#thank you again to the person who reached out for this

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialist)

Chapter 2: Cinderella

series masterlist

Chapter Summary: You didn't expect things to turn out this way when you agreed to go on a second date with Harry. You can’t deny your feelings for him, but now you have a tough choice to make. His great personality makes every moment feel like a fairytale, but deep down, you know it has to end eventually. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, piv sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance Chapter Word Count: 7k, oops (next chapter will be intense one) authors note: I'm so glad you all showed so much love and interest in this story! Thanks a ton, everyone!

In the morning—just like every other morning—you put on your housekeeper's uniform and got yourself ready for the day. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you let out a sigh. The fancy dress you wore last night was tossed over the chair behind you, a total contrast to the outfit you had on now. You smiled at your reflection, thinking about how nice it was to wear something elegant, even if it was just for a little while. But then, reality hit you, and you sighed again, remembering what had happened the night before.

Your phone buzzed as you pulled your hair back to put it in a bun. But before you could grab your phone, there was a knock on the door. One of the other housekeeper girls peeked in and gave you a look. You could tell right away that Melanie had sent her.

“She wants to see you,” she said with a nervous grin.

“Of course she does,” you muttered, walking over to your bedside table to get your phone. Before stepping out, you unlocked it to check the latest message. You usually kept in touch with your cousin Zoe, who lived in a small apartment in Brooklyn. She was the only one who reached out from time to time. It had been months since you last saw her, and it had been three years since you saw your parents, who lived in the countryside of Atlanta. However, that was okay; you and your dad had never really gotten along after your mom passed away. 

But the message wasn’t from Zoe; it came from a random number. You opened the notification and saw:

“Morning, kitty. Starting my day by hoping yours goes well.” 

It took a second for it to click who it was. 

Harry. 

Seriously? “Kitty?” He was something else, alright.

Just then, you heard Melanie’s voice squeaking out your name—like always. You weren’t in the mood to deal with Harry's message anyway, so you stuck your phone in your pocket and left the room.

Harry held his phone in one hand while sipping his morning coffee in his penthouse apartment, which offered a glorious view of New York. He was so eager for your message that he hadn’t even noticed his personal assistant, Oliver, had arrived.

“Earth to Harry,” Oliver said, snapping his fingers to get his attention.

Harry looked up, set his cup down on the counter, and leaned back in his chair. “Hey, Ollie.”

“Is there a problem? Is it bad news from the market?” Oliver asked.

Harry took a sip of his coffee and shook his head. “Never mind.”

"Looks like you haven't had time to settle in yet, huh?" Oliver commented, glancing around the flat. "Some cleaning staff from the company will be here this afternoon. I've also arranged for you to see Hudson before lunch, as you requested."

“Great, thanks,” Harry muttered, still focused on his phone, a frown on his face.

“Oh, by the way, the matchmaker called me. She wants to know how last night’s date went.”

Harry checked his watch, clearly disinterested. “Nineteen minutes. She must’ve seen my message but still hasn’t replied.”

“What did you even say? Harry Castillo waiting for a text back from a girl? Someone pinch me,” Oliver mocked, widening his eyes.

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Was your date really that amazing? You weren’t so hyped about it before you left.”

He knew Oliver was right. This was only his second date since coming back from France, and he was starting to feel a bit desperate.

“So I guess miracles do happen,” Harry said with a grin.

Oliver folded his arms and leaned against the counter, looking bewildered. “Are you serious? You didn’t even like that girl’s résumé. You said, if I remember correctly, ‘It seems like a waste of time, but I’ll give it a shot.’”

“Even great Harry Castillo can be wrong sometimes,” Harry replied, grinning as he took another sip of his coffee.

“Wow, that’s definitely not like you, man. What did she do to you?”

Harry smiled. “I don’t know, but whatever she did, I want her to do more.”

“You’ll see her again, then. Should I cancel the other dates, or do you still want to give them a shot?” he asked.

Harry stood up, took his jacket off the chair, and put it on. “Cancel them all. In fact, I want you to clear my schedule for the next three days.”

Oliver knew what that meant. It was the same way Harry had acted the last time he had a crush on someone—clearing his entire schedule for a few days for that special girl. But, in the end, she wasn't the one. He just hoped this wouldn’t end the same way this time; he didn’t want to see him heartbroken again.

"He wants to go on a second date?" Melanie's voice echoed through the room—no, the entire mansion.

"For the fifth time, I'm answering your question. Yes, he does," you said with a grunt.

She stared at you. "Oh wow, look at her. She can joke too!"

"It wasn't a joke, but whatever," you replied, crossing your arms.

"Stop it and tell me how to get out of this," she barked.

"Should I tell you? It wasn't even my plan."

"My plan was solid until you messed it up," Melanie complained as she paced around the room.

"Is it my fault the guy likes me? I told you, this was a risky game from the start."

Melanie stopped and squinted at you. "Do you like him or something? Maybe you were flirting with him."

You laughed hysterically. "Flirting? Believe me, what I did was far from flirting."

Melanie took a moment to think before starting to pace again. "Ugh! Why then? Is it because of my name? Yeah, gotta be. He’s smart; he knows my dad is a big deal. Maybe he’s just after a marriage of convenience."

For some reason, that sounded ridiculous to you. If Harry was like that, he would have married another businessman's daughter a long time ago. He wasn’t the type to be rejected, both for financial reasons and due to his personality. He was a wonderful person. Wait a minute—why were you suddenly thinking that? Did you really hold feelings for him? No, that couldn’t be right. Besides, you needed to focus on solving the problem at hand. But then you suddenly recalled the moment he kissed you; the way his lips brushed against yours, the warmth of his hand on your skin—it was an unforgettable feeling and—

"Aren't you listening to me?" Melanie's squeal pulled you back to reality. 

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks and took a deep breath. "I've been thinking about how to get out of this," you lied. 

"There’s only one way out, and we have to do it fast, or this is going to get out of hand. Dad will be leaving for Europe this afternoon and will be away for a few days. We need to sort this out while he's gone."

That was good news, but you were still uncertain about when Harry would take you on a second date. You hoped it would be this week. Melanie picked up her phone and dialed someone. "Nate, I need you to do something for me. Meet me tonight."

Nate. 

He was Melanie's friend who always cleaned up after her, another guy with a wealthy father. Nate's father was a media mogul, and thanks to him, Melanie's dad, Jack, had managed to keep his daughter's many scandals away from the paparazzi and out of the press—that's how powerful Nate's father was. However, you really didn't like Nate. He was a wild card, the type who would hit on anything that moved. You definitely didn't want to meet him.

Fortunately, Melanie was meeting him at the club tonight, as she often did. Before she left, she warned you to find out when Harry was taking you on your next date.

You might have thought that Jack leaving the mansion would give you a sigh of relief, but his wife was even harder to deal with. She was hardly ever around, typically ignoring her daughter, yet they shared a strange closeness. They seemed more like friends than mother and daughter. Melanie had adopted all her mother’s habits. However, what her mother wanted from you was different.

“Shouldn't you be the one convincing Melanie to meet that guy? Do you have any idea who Harry Castillo is? Ugh, who am I talking to? Of course, you don't. I would love for him to be my son-in-law; it would be so good for our family. Just imagine the look on those snooty society women’s faces when they find out he’s marrying Melanie!"

She went on and on. You had to nod in response to her accusatory speeches; if you said anything negative or, heaven forbid, argued with her, she would start insulting you. Yes, this woman seemed to be aware of everything her daughter did, yet she never found fault with her. You were always the one to blame. Normally, she wouldn’t have engaged in such a long conversation with you, and you were usually thankful for that, but it seemed she was taking advantage of her husband’s absence to be bossy. It stung your pride, and in moments like those, all you wanted was to quit and leave without looking back. But you endured it patiently, surprising even yourself. Over time, you developed a method to pretend you had imaginary headphones in your ears, listening to your favorite music while this woman scolded you. Yeah, there was definitely something wrong with you.

When you finally got to your room, hoping for some peace, you undid your hair bun, letting your hair fall over your shoulders, and lay down on your bed. You took your phone out of your pocket and unlocked it. Another text was sent from Harry’s number at 5:09 PM.

"Gosh, Melanie, so you do like to talk.”

You could almost hear his voice in your head as you read the message and grinned to yourself. But then you decided to call him—not because you missed his voice -of course you did- but because you thought it wasn’t fair to leave him hanging. You needed to find out when he was planning to ask you out again.

It rang a few times, and Harry answered. "The person you're calling is unavailable at the moment, perhaps because you didn't answer his morning message." he sounded mocking and a little offended.

You couldn’t help but giggle and decided to keep it fun. “Should I just hang up then—”

“No, no, no! Please don’t hang up,” he quickly replied, his tone softening. You giggled again and heard him let out a sigh. “I heard your beautiful laugh, so I’m not upset anymore.”

You didn’t respond, but you were smiling. “Well, I didn’t reply because you called me ‘kitty.’ It sounded like you were talking to your cat.”

"That's what I was doing, kitty." He laughed.

“Seriously? Still?” you groaned playfully. “I have a name,” you said, wishing he actually knew your real name.

“But you looked just like a kitten when you were devouring that dessert, licking your lips and fingers.”

Ugh, did he really have to remind you of that? 

“And I can’t forget the way your sweet tongue touched mine.”

You swallowed, and you knew he could probably hear it on the other end of the line.

“Anyway, get ready Wednesday morning; I’ll come pick you up,” he said after a pause.

“Oh, wow. Thanks for the heads-up, Mr. Castillo.”

You heard him chuckle. “Did that sound a little bossy to you?”

“A little,” you admitted, smirking, feeling like he was right there with you instead of on the phone.

“Alright, let me give it another shot,” he said, clearing his throat. “Miss. Johnson, I was thinking of coming to pick you up Wednesday morning if you're free.” His sarcasm was so endearing, you couldn’t help but crack up.

“I know, fail on my part, right? What can I say? I don’t usually talk like that.” You were still laughing, and Harry was smiling along, enjoying your laughter. “If you’re going to laugh like that, then I should talk like this all the time.”

But then your smile faded; every time he complimented you, it hit you with guilt and embarrassment. The reason you met him, your whole situation, was a reminder that knocked you hard each time.

“Anyway, it’s probably time for you to sleep. Be a good girl and get to bed early.”

“Oh, are you gonna give me candy too, mister?” you teased back.

“I can give you all the candy in the world, just say the word, sweet girl.” His tone felt really sincere, and something inside you believed he could actually do it. 

Why was your heart racing all of a sudden?

"Good night, Melanie," he said, and another truth came to the surface that hit you like a slap in the face.

You just mumbled as you hung up the phone, "Good night Harry.”

You lay in bed for a while, phone in hand. This was not a time for dreaming or getting excited. This was not your life; you weren’t Melanie, the rich girl with a millionaire father living in luxury. When Harry discovered the truth, you knew you would be worthless in his eyes. You couldn't blame him; you wanted this and had to face the consequences. You only wished you hadn’t fallen in love with him; otherwise, you knew you would be the one hurt the most at the end of this story. 

You had never been in love before. In fact, you always thought love was something exaggerated. The relationship between your mom and dad was based on respect and loyalty—always had been. Years ago, before starting this job, you had ended a toxic relationship and moved to New York. You felt free and happy to have escaped it. You promised yourself that when you came to New York, you would shed your southern accent, improve yourself, find a proper job, and start saving money to fulfill your dreams. You were determined not to let any man into your life for a while, but you never anticipated things would unfold like this.

Rolling over in bed, you buried your face in the pillow and moaned. Why did it have to be here and not at some other rich family’s place on the Upper East Side? Just then, something happened to justify your misery: your phone rang. You instinctively knew that only one thing could call you at this hour—trouble. Melanie was out again, and you knew she was in trouble before you even answered the phone.

“Melanie?” you said.

“It’s Nate. Babe, I need you to get over here ASAP. Melanie’s totally wasted, and we had a fight. You’ve gotta pick her up and take her home.”

Babe? 

Of course, it was Nate. You sighed and pressed the phone to your forehead. “Fine, I’m on my way,” you grumbled through clenched teeth.

This was nothing new; you’d picked her up from clubs, rescued her after fights, and kept her out of the paparazzi’s sight. You’d gotten pretty good at all of it.

You quickly opened your wardrobe to change, slipping on some jeans and a blouse, fixing your hair, and leaving your room while muttering and swearing under your breath.

When the driver brought you to the club, you felt a wave of nervousness upon seeing the paparazzi gathered at the entrance. Fortunately, you were accustomed to entering through the back door of such venues, where security was stationed, and you had often seen many famous faces. The driver was familiar with the routine, so you told him to wait with the engine running while you stepped out of the car. After explaining the situation to security, you headed inside. The moment you entered, the volume of the music surged, making it difficult to hear your own voice.

As soon as you spotted Nate, you made your way over to him, pushing a few people aside in the process. You noticed Melanie was barely conscious, her head bobbing from side to side. Nate was struggling to hold her up, so you slipped under her other arm to help.

“Why'd you let her drink so much?” you whispered, trying to keep Melanie steady.

Nate shot you a confused look. “Seriously, babe? Don't act like you don't know her.”

“Whatever, the car's waiting outside,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Okay, let’s get this wasted girl out of here,” he replied.

You both managed to get outside, but your heart nearly stopped when you spotted Harry across the street by his car.

“Crap, let’s turn around,” you said, quickly pulling Melanie to the other side of the street.

“What the hell is going on?” Nate asked, annoyed.

“Harry's here,” you explained.

He glanced over and swore. “What’s he doing here?”

“Hell if I know,” you muttered.

A moment later, a guy and a girl stepped out of the same door you had come through and walked over to Harry. The girl looked just as drunk as Melanie, and to your shock, she wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck.

What the hell?

Harry said something to her, helped her into his car, and then hopped in beside her. The guy must’ve been his driver; he got in the front, started the car, and they sped off.

Nate snickered. “Looks like Harry Castillo’s on the prowl. Nice. I envy him.”

You shot him a glare. Just then, Melanie threw her head back, moaned, and violently vomited on Nate. 

Nate screamed in disgust, “Damn it, Mel! Ugh, that's disgusting!”

“Good riddance,” you said with a chuckle, wrapping your other arm around Melanie's waist while you ignored Nate’s curses as you led her to the car.

You woke up feeling a bit down. You’d stayed up way too late the night before dealing with Melanie, and seeing Harry with another woman was really bothering you. It kinda sucked, but shouldn’t you feel relieved? After all, things weren’t serious between you two. Harry was a good-looking guy, and of course, there would always be women around—that was just how it went. But how could he tell you to hit the sack early and then go out to a nightclub? It didn’t seem fair. 

But who were you to judge him, right? Maybe you should’ve just taken it as a sign to end things for good after that second date. That way, you wouldn’t have felt so sympathetic toward him, and you could have ended it decisively. Yeah, you definitely should’ve done that.

You got out of bed, put on your uniform, and styled your hair. Just as you were putting your shoes on, your phone buzzed with a message. Like yesterday, it was from Harry:  

“Wish I could be holding you this morning.” 

You sighed, whispering to yourself, “Oh, I bet you held someone else last night, didn’t you, Harry?”

You tucked the phone into your pocket, but another message arrived:

“Are you missing me? Yes or yes.”  

You couldn’t help but smile and decided to tease him back.  

“You know there are letters N and O in the alphabet.”  

A few minutes later, came his reply:  

“I’ll erase them from today.”  

How could he flirt with you while he was with another woman? Could there have been a misunderstanding? 

When you heard your name called, you stuffed your phone back into your pocket and headed out. After giving Melanie's mom the scoop on last night, you jumped into your usual tasks. You were called to help the cook in the kitchen. This happened a lot; Danilo, the Italian chef, was an amateur, but he knew his way around food.

"I'm telling you, girl, you should quit this job and start that bakery of yours. You have natural talent," he said as you sat at the counter, enjoying the sesame bread you had just baked.  

"Soon, Danilo, very soon," you replied with a smile.  

One of the girls walked into the kitchen. “Danilo, Mrs. Johnson says her eggs are too greasy. She’s watching her calories and wants them cooked low fat again.” 

Danilo sighed and muttered something in his native language. “Maybe you can take me with you when you open that bakery restaurant? Please?” he suggested, looking at you.  

You nodded, “With pleasure, chef.” You gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and helped him prepare the eggs. 

After you took a tray to the mother and daughter having breakfast outside, your phone buzzed again. Just as you came back inside and picked it up, you heard the elevator ding downstairs. One of the housekeepers was taking a big black box with a red ribbon from a delivery guy—it was probably another delivery for Melanie or her mom, like always. But then you checked your phone and saw Harry’s message:  

“Can’t wait to see it on you.”  

You paused for a moment, then turned around and stopped the housekeeper. 

“Let me see it for a minute,” you said, examining the box. It was labeled Ralph Lauren, and a card was pinned under the ribbon. You gasped as you read the carefully written words on the card: 

For my kitty. 

“I'll take this,” you said, reaching for the box. 

The girl shrugged and handed it to you. She was accustomed to this kind of situation, but what she didn’t know was that this box had been sent to you. You felt a thrill of excitement as you walked to your room, cradling the box in your arms. There had to be an elegant dress inside. 

“Hey, stop right there!” 

That was Melanie. You did what she said and turned around, feeling a bit annoyed. Her eyes went wide when she saw the box. 

“Where do you think you’re taking that? Bring it here!” 

“It’s from Mr. Castillo; he must have sent it for the date tomorrow,” you mumbled. 

Ignoring your tone, Melanie quickly tugged at the ribbon and opened the box. 

“Oh my God! This is from the new season! It's part of the special collection! It was in the fashion show in Paris just a few weeks ago!” She pulled out the stunning black dress and held it up. “This is amazing! I have to try it on right now!” 

“But he sent it for me,” you said, frowning. 

“So?” 

“It would be rude not to wear the dress meant for me.” 

“That’s exactly what we’re looking for, silly, let it be,” she said, zipping the dress up and slipping it on. “Oh, the fabric feels incredible.” 

You couldn’t remember a time when her words or actions had hurt you this much. You swallowed hard, trying to keep all the nasty things you wanted to say to her. “So what am I supposed to wear? The great Melanie needs to wear something elegant, right?” 

She narrowed her eyes at you, looking slightly annoyed. The dress was a little loose on her. You definitely had a fuller figure than she did, and you knew you’d look way better in that dress. Maybe that was why she seemed upset. 

“I’ll let you borrow one of the Pradas I got for my birthday last month,” she said before heading over to show her mom the dress. You just stared at her, and then your gaze dropped to the card in your hand, reading again the words that Harry wrote for you. 

For my kitty. 

Wednesday morning rolled around, and you were feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. The dress Melanie had given you after swiping yours wasn’t as bad as the other one he sent, but it wasn’t great either. It was strapless, a bit tight, and super long, making it tricky to walk comfortably—you could totally see why Melanie had tossed it aside. After getting yourself ready, you checked your bag and saw a text from Harry: 

"I’m outside. Don’t keep me waiting too long, beautiful."

Your heart began to race, and you could practically hear it thumping in your ears. Before you left the house, Melanie handed you a fancy jacket and reminded you, "When you get back, make sure to get rid of him for good." Her words echoed in your mind as you stepped out of the lift. This time, it would definitely be over—but not in the way she intended. You needed to act mature and honest, like a responsible woman. Regardless of what happened, you had to keep your guard up and not let your emotions show.

When you walked out the door, you froze. Harry was leaning against his car, holding a bouquet of pink roses. The moment he saw you, a huge smile lit up his face. When he spotted you, a huge smile spread across his handsome face. So much for not letting your guard down. All the resolutions you had made moments ago felt fragile, carried away by a light breeze.

As you approached him, you felt those promises fading one by one. Your heart raced to the point that it overshadowed your thoughts. When you reached him, his smile widened, and he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek. "Hi, beautiful," he said, handing you the flowers. You smiled and accepted them. 

“Thanks, that’s really sweet,” you replied, enjoying their scent.

Harry paused for a moment, checking you out. His expression changed a bit. “You know, you look fantastic just the way you are, but I have to ask—did you not like the dress I sent you?”

There it was—the question you had been expecting. It was tough to lie when you had so much on your mind. You wanted to say everything to him, everything, but you just couldn't, and you hated that.

“Harry, the dress was really pretty, and I liked it a lot, but I’m so clumsy. I spilled coffee on it, and I'm really sorry.” You looked down, feeling embarrassed.

Harry frowned when he saw the look on your face and grabbed your hand. With his other hand, he opened the car door for you. 

“Get in, kitty; we’ll grab you a new one,” he said, helping you in and shutting the door behind you. He quickly walked around to the driver’s seat, buckled up, and started the engine. 

“Honestly, you don’t need to do that,” you said as you put your seatbelt on. 

“The most important thing you should know about me, sweet girl,” he said, grinning as he began to drive, “is that I always follow through with what I promise.” He winked at you, pressing the gas pedal and speeding down the road. 

“So where are you taking me?” you asked. 

“I’d rather hear your guesses,” he replied with a grin. 

“Considering how fancy the dress was, it has to be the nicest brunch spot in New York,” you guessed. 

He chuckled. “Nope, wrong answer, sweetheart. Want to try again?” 

“Sure, but I want a hint.” 

“Not without a price. Come a little closer.” 

When the car came to a stop at a red light, you leaned in. He leaned over and kissed you on the cheek, right where you felt yourself blush. 

“Now, what’s your guess?” he asked. 

You thought for a moment. When you think of what rich people usually do for dates, a fancy restaurant comes to mind, but you had another idea. 

“Are you taking me out on your private yacht or something for breakfast?” 

He laughed. “Oh, close, but you’re off again.” 

You made a face and pouted. “Fine, I’m out of guesses.” 

“I see you gave up pretty quick.” 

“That’s not true! I just didn’t want to ruin your fun by getting it right,” you teased. 

He raised his eyebrows sarcastically, smirking as he laughed. You shrugged and shot him a cool smile. 

“Anyway, we’re almost there,” he said, looking pretty pleased with himself.

A moment later, your jaw dropped as you realized where you were. "Harry, wait, this is the airport. Why are we here?" 

He just kept grinning and drove away from the area with regular flights. Soon, he stopped the car in front of a private jet. A couple of attendants came over and opened the doors for you both. 

“Mr. Castillo, welcome! Everything’s ready for your flight, sir,” one of them said, then turned to you. “Welcome, Miss Johnson. This way, please.” 

Suddenly, you felt really nervous looking at that private jet. This was something you never saw coming. Harry walked over, putting his hand on your waist. “Come on, let’s not waste time. We’ve got dinner in Paris to get to.” 

You stared at him wide-eyed. “Did you say Paris? I didn’t even bring my passport, and I’m not sure if I'm ready for that.” 

He chuckled as he pulled you toward the plane. “Don’t worry, just trust me.” 

As you stepped towards the jet, you recognized the guy from the other night—you thought he was Harry’s driver. He smiled at you. “Miss Johnson.” 

Harry wrapped his arm around you as you climbed the airstairs and stepped into the jet. You looked around, completely in awe. You had been on a jet before, but that was just to meet Melanie when she came back from abroad. You’d never actually flown in one like this. This jet looked way more luxurious, with seats for ten or fifteen people that looked super comfy. Harry sat you in the window seat and took the one next to you. Once the door closed, the pilot reminded everyone to fasten their seatbelts, and Harry helped you with yours. 

“Feeling nervous?” he asked. 

“Not really,” you lied. It wasn’t the flying that made you nervous; you had been on scheduled planes countless times. It was just that you had never left the States before. But you couldn’t let him know that. 

The jet soon took off, and breakfast was served. It was like a meal from the fanciest restaurant. 

“Dinner, you mentioned earlier. Is it because we’ll be arriving in the evening?”

Harry glanced at his watch. “Yep. The flight’s about seven hours, and Paris is five hours ahead of New York, so we’ll get there just in time for dinner.” He smiled at you. “But enjoy your breakfast now. Try this,” he said, handing you a piece of lemon-flavored poppy seed muffin. You recognized it from Danilo and realized it was just as good. 

With seven hours to kill, you had plenty of time to chat. You also met Oliver, who turned out to be Harry’s assistant. He was nice and friendly, but to you, he was just another guy you had to keep secrets from. 

Even though you were excited to visit one of the cities you’d always wanted to see, the whole situation felt a bit sour. You were scared—scared of getting too caught up in everything and of things possibly getting out of control. The deeper your relationship with Harry got, the harder it would be for either of you to break things off, especially for you. 

You didn’t realize you had dozed off in your thoughts. You were awakened by the pilot’s gentle announcement, and when you looked up, Harry was staring at you. Was he actually watching you sleep?

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We've arrived."

You quickly turned your head and looked down at the magical city below, shining in all its splendor. Then you looked at Harry. “We really are in Paris,” you said cheerfully.

“Yes, we are,” he replied with a smile.

As the jet touched down on the runway, you jolted slightly. When it came to a complete stop, Harry unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up, followed by Oliver, who came to stand beside him.

“Dinner's ready; they're waiting for you,” Oliver informed him.

"Good," Harry replied, holding out his hand to you. "Come on, gorgeous."

You smiled a little and took his hand as you both stepped out into the stunning city.

“How hungry are you now?” Harry asked as the car drove you through the streets of Paris.

“Hmm, a little. Why?”

“Firstly, I promised you a dress, and I have to fulfill that promise.”

You looked at him. “You're not one to give up easily, are you?”

Harry grinned. “You're starting to get to know me; that’s good. But I still don’t really know you, and I don’t like that. We should fix that, don’t you think?”

You sighed and turned your head to look out over the city. As much as you wanted to, how were you going to share your story with him?

The car pulled up to a street full of famous brand-name shops. Harry got out first, and then you followed. The shop that was supposed to be closed at this hour had opened up just for you. Honestly, you should have stopped being surprised by everything when you were with Harry.

Two assistants came over to help and took you to the ladies' department, bringing you a bunch of dresses to try on. You picked out a couple and modeled them one after the other in the fitting room, showing them off to Harry. After a bit, you started to complain about how tired you were of putting them on and taking them off. Harry suggested you just keep the one you were wearing since he liked it best.

“The black one is awesome,” he said. “But honestly, they all look great on you, so I’m getting them all,” he told the shop assistant. 

“Wait, all of them? But—”

Harry put a finger to his lips and gave you a playful smile, silencing you in a way that surprised you. How could he be so incredible? 

Oliver tossed the bags into the trunk, Harry glanced at your shoes. “We would’ve looked for shoes and bags too, but it’s getting late.” 

“Oh, please, I’m so tired,” you whined. 

“Alright, we’ll look tomorrow. Let’s go,” he said, opening the car door for you.

“Man, I really respect models,” you said as you hopped into the car. “They must be wiped out after those fashion shows.”  

“You’d make a great model; you know,” Harry replied.

“I’ll pass,” you sighed.

"That’s a total bummer for the fashion world," he joked, making you giggle.

The restaurant where Harry brought you for dinner was a breathtaking oasis, with the Eiffel Tower standing proudly before you like a sentinel of romance, shimmering under the glow of the city lights. A soft, warm breeze danced around you, carrying with it the sweet notes of a gentle melody that intertwined with the clinking of fine glassware. The table was adorned with exquisite dishes and velvety wine, while a charming gentleman sat across from you, creating an enchanting atmosphere that felt plucked straight from a fairy tale. In that moment, you felt like a princess swept away by magic, but deep down you were aware that when the clock struck midnight, the spell would be broken, and you would return to being Cinderella. Embracing the fleeting beauty of the evening, you allowed yourself to savor every second.

After the meal, you strolled hand in hand to the Eiffel Tower, embarking on an adventure that lovers had cherished for centuries. As you climbed higher, the city below unfolded like a magnificent tapestry, alive and vibrant, each twinkling light telling a story of its own. You couldn’t help but gaze in wonder at the breathtaking view, and Harry, equally entranced, seemed to find the beauty in you as well. Every gentle touch of his hand against yours sent a thrill through you, and whenever you noticed his intense gaze, you instinctively looked away, each moment thick with unspoken words. You sensed he was waiting for your decision, yet uncertainty clung to your heart.

"Have you made up your mind yet?” Harry asked as he surveyed the expansive cityscape laid out before you.

You turned to face him, your heart racing as you searched for the right words. The weight of the moment pressed down on you, intertwining your thoughts and emotions.

"There's something you haven't told me, isn't there?”

You met his gaze again. "What will you do if my answer is no?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Harry offered a troubled smile and sighed deeply. "I’ll be hurt for sure, but you know me—I won’t give up easily. Still, I'm desperately hoping you won’t reject me," he replied, his voice trembling. Your heart ached as you looked into his eyes. For a moment, you simply stared at each other; time seemed to slow, and the city below blurred into the background.

“So what's the matter? Is there something you've heard about me that's holding you back? What happened in the past is really in the past. I'm not that foolish playboy anymore.”

Now that he had brought it up, it was time to confront what was bothering you inside. “Is that so? I bet you never go to nightclubs either.”

He frowned at the tone in your voice for a moment. 

“You were at he club the other night with a woman—only a few minutes after you told me to go to bed early.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute, I never even set foot in that club... Besides,  she was an old friend, not what you think. Now tell me, what were you doing there after you said goodnight to me? After you promised me you’d go to bed early?”

Oh, you were in trouble.

It was a complete misunderstanding, and you wanted to kick yourself. “I didn’t promise anything...” you responded evasively.

He pinched your chin and forced you to look straight at him. "So you've been a bad girl? I should punish you." He said in a husky voice, his fingers tangled in your hair, going for your neck, drawing you close and kissing you.

The kiss was passionate, irresistible, overwhelming; you were about to lose yourself in his hot breath but were able to stop yourself somehow. He noticed your lips remained still, and instinctively, he paused, pulling back just enough to create a breath of space between you. “There you go again,” he said, his voice deep. “You're holding yourself back, but I can see it in your eyes—you want me too.” 

You turned your head, feeling the warmth of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, your heart racing as the battle within you intensified. 

“Don’t even try to convince me you don’t want this. What we have is real, special.”

"You are right," you said after a moment of silence. "There’s something I didn’t tell you, and it’s really tough to say. Once I open up, how you respond will really shape what comes next, and I’ve got to admit, that makes me a little nervous, Harry.”

He thought about it for a second, and then he gave you a teasing look. "Did you, like, kill someone and bury them in your backyard or something?"

You stared at him in disbelief but couldn't help smiling; he always knew how to make you laugh. After you both shared a chuckle, you took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

Harry took your hand and looked you in the eyes. "Look, whatever it is you're hiding doesn’t really matter."

"But—" 

"No, really. When I said you were different, it may sound a bit cheesy, but I truly mean it. I really don’t want to lose you, and I know you feel the same way. So why don’t we just enjoy these next three days together? We can talk about everything when we get back to New York. And if you really did kill someone, I can arrange for a good lawyer for you.” He chuckled, and you covered your face with your hand, suppressing your smile.

“For now, just let it all out." He gently brushed your cheek with his knuckles. "All I want is to see you smile.”

You huffed, “Alright if that’s how you want to do it.”

“Yes. Now give me that cute smile of yours.”

You smiled at him, and he returned it with a bright smile. “Perfect. Now let’s head to the hotel; you must be exhausted.” He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close.  

“Okay, thank you,” you whispered, looking at him. “For everything.”  

He drew you in even tighter, brushing his lips gently against the crown of your head. The intoxicating aroma of his perfume enveloped you, weaving an invisible bond between you. The warmth of his skin radiated against your cheek, a comforting heat that seeped through the soft fabric of his shirt, like a hidden treasure waiting to be uncovered.

After Oliver dropped you off at the hotel, he helped you with the check-in before finally answering his phone, which had been ringing for ages. “Go for Oliver."

“Can I talk to Mr. Castillo? It's urgent!”

Oliver glanced at you as you two headed for the elevator. “He's kinda busy right now,” he said. “Honestly, it seems like he might’ve finally found what he’s been looking for,” he added with a smirk, admiring the two of you from afar. “We won’t be needing your services anymore.”

“You’re not getting it—our system has been hacked. I have been trying to contact you. He needs to know about this. The woman he’s with isn’t Melanie Johnson.”

Oliver’s face shifted immediately, and he froze. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”  

"I wish I were kidding! I'm not sure how it happened, and we're still figuring it out. If he can contact me ASAP, I can fill him in on all the details. Please reach out as soon as you can."

“Tell me everything first. I’ll let him know.” He said, starting to listen to what the matchmaking agency person was saying.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

here's the taglist...

@balhoneysweetstuff @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @lailathepedritofan @queenofodds @darkheartgatita @ccmoonshine @suzysface @javiismyhsbnd @aurorathegreekprincess @daejangandimja @longlivekingminnn @jisungandpedrolover @urlivingdeadgirl @laliceee @sincerelywithheartt @indiegirlunited @fancyyoouu @blackborndue @shinymusicpanda

If you want me to add you to the tag list or remove you from it, just let me know!

lots of love

[giuli4nna]

BEEN AWAY

hamzah wants to take his time with you when he finally gets the chance. requested by this ask

a/n: thank you to all 329 of you who voted on my poll ! this one ended up winning, it’s kind of long but i hope you enjoy (: i’ll eventually post the others xoxo

“slow down,” hamzah chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he pries your fingers away from his body.

your hands were itching to touch him all night. you wanted to pounce on him the very instant you two arrived back to your apartment, but he insisted on holding back.

you were bubbling with anticipation to see him after several months of being apart. long distance was taking a toll on your emotional state; your separation lead to countless nights of missed calls and makeup texts — apologies for being too busy to respond that day. it was frustrating, but you two always manage to push through.

not to mention, it was even more frustrating for your sexual desires.

you could only send each other so many scandalous photos and videos as a distraction before you were left lonely and desperate for the feeling of real intimacy with your boyfriend.

but — of course, it wasn’t all about sex. you were overjoyed with the fact that he sacrificed time out of his break from youtube to come and visit you.

when you opened the door to see him standing proudly outside your apartment building’s entrance; leaning against his car, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, it was really tempting to just make him to cancel your dinner reservations and spend the whole evening in bed with him instead.

after showering you in kisses and compliments he treated you to a lengthy date at your favorite restaurant. of course you loved getting to spend time with him in person after being apart for so long.

except — hamzah really dragged it out.

“hamzah,” you’d groaned. “we’ve talked about everything possible and we finished dessert. don’t you think it’s time to go back home?”

“oh, c’mon. i’m just enjoying the first date we’ve had in months. now — this is important, if you were ice cream, what flavor would you be?” he smiled, adding on another silly question to the prolonged conversation.

even when the both of you were finally stumbling in through your door, he wasn’t quick to give in.

it was frustrating, to say the least. you’re not some sort of sex-crazed freak, but you’re on the verge of acting like one.

you had spent the last few months pining over him, and now that he’s within your reach, your top priority is to memorize every inch of him as fast as possible — for fear that you might forget all your favorite details of his body the second that he needs to return to toronto.

you barely get the door shut before you’re on him. your hands are in his hair, your lips are crashing onto his. you’re messy, frantic.

and of course, he slows you down. his hands settle on your waist, grounding you, his lips stilling against yours.

“mmh, slow down.” he softly protests. he meets your gaze, his eyes filled with love and adoration. on the other hand, yours are shrouded in desire and lust.

“m’sorry. just missed you,” you mumble, your tone slightly guilty.

“i know,” he says gently. “let’s just go slow, okay? we have plenty of time.”

you huff. “hamzah, seriously?”

a smirk tugs at hamzah’s lips, but his eyes are soft, soaking you in like he’s memorizing you all over again. “yes, seriously. just let me take care of you.” he says, his voice dropping to an entrancingly low tone.

you practically squirm under his gaze. “why are you messin’ with me?” you ask, sounding a little bit more pathetic than you intended.

“m’not tryin’ to,” he murmurs presses a lingering kiss to your jaw, then your neck, his lips soft and slow as if he’s committing each inch of your skin to memory. “just wanna make sure i feel you. really feel you.”

he always does this. he makes everything feel like more than just desperation, more than just a fleeting moment of heat. he’s trying to make up for every second spent apart.

your breath stutters as his lips trace a slow path down your neck, enough to make you shiver. you grab fistfuls of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but he stays steady, his control unwavering.

“you’re not being fair,” you breathe out, basically pouting at this point.

he laughs, soft and warm against your skin. “you’re not either,” he says, his hands roaming lazily up and down your sides, feeling the fabric of your dress. “you’re tryin’ to rush me. that’s not very fair.”

“but i’m only rushing ‘cause i missed you.”

“and i missed you,” he dips his head lower, lips pressing just above your collarbone as he speaks with a frustratingly unbothered tone. “that’s why i want to take my time with you.”

“hamzah, you’re so f— ah!”

whatever annoyed phrase you were about to throw at him is instantly forgotten as hamzah sweeps you off your feet, literally. in one swift movement, he’s picked you up bridal style and started carrying you toward your bedroom.

“what was that?” he taunts with a grin, nudging the door open with his foot and practically tossing you down onto your bed.

“nothin’,” you mutter, your cheeks flushing in slight embarrassment as your eagerness rises once more. you wonder if he’s finally going to do something, anything.

you watch him, waiting for him to move first. to shove you back, to climb on top of you, to finally let go of all his patience and take what’s his.

he doesn’t.

instead, he stands between your legs, his hands coming to rest on your thighs, warm and steady. his thumbs move in slow, lazy circles, like he has all the time in the world.

he doesn’t seem to notice how loud your body is internally screaming with need for him right now.

you exhale sharply, tilting your head back with a groan. “i think you’re killing me.”

hamzah laughs, quiet and deep. “you’ll be just fine.”

his fingers trace up, dragging along the hem of your dress, and you suck in a breath as he pushes it up — inch by inch, nothing hurried, nothing rushed.

every movement is deliberate, like he’s unwrapping something precious. and in his eyes, he is. you’re the most precious thing in his life.

you lift your arms, letting him undress you, your skin prickling at the loss of warmth. he’s quickly touching you again — his palms glide over your bare shoulders, down your arms, and across your ribs, like he’s learning your body all over again.

he leans in, finally, brushing his lips against your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. it’s soft, barely there.

“more,” you whisper.

hamzah’s lips hover over yours, close, but not close enough. “not yet.”

your hands slide up his chest, gripping at his shirt. “why?”

he smirks, kissing your jaw instead. “because i love watching you like this,” he says, quiet and teasing. “all desperate.”

your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt, frustration curling in your stomach like a flow of lava.

he hums in amusement, his lips trailing lower, his fingers slipping under the thin straps of your bra. he toys with the fabric but never pushes further.

your breath catches in your throat when his mouth finally moves lower, leaving a warm path over your chest and your stomach. his hands ground you, steadying you against the mattress as you arch instinctively toward him.

just when you think he’s about to break, about to finally give in, he slows down again. his lips press soft kisses along the inside of your thigh, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin.

you whimper, tugging at his shirt in frustration. “hamzah, please.”

his grip on your hips tightens at the sound of your voice, and you don’t miss the way his breath stutters — like he’s just as affected by all this restraint as you are. his willpower is just now beginning to fade. yours is long gone.

“say that again,” he murmurs, his voice thick.

you swallow hard, meeting his gaze. his eyes are dark and burning with something you can’t quite put your finger on. your fingers reach down to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his lower lip.

“please?” you whisper again, softer this time.

something snaps.

with one fluid motion, he tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, his hands quickly returning to your skin.

there’s no hesitation anymore, no patience. his lips crash on yours with pure heat and hunger, his body pressing flush against yours.

his hands roam, no longer teasing, no longer holding back. his fingers trace every curve, every dip of your body. it’s suddenly urgent, dripping with the kind of hunger that’s been building since the second you two walked through the door.

you gasp against his lips as he presses you further into the mattress, his weight settling over you in a way that makes you feel impossibly small beneath him. his hands slide beneath your thighs, spreading you, positioning you.

you can feel the way his control is slipping between his fingers like sand. you can feel it in the way his body moves against yours.

“hamzah,” you breathe, your voice breaking around the sound of his name.

he groans, low and rough, like hearing you say his name just like that is his undoing. his forehead presses against yours, his breath is warm and uneven as he rolls his hips against you, slowly and purposefully.

you moan, your fingers clawing at his back, pulling him closer. “i need—”

“i know,” he cuts in, voice thick with want. his lips brush against your cheek, then your jaw, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. “i’ve got you, baby.”

eventually, somewhere between messy kisses and frantic touches, your clothes have been shed along with his and hamzah’s body is now hovering over yours on the bed, heat radiating between the two of you.

you’re so deeply lost in him that any frustration has long since evaporated. all that remains is the intoxicating pulse of anticipation as he aligns himself with your entrance and finally — finally, he shifts, pushing forward, sinking his cock into you in one smooth, perfect motion.

your breath stutters, your body arching into him as he fills the space between you completely. a deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest as he stills for a second, his grip on your hip tightening dangerously.

he exhales sharply, pressing his forehead to yours. “you feel…” he trails off, shaking his head like he can’t even find the words.

instead of trying to complete his thought, he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, devastating kiss as he finally starts to move. he presses deeper, slower, letting you — no, making you feel every inch of him. he groans at the sensation of your nails in his back, his body tensing up as if he’s barely holding himself together.

“hamzah,” you whine, your voice shaky and overwhelmed.

he shudders, his hands flexing against your waist before sliding upwards, cradling your face between his palms.

“look at me,” he murmurs.

the second your gazes lock, something in you shatters. your body? your mind? your soul, maybe?

there’s a melting pot of drastically different emotions swirling behind his eyes, you can’t even begin to describe the way it makes you feel.

“you’re everything,” he whispers, his voice rough, like he’s speaking the words without even thinking. “you know that, right?”

you nod, unable to speak, not with the way length is dragging in and out of you too slowly. he tilts your chin up, ghosting his lips over yours so softly it makes your stomach twist.

“say it,” he demands in a murmur against your mouth. he’s trying to break you, you think.

you fingers slide into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “i know.” your voice is barely above a whisper.

“there’s my girl. so good for me, aren’t you?” he says with a small smirk, knowing the effect his words have on you. “can’t believe i spent so long without you.”

his lips crashing onto yours, raw and consuming, like he’s trying to pull you into him completely.

“hamzah — more,” you choke out breathlessly against his lips, your mind melting at the slow pace he’s set.

he chuckles lowly, but doesn’t protest this time. he knows he’s got you ruined already.

his hands slide beneath your thighs, shifting you just enough to deepen the angle, and when he moves again, it’s harder, needier. he’s finally pouring himself into you fully, dropping the ‘let’s take our time’ façade.

your chest heaves as desperate moans and choked whimpers escape your throat, the way he’s now snapping his hips into you — it makes your lose all remaining composure.

your head tilts back against the pillow, overwhelmed, and hamzah’s right there with you. “that’s it,” he breathes, voice shaking. “y’sound so pretty.. god, i love you,”

he drives into you harder, deeper, his pace growing erratic. the pure hunger in his eyes matches the frenzy building between your legs, a gnawing need that has you gasping with each stroke.

“mmh.. love y— love you too..” you force out, lips trembling.

“uh-huh..” hamzah breathes, his voice rough, practically growling as he watches you fall apart beneath him. “oh — fuck, baby, you’re taking me so well,”

you whine at his words, and you can feel the heat building in your stomach, the pressure mounting with each thrust. you’re almost there, your abdomen tenses as the pressure in your tummy builds.

“please.. harder, hamzah,” you beg, barely able to form the words as your body quakes beneath him.

his lips curl into a dark smirk. he drives into you with twice the effort, setting a punishing new pace.

a low growl vibrates in his chest, pleasure surging through both of you, turning your minds to mush. the way he’s moving, the way he fills you — each thrust is making it harder to think, harder to breathe.

“fuck,” you choke out, your voice cracking with need as you meet his pace. his strokes are relentless now, the pressure building at an unbearable pace. you can barely hold on, the sound of your frantic breaths and his skin slapping against yours filling the room.

hamzah watches your face, your lips parted in a silent plea, your chest rising and falling in desperation. he only moves faster, harder, like he’s chasing something just beyond reach. “c’mon,” he grunts. “get there for me, baby.”

you can feel every inch of him, the way he fills you completely, his every move making your body tremble, your senses on fire.

your legs tremble as you reach the edge, the world around you blurring. “hamzah, i — m’there, feels so..” you gasp, desperate for release, your voice raw with need.

he nods erratically, his hips stuttering as his sanity slips along with yours. “yeah, give it to me,” he moans, his voice rough yet on the verge of being whiny. “finish f’me, be the good girl that you are.”

with a final, deep thrust, everything breaks. your body convulses, and the pleasure washes over you in waves, almost too much to handle. your moans spill out breathlessly along other broken, incomplete sentences as you shudder beneath him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

hamzah closely follows you over the edge, his body shaking as he finally releases, spilling into you with a low, guttural growl. his body collapses on top of yours, both of you trying to catch your breath, the room now filled with nothing but the sound of your rapid breathing and the faint hum of your heartbeat in the aftermath.

for a long time, neither of you speak. there’s really nothing else to be said. your breathing falls in sync.

the heat between you is still buzzing, alive. his fingers trace lazy patterns along your hip, his lips brushing against your temple. his small, absentminded gestures feel just as intimate as everything else that just happened.

“you okay?” he eventually murmurs, voice still thick with exhaustion.

you nod weakly, your fingers threading through his hair, nails dragging gently along his scalp. “mhmm.”

he smirks, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before finally shifting, rolling onto his side but keeping you close, tangled up in him. “told you, going slow would be worth it.”

you scoff and roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. he just grins in response, knowing he’s right.

and he is right, he really is. it wouldn’t have been the same if he didn’t make you wait. after not seeing each other for so long, rushing — despite how badly you wanted to — wouldn’t have been nearly as romantic or special.

you huff, tucking yourself closer against his chest. hamzah’s arms tighten around you instinctively, like holding you is second nature, no matter how long you spend without each other.

xoxo giulia

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — TWO.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 7.6k.

NOTE. i tagged this as hate to love. i meant it. na jaemin is an objectively shitty person and i’ve given myself the herculean task of trying to redeem him (if ever) HAHAHHAHAHAHA. also, i tried to cut as many corners as i could in the trial scene. don’t expect it to be accurate. anyway, hope this chapter is fun! please let me know what you think! NEXT CHAPTER TO BE PUBLISHED.

YOU DIDN’T THINK YOU’D EVER FEEL THIS KIND OF DREAD ON A MONDAY AGAIN. The usual dread borne out of starting yet another week as a capitalist slave is given. It’s nothing special. But the dread you feel today as you drive to Yeongdeungpo Police Station (yet again, to the point that you’re starting to feel like an inmate yourself) is a dread that you haven’t felt in a long ass while.

Specifically, eight years ago. You’re like a broken record at this point, but it doesn’t stop you from continually cursing Na Jaemin in your mind as you stomp through the echoing halls of the station. Officer Jung is leading the way yet again to the visitation room, all while suffering from the brunt of your temper.

“He didn’t decline your request today,” he starts, attempting to make conversation.

No fucking shit, you reply in your head. “Thank you for the patience, officer,” you vocalize with a constipated smile. 

It seems like Officer Jung managed to catch the eye roll you didn’t intend for him to see. He gives you one polite smile and doesn’t make any more attempts after that, speaking only once you’ve reached the visitation room to unlock it and wish you luck with a nod. 

You thank him, sucking in a deep breath as you force your joints to start creaking. Luck. The door clicks behind you. You damn need more than luck to get through this meeting and this entire case. You need the very devil’s mercy and cooperation.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

But the devil isn’t a merciful man. You swallow down a lump in your throat and force out a smile.

“How have you been?”

He stares you down with the weight of a thousand suns, stabbing you right in the gut with a pain enough to incite a wave of nauseous vomit. “Get on with it,” he rasps. “I don’t think you got Mark on my ass just for some stupid fucking small talk. Hurry up and get on with it.”

Your smile twitches. This guy has never learned how to speak nicely.

*‎

(You’ve established that your new seatmate is Na Jaemin. Yet that’s all you’ve come to know about him up until the bell rings to signal lunch time.

Carefully sneaking out of your seat, you peer down to see that he’s still deep asleep. You huff. Wow. Four classes have gone by, and this guy slept through it all. And none of the teachers even called him out— only going as far as sending a look of resigned acknowledgement at your direction, sometimes even relief. Sometimes fear.

Anyhow, that first half of your day was enough to answer why Natty gave you that warning earlier: that the seat you chose was the worst one possible— next to the very embodiment of trouble, even if you don’t know the details just yet.

Despite not knowing much, you’re already blaming him for the fact that you’re eating lunch alone. 

The heat from the stew broth pricks at the skin of your lips as you scan around the cafeteria. You notice a few familiar faces scattered around, all sitting either in pairs or in groups in their respective seats and tables. You even lock eyes with Natty at some point, who simply averts your gaze with guilt ridden twitch as she turns head to her friend, someone you don’t recognize was in your class. 

Seems like you were doomed from the moment you sat your ass down on that seat. Fuck’s sake. Whoever this Na Jaemin guy is, you don’t like him already. You decide to temper your annoyed steps with some ice cream from the snack bar, seeing that there’s still a couple of minutes left before the afternoon bell. You pick up an extra snack as well— a melon bread wrapped in green tinted plastic. Something to pick at from under your desk as you go through your afternoon classes. You grab a can of pink peach soda to drink on the way back.

Upon returning to your classroom, the first thing you notice is the fact that no one else is here when there’s only five minutes left before lunch.

The second thing you notice— 

“Hey, you.”

There is, in fact, someone here.

Na Jaemin had sat up from the cross-armed, sleep-ridden slump he’d been in all morning. He’s awake. Now that his face isn’t buried, you finally have something to match the name.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?”

There’s a distinct scowl on his face as he sets his phone down on his desk, shoulders slacked and sitting with his legs apart, which pushed your seat away to the very edge of your desk space. 

You feel a twitch in your brow. The annoyance prompts your feet to move close, triggers your mouth to open and speak back. “What?” you start. “There’s—there’s a bell that—”

“I was fucking asleep, you dumb fuck.” Na Jaemin cuts you off, and you flinch. “You think I’d hear a damned bell when I’m knocked the fuck out?” 

A gut feeling kicks in, forcing you to preemptively stop, look down, and choke down the remnants of your words into a stifling silence. You try to take a peek at Na Jaemin’s expression, but the sound of a tongue clicking in annoyance and the reeling back of a chair forces your eyes to continue staring at the classroom floor, feeling your entire body reverberating with the loud sound of your heartbeat as Na Jaemin’s presence loom closer. 

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“S—sorry,” you sputter out. “I’ll…I’ll wake you tomorrow.”

For a brief moment, you manage to take a quick glance at na Jaemin’s face, standing right before you.

And the sheer disdain and annoyance in his eyes makes you instantly regret that very decision.

“Useless.” You flinch back down and  hear him release a huff as he snatches the half-drunk peach soda from your hands. Your feet are nailed to the ground, and Na Jaemin proceeds to down the remnants of the drink before tossing the empty can back to you, shoving past you as the bell rings— and you hear a fumble of apologies from outside the door as Na Jaemin saunters out of the classroom.

Finally looking up, you see your classmates crowding outside the classroom, some slowly trickling in upon noticing that the coast is clear. 

You don’t think you’re wrong to assume that they’d seen everything that happened in the room. You don’t think you noticed wrong either that they’re deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

All of them make it to their seats. No one tries to talk to you after that, but that’s not the topmost thing that you’re troubled with.

You promised to wake Na Jaemin up for lunch tomorrow. You might have just become his personal alarm clock.)

*‎

In retrospect, that was a completely void agreement. God, it pisses you off thinking just how much of a doormat you were. Still are, considering you’re barely keeping it together sitting in front of Na Jaemin when you’re supposed to be the authoritative figure here. It pisses you off even more knowing that he doesn’t even remember you. 

His impatient taps on the wooden table echo and bounce off the walls of the visitation room. 

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you inhale sharply. “Your hearing is this Thursday, two days from now. I’ve already made the necessary preparations for your defense, and—”

“So, you’re finally getting me out?”

Can this son of a bitch let you fucking speak? “Hopefully,” you promptly answer. “I’m confident in the case I’ve prepared. However, there’s…something I need you to do in order to ensure that the judge will rule in our favor, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

Here we go. You gotta tread this carefully. Very carefully, because you know damn well that Na Jaemin doesn’t like being ordered around. 

“It is very likely that the prosecution will call you to the witness stand. You have every power to invoke your right against self-incrimination. But in our case, allowing yourself to be cross-examined by the prosecution would actually be favorable for us as a testament to your innocence, so long as you stick to the script.” It’s hard to get a hint of how well he’s receiving this because you’re too scared shitless to look him straight in the face. All you can do is hope he’s actually listening and not picking his ears as you continue to prattle on. “You just have to agree to Atty. Jung Sungchan’s line of questioning— even the fact that you fought the witnesses. However, you have to say that you didn’t start the fight. You don’t remember how the fight started. And you sustained significant injuries yourself.”

Na Jaemin got out of that altercation with just a few bruises and scratches, but the doctor Mark Lee referred you to was able to turn that into a couple broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He agreed to attest to the medical report on the stand as well.

The only missing piece you really need right now is Na Jaemin’s testimony and cooperation. 

His lack of response does not bode well for you. The room swallows you up in its cold and eerie silence. “Do you…follow…Na Jaemin-ssi…?” you try to prod out a response. And you get a response, all right.

Just not the kind of response you’d been praying for.

“Are you saying that I have to go up there, pretend I took a beating from those sissy fucks, and act all pathetic and pitiful like a little bitch?”

There’s an angry kick against the table. You suck down a breath when you feel the wooden edge jam against your ribcage.

“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, ignoring the sharp pain on your torso because that’s the least of your problems right now. Why…why does he have to be so goddamn difficult? Fuck’s sake. “Na Jaemin-ssi,” you exhale. “I’m not—I’m not telling you to do all those things. I’m just saying that the only way we could see your full acquittal is if we prove that Yoon Naksung and his party were also at fault.”

“We? That’s your damn job, attorney. You want me to do your fucking job for you?” 

This is different from when he was trying to deliberately push your buttons last time.

He’s mad. He’s really freaking mad.

“Get out. Get the fuck out.”

You know a warning when you hear one. You waste no time gathering yourself and speed walking out the door— half out of fear, mostly out of angered frustration because holy fuck. This is a mess. You’re so fucking screwed. Sure, you managed to get Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong to cooperate with you. Sure, you managed to get a doctor to fake his medical exam. But all that would be useless if your bastard of a client decides to run his mouth and brag about just how much he wrecked those idiots’ asses.

Say, you don’t force him to testify. Once the witnesses come out and follow the script you made, the judge might still compel Na Jaemin to take the stand to confirm things. If he says anything to the contrary, you’re as good as screwed. At best, you’d lose the case. At worst, you’d be charged with contempt of court, and you can kiss your license goodbye.

That’s how your meeting ends— with a looming sense of dread that follows you out the doorway.

You exit the visitation room as if you’d just gotten your life ripped out from your own hands. It doesn’t go under Officer Jung’s notice, who’d been waiting by the door. 

“JJS is always handling the tough cases,” he remarks.

You grunt. “Give us a call when you wanna get silly with your gun and try shooting at random civilians.”

Thank god he doesn’t attempt any more small talk, nor does he follow you out. You’re way too exhausted right now— mostly emotionally and psychologically, and you’ve almost broken yourself down to simply just admit defeat and abandon this motherfucker’s ass. He can continue being a bitch in jail for all you care. You’re done. You’re so fucking done. You decide that you don’t give a shit anymore and give Mark a call right outside the station.

Four rings. Then he picks up. “Hey,” you immediately start. “What will you do if I fail to release your dog?”

Mark Lee never even got the chance to greet you back when you tossed this question at him. “Hmm,” he ponders, leaving a gap for a quiet pause. “That’s not something I’ve even considered, attorney. I really value our relationship thus far.”

You don’t even give him a response before ending the call. Your arm falls limp on your side. Fuck. You’re so dead.

Either in the hands of Mark Lee, or Na Jaemin, should you continue trying to push him. You’ve only ever seen the lengths of the latter’s violence. You don’t intend on finding out just how much of a psycho the former is. So death by Na Jaemin, it is.

You bring your phone up and call Mark again and ask for another meeting with your client tomorrow. He says he’s always happy to oblige.

*‎

(At some point, after a whole week of being Na Jaemin’s alarm clock, you started to wonder— why the hell do you have to keep doing this?

Lunch bells. Dismissals. Having to leave the classroom for gym or for some other special class. He expects you to wake him up or else you’d get your fucking ass kicked, and even when you do wake him up, he gives you a nasty ass look as if he’s about to kick your ass, until you promptly squeak out that class has ended, or whatever your teachers’ instructed you to do that day.

It’s only after seven days of this bullshit that you realize that you don’t owe him. You’re under no obligation whatsoever to keep being his alarm lackey or answer to him in any way shape or form. He’s just a guy. He’s just a student, just like you. And you bet that he’s probably just bluffing. 

All he’s ever done is snatch your drink from you. He hasn’t even laid a hand on you.

So just as you march back to the classroom after having your lunch at the cafeteria— alone, because getting involved with Na Jaemin has ruined all your chances of making any friends— you decide that it’s finally time to put your foot down and tell him that you’re not his slave. You’re not doing this crap anymore.

Yet your newfound sense of will-power is promptly deflated when you slide open the classroom door and see that your seatmate isn’t snoozing in his usual spot.

In fact, no one is seated in their seats. Your brows furrow in confusion upon noticing that all your classmates are crowding the windows on the other side of the room, all pressing up the glass, gawking and gasping at the same thing.

“Is that Park Gunho from Class 9?”

“Yeah, dude. I heard him talking shit about Na Jaemin the other day, and— oh! Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Holy shit, is that blood?”

“Where the hell are the teachers?”

You managed to squeeze in between two of your classmates, looking through the glass and right at the crowded spectacle in the courtyard— just in time to watch Na Jaemin land a crunchy punch into Gunho’s nose that has you wincing, even when the fight is happening from several feet away. 

At this point, the other guy is barely standing on his feet. Practically limping when your demon of a seatmate twists his arm behind, only to shove a kick into his back, sending him straight to the dusty ground. You watch as Na Jaemin stomps a foot into the poor guy’s knuckle’s. You can’t hear Park Gunho from here, but you can feel his choked up yelp penetrating into your skin and shuddering into your bones. Holy shit. This guy is a fucking monster. And you almost just offered yourself up to him like an idiot.

The worst part about it is the fact that Na Jaemin looks like he’s having the time of his life. There’s this crazed look on his face as he walks up to Gunho who’s trying to lip away— only to be yanked by the hair and slammed back into the ground— pinned down by Na Jaemin’s foot as the latter huffs out a grin, and says something that fails to reach your ears.

Needless to say, you’re horrified. This could have been you. 

Na Jaemin seems to have heard your thoughts because right at that moment, he snaps his head up, pinstruck gaze shooting through the windows of your classroom— looking directly at you.

Your blood runs cold. You gulp.

Someone draws the curtains back down. “Fuck, you don’t think he say our faces, do you?” You feel yourself stumble back, and with lightheaded steps, you guide yourself to your assigned seat, and start praying to whatever’s up there that Na Jaemin did not recognize you from down there. 

Much to your relief, he doesn’t return upon the right of the afternoon bell. He comes back between fifth and sixth period, looking like he’s in the best mood he’s ever been throughout your first week here, and it drives an even deeper pit of dread in your stomach.

The classroom grows colder as he comes nearer to your desk. He haphazardly draws the chair next to you back, you flinch, and he sets himself down with satisfied huff, right before assuming his usual position— arms crossed on the desk, serving as his pillow for the rest of the class day. “Oi,” he muffles out to the only person he could be talking to right now— you. There’s still blood on his uniform sleeve. You start to feel nauseous. “Wake me when the bell rings.”

You thought that that fight between him and Park Gunho was the worst thing you’ll ever witness in Ganghak.

Turns out, things would just get worse from here).

*‎

“All rise! The court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Bae Joohyun, presiding.”

It takes all the strength in your body to get up and not fall over from a mere gust of wind from the courtroom’s ventilation system. You’re exhausted. You haven’t gotten any sleep last night from the crippling anxiety of what’s waiting for you today. It took everything in your power to just look presentable for today’s trial. 

You’re a shell of a human being— that much is obvious considering you’re one step behind when Judge Bae instructs everyone to be seated. 

“We are here on the case of Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong versus Na Jaemin. Is the prosecution ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Is the defense ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.” No, you’re fucking not. You did in fact manage to meet with Na Jaemin one last time yesterday, and you barely managed to acquiesce something of an agreement out of him— most likely because he was threatened by Mark. But you’re not sure if that threat was strong enough for him to actually cooperate with you today.

“Very well. Prosecution, you may make your opening statement.”

Speaking of the bastard, you notice from the corner of your eye Na Jaemin’s unabashed yawn while Jung Sungchan introduces himself and his clients. God. This is a sickening set up— him sitting directly to your right. It’s like this day was designed specifically to make you feel like you’re back in that hell. More than anything, you just want this over and done with. 

“Thank you. May I request the defense to make your opening statement.”

As you make your way to the designated podium, you cross paths with Jung Sungchan. He shoots you an over confident grin and walks past you with his nose high. You chew down a string of swears and curses. Every single man you’ve been dealing with as of late is determined to ruin your life. You hope they all run out of toilet paper every time they have to shit in a public restroom. You hope their zippers get caught every time they have to zip up their pants.

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen, the opposing counsel, a pleasant morning.” At this point, your soul is still completely detached from your body. Your mouth is practically moving all by itself as you do your introduction. “The prosecution argues that my client, Na Jaemin, is guilty for disturbing the peace and three counts of physical injury against Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong.” As you say this, your eyes and your eyebags trail across the prosecution’s table, locking eyes with the latter two as you scan past them. “We acknowledge that our party has done some injury to the witnesses. There is a fault in that. However, it is a well understood doctrine that two faults don’t make a right.”

If your client can’t cooperate to save his own ass, those two better do.

They’re smarter than Na Jaemin. They know what’d come for them if they don’t. 

“Your honor, the witnesses have acted in pari delicto, sustaining equally grave injuries against my client, and therefore have no right to seek legal relief. A verdict of guilt against my client would be a grave mockery to our justice system when the ones seeking justice are equally at fault. We hope that you will see the wisdom in our defense. Thank you very much.”

The moment you return to your seat and Jung Sungchan is called first to make their case, your brain continues moving in autopilot. You’re so tired. You’re so damn tired. You know that you should be setting Na Jaemin straight right now, but you can’t find it in yourself to even talk to him without bursting a blood vessel. Jung Sungchan continues to present their evidence— affidavits from his witnesses, a janky recording of Na Jaemin and the other three leaving a bar located right on the cusp of Yeongdeungpo and Mapo, separately where they’d allegedly first bumped into each other, and the same exiting the frame. 

Eventually, he calls Na Jaemin to the witness stand. The air refuses to enter your lungs as the bailiff leads him up the courtroom. You’ve re-oriented him with what he has to do yesterday. You close your eyes, press your palms together underneath the table, and mutter out pleas and manifestations that your instructions managed to get through his thick skull, that an angel would somehow possess him today and prevent him from screwing you over.

But you haven’t done enough good deeds in your lifetime to be granted this one wish.

Jung Sungchan asks him if he admits to being the person who caused Yoon Naksung and the rests’ injuries.

Na Jaemin responds with a shit eating grin saying, “Yeah, I fucking did it.” 

Your face contorts in horror. Your eyes fly wide open, blood draining from your cheeks. Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking hell, please no. Your demon sent client looks like he wanted to elicit his kind of reaction from you— smiling at you from the witness stand, and you feel your nails dig into your clenched palms, biting into the thin skin of your flesh.

To make matters worse, he doubles down. He’s determined to kill you right here and now. “That guy nearly pissed himself when I socked him in the—”

“Your honor!”

This is a stupid fucking move to make, but you’re panicking. And that very panic easily seeps out of your skin and burrows into the notice of your opponent from the other table. Jung Sungchan’s eyes are both sparking incredulously and victoriously at this pretty blatant concession. To think your own client would fuck you over. You’re about to cry. You’re fuming. You’re dying from embarrassment.

“I’d— I’d like to request a short recess to meet with my client.”

Judge Bae narrows her eyes at you. “Overruled.” Yeah, you didn’t expect that to be granted. Fucking hell. You sink back into your seat in defeat, the dread that had once only been creeping up to you now completely swallowing you whole. “Counsel, please continue with your questioning.

No, it’s okay. This is fine, you think to yourself. You still have your witnesses. You’re not totally screwed yet. Maybe that would be enough to dismiss this damned case. Maybe that would be enough to let you walk away scot free.

“Ahem,” Jung Sungchan clears his throat. “Na Jaemin-ssi. Can you tell us the events that unfolded after the four of you left the bar?”

Silence.

“Na Jaemin-ssi…?”

“I don’t feel like answering.”

You let out a muffled noise as you bury your face in your hands. Your face is burning. Not only is he trying to screw you over, he wants to mortify you in front of everyone here.

“Defendant.” Judge Bae Joohyun has decided to intervene. “Are you…invoking your right against self incrimination?”

You almost let out an anguished cry and slam your forehead against the table when Na Jaemin responds with a, “Sure.”

The bailiff escorts him back to your table, and he’s all smiles when he sits down. Is he happy now that he’s thrown a big ass fucking wrench in your plans? Does he not give a fuck that he might get incarcerated as long as he sees you miserable? What a sadomasochistic psychopath, you hope he burns in hell.

“You don’t look too good, attorney,” you hear him chipper from beside you. 

Your head snaps to the side. You hear a crash from inside your ears.

For the first time, you look this son of a bitch dead in the eye— and you might not have a mirror, but you don’t think you’re looking at him pretty pleasantly. In fact, you can feel your own self going lightheaded from the sheer animosity darting through blood vessels in your brain.

Jung Sungchan calls Ma Gildong to the stand, and you turn your head back to the front. Sure, the bastard next to you might have thrown a wrench into your plans, but you still have a few working cogs left— and they better fucking work properly. You think you still have that same, manic look in your eyes when you meet Gildong’s gaze from across the courtroom because he visibly gulps and clears his throat.

Jung Sungchan starts questioning him, and he does just as well as you hoped (unlike the last guy). That rookie attorney gets caught off guard when his client answers with a stuttering, “I—I don’t remember,” in response to Jung Sungchan’s request to recount who started the fight that night. “It all happened suddenly. It was hard to tell exactly who.”

“Witness Ma Gildog,” the judge intercepts once again. “In the affidavit you submitted, you stated that the defendant was the one who started the altercation without warning. What is the meaning of this?”

Ma Gildong looks at you. You look him dead in the eye and he promptly looks away with a hard swallow.

“I…I only wrote that because Naksung hyung told me to.”

Fuck yes.

“We—were were all drunk when it happened. It was hard to tell who started the fight. I didn’t even want to pursue this case, he—he was just pissed that that guy got more punches in.”

“What?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Order!”

You watch as the bailiff tries to settle Yoon Naksung down. You stifle down a smile. This whole trial wouldn’t have been necessary if he had only been as cooperative as the other two. God, you wouldn’t have needed to deal with this headache either. 

You hear Judge Bae set down the gavel.  “There seems to be some unresolved issues with the prosecution side,” she starts with a sigh. “In this case, let us have a short recess. We will reconvene after thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes. That’s just fucking perfect.

“Recess? Are we having a snack break, attorne—”

“Please allow us to use one of your conference rooms.” You quickly shoot up and cut off Na Jaemin, a polite stance directed at the bailiff near you. “That would be alright, right?”

The way the bailiff looks at you makes you come to the conclusion that you don’t look exactly sane right now. Nevertheless, he humors you and leads both you and Na Jaemin to one of the available conference rooms in the district court. It’s hard to grasp the fact he is being very docile right now, lazily looking around with cuffed hands before him as he trails beside you, under the watchful eye of the court sheriff.

A door is opened before you. The moment the bailiff allows you and your client and closes the door behind, you swivel your heels, grab Na Jaemin by the fucking collar, and ram him against the wall with a loud rattle.

Your years and years of disdain for this guy just came to a breaking point today.

You’ve had fucking enough of his difficult attitude.

“Listen.” Your voice comes off as a hiss more than anything. You hear the sound of his handcuffs clatter when you shove him harder against the wall. You feel your nails dig into your palms through the collar of his shirt. You’re beyond livid. “I am trying my god damned best to get you out of here, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’re the last person I want to help. You’re the last person I could give a shit about, but here I fucking I am— fighting tooth and nail for you, for christ’s sake. I literally had to build up a defense out of nothing just to clear you from incarceration. All I asked is for you to not throw a fit, to follow my damned script, to sit still and still pretty for the rest of this stupid trial, and you couldn’t even fucking do that?”

Much to your surprise, Na Jaemin looks pretty much caught off guard. Not intimidated by any means, but he does keep his mouth shut, repeatedly blinking his somewhat widened eyes at you— the only other expression you’ve ever seen from him other than a scowl and that bastardized grin of his.

Another beat of silence. Your upper lip twitches into a snarl. “Useless fuck.” 

You roughly let go of him with a grunt and roll back your shoulders, facing your back to him and release a sigh. Whew. That felt so fucking good. 

Without another word, you take quick strides out the conference room, greeting the bailiff outside with a sweet and refreshed smile, maintaining that same air as you return back to the courtroom, an uncharacteristically cooperative Na Jaemin in tow.

The trial resumes. He doesn’t do anything stupid again after that because you’ve decided to completely remove him from the equation. Ma Gildong and Hong Hyunjae submitted new affidavits as evidence. Jung Sungchan and Yoon Naksung are red-faced and look like they’re sitting on burners from hell— even more so when it’s finally your turn to present your case, speaking before the court with a now clear head and your cards in place. When you call Dr. Qian Kun to the stand to attest to Na Jaemin’s physical exam result, the prosecution table is practically deflated in defeat by then.

You return to the defendant’s table. Your shoulders haven’t felt this light in weeks. Even lighter when the court finishes deliberation, and Judge Bae announces the final verdict.

“In light of the criminal charges against Na Jaemin—”

You inhale sharply.

“The court finds insufficient evidence to declare his guilt beyond reasonable doubt.”

Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.

“Now, the civil liabilities attached to this case— the witnesses’ participation in the aforementioned offenses creates a unique situation. When both parties are at equal fault or in pari delicto, neither the courts nor law will grant relief to the parties. Although the defendant, Na Jaemin, had indeed inflicted less serious physical injuries against the witnesses, the witnesses have inflicted the same upon the defendant.”

Oh, fuck yeah.

“This court hereby dismisses the case without prejudice for want of prosecution. Court is adjourned.”

There is no one happier in this court than you right now. You lock eyes with Jung Sungchan from across the room. You stick your tongue out because you don’t give a damn anymore.

You’re free. You don’t have to deal with Na Jaemin ever again. You’re fucking free.

*‎

Well, you spoke too soon.

“What...what are you doing here…?”

Four days later, you see the very bastard sitting on your chair at the JSS office. He’s swiveling around, stopping the turn with a foot down to look at you. “Oh,” he starts. “Took you fucking long enough.”

Seriously. What have you done to deserve this? Nevermind, you’ve done a lot of things to deserve ten years worth of bad karma, but that’s neither here nor there. You’d just gotten back from a meeting with one of your clients— a normal client: a sweet, old lady who was drafting her last will and testament to make sure none of her nutjob sobs get even a percentage from her estate. 

The meeting ran longer than expected because the lady kept trying to ask you if you’re single and would be interested to meet one of her nephews. So, you’d just returned back to the office at 6 p.m., most of your co-workers having clocked out already, only to be bitch slapped in the face with this psycho again, not even a week since you’ve last seen him.

You ignore him, eyes flitting up to the direction of your boss’s office. The light is still on. You grit your teeth. This son a bitch’s entry was permitted by the other son of a bitch. If he’s miserable, he should keep his misery to himself.

“Hey, attorney. I’m tryna talk to you.”

“Y—yes?” you choke out, taking a step back when Na Jaemin rises to his feet. God damn it. Your outburst mid-trial was an isolated case as a result of your pent up emotions. You can’t be brave anymore— and he notices.

There’s a slight raise in his brow when you flinch back, a barely visible smile playing on his face. It’s almost like this bastard can smell fear, and you’re completely lathered in it. “You were pretty gutsy enough to swear at my face and shove me around the other day,” he says, voice low. “What happened to all that spunk, attorney?”

You bite down the swear at the tip of your tongue. “I sincerely apologize for my inappropriate behavior that day.” You’re doing your damn best to keep your head down, but it’s increasingly difficult when this guy is trying to get all up in your space. “Any—anyhow. What business do you have with JSS, Na Jaemin-ssi?”

A flip switches. Na Jaemin suddenly looks very annoyed.

“Ugh. Right,” he grunts, digging into his inner jacket pockets like it’s a chore before pulling out an envelope. A really thick envelope. Your eyes widen. He hands it over to you. “The boss wanted to give his extra thanks.”

Extra thanks for risking your life to release one of his mutts. Holy shit. You say nothing as you take the envelope from his hands, the weight of the paper bills pulling you down heavier than they’re supposed to be. You clear your throat and stuff it into the bag you’ve yet to set down on your desk. “Why didn’t he come in person?”

“He’s out on business,” Na Jaemin flatly replies. Then, there’s a twinge on his tongue when he follows it up, “Why? You want to see him that badly?”

The fuck? That very through slips through expression for a second. Na Jaemin clocks this. 

A grin takes over his expression. He releases a bare laugh when he walks past you with a hand on your shoulder. “I gotta hand it to you. You’re pretty damn good at pulling shit out of your ass out of nothing.” 

Your breath hitches when you feel a firm squeeze. Na Jaemin releases you with a hum and a pat and finally starts fucking leaving.

“See you around, attorney.”

When you’ve confirmed that the psycho has finally left, you immediately lunge for your chair and release a long and hefty breath.

Jesus fucking christ. How many times do you have to tell these Nalkeutta bastards that you never want to see their faces again? Not enough, apparently. Because the next day, Mark Lee makes a visit to your office again. He greets you a good morning and you quietly tell him to leave you alone and never talk to you again. He laughs and disappears into Doyoung’s office for the next two hours, before stopping by at your desk again to inquire about your desk nameplate preferences.

“Do you prefer acrylic or marble?” he asks, peeking out from behind your desktop computer.

“Gold,” you soullessly respond. “Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow.”

“Very particular.” Your eyes flit up to see his pleasant smile, and it just ruins your day further. It gets worse when Kim Doyoung follows not long after him. “Oh, Mr. Kim,” Mark greets. “I was just about to head out.”

“Yes, allow me to accompany you down to the lobby, Mr. Lee,” Doyoung chimes in. You look up at him as he leers down at you, noticing that you are, in fact, here. “Congratulations on yet another winning case, attorney.”

He’s five days late. “Thank you. Are you gonna give me my own office yet?”

“You know very well JSS isn’t in the position to grant you that.”

Very expected response, but you’re annoyed anyway. They finally leave you alone so you can mentally curse them once you die from overwork and overexertion. Indeed, you know very well that JSS isn’t in the best spot right now. Your firm’s reputation has been slowly nosediving lately— fully getting tanked recently because of your latest acquittal of Na Jaemin.

The general public has been questioning your integrity as a law firm. That much is fucking expected when you’re partnered with the biggest crime organization in the district. It’s not that this partnership is a recent thing. But with the establishment of a new law firm within your territory, the GP now has a point of comparison to notice just how many obvious criminals JSS has helped to subvert the rule of law.

These articles and nasty forum posts have been the source of Kim Doyoung’s stress as of late. During the next few weeks, you watch his mood sour and sour by the day after every meeting with the higher-ups.

The source of the problem is obvious, but it’s not like JSS can just cut ties with Nalkeutta to clean its name. In fact, it would the dumbest move ever, practically industry suicide considering Mark Lee and his company is your highest paying client. Not only that. All of the firm’s employees practically have immunity from the hefty protection fees all Yeongdeungpo residents have to pay weekly just to pay the streets. And you don’t want to make an enemy out of Nalkeutta either by cutting them off. Your firm is caught in between rock and a hard place with no easy way out.

“I think the boss has started to grow white hairs lately,” Jungwoo tells you over coffee in the breakroom. 

“Why…are you looking at his hair?” you ask, almost worriedly. Jungwoo simply shrugs and you two watch as Kim Doyoung stomps into the breakroom in a fit again to angrily snatch a glass and nearly rip the fridge open for the pitcher of lemon water you started to make every morning, overpouring into the glass before chugging it clean and slamming the glass down on the counter.

He didn’t even ask for permission. What a monster.

Anyhow, you could give less of a shit about JSS’s steadily dwindling reputation. This ain’t your problem to fix. It’s your higher up’s problem. It’s Kim Doyoung’s problem, and— quite frankly— the peak of your week is seeing his grumbling swears every time he stomps out of another admin meeting, watching him scratch at the growing grey hairs at the back of his head through his private office like it’s your own personal TV show. 

It’s such a great sight to see. Added to the fact that you haven’t received a call from Nalkeutta lately, whether it be for consultations or just simple blotter charges, they haven’t been bothering you at all. In short, you’ve been having the best two weeks of your life. 

It comes to a peak when Kim Doyoung calls you to his office one day, prompting the assumption that JSS’s reputation situation has become way, way worse to the point that the firm needs the help of its rank and file employees like you to settle the matter. 

“Damn, good luck. Let me know what’s up,” Jungwoo sends you off.

Honestly, you’re looking forward to having a front row seat to Kim Doyoung’s meltdown, if things have gotten as bad as you think. Your knuckles tap against the wooden entrance to his office, and you’re filled with a longing envy when he tells you to come in because damn— must be nice to have an office of his own. Why does he always have a stick up his ass when he’s got his own 150 square feet kingdom where he can do whatever he wants?

“Come in.”

Muct to your surprise, however, Kim Doyoung looks well rested today.

The moment you step in, you notice that his usual constipated expression is nowhere to be found on his face. In fact, his skin is perfectly clear. His white button up is crisp and tidy. His glasses are shining. His hair is neat and styled— as though it hasn’t been run through a million times today.

Whoa. What the hell? Who is this? Who is this man in front of you?

“How has your work been, attorney?” he starts, elbows on the desk, chin resting on interlocked fingers. 

You tentatively make your way closer to his desk, slightly unnerved at this sudden disposition switch. “The same as usual.”

“That’s good to hear,” he hums. He’s humming. Kim Doyoung is humming. What? He sets his fingers on a folded piece of paper that’s been sitting on his desk, promptly pushing it forward to you. “Read this.” You’re beyond creeped out. You have no idea what’s going on, but you follow instructions anyway, inching a step closer to peel the paper from the glass surface of his desk, and unfold it in your hands. 

He wants you to read it. So, you do.

The moment your eyes register the heading, your neck cranes, squinting. “Sir,” you say, holding the paper down. “Are you sure you gave me the correct sheet?”

“Yes, yes,” he affirms, waving a hand in the air. “Please continue reading.”

You do. You read the heading once again. LETTER OF RESIGNATION, in bold and all caps. Followed by today’s date. Followed by your fucking name.

The paper wrinkles in your grasp. Haha. You don’t remember writing a resignation letter. “Sir,” you start again, voice coming off as a weak wheeze. “There must be some kind of mistake.”

“There’s no mistake,” Doyoung confirms, spinning a pen between his fingers before pushing it forward to you in the same manner as he did with the resignation letter in your hands— your resignation letter. The letter that says you’ve found better prospects elsewhere and sincerely value the experience and growth you’ve had with this firm. What the fuck is this bullshit? You don’t fucking understand. “Would you please affix your signature at the bottom, attorney? I didn’t have your e-signature. That’s why I had to call you out today.” 

Your stomach drops to the very depths of your gut. “You can’t just fucking do this,” you say with gritted teeth. Kim Doyoung readjusts his glasses and responds with a sigh.

“Attorney,” he starts. “You’re well aware of the problem our firm has been facing as of late, correct?” You nod. He continues. “It’s a difficult situation. However, Nalkeutta and JSS have managed to reach an amicable compromise.”

Oh no. Oh, god, do. He can’t do this to you. He can’t fucking do this to you.

“Starting today, you will no longer be JSS’s Junior Associate. You will be working as a private lawyer for Nalkeutta Security Company.”

“You fucking sold me out!”

“I did not ‘sell you out’. Think of it as a promotion.”

Your mouth is hanging open. Your blood is boiling to the point of evaporation. The resignation is a crumpled mess at this point. You slam it back down on his desk. “I can’t even get my fucking severance pay if I sign this damn thing!”

“I’m sure the benefits you’ll receive at Nalkeutta would outweigh any amount of a severance pay that JSS can offer you,” your boss— former boss— flatly replies. “Now. Please sign the letter.”

Your head is spinning. You’re nauseous as fuck. It’s not like you can just run away. Mark Lee would have your fucking head. Sure, you hate working under Kim Doyoung, but at least it made you feel like an actual lawyer, serving only as an occasional cleanup dog for that damned wretched company. With this, you’re not just dipping your toes into organized crime. You’d be fucking drowning in it.

“Sign right there— yes. Perfect. Thank you for your cooperation, attorney. It was a pleasure working with you.”

Nalkkeutta has officially ensnared you in its burning jaws, and you’ve got no way of getting out unscathed.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[chunkitakii]

A Fight Worth While

Conquest x Hero! Reader

There is almost NO fics abt this crazy ass man, so I'll just write my best because he has been on my mind ever since that episode came out. BTW this fic looks ass but I wanted to js push this one out there. But imagine this: your fighting Conquest along side Invincible. And this mf just starts to like you, and little TOO much…

WARNING: There will be sexual themes, skin licking, choking, typical violence, hints that reader will be uncomfortable (goes with the story but ik some of yall freaky and would take everything this man will give you.) You still find him attractive tho.

Read it on AO3!

Summary: You are a hero fighting Conquest; you later find out that he is really liking this fight. Like REALLY liking it… (Basically its just Conquest bullying tf outa you, and js making things weird like the weirdo he is. <3)

Buildings were no longer buildings, but rubles. The roads that once lay flat on the city ground no longer longer were present in this destruction. Civilians cry and groan, trying to either bring themselves out of the ruble, or trying to find and help others. The city was no longer a city, but a wasteland filled with debris and bodies. 

You had of course come to the city's help after hearing about the destruction. Cities around the world had become unrecognizable. You couldn’t stand by and watch it all happen. 

You hurriedly came to the scene. You couldn’t find the person who caused all of this, so you instantly went for the hurt civilians. They thanked you and ran to either seek shelter or help others. As you continued, your eyes grazed upon a scene in front of you. 

Many civilians cowered in fear, tears streaming down their faces as they whimpered from the man in front of them. You couldn’t blame them, because the man in front of them was one of the most intimidating things you had ever seen. Although you couldn’t see his face, his form itself sent shivers down your spine.  

He was huge…

He wore an all-white fit, and had a metal arm beside him. He foated menacingly above the civilians; it had looked like a predator catching their prey. And you couldn’t stand it; this might be your guy.

“You low-life insects are so puny, I could cry, but…that would just be weak.” The man spoke, his voice like gravel and his breath steady. He had begun to bring back his fist, he was about to kill the civilian underneath him. Their faces twisted in fear, some even began to accept their fate. It haunted you knowing that you were probably going to see them turn into mush under his hand.

Before he could land a hit, you took up all of your strength and flew at him with all of your might.  Luckily before he could react, the hero planted a blow right at his lower spine. Stopping him from ending these people's lives. It sent him flying across the town, you could feel a sense of satisfaction bubble within you.

The civilians below you showing their appreciation for you. “Thank you, thank you!” they cried, pools of tears running down your face. You had to remind them that while you were grateful, they were still on the battlefield. They all had acknowledged you, and had begun to run off to elsewhere, away from the war upon their city.

You felt a sense of pride fill you knowing that you had saved their lives, sparkling theme another day. But before you can bathe in the feeling, it quickly vanishes. You felt an ominous presence before you once again. The debris of the building had finally vanished, only giving you a view that sent fear down your spine. 

There he was once again, now facing you like you had done almost nothing to him. He had a couple of scratches sure, but he had only looked like you only just flicked him. It gave a sense that this man did not feel anything you had given him.

You could now see his face; he had a scar that came from the top of his head. It looked nasty, not to mention it made his appearance more intimidating. The scar had reached his eye that was white and cloudy. Leaving his other eye to stare down into you more.

Although from all of his fearful appearance, you could admit that he was somewhat of a good looking fellow. Although that was masked over the thoughts of him killing innocent lives.

He floated forward in the dusty air until he had stopped within an eye’s view. His shoulders squared as he stood tall. His gaze pierced through the unknown hero, analyzing their every inch. To the tips of your toes, to the top of your head. His eyebrows furrowed a little upon them; you could faintly hear him grumble from the depth of his chest. 

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the sight of him. If you stood side by side with him, he could easily dwarf you. Yet you still stood your ground, you had wanted to show him justice after what he had done. Though the thought of beating this man had become slimmer and slimmer just by looking at him. You would have to try and pull yourself together and prove yourself wrong.

“Are you the one destroying these cities and killing innocent civilians?” You asked; you already knew the answer to it. You just wanted to make sure, and hear this guy’s reason as to why. Curiosity might be the death of you.

He’s cold gaze then softened, then turned into a smirk as he looked at this assumed “hero” in front of him. He could try and have some fun with you. The previous heroes were not as much of a fight after all. It gave him a feeling much like a cat playing with its food before mauling to death. He had killed so many of these weak heroes, but they were always somewhat of entertainment to him. You would just be one more tally mark on the kill streak to him. Though from all of the other heroes of this planet, he felt himself taking a liking to you just by your appearance. You were smaller than him, and could easily be overpowered by him. But something told him that you were going to be worth his while.

“Hm…You know, you have more of a kick to your punch than the rest of those worms...” He muttered out, his eyes squinting at their form. He could see them visibly shiver from him, but their eyes remained determined.

Adorable…

The older man spoke up once again, straightening his posture to introduce himself. "I am Conquest, sent by the Viltomights to take over your feeble planet.” Conquest announced, eyes still remaining on the hero before him. He had seen the once determined face begin to sneer at him.

You felt a growl come out of your throat, at this point. You were ready to beat this guy’s ass for threatening your home planet. You didn’t want to hear another word from this man.

Conquest had felt satisfied at your reaction before continuing. “But to answer your question, yes, I am the one destroying these cities and killing lives.” He stated it in a mocking way to imitate how you asked him that same question before. “But not in Viltrumites name, but for my own pleasure.” Growling that last response out, he paused for a moment, leaning forward just a little. “And you are? I would like to know the person I'm going to tear apart...” Conquest asked, his tone darkened. But you wouldn’t dare to give him your name. Too angered by him and his actions, and he could tell the glare you gave him.

“Why would I? After what you have done here, I don’t think you even deserve it.” Venom spat out your thought, challenging him in a way. Conquest only chuckled at the hero’s remark, finding it cute that they were trying to insult him. His smile bared his crooked teeth down at you before saying his last remark to you. “It’s fine, I’ll know soon enough after I am done with you.” And with that, he serged towards them with a crazed expression. It made your heart drop knowing he was coming at you full speed. Luckily, you were faster.

Quickly, they moved to the side as they saw him zoom past them and stomp into the ground. As he got up, you saw the opportunity to hit Conquest as he was still turned around. You felt the adrenaline pulse through your veins as you brought a hand back to plow into the back of his skull. But he had already known your plan of action.

Suddenly, he twisted his body around and threw one single punch to the hero’s gut that made them spew out blood instantly. The blow had sent their body flying back into a building somewhere behind you. The building began to crush and crumble above them. They could feel many cuts and bruises taking form across their now injured body.

Conquest felt himself frown; he was disappointed with the thought that you were already done after that hit. Many heroes are after a single blow. At times, it was satisfying to let others know how truly strong he is. Though there could be times when he was disappointed with their weakness. Not many beings could even handle his strength; it was sad, really. But something gave him a feeling you were far from that. Right now, it looks like he might have to pull you out of the ground to continue this fight. 

With a closed-eyed sigh, he floated with an easy pace towards the downed hero. But what he didn’t expect was how fast you had gotten up. With his guard down, Conquest felt a piercing punch right in the middle of his face that sent his nose spewing out blood and onto your hand. The punch itself had made him land upon the ground roughly. Conquest was not shocked, but impressed by your durability. 

The punch itself should have at least ruined your intestines. Or even should have made you immobile for a while. But yet you had gotten up within seconds. Impressive, now lets see how long you would last against him.

The viltrumite was about to get up and continue the fight, but the fist then returned upon his face quickly turned into a full grasp as he felt himself being roughly dragged upon the city floor. He didn’t need to open his eyes to feel the angered expression on your face. He felt the heat of your adrenaline, your anger, your excitement.

You’re getting heated…

Good…

To you, it felt good putting this man in his place, the heat of the moment catching up on you. You couldn’t help but feel a smirk forming on your face. Who knows, maybe you could beat this guy.

You could now feel Conquest smile underneath your hand as he was getting dragged through the city. You didn’t have time to wonder if he was smiling until he suddenly grasped your arm. His hand wraps firmly against your forearm. And with a swift move, he swung them around and brought them down with him. Switching the both of their positions, you were now the one getting dragged across the ground with him untop of you.

Both of his hands gripped the chestpiece of your suit, keeping you from going anywhere but the rough and extremely hard ground. You grunted profusely, and as you looked up at the man above you. Conquest had stared right back at you with the same, crazed smirk that will probably haunt you in your dreams. 

“You are alot stronger than I thought, kid…” He grunted out.

Suddenly, without the two of you knowing, the both of them could feel themselves getting slammed into another building, which stopped him from dragging you any further, thankfully. Now that the two of you stopped moving, Conquest brought his metal hand to press you down further into the ground below you. His robotic hand had almost covered all of your chest, it didn’t help he was pressing down with an intense pressure. You groaned and tried to pry his hand off of you. But he didn’t budge, not one bit. Instead, he pressed down harder, and began to rub his fingers around their ribs, feeling you all around. Your flesh and your rib cage both.

Damn, this guy is weird.

“You know, you are really starting to entertain me, Sunshine.” Conquest spoke; the nickname he had given you rolled off of his tongue. To him, it was fitting for you considering he’s fighting a hero with some spice to them. This hero was a feisty little thing; it filled him with fire. Conquest also didn’t forget how cute they were to him; it had just made him want to cave your little chest in. But what had intrigued him more was the fact that they didn’t run away in fear like the rest of his opponents after a moment of fighting. It was too bad he had to end their weak little lives. But you, you continued to fight him with so much anger. A part of him sort of debated if he had wanted to kill you or not. 

“Not many have the strength to entertain me, I give you full credit for that.” He chuckled as he looked down upon you. You glared back up at him with that same fiery glare as you continued to try and pry his hand off, and oh how he loved it. “Go to hell, you psycho…” the hero grunted back at him.

They had begun to raise the legs until they gave a full-force kick into Conquest’s stomach to give you some space. As your legs gave a powerful kick to his stomach, he went stumbling backwards with a harsh groan. He had clutched his stomach in pain. As he was distracted only for a moment, you twisted your body around to give one more final blow, similar to a horse kick. Sending him backwards and into the air above. 

You followed him in the air shortly after, hopefully to plow him back into the earth’s core. Before you could even land the hit, Conquest turned around and wrapped both of his hands around your neck, and serged your body into the ground. The wind around you whistled in your ears, making you almost lose your ability to hear. You finally felt the ground below break as your body made contact with it. A wave of pain had hit your body; you had felt a metallic task in the back of your throat; no doubt that was blood.

Before you had regained full consciousness, you felt a weighing pressure on top of you, keeping you down on the ground. A warm but cold hand was still present on your throat, making sure that you were not going to get up and have the upper hand. Soon, they had gained the strength to open their eyes. Sadly, the only thing that had filled their vision was the one and only Conquest. He was breathing heavily, his shoulders moving with every breath. You could have swore you saw drool coming from his mouth.

He now had you practically in a cage, a cage formed by him. Conquest took a breathy exhale as he leaned forward until his head layed upon your shoulder. Conquest pressed almost all of his weight down onto them, making them slightly wheeze out from the pressure. Their legs were located on each side of his waist. His robotic arm was keeping him propped up by its forearm. Your hand was placed upon his shoulder to try and prevent him from moving closer than he already was.

“Look at you, Sunshine, being so good for me while you fight to your heart's content.” You could hear and feel his ragged breath against the part of your neck just below your ear. With the position the two of you were taking, it was sort of erotic. If someone where to walk by and find the two of you, it would look like a missionary position. And if anyone did, you were just going to call it quits and die.

Trying to get the erotic thoughts out of your head, you snapped at him. “Fuck you…” You groaned out as you tried almost the one hundredth time to get him off of you; Conquest still didn’t budge. You had only gotten a light chuckle from him.

“I can go at this for days, but I doubt you could even keep up with a viltrumite like me.” Conquest muttered against you. You could feel his pelvis upon yours, and you could even feel him. Every part of this man screamed huge, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to find that out. You let out a soft gasp at the contact as you tried pushing him off, “Get off of me asshole-” they gasped out, but each move they made had them moving into the man above them. Conquest had only grounded into them more, his smirk becoming bigger and bigger by the second. You could almost hear him groan above you, and he could hear you whimper underneath him. To him, that sound alone made him made up his mind about you. Conquest was definitely keeping you…

Now, the cogs in your head made you realize something,

Conquest was getting off by this. This sick fuck was getting off to you fighting him! 

You couldn’t help your face from getting warm by your situation. To save you from humiliation, you moved your face away from him. You still couldn’t really move due to his hand gripping at your thoat, so you had tried your best to fight his hand. Hopefully to escape from him seeing your warmth and embarrassed face. But what you didn’t realize was that you were giving him full access to your neck. Conquest felt you try and move away from him, he also felt how warm you had gotten. 

You instantly regretted it as you felt him smile wickedly against your neck. Conquest adjective his hand to where it wasn’t handling your neck, but hilding the side of it you keep you from moving away. He gave a soft inhale against your skin, inhaling your scent before he began to press his face further down onto their neck and rub his face all over you. At first, you thought he was just being weird and creepy. Yet the thought was quickly shut down as you felt a liquid spread across the side of your neck. It was warm yet cold at the same time. But then it hit you like a bullet train.

Conquest was rubbing his bloody nose all over you…

It had felt like he was marking you with his blood; you felt yourself cringe at the thought. His nose slid across every curve of your neck, making it slippery to the touch. This man wasn’t just a normal, powerful villain; this man was a crazed psychopath who gets off at this! You didn’t know if you could fight him anymore. You didn’t know if it was because you were too weirded out and scared, or because you were afraid you would like it. You would be lying to yourself that you didn’t find this man attractive. Yet this man had potentially killed millions, if not more! At this point, you were scared of both your feelings and conquest.

You whimpered as he trailed his face up to your cheek. Giving you a hard cheek nuzzle to spread his blood more on your face. You could hear him chuckle against your cheek, breathly but rough. After what had seemed like long, antagonizing minutes, he settled his forehead on theirs, staring deeply into them as if the two of you just made love. His half-lidded eyes held so much adoration while yours were wide and fearful ones. 

The sight alone had pleased him, turning him on more than he already was. You, covered in blood, it was a beautiful sight. He would do anything to keep you in a frame within his mind forever. The hero’s once fiery eyes were now replaced with fearful ones. It seemed they had now realized what and who they were up against. 

“Aw come on, don’t tell me you already lost that spark in you. Things were just starting to get fun.” Conquest whined; he loved the fact that a once confident hero, broken down into a weak worm from the man before them. But at the same time, Conquest wanted to continue this fight with you. You were so much stronger than the rest of those weak little worms that call themselves heros. But then again, he loved to show how he can easily dominate you in battle.

Maybe later he can break you down until you were a submissive little thing while he beats you into the ground.

His statement towards you alone had brought you back to reality. You had contemplated if you had wanted to flee, but now that he urged you to fight, you found that same spark that was once lost. His words replaying in your head, he thinks that you gave up. Like hell you were going to give up.

Conquest saw the light ignite in their eyes, their fury now showing within your colored orbs. They let out an infuriated growl as they quickly brought their head back and slammed it right into Conquest’s head. It brought him back into a sitting position, giving you room to move. Headbutting him so hard that even both of them saw white. But the pain didn’t stop them from pushing him into the ground and putting their fists into his face repreatedly. 

Ofcourse, Conquest only eat their punches up like it was a full course meal. He finally had enough of your little “tantrum” and finally caught your hands with a swift move. Conquest then socked you in your chest, but not too hard to send you flying. You had luckily landed on your feet a couple of feet away from him, but the air had vanished from your lungs, causing you to cough profusely. You only focused on getting the breath back into your lungs to realize that Conquest had already appeared behind you within a blink of an eye.

You then felt a pair of arms around you; feeling his head behind your back to lift you up into the air. The two of you were in a position where your back was against his chest, his arms cradling your waist from behind. You would use your arms, but they were pinned beside you by Conquest forearms. You could visibly see his arms flex around your waist.

You found yourself still not taking back the fact that this man was really attractive.

His shadow casted over the hero’s form, making them feel smaller than they already were. Of course they had tried to fight back, their back had tried to arch away from him. But that had only made him bring them closer towards his body. You could feel each muscle of his behind you, especially his chest.

“That’s it, get angry…” He growled lowly. His voice was low and quiet; it didn’t fail to make you weak in your knees. You felt disgusted with yourself. Luckily you weren’t even standing; well, you didn’t know if it was a good thing.

What had happened afterwords pretty much cleared that question. You felt Conquest tighten his grip on you, almost crushing you with his bare arms. He lifted you up slowly before quickly falling backward onto the ground, slamming your head into the hard ground as he suplexed you.

You could not even cry out in pain from how hard the blow was. Instead, the only thing heard from you was deep, jagged breaths. You had struggled to keep yourself conscious as he unhooked his arms and let your body fall to the ground. You tried to keep your body upright, but the painful throbbing in your head kept you from doing so. You left the new fresh blood seeping out from your head and onto your bruised face. 

Your vision was blurry from the attack. And yet the only thing you could recognize from your foggy vision was the figure that stood before you. It wasn’t rocket science to know it was Conquest. What gave it away was the taunting voice of his. “Come on, sunshine. I know you have some strength in you still. Your strong, and I believe in you, you know that?” Conquest spoke in a soft voice, but you weren’t fool to know that he wasn’t sincere. 

But yet you still tried to move your legs, try to sit up, or even try to move your head. But you still couldn’t stop the pain in the back of your head. And the beast of a man just sat there and watched. Conquest was not a patient man, so with the goodness of his heart, he thought he might as well help you. “Here, let me be of service to you.” He simply stated.

You saw his figure move towards your form. You tried to move away, but that quickly failed as he roughly picked you up by the front part of your suit. He held you just above the ground; you feel dangled below you. The two of you stared at each other, you with a pained expression, and Conquest with an emotionless face. He took a long look at you, his singular working eye grazing upon each cut and gash that occupied your face. Additionally, his own marking of blood that covered the whole right side of your face. Glistening in the bare sun like fine wine.

“But, I can admit, seeing you all beat up just excites me…” Conquest muttered before uppercutting you in the jaw with a swift motion. The action was so off guard that you still couldn’t even grasp it. It had only hit when you were finally skidding on the ground with full force. Your limbs and joints became more painful each time your body collided with the ground. It didn’t help when body roughly stopped into a boulder. 

Your had now started to water, the pain from the uppercute had now started to dissolve into your jaw. You weren’t crying, but your eyes watered profusely from the pain of bone your jaw and your head. You tried to quickly wipe them away, trying to keep your eyes on the monster of a man that slowly flated towards you. But each time you blink, Conquest seems to become closer and closer. It was like straight out of a horror movie; it sent chills down to your core. After a couple of blinks, Conquest was now above you. You didn’t know if you could take another hit from him. Afraid of dying by his hands.

As Conquest stood above you, he brung his good hand to your face. His rough, warm hand grazed your cheek with the back of his hand; it was soft, but not until he forcibly yanked your head up to his. You felt his breath against your face; you also felt the intest eye contact he gave you. You grunted from the hard grasp he had; his hand covered most of the side of your head. You could tell he was smiling—the soft and giddy hum was present in the air. 

But what had caught you off guard the most, was that Conquest used his other hand to grab ahold of the hand you used to wipe your tears off of. His had softly touched yours, the action made you flinch due to the fear of what he might do next. Conquest twisted your hand to make your palm point directly above to his mouth. For a brief moment, he looked at you, waiting to see the confusion on your face. His eyes were soft, but not too soft to give away the menacing smirk. Conquest was pleased to see how your eyebrows furrowed just a little. That itself gave him the cue to do his deed. He opened his mouth, then stuck his tongue out to give your palm a long, hard lick.

He was licking the blood and tears off of your hand.

You mentally shrieked, now trying to close your hand. But Conquest was quick enough to hold it open with his thumb. You brought your free arm out to try and push him away, but that only made him open his eyes and bring your fingers into his mouth. Conquest gave you a devious smirk as he lightly bit down on them, making you gasp and freeze up. Scared that he will bite all of your fingers off.

Conquest gave a pleased sigh as he felt your fear of him. He brought your fingers out of his mouth, his saliva and your fingers being the only thing connected. “Your cute, you know that?” He questioned as his grip on the side of your head hardened. The sound of your pulse quickening only brought him pleaser. 

“At first, I thought you weren’t going to last after the first hit. But the more I spent my time fighting you, I began to feel more and more intrigued by you.” Conquest then lets go of you, releasing his grip on your head and hand. You fell to the ground with a loud huff, now propping yourself up on your forearms to try and give yourself leverage. Conquest dropped down to his knees, leveling with you as he gave you his words.

“You are not the strongest I have fought, but yet your durability amuses me. The other heroes this planet provides could not even last this long if they tried. Maybe I’ll keep you for safekeeping, maybe a suverneer to my home planet-” “You wouldn’t dare…” You cut him off from finishing his sentence. The thought of him “keeping” you unnerved you. Like hell you were going to be some pet to a man like him!

“But I can!” Conquest replied rather quickly for your liking. He then leaned in closer towards you, his eyes now darkened. “Let’s face it, you can’t beat me. Not for a long shot, sunshine.” Spitting his words down at you. Conquest then leaned back, relaxed as ever. You couldn’t even hold yourself up, so why bother being tense.

“You are like…Hmm…” He looked around the atmosphere, taking in all of the destruction he caused upon humanity as he tried to find the right example for you. Conquest spoke up once again, “You are like a dog in your people’s sense; you are only meant for my entertainment. I could treat you however I like and you would just come running back like nothing happened… Or, at least you will eventually.”

You were about to shout back at his words, but you were cut short with your vision going black and your body giving up on you. Conquest, gave you one swift punch to the head, and knocked you out cold. He knew that more insults would come out of your mouth, so he saved himself the time by shutting you up. 

He watched as you became quiet and unmoving in front of him. Conquest gave out a long, exagerated sigh before putting both of his arms underneath the hero, and picked them up without a single struggle. Your body was limp in his arms. Your head rests against his chest as all of the blood from you smeared onto his suit. Blood from both him and you. 

“Let us go home, pet…” Conquest spat out in the air like venom. Now floating in the air to get ready bring you back to Viltrum.

Pets weren’t normalized on his home planet; they were a sign of weakness. They would get too attached, and then that would be a liability. So, they were looked down upon. But you? No, you were going to be a form of entertainment to him. Something to keep his mind off of his loneliness. Maybe something to bring him out of that loneliness. 

His little entertainer…

I HATE proofreading, so sorry if this is ass and not well put togeather.

[reilemon]

Powdered Gold

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ synopsis: When you invited Caleb to stay at your place in hopes of rekindling your friendship, you didn’t realize you’d be inviting the feelings you shunned years ago. You both changed, but what you feel for each other hasn’t—and maybe, this time, you’ll be brave enough to reach for it.

♡︎ pairing: Caleb x fem!reader

♡︎ tags: fluff, angst, smut, Caleb calls you pipsqueak (and always will in my fics), Caleb is a virgin, but reader isn't, oral (both of them giving and receiving), creampie as always

♡︎ word count: 10.3k

♡︎ a/n: this is my first time writing Caleb, so pls be nice to me ok??

♡︎ this is not beta read but i'm still giving a shout-out to my bestie ♡︎@its-de♡︎

divider by @/anitalenia

Caleb’s voice echoes from the bathroom, breaking you out of your thoughts. “How many body lotions does one person need?”

You roll your eyes but don’t respond immediately. Instead, you smooth the fabric of his shirt between your fingers before placing it on a hanger in your closet. Then you go to the bathroom.

You lean on the doorway, crossing your arms, “You’re not being a very pleasant house guest with comments like that.”

He’s standing in the shower, placing his travel size toiletries in one corner, his back turned to you. “And you’re not bein’ a very nice host for making your guest sleep on the sofa.”

You roll your eyes again.

This was your idea. That’s what you remind yourself as you watch Caleb settle into your space like he’s always belonged there. You were the one who matched your vacation days with his, and invited him to stay here instead of a hotel.

It made sense. You hadn’t seen much of each other since he came back, just a few meetups here and there, a handful of nights at his place. But now, for the first time in what felt like years, neither of you had somewhere else to be.

The sight of him here, snooping around your bathroom after setting down the toiletries you know he’ll use up in a day before inevitably stealing half of yours, warms your heart. When you’re like this - so close to him, grabbing his wrist to drag him out of the bathroom because ‘why are you inspecting every corner, you’re so weird!’  - and when he lets out that impish chuckle as he says ‘but I need to get acquainted with my vacation place.’ - it feels like nothing has changed.

Like there are no threats in the shadows. Like both of you haven’t lost a little light in your eyes.

But you have.   

And now, watching him here, so effortlessly at home in your space, you’re not sure if it’s comforting or bittersweet.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Time quickly passed while helping him unpack and putting away his stuff, and now it’s already dinnertime and you’ve worked up an appetite. You glance, from where you’re sitting on the sofa, at Caleb who’s rolling up his sleeves before opening your fridge. Before he can ask you anything, you stand up and start walking towards the coat rack.

“Since I am such a gracious host,” you begin, earning Caleb’s attention and he turns to you, “I’ve decided to spare you of your cooking duties on your first day – “

“It’s dinnertime.” Caleb intercepts, with a mock offence in his voice.

You ignore him. “We’re going to one of my favorite places to eat.”

He closes the fridge and turns to you, crossing his arms. “That is too vague. Do I need to change and wear something fancy? Is it your treat?”

“Do you want to come or not?”

“Sure!”

You toss him his jacket and when you reach for your purse you remember something. “Oh, wait – I got you something.”

You dig into your purse and pull out a brand-new lip balm, holding it up with a triumphant look. Caleb eyes it, then sighs.

“You’re so thoughtful. Thanks.” His flat tone as he accepts it makes you grin.

“It���s extra moisturizing so I don’t have to keep looking at your dry lips.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh? Why do you want to keep staring at my lips?”

Heat spreads across your face instantly. You immediately look away, mumbling, “I’m not staring.”

He hums, unscrewing the cap as he tilts his head. “What was that, pipsqueak?”

You exhale sharply, ignoring him. But the moment he swipes the balm across his lips, with orange glow of sunset spilling over his face, you can’t help but steal a glance. And you just know he catches it. But, for once, he doesn’t tease. He just smirks knowingly.

You grab your jacket a little too quickly. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t say anything, just follows, still smirking as he tucks the lip balm into his pocket.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

By the time the two of you return to your apartment, you feel sleep already overtaking you. The dinner turned into wandering around some shops, then you had smoothies, then Caleb insisted walking around more to burn off calories. Usually, an evening like that wouldn’t be so tiring if you didn’t spend the whole day cleaning and tidying up, and then picking him up at the train station. And there were these waves of butterflies in your stomach, that would appear whenever you thought of him. It was draining, and frustrating.

But not confusing.

You thought those feelings had disappeared. You really did. But as the years passed and you started a new life here—new city, new people, new experiences—you told yourself you’d moved on. You had to.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you fluff up his pillow after slipping it inside a fresh and clean pillowcase. You already took a shower, stole one of his baggy shirts and paired them with pajama shorts and fuzzy socks. While he’s in the bathroom, you decided to set up the bedding on the sofa, since you’re sure he must be tired as well, even if he’s not showing it. As always.

Though your body feels like velvet, heavy with exhaustion, you still accept Caleb’s suggestion to watch a movie before bed.

"We don’t have to watch it tonight." Caleb lingers in the doorway, eyes flicking over your sleep-heavy expression.

"I’m fine!" You try to sound convincing, but you’re already tugging the duvet over yourself. "I just need to lie down."

Caleb huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he watches you nestle deeper into the cushions, head resting on the pillow meant for him.

"It’s so nice and cozy in here," you murmur, voice already thick with drowsiness. The crisp, freshly washed bedding cocoons you, pulling you under.

He chuckles, stepping closer and tapping your legs, silently telling you to move. "You’re just trying to convince me that this is comfortable for me."

Before you can protest, he takes your legs and settles them over his lap.

Your body stiffens at the contact. This is normal. It should be normal. It’s not the first time he’s had your legs in his lap. You inhale deeply, telling yourself to relax, to stop overthinking. You’re just getting used to his presence again.

Though, suddenly, you don’t feel so sleepy anymore.

The movie plays on the TV, filling the space with voices and background noise. Comfortable silence settles between you both, broken only by occasional remarks—mostly Caleb critiquing the acting. Of course he can’t keep quiet even during a movie. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but the annoyance fades the moment his hands slide under the covers, grazing over your shins.

He glances at you, voice low. "You seem a little tense. Was the walk too exhausting?"

Your breath catches for a second before you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. His fingers press against the tight muscles in your calves, kneading gently.

"Maybe a little." you murmur, your voice softer than intended.

He murmurs a small apology, letting his hands make it up to you. He presses and kneads with just the right amount of pressure, his thumbs digging into spots that unravel you far too easily.

Heat blooms deep inside you, catching you off guard.

He works his way down, his palms smoothing over your ankles, rolling slow circles there before moving to your feet. The added texture of your socks only makes it worse—the friction, the warmth of his skin through the fabric, the way his thumbs press into the soles of your feet, it makes it so much harder to focus on the movie.

You bite your lip, pulse thrumming. A small sound threatens to escape your throat, and you swallow it back before lifting your legs off his lap. You murmur a small “thank you” and curl up on your side, your gaze now glued to the screen.

Caleb teases you, saying you look like you’re about to pass out. And even though you mumble a half-hearted protest, swearing you’re still awake, your eyes flutter closed before the movie is over.

His presence might be the source of your simmering frustration, of all the feelings you’re trying to ignore—but it’s also the most comforting one you’ve ever known.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

When your eyes open, it’s already morning. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your room. You’re warm, nestled beneath the comforter, a plushie tucked securely in your arms. A sleepy smile tugs at your lips as you nuzzle against it. You don’t remember how you got to bed, but you don’t need to think too hard about it. Caleb must have carried you here last night, just like he always used to, slipping back into old habits as if no time had passed at all.

The scent of something familiar drifts in from the kitchen, rich and savory. He’s up, moving around the kitchen, already making breakfast.

You stretch lazily before dragging yourself out of bed, moving through your morning routine. After freshening up and changing into more presentable loungewear, you step into the living room.

"Look who’s awake!" Caleb’s voice greets you the moment you enter. His back is turned as he works at the counter, only glancing over his shoulder briefly before returning to whatever he’s preparing.

You groan, voice still laced with sleep. “I don’t want to hear the usual ‘by the time you got up I already jogged’ and blah blah blah!” Caleb laughs at your mocking tone, shaking his head as he grabs a pair of plates from the cabinet. He starts setting the table, saying something in response, but his words blur in the background when your eyes catch on something unexpected.

A pillowcase. His pillowcase.

It’s hanging on the drying rack by the window, the fabric swaying slightly from the morning breeze. Your brows knit together.

"When did—why did you wash this?" You gesture toward it, confusion clear in your voice. "It was completely clean."

Caleb barely falters. "It was, but I drooled on it last night," he says easily, still arranging the table. "Didn’t want to make too much noise, so I hand-washed it."

You huff a small laugh, tempted to tease him for drooling, but for some reason, you don’t. Maybe he was exhausted. Or maybe your scent bothered him. Your stomach tugs uncomfortably at the thought, but you brush it off before it can settle. Don’t be ridiculous.

Instead, you take a seat across from him, scanning the breakfast spread. He made everything you like in the morning—even bought coffee from one of your favorite coffee shops. The warmth in your chest is immediate, dangerously soft, dangerously familiar.

“You should quit the colonel position,” you look up from the bowls and plates, meeting his gaze properly since you walked in – he’s already watching you, a hint of amusement in his eyes, “A – and be my personal chef.”

Damn it.

Heat creeps up your neck at the stumble in your voice.

He shakes his head with a small chuckle, setting a glass of water in front of you. "I wouldn’t mind that."

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The room is bathed in the dim, flickering light of the television, casting soft shadows across the coffee table cluttered with half-eaten snacks. The scent of buttered popcorn lingers in the air, warm and familiar, mixing with the faint traces of Caleb’s cologne. He sits comfortably beside you, one arm draped along the back of the sofa, his posture relaxed, his focus on the screen in front of him.

You should be watching too. After all, you’re the one who recommended it, but Caleb wanted to wait, saying he’d rather watch it for the first time with you instead of on his own.  And now, here you are, barely paying attention at all.

Your eyes are glued to the phone screen, and every so often, a quiet giggle escapes you, fingers tapping swiftly against the glass as you reply to messages. You don’t notice the way Caleb’s gaze flickers to you from the corner of his eye. You don’t register the barely-there tightening of his jaw as you keep getting distracted, your smile aimed at a screen instead of him.

At first, he says nothing. He lets the minutes pass, lets you have your moment, but with every small laugh, every glance downward, his patience begins to fray at the edges.

Who the hell is so funny?

He shifts beside you, stretching slightly, making himself known, a silent reminder that he’s still here. But you don’t even glance up.

Fine.

The movement is swift—before you can react, Caleb reaches over and snatches your phone out of your hands.

“Caleb!” You protest in disbelief.

He leans back against the sofa, holding your phone just out of reach, with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

"I thought we were watchin’ this together?"

You blink at him, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity, before a scoff escapes you. "Did you seriously just take my phone?"

He shrugs, turning it over in his hands, inspecting it, like he has every right to.

Your eyes narrow. "That is a violation of privacy."

His smirk widens slightly, thumb hovering just over the screen. "So what were you laughin’ at?"

You sigh in defeat. Time to change the tactic.

You lunge for your phone without hesitation, but he’s faster—his arm lifts easily, keeping it just out of reach, and he leans away, making you chase after it.

"Caleb—!"

The next few seconds is a blur of limbs, the glowing screen of your phone, and breathless laughter.

You scramble onto your knees, grappling at his wrist, stretching upward, trying to reach the device, but he moves effortlessly, dodging you like this is nothing. You nearly lose your balance in the process, your hands bracing against his chest—

Fuck, those muscles are strong.

Caleb chuckles at your failed attempt, his grip on your phone still firm, completely unbothered by your struggling.

You’re not giving up that easily.

With renewed determination, you grab at his wrist again, pushing against him with your full weight, throwing him slightly off balance. Your bodies end up in a tangled mess of limbs as both of you topple on your side onto the cushions. His body is so close, his warmth suddenly everywhere. Your breath catches, but you don’t have time to dwell on it, because you notice a slight flinch when your fingers brush against his ribs.

You blink up at him as realization dawns, slow and sweet and far too tempting.

Caleb’s expression shifts instantly. "Don’t."

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across your lips.

You dig your fingers into his side, and he twists in protest, his muscles flexing as he tries to escape you. His laugher is light and carefree - and it is the most unfairly attractive sound you’ve always loved.

You falter for a second too long.

Caleb doesn’t waste the opportunity. Before you can react, he grips your wrist, and with ridiculous ease, he flips you onto your back. By the time you catch your breath, he’s already caging you in, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.

Everything stills for a moment. His breathing is heavier now. Yours is too. The TV hums softly in the background, but neither of you are listening. Your phone has slipped onto the carpet, forgotten. His grip isn’t tight, isn’t restricting, but it keeps you in place. Caleb’s gaze lingers on you, no trace of teasing left in his expression. And something about that - the way he’s looking at you, about the weight of his body pressing against yours, how his chest rises and falls above you—sends a slow, unbearable warmth curling through you.

But then, just as easily as he pinned you down, he lets go. You sit up quickly, forcing a small laugh, brushing off the moment like it was nothing. Caleb leans back against the sofa, running a hand through his hair before reaching down and lazily tossing your phone back to you.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop stealin’ your stuff. For now.”

You roll your eyes, unlocking the screen, but you hesitate for a second before speaking. “I know it was rude to text during the movie,” you admit, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “I was just talking to my friends about tomorrow.”

Caleb doesn’t react at first. He’s stretching out his legs, seemingly unfazed, “Yeah?” his voice is too neutral. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“I already made plans to go out with them.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression, something quickly buried, masked with indifference. He exhales through his nose, nodding, like he’s completely unbothered.

“Cool.”

"I won’t be out late," you say quickly, feeling a pang of guilt. “Just a couple of drinks, maybe some dancing. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He makes a noncommittal sound, eyes flicking back to the screen, but his jaw is tighter now.

You hesitate, studying him for a moment, before offering a small smile. "If it makes you feel better, you can come pick me up.”

That makes him glance at you, his eyes softer now. “Yeah. Alright.” Then he takes the TV remote to pause the movie, and now his full focus is on you. “So, what are you gonna to wear?”

The question makes you flustered, warmth spreading across your cheeks. “I don’t know.” You admit quietly. It is the truth, which is why you’ve been texting your friends during the movie. But he hasn’t seen you in anything revealing before—not really. Not outside of tiny glimpses in summers past, when you’d lounge around in shorts and tank tops, never once thinking about how his eyes followed you.

And it shouldn’t be a big deal. It wouldn’t matter if you weren’t so unbearably attracted to him.

You spent too much time getting ready this morning. From the cozy loungewear you’d picked out before breakfast, to the outfit you chose for your day out with him, to the subtle refresh of your makeup before settling down for the movie—it had all been intentional. Every choice, every small detail, designed to make you look effortlessly good.

“Why don’t you show me the outfits you had in mind?” He asks, leaning back against the sofa, “Maybe I can help you.”

You force yourself to exhale, keep your tone light. "Fine. But don’t be annoying about it."

Caleb smirks, tilting his head slightly. “No promises.”

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You disappear into your room, trying to shake off the ridiculous way your body reacted to that simple suggestion. You shouldn’t care. It’s Caleb. He’s seen you barefaced and half-asleep, wrapped in blankets, wearing mismatched pajamas. He’s been around you long enough to know every version of you.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress. It’s soft beneath your fingertips, sleek and form-fitting, hugging the shape of you in a way that suddenly feels too revealing. You refuse to dwell on it.

You smooth your hands over the fabric before stepping out, ignoring the way your pulse picks up the moment you re-enter the living room.

And the moment you do, Caleb stills.

He doesn’t shift, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t offer some offhanded remark the way you expect him to. He just watches, his gaze moving over you. Then, his brows pull together slightly, his head tilting as if he’s weighing something in his mind.

"Hm. I don’t know."

You gasp, almost appalled at the comment. “What do you mean you don’t know?” You’re trying your best to sound normal, and not like your cheeks are burning under his gaze. He looks effortlessly handsome, sprawled across the sofa with his arms draped over the backrest, legs spread in a way that makes him seem both completely at ease and utterly in control of the space around him.

His eyes lift to yours. "Turn around for me."

The request is effortless, spoken with the same ease as everything else he says. But something about it—the quiet authority in his voice, the way his gaze stays locked onto yours, unblinking—makes your skin prickle.

You try to shake off the thought, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Turn around? What, am I on a runway?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Exactly. Indulge me.”

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You try on another dress, stepping out with a little more confidence this time, expecting at least some approval. But Caleb only exhales, tilting his head slightly, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

"Not my favorite."

You huff, retreating into your room once again, determined to find something he can’t find an issue with. But it becomes a pattern. No matter what you put on, Caleb always has something to say.

"That one’s not very practical."

"You’ll be freezing in that."

"It’s fine, I guess."

But you’re not stupid. The pattern is glaringly obvious—the more revealing the dress, the less he seems to like it.

After one final unimpressed hum from him, you let out an exasperated breath. There’s a pile of clothes on your bed and your muscles are aching from the endless zip-twirl-sigh routine. “Okay,” you snap, sharper than intended, “you’re officially no help.”

Caleb smirks, stretching his arms overhead until his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. “Just bein’ honest.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for your phone on the coffee table. "Whatever. I’ll just ask my friends."

You barely hear whatever excuse he’s offering now, his voice a low murmur in the background as you tap out a message. Then, an idea pops up in your head. You glance up from your screen, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You should go out as well.”

Caleb stops, his gaze flicking to yours, just for a second. Then, he shakes his head, exhaling lightly. “Clubs aren’t really my scene.”

You nod, finishing your message and sending it off before locking your phone. You lean your shoulder against the wall, the cool surface pressing against your heated skin.

"Well, who knows—" your tone is casual, "you might meet a cute girl."

His laugh is hollow. “Doubt that’s happening.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head slightly, feigning innocence. “You have someone back home?”

The room stills.

You notice Caleb’s jaw shifting just slightly before his frown deepens. It’s not irritation—not exactly.

"I don’t." His voice is steady. Then, his gaze sharpens, latching onto yours, his expression more serious than before. "I would’ve told you, like I promised."

A breath catches in your throat.

"Like we promised."

Caleb’s words linger. I would’ve told you. Like we promised. You stare at him, throat tightening as his gaze sharpens—he’s studying you, dissecting the guilt spreading across your face.

“You never told me,” he says, voice deceptively casual, “if you ever liked someone.”

Your phone buzzes in your hand, but you barely register it. You don’t want to answer this question. You swallow, but your throat feels dry. "We weren’t talking as much." The words come out quieter than you intend, "It didn’t seem relevant."

“Relevant.” He repeats.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even as something in your chest tightens. "You can’t deny we grew apart, Caleb." The words claw their way up, bitter and ugly, “And you're the one to talk - as someone who decided to go no-contact for months.” and the second they leave your mouth, you regret them.

You watch his face shift from stunned to something that looks an awful lot like hurt.

Before he can speak, you sink onto the sofa beside him, your scarred knee bumping his. “I’m sorry.” you curl your fingers into the fabric of your dress to keep from reaching for him. “I didn’t mean that.”

His eyes soften and a sigh leaves his lips. Then, the faint pressure of his palm settles on your head, the familiar gesture offering comfort. “You don’t have to apologize,” he says, voice low.

You lean into his touch, eyes burning. “But I am sorry.”

“I know.” His hand stills, heavy and warm. “So am I.”

The admission is so quiet you almost miss it. You glance up, but he’s already looking away, jaw clenched against whatever else wants to spill out. So am I for leaving. So am I for coming back broken. So am I for loving you like a man who was never meant to fly—reaching for the only light that ever felt like home, even knowing that if I get too close, you’ll be the one who burns.

You don’t press. Instead, you let your shoulder bump his. He exhales, tension seeping out of him as his hand slips down to cradle the nape of your neck. "Come on, pips." His voice is quieter now, lighter. "We should get some sleep."

The argument dissolves, but the ache remains—a bruise you’ll both keep pressing, to remind yourselves it’s real.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Even though it was late, you had insisted on finishing the rest of the movie, clinging to the familiar comfort. You slipped back into the playful banter – you had whined about the pile of clothes still sitting on your bed, blaming him for it. Caleb, ever unbothered, had only smirked and offered to neatly put them away tomorrow.

While he was in the shower, you took the time to make up the sofa, tucking the sheets with more care than necessary. When he stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, skin warm from the heat of the water, you didn’t comment on the familiar citrus scent clinging to him—the scent of your body lotion.

You’d exchanged a quiet goodnight before retreating to your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

Grabbing the pile of discarded clothes, you stacked them onto the armchair in the corner, ignoring the mess for now. You had planned on wearing your usual pajama tank top, but Caleb had insisted you wear one of his shirts again, claiming it was more comfortable.

You’re here now - lying beneath the comforter, pajama shorts brushing against soft sheets, the soft fabric of his shirt enveloping you, and yet still— you’re completely awake. Your eyes remain wide open, staring into the darkness, as if sleep might find you if you just keep pretending you’re not thinking about him.

You shift beneath the comforter, rolling onto your side, then onto your back, only to flip your pillow to the cooler side and press your cheek against it. The softness offers no relief.

A deep sigh slips past your lips, but the weight in your chest remains.

I should have told him.

You should’ve told him about the men you’ve dated. You should’ve kept your promise. That’s what he did. But you tell yourself, keep comforting yourself, that at some point your lives drifted apart. When time and distance made him feel more like a memory, you thought it didn’t matter anymore.

Except it did. It mattered to Caleb.

He’d said it plainly —I would’ve told you—as if keeping that promise was as simple as breathing. No loopholes. No expiration dates.

Your breath hitches slightly, something twisting in your chest. You roll onto your side again, eyes drifting toward the empty space beside you.

The dull ache in your lower back pulls at your attention, a stiffness lingering in your shoulder. You shift slightly, frowning at the discomfort— a souvenir from last night when you’d fallen asleep on the sofa. He had carried you to bed, made sure you were comfortable. And now, he’s the one out there, sleeping on the same sofa, crammed into a space too small for him.

The guilt creeps back in.

Finally, with a sigh of surrender, you throw off the covers and rise from your bed. You move carefully through the dark, the wooden floor cool beneath your bare feet as you make your way toward the living room.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The apartment is silent, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows, and as you reach the doorway, you pause, peering inside. Your eyes take a moment to adjust, but you can already make out the shape of him—Caleb, stretched out on the sofa, one arm draped over his stomach, his breathing steady. For a second, you think he’s asleep -

"Can’t sleep?" His voice is quiet, but in the stillness of the apartment, it still makes you flinch.

You step closer, your gaze meeting his, even in the dark. “You should sleep in my bed tonight.”

There’s silence for a moment. You can’t make out his expression, but you can feel the hesitation in the way he exhales slowly.

Then you hear a soft chuckle. “I’m perfectly fine here.”

You narrow your eyes, irritation mixing with your exhaustion. Of course, he’s being stubborn. Any other night, you might have tried to coax him with teasing, maybe thrown in a snarky remark or the fact that he’d be doing the same thing for you if the roles were reversed.

But it’s late, and you don’t have the patience for an argument you know you’re going to win anyway.

So instead, you move without warning.

With one swift motion, you snatch the duvet right off his body, yanking the pillow from beneath his head before he can even react. A startled breath escapes him, but you don’t wait for a protest.

You’re already retreating toward your bedroom, grumbling under your breath, "I’m trying to be nice here."

Behind you, Caleb exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He doesn’t argue this time, just watches for a moment before finally pushing himself up from the sofa and following.

By the time he steps inside, you’re already back beneath your comforter, curled on your side. The mattress shifts slightly as he settles in beside you, his presence familiar yet suddenly overwhelming.

“Goodnight,” you say, too stiffly.

“Night.” His reply is softer.

You close your eyes, and the fact that he is sleeping in a comfortable bed eases your mind long enough to let you drift off to sleep.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

When your eyes blink open, the darkness feels denser, heavier. The digital glow of your nightstand clock blinks 3:07 AM. You're not sure if you ever truly slept or if your mind simply hovered somewhere between dream and wakefulness.

The room is silent, save for the distant murmur of the city and the steady rhythm of Caleb’s breathing behind you—deep, even, grounding. You listen for a moment, letting the sound soothe you, lulling your nerves the same way it always used to. From the sound of it, he managed to fall asleep.

Slowly, carefully, you shift onto your other side, moving as if the smallest rustle might wake him. Your body rolls toward him, your eyes adjusting to the dark until his silhouette takes shape in front of you. He’s asleep, facing you. The moonlight spills in through the slit in the curtains, illuminating his face with delicate silver light. His brows are relaxed, mouth slightly parted, and one cheek is gently squished against the pillow.

Seeing him like this makes you smile, faint and bitter-sweet. He looks like a memory. Like all those nights you used to crawl into his bed after a nightmare, when he’d shift just enough to let you under the covers, barely awake but always aware of you, always there.

But the warmth of that memory fades almost as quickly as it came. Guilt rises like bile, acrid and insistent.

I don’t blame you.

You should have said that. You wish you had. When you apologized earlier, when you sat beside him trying to make up for your comment, you should’ve said that too. Because it’s true. You don’t.

You understand why he disappeared. You understand why he didn’t call, why he let you think he was gone—you know that he did it to protect you.

But the girl who slept with his necklace clutched in her fist for months, who scrubbed explosion residue from her hair until her scalp bled—she blames him. A splinter of her still does, lodged too deep to dig out.

Your eyes sting, but you blink quickly, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

You focus on the rhythm of his breathing, his lashes that cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, the slight sheen on his lips. He is right here.

So close you could reach out and touch him. So close you can feel the warmth coming off his body.

And yet, so impossibly far.

But wasn’t he always?

Hadn’t he always felt just beyond reach, even when you shared the same space, the same roof, the same memories?

You had spent so many years convincing yourself he didn’t see you that way—that his devotion was born out of duty, not desire. That he was bound to you by shared history, not longing. You told yourself that he saw you as something fragile, something to protect—not something to love.

But there were glances. Touches that lingered longer than they should have. But he never crossed the line. Never let himself want aloud.

So you told yourself he didn’t want to. That he couldn’t. That you weren’t something he was allowed to reach for.

And that’s why you found distractions. That’s why you chased comfort in other people. Because if you couldn’t have him, you had to have something.

But now, lying here beside him, in the quiet of your own bed, there are no distractions. No excuses. No distance left to hide behind. And suddenly, you wonder—

What if he wanted more?

What if he was always waiting for me?

You could wake him now. Could trace your fingertips over his eyelids, could say the words that have lived in the marrow of your bones since before you knew their name. I loved you then. I love you now.

But your lips won’t move. Your hand won’t reach out. Instead, all that comes is the memory of the aching regret that followed you around when you grieved him, whispering your sins in the dark - You should have told him. You should have been brave.

But now—he’s alive. He’s here. He’s right beside you.

But nothing is the same.

And even if you let yourself reach for him, even if you handed over every buried feeling and begged him to take it—the world around you hasn’t changed.

The people who tried to destroy you once are still out there, still watching, still hunting. There are still shadows at your back, and Caleb has always been the one who walks toward them first.

And if you lost him again—really lost him—

You don’t know if you’d survive it.

Because if regret was unbearable before, the devastation of another goodbye—this time after knowing what it’s like to have him— would split you open, would leave you hollow as the day you buried an empty casket.

You don’t realize the tears have started to fall until your vision blurs, until a soft sniffle betrays you. Caleb stirs - he takes a slow inhale, then a deeper one. You still, but it’s too late. His eyes open—drowsy with sleep—but the moment they land on you, on the shimmer on your lashes, they sharpen with clarity.

"What’s wrong?" He whispers softly, concern clear in his voice.

You swipe hastily at your cheeks, the salt sting lingering on your skin. “Nothing,” you lie, offering a trembling smile. “Just a nightmare.”

He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t search your face for more or press for the truth he knows you’re not giving. He just reaches out. His hand finds yours first, then the warmth of his palm presses against your side, gentle as it invites you closer.

You hesitate, just for a moment. But then your body moves on instinct, pulled to him like it always is, like it always has been. He shifts onto his back, making room for you, letting you tuck yourself against his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

You let yourself melt into him. Let yourself take comfort in the solid warmth of his body, in the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing against your cheek. Your tears dry slowly, absorbed by the fabric of his shirt. Your fingers trace the chain around his neck, finding the pendants, the metal warm from his skin.

And you listen to the heartbeat beneath your ear.

Strong. Steady. Real.

He’s alive.

He’s here.

He’s yours, if you want him.

The fear is still there. The shadows haven’t disappeared. The world is still dangerous, still cruel, still capable of breaking him again.

But here, in the cradle of his arms, with his heartbeat syncing to yours, you finally understand: bravery isn’t the absence of fear.

So, maybe…

If that’s what sits at the end of this—if tears and heartache is what awaits you—then let it be. Let the hurt come. Let it hollow you. At least the emptiness will echo how fiercely you loved him.

You lift your head from the steady rhythm of his chest, propping yourself on your elbow, your face hovering just above his. Your eyes find his in the moonlight—half-lidded, warm, still laced with sleep, but softened by the sight of you. A small, barely-there smile touches his lips, a quiet relief. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, calloused and warm, and you lean into his touch, your lashes fluttering shut. Then you feel the press of his lips against your forehead, featherlight and lingering.

When your eyes open again, he’s still watching you. Your faces are close now, close enough that your breaths mingle, close enough that the brush of your nose against his sends a soft shiver down your spine. You glance down at his lips, drawn to the place you’ve denied yourself for too long.

His fingers still on your cheek.

And when your gaze returns to his, you see it - the look you’ve spent years misreading. The one you chalked up to pity or duty, something you’ve caught glimpses of over the years and turned away from. Something you didn’t recognize at first. Then later, refused to acknowledge out of fear.

But now, there’s no more running.

You shift closer slowly, cautiously, as if giving him time to stop you if this isn’t what he wants. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes dart to your lips, just once, but it’s enough.

In that stillness, you close the distance.

The kiss is soft. His lips are warmer than you imagined, but still a little chapped. He goes utterly still, as if fearing the slightest movement might dissolve this moment. But when you press closer, his hand slides to the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him.

And when you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming.” he murmurs.

You smile softly, and press a delicate kiss to his eyelid.

“You’re not dreaming, Caleb.” you whisper.

His lashes flutter open. His gaze searches your face like he’s still trying to understand how this happened. His hand rises to your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth with aching gentleness. And then he moves. This time, he closes the distance. His mouth moves over yours, his breaths shaky against your skin. There’s no practiced skill, no calculated seduction—just raw, aching want, tempered by the fear of wanting too much.

Your hands slide from his chest to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the silken, messy hair. He groans, low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as his tongue brushes hesitantly against yours. It’s clumsy, earnest, his nose bumping yours, his teeth catching your lip by accident.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your lips, but you laugh—a soft, breathless sound—and pull him closer.

“Don’t be.”

You lean into it, guiding him with soft sighs and quiet hums.

His hands hold you tighter now—one on your back, the other slipping down, splayed at your waist like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you now that he’s started.

And when your lips break apart for breath, you don’t pull away. You rest your forehead against his, and you whisper, barely audible, "I don’t want to stop."

He exhales, "Me neither."

Your fingers tremble slightly as they wander from his hair, along the line of his jaw, your thumb brushing the corner of his mouth before trailing lower. Over the column of his throat, skimming the pulse beneath his skin, before drifting lower—over the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen. You feel the way he shivers beneath your hand, how his muscles tense slightly.

His breath hitches when you tug at the hem of his shirt, fingers curling there, his gaze locking onto yours.

He doesn’t need you to say it.

Without a word, he sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist as he yanks the shirt over his head. The fabric falls to the floor, and for a moment, you just stare—you’ve seen him shirtless before, but never like this. Never yours.

You gently press against his shoulder, coaxing him to lie back down, and he does so, collapsing against the pillows. You swing one leg over, your thighs bracketing his hips, but you hover just above him—close enough to feel his heat, yet far enough to let him breathe. You lean down to reclaim his mouth, your hands framing his face. The kiss deepens, and you tilt your head to better taste him, to feel more of him. He gasps into your mouth, one hand slipping to your lower back, the other lowering—slow, unsure—to brush against your bare thigh, the contact making you shiver.

And still, his hand doesn’t wander, doesn’t explore. It lingers like he’s afraid of being told to stop.

You pull back just enough to see his face, your breaths mingling between kisses. Your hand covers his where it rests against your leg, and you guide it higher, to your hip, where your skin is warmer.

You hold his gaze.  “You can touch me, Caleb.” Your voice is soft, “Wherever you want.”

His eyes widen slightly, color blooming high on his cheeks. His fingers flex against your skin, then he speaks, “I don’t… I’ve never—” He swallows hard, and you see the flicker of frustration in his eyes, not at you, but at himself, at his own nerves.

“I know,” you whisper, your hand slipping up to cradle his jaw, your lips brushing just beneath his ear. “It’s okay.”

Then, slowly, you lower yourself until your hips meet his, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against you. His head falls back with a groan, eyes squeezing shut. Heat blooms through your belly at the contact, and your hips rock forward just enough to make him shudder.

His hands clamp down on your hips, holding you still. “Wait—wait.”

You freeze, pulse thrumming in your ears. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he says, eyes snapping open. “Just… let me—” He swallows, his voice dropping to a plea. “Let me do this right.”

You smile, and brush his hair away from his eyes. “There’s no right, Caleb. Just us.”

He exhales, nodding, and then his hips roll upward tentatively, the friction drawing a gasp from both of you. His thumbs press into the soft curve of your hips as they continue to move against him in a slow, rolling rhythm. The thin barrier of fabric between you—his sweatpants, your pajama shorts—only amplifies the heat, the friction of every roll of your hips against his. His breath hitches, his eyes fluttering closed, as you grind down again, your own shorts riding up, the seam catching just right. He curses under his breath, hips jerking up to meet yours, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs.

You want to feel all of him, nothing between. And the way his hands start to roam, still cautious, still learning, tells you he’s thinking the same thing.

You shift slowly, rising from his lap with a final roll of your hips that leaves him gasping, lips parted, brows knit. His hands fall away reluctantly, his eyes flickering with confusion and curiosity. Your hands trail down his chest, over the taut planes of his stomach. His muscles jump beneath your touch, his breath hitching when your fingers graze the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Wait.” His hand covers yours, trembling. “You don’t have to—”

You lift his palm to your lips, “I want to.” Your gaze holds his. “Let me show you how much.”

He swallows hard, but nods.

You hook your fingers into the fabric, tugging gently. He lifts his hips, letting you peel the layers away, his eyes never leaving your face. When you finally see him, all of him – hard, heavy, straining for you, you feel a fresh heat rise in your chest, in your belly, deeper.

When your eyes meet his again, you find him watching you just as intently—like he’s searching your face for any flicker of doubt. But there’s none. At first, his body tenses—thighs taut beneath your touch, hands clenching the sheets under him. He tries to hold still, tries to be polite, tries to hide the way his hips twitch when your lips press to the sensitive skin just below his navel.

“Breathe.” you whisper against his skin, and you feel it when he does - shoulders softening, jaw loosening, a low groan slipping past his lips as you finally take him into your mouth. You take your time, learning what makes his body melt under your touch. You relish the way his hips stutter when you swirl your tongue, the broken whimper he tries to smother with his fist, the devotion in his voice when he rasps your name.

Gradually, his iron grip on the sheets loosens, one hand resting on the back of your head, and his hips finally start to move to the rhythm you set.

His breath starts to come faster. You feel the change in his body—the way his thighs tense, how his fingers flex and twist in the sheets. “Wait—” His voice is rough. “If you keep going, I’m gonna—”

You don’t stop. You slow, just for a moment, lifting your eyes to his flushed face. You reach for him, one hand sliding up his stomach, calming. “It’s okay,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the sharp cut of his hipbone. “Let me take care of you.”

He groans at that, head turning into the pillow. He doesn’t speak again, but his muscles start to twitch, his legs falling wider, hips stuttering as your mouth picks up the pace. His moans become deeper, more raw, and then your name spills from his lips again.

“I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

You hum in acknowledgment, not letting up, your hands gripping his hips as he shudders beneath you, and then—he falls apart. You taste him on your tongue, feel every desperate pulse of release as his thighs tremble beneath your hands, coming undone in your mouth—helpless and wholly yours.

You don’t pull away. You stay with him through it, coaxing him through the final tremors. You only ease off when he makes the faintest sound of overstimulation, brushing your lips one last time to the hollow of his hip before sitting up.

Caleb is panting, eyes closed, arm thrown over his face.

But when you crawl back up his body, he opens his arms instinctively, pulling you into his chest, where you hear his heart is thundering under your ear. And after a long pause, his hand cups your cheek and kisses you softly, tasting himself on your lips.

His breath is still uneven, and there’s a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. But he sits up, and for a second his eyes search yours again—asking permission without words. You nod once, and his fingers curl around the hem of his shirt you’re wearing.

He pulls it up slowly, his eyes tracking the reveal of your stomach, the curve of your breast, watching the way your chest rises and falls a little faster under his gaze. His hands tremble, just slightly, and you can see it - that mixture of reverence and disbelief in his eyes. He bends to kiss you again, before his mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, the flutter of your pulse.

He guides you onto your back, and shifts to follow, half-hovering over you. His lips trail kisses along your neck, your breasts. You arch into him, a gasp escaping as his tongue flicks over your nipple, and he hums in response, the vibration rippling through you.

His hands move lower, fingers hooking under the waistband of your pajama shorts. He pauses, “Is this okay?”

You nod, your voice failing you, and lift your hips. He slides the shorts down, his knuckles grazing your thighs, his breath hitching when you’re finally bare. For a moment, he just stares. Fading moonlight spills across your body, catching the sheen of arousal between your thighs. A shaky exhale escapes him as he drags a single finger across the wetness, his touch featherlight.

But before he goes further, before his mouth finds its way to where you’re already pulsing for him, something else catches his eye. The faint scar across your knee. Fading now, but still there. His thumb brushes gently along the uneven line, before he leans forward and presses a kiss to it, the silent apology making your heart flutter.

Then his mouth drifts lower, lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs. The first flick of his tongue on your folds is so startlingly gentle you flinch. A soft laugh escapes you, breathless and giddy, goosebumps blooming on your skin.

Caleb stills, lifting his head, brows creased in confusion.

“You’re tickling me,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair in reassurance.

He huffs a laugh against your skin. “Got it,” he murmurs. His mouth presses more firmly, his hands holding your hips as his tongue parts your folds and he groans at the first taste. Your back arches off the bed, a moan slipping out, and it spurs him on. One hand stays braced on your thigh, the other moves to gently trace one fingertip around your entrance, testing. You whisper yes, please, and that’s all it takes. He sinks a finger in, his eyes flicking up to watch the way your face shifts—lips parted, brows gently pulled, the rise and fall of your chest now uneven.

His mouth finds your clit, more confident now. The heat of his tongue, the wet pressure of his lips - it’s clumsy but it’s honest, driven by need and the desire to learn what makes you tremble. Then his finger finds that spot inside you, the one that makes you fist your hand in his hair, the one that makes your toes curl. You whisper yes, yes, yes, and you swear you feel him smile.

His free hand finds yours, interlacing your fingers against your belly.

“Look at me,” he rasps, and you force your eyes open, “Want to see you.”

Your body is starting to unravel beneath him, soft moans spilling from your lips, your thighs trembling.

“Another,” you pant, and he obeys instantly, adding a second finger. His rhythm stutters at first, but you guide him with whispered pleas, your hips rolling against his hand. His tongue flicks faster, his fingers pumping in a deep, steady curl, and you’re suddenly so close to the edge. His name spills from your lips like a prayer, and he growls against you, as if your climax is his own.

And when you fall apart with his name on your lips and your hands tangled with his, Caleb doesn’t stop. He holds you through it, lets you ride it out, his fingers easing only when your thighs start to shake, when your hips twitch with overstimulation. He pulls back, resting his forehead against your inner thigh, his breaths ragged. His erection strains against the sheets, but his focus still on you, always on you, even as his hand trembles where it grips yours.

You pull him up, his body collapsing over yours, and kiss him slow and deep, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hips grind reflexively against your thigh, a broken noise escaping him, but he doesn’t push. Just holds you, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, your hands cradling his damp hair.

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. Just breath and skin and the quietness of the morning twilight.

His fingertips trace along the curve of your side, not teasing, just feeling. Like he can’t quite believe you’re here.

Then he murmurs—soft, regretful, honest:

“I should’ve been your first.”

The words make your heart skip a beat. Still, the way he says it isn’t bitter. There’s no accusation in his voice. Only ache.

You draw back just enough to meet his eyes, your palm resting flat on his chest, right over his heartbeat. “Then be my last.” You whisper.

His breath hitches, eyes widening for a split second. He presses a kiss to your temple, before he meets your eyes again.

“Do you… have anything?” A pause, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Protection?”

You pause for a moment. Then you nod, brushing your fingers over his jaw.

“Left drawer,” you whisper.

He hesitates, his thumb circling your hipbone. “We don’t have to—”

“I know.” You press a kiss to his furrowed brow. “But I want this.”

He shifts to reach for it, but you catch his wrist. “Wait.”

His eyes snap to yours, brows furrowed.

You trace the skin with your thumb, suddenly too sheepish to meet his gaze. “We don’t need it.”

He stills at your tone. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." You finally meet his gaze, “If it’s you… I don’t want anything between us.”

He exhales, shakily, the tension in his shoulders softening as his arms wrap around you again.

When your legs shift, parting around his hips, you feel the hard length of him press against your entrance, and it pulls a soft gasp from you both.

Caleb stills. One hand rests by your head, the other cradling your jaw, thumb stroking softly across your cheekbone.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, threading your fingers into his hair, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

He exhales slowly, trembling slightly as he reaches between you, lining himself up. The head of him nudges your entrance, already wet and aching for him. You feel the pressure first, a stretch that makes your breath catch. He sinks in just a little—then stops immediately when you tense.

“Too much?” he breathes.

You shake your head, running a hand down his back. “No… keep going.”

Inch by inch, his body presses into yours, your warmth pulling him in, taking him deeper. His jaw clenches, a guttural sound caught in his throat as your walls flutter around him, as your hand curls over his bicep for something. His restraint is palpable, sweat beading at his temples as he presses deeper, his hips rolling in shallow strokes until he’s sheathed fully inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His necklace rests warm against your collarbone, the metal shifting slightly as his chest heaves above yours.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, his lips grazing your temple.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. “I will.”

His thrusts start slow, each one sinking deeper than the last, his eyes locked on yours as if searching for permission with every roll of his hips.

“Fuck,” he grits out suddenly, halting his movements with a trembling inhale. His entire body shudders as he lowers his forehead to your shoulder, nose brushing your throat, lips finding your pulse.

“I need a second…” His voice is breathless. “I don’t want this to end yet.”

You cradle his jaw, lifting his face up so you can look at him. “You don’t have to be perfect,” you whisper, your thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Just be here. With me.”

His gaze falters, then finds yours again. He draws back just enough to move again, slow at first, like he’s trying to find a rhythm that won’t break him.

One of his hands tangles with yours, fingers lacing tightly together as he presses it into the pillow above your head. The other slips between your bodies until his thumb finds you, pressing a gentle, slow circle over your clit—and it draws a gasp from you, your thighs tensing around his hips.

“Like that?” His voice is hoarse.

“Yes,” you breathe, hips chasing the movement of his hand. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he leans in to kiss you again—messy now, all teeth and parted mouths. He keeps moving inside you, each thrust dragging along your sweet spots, and the rhythm of his thumb against your clit grows more confident, bolder with every breathless moan you give him. He watches you with blown pupils, flicking between your face and the place where your bodies meet, as if committing every detail of your pleasure to memory.

His forehead drops to yours, the weight of his body pressing deliciously down as his thumb circles faster, more intently, chasing the way your thighs begin to tremble, the way your grip on his hand tightens.

Then his hips shift—just a little, but enough for a sharp discomfort to shoot through you. You suck in a breath through your teeth, a soft, involuntary “ah—” escaping your throat.

He stops immediately. Every muscle in his body locks, his expression flashing from concentration to concern in an instant. “Shit—did I hurt you?” he asks, breath still ragged.

You shake your head quickly, already reaching for his face, your palm cradling his cheek. “No, no,” you whisper. “Just... not like that.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, your heels pressing against the small of his back, gently urging him into a better angle. “Here,” you guide, your voice low and coaxing. “A little lower. Like that.”

He swallows hard, still frozen in place, but the panic softens as he watches you, sees that you still want this. He nods, his throat working with the effort to calm himself.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmur, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “I promise.”

He exhales on the word promise, and then he moves again. His brows draw together, not in worry now, but in focus, lips brushing your cheek as he resumes the rhythm that had your body unraveling.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as he grinds deeper, the angle just there, the friction so exquisite your vision blurs.

“Caleb—” you gasp, voice cracking as the pleasure rises sharp and fast inside you.

“I know, I know.” he rasps. His hips snap harder, deeper, the slap of skin echoing as you spiral closer. “That’s it,” he grits out, his thumb pressing harder. “Let go. Let go for me.”

When your thighs lock around his waist, when your walls clench around him in a sudden, overwhelming spasm, your release rips through you - deep, intense, every nerve alight. Your back arches off the bed, a cry spilling from your lips as you pulse around him, your fingers clawing into the sweat-slick skin of his back.

“Fuck—” His rhythm stutters, his thrusts turning erratic. With a shattered groan, he buries himself to the hilt, his hips jerking as he spills into you, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath a ragged pant against your lips.

For a heartbeat, you’re both still, just a tangle of sweat and shared breath, his necklace resting between your breasts, now warm from the heat of your skin. Then he collapses against you, his weight comforting and grounding, his lips brushing your collarbone. His arms curl tightly around you, one hand tracing slow, mindless patterns over your hip, and the other splayed beneath your shoulder. You exhale slowly, your fingers sliding through his damp hair.

You’re not sure how long you lie there like that, tangled and breathless, your hearts gradually slowing from their frantic rhythm. The first sliver of sunlight filters through your curtains, golden and gentle. You tilt your chin to study him, how sunlight looks like powdered gold over his lashes.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, eyes still closed.

“You’re beautiful,” you say, because it’s true, and because you know it’ll fluster him.

His nose scrunches, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Men aren’t beautiful.”

“You are.” You brush the hair from his temple. “Like a pouty Renaissance angel.”

He only chuckles, burying his face against your chest.

You tilt your head to kiss his temple, your voice a soft murmur against his skin. “Come on. Let’s wash up.”

He groans. “Or we could stay like this forever.”

“You’re sweating all over me.” you protest, already nudging at his side.

He lifts his head just enough to squint at you. “You liked it when I was sweating five minutes ago.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him off with a laugh as you both untangle from the bed. The sheets are a mess, still warm with everything that happened, and your thighs ache, making you bite your lip as you stand. You grab a towel and toss one at him too. He catches it, looking far too smug for someone who was blushing just an hour ago.

As you step under the warm spray, Caleb holding your hand for stability, something crosses your mind.

“Hey… did you really drool on the pillow?”

[strayingawayy]

how not to hard launch your partner...

... the one where there's dating rumours about felix and some actress and he's hellbent on putting them to an end

i think the anon that requested this wanted some angst but i would like to spread the live laugh love felix agenda and make you smile hopefully so here you go <3 (warning: a brief mention of suicide but not really suicide)

your first mistake was letting jisung have the aux.

the second mistake was assuming felix would handle this situation like a normal person.

because now, instead of calmly addressing the false dating rumours about him and some actress, you were sitting in the back of the car with the boys, watching in horror as felix prepared to commit social suicide.

"just let the rumours die," chan begged, as he gripped the steering wheel. "don’t do anything dumb, mate please."

felix, already opening his instagram, grinned. "define ‘dumb.’"

"oh my god," you screeched, lunging for him, but it was too late.

he had hit 'live.'

the car descended into chaos.

"turn it off!" seungmin, the typically calm and composed seungmin, yelled.

"we can still stop this!" hyunjin howled.

but felix, a menace to society, just grinned at the camera like a man unhinged.

"hello, stay," he announced over the screams of his bandmates. "quick q&a session t'night!"

you wanted to die.

the comments were already rolling in at lightning speed.

— oml lixie hiiiiiii

— what’s happening why does seungmin look like he wants to commit a crime

— Wait is it true you’re dating that actress???

felix’s eyes lit up. "oh, that rumour? funny story, actually-"

jisung dived across the van, trying to snatch his phone. felix dodged at the last second.

"felix don’t-"

felix absolutely did.

"that rumour is false," he said, smiling. "wanna know why?"

you shook your head violently. "no, no they don’t-"

felix grabbed your wrist and yanked you into frame.

the comments exploded.

— what

— who is that omg

— the way hannie just threw himself to stop this and failed lmaoooo

felix meanwhile , beamed. "meet my actual partner!"

the screaming in the car reached new heights and you could only thank god that chan was a good enough driver to survive this chaos.

"delete it delete it delete it," hyunjin continued howling.

"we're not even parked yet-" chan yelled.

jisung, now hanging off the van seat, wailed, "div1 is gonna kill us!"

meanwhile, you sat there, frozen in pure horror.

"say hi, baby!" felix chirped.

you turned to him, wide-eyed, unable to use speech as a method of self expression.

felix, still grinning, turned back to the camera. "they’re shy."

the live abruptly ended, because chan finally pried the phone out of his hands and threw it across the car.

there was nothing but silence for a few minutes.

everyone just… stared at you two.

then, jisung groaned, covering his face. "you idiots."

seungmin sighed. "well. at least the whole world knows now."

you turned to felix, who looked way too pleased with himself. "what is wrong with you?!"

felix simply kissed your cheek. "now you never have to worry about rumours again, my jealous lil' baby!"

hyunjin clutched his chest, dramatically,"i need to lie down."

[shall-we-die]

Hi

Can you write about Dazai as a dad?

Thank you 💗

╔‌‌‌‌═══════════════•⊰•°༄༚

{Him as a... Father?}

☰[Main list]•⊰ Bungo stray dogs

↬[A/N]•⊰ Hi dear anonymous! Hope you like it.

╚═══════════════•⊰•°༄༚‌‌‌

[PM! Dazai]

He doesn't know if he is happy or not. Actually, he's scared... Was it really a good time to have a baby? Of course he loves his child. But ... Will his child love him too? How should he take care of a child? He himself didn't have a role model to learn from him how to be a father ... So you are faced with a confused Dazai who doesn't know what to do. And what's he really afraid of? That the Mafia finds out this.

Of course, no one dares to get involved with Dazai, but ... again, neither you nor the child should have anything to do with the Port Mafia... He takes you away from the city, he doesn't even tell Ango about his child. Only Oda knows about this and only he helps Dazai. He really loves his child. He really wants to hug them, caress them and give them everything he didn't have ... He's more confused than ever when he hugs his child for the first time. He doesn't know if he hugged them properly or not. What if he puts a lot of pressure on them? What if his hands are rough and they're being harassed?

Therefore, as his child is in his arms, he doesn't move so as not to sabotage. His eyes may also be full of tears. His feelings are really mixed up and he's completely confused. He can't express his feelings for his child very well. That is, he doesn't know how to do it. Because he always thinks he might make a mistake and his child will hate him. So perhaps in the eyes of his child, Dazai is a silent and mysterious father. Of course, after spending more time with his child, Dazai learns to build a beautiful relationship with his child just as he was able to feel comfortable with you. He keeps his child away from the Mafia.

His child should never deal with a Mafia member. No ... they shouldn't know who Dazai really is. So this child ... won't know anything about his father's job until they reache the age of understanding. Their relationship is such that, they both love each other but can't easily express these feelings to each other. Dazai can't, because he doesn't know and your child may feel that Dazai doesn't love them What kind of relationship you'll have with Dazai, depends on your child's behavior. If your child eagerly follows Dazai and expresse their feelings very clearly, Dazai will get comfortable faster. Dazai ... tries his best, tries to praise his child and doesn't hinder their progress. He listens to his child for hours.

He doesn't talk about suicide, in fact, he doesn't talk much in front of his child ... True, Dazai's child should be away from the Mafia, but ... this isn't a reason to be a powerless child. Learning to shoot and self-defense skills will be a must. Except for these two options, your child can pursue any other activity they're interested in. Dazai caresses their head and puts them on his lap. This kid is certainly as smart as Dazai himself, and Dazai certainly understands this, but ... he's not going to get his kid in the way he went. This child must use his brain in other ways. From the bottom of his heart, he wants his child to be a good person like Oda...

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

[ADA! Dazai]

His feelings don't change much... He still has the same fears and is shocked and confused. But his sense of happiness is far greater than his sense of fear. He now doesn't feel so alone... Everyone in the agency is there to support him. Now he isn't worried that ... he may not be able to take care of you and the baby alone, he knows that the people in the agency are also taking care of you. He really shows all his emotions and makes more noise than other times.

Yosano, Naomi, and Kyoka are constantly on the lookout for you. And Kunikida is someone who constantly blames Dazai for his childish behavior. He also introduces Dazai to a variety of baby education books. The first time he tries to hug his child, Yosano and Kunikida stand on both sides to take care of the poor child... And after teaching Dazai how to take care of a child, they leave... Maybe not all of his fears, but most of them disappear when his child opens their eyes. "Hey, I'm your father ... Y/n and I are your parents and love you very much and we won't leave you ... We'll be a happy family."

And yes, the smell of a newborn baby and their little fingers completely melt Dazai's heart. This child grows up in a happy environment. With a father that loves them. Dazai's child will be as playful and noisy as Dazai himself. And not a day goes by without Kunikida's screams. It really doesn't matter, if Dazai's child doesn't want to be a member of the agency, it matters their happiness. But learning self-defense skills is still an important thing On days when you and Dazai are both busy, Naomi or Atsushi will take care of your child. All agency members really love Dazai's child and always welcome them. Dazai spends more time with his child.

And both of them have gone to all the amusement parks. They have tried most of the new foods. Surely ADA! Dazai, who's now an adult, can be a better father for a child ... He reads books to his child every night. He takes them to school in the mornings and after school, they talk to each other all the way.

Piggy back rides! Nothing is as enjoyable for Dazai as the sound of your child's laughter. Dazai, gives all the joys that he didn't have as a child to his child... And I have to say, this kid is really lucky! Except of the ADA members, the PM members also love them.

That's right, I'm talking about Akutagawa Ryunosuke ... Maybe he breaks up a little at first, but after a while, he follows your child and then, he completely falls in love with them ... "Dazai-senpai's child! (0///////0)" They may be the only child who can melt Akutagawa's heart like this. Especially the day that they called Akutagawa, a "handsome and strong man". Atsushi and Akutagawa are always fighting to get your child's attention... But your child still loves his father more.

[winterlico]

I CAN'T HIDE IT ★ when they're jealous ｡

.🫗 ݁˖ ꒰ who's that guy? ꒱ ──── ft. enhypen ( 엔하이픈 )

﹙ masterlist ﹚ fluff , light angst , slight possessive , jealousy ✿ 満足 ◦ aprox 1k wc ‼

feedbacks ୨୧ reblogs / a/n : thank you so much for 50 followers!! ´• 〰️ •`

| LEE HEESEUNG ( 이희승 )

You’re sitting on the couch, casually scrolling through your phone, when your phone starts pinging—one notification, then another, and another. Your eyes glance down at the screen, noticing that it’s all from the same person. You don’t recognize the number, but the messages keep coming in.

You quickly swipe through the texts, replying back as you go, all while trying to maintain a casual air. But then you feel Heeseung’s gaze on you. You glance up, and there he is, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, his attention more focused than you expected.

Another text pops up, followed by another.

Heeseung shifts next to you, draping his arm lazily over the back of the couch, his body just a little too close for comfort.

“Someone’s busy today,” he remarks, his tone light but with an edge of something... sharper.

You try not to look at him too much, but there’s something about his expression that catches your attention. You glance back at your phone, trying to stay focused. “Just a friend,” you say, your voice steady, though you can’t help but feel the tension creeping in.

“A friend, huh?” Heeseung leans in a little, making it obvious he’s now watching you, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort. “Seems like this ‘friend’ is texting you a lot.”

You glance over at him, your stomach doing a little flip. You laugh nervously, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing. Just catching up.”

Heeseung doesn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh. Catching up.” He pulls your phone from your hand before you can react, and you try to grab it back, but he holds it just out of reach, scrolling through the texts. His eyes flicker back to you, and there’s that familiar, playful pout on his lips.

“You’re texting them a lot,” he mutters, almost too seriously. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, but why does it seem like this person’s texting you more than I do?”

You feel the heat rise to your face, your heartbeat picking up as you try to explain. “It’s no big deal, Heeseung. It’s just friendly conversation.”

But Heeseung isn’t hearing it. He leans in closer, wrapping his arm around your waist now, pulling you even closer. “I don’t know... Seems like someone’s trying to steal my attention. Not on my watch.”

You shake your head, trying to stay calm but feeling a little flustered. “You’re being a little dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Heeseung’s voice rises, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m just making sure I’m still your number one.”

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. “Okay, okay. You’re my number one. But I can still text my friends, right?”

Heeseung smirks, holding your phone up and clicking on the message thread one last time. “We’ll see about that,” he teases, scanning the messages quickly before he shows you the screen. “‘We should hang out sometime,’ huh? Are you sure this is just a friend?”

You gasp, reaching for your phone, but he pulls it away just out of your reach, his grin widening. “What’s going on here, huh? Planning a little hangout without me?”

“Stop being silly!” You laugh, grabbing for the phone again, but he dodges you playfully.

“Not until I get some reassurance,” Heeseung teases, his tone light but there’s something in his eyes that says he’s genuinely a little insecure. He pulls your phone closer to his chest, before handing it back to you with a satisfied grin. “Alright, I’ll let you off the hook for now. But next time, let me know when someone’s this interested in you.”

You can’t help but chuckle, your heart softening. “I’ll tell them you’re my number one,” you say, showing him the phone where you’ve already sent a message back to your friend:

“Sorry, can’t hang out today. Heeseung’s being a little clingy.”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow at you, leaning in to read the message, then looks back at you with a proud smile. “Good. No more texts. At least not until I approve them.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re lucky I love you,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder.

Heeseung squeezes you tighter, pressing his face into your hair. “I know. I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

You laugh softly, feeling his warmth surround you. He’s a little too clingy, maybe even a little too dramatic, but you can’t deny that you love him more than anything. Even when he’s acting like this.

| PARK JONGSEONG ( 박종성 )

You didn’t notice it at first.

Your phone was buzzing on the coffee table — not unusual, really. Just some messages, probably about class or a group thing you half-forgot you were in. You were curled up with Jay on the couch, his arm slung lazily around your shoulder, the TV casting soft light over both of you. Everything felt normal.

Until Jay’s arm stiffened.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You glanced at him. He wasn’t watching the show anymore — he was staring at your phone like it had personally insulted him.

“Wow,” he said slowly, his voice deceptively casual. “Your phone’s really popular today.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, probably about that project.”

Buzz. Buzz.

Jay reached forward and picked it up.

“Bold of him to send six messages in a row without even spacing them out,” he muttered.

You blinked. “You’re reading my notifications?”

“I’m glancing,” he said defensively, eyes still glued to the screen. “Very different. Also, who texts like this? Is this an essay? He sent a GIF. Two GIFs.”

“Jay.”

He flopped back beside you with a dramatic exhale. “I’m fine. I’m chill. I’m not being replaced by some dude who doesn’t understand punctuation.”

You tried not to laugh. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being observant,” he corrected. “And I’ve observed that someone is way too comfortable messaging my girlfriend at 9 PM on a Friday night.”

You tilted your head. “Do you want me to stop texting people entirely?”

Jay narrowed his eyes. “No. I just want you to text me like that. Where are my cat GIFs and unhinged 3-paragraph rants?”

“You ignore my rants.”

“I skim them lovingly!”

You bit back a smile as Jay leaned into you again, this time a little heavier, a little clingier. His arms wrapped around your waist, his head dropping to your shoulder, and you felt him exhale — something smaller, more honest.

“Okay, but seriously,” he mumbled, quieter this time. “It’s dumb, but I hate feeling like someone else gets more of your attention than I do.”

Your heart squeezed at that.

“Jay,” you said, reaching up to thread your fingers through his hair. “You don’t need to worry. I’m yours. Always have been.”

He didn’t answer for a second. Just rested there, warm and a little sulky, like a cat pretending he wasn’t begging for your affection.

“I know,” he said eventually. “It’s just hard when I see your screen lighting up and it’s not me.”

“You could just text me,” you teased gently.

“I’m literally right next to you.”

“Then act like it,” you said, leaning in to kiss the top of his head. “Be annoying. Be clingy. You have full permission.”

Jay perked up a little. “Oh, so I can be a pain in the ass?”

“You already are.”

He grinned, and the tension finally melted from his shoulders. “Good. I was holding back.”

And just like that, he shifted — pulling you fully into his lap, arms wrapped tightly around you, chin on your shoulder like he’d fused himself there.

“Jay—”

“Nope. Human blanket time. You said I could be clingy.”

You sighed, laughing into his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love,” he whispered, grinning. “That’s worse.”

| SIM JAEYUN ( 심재윤 )

You and Jake had just spent the entire afternoon together, lounging on the couch and chatting about everything and nothing. It had been one of those rare days where everything felt easy, and the world outside seemed to fade away. You were both curled up under a blanket, sharing a bowl of popcorn when your phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table.

You didn’t think much of it, figuring it was just another notification or a message from your friends. But when the buzzing didn’t stop, Jake’s eyes flitted to the phone, his gaze narrowing slightly. His fingers, which had been lazily tracing shapes on your arm, paused. He glanced over at you, his eyebrows furrowing, but you didn’t catch it at first.

A few seconds later, the phone buzzed again.

"Who’s that?" Jake’s voice was casual, but there was an edge to it that you didn’t miss. His tone was playful, but his eyes seemed to linger just a bit too long on your phone.

You rolled your eyes, sensing where this was going. "It’s just a friend, don’t worry about it."

But Jake wasn’t convinced. You could see the wheels turning in his head. He scooted closer to you, his arm brushing against yours, and then—playfully—he grabbed your phone off the table, grinning mischievously. "Let me see."

You laughed, trying to grab it back, but Jake held it just out of reach. "Jake, give it back."

But he wasn’t letting go. His grin turned a bit more teasing, and he raised an eyebrow, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. "What’s this? You’ve got a lot of notifications from a guy?"

You froze, a little caught off guard by how pointed his words were. He didn’t look angry—he looked... amused? But there was something else in his gaze, a glint that told you he wasn’t entirely happy about this.

"It’s nothing, really," you said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Just a friend."

Jake pouted, his playful demeanor shifting to a more clingy one. He leaned into you, his arm now draping over your shoulder, pulling you closer. "A friend, huh? You’ve got a lot of ‘friends’ today, huh?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips. "It’s not like that."

"Mm, sure," Jake murmured, now pressing his cheek against yours, his hands slipping around your waist, pulling you even closer. He nuzzled into your neck, his breath warm on your skin. "I don’t like it when you don’t tell me everything, you know."

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes. "Jake, you’re being ridiculous."

But Jake was far from done. His playful, teasing behavior was slowly morphing into something a little more clingy, a little more possessive. He kept glancing at your phone, his fingers tapping lightly on your thigh in an almost nervous way, and you could tell that despite his teasing, he was feeling insecure.

"Tell me who’s messaging you," he murmured against your ear, the tone of his voice making your heart skip a beat.

You sighed, realizing that his playful teasing had taken a turn. You knew Jake well enough to recognize that this was his way of showing jealousy—and, maybe, just a touch of insecurity. It wasn’t often that Jake showed vulnerability like this, so you decided to ease his worries.

With a soft smile, you pulled your phone from his grasp and unlocked it. "It’s nothing serious," you said, showing him the messages from your friend.

"I promise."

Jake’s eyes softened a little, but the playful glint still lingered there. He leaned back, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

"A friend, huh?" he muttered, clearly still not entirely convinced.

You couldn’t help but giggle, knowing that you had to calm him down. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Jake, you’re the only one for me, okay?"

Jake blinked, his cheeks flushing a little at your words. Then, slowly, he grinned, his usual playful charm returning. "I know I am," he said smugly, nudging you lightly.

"But I still don’t like sharing you with anyone."

You smiled softly, resting your head against his chest as his arms wrapped tighter around you, now content and settled. "I promise, you're stuck with me."

Jake let out a content sigh, his fingers idly playing with the hem of your shirt. He seemed to relax in your arms, but there was still a possessive streak in him.

His voice, now softer, was laced with affection. "Good. Because I’m not letting you go."

The phone buzzed again, but this time, Jake didn’t flinch. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and as you both settled into the warmth of each other’s embrace, he mumbled playfully, "If it’s another one of those ‘friends,’ I’m deleting their number."

You laughed, the sound light and carefree as you snuggled closer into him, knowing that no matter how many notifications came your way, Jake would always find a way to make you feel loved, wanted, and completely his.

| PARK SUNGHOON ( 박성훈 )

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon. The two of you are sprawled out on the couch in his living room, watching a movie you’ve both seen a hundred times before. The comfort of his presence, the familiar hum of his voice, and the sound of his laughter echoing around the room fills you with warmth. Everything about this moment is perfect. Until, of course, your phone buzzes again.

Ding.Ding.Ding.

You glance at your screen, a small smile on your face as you check the messages. It’s from your guy friend, someone you’ve known for years. You and him exchange memes, funny comments, and inside jokes—it’s nothing out of the ordinary. You thought nothing of it.

But then you feel it—a shift in the air.

You glance to your side, and Sunghoon’s eyes are narrowed at your phone, his jaw clenched. You can’t help but chuckle at his pout, and his brow furrows even deeper as the notifications continue to flood in.

“Who’s texting you?” His voice is light, but there's a hint of an edge to it.

You grin, teasing him a bit. “Just a friend.”

“Hmm.” He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "A friend, huh? How many texts do you need from a friend?"

“Oh, you know, just a few,” you tease, trying to play it cool, but his eyes follow every notification with laser focus. Ding, ding, ding.

That’s when you know—he's jealous.

Sunghoon’s mood shifts rapidly, like a storm cloud forming on a perfectly sunny day. His arms cross over his chest, and he leans back on the couch, clearly sulking now.

“I didn’t know you were so popular," he mumbles, his voice dripping with playful annoyance. "Should I be worried? Maybe I should just take your phone away.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but he’s not joking. As if on cue, Sunghoon slides closer to you, his body now practically glued to yours. His hand lazily drapes over your shoulder, and his chin rests on top of your head.

“Are you really gonna text him again?” he mutters in mock frustration.

You can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he’s being. But, honestly, there’s something endearing about how much he wants your attention. His jealousy is so obvious that you can’t resist teasing him even further.

“I don’t know, Sunghoon… Maybe I’ll text him back, just to mess with you.”

His eyes widen, and you can see his pout deepen. He lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling onto his side to face you. “Fine. I’ll just be here, ignoring you, since clearly, he is more important than me.”

You giggle at his antics, but it’s clear he’s putting on a bit of an act, hoping you’ll comfort him. So, you do.

You set your phone down on the coffee table, and as if on instinct, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. Sunghoon melts into you, his shoulders relaxing as he rests his head on your chest. “Sorry, Hoon. I promise you’re more important.”

He hums contentedly, his hand reaching up to rest on your cheek. “Good. I mean, I know he’s just a friend, but I can’t help but be a little… possessive of you. You’re mine.”

His words cause your heart to flutter. There’s a trace of vulnerability in his tone, something you rarely hear from him. You smile softly, brushing your fingers through his hair. “And you’re mine. Just you. No one else.”

You feel him smile against your chest. His arms tighten around you as if he’s holding onto the moment, making sure you both stay in this bubble of peace. You stroke his hair gently, knowing he’s more sensitive than he lets on.

“Are you gonna be all clingy now?” you ask in a teasing tone, running your fingers down his back.

He sighs dramatically, but his voice is laced with affection. “I can’t help it. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t forget about me.”

“Never,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head.

With a contented sigh, he snuggles deeper into you, practically becoming a human koala as he clings to you. “I’ll just be your little shadow then. You’re stuck with me.”

You chuckle, enjoying the feeling of his closeness. “Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His arms wrap tighter around your waist, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. The soft glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the windows, the sound of his steady breathing, the warmth of his embrace—it’s enough to make you forget about everything else in the world.

And despite all the teasing, the jealousy, and his playful clinginess, you know this is exactly where you're meant to be.

| KIM SUNOO ( 김선우 )

It was a lazy afternoon, the kind where the sun shines softly through the curtains and the world feels like it’s in slow motion. You were sprawled out on the couch, your phone resting in your hand, scrolling through random memes and messages when you felt a familiar warmth beside you. Sunoo, with his usual bright smile, plopped down next to you, his arm brushing against yours.

You greeted him with a smile, only half-paying attention as your phone buzzed again. Another notification. You couldn’t help but notice that it was from the same guy. A friend, someone you’ve known for a while, but Sunoo seemed to notice it too.

His eyes, usually full of laughter, narrowed for a split second before his lips tugged into a teasing grin. “Who’s that?” he asked casually, but you could hear the underlying edge in his voice.

“Oh, just a friend,” you replied quickly, trying to sound nonchalant as you shoved your phone under a pillow. "Nothing important."

But Sunoo wasn’t buying it. He leaned in closer, his chin resting on your shoulder. "Really?" he asked, his tone playful but with a hint of suspicion. "Seems like you’re getting a lot of attention from that friend of yours."

You let out a soft laugh, trying to brush it off. "It’s nothing, Sunoo. Just some random chatter."

You felt him shift next to you, and then his hand found its way to your wrist, pulling your hand—along with the phone—into his lap. His fingers lightly traced circles on your skin, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his body seemed to press against yours, a little closer than usual.

"Can I see?" he asked, his voice a little too innocent, though you could tell he was secretly enjoying this.

You playfully swatted his hand away. "No way. I already told you it’s nothing."

But Sunoo wasn’t going to let it slide. His grin only widened, and before you knew it, his arms were around you, pulling you into a tight hug. "I don’t believe you," he teased. "You’re hiding something from me, and I’m going to figure it out."

You laughed softly, trying to wiggle out of his embrace, but Sunoo was determined, his arms tightening around you in a way that left you no chance of escape. "Sunoo," you groaned, half in frustration, half in amusement. "You’re being so clingy!"

His voice dropped slightly, a playful pout now on his lips. "I’m just making sure no one’s trying to steal you away from me." He squeezed you tighter, as though to emphasize his point, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the soft smile tugging at your lips. "You’re not going to make me jealous with that pout, you know."

"Who said I was trying to make you jealous?" He was still clinging to you, refusing to let go. "But if I were trying... would it work?"

You snorted at his antics. "Maybe." You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "But you don’t need to be jealous, okay? You’re the only one I want."

Sunoo blinked, as if processing your words, and then his face softened. His arms loosened around you slightly, and he looked at you with an almost serious expression. "Really?"

"Really," you affirmed, your hand gently resting on his chest. "You’re my favorite person, Sunoo. Always have been."

He beamed at you, his cheeks tinting a soft pink as he playfully bumped his nose against yours. "Good. Because I’m not letting anyone else get close enough to mess with my girl."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at him. "You’re a mess, you know that?"

"Maybe," he agreed, his voice dropping to a whisper as his eyes softened. "But I’m your mess."

You leaned into him, the two of you sitting there, tangled together in a warm embrace. The world outside could have been spinning for all you cared, because in this moment, there was nowhere else you wanted to be.

And Sunoo? He was never going to let you go.

| YANG JUNGWON ( 양정원 )

It’s just another quiet evening. The soft hum of your phone vibrates against the table, sending little shivers up your spine. You’re sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the screen of your phone, scrolling mindlessly through your messages.

And then—buzz buzz buzz.

Another set of notifications. Your stomach drops a little, and you make a quick glance at Jungwon, who’s sitting next to you, casually flipping through a magazine. He hasn’t noticed, right?

Well, almost right.

“Are those... notifications from a guy?” Jungwon suddenly speaks, his tone light but with a hint of something else, something curious. You blink, eyes wide, then try to make your face nonchalant.

“Uh, no,” you respond too quickly, but Jungwon’s already leaning in closer, his gaze soft yet piercing.

“Are you sure?” He teases, reaching for your phone. “I mean, you’ve got a lot of messages coming in. That’s... suspicious, don’t you think?”

You snatch the phone away, a little too defensively. "It’s just some friend."

But Jungwon doesn’t seem convinced. His smile is playful, but you can tell there’s a hint of something else creeping into his eyes. He stands up suddenly, dramatically, and plops down on your lap without warning, startling you so much that you almost drop your phone.

“Jungwon!” you laugh nervously, your face flushing a little as his body heats yours up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not going anywhere until I know who this ‘friend’ is,” he says, his voice laced with an exaggerated pout. You can’t help but smile at how over-the-top he’s acting. He’s always been like this when he gets even the slightest bit jealous, but this is a whole new level.

You roll your eyes and try to push him off, but Jungwon’s grip tightens around you, pulling you closer. He buries his head into your shoulder, his lips brushing against your neck. “Come on... who’s this guy?”

You squirm, your chest tightening at the strange mixture of annoyance and affection bubbling inside you. It’s almost endearing how much he wants to know, but it also feels like he’s teasing you to the point of being a little too clingy. The idea of him not trusting you, even if it’s just for fun, tugs at your heart.

“It’s really no big deal,” you say quietly, trying to reassure him, but Jungwon just hums in discontent against your skin.

“I’m not letting go until you tell me,” he mutters, his voice muffled but playful.

You sigh and finally relent, opening the messages app. You turn the phone so Jungwon can see it too. “It’s literally just my friend from college. He’s asking about some assignment.”

Jungwon stares at the screen for a long moment, his eyes scanning the words, before he looks back up at you, squinting suspiciously. “Just an assignment?” His voice has dropped a little, now more serious than it was before.

“Yes, just an assignment,” you assure him, tapping the phone to dismiss the notifications. “Why? Jealous?”

He scrunches up his nose in a dramatic expression, before pushing himself off of you. “Me? Jealous?” He scoffs, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “No way. I’m just concerned for you, that’s all.”

You smirk at him, an eyebrow raised. “Uh-huh. Sure. If you say so.”

Jungwon huffs, looking away in a mock-offended manner, then suddenly pulls you back into him with a force that almost knocks you over. His arm snakes around your waist, and he tugs you closer, burying his face in your hair.

“I was just protecting you from all the guys sliding into your DMs. Can’t let anyone else take my spot.”

You laugh, shaking your head, and place your hand on his cheek, turning his face toward yours. “Oh, Jungwon. You’re the one who’s a pain in the ass.”

“I’m your pain in the ass, though,” he replies, his eyes glinting with mischief. “And you love it.”

He’s right. You do love it. The clinginess, the teasing, the jealousy... It’s endearing in its own, chaotic way. And maybe, just maybe, you love how much he cares—even when it drives you a little crazy.

“Fine, fine. You’re my pain in the ass,” you concede with a smile. “But only because I can’t resist you when you’re like this.”

Jungwon beams at you, all traces of jealousy fading into the warmth of his smile. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, his voice turning softer.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere.”

You both sit there in the comfortable silence, your phone forgotten as you lean into each other, feeling the safety of his arms around you and the soft comfort of knowing that no matter how much of a pain in the ass he is, he’ll always be there.

| NISHIMURA RIKI ( 西村 力 )

You’re sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, absently sipping on your iced coffee. The sound of your boyfriend, Ni-ki, rummaging around the kitchen reaches your ears as you glance up. He’s humming softly to himself, but there’s an unmistakable glint of curiosity in his eyes when he notices your phone lighting up again.

You try to ignore it. But, of course, it doesn’t work. Another notification flashes across your screen—another message from a guy you know. You’re not even sure why you’re bothering to keep up the ruse; Ni-ki’s been a little more attentive lately, and this can’t go unnoticed by him.

You glance over at Ni-ki, but he’s still pretending not to notice the rapid fire of notifications. But you can see it—the slight tilt of his head, the way his eyebrows furrow ever so slightly when your phone buzzes once again.

You try to hide your phone behind your hand, but it’s too late.

"Who’s texting you so much?" he asks casually, though you can hear the playful edge to his voice.

You freeze, giving him an awkward smile, hoping it’s not as obvious as it feels. "Just… a friend," you reply, trying to sound nonchalant. It’s not a lie, exactly.

He narrows his eyes in a teasing, exaggerated way. "A guy friend?"

"Uh…" You bite your lip, trying to think of a good excuse. "Yeah."

He suddenly stops what he’s doing, all signs of playfulness melting into a mock pout. "A guy friend? Really? I don’t like that." He dramatically crosses his arms, tilting his head back with a sigh. "Maybe I should get jealous. Can’t have my girlfriend getting too popular, huh?"

You feel your heart skip a beat. "Ni-ki, come on," you laugh, trying to play it off. "It’s just a text."

He stares at you with that intense gaze of his, suddenly standing up straighter. "Oh, no. I’m gonna need to monitor this. You need me more now. I’ll just stay close. I’m your priority." His tone is playful, but you can see that twinkle in his eyes that suggests he’s not joking.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile spreading across your face. Ni-ki’s clinginess always gets the best of you. It’s not like you mind it, though. He’s just… adorable.

You try to focus back on your phone, but the buzzes continue to flood in. Ni-ki, however, has a different plan. He plops himself right next to you, leans over, and almost knocks your phone out of your hand.

"Let me see," he demands, trying to peek at your screen with a grin.

You try to push him away, your laugh almost turning into a snort. "Stop it, Ni-ki. It’s just—"

He pouts, a soft, exaggerated whine leaving his lips. "Why do you keep texting him? Does he send you memes? Cool ones? Better than mine? Oh, no, now I’m gonna have to compete." He reaches for your phone, but you pull it out of his reach, which only makes him more dramatic.

"You’re such a pain," you say, half exasperated, half amused.

Ni-ki fakes a sniffle, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. "I’m just saying… I’m here. And I’m way cooler than any guy texting you, right?"

You chuckle, your heart warming at his antics. "Of course you are."

But he’s not done yet. "I bet he doesn’t even know how to make you feel special," he continues, leaning so close you can feel his breath against your ear. "You deserve someone who knows exactly what you want… Someone who’ll make you smile every day."

"Alright, alright," you say, nudging him gently. "You win. I’ll stop replying. Happy?"

He smirks, clearly satisfied with your compliance. "I’ll take care of it. Just for you, babe."

You stare at him, half amused, half touched by the way he’s acting. He’s not actually upset, not really. But there’s something undeniably sweet about the way he’s so eager to make sure you’re his.

You glance at your phone one last time, the screen still covered in unread messages from your friend. "I think I should probably let him know I’m not available," you joke, teasing him.

Ni-ki’s eyes widen, and he immediately shifts even closer, pulling you into his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "I swear, I’ll become extra clingy now. You won’t even have room for anyone else." His voice is a playful mix of jealousy and affection, and despite his over-the-top behavior, you can’t help but giggle at how adorable he is.

"Okay, okay. No more texting anyone else. You’ve won." You give in, resting your head on his shoulder, your voice softening. "You’re the only one I need."

He lets out a dramatic sigh, leaning back into the couch with a contented smile. "Good. But remember, I’m always here. I’m your priority, alright?"

You chuckle, your heart fluttering. "I know, Ni-ki. I know."

[drivestraight]

this bitch love catboys (meow, meow, meow)

The first hour of Thursday media goes better than expected.

Max is the center of attention, as per usual, the fucker. Walked into the paddock late, head held high, gigantic cat ears with dark brown tufts peeking out over the top, a bushy tail poking out from under his polo. About a million cameras were shoved in his face, and he just laughed it all off, calmly explaining to the media how he seemed to have gotten hit by a slow-acting jinx last time out in Austria, as he was leaving the track. He woke up the next morning with the cat ears and the tail, had a video consult with one of the FIA-approved witches on consult, and was cleared to race.

Lando’s known about it since yesterday. He heard about it from Daniel, who flew with Max from Austria to the UK. Sent him a photo of Max unawares and on his phone, scratching at one of his cat ears.

The jinx should go away by the summer break, Max explained. Anamorphic jinxes typically go away on their own, but he’s been taking these daily jinx-negating potions to ensure the spell doesn’t stick. The FIA are doing some investigations, but with so many fans around, it’s a bit of a moot point, trying to figure out who cast the spell.

It’s not the strangest jinx that’s hit the paddock, but it is the first one in many years. Better than when Daniel four years ago could only speak Italian for three fucking races.

Lando readjusts his hat on his head, leaving his interview with Sky. Netflix had him in the morning, as he was heading to the track, so at least he made it out of that one alive.

There’s a bit of a lull in the day, between morning media and lunch. Some of the drivers have collected in one of the canopies near the media pen. Lando spots George, Lewis, and Alex all talking together, so he makes his way over, chats with them for a bit, and it’s all good fun: a nice reprieve from media day. It puts him back in good spirits. It is their home race, after all.

And then Max comes walking over, and Lando swallows. Brings his hands up to his head and fixes his cap more firmly over the top of his skull, for good measure. Wraps his big coat securely over his body.

It’s his first time properly seeing Max in person, since last Sunday, and his first time seeing the cat ears and tail up close. Lando kind of hates it, how cool it looks on Max.

“Hey,” George says.

“Hey,” Max responds, greeting George, then Alex, then letting Lewis dap him up. He glances at Lando, like he wants to say something, but Lando quickly evades his gaze, staring down at his feet.

“I like the ears,” Alex says, and Max laughs.

“Thanks,” Max says. His tail, sticking up straight, curls at the tip, by the base of his neck. “I think it’s a Maine Coon?”

George squints. “Like those gigantic cats?” he asks, holding his arms out wide.

Max shrugs. “Think so. My tail is of course quite big,” he says, gesturing behind him.

And then George, bizarrely, asks, “Can I feel?”

Lando bristles.

Max laughs again. When he smiles, Lando notices that his canines are sharper. He darts his eyes away.

“Sure mate,” Max says, and Lando tries not to do something odd with his face. “Just don’t like, pull on it or anything,” he says, then shifts his body to the side.

His tail wiggles a bit, before George reaches over and wraps his fingers around the tail, feeling the fur in his palms.

“Kinda sick,” George says, and Lando lets out a breath when he finally brings his hands back to himself.

“Right?” Max says, then his eyes flick to Alex and Lewis. “Do you two want to feel?”

It makes both Alex and Lewis laugh, and Alex opens his mouth to say something, when George narrows his eyes, looking right at Lando.

“Mate, your hat’s a bit crooked.”

Shit. Lando hadn’t noticed.

His hands fly up to his head, shoving his cap back down over his head.

“It’s fine,” he says, mouth twisting.

But when he removes his hands, his hat shifts again. His face burns, and he tries to fix it again, only for it to lift back up.

“Bad hair day?” Alex asks, tilting his head to the side, and Lando glares but doesn’t say anything. Max is looking at Lando now, eyes wide and curious. He keeps his hands on his head. Fuck this, he thinks.

“What’s going on?”

Lando turns his head to the side.

Oh, thank god, it’s Oscar.

Lando sighs in relief, and prepares to exit, only for George to announce, “Lando’s being weird about his cap.”

Lando stiffens, hands still firmly over his hat. “I’m not—fuck off. Maybe it’s a defect.”

Oscar turns his head toward Lando, staring. Lando glares back, hoping that Oscar’s gained the ability to read minds. Let’s. Leave, he tries to communicate.

Oscar smiles at him, and Lando’s chest clenches with hope that he understood, and then Oscar turns to Max and says, “Sick ears mate.”

Lando’s jaw drops.

This fucking traitor.

“Thanks!” Max says, cheeks flushed a bit with pride.

Oscar presses his lips together, and a slow sort of horror starts to build up in Lando’s belly when Oscar opens his mouth, and says, “Have you seen Lan—”

Instinct has Lando finally letting go of his hat and leaping over to cover Oscar’s mouth.

And the movement—

It’s a windy day in Silverstone, and the breeze blows through, even in the little canopy they’re under.

Lando doesn’t realize that his hat’s flown off his head until he lets his gaze drift to the side, where Max is now staring at him with wide eyes.

Oh, he thinks. Fuck.

[solarusofsun]

All the Noisettes I've had draw by requests!

LONG POST

Thank you so much to everyone who decide to drop their desings, everyone had an intesting Noisette so I have to draw them all x3

So let's start ✨️

@oscar106official

Ask for some Noisette×Peddito art, ngl this ship is kinda cute, I like it

@the_cosmic_cowbo_y -> Noisette from Colorful Tower

This design is sooo cute, and the little cup is so adorable >w< also they ask me to draw Colorful!Noisette hanging out with Doisette

@simplefanatic -> Noisette from EvilAU!

She's soooo beautiful, Im so in love with this design MI VIEJAAAAAAAAAA 🗣🗣🗣

@creat0rstudi0 -> Noisette from Races Tower, Pizza Maze and Pizza King and Jester Tower

Can I add this desings are so good? I had such a fun time drawing them also I like the concept

@alextydaisuda123 -> Noisette from Dance Tower, Steampunk Tower and Cloud Tower

I cannot express how CUTE are this design, everyone has cute designs why

@opaltones -> Noisette from Voca Tower

Noisette with the Mesmerizer fit? Yes, Im eating that design

@scuttlestheseaslug -> Noisette from BookStoreAU!

Bunny Noisette now is a furry, I love that

@anomal-repos

//warning: blood and body horror

I never post this cuse the person reach me by message, but I gotta say this desing is cool af, idk if this is from an AU! But Im still loving how it turns out ^^ Also you tricked me into drawing the Noise, uh /j

@luigigirl12 -> Noisette from Button Tower, Library Tower and Pizza Tower

THESE DESIGNS, SO ADORABLES also I love the AUs. I'm guessing that the last design is just a redesign since I couldnt find the AU it was from, sorry about that :p

@firfirov -> Noisette from Divine Tower

These are actually two Noisettes, true from and gremlin form. I couldnt decide which one I should draw, so i drew both ^^

@lunar-dal -> Noisette from Wintry Tower, Noir Tower and Pizza Cruise

And we are again with the amazing designs, honestly this in specific makes me fall more in love with Noisette

@golubichkalive -> Noisette from Pizza Stable and Mythical Tower

Im so happy how this desing turns out, Mythical!Noisette's wings looks so good and Stable!Noisette looks soo cute next to the her buddy

@cutechan555 -> Noisette from Summer Camp Tower

Girl yapping while working, lovely design

@sometiredfreak -Noisette and Noise from FreakShow Tower

Another person who tricked me into drawing the Noise, but I dont care, this design is so cool and I like how it turns out

@staurtsregularblog

Ok, this is not a Noisette, but LOOK AT HER, SHES SO CUTE apart from that I also love Doisette, girl needs more love

@neocrash1101 -> Noisette from Pizza Cadres

Yes, this is one of my favorites designs. Idk it just makes me happy ig also love the whole AU

@technically-a-kiwi -> Noisette from CosmicAU!

OMGGSYESS I LOVE THE AU AND I LOVE THIS DESIGN cosmic AU must be one of my favorite PT Aus, plus look how cute she is

@gl1tchy-4rt -> Noisette from GhoulieBoogieAU! And My Singing Pizzeria

Omggg everyone has intresting designsss LOOK AT BOTH THEY ARE SO ADORABLE, Love Monster Noisette

@soybeanidiot -> Noisette from Tower OS

Noisette with long hair, something I didnt know I needed until now

@bigboybird -> Noisette from Failure Tower and All Stars Tower

YESSSS FAILURE!NOISETTE HAS SUCH A GOOD DESIGNN and AllStars!Noisette is sooo adorable gosh

@tv-peppino

This re-design is so cute, i love the headcannon of Noisette having Vitiligo, I mention it before and Im mention it again

@a-sly-dogg

Furry Doisette goat design

THATS ALL THE NOISETTES PLUS OTHER CHARACTERS I'VE DRAWN FOR THE REQUEST POST

Well, thats a lie, I have one design to show :3c

The Noisette from my AU :D

Yeah, this is the first look to the characters from my AU, it is intresting? Probably not but I wanted to show her anyways

Noisette from TheForestAU!

Now yes, I've show all the Noisettes

In total, I've drawn 32 different Noisettes counting alter versions plus 1 Peddito, 2 Doisettes and 2 Noises

God

[7975348473]

can you write a lyrason fic where grayson is jealous of lyras ex? preferably before they start dating. ❤️

Grayson Is Jealous.

Today was another normal day in the Hawthorne household.

Everyone had gathered around in order to discuss the next Annual Game night— which would be the third of the week, but you can’t do much once Xander insists.

“LETS PLAY DRINK OR DARE AGAIN!!” Demanded Xander.

Lyra considered the demand, she was in charge of choosing which games would be included in this game night. Apparently, it was a ‘Benefit of becoming a soon-to-be-sister-in-law’.

“Xander. The last time we played Drink or Dare, you made Avery scream Hamlet at the top of her lungs at 12am, made Libby an aspiring arsonist and almost made Max a boy.” Lyra deadpanned.

Nash chuckled while Jameson completely lost it. Grayson rolled his eyes as a ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

“I did no such thing, they had the choice to drink after all.” Xander replied sending a pointed glance towards the three in question.

Avery, who was used to the bull shit of the Hawthorne brothers, completely ignored Xander.

“Don’t do it, Lyra. You know the consequences of saying yes to a Drink or Dare game.” Avery warned her.

Lyra held back the urge to laugh. She was about to answer when her phone rang.

The room went silent as she checked who in their right mind would call her at 9 in the morning. Everyone knew she wasn’t a morning person.

Lyra was surprised to see a number on the screen. Grayson leaned over and raised a brow in question, seeing just the number.

She picked up, “Hello?”

A muffled voice came from the other side of the line, “Hello? Is this Lyra?” He sounded like a male.

Lyra paused for a second, she knew that voice. But she couldn’t quite put her finger on whose it was.

“Uh— yes. Who is this?” She asked, mildly embarrassed at not being able to recognise the person.

“… Lyra— you seriously don’t recognise me?” The other person asked sounding genuinely hurt.

Lyra paused again, wracking her brain cells cause she was damn sure she knew this person. And then it clicked.

“HOLY SHIT— HARRY????” Lyra screamed, quite literally springing up, off of her seat on the sofa.

Her embarrassing past began to catch up to her the moment she said Harry’s name out loud.

Harry. Harry Smith. Her childhood friend and also her… first boyfriend.

Lyra suddenly felt the need to crawl out of her skin, dig up a ditch in the floor and die.

Harry and Lyra were friends in the past. They were raised in the same neighbourhood and talked a fair amount of times.

She liked to dance and was fairly good looking, he also liked to dance and thought she looked pretty. So he asked her out. And she said yes. That’s it. No real reason. Just cuz.

Lyra mentally screamed into the abyss. I mean— they were middle schoolers. Can you blame them? Lyra had thought that maybe dating would get her mind off… things for a while.

She had been wrong. So they broke it off literally two days later. No hugs, no kisses, just one failed date.

Lyra realised that everybody was staring at her now. She nervously signalled for them to give her a minute and walked out to the balcony.

She heard Harry laughing on the other side of the line.

“Yes. It’s me. Thank god— I thought you might have Alzheimer's or something.” He joked. Lyra let out a forced laugh.

She didn’t hate Harry. They had continued being friends after their little ‘dating phase’ but eventually grew apart when Lyra moved away from Miles End.

This is bloody awkward. She thought to herself. She hated making conversation. It made her feel like she wasn’t herself again.

Lyra took a deep breath, “Anyways, what’s up? It’s been a while.” Said Lyra, finally.

Harry huffed, “I know right. College was crazy. I thought about contacting you a few times but I didn’t really know how to reach out to you.”

Lyra gave a non committed ‘hmm’.

There shared a few moments of awkward silence and Lyra contemplated jumping off the balcony. She scratched the thought though once she realised that the balcony itself wasn’t very high off the main ground.

I’d have to jump like— twice to die from here.

“Well, my stupid ass finally realised I could just ask your parents for you phone number. They were ecstatic.” He laughed.

Lyra gave a small smile at the mention of her parents, “I swear, they think I have no friends.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, can you blame them? You were a loner.” He said, matter of factly. She hated that he was right.

“Gee, did you call me to make fun of me?” Lyra asked, jokingly.

And so they continued, catching up with one another for what felt like forever. Lyra didn’t exactly enjoy the entire thing. The Lyra Kane Harry had known wasn’t actually her.

It was the facade she had on for everyone as to seem alright. Like a normal little girl. She couldn’t stand it anymore. Not after everything. Not after Grayson.

Lyra turned around to see Max and Avery waiting for her on the other side of the balcony door with a questioning look. She gave them both a smile.

“Anyways, we should really meet up again— it’s been like— forever since we last met each other .” Said Harry, as enthusiastic as ever.

Oh hell no. Was Lyra’s immediate thought. She wasn’t ready to meet everyone from her past just yet. She needed time. To heal. To be herself again with no room for doubt.

“Haha, yeah. I’ll consider when I can come over to Miles End.” She replied.

Lyra said her goodbyes and hung up, facing her two, extremely nosy friends. She could hear the others chatting away in the ‘conference room’.

“Anddddd who is this Harry?” Asked Max, with an intrigued expression. Oh the gossip queen she was.

“Don’t ask.” Said Lyra, visibly exasperated. This only interested the two girls more.

“An old neighbour?” Suggested Avery. Lyra shook her head.

“An old friend?” Tried Max. Lyra shook her head again.

“An.. acquaintance?” Said Avery. Lyra gave her a look.

“Oh! An old dance buddy?” Asked Max, not taking the hint, something she had picked up from her boyfriend.

Lyra considered the term ‘an old dance buddy.’ Sure. They had danced together before.

“Yeah— something like that.” Lyra replied.

Avery was giving Lyra an assessing look while Max’s eyes lit up, “Oh no honey, there is more to the faxing story. Something good.” Max said ever so dramatically.

Lyra made the mistake of shooting her a nervous look. Trying to get her to drop it. And she saw the moment it clicked for the two best friends.

Avery looked absolutely floored, “No way.” She said.

But it wasn’t Avery that Lyra was worried about. She turned to Max, “Max. Listen to me.”

Max opened her mouth. Avery turned to her best friend, “Calm down Max.”

“I am calm. Totally. Just— let me just make sure my assumption is correct,” Max turned to Lyra, “Is he your.. ex?” She asked.

Avery looked over to Lyra, anticipation visible in both of their eyes.

Lyra sighed in defeat, “First boyfriend as well as my only ex. It’s not what you think—”

“EXCUSE ME— FIRST BOYFRIEND???” Avery and Max screamed at the exact same time. Lyra smacked a hand to her forehead. Fuck. This was going to be complicated.

The conference room went silent and Lyra felt her embarrassment as a physical thing. God forbid a girl try to prevent a simplistic thing from turning into a dramatic disaster.

Lyra gave them both a look. Avery sent her an apologetic smile while Max just looked gobsmacked. Lyra didn’t know whether it was normal to want to giggle in this kind of a situation.

The three girls walked back into the ‘conference room’. Lyra prayed all the while that maybe, just maybe, they all shut up for another reason.

Maybe Nash got his younger brothers to finally listen to him. Or Xander managed to duct tape everyones mouth shut.

But the moment the door opened and she saw everyone stare on at her, she knew her prayers were pointless. She sighed.

“It isn’t what you think.” Lyra said, trying to calm everyone’s curiosity. She was miserably failing.

Lyra glanced over at Grayson to see how he felt about the entire situation. In all honesty, if Grayson were to hide any of his previous relationships from her, she would be upset.

But Lyra hadn’t tried to hide it. She had just… forgotten?

Thankfully, Grayson looked fine, he was just staring at her, expecting an explanation.

“We were childhood friends and middle schoolers. We gave it a shot just for the funzies, it took us two days to realise that dating was not our thing. That’s all.” She explained, taking her seat on the sofa next to Grayson again.

“That’s alllll?~~~” Asked Thea, who finally decided to stop scrolling Instagram and look up from her phone. Lyra sent her a livid glare.

Soon after, everyone fell back into flow again. Lyra looked over at her boyfriend, “Gray?” She asked, knowing fully well that Grayson would understand the question.

Grayson looked at her and smiled, “It’s fine, Lyra. If he’s a childhood friend, you can talk to him. I won’t take away your freedom.” Lyra gave him a small smile and nuzzled closer to him.

It only took her a few moments to realise that, no. Grayson was not alright with what had went down.

He had stopped talking completely, he wore no expression— which was his go to poker face when he wanted to hide his feelings, his eye brows were slightly furrowed and he was zoning out.

No. He was not okay.

The conversation ended swiftly as everyone agreed upon the games of Drink or Dare and Strip Bowling. Classics.

When Lyra and Grayson finally reached their shared bedroom in the huge ass Hawthorne mansion, Lyra spoke up.

“Gray.” A demand. Look at me.

Grayson did just that. “I’m fine Lyra. You can do whatever you want.” He replied, nonchalantly. A little too nonchalantly.

“Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. Do you seriously think that hiding things from me will do you any good?” She questioned with a singular raised brow. He didn’t answer.

“Especially when it’s about me?” She pried. Grayson sighed.

Lyra closed the distance between them and took both of Grayson’s hands in her own, “Talk to me when you need to, Gray.” She said.

Grayson held her gaze, “… I’m not…” he took a second, “especially fond of this new figure.” He managed. Lyra blinked once, then she blinked again.

And then she burst out laughing. Grayson raised a brow at her but his smile gave him away.

“And what are you laughing at Ms. Kane?” He asked, amusement evident in his voice.

“eSpECiALlY fONd Of tHiS nEW fIGurE??” She managed in between gigggles. Grayson’s smile widened.

“It’s the truth.” He huffed. “Just.., simplified.”

Lyra finally composed herself, “and if I ask for the non-simplified version?”

Grayson looked at her for a moment.

“I don’t want him around you. I don’t like you talking to him. I might want to snap his neck.” He deadpanned. Lyra fell into a fit of giggles again and this time Grayson joined her.

Lyra would never get used to his honey-coated laughs.

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think, asshole?” She asked, a huge smile still plastered across her face.

Grayson turned towards the bathroom door, prepared to take a shower, “Not at all.”

Lyra laughed again as Grayson picked up his towel. Just then, Lyra’s phone rang once more.

Lyra grabbed it and read the display name before showing it to Grayson.

Harry.

Grayson made a face and it took everything in Lyra not to break down laughing again. She picked up, maintaining eye contact with her boyfriend.

“Hello?” She said.

“Lyra! Hi.” Harry replied, seemingly walking somewhere.

Lyra turned to walk out the door not wanting to disturb Grayson, “You called agai—”

She was cut off by Grayson suddenly grabbing her wrist. She whipped her head around but Grayson simply led her over to the bed. He plopped himself down, pulled Lyra towards him and kept her in his embrace.

Lyra went mute. She suddenly felt the need to hang up her phone—or break it, whichever one was faster, and kiss the boy who was currently resting his face against her stomach.

Grayson looked up at her and urged her to go on. Lyra put the phone on speaker, “H-hello—” she asked, her voice sounding squeaky and flustered.

She felt Grayson smirk against her and she wanted to smack him on the head for it.

“Lyra? You ok? Where’d you go all of a sudden?” Harry asked, Lyra felt Grayson frown upon listening to Harry’s voice and she held back a giggle.

“Sorry. There was— something. I— YOU NEEDED SOMETHING??” She asked or screamed. Or something in between, she didn’t know. Grayson did that to her.

Harry paused for a moment, “Uh— yeah, Right! So I met your mom on accident right after we hung up.”

“Mhm.” Lyra said, trying to focus on Harry’s words instead of the man who had her in between his legs and held onto her for dear life.

“Andd we were discussing things. She was surprised to know that we already talked since apparently, a certain somebody doesn’t pick up their moms phone.” Lyra winced. That was true. She needed some space for a while.

“Aha— guilty as charged your honour.” She replied. Harry chuckled.

“Honestly, Lyra, she’s so worried about you— you really should come by.” Harry said. Lyra replied with a ‘hmm’. Lyra could swear she heard Grayson murmur “Desperate bastard.”

“Anyways, she told me to tell you to pick up her phone calls and come over since your vacations have started.” Harry said.

“Uhhh, yeah sure, I’ll have to check with my people first.” Lyra said trying to ignore the fact that her, suddenly clingy Hawthorne, nuzzled closer at the ‘my people’ part.

“Mmk, you do that. What are you doing at university for vacations anyways? Don’t tell me you’re studying.” Harry said, adding a sigh. Lyra looked down at Grayson to se him making a face the screamed “does this man ever shut up?” She coughed to cover her laugh.

Now how was Lyra supposed to tell Harry that she practically jumped at the chance to spend a few months with Grayson right after her college semester was over?

“Ah— well, I’ve been hanging out with my friends and—” Lyra didn’t get a chance to complete her sentence.

“Boyfriend.” Grayson finished, seemingly satisfied with hugging her for now. She tried not to acknowledge the fact that she immediately missed his embrace. She failed.

Silence. “What?” Said Harry, finally.

Lyra was about to sit down next to Grayson so that he could talk but Grayson just pulled her down onto his lap and Lyra ascended for a second.

Lyra looked to him, knowing fully well how red she must have been by now. Grayson simply signalled for her to continue.

“I— nothing, I’ve just been hanging out with my people.” She said, the butterflies reaching her head. Lyra had officially lost the ability to form coherent sentences without stuttering.

Obviously, she smacked Grayson’s arm as a result. Grayson chuckled, not loosening his hold on her.

“Uh huh.” Said Harry, sounding sceptical. Grayson murmured something along the lines of “what’s he so suspicious for?” and Lyra couldn’t help but giggle.

“Oh! Your mom says that she’s happy you’re rekindling your old relationships.” Said Harry, ignoring Lyra’s odd behaviour.

“Friendships.” Grayson corrected. Lyra laughed.

“.. Lyra are you okay?” Harry sounded genuinely concerned.

“Y-yes I’m fine— sorry what?” She said, suppressing her laughter as Grayson pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“… Um— is this a bad time?” He asked.

“Yes,” Grayson replied, not bothering to try and keep his voice inaudible to the phone this time.

“… Who is this— Where’d you go, Lyra?” Lyra felt almost bad for Harry.

“I’m Lyra’s boyfriend. And, yes, she’s busy, this is a bad time.” He replied. Lyra shot him a look but her smile didn’t seem to be willing to seize.

“B- BOYFRIEND?? SHE WAS WITH HER— OH— oh. OH!! THATS WHY SHE WAS SO FLUSTERED. THIS MUST BE SO AWKWARD FOR HER WITH ME BEING—” Harry was cut off by Grayson.

“It doesn’t matter who you are. She wasn’t awkwarded out.” Grayson stated in the cold tone he used to scare people off. Lyra could hear the unspoken words, by the likes of you.

“Don’t be rude, Gray.” Lyra whispered to him.

“You asked me to be honest.” Grayson replied, innocently. Lyra wicked him on the arm again playfully.

“… I’m just gonna hang up now.” Said Harry before hanging up.

Lyra and Grayson sat their in silence staring at each other for a while.

“Why does he talk so much?” Grayson asked, finally.

Lyra raised her brow in response.

“Like— didn’t you both literally just talk, why does he feel the need to continue talking again?” He said.

Lyra didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Just pass on the message your mom gave him and shut the fuck up.” Grayson stated matter of-factly, and Lyra almost fell off Grayson’s lap when she saw a pout form on his face.

Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. Pouting. God, she had been blessed. Pouting shouldn’t have looked as good on him as it did.

“Grayson,” Lyra said as he met her gaze, “You’re jealous.” She stated.

Grayson stared at her for a while. “That I am, sweetheart. I don’t like him.” He said. Lyra smiled.

“You don’t have to. I don’t plan on talking to him much.” She replied. Grayson ‘hmm’ed in response, something still bothering him.

Lyra rolled her eyes, he was being incredibly petty, “No, we didn’t kiss. Or hug. Or cuddle. Or any of that stuff. Just one failed date.” She said.

Then, Grayson actually smiled, “So, I’m your first?” He asked, satisfied. Lyra rolled her eyes a second time.

“Yes. You are.” She replied.

Eventually Grayson and Lyra got up since he needed to shower.

“Alright, you should shower now. I’ll go use the other washroom.” Lyra stated, turning around.

“Or.” Grayson said and Lyra stopped, facing him again.

Grayson leaned in and whispered something directly into her ear. Lyra went red.

“G-GRAYSON???!!!!”

———————————

What Grayson said? I’ll leave that up to ur imaginations.

BRO IDK JEALOUSY FICS ISTG. But I had this ask for a while so I figured I might as well 😭🥹🙏🏻

This plot came to me in the shower lmfao—

@alwaysthefangirl , @lyrakanefanatic

Constructive Criticism ❤️❤️❤️✨

(@haniya1234, I’m late, but I’m here 😔😌✨ I couldn’t think of a nice premise for before dating so this turned out to be after 😭😭🙏🏻, apologies 😭🥹🙏🏻 ENJOYYY.)

[cripplecharacters]

I am writing a fanfic about a character known as pure vanilla cookie from a cookie run game who is implied to be visually impaired/blind. And may I ask if it is okay if I write her flower wand as a cane. While the character is still visually impaired, but using the staff as a sort of cane and removing the whole 'fixing disability trope' and i've been wondering if it okay to use the flower staff as cane?

Hello, thank you for your ask!

Note: I myself am not blind but I did talk with another mod about the ask. If any of our blind/visually impaired followers want to chime in feel free! Also I don't know a lot about Cookie Run lore, so sorry if i get something wrong because I'm going off of images of the character.

I think it's great to change a canonically disabled character so they experience their disability rather than getting magically cured, however looking at photos of the staff there are some things about it that would need to change, and some things you should consider.

I think the main issue with using their wand as a cane would be the flower on top. Real world canes are held at chest level for long canes and waist level for shorter guide canes, and I'd imagine having a large, bulky flower on top would make it harder to handle. If the flower were to be able to move out of the way or shrink it might be easier to use.

The staff is also much taller than a white cane. Long canes are typically a bit taller than shoulder level, while Pure Vanilla Cookie's staff seems to reach well over their head. This would make it difficult to use unless it can shrink.

The bottom of the cane looks curved, similar to a bundu basher tip (although actual bundu bashers have angles instead of being completely rounded), which are ment for traveling in unpaved, natural areas. This type of tip would make sense for a character that's in nature a lot, but not for a character that lives in a well paved city. I'd recommend looking up cane tips and what they're used for depending on where Pure Vanilla Cookie lives. Cane tips also get worn after a lot of use, so unless the staff can regrow its tip it's going to need to be able to be taken off and be changed.

Another thing to consider is the cane's color. Most white canes are white with a red bottom (some countries have standardized other colors such as a green bottom or a complete white cane for different levels of blindness), this helps signal to other people that the person is blind. Signaling blindness can be useful in situations such as a driver knowing a blind person is at the crosswalk and they might start walking before the light changes, it lets other people know to be more careful. This is also why identification canes (or id canes) exist, they're canes that don't help with navigation but instead let other people know that while they do have remaining vision they're still blind.

If you wanted to make the staff a cane you'd have to change a lot about it, or give Pure Vanilla Cookie both the staff as well as a white cane (or a guide dog/animal [if they don't have dogs in CR] or a guide).

I'd also recommend looking through our #white canes and #blindness tags, as well as blogs focused on blind characters such as blindbeta! Feel free to ask again if you have any more specific questions about portraying a blind person or tropes.

Have a lovely day!

Mod Rot

[whizzing-fizzbee]

What Are Friends For? | Part III

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (smut, language); all characters are 18+ Chapter tags: smut, friends with benefits, friends to lovers, sexual tension, sex, oral sex, mild bondage, light dom/sub, 3rd person POV, happy ending

Notes: We've reached the end! Thank you to everyone who has read and followed along with this little series, and thank you to the kickass anon who requested it. I appreciate all of the feedback and am so grateful for all of you!

➡️ Read on AO3 or below the cut. ⬅️ Read Part 2

Sebastian paced his dorm room. Nevermind it was nearly 2 a.m. Nevermind that Ominis was huffing and puffing as he tossed and turned at the sound of Sebastian’s manic state. Nevermind that Stella was also awake, staring at the ceiling above her own bed just a corridor away.

“Sebastian,” Ominis finally sighed. “Go to sleep, mate.”

“I can’t.”

“And why not? Too busy scheming more ways to thrust me toward Poppy Sweeting?”

Sebastian stopped, his own dilemmas momentarily on pause. “Thrusting?” he mused. “Did something happen between you two?” He could hear Ominis shift between the bedsheets.

“That’s none of your business,” he replied tersely. Sebastian tutted.

“Ominis, I’m the only reason you and Poppy got some alone time to begin with,” he noted. “It’s absolutely my business.” 

“No, but it’s absolutely in your best interest to keep your nose in your own affairs and to go to sleep before I hex you.”

“Clearly there was no thrusting between you and Poppy, given how uptight you are,” Sebastian muttered.

“Yeah, then what’s your excuse?”

Sebastian froze. Even in the dark, he could feel the smug satisfaction creeping over Ominis’ features.

“What do you know?” Sebastian demanded.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ominis muttered. “Clearly, something is going on with you and Stella. The sexual tension is suffocating. I don’t know what’s happened between you two, but you’re fools for trying to conceal it. And you’re clearly losing your damn mind over it.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Liar.”

“Don’t make me set fire to your bed curtains again.”

“Don’t make me turn you in for murder.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and retreated to his bed. He sat on the edge, peering at nothing as the room fell quiet again, Callum Barclay’s snores the only sound until Sebastian heaved a sigh.

“Ominis,” he finally called out. 

“Yes?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Have you inhaled too many fumes in Potions again?”

“Come off it, mate.”

It was Ominis’ turn to sigh. “No, Sebastian. I’ve never been in love,” he said. “But while I can’t give you any advice on that topic, I can tell you that if you have feelings for a certain dark-haired Slytherin, you’d better tell her. I overheard Leander Prewett and Arthur Plummly talking in Charms class. Prewett’s going to ask her out.”

“What?!”

“Oi, keep your voice down! Some of us have sensitive hearing,” Ominis snapped as Callum stirred briefly.

Sebastian ignored them both. “Leander Prewett? Is that a joke?” he asked.

“Pull your head from your arse, Sebastian. Damn near every bloke in this school’s got a hard-on for Stella,” Ominis noted. “You can’t blame them for showing interest, especially when you’re too cowardly to do it yourself.”

Sebastian swore. Leander Prewett? That pompous Gryffindor with scrambled eggs for brains? Surely he stood no chance with Stella… right?

But Sebastian had seen Stella and Leander spend time together. They often played Summoner’s Court after class and occasionally studied together. What if she harbored secret feelings for him? What if she was picturing Leander every time she was with Sebastian? It was enough to make his stomach lurch.

“Fucking Prewett,” Sebastian growled.

“Oh, for Salazar’s sake,” Ominis hissed. “Surely you can’t be this dense, can you?”

“Huh?”

“I stand corrected,” Ominis muttered. He rolled over so he was facing Sebastian’s side of the room, his voice brimming with annoyance. “Sebastian, she clearly is smitten by you, too. Think about it. Think about everything she’s done for you. She’s nearly died for you. Hell, she probably would if it came down to it. She wouldn’t do any of that if she didn’t love you. She does everything for you."

Sebastian mulled over Ominis’ observations. It was true, Stella went out of her way to support him, and it was always unconditional. She backed him without question, perhaps to a fault at times. But Sebastian had always chalked that up to Stella’s character. She was a fiercely loyal friend and an even better person; a rare pillar of conviction in a world riddled with cowardice and greed. Of course she’d do all of that for him. It didn’t mean she loved him, did it?

But Ominis, despite his lack of eyesight, was the most observant person Sebastian knew. He made up for what he couldn’t see by feeling. He had an inimitable sense for emotion, as if his wand’s crimson, glowing tip had a secret trait for telepathy. 

Sebastian flopped backward. The notion that Stella might actually return his feelings confirmed he needed to take initiative before it was too late. He’d fight like hell before he lost her to the likes of Leander Prewett, or he’d die trying. 

He’d take a gamble and pray that just once, the odds were in his favor.

—

Stella shied away from breakfast in the Great Hall the following morning; partly because she, too, was lacking sleep and was fearful she looked like a banshee, but mainly because she felt like she was losing her fucking mind.

She should have known this would happen. She was a smart girl, nearly the top of her class. Surely she should have recognized sleeping with the object of her utmost affections was playing with a fire that would swell and spread before it could be tamed. She was in too deep and now she was going to fucking drown in the treacherous sea that was Sebastian Sallow.

Fucking hell. This was her own doing and now she’d have to sort herself out.

She had no choice but to call things off. She’d tell Sebastian she no longer wanted to carry out their arrangement. He wouldn’t mind, right? After all, wasn’t the entire point of their sexual education experience to help him improve for his future partners? Stella was never meant to be the final notch in his belt.

But oh, how she wanted to be. How she wanted to experience Sebastian in seclusion every night. She wanted to explore more of him, to discover what happened when he was relaxed and unbothered, and to find out how it’d feel when she was unleashed. She wanted him raw and unfiltered, free from any fears and implications. She wanted the real Sebastian.

But the dinner hour approached and she was still nowhere to be found. That was by design, of course, as she cowered in her dormitory, too afraid to face Sebastian. 

It wasn’t that she was fearful for his reaction. She assumed he wouldn’t care if she withdrew from her role as his casual sex partner. She was terrified of what would happen after that. Would their friendship survive their reckless antics?

When dinner started, Sebastian fidgeted in his seat at the Slytherin table. Stella was clearly avoiding him. But he needed to strike while his resolve was hot. He’d spent the day preparing, gassing himself up to take the risk necessary and prove he was capable of loving her in all the ways she deserved.

Sebastian shoved himself away from the table, ignoring Ominis’ scolding remarks, and returned to the dungeons. 

The knock on her dormitory door forced Stella upright in bed. She glanced nervously at the door as ten different decisions plagued her mind. Should she pretend to be asleep? She could always say she’d fallen ill. Perhaps she could merely disappear into thin air, ceasing to exist.

“Come in,” she finally sighed, clinging to the bed covers. The door creaked open and Sebastian’s head surfaced through the crack.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey.”

“You, er, feeling alright?” Sebastian asked as he strode into the room. The door snapped shut again, leaving Sebastian to linger near the foot of Stella’s bed.

“Oh, I’m feeling fine,” Stella said nonchalantly. “Just wasn’t hungry, is all.”

Sebastian blinked at her. “Stell, in the nearly three years I’ve known you, you’ve never skipped dinner.”

“Well, maybe there’s a first for everything.”

Sebastian sighed and sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes determinedly on Stella’s rather than sneaking a glance at the dip in the neckline of her nightgown. “Stell, what’s going on?” he pressed. It was Stella’s turn to sigh, her feet fidgeting nervously beneath the blanket. 

“I don’t think we should… do what we’ve been doing anymore,” she said carefully. Sebastian stilled, hoping the wind that was knocked from him wasn’t visible.

“Oh,” he said as he forced a steady tone. “Wh-why not?”

“I just think we should probably quit before we get too carried away.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No! Not at all, Seb. You’re… you were great.”

“I don’t understand.” And then it hit him. Sebastian’s fists balled, a tell that anger was seeping into his veins and threatening to poison his composure. “Wait. Is this because of Prewett?”

“What?”

“Prewett. You’re going out with him, aren’t you?”

“What?!”

“Be honest.”

Stella was dumbstruck. What on Earth did Leander Bloody Prewett have to do with anything? “Sebastian,” she sputtered. “What are you on about? I’m not going out with anyone, and sure as hell not Leander.”

“Just be honest,” Sebastian repeated hotly. “There’s no need to lie, especially to me of all people. I can take it.”

“Can take what?” Stella’s wide eyes searched him frantically for clarity. “Sebastian, why would I lie about that? If I were going out with someone, of course I’d tell you.”

“Then why don’t you want to… to sleep with me anymore?”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Bullshit. That’s not a good reason, Stella.”

“I don’t owe you a reason,” Stella snapped. Her eyes were narrow now, piercing him with an aggravation that masked crippling pain. “I said I don’t want to do it anymore.”

But Sebastian saw through her. He’d grown accustomed to her defensive cues, like the way she crossed her arms and the way she sucked her top row of teeth.

“Do you genuinely no longer want to?” Sebastian challenged. “Or are you afraid because you enjoy it too much?”

Stella fought to maintain an expression of indifference, but Sebastian could see the way her nostrils flared. It was another discreet indication of her discomfort, but Sebastian knew to look for it. That was the most challenging part of befriending Sebastian Sallow. He could read Stella with more ease than any of the books stacked at his bedside.

“Fuck off, Sebastian.”

“Tell me the truth and I will. Tell me it’s because you genuinely want to stop and I’ll leave.”

“Why does it matter? Why do you care?”

“Why wouldn’t I care?” Sebastian’s eyes flashed. It wasn’t anger that set them ablaze, but something much more desperate and organic; an exhausted exasperation void of any more fight; a white flag, ready to reveal the truth. “Stella, come on,” he breathed, “Don’t push me away.”

“Sebastian, I’m not. I’m just-”

“You’re just what? If you’re not going out with anyone, why are you suddenly adverse to our arrangement?”

“Because that’s all it is, Sebastian!” Stella blurted out. “All this is to you is a stupid little arrangement.”

“When did I ever say that? When have I ever said this is stupid or meaningless to me?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

Stella blinked. “Oh.”

“Is it meaningless to you?”

“No.”

“Then it sounds like we’re on the same page,” Sebastian said. 

“And what page is that, Sebastian? I don’t want to be vague about this.”

Sebastian swallowed, his eyes studying the bed curtains that were pulled to the side. He had to get this right. He had to be open, honest and forthcoming. He had to make his intentions clear and his feelings unmistakable. And he had to show some initiative. “The page where we both admit that we’re more than friends.”

Stella’s pulse beat all the way to her fingertips. The bedsheets became too constrictive, too tight around her legs. She remained rooted in place, paralyzed by the notion none of this was real and she’d wake up in a cold, sorrowful sweat.

“You want to be more than friends?” she finally squeaked.

“Of course, I do.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because it’s not a common, everyday dinner discussion.”

“So then why are you telling me now?”

“Because I’m tired of pretending like your mere existence isn’t the driving force for mine.”

There. That was about as blunt as Sebastian could be. It was peak vulnerability – so much so, he began to ponder ways to sink beneath the floorboards, never to be seen again, if Stella rejected him.

Instead, she gazed at him with soft warmth as she gathered her own thoughts in an attempt to find the right words. The ringing in her ears surged to a knee-buckling hum. 

“Sebastian,” she started. “You should have told me.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“Of course it would have.”

Sebastian turned sharply to look at her, his brow furrowed. He looked more alarmed than confused, as if the notion that his feelings weren’t unrequited was a foreign, unchartered concept.

“What exactly are you saying?” he asked sharply. Stella sighed.

“Sebastian, of course I see you as more than a friend,” she said. “I adore you.”

“You what?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh.”

“Now can we stop doing whatever this is?” Stella gestured wildly at nothing. “This silly, stupid dance around the truth? Can we just… be together, open and honestly?”

Sebastian straightened. He wiped his palms against his kneecaps. “Yes,” he breathed.

“Good.” Stella shifted and it became clear to Sebastian that their future was now in his hands. She was waiting, silently begging, for him to act, to prove to her this was all for real. 

He kicked his shoes off and turned until he was crawling toward her, their anticipation rising each time his knees dug into the mattress until he was kneeling next to her, cupping her face in his hands.

“You look really beautiful in that,” he murmured, tilting his head as his eyes grazed over Stella’s nightgown. He leaned in to kiss her with a gentle ease, indicative of the soft side only she could bring out. When he pulled away, his fingers traced the neckline of the nightgown until they reached her collarbone. “You’d look better without it, though.”

Stella’s flush seeped across her neck and chest. Sebastian peeled back the covers and she shivered at the loss in warmth, though the chill was fleeting when his hands snaked across the tops of her thighs. His fingers found the hem of the nightgown while his eyes met Stella’s. When she didn’t break their gaze or protest, Sebastian continued, lifting the hem of her nightgown upward, slowly exposing every inch of her form until he was tugging it over her head.

Sebastian’s trousers tightened immediately. The sight of Stella’s bare body splayed out beneath him ignited every nerve ending until he was hot to the touch. But first, he was going to touch her until he ensured she was permanently his.

Sebastian fished his wand from his pocket and studied Stella with intense eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

Stella blinked. “That’s a loaded question," she rasped. Her lips parted in a playful smile and she reached to pull him into a kiss. “You know I trust you. But don’t make me regret it.”

Game on. 

“Lay back,” Sebastian ordered. He smirked and flicked his wand toward Stella. “Incarcerous irenen.”

In hindsight, Stella should have seen this coming. Manacles manifested around her wrists and ankles and Sebastian straightened proudly as he admired his handiwork.

"Sebastian!" Stella gasped. "What's gotten into you?"

“Looks like I learned something in the library the other day, after all. Sophronia would be so proud,” Sebastian said smugly.

“Sophronia would hurl herself into the lake if her innocent eyes saw what we were up to."

“Let’s keep that in mind the next time she tries to quiz us in exchange for library books,” Sebastian muttered. He studied Stella to ensure she wasn't bothered. "In all seriousness," he continued, tracing a finger over the curve of her waist, "You've spent these past days helping me, but you've been holding back. Now, it's your turn to let go."

They fell quiet as Sebastian committed the erotic vision of Stella’s shackled form to memory.

“Those aren’t too tight, are they?” he asked.

“No.”

“And you’ll tell me if you want me to stop?”

“Of course.”

“Are you cold?” he asked as he reached a hand toward one of her taut nipples. Stella inhaled sharply through her nose at his touch. He ran the pad of his thumb across it and shifted positions until he was straddling her. “We’ll go nice and slow, okay?” he said, mimicking her own words from the previous day. They were genuine, but there was no mistaking a hint of playfulness.

Sebastian leaned downward to kiss her neck, the remnants of the day’s perfume lingering. His teeth nipped gently at the skin before he proceeded downward, his mouth finding her right breast while his hand cupped the left. His palm relished the soft, yielding flesh as his tongue flattened and flickered over her nipple. He sucked gently until Stella squirmed beneath him.

“Relax,” he ordered with a smirk. Stella swallowed a snide response.

Sebastian’s hands raked over her sides, following the curve of her waist until they found her hips, his mouth still preoccupied by her breasts. He shimmied himself lower until he could press a kiss to each hip bone. Stella’s thigh muscles twitched beneath him.

But Sebastian took his time, his lips grazing across her navel as the tension pulled tighter within her core. Soon, his mouth was dragging over the tops of her thighs, inching inward until Stella’s hips were rising off the bed in eager anguish.

He pressed a kiss just above her slit and she finally issued a pitiful whimper. Sebastian smirked against her skin.

His tongue lapped at her entrance with cruel deliberation – slow, cruel and inhumane. The manacles around Stella’s ankles clinked as she strained against them, desperate to part her thighs more. But Sebastian wasn’t presently concerned about how far her knees could spread. He could do plenty of damage as is.

His tongue ghosted across her clit with such haste, Stella wondered if she’d imagined it. But it returned with more earnestness, pressing and prodding until a moan left her lips. Sebastian rolled his tongue, its repetitious waves weathering against her bud until he could taste her own tide. Stella panted and puffed, her eyes clamped shut as she begged for the final surge.

“Sebastian,” she breathed. “Sebastian, I’m so close.”

More, more, more. That was the phrase on repeat in both of their brains, their insatiable need to indulge in the other on full display. 

Sebastian’s fingers sank into the backs of Stella’s thighs as he applied more force, his tongue straining as it labored. He relieved it by sucking against her clit, pulling her release to the fringe of her nerve endings.

With a few more swipes, the straining cord snapped and Stella cried out. Her heels dug into the mattress while her fingernails pierced her own palms, the bindings around her wrists holding steadfast despite the pressure as she strained against them. Spasms surged from her clit until she was left in a spineless state.

“Merlin, you always taste divine,” Sebastian said as he straightened up to study Stella’s expression. She gazed at the ceiling with heavy eyelids, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. Sebastian had initially intended to relieve her of her manacles, but she looked too fucking sinful, her face flushed and limbs bound, to resist.

Sebastian sank his middle finger inside her without warning. Stella gasped as the heel of his palm connected with her clit, still swollen and sensitive. The sounds of her slick release chorused louder as Sebastian pumped his hand, his finger driving inside her as his palm tapped against her clit.

Stella choked through a moan. Sebastian’s finger curled and she could feel it pulling against her front wall, which was already on the twitching cusp of another release. 

A few more dabs and Stella was writhing, her hips jutting upward as Sebastian’s finger triggered another climax. Her walls convulsed and the back of her head dug into the pillow, her wrists digging against the restraints.

She whimpered when it was over, unsure if she’d ever recover. The bed curtains blurred into a haze and the quiet dormitory filled with the piercing ring of rising blood pressure. She was sensitive below the waist, her inner thighs now slick and the bedsheets beneath her damp. She felt completely and utterly undone; a ruined heap of fucked out limbs, hair now full of static from the pillowcase. Surely, she looked like someone teetering toward the final stage of six feet under.

But Sebastian had never been more attracted to her. He fumbled hastily with his necktie and shirt while Stella blinked at him, still flat on her back.

“You know, I might be able to help you undress a bit faster if you’d release me from these restraints,” she mused.

“Oh, right.” Sebastian fumbled for his wand. “Finite.”

The manacles vanished and Stella rubbed at her left wrist, which was red from the way she had strained against the metal. Not wanting Sebastian to worry, she moved for his belt buckle and began undressing him from the waist down as he unbuttoned his shirt.

Once fully undressed, he paused to kiss Stella, slow and tender until his erection throbbed. He rose to his feet and stood next to the bed, looming above Stella who watched him curiously. He tugged on her ankles, pulling her toward the edge of the bed until her legs dangled over the side.

“On your stomach,” he ordered.

Stella swallowed. “But Seb, you… are you… will you…”

“Just do it.” Something about the sight of Stella’s undoing ignited a new sense of confidence in Sebastian. He was certain he’d make her moan his name all night if he wanted.

Stella complied. Her spine straightened when Sebastian moved behind her. He bent forward to kiss the nape of her neck before the tip of his cock nudged her entrance from behind. She let out a low, slow moan as he sank inside her.

Sebastian swore at the tight heat compressing around his cock. He stilled for a moment, pulling backward slowly as Stella’s walls worked to accommodate him. But the sight of her backside bent over the edge of the bed proved impossible to maintain much restraint.

Sebastian’s hips snapped forward and Stella's cunt clenched around him as the skin rippled across her ass. He moved again and again, hips thrusting in determined rhythm as his cock sought a steady pace.

Skin slapped, floorboards creaked and the bedsheets muffled Stella’s whimpering moans. Sebastian grunted and groaned above her, his hands clenching her hips as he drove them into the mattress.

Stella was so slick, so stretchy for him, Sebastian searched for permission to accelerate his movements. 

“You’re so good,” he groaned. “You take me so well.”

“More,” Stella moaned, the top bedsheet balled in her fists. It was exactly what Sebastian wanted to hear.

He pounded into her until her breathy moans became crying whimpers. Each thrust of his cock jolted her walls with a dizzying paradox of pressure and pleasure. Her spine curved more as if she was begging him to continue. 

“Fuck, Seb,” Stella whined. Her submissive state spurred Sebastian on more, his flat hands pinning her in place against the bed as he rocked harder against her. The slapping sound of their union escalated to quick, short pops, peppered with Stella’s erratic whimpers.

The bed scraped against the planks of the wood floor, a grating screech that was interrupted by the increasing pitch of Stella’s moans. They climbed higher and louder as Sebastian’s cock edged her toward the peak. She clamped her walls in desperation to coax her climax from him, her flesh greedily straining around his cock.

“Come for me,” Sebastian commanded. “You’re going to come all over my cock and you’re going to say my name when you do it.”

Sebastian rammed and rutted against Stella, jamming his cock into her most sensitive spot until her moans could surely be heard in the common room below them.

“You’re close,” Sebastian noted, using one hand to ball Stella’s hair. He tugged at it, arching her back and emphasizing her ass. Sebastian squeezed it with his other hand, pumping harder until he was certain her hips would shatter from the force.

Finally, the sharp, short thrusts drove Sebastian’s cock into Stella’s trigger and she wailed a long, loud guttural cry of his name. Her walls fluttered and her core released more slick response as Sebastian’s hips continued to work until he could ensure her satisfaction was complete.

He couldn’t wait to do it again. But now, he was merely relieved he had managed to fuck her to completion before his own. And best of all, he’d get an endless supply of more opportunities to hear her praise him and beg for more, to watch her come undone for him, because she was his now.

“You’re so fucking good when you come,” Sebastian groaned, his cock coated in the new surge of slickness. While Stella’s frame slackened beneath him, spent from its trio of ardent releases, Sebastian sought his reward.

He sank several more times into the tight squeeze of her walls until the muscles of his abdomen flexed and his cock twitched, sending a jet of his release inside her. Stella moaned at the surge in warmth spilling within her walls as Sebastian grunted through the grand finale. He pinned Stella to the bed, his hips flush with her ass until it was over.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed as he caught himself with his arms above Stella, to keep from crushing her with his tired weight. He panted to catch his breath as Stella remained docile beneath him. 

He knew he should back away, help her get dressed before someone else stumbled into the room. But all the moments from the previous hour – the revelations, the realizations, the reactions – settled within him with crushing force.

Stella, tired of staring at bed covers, rolled onto her back. She smiled up at him with tired eyes – tired, but gratified and unmistakably elated.

“Alright?” she asked.

Sebastian nodded, his eyes still in awe of her nude features. “I think so.”

Stella glowered at him. “You think so? Sebastian, I just let you turn me into a ragdoll, surely you don’t merely think so. Or else I’m going to be the one with performance anxiety.”

Sebastian grinned and finally stepped backward, only so that he could step around her legs to lay down next to her. He reached to pull her against himself, one arm draped around her waist as he used the other to prop himself up on an elbow. 

“Didn’t see any anxiety just now, did you?” he noted.

“No, I suppose not,” Stella agreed.

“Aren’t you lucky?” 

“Lucky?” Stella drawled. “If anything, you’re the lucky one. Lucky to have such a good coach.”

[firewasabeast]

A little louliver thing for @champagnetommy and @bucktommyyendgame because I'm the nicest person in the world TRUST!

“So the guy comes up to me and he just takes the pizza, right out of my hand. Can you believe that? Anyway, I asked him why he did it and he looked me dead in the eyes and said ‘because yours is green, and that will save us all.’ What does that even mean? How would a slice of green pizza save everyone? At the time th-”

“Hang on, hang on.” Oliver shook his head, waving a hand back and forth to get Lou to stop. “Is this a real thing? That actually happened?”

“What? No, of course not. I told you when we got in the car that this was a dream I had last night. Were you not listening again?”

“It’s four-thirty in the morning!” Oliver exclaimed in self defense. “I woke up twenty minutes ago to you instead of my alarm.”

“You kept hitting snooze on the alarm.”

“You didn’t have to bite me.”

Lou looked away from the road just long enough to give Oliver a smirk. “You didn’t mind it at the time.”

Oliver scoffed. “I actually did, thank you very much. You didn’t even blow me. Just left me there… bitten.”

“That would’ve just made you more sleepy. Now are you going to listen to my dream or not?”

“I didn’t even get my coffee,” Oliver pouted in response. He pushed the button on the side of his seat to recline the chair back.

“I made you your coffee, you’re the one who left it on the counter.”

“I’m never carpooling with you again,” Oliver replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “I used to have a quiet ride to work in the mornings.”

“Well, that just sounds dull.” After a beat, Lou reached over and gave Oliver a poke on his arm. “Come on. You know you wanna hear it. Plus, I need to tell you before I forget.”

“Because you’re old?”

“Making a mental note not to bite you ever again.”

“You think that’s gonna put me in a better mood?”

Lou sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine. I’ll be quiet. We’ll sit in silence for the rest of the drive. Nothing but the sound of the road. You can close your eyes and you won’t even know I’m here.”

When he was met with no response, he figured Oliver had already fallen asleep. Then, “You’ll blow me when we get home?”

“If you respond to my dream with more than a grunt I’ll do way more than blow you when we get home.”

Oliver perked up at that, raising his seat and turning more toward Lou. “I am all ears, Babe. Start over with the pizza bit.”

[ilyasorokinn]

no matter what , matt rempe

note, the olympics were literally last year, but who cares? I'm finally getting to all my drafts. give me a round of applause. n e ways, we've all seen that video of that pole vaulter from the olympics running into the stands, so this is inspired by that, and also dansby swanson talking about mal pugh being in the olympics. i've officially hopped on the matt rempe train and i kinda like it lol pair, matt rempe x reader summary, matt rempe is just so proud of his girlfriend, the olympic gold medalist. warnings, none word count, 1647 words

(gif not mine)

"I thought it'd be bigger in person."

"Matt." You sighed, looking over at him, raising a brow.

"Seriously!" He insisted, "Didn't you think the Eiffel Tower would be bigger?" He gestured to the giant monument in front of you.

"Whatever." You rolled your eyes, "Let me get my customary Eiffel Tower picture, then I'll take one of you, and both of our mothers will be happy." You handed him your phone.

He returned your phone before standing in front of the tower, as still as a statue, "Matt." You sighed, dropping the phone exasperated, "You look like I'm holding you captive."

"You kind of are." He joked.

"Just smile." You narrowed your eyes at him, smiling when he smiled, albeit a rather forced-looking one, but it was still a smile, "See? That wasn't so hard." You patted him on the shoulder.

-

Regardless of where Matt was in the crowd, you could easily spot him in every race. It could have been the fact that he was loudly and proudly wearing a shirt with your face printed on it, or it could have been the fact that he was a giant.

Before each race, he made you promise to come over to wherever he was sitting so he could give you a little pep talk, the same way you would before each of his games. It was your ritual, and he made sure to keep the tradition alive.

"You got this!" He would tell you, "I'm so proud of you, regardless of the outcome of this game, you're still a gold medalist to me." He reached down, and you did your little handshake.

For the last race, you walked out onto the track and your eyes danced through the crowd. You spotted him easily. He was sporting a shirt with your name and number on it, and also holding a giant cutout of your head.

Your parents and siblings, as well as Matt's mom and sisters, were standing next to him, holding up posters of their own, clapping and cheering when you finally locked eyes with them. You made your way over to them, a smile on your face.

"You guys are hard to miss." You joked, hopping onto the railing that was holding the crowd back from running onto the track.

"We had to show our support." Alley smiled, hugging you and squeezing your hand.

"Thank you for being here." Once you had qualified for the last race, Janice booked flights and was on the first flight to Paris, not wanting to miss anything.

"Of course! We weren't gonna miss seeing this live." Steph hugged you next before you hugged your parents.

"We're so proud of you." Your mom whispered, her eyes getting teary as you pulled away and hugged your dad.

"Thanks, guys." You smiled, before turning to Matt, "Nice head." You joked.

"This is the biggest size they had." He looked almost disappointed.

"I'm sure they thought you were crazy enough." You smiled, pushing up and wrapping your arms around his neck, "I love you." You whispered into his ear.

"I love you, too." He wrapped his arms around your waist and said it into your ear, "Now, can't believe I'm saying this, but go kick some Canada butt." He joked.

"I will." You smiled proudly which made him roll his eyes.

"Never saying that again" He shook his head with a roll of his eyes.

After saying your goodbyes, you were immediately locked in. Everyone and everything around you wasn't there. The chattered of the other athletes, the music, you couldn't even hear Matt and your family cheering.

Your coach came over, grabbing you by the shoulders and looking you in the eyes, "This is your moment, you know that right?" You nodded, "All right, you've got this. I know you do." You nodded again, "Do your thing, superstar." She patted you on the back before making her way off to the side of the track.

You got into your place in your lane, stretching one last time and trying to keep your mind clear of any distractions. You bent down, touched your toes, and waited for the final instructions to get into place.

"Runners, take your mark." The race official stated, and everyone followed his instructions, "Set..." You waited, and when you heard the gunfire, you jumped up and started running as fast as you could.

You ignored every runner around you, only focusing on getting to the other end. The noise and cheers from the crowd sounded distant in your ears as your feet pounded against the ground.

You didn't know how close anyone was behind you, but all you knew and all you cared about was the one runner in front of you. You pushed and pumped your legs fast and faster, as fast as they could go.

You passed the other girl, knowing in the back of your mind that you couldn't stop that pace. You kept going, running, attempting to keep your breathing the same, not wanting to mess anything up.

And after, what felt like a million years, the glorious banner was right there, in front of you. You ran right through it, and instantly, felt a wave of relief and glory fall on your shoulders. Suddenly, you could hear the crowd again as you fell to your knees, covering your face as your shoulders shook with sobs.

Once you gathered yourself a little, you jumped right up, and ran all the way over to the stands, jumping up onto the railing and practically jumping into Matt's open arms.

"You did it!" He cheered, his own shoulders shaking as he cried along with you.

"I did it!" You repeated back. Your family and his family all patted you on the back, cheering and clapping for you.

The entire time you were running, Matt felt like his heart was gonna beat out of his chest. Of course, he was nervous, but he wouldn't admit it to you. You had enough on your shoulders, and he didn't want to add any more pressure. Even if you hadn't won anything, he would still be proud of you.

"That's it, Y/L/N, that's it, Y/L/N!" He was shouting the whole time, cheering even louder when you passed the other girl, "There you go!" He shouted, high-fiving your dad.

When he watched you cross the line and run through the banner, your dad had to physically hold him back from hopping the barrier that was holding spectators and fans back. Other than your parents, he was cheering the loudest for you.

"I'm so proud of you, baby!" He shouted, pulling away so he could look into your eyes. You were both smiling so big, your face started to hurt. He wiped your tears, before pulling you back in for another hug.

During the medal ceremony, Matt shed even more tears, wiping his eyes as they placed the medal around your neck. He cried even harder when the Star Spangled Banner started playing, more than he had ever cried during the song before.

"Y/N..." You felt like you were on cloud 9 and were honestly confused as to how you were still standing up straight, "A bit of a rough start, but what a comeback." The interviewer boasted.

"Thank you." You smiled.

"This is your first gold medal, and I can try to imagine how it feels. Did you ever think you would get here?"

"I did. I knew it." You nodded, "Ever since I was little, you can ask my sister, she would always have to race against me. I knew, since I was a kid, I would be here. I just couldn't have imagined being a gold medalist." It still felt funny coming out of your mouth.

"Well, congratulations, Y/N. What a win!" The interviewer couldn't help but smile along with you.

"Thank you." You couldn't stop smiling

-

Well into October, Matt was still riding the high. Right after the win, there were posts from everyone, from players to wives to coaches to reporters, all of them congratulating you on your win, and posting Matt's reaction.

He wore your shirt every chance he could in media or even walking into the rink. He was so beyond proud of you and wanted everyone to know it.

He, of course, knew the questions he was going to get during media were going to be related to you in some way shape, or form. After all, you were an Olympic Gold Medalist.

"Matt, I think many other people in here are just wondering, what was it like watching Y/N cross that finish line?" At the mention of your name, Matt immediately started smiling, and he couldn't stop.

"The feelings I felt are indescribable. Proud is an understatement. At that moment, I almost felt like I blocked everything else, and just watching her, I can't even tell you how proud I am of her."

"Even if she had lost, it wouldn't have mattered to me because she was always a winner in my eyes. But now the whole world knows it. I'm just honored to have been by her side." The entire time, the smile didn't fall from his face.

Matt got home later that day, announcing himself as he did, "In the living room!" You called back.

He left his stuff in the entryway before making his way into the living room. He smiled when he saw you, bending down and kissing your head, "How was your morning?"

"Not too bad," You shrugged, a smirk on your face.

"What?" He raised a brow.

"Nothing." You shook your head, "Just saw a little interview of you."

"Did you, now?" He questioned, "What was I talking about in this interview?"

"Me." You beamed, reaching over and cupping his cheek, "You kinda love me, don't you?"

"Just a little." He joked.

"I kinda do, too." You smiled, leaning in.

-

my taglist: @lam-ila @criminallysuperhamilfan13 @2manytabsopen @kolsmikaelson @bowen-power @kidlnthedark @boqvistsbabe @sc87 @iwantahockeyhimbo @cixrosie @mitch-slap

add yourself to my taglist!

[reiding-writing]

Congrats on 3k followers!!!! You deserve it, your writing is the best.

For the Rule of Threes event here's my request

1. “Are you okay?”

2. Mutual pining x First meeting

3. S1!spencer (he's tloml)

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself xx

COFFEE RUN(IN). /spencer reid/

“Are you okay?”

Mutual pining x first meetings.

s1! spencer x gn!reader 1.3k fluff event page. event masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | i wish love at first sight happened in real life

You’re only half paying attention as you push open the exit door of the coffee shop, your phone pressed to your ear while you ramble out a string of assurances to your best friend.

“No, I’m fine, I swear. I’ll see you tomorrow alright?” you say, voice rushed. “Yeah, yeah that’s fine, I’ll see you—”

You don’t finish the sentence.

Because as you step through the door, distracted and moving a little too fast, you collide with something—or other, someone.

The impact is jarring but brief. It sends a jolt through your chest and, before you can even process what’s happened, your phone slips from your grip. You watch in slow motion as it flips once, twice, then crashes onto the pavement.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” The voice is rushed and nervous, somehow both soft and frantic. It belongs to the person you just collided with—a tall, gangly man with messy brown hair, wide hazel eyes, and a beige cardigan that looks just a little too big for him.

Without hesitating, he crouches down, hands scrambling for your phone. His long fingers fumble slightly as he picks it up, flipping it over to inspect for damage. His brows furrow with genuine concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice slightly breathless. His eyes snap up to meet yours, and for the first time, you properly see him.

And just like that, the world narrows.

The busy street, the noise of the cars, the faint hum of the coffee shop door closing behind him—it all fades into the background. You’re caught off guard by the softness in his eyes, the nervous tilt of his head, the slight flush rising to his cheeks.

You blink once, then again.

“I—yeah,” you stammer, barely finding your voice. “I’m okay,”

Your words are delayed, and you’re not entirely sure whether you’re reassuring him or yourself. Because your chest feels inexplicably tight, and your pulse has started doing this odd, staccato rhythm that you can’t quite get a handle on.

You reach out to take your phone, and your fingers brush his.

He’s warm.

It’s brief—probably less than a second—but it’s enough for a strange sort of heat to crawl up your arm. The moment stretches just a little too long, both of you holding onto the phone simultaneously, as if neither of you can quite figure out who’s supposed to let go first.

“Oh,” he blurts suddenly, pulling his hand back like he just realised he was holding on too long. “Um, sorry. Again. I, uh—should’ve been watching where I was going. I was—uh, well, I was thinking about something. A lot of things, actually. And I got distracted. But that’s not an excuse. I—I hope your phone’s okay,”

He’s talking too fast. His words run together, tumbling out of his mouth in a nervous rush, and he stumbles over them once or twice. He tucks his hair behind his ear, then immediately seems to regret it and awkwardly shoves his hands into the pockets of his cardigan.

You glance at your phone, flipping it over to check the screen. Miraculously, it’s intact.

“No cracks. You’re off the hook,” you say lightly, trying for humor even though your heart is still thrumming in your chest.

He lets out a soft, breathless chuckle—so soft you might’ve missed it if you weren’t looking right at him.

“Good,” he says, nodding quickly. His lips twitch upward into a small, almost bashful smile, but his eyes don’t quite meet yours. He glances at the pavement, then the door, then his feet, clearly unsure what to do with himself.

You both stand there for a beat too long.

You should leave. You were on your way out, after all. You have somewhere to be.

But you don’t move.

And neither does he.

Instead, he clears his throat softly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes flick to yours—just for a second—and then back down, like he can’t quite bear the intensity of holding your gaze.

“I, um…” He hesitates, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. His voice lowers slightly, gentler now. “I—I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You blink at him, thrown by the softness in his tone.

“No—” you say, your voice coming out a little quieter than you intended. “You didn’t,”

He nods again, almost as if he doesn’t believe you, his eyes scanning your face like he’s double-checking for any sign of discomfort.

And God, he’s pretty. You’re not sure how you didn’t register it immediately, but now that you’re standing this close, you can’t seem to look away. There’s something so earnest about him—the way his eyes soften with concern, the slight furrow of his brow, the subtle tremor in his hands that he keeps trying to hide.

You realise, quite suddenly, that you’ve been staring at him.

You quickly clear your throat, awkwardly shifting your phone from one hand to the other.

“So, um… are you okay?” you ask, scrambling for something to say.

He blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting the question.

“Oh! Yeah,” he says quickly, his hands fluttering slightly as he gestures. “Yeah, I’m fine. I—I mean, I wasn’t the one who dropped my phone. Not that it’s your fault! I mean—it’s obviously not your fault. I—I bumped into you. So technically, it’s my fault. Entirely my fault. So, um… sorry. Again,”

His voice cracks slightly on the last word, and he winces, looking away.

You can’t help it—you smile.

You don’t mean to, but the corners of your mouth tug upward involuntarily. Because there’s something so painfully endearing about the way he’s standing there, clearly flustered and unsure what to do with his hands.

He notices your smile, and his eyes widen slightly. He blinks once, twice, like he’s not sure if he’s imagining it.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, you swear you see his lips quirk upward in the faintest, shyest of smiles.

But then he glances down again, scuffing his shoe against the pavement.

“I—uh—I should probably, um, let you go,” he stammers. His voice is barely above a murmur now, almost regretful. He gestures awkwardly toward the coffee shop. “I—I was just gonna grab a coffee. But, um, you’re probably busy. And I—I’ve already taken up too much of your time,”

You should leave.

But you still don’t.

Instead, you grip your phone a little tighter and take a tiny step forward.

“Actually,” you say softly, and your voice feels strangely brave, “I’m not— I don’t have anywhere to be,”

You watch as his eyes snap back to yours, wide with disbelief. For a second, he looks almost startled, like he can’t quite process what you just said.

“You—you don’t?” he asks, blinking quickly. His voice cracks slightly again, and his cheeks go pink.

You smile, softer this time.

“Nope,” you say, and your voice is steadier now. “If… you don’t mind the company,”

His lips part slightly, and for a moment, he just stands there, blinking at you, clearly at a loss for words.

Then—slowly—he smiles.

It’s small and a little unsure, but it reaches his eyes, softening them into something almost impossibly warm.

And when he holds the door open for you, his hand trembling just slightly where it rests against the frame, you know with absolute certainty that you’re both already a little bit smitten.

And neither of you mind one bit.