until your claws dig into the thick muscles on his shoulders. The arm around your back guides your movement, pressing you even closer to his body than before as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

You’re so close. You can already taste the precipice, black stars dancing along the edge of your vision.

Another moan rips out of you when you come apart for air, mouths open. "That’s it," he pants, watching you through half-lidded eyes, "Come for me."

His voice cracks with rapture, and it’s that more than the feeling of his own climax that sends you over the edge.

This part of your nature never gets old: As the orgasm rushes through you, the pent-up energy surrounding you snaps like lightning, funnelling into your body like an invisible current until you shudder blissfully with your appetite sustained. Your magic crackles around you, dancing on your burning skin like sparks of fire.

You hum appreciatively, your eyes still closed as you take a moment to collect yourself. This day has taken a pleasantly surprising turn, after all. It’s been too long since you’ve felt so thoroughly sated.

However, when you try to move out of his lap, the Witcher’s grip on you tightens decisively.

"Is that it?"

Your eyes fly open.

He is breathing heavily, but despite his loss of blood and the energy you’ve pulled from him, there’s not a trace of exhaustion to be found. He still has that same dangerous twinkle in his gaze. Fire and fury. Something lurches in your stomach.

"I thought your kind’s supposed to be insatiable," he says, leaning in to nuzzle at your collarbone. His medallion bumps against your breasts with a sharp vibration as his fingers trail down your side, a slow, torturously delicate touch. "You can give me one more."

It’s not a question. Still, the hands parting your legs even further are almost as gentle as they are relentless. A light press to your overstimulated clit has you keen, spasming around his cock, and he chuckles lowly.

"Eyes on me."

You hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut again. You’re leaning heavily into him now, another wave of pleasure starting to build as the smell of his magic envelopes you.

He growls, moving both of you around so you’re spread open on your dining table, him leaning over you with a look that wants to devour you whole. Like you’re the one being served up for him to make a meal out of. Impossibly, he’s growing hard again as his deft hands coax you closer to your next release.

"Just one more."

It’s such an obvious lie, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re brimming with energy, dizzyingly replenished and yet still ravenous. The air is humming with it, the promise of more.

"Don’t lie to me, Witcher," you still gasp.

His smile is positively sinful. "You said it yourself. I’m just so generous."

You’re so full. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his aura flickering with lust, rich and decadent and beautiful.

"In other words," he continues, his lips brushing your ear right as you reach your peak again. "We are just getting started."

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