#they would do anything for each other no hesitation

[eileenrry]

ROOMMATES pairing: Roommate!Harry x Fem!Reader summary: You and Harry live together, but with the huge amount of responsibilites you're lately caring, he starts missing you (maybe more than he should) word count: 2.7K contains: FLUFF, teeny tiny bit of angst, roommates and best friends trope + little song reference (let’s see if you’ll find it) a/n: My first writing, please be kind! Would be grateful for feedback, ideas, anything! My dms are opened always. Also HUGE THANKS to my beloved @this-is-tiny-mia, prof-read by the best one! All my love, E

The sun had already dipped behind the horizon when you shut the door of your apartment. The rushing world was finally left behind for a second, giving you the much needed oasis of calm, a moment to breathe.

Muffled sounds of some British show made their presence as they seeped through the thin walls to the hallway, following by an unmistakable scent of Chinese takeout. A clear sign that your roommate, Harry, was home.

You kicked off your shoes quickly without a second thought, not bothering about each one being on the other side of the room or even putting them neatly by the front door, and made your way into the living room.

“Hey H, I’m home-“ You stopped in the mid of sentence, your breath hitching at the sight of your best friend’s half naked form lazily sprawled on the couch, his tattooed arm draped over his face to shield his eyes from the light and lips slightly parted, each steady breath turning into quiet snort and blending with low hum of the TV.

Judging by the mess of his hair, damp and unruly, he must have showered not too long ago.

Your expression softened instantly and without hesitation, you put your overstuffed bag with groceries and textbooks on the floor and grabbed a fluffy blanket from the armchair, carefully covering his bare chest to prevent his body from cold. In a hoarse baritone a small ‘thank you’ came out from his velvety lips as he snuggled into a pillow he’s been leaning on, mistaking it for you. You watched him for a few seconds before reaching for the remote beside him and switching the TV off. The room was instantly enveloped with darkness, only faint light came from the connected kitchen.

You grabbed an open bottle of wine from the coffee table, along with a full glass that seemed untouched since he’d poured it and you took a long sip, letting the maroon liquid warm your body in slow waves.

A quiet growl of your stomach reminded you how hungry you really were and within seconds you were heating up the Chinese food Harry had put aside for you - just like he always did.

Some nights, Harry stayed up and waited for you, just to make sure you arrived home safe. Other nights, like tonight, he wasn’t that successful. In these cases, he left you a sweet little note on the fridge or on a mirror in your bedroom and food on the kitchen counter.

“Mhm… Love, you’re home?”

You jumped in shock at the sound of Harry’s raspy voice, his hand rested lazily on your shoulder.

“Harry! You can’t sneak up on people like that- oh god…”

You gulped down the last drops of wine before setting the glass in the sink and turning your attention back to the timer on the microwave.

1 minute and 32 seconds left.

Harry shuffled behind you and leaned against the counter, making his presence known by clearing his throat.

“Umh, I was thinking if you’d want to come to the studio with me tomorrow. Or just you know… hang out. It’s been a while.”

It’s been ages.

Harry said softly, fidgeting with his hands in his lap and avoiding your gaze.

“H, you know I can’t. I have to finish the essay I told you about… And I have some other work too.”

A long sigh left your lips before you even get the words out and Harry’s eyes flickered up to meet yours instantly.

The thoughts of all the things you did and still had to do for school rushed through your mind, making you only nauseous again. The frown on your face only emphasized your feelings.

“No way you’re gonna spend another day buried in work. You need to rest…” Harry was quick to argue, not satisfied with your response at all.

The blanket he’s been wrapped in slipped from his shoulders and pooled around his feet on the cold wooden floor as he took a few steps closer, his hands finding home on your shoulders again, firm yet gentle.

“Harry…” You mumbled under your breath, cursing yourself for not just going straight to bed instead of letting this conversation happen.

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me!” he shot back, voice pitching higher in a dramatic imitation of yours. You only roll your eyes, refusing to let him know how eerily accurate it was.

“Your essay, work, the bachelor party - it all can wait a day or two. You need a break. I see it on you!” Harry pressed, his voice more stern.

“You won’t fool me with the little makeup you use to cover the dark circles under your eyes, those fake smiles and the many mugs of coffee you drink every day…”

You froze, your breath hitched at the confrontation. You didn’t expect him to pick up on every little detail. The extra time you spent in the bathroom every morning to cover the evidences of restless sleep. The bachelor party you’ve been planning for your close friend and mentioned just once or twice in passing.

You swallowed hard. “Uh… thanks?” Shaking his hands off your shoulders, they slowly fell down your arms, his fingers burning your skin as they stopped at your elbows.

“Ugh just… you’re not you.” His voice got quieter, softer even with each word and breath, speaking until his lungs stopped him and with his grip on your elbows tightening, he only emphasized each letter. Like if he was mentally preparing himself for saying something more - something final.

“And I miss you.”

You felt like you didn't hear him right, maybe not at all. He whispered it so quietly, it would be easy to miss it. Your head felt like spiraling and you weren’t sure where this conversation was coming from or even worse, coming to.

“What…?” You shook your head at his statement, a nervous laugh slipping out. “That’s- that doesn’t make sense. That’s silly”

You dropped your gaze down to your bare feet, your toes curling against the hardwood as you tried to ignore the way his stare could burn a hole through the crown of your head.

“We barely spend any time together. You’re always in school or work, and when you’re home, you’re studying. And I don’t care how crazy or desperate I sound right now, because in ten minutes, you’ll be in bed, and by the morning, you’ll be gone again to library! Please, love. I miss you. I miss us.”

Harry whispered the last three words like if they were the most precious thing in the world, barely audible, yet you both knew you heard them right - there was no space left between you now.

You shut your eyes tightly, trying to process the whole situation. He was right, of course he was. You couldn’t even remember the last time you two did something together, aside from the occasional late night dinners you ate in silence.

“You don’t miss it?”

His voice was raspy, heavy on emotions he’s been treasuring deep inside. His left hand delicately traced your arm up, like if he was touching a baby deer, while his right cupped your cheek gently.

You felt at loss for words. Of course you miss him too.

When your body collided with his, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist and face buried in his bare chest, few moments haven passed. Silence. Heavy, defeating silence.

This time, Harry was the one caught off guard. But almost instantly, his arms encircled you, holding you close without hesitation and his lips were pressing soft kisses in my hair.

“Are you crying?” He murmured quietly before pulling back just slightly to see your face.

"No I'm not!" You lifted your head, chuckling as you gave him a sincere reassuring smile and without any more words said, you nestled back.

Harry’s heartbeat was frantic as yours and breath was uneven. You could feel his fingertips tracing slow, gentle patterns up and down your back, making you shiver.

It felt strange, but not unwelcome.

His hands kept moving subtly - up and down, up and down, lower and lower until they found their place on the curves of your ass.

You could feel your breath hitching at the sudden touch, and for a moment, it felt like the kitchen was losing oxygen. Like you forgot how to breathe.

But when Harry gave you a slight squeeze, suddenly every thought and worry from your mind disappeared. Your fists tightened around the fabric of his grey sweatpants, gripping his waistband so hard your hands started to ache.

Harry’s long fingers, decorated with a few silver and golden rings slid lower again, gripping the backs of your thighs. Instinctively, you tightened your hold on his upper body as he lifted you up with ease, securing you on the kitchen counter where your dinner had been just few minutes ago.

Harry stood between your parted legs, his fingers toyed with the loops on the waistband of your jeans, bringing you even closer to his body by them. Your eyes locked, holding each other’s gaze, unwavering, and didn’t look away even for a second.

"I don't wanna ruin this..."

"You won't"

Your hands slowly traced their way from his back, across his stomach, and up to his chest. Your left hand came to rest over his heart, feeling the erratic rhythm beneath your palm that quickened with every touch, matching the unsteady rise and fall of your own breath. Overwhelmed, your eyelids fluttered shut.

Harry’s breathing grew heavier, louder. You felt it ghosting over your lips before his mouth finally found yours. But it wasn’t a kiss. Not yet.

Your lips brushed against his, barely touching, and yet he didn’t push for more. He just waited, patient, still, expecting you to pull away any second now.

He was ready for you to start screaming in his face, calling him crazy and stupid, demanding to know why in the hell he did it.

Ready for you to tell him this would only make your friendship complicated.

Ready to feel the sting of your palm against his stubbled cheek before you’d run off to your room, tears streaming down your face, slamming the door behind you as sobs would echo through the walls.

But none of that happened.

You didn’t yell at him. You didn’t run away. Your eyes stayed dry. The door remained untouched. No cries filled the space where your bed is.

And your hand didn’t meet his cheeks in anger. Instead, one rose slowly and with your fingertips grazed his skin before settling down. Soft, warm, careful.

The moment your hand made contact with his skin, he shivered. Not from cold, not from fear, but from the realization that every worst-case scenario running through his mind had just been proven wrong.

Harry opened up his mouth slightly and let himself drown in the slow movements of your lips, softer than he could ever imagine and with the hint of red wine. Your nose brushed against his one snuggly, taking in the scent of him before his hands moved from your waist up to your cheeks, cupping them in his palms in firm yet gentle grip.

You let out a quiet moan, not able to hold yourself back anymore, when he took your bottom lip between his teeth and started sucking on it lightly. The corners of both your mouths curled into small, knowing smiles at your reaction, soft giggles escaping between the shared kisses. Yet neither of you pulled away. Neither of you wanted to. You need each other like flowers need the sun. His tongue traced over your lower lip again, a silent plea for more, and without hesitation you obliged him, slightly parting your lips.

With every second, every kiss, the craving for more grew stronger—his taste, his touch, his hands, the warmth of his body against yours. He was like an addiction. You couldn’t stop the quiet moans slipping from your mouth, your lips parted further as the kiss deepened, pulling you deeper into him.

“Harry-” you hummed against his mouth, but Harry was quick to shush you with whispers between soft pecks and kisses, his voice dancing on your tongue. “Shhh, darling.”

Another kiss, this time more hungrier, landed on your lips, it felt as if he was diving into you - exploring every part, every curve, everything you’re willing to give him and more, yet still it’s not enough. His curls, darker than the night surrounding you, tickled your forehead and burning red cheeks and you slid your hands up into his hair, brushing away a few stray locks before settling on the back of his neck.

A quiet moan escaped your lips as your mouths pull apart, but only slightly - your lips still brushing, foreheads resting together. The only sound in the overly quiet apartment was your heavy breathing, you were both struggling to steady and you had to blink a few times before your eyes found his. He slowly drifted his right hand down to your hip, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your jumper in an innocent manner. Harry thumbed your skin gently in slow circles, leaving hot touches behind and making you shiver. You both glanced down at his touch before your eyes met again and you tried from all the left strength put a few words together.

“Harry… I’m tired.” you mumbled quietly, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you bit down nervously.

“I know, darling. I know…” he murmured in an answer, tracing comforting circles on your skin in an attempt to calm down your racing mind.

“Take me to bed?” you whispered against his lips, your own pouty and voice barely more than a breath. Your eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion, lashes brushing softly against your cheeks as a soft sigh escapes you. Though your body felt numb, your grip on his neck only tightened, desperate to be as close as possible to his bare chest.

It didn't took much, nothing at all, and you nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck while his hands caressed your thighs in a firm hold, carrying you effortlessly as he made his way to the nearest bedroom.

“I meant my room…” You took note of your surroundings, realizing your body was sinking into his mattress. Harry just tsked at your quiet remark and sitted down on the edge of the bed as his gaze lingered on your body, still dressed in jeans and soft jumper.

“Lay with me, please.” Your quiet mumble echoed between the four walls securing you in safe and secure space and you buried your face in Harry’s pillow that smelled just like his cologne and a little scent of musk. Reaching out your arm to him on the empty and cold side of the bed, you pleaded for his presence in the sheets.

“Of course” Harry muttered and the sound of shuffling covers and the slight dip of the mattress beneath his muscle-covered body made you aware of him actually joining you. But for some reason, he wasn’t as close as you had hoped and a small frown tugged at your lips, drawing his attention fully to your face once more.

“Everything okay, love?” He asked, turning onto his right side to get a better view of you, though he still kept some distance between your bodies.

Had he already started regretting the kiss?

The lust and tension between you were undeniable and the electricity only grew as you slowly moved your hand toward his, your fingers hesitantly slipping through his. His breath, just like yours, hitched at the sudden touch. His palm felt warm against your skin, and you couldn’t help but notice how much bigger his hand was compared to yours.

“So, what are our plans for tomorrow?” You whispered, your lips still swollen from the kissing and your eyes slowly fluttered shut. Meanwhile, Harry brought your intertwined close to his face, pressing soft kisses to each of your knuckles.

“Anything but library, sweet one.” Harry murmured against the back of your hand, his gentle touch making you even weaker for him.

“Good night, Harry… And thank you.” The last words of the night left your lips before exhaustion embraced you fully. And Harry, he followed just a few minutes later - only after he was sure your sleep was peaceful. But with him, it always was peaceful.

[foxtrology]

i want you, i need you, i love you (4)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 12.8k

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

It had been three weeks.

Three weeks since the gallery night.

Since the bath. Since her in his robe. Since the moment she stepped into Harry Castillo’s penthouse and changed everything.

And somehow, despite the chaos, despite who he was, despite who she was—they hadn’t combusted.

They’d settled. Sort of. Not into a relationship. Not into anything that had labels or expectations.

And she wasn’t in any rush to be branded. But they were something—and whatever it was, it had slowly started bleeding into the rest of their lives.

He gave her a key on a Tuesday. He didn’t make a big deal out of it.

Just set it on the kitchen counter next to her takeout container, glanced up and said, “So you don’t freeze your ass off waiting for me if I’m not home.” That was it. No smile. No explanation.

Just Harry being cold and mean in the most absurdly tender way.

She didn’t say thank you out loud, but she kissed the corner of his mouth that night a little longer than usual. And he didn’t pull away.

They didn’t talk about what they were. They didn’t need to. But the rhythms were there.

He kept orange juice stocked in the fridge because she liked it. She started leaving hair ties on his bathroom counter. And a pink razor in his shower. He bought the cereal she liked. She figured out how to work his espresso machine before he did.

And they saw each other constantly. Not every day—he was still Harry Castillo—but almost.

He texted her at odd hours. Late nights when he couldn’t sleep. Early mornings when he was at the gym at an inhuman hour and saw something that reminded him of her. Articles. Memes.

Yes memes.

Photos of outrageously overpriced apartments that had bathtubs with built-in fireplaces and chandeliers.

He had sent one at 2:13 a.m.

Old man Harry ❤️👴: Would you complain if I bought this?

You: If you bought it and never invited me over, yes.

His response came five minutes later

Old man Harry ❤️👴: You have a key. I’d be forced to.

And that was that.

She didn’t stay over every night. But when she did, she found herself waking up warm. Not just physically—but emotionally. And that scared her more than anything else.

Because Harry Castillo wasn’t easy.

He was brooding. Quiet. Obsessive in ways that only became clear the longer she knew him. But he was consistent. And that? That mattered. He didn’t lie. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t sugarcoat anything. And slowly—slowly—she started letting him in.

It wasn’t until the second week that he found out about her jobs. Plural.

She had just finished showering in his bathroom—wet hair down, wearing one of his button-downs, no pants—when her phone lit up on the bed.

Marco (Flowers): u good to deliver that midtown order today or should I send Gio?

Harry saw it. He blinked. Then stared at the screen like it had personally offended him.

When she stepped out, towel in hand, humming softly to herself, she stopped dead in her tracks.

His eyes were locked on her phone.

She froze. “What?”

Harry lifted it. “Who’s Marco.”

“…Someone I work for.”

“You work where.”

She sighed, already knowing this was going to be a thing. “A flower shop. I help with deliveries sometimes.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “Since when.”

She arched a brow. “Since always?”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

That made something flicker behind his eyes—sharp and cold and maybe a little unhinged. He set the phone down carefully, then reached for his own.

“Harry—”

“I’m not mad,” he muttered, typing something.

She squinted. “You’re typing like you’re mad.”

“I’m not—” he cut himself off. “I’m just trying not to throw my phone at the fucking window.”

She blinked. “Jesus. Okay, calm down.”

“How many jobs do you have.”

She hesitated. And that was his answer.

He looked up. “How many.”

“…Three.”

“Three?”

She nodded.

Harry exhaled sharply, standing up so fast the chair scraped against the floor. “You said you were a server.”

“I am.”

“And?”

“I bartend on weekends. And I do flower deliveries during the day sometimes. Under the table. It’s not a big deal—”

“It is a big deal.” His voice was low now. Controlled. Furious. “You work three jobs and walk home late at night and don’t tell me?”

Her brows lifted. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

“Don’t—” he snapped, pacing now. “Don’t do that. Don’t turn this into a thing. I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to understand why the hell you think it’s normal to exhaust yourself until you collapse.”

She stared at him. He looked like he wanted to punch a wall. She softened, just a little. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

He stopped pacing. Turned to her. “It matters,” he said, quietly now. “It matters to me.”

And that? That shut her up.

Because Harry Castillo didn’t say things like that. Not unless they were true. The next morning, he asked for the addresses. All of them. She refused at first.

“You’re not picking me up from work.”

“Why not.”

“Because you’re Harry fucking Castillo. You don’t drive. You don’t do Midtown traffic.”

He stared at her. Said nothing.

Then pulled out his phone and typed something. An hour later, she got a notification from Find My iPhone.

Old man Harry ❤️👴 has requested your location.

She stared at it. Then looked up. He smirked.

“Add me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll come find you anyway.”

“You don’t even know where my flower job is.”

“Not yet.”

She groaned, shoving his arm. “You’re insane.”

“I don’t want you walking home.”

“I have legs.”

“You have shit shoes.”

“I—”

Harry raised a brow. “Let me take care of you.”

That was it. Just a soft command from a cold man who didn’t beg.

She rolled her eyes. But she added him.

The first time he picked her up, it was raining.

Not the soft, aesthetic kind. No—it was New York level chaotic. Sideways sheets of water, umbrellas flipping inside out, cars honking like they were allergic to patience, subways getting flooded by the second.

She was soaked. Her hair plastered to her forehead, her phone dead, her hands freezing.

And then? A black BMW pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down. And there he was. Driving.

She stopped in the rain and blinked. “You…drive.”

Harry stared at her, unimpressed. “Get in.”

“I thought you were allergic to steering wheels.”

He rolled his eyes. “I took a car from my old place. Get in before you drown.”

She slid in, dripping onto the leather seats. “This feels illegal.”

“Your shoes are illegal. What are those, socks with holes?”

“Don’t start.”

He tossed her a dry sweatshirt from the backseat—his, of course. “Put this on.”

She did. And the car smelled like him. From then on, it became a thing. Not official. Not daily. But often enough that she started waiting for it. Harry would show up outside her server shift around 11:15 p.m., texting her with a simple

Old man Harry ❤️👴: Here.

Or he’d pull up to the bar on Fridays, leaning against the hood like he hadn’t spent the day managing millions of dollars and threatening CEOs. Sometimes he brought coffee. Sometimes just a dry shirt and a scowl. But he always showed. And she never had to ask.

Their nights together stayed the same.

Mostly.

She’d enter the penthouse quietly. Leave her shoes by the door. Sometimes he was already home, waiting with dinner or a clean towel or just himself—half-dressed and reading on the couch wearing his glasses that make him look like an even bigger old man.

Sometimes he got home after her, muttering about meetings, his voice hoarse, jaw tense from hours of pretending he didn’t want to text her every five minutes.

But they always ended the night the same way. In bed. Tangled. Quiet. Bodies pressed close under too many sheets and not enough words.

He never said he missed her. But he texted her at 3:07 p.m. once after a brutal meeting with the board...

Old man Harry ❤️👴: This room is full of people who make me want to kill myself. You would’ve made it bearable.

She smiled when she read it. Didn’t respond right away. Let him sit in it. Later that night, when she curled up beside him, he didn’t say anything. Just wrapped an arm around her waist like a reflex.

On Sunday mornings, they got bagels. It started accidentally. She had mentioned a craving for egg and cheese one night in passing, barely awake, face pressed into his chest.

He said nothing.

Then the next morning? Bagel. Wrapped in foil. Sitting on the counter.

She blinked at it.

“Did you—”

“I didn’t want to hear you complain later,” he muttered.

So now it was a thing. Bagels on Sunday. No talking until coffee. Her in his oversized shirts. Him in sweatpants with his hair pushed back, watching her read something on her phone while chewing with her mouth open.

“You’re disgusting,” he’d say.

“You’re in love with me,” she’d fire back.

He never answered. Just stared. Like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t wrong.

Three weeks in and they still weren’t a couple. Not in public. Not in labels. But in the way he made her tea when she lost her voice. In the way she slipped notes into his briefcase. In the way he bought her new socks and refused to acknowledge it.

They were something. Something real. Something building. And neither of them wanted to name it yet. But maybe they didn’t have to.

Because Harry wasn’t used to letting people stay.

And she?

She had the key.

And Harry knew he was fucked.

It was raining. Again.

Not the romantic kind, either. Not the bullshit people wrote about in novels. This was relentless New York rain. Cold, gray, street-soaking, ankle-wrecking rain. The kind that blurred the skyline and made everything feel too still and too loud at the same time.

His office windows, floor-to-ceiling and usually pristine, were streaked with water. He could barely see the city through them. Which was probably for the best. Because if he could see the Lower East Side right now, he might actually snap and send a helicopter.

He hadn’t heard from her since she’d texted around 9 p.m., after he dropped her off.

You: Frances is being dramatic tonight 🙄

That was it. No follow-up. No photo. Not even a meme. Just that. And now it was past 1 a.m.

Harry leaned back in his chair, phone resting facedown on the edge of his desk, his thumb twitching with the impulse to check it again.

He didn’t. He wouldn’t. He already had. Fifteen times.

“Frances,” he muttered under his breath, jaw tightening.

Across the room, Danny—half-asleep on the leather couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table like he owned the place—perked up.

“What?”

Harry didn’t look at him. Just ran a hand through his hair, glaring at the window like it had personally offended him.

“She texted me earlier. Said Frances was being dramatic.”

Danny blinked. Then grinned. “Ooooh.”

Harry sighed. “Don’t.”

“Do you know who Frances is?”

“I assume…someone in her building?” Harry said, like it was obvious. Like that didn’t already make his throat itch with jealousy.

Danny sat up, cracking his neck. “You assume Frances is a neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“You sure Frances isn’t her ex?”

Harry froze. Very still.

Danny raised a brow, voice far too casual. “I mean. Sounds like something you'd say about someone you know well. Like an ex.”

“Don’t,” Harry warned again, but it was too late. The image was there now.

Frances. Laughing on her couch. Feet on her coffee table. Touching things that didn’t belong to him. Sleeping in a bed that did.

Harry’s jaw ticked.

“Maybe she’s a woman,” he said, but it didn’t land. Not when the image had already nested behind his eyes. Not when the silence that followed made him feel like a kicked dog.

Danny yawned, stretching. “Well, if she comes back tomorrow limping, we’ll know.”

Harry looked up so fast the pen in his hand dropped.

Danny cackled.

“Kidding.”

“Get out.”

Danny didn’t. He just flopped back down, arms behind his head. “You’re unwell.”

Harry didn’t argue. Because he was. He was so far gone he could feel it in the base of his spine. He’d sent the whole team home hours ago—mid-pitch.

He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t finish the goddamn Italy paperwork. The Italy contract—the Italy contract—was sitting open in front of him. A landmark deal.

A decade in the making. Acquisition of a sustainable architecture firm based out of Florence. Tens of millions. Possibly more, if the valuation shifted after Q2.

He was supposed to fly out on Thursday. There was a dinner with the lead architect, a walking tour of the property grounds, some presentation on green luxury Harry couldn’t pretend to care about.

They’d blocked out four days. Harry had almost signed it. Almost. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her in Italy.

He wanted her in a sundress and sunglasses she bought at a corner shop. He wanted to take her to restaurants where no one knew who he was—where they’d drink wine that tasted like cherries and share plates of pasta so good she’d groan with her mouth full.

He wanted to watch her tan—really tan—on a hotel balcony in nothing but one of his button-downs and sunscreen.

He wanted her bare legs kicked up on the dashboard of a rented car while he drove with the windows down and her hand on his thigh. He wanted her bored at a vineyard tour.

Wanted her to lean in and whisper something filthy in his ear just to see if he’d blush.

He wanted to fuck her in a hotel shower with the windows open, the Tuscan hills in the distance and her moaning into his neck like it was a prayer.

He wanted to fall asleep with her in a bed that smelled like citrus and sex, the sound of her breathing syncing with the rain on the villa roof.

He wanted to live with her. Just for a week. Just enough to make it real. To prove it wasn’t some New York fantasy.

Danny cleared his throat.

“You’re still here.”

Harry didn’t look up. “So are you.”

“Because I’m trying to get you to finish the Florence paperwork.”

“I will.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

Danny stared at him. “You’re going to see her, aren’t you.”

Harry didn’t answer. He stood.

“Jesus,” Danny muttered, grabbing his jacket. “You’re in love.”

Harry grabbed his own coat. “Drop me off.”

Danny blinked. “It’s 1 a.m.”

“I know where she lives.”

Danny didn’t argue. He just followed. They always got in separate cars. Harry always took the backseat. But tonight, he climbed into the passenger seat of Danny's Mercedes.

Danny glanced over. “You nervous?”

Harry didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The rain kept coming down. The roads were slick. The city lights blurry. But when they pulled onto her street, Harry felt it—

That low thrum in his chest. That ache. Because he knew this block. Knew it like a scar. She wasn’t just a girl he saw now. She was a rhythm in his life. A piece of the architecture.

Danny pulled up to the curb. Parked. Then turned, lips twitching.

“Good luck,” he said. “Maybe Frances wore her out.”

Harry shot him a look that could’ve killed. Danny just sent him a smirk. And Harry stepped out into the rain.

The air was sharp with that metallic wetness unique to New York downpours. Streetlights flickered against puddles. A pizza box floated past the curb like a makeshift raft.

And still—Harry didn’t rush. He took his time walking.

Her street in Lower East Side, uneven pavement, corners that smelled like cigarettes and Chinatown egg rolls—was familiar now.

He knew the rhythm of her block. He knew that the laundromat two doors down always had one broken dryer. He knew which deli overcharged for grapes.

And he knew the exact slab of sidewalk where she told him she once tripped while texting him. It was cracked slightly, a jagged edge of concrete peeking up like a warning. She’d texted him from the pavement, too.

You: You made me fall, jackass. I was smiling too hard.

That text had stayed in his phone longer than it should have.

He passed the bodega next. The one she claimed had the best dried mangoes in the city. She’d once spent thirty minutes ranting about the owner’s theories on aliens and glitter. Yes glitter.

Now Harry found himself slowing in front of the doors. Peering in. Wondering if the guy knew her name. Wondering if he knew about him.

By the time he reached her building, his shoulders were soaked. His shirt clung to his chest, collar sticking. His suit jacket was definitely ruined. But he didn’t care. He needed to see her. He hit the buzzer.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Nothing.

Then—finally—crackled static.

“…Hello?” Her voice was sleepy.

“It’s me.”

A pause. Then—

“Harry?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

More static. Then a muffled, rustling sound. “It’s—uh—4C. Come up.”

The buzzer rang. The door clicked. He took the stairs. She didn’t have an elevator. Of course she didn’t.

By the time he reached her floor, his heart was hammering for no reason. The hallway smelled like weed and soup dumplings. The walls were covered in scuff marks, and someone had drawn a crooked heart on one of the exit signs.

4C had a little sticker on the door. A cartoon ghost holding a margarita. He stared at it for a beat. Then knocked.

She opened the door in one of his shirts—his black one, faded from too many washes—hanging off one shoulder, loose like a dress. Her legs were bare except for cotton boxers with tiny strawberries on them. Her hair was pulled up messily. She looked flushed. And sleepy. And worried.

“You’re soaked,” she said immediately, pulling him inside by the lapel of his jacket. “Jesus, Harry.”

Her hands were already working to unbutton his coat. “Why didn’t you text? I thought you were working.”

“I couldn’t focus,” he said, watching her.

“You’re going to get sick,” she muttered, peeling the jacket off his shoulders, tugging at the sleeves. “Come here—hold still—”

He let her work, silent. She was warm hands and furrowed brows and concern in motion.

Once the jacket was off, she yanked at his tie. “This too.”

He raised a brow. “Undressing me already?”

“You showed up looking like the stock market,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

He smirked.

She disappeared for a second, then tossed him a pair of old gray sweatpants.

He caught them. Eyebrow raised. “You keep men’s sweats on hand?”

She groaned. “They’re Maya’s ex’s. Don’t get excited.”

He stepped into the living room fully now. And froze. Because for the first time, he was seeing where she lived.

Where she lived when she wasn’t with him.

The apartment was small. Lived in. Cluttered—but in a way that made it feel warm, not chaotic. Like every single thing inside of it had a story.

The living room was split between two mismatched couches—one thrifted velvet, the other beige corduroy with a sag in the middle. There were throw blankets in every texture imaginable—fleece, knit, faux fur.

The coffee table was covered in books, old takeout menus, half burnt candles in jars labeled sandalwood, fig, vanilla.

The walls were cluttered with art—some of it clearly Maya’s, some vintage posters, The Virgin Suicides, Before Sunrise, Blade Runner, Patti Smith’s Horses album, and a random framed photo of a pigeon wearing sunglasses.

The fridge in the kitchen was a museum of magnets and notes. There was even a shopping list written in red marker on the fridge door. It read

oat milk

cheez-its

limes

incense

Maya’s weird vegan yogurt

tampons

trash bags

candles (sex ones, not funeral ones)

wine

frozen waffles

cat food

Harry blinked at the last item.

“You have a cat?”

She paused. “...Yes?”

His jaw tensed. “Frances?”

She frowned. “What?”

He turned to her, eyes sharp. “You said Frances is being dramatic tonight.”

She blinked. Then laughed. Actually laughed. And pointed behind him.

Harry turned. And saw a large, grumpy-looking tabby cat perched on the windowsill. Staring at him with narrowed eyes like it knew he’d imagined something inappropriate.

“That’s Frances,” she said, snorting. “She’s named after Frances McDormand. She’s 16 and hates everything exept my heating pad.”

Harry stared at the cat. Then back at her. Then at the cat again.

“You thought Frances was a man?” she said, grinning.

“I thought Frances was your ex.”

She covered her mouth to keep from laughing louder. “You showed up in the rain to confront me about an elderly cat?”

Harry sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Shut up.”

She kissed his cheek. “You’re a mess.”

He looked around again. At her world. At the chipped mugs on the dish rack—each one different. One said World’s Okayest Bartender, another had a faded drawing of a walrus. The scarf hanging from a coat hook was purple velvet, half-unraveled at one end.

There were keys on a lanyard that read BOSTON UNIVERSITY, and a half-full tote bag with a produce sticker still stuck to the bottom corner.

The shelf by the entryway overflowed with mail, cracked sunglasses, a tiny hand-painted dish full of bobby pins, and a single, slightly burnt birthday candle shoved into a chunk of ceramic shaped like a frog. The coffee table had three coasters but none of them matched. There were stickers slapped across the side of the fridge—Protect Roe, Biden Harris 2020, Elvis is Alive and So Am I.

In the bathroom, he passed by the open door and caught the faint scent of her perfume mixed with rosewater toner and humidity. The mirror had streaks of lipstick.

Tampons sat on the counter beside an open tin of bobby pins. Dry shampoo. A chipped compact. An old mascara wand lying next to her makeup bag that looked like it had seen war. A pack of pink razors balanced on the edge of the sink like it might leap to freedom any minute.

The hallway wall had a row of hooks, all cluttered—coats, purses, canvas totes, one very fluffy pink bathrobe, and what looked like a dog leash even though she didn’t own a dog. The floor creaked in the middle.

And her bedroom—

Her bedroom was even more intimate. Twinkly lights looped around the ceiling like a soft halo. One strand flickered near the corner. The walls were covered—Cléo from 5 to 7, Velvet Underground, a retro ballet poster, another that read Prince's Purple Rain.

Dried lavender hung upside down beside a Polaroid photo strip taped above her dresser mirror. The dresser was cluttered with rings in tiny dishes, perfume bottles in varying levels of emptiness, tangled necklaces, and an open book of poetry facedown like she’d been reading and got distracted halfway through.

The bed wasn’t made. Worn sheets. Muted floral comforter rumpled down to the foot. A stuffed lamb with one ear bent sat on the pillow beside a pile of soft, mismatched throw blankets. There was a hoodie—his—draped over the headboard.

Her nightstand was pure chaos. A cracked phone charger plugged into an extension cord wrapped in colorful washing tape. A half-eaten cookie. Lip balm. A lighter. A box of allergy medicine. A stack of receipts, one with eggs, incense, LaCroix, cat treats, cherry cough drops scribbled on the back. An empty glass, a hair clip, and a worn paperback with the corner folded as a bookmark—The Secret History.

There was an incense holder shaped like a tiny hand. And beside that, a photo of her and a little girl in matching sunglasses, both sticking out their tongues. It was soft. Lived-in. Completely her.

And absolutely the opposite of Lucy’s old apartment. Lucy’s world had been cold glass vases with eucalyptus branches, arranged like she Googled elegant minimalism. White couches no one could sit on. Art that cost thousands but said nothing. A color-coded closet and a bathroom that looked like a Glossier pop-up—sterile, spotless, unloved.

This? This was chaos and warmth and late night pizza crumbs and nail polish spilled on tile. This was home.

And for reasons Harry couldn’t articulate—didn’t dare admit even to himself—he wanted to be a part of it. Even if it scared the hell out of him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said finally.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “You didn’t. I mean, you did. But I’m glad.”

He buried his nose in her hair, breathing her in. Lavender shampoo. Something floral. Her. Frances meowed loudly, interrupting the moment.

She pulled back. “She wants food. Hold on.”

As she went into the kitchen, Harry stood in the middle of her room, still dripping slightly, holding borrowed sweatpants in one hand and the ghost of something warmer than he knew what to do with in the other.

He was fucked. So, so fucked. And he didn’t want to leave. So that night Harry stayed. The rain hadn’t let up.

It fell in steady sheets against her bedroom window—so constant it was starting to sound like static. Or breath. Or the thud of a heartbeat pressed against his ear.

She was in boxers and one of his shirts.

He was in borrowed sweatpants from a man who didn’t matter.

And they were brushing their teeth together in a bathroom that smelled like rosewater and lavender. She bumped into him twice. Once on purpose. Once not. He didn’t care.

He’d forgotten what this felt like. Being near someone. Really near.

Not polished. Not curated. Not part of some long game. Just… here. In a too small bathroom. In her world. She leaned into the mirror to swipe a lip mask on her lips.

He watched her. Like she was art.

When she turned, he was still staring.

“What,” she asked, mouth soft.

“Nothing,” he said, voice lower than he meant. “I just like looking at... you.”

They left the light on. Left the door cracked. The apartment was dark except for that glow and the warm flicker of the TV.

Her bed wasn’t big. A full, maybe. But it held them both. Barely.

She threw the comforter over them, then curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her eyes were heavy, but she wasn’t ready to sleep. He shifted beside her, body pressed along the curve of hers. Not touching yet. Just close enough that the space between them buzzed.

And then she clicked on the remote. The TV was an old one—boxy, with a DVD player built into the side. It hummed softly as the disc spun.

He blinked. “Is that Sex and the City?”

She nodded. “Season four.”

He glanced down at her, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You have the DVDs?”

“I’m not a heathen.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I haven’t seen a DVD player in a decade.”

She shrugged. “You’re missing out.”

The episode began. Carrie was monologuing. Samantha was best dressed. Charlotte was earnestly hopeful. Miranda was eating Chinese food in bed.

She rested her head on his chest, her hand splayed over his ribs. He felt it everywhere. The rain thudded gently on the window. Frances padded into the room and began eating delicately from her tiny floral bowl in the corner.

Harry reached up and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “She always eats this late?”

“She’s nocturnal. Like me.”

He hummed. “You’re soft at night.”

She smiled against his skin. “You’re not.”

“No,” he agreed, brushing her arm with his fingers. “But I want to be.”

She turned to look at him. “Why?”

“Because you are.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Her body shifted, draping over his. One leg between his. One hand under his shirt, splayed against his stomach. She wasn’t trying to start anything. She just wanted to feel him.

And Harry? He let her.

He rested his cheek against the top of her head. Closed his eyes. Let the scent of her hair—lavender and something distinctly her—anchor him.

He wanted to tell her right then. About Italy. About the dinner. The villa. The way he imagined her laughing while wine sloshed in her glass. The way he pictured her sunburnt and barefoot, dancing in a linen dress she’d haggled for at a street market.

He wanted to tell her he’d already asked Danny to add a plus one. Wanted to beg her to come. To wake up with him somewhere coastal and quiet, where he could watch her dip into cold water and wrap herself in a towel and ask him what they were going to eat next.

But instead—

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Soft. Careful.

She sighed.

“Your heartbeat’s fast,” she murmured.

“You’re laying on my chest,” he said. “Of course it is.”

She smiled. “Mine too.”

Frances jumped up onto the bed and circled twice before curling against the back of Harry’s legs. Her fur was soft. Her breathing slow.

The rain pressed harder against the windows. The radiator clinked. The light from the TV flickered over the posters on the wall.

Onscreen, Carrie was questioning whether men were biologically capable of monogamy.

Harry whispered, “Jesus.”

She snorted. “Don’t take it personally.”

“I take everything personally.”

Her hand slid over his stomach again. A slow drag of her fingers, like she could calm something inside him. And maybe she did.

Because that night—

Harry Castillo slept in a tiny bed with a woman who wore his clothes and brushed her teeth with glitter-handled toothbrushes. He slept through the storm. He slept through Carrie’s voice.

He slept through the ache of every part of him that used to hurt.

Because in her world—this small, messy, beautiful world—he didn’t have to be the version of himself that scared people. He just had to be hers. And that was enough.

The morning soon came and of course he woke up first. 

She was still asleep when Harry stirred. Pressed against his chest like she belonged there.

Which��by now—maybe she did.

The light coming in through the bedroom window was soft and overcast, the kind of gray that made you want to stay under the covers forever. The rain had stopped sometime in the night, but the air still smelled like it—clean, cool, quiet.

Harry was warm. Ridiculously warm.

Frances was curled up on his feet again, the cat’s soft purring vibrating faintly against his ankle.

And her—

She was wrapped around him. One leg tossed over his hip. One hand curled beneath his shirt—her shirt—she decided to throw on him last minute before bed. Face pressed to his neck, breath ghosting over his pulse.

He hadn’t moved for hours. Didn’t want to. The bed was small, but it had held them both. Just barely. There was something absurdly perfect about that. About how they fit.

He let his eyes drift open, blinking up at the ceiling plastered with glow in the dark stars. He hadn’t noticed them last night. She’d stuck them up there, probably years ago, probably drunk, maybe high. They weren’t aligned properly—some clustered too close, others spread out too wide—but it made Harry smile.

It was so her.

Then—

The door creaked.

His eyes shot to it, his arm tightening around her instinctively. And there she was.

Maya.

In sweats, hoodie up, a tote bag slung over one shoulder and half a bagel in her mouth. She froze in the doorway, chewing slowly as she saw them both.

Harry blinked. She blinked back.

And then—

She smiled.

“Morning,” she said, voice casual, still chewing. “I got bagels.”

His brows lifted. “Maya?”

“Mmhm.” She stepped fully into the room, walked past the bed like this wasn’t completely surreal, and set a brown paper bag on the desk. “One’s egg and cheese, one’s veggie, one’s plain. I got a discount so I went wild. You're not vegan, right?”

“I’m not.” 

Maya nodded. “Cool.”

He opened his mouth to respond but then she stirred beside him.

She blinked. Then groaned. “Maya?”

“Hey, you.” Maya turned, already backing out. “Don’t get up. I’m leaving again. Nate broke one of the frames while carrying it up the stairs and I have to go reconstruct it before the opening or I’ll die. Eat your bagel.”

“Maya—”

“Love you, mean it.”

And then she was gone.

The door clicked shut behind her. Harry turned slowly. 

She rubbed her eyes. “That’s Maya.”

“She seems…unfazed.”

“She walked in on me giving my high school boyfriend a blowjob in this same bed,” she mumbled. “This is practically G-rated.”

Harry choked. “Jesus Christ.”

She grinned, finally stretching. “Sorry.”

He shook his head, still blinking at the door. “She left you a bagel.”

“She’s thoughtful like that.”

They sat in silence for a moment. The air was warm. The room smelled like her shampoo and toasted everything bagels.

She sat up, reaching for the bag. “You want half?”

“I want the whole thing,” he muttered, watching the way her sleep shirt—his shirt—slipped off her shoulder as she handed it to him.

She raised a brow. “Of the bagel or me?”

Harry took a slow bite of the sandwich, chewed, and swallowed before answering.

“Yes.”

She laughed—quiet and groggy—and curled back into the blankets beside him while he finished eating.

The disc in her old TV menu-looped quietly in the background. And that was when Harry realized—

He didn’t want to leave. Not this apartment. Not her bed. Not this mess of a morning that felt like something he hadn’t let himself hope for. He looked down at her, at the way she was nibbling the corner of a veggie bagel and letting cream cheese smear across her knuckle without noticing.

And that was it. That was the moment. He didn’t plan it. Didn’t rehearse. Didn’t run it through his head a hundred times the way he usually did with big decisions. Because this wasn’t business.

This was her.

“Come to Italy with me.”

She blinked. Mid-bite. Mid-smear of cream cheese.

“What?”

He set his half-finished bagel on the napkin beside them.

“I want you to come to Italy with me,” he said again, softer now. “I leave in three days.”

Her lips parted slightly, eyes searching his face like she was trying to find the joke. But there wasn’t one. Harry was deadly serious.

She swallowed. “You’re inviting me on a trip. To Italy.”

“It’s not a trip,” he said. “It’s a…thing. For work. Big contract. Private villa, vineyard dinner, all that bullshit. I need to be there to finalize some logistics.”

She blinked again.

“You want me to tag along to a work trip in another country?”

“I want you to be there.”

A pause.

“I want to see you sunkissed,” he murmured, voice dipping. “I want to watch you eat pasta with your fingers and lick sauce off your wrist. I want to soak with you in some overpriced marble tub with your legs wrapped around me, pretending we’re not real people.”

Her breath caught.

“I want you to hang off my arm and point at things in little shops and tell me they’re ugly and buy them anyway. I want you to fall asleep in my lap on a train. I want to hear what you sound like in another language.”

She didn’t speak.

Just stared at him.

“And yes,” he added, reaching out to brush a smudge of cream cheese from the corner of her mouth. “I want you there at the dinner. I want you in a dress with your hair up and that little necklace you always wear. I want to introduce you as someone who makes the rest of this shit feel worth it.”

She swallowed hard. Tried to laugh. Failed.

“You’re really pulling out the big guns, huh?”

He nodded. “I’m old. I don’t have time for subtlety.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then said, “Frances can’t come.”

He blinked. “The cat?”

“She’s bad on planes.”

He laughed—genuine and warm—and reached for her hand beneath the sheets.

“You don't need to pay for a flight,” he said. “I have a jet. I want you there.”

She looked down at their hands. His thumb tracing slow circles against her knuckles.

“Three days?”

He nodded.

“Do I have to wear heels?”

“Only if you want to kill me.”

She smiled. Bit her lip. Thought.

“Okay.”

Harry’s heart thudded in his chest.

“Okay?”

She nodded again, smaller this time. “Okay. I’ll come to Italy with you, old man.”

He didn’t grin. Didn’t smirk. He just leaned forward and kissed her hand. Soft. Simple. Grateful.

Frances leapt up onto the bed, meowing loudly.

“Guess she wants to come too,” she said, scratching behind the cat’s ears.

“She’s not allowed.”

“She’ll sue.”

“She can try.”

They laid back down—Harry still half-clothed, her shirt riding up at the hem—and just breathed for a moment. Rain tapped lightly against the windows again. The smell of warm bagels lingered in the air.

And Harry Castillo? For the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking about deadlines or numbers or failing. He was thinking about sunlit train rides. About her in linen. About the taste of wine off her mouth in a country that didn’t know who they were.

He was thinking about falling in love.

And maybe—

Just maybe—

She was too.

They didn’t move for a while after that. Just laid there in the warmth of her small, chaotic bedroom—bagel crumbs on the sheets, Frances purring between them, her bare leg draped over his thigh like it belonged there.

Eventually though, real life crept back in. It started with a stretch. Then a yawn.

Then her mumbling, “I should shower.”

To which Harry responded, “I’ll die if you move right now.”

But she did. Of course she did.

She slipped out of bed with that effortless, half-asleep grace, hair tangled, his shirt riding up over her thighs. She padded barefoot across the hardwood and vanished into the bathroom without another word.

Harry stayed in bed for another five minutes. Just… thinking. About Italy. About her. About the fact that she said yes. Then—he got up. Went to the kitchen to get water. That’s when he opened her fridge.

And paused.

It wasn’t empty, exactly.

Jars of random sauces. A half-used block of feta. Mismatched Tupperware with exactly two bites of leftovers. A dozen eggs, one cracked. A bag of spinach that looked like it had been forgotten in a war zone. Five different types of hot sauce. A single mini vodka.

There were ingredients. But no actual food.

And Harry?

Harry had spent the last decade with a private chef and a housekeeper. His pantry looked like an organic catalog.

This? This was something else.

She padded back into the kitchen, hair damp, teeth brushed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. “What?”

He turned from the fridge, holding up a sad little container of pickled onions. “This is your dinner?”

She shrugged, unbothered. “Sometimes I make pasta.”

“Out of hot sauce and… half a lemon?”

“Adds flavor.”

Harry looked at her like she was a war orphan. She grinned.

He shut the fridge. “We’re going to the store.”

“Harry—”

“I’m not letting you live like this.”

She leaned against the counter, playful. “You trying to domesticate me?”

He walked past her, smacked a kiss on her temple, and muttered, “Put on real shoes.”

They stopped at his penthouse first.

“I’m not going to the store in a suit,” he explained as they stepped off the elevator.

She looked him up and down. He had put his suit back on after she left it hanging up to dry overnight.

“You look like you’re about to close on a skyscraper.”

He loosened his collar. “Exactly. I want to buy produce, not acquire a hedge fund.”

She made herself comfortable while he changed. Shoes off. Feet up. Sitting sideways on his pristine leather couch with Frances curled beside her in her tote bag like a queen.

When Harry emerged again, everything shifted. He was in a navy fleece. Dark jeans. Clean sneakers. His hair was pushed back carelessly, and he looked—God, he looked like a boyfriend. Like a rich, brooding, ridiculously hot boyfriend who didn’t like other men looking at his girl.

Which he proved five minutes later.

The market was close. Not some chaotic Manhattan chain store.

This place was a little upscale. A little overpriced. The kind with hand-written chalk signs and fancy cheese displays and a barista in the corner who actually knew what cortado meant.

He parked on the street and opened the door for her.

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“So why do you?”

“Because if I don’t, some other asshole will.”

She blinked then laughed. “Jesus.”

Harry took her hand as they walked inside.

Casual. Like it was just a thing he did. But when two guys standing near the tomato stand turned to stare at her—eyes lingering a second too long—Harry’s entire body tensed.

She didn’t notice. But he did. Every glance. Every flick of attention. Every half-smirk and second look.

It wasn’t just because she was beautiful. It was the way she walked. The way she moved. The way she laughed when she picked up a can of whipped cream and shook it at him.

“You ever had this on strawberries?”

He blinked. “...No.”

She grinned. “Tragic.”

He didn’t respond. Just added two pints of strawberries and the whipped cream to their basket. She pushed the cart. He added things quietly as they passed them.

Olive oil. Sea salt. Fancy cereal she probably didn’t even like but the box looked pretty. Pasta made by a brand with an unpronounceable name. Parmesan wrapped in wax paper. Fresh basil.

He let her pick the bread. Watched her fingers dance over the loaves before finally choosing one with sesame seeds. He’d never cared what bread tasted like before. But now?

He wanted to watch her butter that slice and eat it on his couch with her knees tucked under her, wearing one of his shirts again.

They turned down the wine aisle.

She held up a bottle. “This one?”

He checked the label. “You like reds?”

“I like this red.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s twenty-one dollars.”

Harry raised a brow. “That’s not wine. That’s regret in a bottle.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and added it to the cart anyway.

He followed behind her, watching the way her fingers curled over the cart handle, the way she tapped her nails when she was thinking.

A guy walked past. Looked directly at her ass.

Harry moved instantly—slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek like it was nothing.

The guy looked away. Quickly.

She leaned in, amused. “Was that possessive or horny?”

“Yes,” Harry murmured.

At checkout, she pulled out her wallet. Harry didn’t even blink. Just slid his card into the reader before she could open it.

“Harry—”

“You’re heading to a whole other county with me.”

“So?”

“So let me buy you fucking groceries.”

She sighed. “You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

She didn’t respond.

Just kissed his jaw and whispered, “Thank you.”

They carried the bags back to the car, her arms full, the air still damp from the rain.

Frances meowed softly from her tote, swatting at the handle of the bread bag.

“Frances, if you break my focaccia, you’re not going to Italy.”

“She’s not going to Italy.”

“She’s gonna file a complaint.”

“She’s gonna stay with Maya.”

They both laughed.

Back at her place, they unpacked side by side. She tossed him a bag of spinach.

He raised a brow. “You’re gonna use this?”

“Maybe.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I am judging you.”

She elbowed him.

He stole a piece of her cheese.

Frances curled up on the window sill.

The kitchen smelled like basil and citrus and something that could have been the beginning of a life.

Harry leaned back against the counter. Watched her move. Watched the way her fingers brushed crumbs off the cutting board.

And he thought—

This. This was what he’d been missing. Not the girl. Not just her body. But the mundanity of it.

The way she stood barefoot while she put the yogurt in the fridge. The way she hummed to herself while sorting the pantry. The way her hand brushed his like it meant nothing—and everything.

He couldn’t remember what it was like not to want this. And maybe he didn’t want to.

It was the day before they left for Italy.

And Harry was folding her socks.

That alone would’ve been enough to send Danny into early retirement if he’d seen it.

Moments like this, when Harry Castillo, billionaire, former tabloid cryptid, was sitting on a floor of a cramped Lower East Side apartment, cross-legged, carefully rolling tiny pairs of white ankle socks into little cotton donuts and lining them up in the corner of a borrowed suitcase in her bedroom—made her feel happy.

So fucking happy.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she mumbled from the bed, half-asleep, cheek pressed into the duvet.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re rolling them like they’re cigars.”

“They’re supposed to be tight.”

“They’ll stretch out.”

Harry didn’t look up. “They’re socks.”

“Yeah, and you’re acting like you’re assembling high-grade explosives.”

He smirked faintly, tucking another rolled pair into the suitcase. “I take packing seriously.”

She opened one eye. “You once told me you haven’t packed your own bag in five years.”

“That was before you made me human again.”

She blinked. He kept rolling socks. Like he hadn’t just said the most quietly devastating thing of all time.

Packing had taken hours.

Partly because she kept getting distracted and forgetting what she’d already folded.

Partly because Harry had brought over a suitcase from his place—one of those sleek matte black things with TSA locks and wheels that didn’t squeak—and she kept insisting it looked like a tiny armored vehicle.

“I can’t believe I’m borrowing your suitcase,” she’d muttered earlier that day, trying to cram a bathing suit and two sundresses into it at once.

“You didn’t have one.”

“I have a duffel bag.”

Harry looked horrified. “That’s not a suitcase. That’s a threat.”

She threw a sock at him.

He ducked, grinning.

She hadn’t traveled internationally in years. Her passport was expired until recently—she only renewed it because Maya begged her to.

The last stamp it had? San Francisco. Age 20. Two broke girls, a shared Airbnb, one near-death experience on a rented bike, and a night of crying on a beach with champagne from CVS.

Now she was going to Italy.

With Harry fucking Castillo. On his private jet.

And somehow, he still got excited watching her zip up a suitcase.

They barely slept the night before the flight. Too many nerves. Too many lists.

She kept checking her phone to make sure her passport was actually in her bag.

Harry watched her, amused. Said nothing.

Instead, he busied himself in her kitchen, making tea they didn’t drink and cutting fruit they didn’t eat.

He couldn’t sit still.

Not because of the trip.

Because of the envelope.

It had come two days ago.

A thin ivory card tucked inside pale pink stationary, his name written in looping gold script across the front

Mr. Harry Castillo + Guest You are cordially invited to the wedding of Lucy & John  Saturday, June 8th, 2025 2:30 PM Chatham Bars Inn Cape Cod, Massachusetts

There was a note scribbled at the bottom in faint pen.

In Lucy's writing. 

No pressure if you can’t come. We’d still love to see you.

Harry had stared at it for ten full minutes before tucking it under a file on his desk and pretending it hadn’t arrived.

He hadn’t told her.

Not because he was hiding anything. Not really. But because he didn’t want to bring Lucy into this. Into them.

Not when she was standing barefoot in his shirt, trying to find her phone charger and muttering about whether three pairs of jeans were “too many.”

Not when she called out, “Did I pack underwear already?” and he responded,

“Twelve pairs.”

Not when she looked at him across the room like he was something safe.

He would tell her eventually. Just…not yet.

The morning of the flight came quietly. It was still dark when the alarm buzzed.

She groaned. “What time is it?”

“2:30.”

“In the morning?”

“You agreed to this.”

“I was in love with you when I agreed. I’ve changed my mind.”

Harry smirked and sat up, sliding a hand through his hair. Frances jumped onto the bed and meowed directly into his face.

“She’s saying don’t leave me,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“She’s saying feed me.”

She rolled over and stared at him. “Do you always look like that when you wake up?”

Harry blinked. “Like what?”

“Like someone just photoshopped exhaustion and sex appeal.”

He threw a pillow at her.

By 3 a.m., Danny was downstairs in the car, already texting.

Danny: I’m not saying we’re late, but we’re late.

Danny: I have coffee. And donuts. And two kinds of Dramamine.

Harry grabbed the suitcase, double-checked her passport, triple-checked the address with Danny, and then took one last look around her apartment.

She was saying goodbye to Frances, promising her the neighbor would stop by and that Maya would be back by sunrise.

Harry just… watched her.

The way she knelt down to scratch behind the cat’s ears.

The way she whispered, “Don’t pee on my rug just to spite me, you little demon.”

He smiled to himself.

The car ride was quiet. Rain tapped against the windows.

She curled up in the back seat with his sweatshirt tucked under her chin. Harry held her hand.

Danny sat in the passenger seat, wisely keeping his mouth shut except to say, “It’s a beautiful jet, by the way. You’re gonna be insufferable about it.”

She looked up sleepily. “Is it big?”

Harry kissed her fingers. “It’s private.”

She grinned. “I feel like a Bond girl.”

The jet was waiting. Sleek. Immaculate. Tucked away on the private runway like something out of a movie.

She blinked when they pulled up. “That’s… ours?”

Harry nodded.

Danny sighed. “Yours. I still fly commercial.”

Inside, the cabin was pristine.

Cream leather seats. Soft lighting. A tiny bar in the corner already stocked with orange juice and sparkling water and espresso pods.

Harry showed her how to buckle the seatbelt. How to adjust the window shade. Where the snacks were.

She laughed. “Are you my flight attendant now?”

“Only on this airline,” he muttered.

Once they took off, she pressed her face to the window, watching the skyline disappear.

He sat beside her, legs stretched out, arm slung over the back of her seat.

Danny popped in once. Dropped off croissants. Said something about Italian cell service and their hotel driver. Then vanished again.

They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to.

He watched her fall asleep mid-sentence, lips parted slightly, hair tucked under her hoodie.

He didn’t move. Didn’t work. Didn’t check his phone.

Just… stayed beside her.

And for the first time since that ivory envelope arrived—

He didn’t think about Lucy.

Didn’t think about what might’ve been.

Didn’t think about anything but the fact that in a few short hours, they’d land in a city made of light and wine and ancient stone.

And he’d get to see her walk through it.

Get to hear her gasp at things he’d seen a thousand times.

Get to hold her hand while she ate gelato and pointed at pigeons and got overwhelmed in a market stall and accidentally bought a tablecloth because she thought the vendor was complimenting her hair.

He didn’t want anyone else there.

Just her. And maybe that was enough.

Maybe it had always been.

They landed at exactly 5:32 PM local time.

The air was different. Warmer, even in early evening. The light had a honeyed edge to it—soft gold and long shadows draped across the tarmac like something out of a postcard. The jet slowly came to a stop as she blinked blearily at the window, hoodie bunched around her waist, tank top loose and clinging. No bra. 

Harry glanced over at her, the edge of his mouth twitching.

"You’re going to give someone a heart attack the second we step off this plane."

She yawned. "Good. Let them die seeing something beautiful."

He almost smiled.

As soon as the door opened, the energy shifted.

Three black cars waited on the runway. Two assistants in pressed suits stood beside them, flanked by a driver and what looked like a security consultant in a tailored gray jacket. The woman in front stepped forward immediately, beaming like Harry personally discovered electricity.

One sign read: CASTILLO PARTY – VILLA LUMEN.

"Mr. Castillo! Welcome back. We’re honored. Truly."

Harry gave a brief nod, hand resting on the small of her back.

The woman turned to her next. "Mrs. Castillo, we hope the flight was comfortable. We’ve arranged everything at the villa. Please let us know if there’s anything else you need."

She froze. Blinked. But Harry didn’t correct her.

Neither did she.

He just squeezed her hip gently and muttered, "Let them think whatever they want."

The drive was smooth, luxurious, absurd.

The countryside blurred past—green vineyards, cypress trees, stone walls bathed in sunset. Their driver offered wine and chilled sparkling water in crystal-cut glasses. The seats reclined. The windows were tinted so deeply she could’ve fallen asleep again without anyone noticing.

But she stayed awake. Watching Harry.

Watching the way he relaxed by degrees, slowly, as the city disappeared behind them.

When they pulled up to the villa, she nearly forgot how to speak.

It was unreal.

Terracotta walls. Ivy-covered balconies. Lavender blooming along the path leading up to the entrance. White roses climbing up the columns. A view that stretched over the hills for what looked like miles.

Inside, everything smelled like lemon and clean linen. Marble floors, arched windows, a winding staircase made of stone.

Their hosts didn’t linger.

Just offered soft words, a bow, and a smile before vanishing with the promise, “Dinner will be served at eight. You are encouraged to rest until then.”

She just stared, slowly spinning in a circle, looking at every detail of the place.

"They put us in the west wing," Harry muttered, fingers lightly brushing her back as they were led upstairs.

"We have wings now?"

He looked at her. "We have whatever the fuck we want."

The bedroom made her stop walking.

A carved wooden bed stood in the middle, sheets white and impossibly soft. The balcony doors were open, a breeze dancing in. Beyond them—vineyards. Hills. A sky slowly turning the color of ripe apricots. 

There were flowers on the nightstand.

A bottle of wine already uncorked.

Macarons in a glass bowl.

She lets out a sigh, closing her eyes as she makes her way out onto the balcony. 

"Is this a honeymoon suite?" she whispered.

Harry didn’t answer.

He stepped behind her instead. Hands on her waist. Lips grazing her neck.

"Come here."

She turned in his arms, breath catching. His eyes were darker than usual, jaw tight. There was something restless behind it. Something feral.

"You’re quiet," she murmured.

He studied her face. His hands slid under her tank top.

"You smell like a fucking dream."

She arched a brow. "That’s not an answer."

"I haven’t touched you in days."

Her stomach clenched.

"I noticed."

He kissed her.

Hard.

Like he was angry at himself for waiting. Like he’d been hungry for weeks. Like her mouth was the only thing that could make him human again.

Her back hit the stone and he lifted her onto the bench, hands gripping her thighs, dragging her tank top down, mouth never leaving hers. She gasped when the cold air hit her chest—bare, sensitive—and he groaned deep in his throat.

"Fuck," he muttered, pulling back to look at her. His eyes were locked on her breasts, his thumbs brushing over them like he was memorizing. "You’re so fucking pretty. You don’t even know."

She bit her lip. "Then show me."

And he did.

He kissed down her throat, down the center of her chest, sucking, licking, dragging his teeth along soft skin until she was squirming. Until her thighs squeezed around his hips. Until she said his name like it meant something.

Then—

He dropped to his knees.

Right there.

On the balcony.

The breeze blew gently around them, the smell of lavender and wine in the air. Her tank top was shoved up, her shorts already pushed down her thighs. She slowly slid down the bench.

And Harry looked up at her like she was something sacred.

"Keep your eyes on me."

She did.

She watched him lick a stripe up her slit, slow and deliberate, like he was tasting something rare. She cried out, legs shaking, hands grasping for the stone railing behind her.

He groaned again. "You taste like everything I’ve ever wanted."

His tongue was relentless—circling, flicking, sucking. His grip on her thighs was bruising, grounding her, holding her open like he couldn’t get enough.

She tried to speak. Failed.

He slid two fingers inside her—slow at first, curling perfectly—then fast, then deeper, fucking her open while his mouth devoured her.

"You gonna come for me, baby?"

She whimpered.

He sucked harder.

"Say my name."

She did.

Over and over.

Until she shattered.

Until her legs gave out and he had to catch her.

He stood, scooping her up like she weighed nothing, carrying her to the bed and laying her down gently.

Then he kissed her again—messy, hungry, licking her taste off his lips and moaning like he was drunk.

"I can’t stop," he muttered. "You do something to me. You ruin me."

She pulled at his shirt. He let her.

Let her undress him like she owned him.

And when he pushed inside her, slow and deep and all at once—

It wasn’t just fucking.

It was worship.

It was raw, reverent, almost painful in its intensity. He braced one hand against the mattress and the other curled around the back of her neck, holding her gaze like he couldn’t bear to look away. Like he needed to see every twitch of her mouth, every blink, every gasp that left her lips as he thrust into her again and again, steady and deep and so achingly deliberate.

She breathed his name like a prayer, fingers tangled in his hair, lips parted with pleasure. Her body arched to meet every movement, desperate to be closer, to swallow him whole.

Harry moved like he was etching something permanent into her—like he wanted to mark her from the inside. His mouth brushed her cheek, her jaw, her lips between every breathless exhale.

"You feel like heaven," he rasped. "You feel like mine."

She whimpered at that—at the way he said it like a truth carved into stone.

He kissed her again. Slower this time. Tongue teasing her mouth open as his hips rolled in a rhythm that was almost cruel in how good it felt. Like he knew exactly how to undo her.

One of her hands slipped down, tracing over his side, his back, clutching at him as if to make sure he stayed there. As if she couldn’t take the chance he’d pull away.

And he didn’t.

He never faltered. Never let her go. Just kept moving—fucking her with care, with need, with that terrifying depth he never shared with anyone else.

She tightened around him, legs trembling, her voice breaking as she said his name, pleaded, begged.

He whispered into her mouth, "I’ve got you. Come for me. Right now. That’s it—fuck—just like that."

Her body arched, then shattered beneath him.

And he followed.

A low groan ripped from his throat as he spilled into her, thrusts faltering, his whole body shaking from the force of it. His forehead pressed to hers. Their breath tangled. Their pulses frantic.

He didn’t move for a long time.

Didn’t say anything.

Just held her.

One hand cupping the side of her face, the other stroking her waist in lazy, absentminded circles.

Eventually, he pulled back just far enough to look at her—eyes heavy, mouth soft, expression unreadable.

Then, almost inaudibly, he whispered, "Thank you."

She blinked. "For what?"

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He just kissed her shoulder, slow and reverent, and stayed there.

Outside, the Tuscan night whispered around them—

Soft. Endless. Real.

The air inside the villa was thick with the ghost of everything they’d just done. Her skin still tingled. Her chest rose and fell in slow, steady waves. She was sprawled across the sheets, hair a mess, limbs boneless, skin flushed with afterglow and the faintest imprint of the linen texture pressed into her back.

The room still smelled like sex and sunlight.

Harry was quiet beside her.

Not cold. Not distant.

Just...quiet. Like the kind of silence that comes only after something tectonic. Like he was letting the earth settle. Like something had cracked open and they were both just standing in the new air, breathing it in.

His thumb moved absently along her waist, tracing lazy circles. He was still half-hard, still close, but not demanding more.

Not yet. He just needed to be here. In it. With her.

She rolled over onto her side, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. His skin was warm and smelled like wine and her perfume and faint lavender from the villa sheets. Familiar and new at the same time.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

She let her fingers trail along the curve of his chest, nails faint, almost ticklish. She counted the moles across his sternum. He hummed at that, deep in his throat, then exhaled slowly, one big hand sliding up to rest on the back of her head.

“You’re going to be late,” she mumbled against his collarbone.

“No, I’m not.”

“You have a dinner.”

“I said what I said.”

She laughed quietly. “Harry.”

“I don’t care if we show up looking like we just fucked.”

“We did just fuck.”

“Exactly.”

She nudged his rib with her knee. “You have to shower, old man.”

He groaned. “You’re the reason I’m sweaty.”

“You’re the reason you’re grumpy.”

He cracked one eye open. “You wanna say that again?”

She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Shower. Now.”

Eventually, they moved.

Reluctantly.

Limbs tangled as they rolled off the bed. Her thighs ached. She was sore in the most decadent way. Her body felt loose and tender and entirely his. He offered a hand as she stepped down from the mattress—mock-gentlemanly, fake regal—and she accepted it with a smirk and a dramatic curtsey.

The bathroom was all marble and glass. Golden light spilled in from the balcony, painting the countertops in warm hues. The shower was massive—big enough for two, maybe three. Probably four if they stacked right.

She turned the water on.

He watched her.

Always watching.

When the steam curled around their bodies, she stepped in first. Hot water sluiced down her back, her shoulders, her spine.

She sighed as it hit her skin. A low sound. Almost grateful. Almost reverent.

Harry followed.

No words. Just hands.

Big hands. Careful hands. Hands that had held her like she might vanish, that had gripped her thighs and touched the softest parts of her like they were sacred. Like she was.

He grabbed the soap first.

Rubbed it between his palms, lathered slowly. Then—gently, reverently—dragged his hands over her back.

Her shoulders. Her arms. Her stomach. Her hips. Down to the back of her knees.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

He washed her like she was precious. Like she was something ancient and delicate and holy. He kissed the top of her spine. The curve behind her ear. Rinsed her hair with long, slow strokes. Massaged her scalp until she leaned back into him, humming.

She returned the favor.

Lathered his chest. His arms. Dragged the soap down the deep lines of his stomach with slow, teasing fingers. She worked the shampoo into his hair, watching his eyes flutter closed. When she got to his thighs, he groaned.

“Behave.”

She didn’t.

He pulled her close, water cascading over their bodies, their skin slick and clean and flushed with something almost unbearable.

She reached for a cloth and gently wiped behind his ears.

“I’m not your child.”

“You’re acting like one.”

He grabbed her waist and yanked her flush against him.

They stayed like that until their fingers pruned.

Then—finally—they dried off.

She wrapped herself in one of the impossibly soft robes from the villa.

Harry did the same, though his looked comically small on him. She giggled when it barely covered his thighs.

“Say a word and I’ll throw you into the courtyard.”

“Promise?”

He rolled his eyes. “I have international security clearance. No one would know.”

Back in the bedroom, the air had shifted. Still warm. Still gold-lit. But now it felt like transition. Like preparation. Like a pause before the world returned.

The suitcase sat open on the bench at the foot of the bed. A half-folded silk dress draped over the edge. His suit jacket hung on a chair.

“Unpack?” she asked.

He nodded.

They worked together.

Unpacking side by side.

She folded his shirts. He folded her underwear.

Her fingers danced over his cologne bottle, the one she always associated with him. She set it gently on the nightstand beside a small glass of water. He didn’t say anything, but he glanced over. Noted it.

He placed her hairbrush beside the bathroom sink, untangling a few of her strands caught in the bristles.

She rolled her socks and tucked them into the drawer. Folded her pajamas. Lined her skin care in a neat row.

He lined his ties on the shelf like a ritual. Stacked his cufflinks in the tray she passed him.

They shared the space. Merged into it. No questions asked. No territory claimed.

She hung up her dresses into the villa wardrobe. He adjusted the hangers. Steamed the back of her dress when she wasn’t looking.

She noticed his charger cable was frayed. She pulled one from her tote and handed it over without a word.

He opened a small velvet box and revealed a delicate necklace he’d packed for her without telling her.

“Wear this,” he said simply.

She blinked. “You packed jewelry?”

“You didn’t.”

Her lips curved.

The moment lingered.

Then—getting ready.

She stood at the vanity, pulling a comb through her damp hair. He stood beside her, shaving. Both in their robes. Moving in tandem. Like they’d done this a hundred times before. The kind of rhythm you can’t fake.

She did her makeup slowly, lip balm first, then liner, then a whisper of mascara. A little blush.

He adjusted the collar of his shirt beside her, fingers methodical. Buttoned his cuffs. Straightened his sleeves.

She reached for perfume. He paused, watching.

“You use that every day huh.”

“I do.”

He leaned down. Smelled her neck. “Still there.”

Then he asked if she could spray some on him.

She smiled.

He walked into the closet to grab his belt. She watched the way his robe opened slightly as he moved, the lines of his body still lingering with the softness of their morning.

Then—clothes.

She slipped the silk dress over her shoulders. It was pale. Bare-backed. Barely structured. The kind of dress you wore in Italy when you weren’t sure if you were someone’s date or someone’s downfall.

Harry froze when he saw her in it.

She turned.

“Too much?”

His jaw flexed. “You’re not changing.”

She smirked.

He moved closer. Adjusted the straps like they were made of glass. Tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Let his thumb brush her collarbone.

“You’re going to make this very hard for me.”

“You invited me.”

“I didn’t know what I was inviting.”

“Yes, you did.”

He said nothing.

Just buttoned his shirt.

Put on his watch.

Slid into the jacket like he was donning armor. Sharp and deliberate.

She watched from the bed.

Hair pinned up now. Lipstick barely there. One heel dangling from her foot. Legs crossed like temptation.

“You look mean,” she said.

“I am mean.”

She grinned. “But you smell nice.”

He offered a hand. She took it.

They stood in front of the mirror together.

Perfect opposites.

Dark suit. Soft silk. Sharp jaw. Warm smile. Something dangerous, something beautiful.

Together.

They didn’t say much after that.

Just breathed.

The dinner.

Work.

But for now—

It was just them.

But not for long.

Because at exactly 8:17 p.m.—fashionably, just barely, late—the knock came.

Three soft raps on the thick villa door, followed by a polite, accented voice calling, "Mr. Castillo? Your guests are seated. The drinks are being served."

Harry exhaled slowly. A breath through his nose. One final glance at her.

She looked unreal.

Silk dress. Loose updo. That faint smudge of color on her lips that made his mouth twitch every time he looked too long. Her necklace—the one he picked—rested delicately on her collarbone like it belonged there.

He didn’t say anything.

Just offered his arm.

She took it.

And down they went.

Dinner was being served under a pergola lit by strands of woven golden lights. The villa’s courtyard stretched out before them like something out of a dream—white linen table, wine glasses already half-full, the sound of crickets humming in the background.

Candlelight danced across bottles of olive oil and bowls of olives, and the scent of rosemary and garlic wafted from a nearby kitchen. Cicadas buzzed low in the distance, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the rustic stone tiles.

There were twelve seats.

Ten already filled.

Harry’s partners were an intimidating mix—Italian, British, and New York-bred tycoons with slick smiles and suspiciously quiet watches. Their wives, dressed in silk and linen and quiet diamonds, turned when Harry and she arrived—eager, observant, their eyes already cataloging every detail.

Like predators sizing up a rare animal at the watering hole.

Lorenzo and Marcella sat closest to the head. Lorenzo was tall, leonine, late fifties, with thick white hair and a voice like a cello. Marcella wore a linen suit and pearls, her Italian accent soft and theatrical. She was always watching.

Next to them—Livia and Paolo. Livia had a sharp chin, a sharper voice, and a body that looked sculpted from Florence marble. Paolo wore a navy suit that screamed Milan, his cufflinks catching the candlelight.

And at the far end, Francesca and Luca.

Francesca looked like a Donna Tartt character. Blunt bob, smudged eyeliner, a cigarette nearly lit. She wore a sheer black blouse over a vintage slip and held her wine glass like it was an accessory. Her smile was the kind that knew secrets.

Luca barely spoke. Just watched. Calculating.

And then there was Danny. 

"Harry!" Marcella called, standing with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "We were starting to think you’d eloped."

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’d know. It’d be on the news within the hour.”

There were polite laughs. The kind that had more teeth than warmth.

He pulled out her chair before taking his own. It was a subtle motion. Protective. Possessive. Deliberate. A quiet claim staked in linen and candlelight.

Francesca’s eyes sparkled.

Marcella tilted her head. “And this is…?”

Harry rested one hand on the back of her chair. "My girlfriend."

Silence.

Then—

Marcella blinked. "Girlfriend?"

Livia raised a brow. “That’s new.”

Paolo chuckled. “She’s beautiful. Young, too. You’ve been holding out on us, Castillo.”

Harry didn’t smile. Just picked up his wine.

“She’s not a secret. She’s just not your business.”

Marcella laughed, waving her hand. “You know us. We’re nosy. Besides, the wives are all dying to know. We have a betting pool.”

“Jesus,” Harry muttered, under his breath.

Francesca leaned over to her. “Don’t mind them. They’re all bored and drunk on red wine and old money.”

She smiled.

“I’m Francesca,” the woman said. “And you—are fascinating.”

The meal began.

Plates of antipasti. Olive tapenade, roasted tomatoes, shaved fennel, slices of prosciutto that melted on the tongue. Tiny burrata drizzled with balsamic. Warm focaccia with rosemary. Bowls of almonds and figs.

It was decadent without trying to be. Effortless luxury.

Harry stayed quiet for most of it. Sharp-eyed, tense-shouldered. Only relaxing slightly when she brushed her leg against his under the table. She could feel the energy buzzing off him—wary, protective, always watching.

She found herself in conversation with Francesca quickly.

Books.

They talked about books.

“I just reread The Secret History,” Francesca said, swirling her wine. “Still makes me want to commit academic murder.”

She grinned. “I always wanted to be Bunny. Not in spirit. In wardrobe.”

“Tragic prep chic.”

“Exactly.”

Harry glanced over at that. Quiet approval in his gaze.

Francesca lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around her in elegant swirls. “Who are your favorites?”

She shrugged. “Zadie Smith. Donna Tartt. Ottessa Moshfegh, but only when I’m feeling unwell. Lately I’ve been reading a lot of Didion.”

Francesca beamed. “You and I are going to get along dangerously well.”

Livia leaned in across the table. “How did you two meet?”

Harry stiffened.

She opened her mouth.

He beat her to it.

“Page Six is going to run that story in a week. Ask them.”

More laughter. More glances. More eyes like spotlights.

Marcella pressed on. “It’s just surprising, Harry. You’re not… known for romance.”

He smirked. “I’m not known for a lot of things I am.”

Paolo raised his glass. “Is she moving in?”

Harry stays silent, starting to scowl at Paolo.

“Soon?” He pushes. He keeps on fucking pushing.

Harry didn’t answer. But his hand brushed hers under the table.

Francesca spoke instead. “Let them be. Love doesn’t have a lease agreement.”

Marcella sipped her wine. “But surely it’s serious. You brought her to Italy.”

Livia leaned in again. "And what’s the age gap, if you don’t mind me asking?"

Harry’s jaw ticked.

“I do mind.”

Marcella laughed, shaking her head. “We’re just curious. You know how it is. Older men and beautiful women. It’s a tale as old as time.”

“She’s not a tale,” Harry said flatly. “She’s a person.”

That shut them up.

For a beat.

Then—

Lorenzo, quiet until now, finally spoke. “And what about Lucy?”

The table paused.

Her stomach dropped.

Harry didn’t blink. “What about her.”

Lorenzo shrugged. “Just surprised to see you here with this girl, that’s all. I'd thought you'd be reeling from shock over Lucy sending you an invitation to her wedding.”

How did he know.

How the fuck did he know?

She froze next to him.

Her hand stopped rubbing his out of comfort. 

Harry’s jaw ticked. “We haven’t RSVPed.”

Marcella’s eyebrows rose. “Wait. You were invited?”

“Apparently.”

“Wow,” Livia said. “That’s bold. Isn’t she marrying that waiter?”

“John,” Paolo supplied.

“Oh, right. The bohemian.”

“She's not my girlfriend anymore, so stop bringing her up.” Harry said. Cold. Even.

Livia raised a brow. “But she was.”

Silence.

He stared down at Livia. “She isn’t now.”

She didn’t say anything.

But her body went still.

Francesca noticed. She shifted slightly, nudging her foot against hers under the table. A quiet, unspoken solidarity.

The conversation moved on.

Sort of.

She laughed at something Francesca said about poetry readings and obscure authors who only write in lowercase.

But inside—

Something tightened.

He hadn’t told her.

About the wedding.

About the invite.

About any of it.

She smiled. She clinked her wine glass. She even leaned into his arm when dessert was served—some kind of lemon tart with burnt sugar and pistachio.

But something shifted.

Just slightly.

A hairline crack in the evening.

Not enough to break it.

Just enough to notice.

Francesca asked her if she’d read Bluets.

She nodded. “Three times.”

They talked about heartbreak. About writing through pain. About how nobody writes yearning like Nina LaCour.

Harry kept his hand on her lower back. Gentle. Present.

But she wasn’t fully there anymore.

When Harry looked down at her later—when the stars came out and the wine dulled most of the tension in the room—he noticed it too.

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He wanted to ask.

But didn’t.

Because he already knew why.

[k-aemi]

itoshi rin ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ see me for me.

smut, choking, lost of virginity(both), unprotected sex

for the longest time youve been friends with the itoshi brothers. you guys were inseparable, always doing everything with each other! theyd teach you football tricks, but you did suck, youre no where close to them at all! youre the same age as sae, so rin was younger than you.

youve never even realized it but the more time you spent with them, the more you realize your feelings. your feelings for sae. just the way he makes your heart fluttered when he would ask why you looked so nervous, feeling your headache to see if you were ok.

the way he always makes you laugh with his sarcastic comments. the way hed tease you for being bad at football. all of these contributed to your feelings for him, but youre not so sure about his feelings for you.

rin was too young to understand these complicated feelings. he felt as if his heart would explode when he was close to you. his face always burned and he could never keep a cool facade with you around. he thought you placed a cursed on him!

the day when sae left for spain, pained you. youd miss him so much! you wanted to tell him how you felt first. but how? youre not so sure. you feel like youd regret it so much if you didnt. but youre scared of rejection. maybe when he gets back, youd be sure to tell him.

you and rin held hands as you went to see sae fly off, you hugged him, wishing him the best over there. saying your goodbyes, you face his back now, as he walked away. the feeling in your chest ached.

“s-sae!” you yelled out. he could only turn around, facing you with confusion. you hesitated to say the words you wanted to say. cmon, just tell him you love him! stop being so scared!

“hm?” he settled down his suitcase. you stood there dumbfounded, you called out to him, you might as well say it right..? but what if he rejects you? it wouldnt be worth it.

“i…i hope you land safe.” you give him a weak smile and he returned it.

“yeah, i will. thanks [name.]” before picking his suitcase up again to walk away.

fuck. you cant. maybe some other time. another time where youre sure youll confess. and just hope for the best.

for the remaining time its just you and rin now. still spending time together like how all three of you guys would. you missed sae so much, your sure rin did too.

even as time passed by you can never get sae off your mind. with every body passing by, youd reject them, because your eyes only set on sae. hes gotten so well known too! you see him on tv sometimes and it makes you happy.

but rin knew you liked sae. it’s so obvious, the way you talk so positively about him. saying hes the best. he was jealous. he wanted you to see him. hes not the best for no reason too right? maybe youll take the chance to recognize his achievements.

learning about saes return, you cant help but contain your excitement. youd immediately enter the itoshis residence, to see sae. hes grown so tall! but he still looks the same as ever. though his eyes do seem to be a bit empty.

“sae! oh my god!” you go up to hug him. you missed him so much after a whooping four years. “its been so long!” you flashed a smile at him.

“sure has.” he keeps a stoic face. hm, that was interesting? it was a bit weird to see him like this, not like he hasnt but you thought hed at least be happy to see you too.

you guys decided to take a walk on the seaside. its night, and the stars are shining bright. the moon light reflects on the water. you walk bare feet, feeling the soft sand as sae walks besides you.

“it feels like back in the days where we walked here and talk about anything!” you giggled. looking at sae, keeping his eyes forward. it looks like the conversation wasnt going anywhere and you frown.

maybe you should tell him..? that would spark up something at least, well you hope. you inhale a sharp breath, exhaling out before stopping in your place, grabbing hold of the hem of his sweater.

“sae.” he turned his attention on you. before fully turning around facing your figure.

you let out a sigh and build up the courage to tell him.

“i like you sae…ive always have! and…” sae could only stop you there. gently lifting your hands off him. he looked conflicted of some sort as you set your gaze on him.

“i’m engaged [name].” and that shattered your heart. what? engage? you just heard wrong right? maybe hes just kidding with you.

“i was going to ask if you wanted to come to our wedding.” he rests his hands in his pocket. you can only shift your gaze away from him, looking down to see your feet sink down to the sand.

how could you possibly go to his wedding, seeing another woman marry the boy you liked ever since? you knew it. you were going to regret it. now look what it has become. youre so stupid.

“o-of course sae. im so happy for you.” your voice starts to break. you dont even realize it at first, but globs of tears fall down to the sand. sae only pats your head in comfort. the air was only filled of your sniffling and cries, followed by the tide waves.

“ill be going back soon. i only came to renew my passport.” he retreats his hands. its so embarrassing for him to see you so vulnerable. but can you blame yourself? actually. yes you can. its your fault you didnt confess so soon. now hes in love with some other woman. that was supposed to be you!

“get home safe.” he whispered out to you before walking away. probably to the airport or whatever, not like you care right now. your heart was broken. after all those years of being so loyal to sae, it was just for him to end up with another woman.

you take yourself back…your mind still stuck on the events that had happened. those words sank inside your head like a ship. engaged. that should of been you. married to sae, start a family with him and live old and die together. all of that wasnt possible now.

walking up the stairs from the seaside, you bump into someone unexpected. you let out a yelp before the person catches you.

“[name]? why are you still here?” it was rin. he balances you up and observing closely he can see the tears that drip down your cheeks. he cups your cheeks, wiping the tears with his thumb, leaning down to your level showing a face of concern.

“why are you crying?” he coos you and all you can do is hug him, crying uncontrollably. hes not sure what to do but hold you close. your tears smearing on his jacket but he doesnt mind, hed very much worry about comforting you right now.

he lifts your head up to face his him, tucking a strand of hair behind your hair. he stares at your teary eyes, patting your head as a sense of comfort. you never really thought of it much, but rin really did look a lot like sae.

your hand trails to his jawline, tracing random patterns before caressing his cheek softly. “you look just like him.” you whispered out followed by a hiccup. were you talking about sae, rin wondered. he can see the way you look at his lips, slowly leaning in. but he doesnt back out.

your lips connect with his. kissing him with such passion. this is what you wanted to do with sae. you wanted to give him your first kiss. but this will do, rin…hes so much like him.

rin reciprocates the kiss back, taking hold of your back, indulging himself with your soft lips. he could smell the cocoa chapstick you always applied on yourself, it smelled so sweet, but your touch was much more addictive. the way your tongue explored his mouth felt so good. hes always wanted this, he wondered what your lips would of felt like on his.

but it was so sudden, something definitely happened between you and sae. he leaned back from the kiss and youre left disappointed from the lost of contact. youre met with his teal eyes with his conflicted look.

“what happened [name]..? why did you..” you didnt want to remember. you hated it. those words that still swirl inside your mind. its like a nightmare you can never escape from. tears perked from the corners of your eyes again.

“sae…hes engaged and i…i was stupid enough to think hed would of waited for me.” you cried on his chest. is this what it was all about? sae? is that why you kissed him? because he resembles him..? his arm hesitates to hug you, did you only see sae in him, not because he was rin?

but he doesnt know what to do. he always wanted you. he yearned for this so much he cant just let the opportunity to go away right? youre in his arms right now. if this was the closest hell get you to, hell do it. just for you.

“s’okay im here…shh.” he embraced you. kissing the top of your head as he rubbed your back. soothing your crying self.

all of the sudden hes settled in between your legs, all bare. your naked figure was so beautiful. he loved everything about you, even if you did think you had so much flaws.

rin looks like him so much, its basically the same thing you supposed. just not the real deal, but itll do for saes place.

“im g’na put it in okay..?” he rubs his cock head on your clit and you whine, motioning your hips in a circular motion. you nod giving him that access he so longed for.

just barely putting it in, he hisses, it feels so good. this new sensation of pleasure. it felt way better than when hed fist himself to the thought of fucking your tight cunt. he lets out ragged breath, turning his attention to your face only to see you cry from the pleasure.

“does it hurt..?” he rubs your sides, you only let out gasps. youre glad hes being gentle right now because it hurts, you wanted your first to be sae, but its fine. its not like his would be you.

you nod. “its okay…just keep going.” you hands wrap around his neck for leverage, signaling you were fine for him to move. he exhales a breath before moving and oh my god did it felt good for him. the way you warm walls would tighten up when he entered back in made him feel like he was gonna come already.

rin could only take in the moans you let out. its so erotic, hearing you moan out because he was making you feel his cock. his big cock.

a night you two had, rin couldnt believe you let him take your first. and you took his. but he knew why, because he resembles his brother, sae. but if it made you feel better hed give in into your delusions, even if he did wanted you to see him as rin.

the day of the wedding, it was a big one indeed. very expensive looking. you know you should be happy for sae, but really, seeing someone you loved for a long time to marry someone else? that truly was heart breaking.

the toast starts, and never in your whole life have you seen sae so happy before. his eyes lit when he speaks so positively of his now wife. watching from afar as you see sae closing in the gap with his wife to kiss her with a chuckle. rin takes note of your obvious frustration and he can only feel so bad.

too hard to watch, you leave the room. not like anyone would care to notice since it was loud after. but rin would. his eyes were always on you. following after you.

your heels echoes thru the hall as you scurry off to the exit. still devastated from what had just happened. theres no way you can just stay there, seeing the newly wed couple, which was the person you loved so dearly.

"[name]!" rin follows behind as you exit out. hes met with your weeping state, your cries filling in the air of silence. rin can only sigh before walking up to you, rubbing your back. "wanna go?" he asks with a soft tone.

rin takes you home, ensuring you would be safe. walking you to your apartment, but tonight you just wanted to get your head off from everything today. grabbing the hem of rins suit, which makes him halt his movement.

"can you stay...for the night." how could rin refuse? he would give up anything to stay with you (maybe not football.) he knows what you want when you say things like that, and he wont miss that opportunity.

moans and smell of sweat fill the room with the pounding of rins rough thrusts. shit you look so good right now, well you always do. youre so perfect in his eyes.

grabbing hold of your jaw, kissing you while his tongue explores your mouth, the taste is sweet. rin manhandles you so well, putting you into a mating press makes him reach deeper. its like you can feel it in your womb. its so good. too good.

but of course, in your eyes, hell always remind you of sae.

"s-sae...fuck..!" your hand clawed his back and he hisses. it pains him that you still see him as sae. hes sick of it. why cant you finally open your eyes and see that he wants you to see him for who he is. that he loves you.

clicking his tongue in annoyance, he props himself up, his hand trailing to your neck, tightening his grip on you. you can only choke from the lack of oxygen you were getting. it hurts, but not too much.

"fucking sick of you calling. me. sae." he punctuated each words with his thrusts and it makes you scream. your hands grip his wrist, but he doesnt budge. only fastening his pace, letting out ragged breaths.

you cant lie, the way his hair sticks to his forehead was so hot, sweat dripping from his chin.

"call out my name. say rin." you can only let out hiccups. his hands were so big. one hand already covered your whole neck. and with his second one just applied more pressure. it was like a good kind of pain. you didnt hate it.

"r-rin....fuck rin...please make me cum." how could he refuse your request? that was the first youve ever called out is name while you guys had sex. he swears he can hear you calling out his name forever and he wouldnt get tired of it. he loved hearing your voice moaning out his name.

"goddamn it [name]. i fucking love you, ill treat you better than sae. better than anyone." he growled, releasing his grip on your neck, leaning down to bite down on the flesh. it stings, but so good.

his thrusts becomes sloppy, and he grits his teeth. the way your gummy walls clench his dick, he knows youre about to come. and he is too.

"say you love me." he props himself with his hand, focusing his attention on your face, eyeing your fucked out face. god you look so hot like this. "please." his face looks so pleading and it stirs something inside of you. it was like the first time youve seen him like this. but too into the moment, you give in.

"i love you. rin." flashing a weak smile at him, before he reaches his high, with one final thrust, he paints your walls white and the feeling of is cum filling you up is enough to make you orgasm. he rests his hands on your knees, catching up with his breath, seeing the way his cum spill from your cunt.

plopping himself to the side of the bed, giving your forehead a kiss.

"i love you too."

so sorry i will try to post three today! very busyyy so wrote this very quick so u guys think i am not dead. i hope it does not look too choppy! i will work on request :D

[kelisewrites]

you and katsuki weren’t dating or anything, but it didn’t seem like the two of you were just friends either. maybe a secret third thing?

now that you think about it, you and katsuki were unusually close. but you’ve always just thought it was casual, right? just friendly things that friends do?

like, he’ll always find a way to touch you. if the two of you are walking through a crowded hallway at school, you’ll feel his hand resting on your back, just to keep you close as the crowd pushes through.

or sometimes, when the class goes on a field trip, he makes sure he gets to sit next to you.

you’ll immediately feel the warmth of his thigh pressing against yours as he plops down in the seat next to you, your shoulder brushing against each others.

“here,” katsuki says, shoving a protein bar into your hands. “i know ya’ didn’t eat anything yet, idiot.”

“thanks katsuki, how’d you know?” you ask him, opening it up.

he shrugs. “‘cause i pay attention. no big deal.”

you hummed in response as you gazed at the two of your legs still touching. katsuki didn’t seem to mind it at all. there was just something so domestic about it all. even when sometimes you’d lay your head on his shoulder, on purpose just to mess with him, it wouldn’t work because he always let you.

you and katsuki were laying on the couch in the common area together, and you suddenly decided to lean back on him, your back to his chest.

you expected for him to at least give you some attitude, since he never lets anyone touch him. you know he hates it. weirdly enough, he didn’t say anything. in fact, you felt him shift closer to you, getting comfortable.

“aw, you’re really not gonna push me away? thought you hated people touching you?”

he snaps, “whatever,” before draping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you even closer.

everyone knows bakugou doesn’t have many people he would consider his friend. maybe except one person.

kirishima had been noticing how different his best friend had been acting, and he just had to bring it up.

“leave me alone, shitty hair”

“dude, you spend almost all of your time with her!”

“your point?”

“you like her.”

katsuki scoffs, “shut the hell up.”

“just saying, man.” kirishima nudges him, “its funny”

katsuki glared at him. “what’s fucking funny?”

kirishima gave him a look. “the way you act like it isn’t a thing.”

“you’re fucking annoying.”

“maybe. but im right, huh?” he teases.

he doesn’t answer right away, instead, he hesitates and scoffs.

“that wasnt a no.” kirishima smiles at him.

“i said, leave me alone.” katsuki says before storming off.

the next day, it was rainy after school, and of course katsuki was waiting for you by the doors with an umbrella so the two of you could walk back to the dorms.

his face softens when he sees you, and he grabs your bag, tossing it over his shoulder like he always does, before opening the umbrella waiting for you to step under it.

“took ya’ long enough,” he says as you two begin walking in the rain. “thought i was gonna be here waitin’ all day”

“you waited for me?”

“duh. knew you wouldn’t have an umbrella.” he shifts closer to you naturally, “and i always walk you back to your dorm don’t i?”

“yeah, but, dunno, it’s just kinda sweet.” you say softly.

he scoffs, “like i was gonna leave your dumbass.”

you nod and feel your heart jump at his words. was this casual? the thought of this possibly being something more had been eating at you all week, and you just had to speak up.

“y’know, people think we’re dating.”

he looks down at you, then grumbles, “so what?”

“what, you dont care? you’re not gonna.. i dunno, deny it?” you ask, gazing at him.

he just kind of pauses and shrugs, and you swear you notice a slight blush on his cheeks. “let ‘em think whatever they want.”

you blinked in surprise. really? was that it? no argument? before you could make any sense of it, or say anything back, he just grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, the touch unexpected, but so so familiar.

you didn’t end up saying anything else, and neither did he. the two of you just continued walking, hand in hand.

ᡣ𐭩

- completely inspired by this post!

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ IT’S OKAY, YOU’RE GOOD.

Tw - light angst, roommate trope, reader has daddy issues and seeks comfort from toji, Age gap (20, 40), Not proofread.

I’ve always had this angsty roommate trope with Toji in the back of my head— where the reader is a college student who gets kicked out by her parents and is forced to share an apartment with someone else because you can’t afford a place on your own.

Somehow, you either got lucky or unlucky and ended up living with an older man who’s nearly as old as your own parents.

But he always minded his own business, and the two of you only exchange brief hellos and the usual polite pleasantries. You’d think living with an older man might be weird or even a little fucking creepy, but it’s clear he has no interest in you in that way.

The thing is, you have a lot of unresolved issues and wasn’t treated the best growing up, leading to a lot of personal problems and issues. As the days pass, you and Toji start talking more, gradually getting used to each other’s presence while still maintaining a respectful distance.

He didn’t seem to have a lot of hobbies— just a typical older man working the usual 5 to 5.

You had no idea what his job was, nor did you care enough to ask but he had a fond of working out— considering that most of the time when you get home from your part-time, you’d find him in the living room doing push-ups or bicep curls while half-watching some random horse racing show on tv that you’re 100% confident that no one else cared to watch.

You don’t remember when exactly the lines started to blur. When the occasional greetings turned into quiet conversations over late-night meals. When the awkward tension of cohabiting with a stranger faded into something resembling familiarity. Toji was still Toji— distant, extremely rough around the edges, and uninterested in prying into things that weren’t his business.

But maybe that’s what made it easy to be around him.

He never asked why you flinched when your phone buzzed with a call you refused to answer. He never questioned why you worked yourself to the bone at a part-time job that barely paid enough to cover rent. And he sure as hell never brought up the nights you came home with your eyes red-rimmed, shoulders tense like you were holding yourself together with sheer will, alone.

But he noticed.

Maybe that’s why, on nights like these, when the weight of it all felt unbearable— when the ghosts of your childhood clawed their way to the surface to fucking torture you, leaving you hollow and exhausted. You found yourself in the living room, drawn to the quiet presence of the only person who never asked for more than you were willing to give.

Tonight was no different.

Toji was exactly where you expected him to be, sprawled out on the couch in nothing but sweatpants, a hand lazily resting on his stomach as he watched another horse racing rerun. His other hand held a half-empty beer can, the faint smell of cheap alcohol lingering in the air.

He didn’t acknowledge you right away, but you knew he saw you.

“You look like shit". His voice was rough and tired like he’d already had a long day and didn’t have the energy for sugarcoating. But there was no malice behind it. Just an observation.

You let out a dry laugh, softly rubbing your arms as you hesitated near the edge of the couch. “Thanks toji. real comforting".

He lowly grunted in response, tilting the can to his lips before glancing at you again. “Something happened?”.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to talk about it. The words were there, lodged in your throat, tangled with years of resentment and hurt that you never got the chance to voice.

But where would you even start?

“My dad called,” you muttered instead, settling for the simplest truth.

Toji didn’t react right away. He took another sip of his drink, his gaze unreadable. But he didn’t need to say anything— you could tell he already understood.

“And?”

“And… nothing,” you whispered, dropping onto the couch beside him. “Just the usual bullshit. Asking where I am. Acting like he gives a damn after throwing me out like I was nothing”. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, gripping it tight. “I didn’t answer”.

There was a long silence before Toji let out a slow exhale. “Hmph. Probably for the best.” You turned to look at him, searching for judgment, for some offhand remark about how “he’s still your dad” or how you should “at least hear him out”. But there was none of that.

Just quiet understanding.

Something inside you lit.

Before you could stop yourself, you shifted closer, curling your knees up against your chest as you leaned against his side. Toji tensed for a moment but didn’t pull away.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, closing your eyes.

He sighed through his nose, shifting just enough to get comfortable. His body heat seeping into your skin. “Yeah well, you’re freezing”.

A part of you expected him to brush you off, to push you away like everyone else had. But he didn’t. He just sat there solid and steady, letting you rest against him without a word.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel completely alone.

You don’t know how long you sat there, curled into his side like some pathetic thing seeking warmth and comfort. Toji doesn’t say anything, doesn’t shift to move you off. He just sits there, the low hum of the television filling the silence between you.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe it’s the fact that no one has ever let you just be without demanding something in return but you find yourself inching closer, practically climbing into his spawled lap before you can think better of it.

Toji tenses beneath you, his body going rigid as he feels your weight settling on top of him. For a second, you think he’s going to push you off, tell you to go to bed, or deal with your shit somewhere else.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales through his nose, one large hand coming up to rest against your back, broad and grounding. “You really are touch-starved, huh?” he mutters, amusement barely masking something softer beneath his tone.

You don’t answer. You just press your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in— cologne, sweat, and the faintest trace of whatever cheap beer he’s been drinking. It should be embarrassing, the way you’re practically clinging to him, an older man you’ve only known for about four months but shame is a distant thing compared to the bone-deep exhaustion squeezing tightly around your ribs.

For once, Toji doesn’t make you feel stupid for it.

After a moment his hand moves, dragging up your spine in slow, deliberate strokes before slipping into your hair. The gesture is clumsy at first, like he’s not used to comforting anyone this way but his fingers are warm, threading through the strands with a gentleness that makes your throat tighten.

“Damn,” he mutters, his voice rumbling beneath your ear, “when’s the last time you brushed this?”

You huff against his skin. “Shut up”.

He chuckles, low and rough but his fingers don’t stop. If anything, he grows more methodical, smoothing out the tangles with a patience you wouldn’t have expected from someone like him. It’s oddly soothing, the way he works through each knot with careful precision, his other hand resting against the small of your back, keeping you anchored on him.

No one has ever touched you like this before—without expectation, without ulterior motives. Just quiet, wordless comfort.

Your eyes burn, and you squeeze them shut, pressing yourself closer. “You don’t have to do this,” you whisper, though you don’t pull away.

Toji sighs, his fingers still carding through your hair. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t seem like anyone else has”.

It’s a simple statement but it cracks something deep inside you.

You don’t cry. Not really. But your hands clutch at his broad shoulders and Toji doesn’t say a damn thing when your breath stutters when you shake just the slightest bit against him.

He just keeps brushing his fingers through your hair, steady and patient. Like he’s got all the time in the world.

And for tonight, at least you let yourself believe it.

You don’t know what came over you. The urge rising like a tide that you couldn’t hold back. Maybe it’s the way Toji’s fingers are moving through your hair, the warmth of his chest against yours. the steady, comforting pressure of his body under yours. Maybe it’s the vulnerability that’s been simmering in your chest, the raw need to feel something else other than burden.

Your lips hover near his throat, your breath shaky and fingers clenching on his shirt as you tilt your head. The space between you is thin and fragile. He’s close enough that you could close the distance, and you find yourself trembling, your heart pounding too loudly in your chest.

Before you can even think it through, you tilt your head up just a little more, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. It’s a light touch, barely there, but enough to send an electric shock through your body. The warmth from his skin makes you ache for more. A soft, quiet need you’ve kept buried for far too long.

But Toji’s body tenses, his hand freezing in your hair. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice rough with a warning that makes your pulse spike in sheer anxiety. “What are you doing?”

You pull back, your heart thudding as the weight of what you’ve almost done settles in. But before you can apologize, to retreat into the usual walls you keep around yourself, his eyes are soft but firm.

“Don’t”. His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. A certain caution you hadn’t expected. The hint of strictness almost making you cry.

You open your mouth, words trapped on the tip of your tongue but nothing comes out. He doesn’t move away though. Doesn’t push you off. He just holds your gaze, his eyes dark but kind, not angry, not judgmental— just… something else?

“You’re just a kid,” Toji says. His voice was low, almost a murmur. “I don’t see you like that”.

You flinch, even though the words shouldn’t hurt, even though you knew somewhere deep down, this was where it would go. The distance was inevitable. He wasn’t like the others— he didn’t want you in that way and you weren’t ready to be wanted like that anyway. Not from someone like him.

“Sorry,” you whisper, unable to look at him. You try to pull away, to move off his lap, but his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you back in.

“Hey, none of that”. His voice softens as he steadies you. His palm strokes gently down your back, grounding you in the silence between you. “I’m not mad. But I’m not that kind of guy".

You swallow hard, nodding slowly— trying to push back the sting that rises in your chest. The air feels colder now, the warmth of his body less comforting, like a reminder that you’re still just a kid in his eyes.

But then without warning, Toji shifts his position, pulling you closer to melt into his body, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath you. His lips lazily brush the top of your head, just a light touch, like a reassurance.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something you can’t place. “I’m not gonna push you away, kid. Just… just need you to know your place, alright?”.

Your breath catches in your throat as you settle back into him, the weight of your emotions flooding back in full force. It feels too much, too complicated and you don’t know what to do with all the things you’ve never said. But for now, you let yourself sink into the safety of his arms, the warmth of his embrace enough to silence the chaos in your mind.

His fingers trace gently down your spine again, a comforting gesture you can’t ignore and then his lips press a soft kiss to your forehead. It’s simple, tender— a reminder that while he might not want you in the way you want, but he’s not leaving you to fend for yourself. Not tonight.

And maybe that’s enough. For now.

[retiredteabag]

Dog-sitter!Toji - chapter 10

last chapter - series masterlist

Synopsis: Toji was quite accustomed to objectifying himself for a check. And to be frank, far worse actions as well. Now he’s not sure what to do with himself after meeting the kind and generous owner of the dog he pet-sits for.

read along as Toji learns that you don't need to lose yourself in order to love and be loved.

Qouth the poet, 'Come, love and health to all; then I'll sit down.' Only, at this feast of heart, the mind and soul is clear as day.

--

It had been right around late January when you started noticing your dog's anxiety. Early February before Toji started to look after the sweet boy while you worked. Back then, you had spent early mornings in the dark preparing for the day and late nights in the office, readying your space for the next shift.

The days had been monotonous, bleeding into one another. Quickly, you began to break under the weight of the expectations from your peers and superiors. It seemed that nothing you did was worthy of praise and every little error stood out more than any others. All achievement was expected of you and in the event you fell short, the worst you could hear would always be the silent thoughts coming from yourself.

It hadn't taken long for Toji to become an active part of your lives. And now, as the seasons changed, so too did your routine. With the advent of Toji, you were kept to a strict standard of self-care. The winter weather had always been a burden to you, only now, a warmth you hadn't ever known presented an arrival, coming into existence in the form of heated palms and gentle brushes on your cheek.

Toji would not hesitate to flick your forehead if ever he felt you were working too much. He had seen those parts of you and was determined to look after you in any way you would let him. With the growing relationship, he no longer would stand by and let you work yourself to the bone.

The new routine came comfortably, you and he simply fit into each other's lives without sharp edges or bumps. And not much changed in the dynamic you held. You had fallen into life with each other quickly and genuine was the care you had for one another.

Only now, in the evening when he finds you at your desk, pouring over something he doesn't even want to try and understand, instead of leaving you to your devices like a good employee, he leans down and kisses you. Waiting patiently for your acceptance before making sure you weren't overdoing things.

--

He kisses you often these days, as you are aware, he is not the type to hold back and he feels the urge to share breaths often. The urge to synch his heartbeat with your own when he holds you to his chest.

Toji's life had shifted so much in the past year that it could give him whiplash if he weren't so grounded in you. True to his word, he loves to look after the dog, only this time around, it wasn't because of the uncanny luck of the job, the generosity of this strange workaholic. No, it was because he had always been one to want the best for his family.

And for his you? Though he watches the dog with regularity, he refuses any money you could offer him. This was one of the real changes between the pair of you. And try as you might, Toji was stubborn in his assertions. It had come to be one of your first true arguments, but Toji was determined to push away any generosity that was not the food, amenities, or affection of yours.

He would see your frustrated expression when turning your money away. Had it been anyone else to push back against his wishes, he might have lashed out, but he knew well that he could only hold adoration for you.

Life had just as much routine to it for him as it did for you. He took up working at a shelter just by your neighborhood. He brought the dog with him often, and the socialization was good for both parties.

Plus, you always got all excited when he would send pictures of your boy playing with other dogs. More than anything, he loved to see you happy.

And as it would turn out, Toji made a very good trainer. He kept busy, on his feet and such. It felt good, to be outdoors so often. Working with the animals to help them overcome any issues that might keep them from adoption was one of his main goals now.

And beyond that, he was making his own money, that part felt good too, to retire the title of 'employee' from you. He would grin at the thought. So out of his league, and still, he had graduated to something far more intimate with you.

--

Toji had come over early one morning, intending to catch you before you left for the office. You were slipping your shoes on right as he stepped through the threshold of your side door.

He was dressed in a fitted pair of canvas pants. A thick hoodie hung just at his hips, and he swung his keys around in a loop as he leaned up against the doorframe, watching you move.

"Mornin'." Toji grins at you, the dog was bounding around him, well aware that a car ride awaited him in his near future. Panting in excitement.

"Good morning." You smile, trying to fix your makeup in a mirror on the wall, "You've certainly got him all excited." You laugh, tilting your head to the exasperated dog, his leg thumping loudly on the hardwood as Toji scratches behind his ear.

The man watches as you reach over to swing your jacket over your shoulders. He nearly bolted to you at the opportunity to be of service. Pulling your arm through the sleeve and wrapping you up comically tight. He sways you from foot to foot, his chin on your head.

You giggle, "He really likes going with you, ya know?" You look at the dog by the door patiently swaying his tail while looking between Toji and his car in the driveway.

"Oh yeah?" Toji leans down, kissing your neck. Not sensual, just sweet. He hums, wanting to stretch out the moment as long as he could. Silently promising to himself come over early from now on.

"Yeah." You pull his arms from your body and turn to wrap yourself in him instead. "You'll be here for dinner?" Your ear finds his pulse and you chuckle to yourself at the sheer speed with which it beats, and the fact that he acts all cool, you'd never have guessed.

Toji hums, head still resting on you, "I'd never miss it."

--

On one particular morning, Toji was off work, staying at your place. You had been leaving the house early that week, needing to implement a new system update for your company's software. A lot of the transfer relied on you and because of this, you were taking the brunt of the stress.

At one point in your life, coming home after a long day to another person with whom you would reliably need to interact with, would be, if nothing else, exhausting. Somehow, with Toji, that was not the case.

Coming home and seeing him there on the couch was like a breath of fresh air. You felt a fair bit giddy knowing he would be waiting for you during your commute those evenings.

You would find yourself excited, leaving for the office during such stressful days, knowing that by the end of your shift, he would be there for you.

That week, Toji had been watching you closely. He would come home from work and immediately prep some nutrient-dense meal.

One of the perks of loving a largely fit individual was that he knew how to get protein and vitamins, and he made sure to stock you full.

It was almost cute at times. Clearly, he didn't want to overwhelm you or be a bother. Still, he would stand awkwardly in the hall and murmur something about being sure to drink some water. That or just coming out and asking if you'd eaten. And if you had, he would want to know it was.

He never came across as a hyper-protective parent, simply caring. He knew you worked a lot and that you needed fuel. Sometimes being the one to care for you was more reliable. He knew you could forget at times. And that was okay, he didn't mind.

--

One of his favorite parts of the day would be when he got to tuck you in before leaving in the evenings. He didn't actually tuck you in, not in the usual sense of the word, but that's what he liked to call it.

He always predicted when you would start to offer to walk him to his car and would adamantly refuse to let you get the words out.

No, no, no, he was not going to let you out in this cold, are you crazy? You would be staying nice and warm, wrapped up in this fuzzy blanket that he kept mussing around you.

The best part about the whole thing for him was that for the first sustainable time in his life, he did not feel a pressure to be anyone but himself. He never felt compelled to change around you, to be someone else that you would like more. He could please you not by constant vigilance to create someone loveable, but rather, by being honest.

Looking back on his past, he had lived in a constant state of anxiety, a tension that was exhaustive. He wasn't a friend, a lover, or an employee. His relationships were never professional or real. He was whatever someone wanted from him at any given moment and then, after the fact a hollow shell of whatever he could salvage.

He was no longer void, he was fulfilled, his glass was half-full, he was no one but himself, and you wouldn't ask him to be anyone else.

For the first time, possibly ever, he did not have to lose himself to love or be loved.

--

One rainy afternoon, you asked him to move in with you.

It had been a recurring thought of yours, wondering how you should ask him. It came up naturally one evening. You were both lying on the couch, the dog at your feet. A blanket covered the entirety of your body. You had given up trying to share with the warm-blooded man.

Some movie was playing but neither of you was paying close attention as you flipped between different conversations.

Eventually, you just let it slip, "You know, you're here enough, and you've lived here before. Why don't you just move in?"

You weren't sure what you expected as his response, but when he grabbed your hand, kissing the back while shaking his head "no", you knew, it hadn't been that.

You tried to pull back but he wouldn't allow it, "What? Why not?" Your brows got all furrowed suddenly and he nudged a knuckle between them to smooth the disturbance there.

He smelled the lotion on your arm, finding the words, "Not yet...." He gave the back of your hand a lick and you really did jerk back this time. Wiping it off on his pant leg, laughing.

"Eww Toji-"

He slid his shoulder down on the back of the couch to lean on you, "One day... but not yet." He could see the gears turning in your head and he simply tapped your nose with a finger, "And it's not because I would feel like a leach, I just... I want to be ready?" Even he struggled to reach for the phrasing.

"I wanna pay everything off." He looked at you, "Don't even think to offer." You huffed, annoyed that he rarely let you pay for stuff anymore. "I wanna... I wanna be someone you deserve, I want to be good for you the way you've been good for me."

He had such a tender look on his face. It almost hurt to hear him say such a thing. "Toji..." You narrowed, pulling back from the weight of him to see his face "Whyever would you not be deserving? You've been nothing but...pure goodness for me." You scoff.

He rolled his eyes but that only frustrated you more. You shoved his shoulder a bit, only pushing yourself back, the damn immovable object he was.

"No." You continued on, serious, "You allowed me a more efficient schedule, you helped the dog overcome his anxiety, you... for heaven's sake Toji, you saved his life- twice!" You leaned forward now, yanking the blanket down onto your lap.

"You listen to me and you care, you help me stand up for myself and you cook for me, and you're ever so sweet" You tugged on his earlobe when he tried to look away from your gaze, "You have never been anything but good for me."

He just stared at you then, replaying your words over and over in his head. "But I won't ask you to do anything if you'd rather stay in your apartment until you're more comfortable; that's fine."

He wouldn't say it, but you knew he was at least slightly concerned about the wealth dynamic. After confessing to you that he didn't want to be paid anymore, the idea of being an employee to you was a long-gone notion.

Toji smiles down at you then, bringing the blanket back up under your chin. "Well... this place is closer to the shelter..." He shrugs, allowing himself to really consider the idea.

He loved his job, he loved how fulfilled he was, and most of all, he loved you. You had changed his life and set him on a whole new path. Opening his eyes to a new way of life that he had thought impossible for the likes of him.

If he could repay such a kindness, he would spend the rest of his life attempting to do so, with eager love more than any conviction.

And the funny part is? You felt the same way about him.

And in that dim living room, some silent movie droning on in the background, the dog at his feet, he can picture a future where you leave him notes. Something similar to how you once did, only this time, you would be asking him to pick up groceries for your shared kitchen. Something simple like that.

He wanted it badly, the domesticity. The house would look so different, though he had been staying there for over a year now, knowing it belonged to the beautiful word that is "us".

And God willing, that "us" would propagate into every second of his timeline. Every moment of his life. Every breath he took. Every pounding in his chest. Everywhere, his everything, till the moment he was dragged from this earth.

And above all, on that living room sofa, in that moment, he felt the most affection for the knowing little friend at his feet. The life that brought him to you.

For him, Toji was eternally grateful.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Thank you for reading this story, I had the most fun writing it. I was deeply inspired to create a world where Toji could live comfortably without being forced to give of himself. In doing so, I was motivated to bring actual writing back to my blog for the first time in four? five years?

If you have dog-sitter toji thoughts, feel free to shoot them into my inbox! This chapter was intended to serve as an epilogue but who knows? I might add little one-shots in the future.

Thank you for following this journey! I had a blast! I will likely go through chapter by chapter and edit the story but for now, I hope the conclusion brings you peace!

Check out my masterlist

Tags:

@sweetpo1son @scorpiosugar @starmapz @toruswrld @your-mum3000 @meow-satoru @animeblr @utarts @roxyyyyy1xx @lilming36 @scandibabeuh @atanasiaaaa @chouzuko @voronii @transsfish @h3llf4iry @lucrea @straewberrysoda @s4m4nth4wrld @storiesbyparadise @pokiona @neiostrike @breenatalle @uwolivia @gothic-fluffycow @luvvmae @justbelljust @voidshoutsback @chaotic-ish @jamzywiththejam28 @definitely-not-leena @kirawyd @kuro-chi69 @smoments @lukabwrry @esmedelacroix @professionalreblogger @yoongluverz @stainednailpolishremover @nappingmoon @lauretsy @noelssprings @bytgefirewbook @koji-ibitsu @wafflefries786 @bearchermer @p1nkfl0wers @sugojosgf @deafeningherofishcash @yeehawbrothers @wil10wthetree @youcantseem3 @poopooindamouf @miakxn @esggs @makosworld @neeshsoodrippedout @momoewn @mooncleaver @avocadomochi @getoisinnocent @femmefatal @lov3vivian @grima4lurking @lemonlimecrystal-blog @icedemon1314

[mintyys-blog]

MORE THEN JUST BUSINESS — mark grayson x reader

WARNINGS: none

Y/N had always admired real estate. From the glossy magazine covers to the sharp business deals, everything about it fascinated her. She spent her days attending classes and reading about the industry, all while envisioning herself working beside the biggest names in the business.

But being just a few blocks away from a successful real estate agent like Debbie Grayson, Mark’s mother, made her dream seem closer. Much closer. Debbie had become a mentor to Y/N, offering advice and sharing stories about how she’d built her career from the ground up. In return, Y/N did her best to help out whenever Debbie needed a hand with anything, whether it was organizing papers or running errands. It wasn’t long before they spent more time together than just business.

Every afternoon, Y/N found herself at the Graysons’ house, often perched on their porch with a cup of coffee, listening to Debbie’s advice about selling homes, the importance of staging, and the strict, complicated regulations that governed the market.

“You have to know the area like the back of your hand,” Debbie would say. “Every neighborhood has its quirks. You need to know where the best schools are, what the local market is like, and how to sell the house with its unique charm.”

Debbie’s passion for real estate was infectious. Y/N could see herself thriving in the industry, her own future just as bright. They laughed together, shared stories, and Y/N soaked in all the lessons.

Then, of course, there was Mark.

Mark Grayson, Debbie’s son, was quiet but kind, a bit reserved but thoughtful. Y/N didn’t see him much at first; he was often off with his own set of friends, busy with school, or simply keeping to himself. But as Y/N became a more frequent guest at the Graysons’, their paths crossed more often.

One evening, while Y/N was on the porch with Debbie, sipping lemonade and listening to one of her many insightful stories about the importance of curb appeal, Mark came out with a basketball in hand.

“Hey, Mom. Y/N,” he greeted, his voice soft but warm.

Y/N turned, offering a smile. “Hey, Mark! You going for a game?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Just shooting some hoops.” He paused, glancing at Y/N. “You’re here a lot, huh?”

She laughed, feeling the flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I guess so. But mostly for the great real estate advice,” she said, nudging Debbie with her elbow.

Debbie chuckled. “Well, she’s got a lot to learn, but she’s coming along great.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Real estate, huh? You thinking of following in my mom’s footsteps?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, actually. It’s always been my dream. Debbie’s been helping me a lot.”

“That’s cool,” Mark said, then glanced at the basketball. “You want to come shoot around? It’s a great way to clear your head.”

Y/N hesitated for just a moment before nodding. “Sure, why not?”

The basketball court was just a few steps away, and soon they were both laughing as they took turns trying to make shots. Mark’s easygoing nature made Y/N feel comfortable, and before long, they were talking about everything and nothing—real estate, the future, and how they each saw their lives unfolding.

“Sounds like you’ve got a good plan,” Mark said as he grabbed the ball from Y/N and tossed it in the air with practiced ease. “So, when do you officially start selling houses?”

Y/N grinned. “Well, I still have to pass my exam, but I’ll be ready.”

“Debbie’s been really good to you, huh?”

Y/N nodded. “She’s amazing. I don’t know where I’d be without her. She’s been like a second mom to me.”

Mark smiled, his eyes softening. “She’s a good one, alright. She’s always been there for me, even when I didn’t realize I needed her.”

As the sun began to set, they continued their game, laughing, exchanging stories, and slowly getting to know each other better. Y/N realized that she liked Mark more than she had anticipated. He was down-to-earth, humble, and so different from the typical high school jock.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N’s visits to the Graysons’ house became a regular occurrence. Every time she was over, Mark seemed to pop in unexpectedly, joining them on the porch or offering to help her with her studies. They found themselves bonding over things that were completely unrelated to real estate—like movies, their favorite bands, and their shared love of cheesy pizza.

One afternoon, after a particularly lengthy chat about market trends, Y/N stood to leave, gathering her notes and heading for the door.

“Hey, Y/N, wait up,” Mark called from the living room. He was standing there, his hands in his pockets, his expression serious but warm.

“Yeah?” Y/N asked, turning back to him.

“I was wondering… if you ever want to take a break from all the real estate stuff, maybe you could join me for a coffee sometime. No work talk. Just… you know, a little fun.”

Y/N blinked, surprised but pleased. “I’d like that,” she replied, smiling.

And so it began—the first of many coffee dates, casual hangouts, and, slowly, the growing connection between Y/N and Mark. As she continued to learn from Debbie, it was becoming clear that there was more to life than just business. There was also the possibility of something special, something that could develop alongside her career. And she was more than willing to make it happen.

[yurinaa-world]

HehehdjfhfjshHAHAHAHA

imagine Mydei with a reader whos OBSESSED. With flowers, every time without fail they go and find a new flower to add to their collection of knowledge about the pretty plants, they always run to Mydei to tell him about it, and he could only stare at them as they rant with a lovesick smile on his face like “yes please keep on talking to me about this even though I’m never gonna use this in my life.”

Oh my stars and imagine if they put flowers in his hair, just this big giant brute of a guy standing there with all sorts of flowers sticking out of his hair. They had to leave for something and he didn’t dare take them out so he had to walk around the city w his hair like that for the rest of the day with phainon laughing at him every time they see each other

"𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓼."

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Mydei x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader who's obsessed with flowers

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling mistakes

“Don’t these look so pretty?”

He would do anything just to see you happy. No matter how embarrassing it might seem to others, your happiness is all that matters to him. Whether you ask for a large bed of rare flowers—even having just one of these plants is difficult—Mydei will get it for you. Or if you ask to put flowers in his hair for the entire day, he’ll let you (even if Phainon laughs at him, he’ll just jump him).

“Very beautiful.” Mydei’s voice is soft, filled with warmth, matching the gentle gaze he holds for you.

“Can I put them in your hair, then?”

You’ve already put so many, it’s ridiculous that you ask to add more.

His lips quirk into an indulgent smile, and without hesitation, he leans down slightly, giving you better access. “Of course,” he murmurs. “Put as many as you like.”

Your fingers work delicately, weaving the flowers into Mydei’s hair, careful not to tangle the soft strands. The way he sits so still, patient under your touch, makes your heart warm.

“You look so pretty,” you say with a satisfied hum, tilting your head to admire your work.

“If you believe so, then I am.”

.

.

.

“What happened to your hair?!”

Phainon can’t hold his laughter in. He already knows exactly which flower spirit covered Mydeimos’s hair in pretty flowers and their petals.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[chrystal-ink]

Shadow x GN reader

All cramped up

Shadow finds the one thing he can’t fix for you

Warnings: reader is on period, severe menstrual cramps, mentions of nausea, hurt/comfort

Note: so a fun (not really) fact about me is I suffer from debilitating menstrual cramps to the point where I can (very rarely) lose my ability to stand so this is based off of that

“I’m sorry honey I can’t go out tonight I’m not feeling well”

As you sent the text you felt a wave of guilt and frustration wash over you. Once again your body had decided to ruin plans and upend your life and for what?

The scraping in your lower abdomen continued as you waited for the ibuprofen to kick in you waited a half an hour, then an hour still nothing.

You clutched the heating pad close hoping it could soothe the cramp that you so desperately needed relief from. not caring weather or not it was starting to burn, so far it was the only kind of relief you could feel.

Just then you heard a knock at the door. You were too tired to move so you figured you could ignore it. let whoever was on the other side think you weren’t home , but then they knocked again.

Your phone chimed a text from Shadow appearing on the screen.

“Let me in I’m here to take care of you”

You heaved a sigh you should have known that he would be coming, he wasn’t going to let you suffer alone, even if he didn’t quite know that you weren’t suffering from any illness rather a particularly cruel joke from Mother Nature.

steeling yourself you got up from your couch making your way over to the door each step more taxing than the last. eventually you made it to your door.

❤️

Shadow stood patiently at your door anxiety flooding through his system, he hated when you got sick. he always made sure to do everything in his power in order to get you healthy again and today was no different, or so he thought.

You opened the door greeting him with a soft "Hey".

much to his surprise you looked just fine, no apparent signs of any fever, no runny nose or sore throat. aside from looking a bit tired you seemed just fine.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Yah, I just don't feel like I can go out tonight."

"Are you sick? when was the last time you took any medicine?"

"Well I took some ibuprofen about an hour ago, but I'm not exactly sick."

"what do you mean?"

"Well I- it's sorta like." you seemed hesitant to answer like you were embarrassed or ashamed of what the problem was. he waited for you to continue.

but before you could give any proper answer you collapsed to the ground.

❤️

the sharp pain took your breath away like you had just been impaled the pain from your uterus now radiating through your spine forcing you to double over in pain. a bout of nausea twisted your stomach as you began to shake.

Gentle hands caught you as he called out your name panic laced throughout his voice. "Are you alright? what's going on? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"

"No, it's alright." you stated trying to clam his nerves. "trust me the hospital won't do anything."

"Why not? You're clearly suffering with something."

"Yes and that thing is having a uterus. I'm on my period." You explained through groans. "and I just so happen to suffer with really bad cramps. the most a doctor will do is send me home with some pain killers, which I already have, and tell me to do the same things I've been doing since this whole stupid thing started."

Shadow stared at you not really sure on how to proceed.

You sighed "Can we please move over to the couch I really don't want to have this conversation on the floor."

"Of course, can you stand?"

you began to rise carefully halfway up you felt a twinge of pain letting out a cry as you retreated to your previous position.

"Here let me help you." He scooped you up in his arms carrying you over to the couch.

as he carried you over you couldn't help but feel guilty. not only did you ruin his night but you caused him serious worry over you and now you were making him take care of you.

as Shadow gingerly placed you on the sofa all the frustration and guilt bubbled to the surface, tears began streaming down your face soft sobs escaping your mouth.

"I hate this" you started. "people have been doing this every day for thousands of years. going to work, living their lives, and I can't even stand up. I’m so sorry I really didn’t want to ruin your night, you already do so much for me and now this. I feel so pathetic.” Another wave of pain shot through you making you wince “I just want it to stop”

Shadow just stared at you for a moment unsure of what to do. He’s never seen you like this and it scared him. He’s seen you fight off plenty of foes, seen you sustain many injuries that you simply walked off. He never expected to see you brought down, and by your own body nonetheless.

Questions formed in his head unsure of how to ask them. Did this happen every time? How come he hasn’t seen this yet? How could he fix this?

The last question rang in his head the loudest. Memories of his past flashed through his mind, his purpose what he was created for. Was this another failure for him? Was there truly nothing he could do for you? The only thing he could do right now was watch you while you succumbed to your pain.

He had to do something but what?

Taking a breath he helped you lay down on the couch. He rested his hand on your shoulder in a gentle voice he said “it’s alright my love, just give me a minute.” He turned on your favorite show hoping it could distract you in his absence.

Exiting your apartment he called the only person he could think of.

“Hey handsome, what’s going on?”

“Rouge, it’s Y/N. I need your help” Shadow explained the situation he confessed he was in over his head and didn’t know how to proceed.

“Oh, the poor thing” Rouge commented “Alright big guy here’s what you do.”

❤️

Shadow had been gone for thirty minutes now. You felt horrible thinking you must have scared him off.

You should have explained your situation earlier before all of this happened. You thought you were getting better, your past few cycles had been manageable. You should have known better than to think the problem would go away on its own.

The next time you saw Shadow what was that going to be like. Did he think you were weak now? Did he pity you? You couldn’t stand the thought of shadow looking down on you.

Before you could spiral Shadow came through the door shopping bags in one hand and take out in the other.

He unloaded the contents of the bags onto the coffee table. Pulling out your favorite snacks and candies one by one. He brought a tub of ice cream to the freezer presumably for later. Coming back with some silverware he handed you the takeout.

“Here, I don’t know if you’ve eaten today so I got your favorite. If you don’t want it I also got some ingredients to make your favorite comfort food as well.” He pulled out a plushie in your favorite color and placed it in your arms.

“What’s this?” You asked the question being more rhetorical than anything.

“I don’t particularly enjoy them but I know you like your plush toys, you don’t already have that one do you?”

“No” you gave him a weak smile as you hugged your new squishy friend “thank you”

Shadow kissed you on the forehead climbing behind you on the couch wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close to him.

“Where does it hurt?”

You guided his hand to your lower abdomen resting on the source “Right there”

Shadow delicately worked his hands on the area giving it a gentle massage, untying some of the knots left behind by your uncaring reproductive system.

“Does this help at all?”

“Actually yes, it does, a little”

“Good” he continued his gentle movements. “ I want you to know that I take care of you because I want to, you’re not a burden to me and I never want you to feel like you are. If you’re in pain let me know I won’t think any less of you for it. You are such a strong and amazing person you don’t have to hide your struggles from me.”

“Okay, I promise I’ll tell you next time”

You felt some of the tension in his body melt as you snuggled further into his arms.

“I heard that new movie you wanted to see is streaming now do you want to watch it?”

You nodded

As the movie began to play you began to feel more at ease some of the pain finally slipping away disappearing into nothingness.

“Shadow”

“Yes?”

“Thank you”

“Of course my love, anytime.”

[ilysungho]

to be honest, i can't stop thinking about dom!jaehyun × virgin!reader.

we've been known that jaehyun is made from boyfriend material through and through, and if you were to be in a relationship with him he'd be the softest most caring boy, always making sure you're comfortable.

he'd know you are a virgin, it was only fair for you to tell him that you weren't ready to go all the way with someone before he comitted to you, but he couldn't care less. he'd be so busy loving you that being intimate with you would honesty slip his mind most of the time.

that's why when one night, when messy kissing turned into making out, turned into hands roaming all over one another (clinging to whatever skin is at the reach of each others' fingertips) turned to you softly moaning against the shell of his ear suddenly turned into you telling him that you want to take him. fully. he loses his mind.

it's almost as if it all the pent up desire he had carried since the start of your relationship (unbeknownst to himself) awakens, and he can't do anything besides comply.

to me, he reads as the type of boy who'd be in love with the idea of being the first to have you, to mold your mind and the way you experience your sexuality into the perfect match for his own preferences. he'd be so eager to teach you everything, his chest filling with pride the moment your hips clash against his own following the rythm he had set up even when his hands are busy worshiping your perfect breasts.

and don't even get me started on how feral he'd get after seeing your perfectly carved body laying under his own, panting, skin shiny because of how sweaty you'd be, yes, but also because of the thick layer of cum covering your belly and pooling around your navel.

this is kind of senseless word vomit, i just think that your first time with myungjae would be so soft yet so full of lust, and i'd love to know YOUR take on it (duh, i wouldn't be asking you if i didn't). i just need someone to validate me and my softdom!myungjae agenda.

p.s: can i be ⭐️ anon? because i have the feeling that i'm going to be sending asks here often

i’m going to be so honest. i’ve been gatekeeping this because it’s so beautifully written but i also don’t want to keep it in my asks for too long because i want you to know that i’ve seen this! and yes of course you can be star anon! and omg, this did not feel like word vomit at all!! i loveeee how you wrote this out… tugging at my heart strings because even without specific details, the whole idea of what you’re saying sounds so perfectly him. i’m excited to see more from you love 💗 my thoughts will be under the cut! i hope you enjoy~

softdom!jaehyun is nothing but kind and thoughtful. since the beginning of the relationship, he’s only ever been doing everything that’s within your comfort level, never pushing for more than what you want. there’s be times when he does get needy with you, but he keeps it to himself pretty well. he knows he has to be patient to get more than just making out with you, yet he can’t help but feel guilty when he’s masturbating to your pictures alone in his room. they’d be perfectly innocent ones too, pictures of yourself smiling while having ice cream, giggling as your friend takes a pic of you, etc. he notices every part of you through those pictures, and also while you stay put beside him with lips interlocked. his hand would softly hover over your waist before being placed there gently, and he would pull you closer to his body. still, he would hesitate to bring you as close as he truly wants you to be.

the type of love he shows is so pure and full of romance that even the smallest gestures have to be grandly laid out according to him. the idea of taking your virginity came with numerous plans on how to do so in a perfect manner, one that you would remember for a lifetime. but when you ask him for more… and more… and more… ally eh planning goes down the drain as he is asking you if you’re absolutely sure you want it. he can’t wait either until he enacts one of the many occasions, so he’s grateful you’re asking him now. but he would still do the very gentlemanly things: taking you to the bed, slowly undressing you while loving your body, constantly asking for what’s good and to tell him when you like it…. jaehyun’s only goal is to have you enjoy the process as his fingers trace your slit, the other hand caressing your hair as he speaks calmly. “is this good love?” “tell me if it hurts ok? i don’t want to do that to you.” “you’re such a darling princess, so beautiful like this.” his focus is solely on you as you respond to him in a small yet jittery voice. and he would notice that, taking your lips with his once again to distract you from any nervosity building up. soft smacks of your lips would accompany the sound of his fingers rubbing you slowly yet throughly. he would only let go to let you both catch your breath until you grab his shoulders and just stare at him, biting the bruised skin. his tender smile and loving eyes work together to just tell you to relax, to just let him do all the work. he promises to make you feel good.

after you release through just fingering though, jaehyun gets serious again, asking you for the umpteenth time whether you’re positive you’re ready. and as you come down from your high, all you can do is look at him and nod, a whimper of a yes barely escaping as he gets a condom out of his wallet. he’s finally putting it to use after waiting for so long, and he looks incredibly needy now. he could satiate a smidge of your hunger, but his is far more immense. he knows what it feels like to have sex, and he’s done it a good amount of times before meeting and dating you. but he’s been waiting too long to have a taste of you, and he fears that he too won’t be the same after being your first. everything has him excited as he puts on the condom, adjusting it so he is comfortable enough before pushing into you slowly. you just bite you lip a bit harder as you watch and feel him enter into you, effectively stretching you out. it hurts, and you knew it would hurt, but jaehyun did everything he could to minimize the pain so that you would feel the pleasure surge through you. high pitched whines and teary eyes grace his ears and eyes as he bend down slowly to cup your face. his thumb wipes away the tears forming, questions once again being asked so he knows how you're feeling and acts accordingly.

overall, jaehyun's attempt at making you feel full of love despite it being your time is a very good success, and he's going to be thinking about every motion, every notion, every reaction. he's going to be thinking about it all, impatience running through as he always is thinking about what he can get you used to, to shape you into the perfect one for him in every way possible. he wants to make sure that all your firsts with him are unforgettable, just as he is to your life.

[muqingslover]

[ Back on my doomed childhood boys agenda yippieeee!! This one is a more long kinda fic style of my take on their relationship! For the people who are new: I'm basically just exploring their vulnerability and dynamic with each other bc I think it's neat!

I'll be splitting this one into two parts that I plan on posting as soon as im done proofreading \⁠(⁠๑⁠╹⁠◡⁠╹⁠๑⁠)⁠ﾉ FYI: First part is more centered around Caleb and the next one around Zayne!

Also! Please give me tag name ideas specifically for these posts!! ]

-----------------------------❆❦❆❦⁠--------------------------

Zayne and Caleb have a complicated relationship. It wasn't hard to realize if anyone was to spend more than ten minutes in the same room as them.

You were their everything; Their first love, their most precious person and the one they'd both do anything for. They wanted nothing more than to make sure you were happy and safe regardless of where you were.

That fact soon extended into looking out for each other so you never needed to worry about either of them. Or well, that's how it started as anyway.

Caleb sometimes got into fights without your knowledge to protect you from the neighborhood troublemakers that wanted to bully you. It wasn't a big deal, really. But, during that time, he wasn't the biggest or the strongest and naturally he came out looking a bit rough.

"Again?" Zayne sighed when he found the other sitting near your house like a watch dog, looking all bruised up and disheveled. He expected this 'phase' of his to naturally pass as they grew older, but it didn't quite fully go away. Well, nothing that involved you ever simply disappeared with Caleb.

"Piss off." He huffed roughly as he wiped the blood from his split lip and crossed his arms over his chest like he was a pouty child instead of an edgy teen. Zayne was always amazed by the stark contrast of how he acted when you weren't around— The boarding on childish sulking, unmeasured words, constant grumpy or simply uninterested look on his face and his boyish, petty behavior. Part of him couldn't begin to imagine how exhausting it must be to always be putting on an act in front of someone he loves, to repress everything about who he is for the sake of being flawless.

"Let me take a look." He sat next to him as he reached into his bag for some of the emergency supplies he carried with him exactly for situations such as these. In the beginning there was a lot of "acting tough" from Caleb but by bringing up the fact you would be very upset if you were to find out the real reason as to why he was all beaten up he quickly piped down. This was basically routine now— The way Zayne would receive nasty glares because the alcohol stung, the grumbles about how this was nothing "compared to the other guys" and how the other refused to meet his eyes while he patched up the small wounds that littered his skin.

Caleb found...uncomfortable how he was always so earnest. Zayne always had that same "dumb, dead fish" look on his face and yet he was so....Genuine. More than he will ever get to be. His sharp, green eyes seemed to peel away each layer that he so carefully kept wrapped around himself to stay hidden from the world, hidden from you, laying him bare effortlessly and he didn't like that. No, he hated it.

After all, to Caleb, love is about being everything you want and more. It's about twisting himself into knots for your comfort. It's about living and dying for you without hesitation because nothing else, not even himself, matters if you're by his side. He will be who you need him to be and if that means throwing away who he truly is then he will do it gladly.

Still, sometimes, only sometimes, his mind would beg for a break. Only a small moment of respite where he didn't have to overthink about each of the expressions he made or triple check his actions.

Zayne never needed to find out that when he was by his side it was as if he could really breathe. It was just...easy. He didn't expect anything from him nor did Caleb want to impress the other in any way. Sure, he wanted to prove he was better than that "four eyes" was for you, but he never felt the desperate need to keep that facade he kept with you when it was just them. Nothing between them felt rehearsed or forced, not even when they lent each other a hand. How can someone Caleb dislikes so much bring him such peace remains to this day a mystery to him.

[orvreader51]

I wonder if Kim Dokja actually knows how much he loves everyone in the KimCo. His actions certainly show just how much he adores them completely and unconditionally. He would die over and over for them. He would do anything and everything for them. Everyone knows how much he loves them.

But I don’t think he knows. He simply doesn’t understand that he loves them, not in the way they understand it. Logically, he might recognize that he cares for them, that he’s willing to die for them, that he always puts them first. But emotionally? That’s another matter entirely.

Kim Dokja has always been disconnected and emotionally stunted. He understands love as a concept, something that exists in stories, something that happens to other people. But when it comes to himself, when it’s his own feelings, his own heart— he can’t grasp it. He doesn’t think of his actions as love, only as a necessity. He doesn’t realize that what he’s doing isn’t just protecting his companions or ensuring their survival, but loving them in the deepest, most profound way he knows how. The only way he knows. To give up everything about himself for them.

It’s not surprising. He’s spent his entire life repressing his emotions, burying them under layers of defense mechanisms and learned indifference. Trauma does that to you, especially childhood trauma such as cptsd or relationship trauma. The kind that teaches you love is something painful, something distant, something that either hurts or disappears. He’s emotionally stunted because he’s never been given the space to be anything else until the beginning of ORV. TWSA gave him a way to escape everything, even his own feelings. He doesn’t really allow himself that chance to reflect on himself, to be vulnerable with himself let alone others. So, of course, even as he throws himself into the fire for them, over and over again, he doesn’t understand his own love because he was never allowed to believe he was capable of it. And I think that's why he is able to self-sacrifice himself so many times because he does not understand what it means when people love him and depend on him. He may logically understand the hurt his companions feel watching him put his life on the line, but emotionally, he can't really process it because he has no self-worth at all. And in the first half of the novel, that's why I don't think he understood that he loves everyone either because it's such a foreign emotion to him. He simply doesn’t recognize it, so he's not capable of accepting and receiving it.

No matter how many times someone tells him he is loved, no matter how often they beg him to stop throwing himself into harm’s way, he only thinks he understands. But he doesn’t. Not really.

He doesn’t understand his own worth. He doesn’t understand just how much each and every one of them loves him. So fiercely, so completely, that they would die for him just as readily as he would for them. If he ever let them, if he ever gave them the chance, they wouldn’t hesitate.

Loving Kim Dokja is a beautifully tragic thing. It comes at a high cost. It will hurt like hell. But it is worth it— because he is worth it. Because he is someone so achingly wonderful, so utterly irreplaceable, and yet he doesn’t see it, doesn’t believe it, not even for a second.

It’s so obvious, to us, to everyone in KimCo, that he doesn’t have a single self-preserving bone in his body. He never hesitates, never stops to consider his own safety. His first instinct is always to shield, to sacrifice, to endure so that no one else has to.

Because in the end, the only conclusion he ever wanted to see was the people he loves being happy. That has and will always be his dream.

[brittscafe]

𝐃𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Summary: Y/n and Nanami went to Jujutsu High together, having an intimate, close relationship during and then, they went their separate ways after Haibara's death, but it seems that they won't be separate for long as y/n gets a job at the same office Nanami works at, three years later.

Context: Fem! reader. nsfw, dark themes/content, angsty, jjk timeline, fight scenes including weapons and blood, chapters that are nsfw will be labeled as such.

Wc: 1.06k

Chapter 1: A New Beginning

Your heels click along the streets as you walk briskly through the busy streets filled with crowds of people and tall buildings. The badge around your neck, swings back and forth with each purposeful step you take, nearing the building of your new occupation.

You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous. Your palms are sweaty as you walk through the doors of the tall building, surrounded by people dressed in suit and buzzing around you in a hurry.

Your eyes are darting around, heart beating against your chest as you gaze around at the unfamiliar environment.

"Y/n!" a voice calls out and you snap your head over towards the voice, coming from near the elevator. A wave of relief washes over your body as you find your supervisor, standing near the elevator in a suit, with a mug of steaming coffee in his hand.

Your supervisor is Inakaga Sukebo, a distinguished gentleman with brunette hair, piercing forest green eyes, quite tall and handsome, and always found with a cup of coffee in his hand.

You rush up over to him, with an eager smile across your face. "Hi!" you greet him, nerves buzzing through your veins. He lets out a throaty chuckle, eyes glancing over you.

"Come on. Let's start," he gestures his head towards the opening elevator doors. You step inside and he steps inside beside you. You watch as the doors close and the elevator starts rising up the shaft.

The smell of his coffee hits your nostrils and you hum with content.

"So, Mr. Sukebo, tell me...do you think I'll succeed here?" you ask and Sukebo cocks an eyebrow. He shifts his hand into his pocket and the corners of his lips curl up into a tiny grin.

"Please, call me Inakaga. And what a silly question, y/n. Of course, you'll succeed here. I have no doubt of that," he speaks calmly, holding his head high as the elevator doors slide open.

You're greeted with a quiet workplace, rows of desks and computers, the sound of typing invading your eardrums.

"Thank you," you mumble out, following behind Inakaga as he guides you through the rows of desks.

"You'll be sitting next to Mr. Kento, y/n. I'm sure he'll be of great help to you." Of course your mind stop working and you stopped listening after the mention of Kento.

You hesitate to shift your eyes over towards the man who you pray isn't who you think it is. God, it couldn't possibly be him.

As you flicker your eyes over, you catch the warm blonde hair, the chiseled face, and those damned soft honey, brown eyes. The second your eyes lock onto each other, they widen with alarm.

What a cruel world for letting it be him.

You both stare at each other in horror, Kento's breath caught in his throat. Kento's chest grows so tight that it becomes hard for him to breathe.

He blinks rapidly, trying to process the unbelievable sight before him, his mind struggling to reconcile reality.

Your heart aches, a sudden rush of past memories hitting you like a fright train.

"Y/n? Is there something wrong?" Inakaga's voice erupts the rush of memories and you quickly whip your head back towards him, forcing a weak smile upon your face to mask the flooding damn of emotions taking over you.

"Uh, no, everything is fine. Thank you," you gently bow your head down towards Inakaga.

"Please, don't hesitate if you need anything. Well, I'll see you around," he speaks kindly, smiling at you before turning around and disappearing around the corner.

You shakily exhale, sitting down beside the man who you thought you would never have to see again. You make it your own personal mission to hopeful not even glance over at him again.

Of course, Nanami's already making that hard since you can feel his intense, burning gaze on you. You let out a heavy sigh and slowly turn your head towards him, meeting his gaze.

He's biting the inside of his cheek, he's always had that bad habit, but he only does it when he's nervous.

"Do you remember me?" his deep voice sends a chill down your spine and you glare over at him.

"Don't!" you raise your voice and a few heads turn towards you. You sink down in your figure and clear your throat, cheeks burning up.

"Of course, I remember. I remember everything," you mumble out, glaring at him harshly. Your eyes can't help but soften staring at Nanami and your lips slightly part open.

You remember everything. How Nanami looked when he wanted things, his favorite parts of your body, those parts now tingling with a tight sensation.

How he likes pasta, but not ribbon pasta. God, he's spinning round, round in your head.

Damn you, Nanami Kento.

Nanami's muscles stiffen as his stomach flutters. His heart skips a beat, a palpable pause that reverberates through his chest.

All those years ago, you haven't changed one bit. Nanami knows you're still beautiful as ever with a fierce, spitfire personality. He's disgusted with himself for he did to do you three years ago...

Hell, it haunts Nanami everyday, his mind would flash back to you; your contagious smile, the warmth and softness of your touch.

His cheek shudders and he inhales sharply between his teeth.

"I'm sorry, y/n. Let's just focus on our work," Nanami chokes out, painfully tearing his gaze away from you. You're struck speechless and nod your head, turning your head towards your computer.

Both of you dare not to get caught looking at one another, stealing quick glances at each other. Your fingers type away on the keyboard. You stare blankly at the screen.

At every glance you steal, you notice how Nanami has changed. His arms are muscular and fill out the suit blazer, he styles his blonde hair in a unique way, and his cheekbones appear more prominent.

This is not the same scrawny boy you loved at Jujutsu High. He's more mature now, filling out his figure.

You don't need Nanami, you never did or at least that's what you're trying to convince yourself right now.

You've lived three years without him, you can sure as hell put up with him every single day for the rest of your life...right?

[brown-bi-beautiful]

Trompe-l'œil (Teaser)

Fantasy au

Pairing: Art! Kim Taehyung x Artist! Reader (Jimin x reader, very platonic)

Genre:- Fluff, Angst, Smut

Words:- (Est.) 15-20k

Summary: When a talented but struggling artist inherits a magical paintbrush from a mysterious great aunt she never knew, she discovers that her paintings come to life - and so does the handsome subject of her latest masterpiece. As she navigates the enchanted world of art and love, she must choose between the brush's magic and the possibility of a real-life relationship with the man who's captured her heart.

Warnings:- (Updated with the fic).

Coming soon

*******

You have never expected to inherit anything. Certainly not from a great-aunt you'd never knew existed. But when the dusty package arrived at your tiny studio, postmarked from a remote village in France, curiosity got the best of you.

Inside, wrapped in delicate, timeworn silk, lay a single paintbrush. Its handle was smooth, dark wood, and the bristles gleamed with an iridescent sheen, as though they held the last traces of an unfinished masterpiece.

A note accompanied it, written in elegant, looping script:

"To my lovely great-niece, whose hands hold more magic than she knows. Use it wisely."

*******

You rose from the bed and stepped out of your bedroom—little more like a bed tucked behind a dividing wall. As you prepared your coffee on the kitchen island, a flicker of movement in the living area caught your attention. Turning slowly, you froze, eyes widening in disbelief.

It took you a while to register, laying there by your futon sofa was... A man.

There was a strange man in your living room. A living, breathing, moving man. Handsome, yes—but undeniably a stranger.

The moment your brain finally caught up with your eyes, you screamed. Loud.

The man jolted upright, his wide eyes locking onto yours, his expression mirroring your own shock. Then, another scream rang out—high-pitched and panicked. Only this time, it wasn’t you.

For a moment, you stared at each other in mutual horror. Then, as he scrambled to his feet, you spun around, heart pounding, reaching for anything—a weapon, something, anything—to defend yourself.

Come on, a weapon. A weapon. Any weapon.

Where the hell was the knife when you actually needed it?

"Who are you?" You asked the man as intimidatingly as you could, pointing the ladel at him as if you would cook him to death if necessary.

"Who are you?" he shot back, matching your tone perfectly, as if you were the intruder in his home instead of the other way around.

"Who am—? I'm the owner of this house! At least for the next year," you snapped, tightening your grip on the ladle. "Now, tell me who you are."

The man blinked at you, looking just as bewildered as you felt.

"I—I don't know. Who am I?" he stammered, hesitation lacing his words.

You frowned, "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don’t know!" he insisted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just woke up here, and I swear—I don’t remember anything."

You were ready to call his bullshit, to tell him that his whole I-don’t-remember-anything act wasn’t going to work on you. But then—something stopped you.

He looked familiar. Too familiar.

Like you had just met him last night.

Only you hadn’t met any man last night. Except…

Your heart pounded as you turned toward the futon, your hands moving before your mind could catch up. You grabbed the painting, lifting it with trembling fingers.

“What the…!”

Your gaze flicked between the canvas and the man standing before you—identical, down to the last perfect detail.

Then back to the painting.

Then back to him.

Your breath caught in your throat. This was impossible.

"Okay, this is a dream. This is a dream," you muttered, squeezing your eyes shut. If you just said it enough times, maybe—just maybe—you would wake up.

You chanted a few more times, took a deep breath, and slowly cracked one eye open.

He was still there.

Still staring at you.

Like a lost puppy who had no idea how he ended up in your living room.

Crap! This was NOT a dream.

*******

The soft hum of the city drifted through the open window as you stood in before your closet, absentmindedly looking for a shirt for both of you, still wet from the rain. The day had been long, and yet, the only thing occupying your mind was the man sitting across from you, watching you with quiet intensity.

V had been unusually silent since you returned home. Now, he sat on the bet, his expression thoughtful. The only light in the room came from the glow of the streetlights outside, casting golden hues over his features.

“You’re staring again,” you murmured without looking up.

“I like looking at you,” he admitted, completely unashamed.

Your hand faltered on the spoon. A heat bloomed across your skin, creeping up your neck. “You can’t just say things like that,” you said, trying—and failing—to sound unaffected.

“Why not?”

You turned to face him, leaning against the counter. His dark eyes met yours, searching, waiting. The air between you felt charged, like the stillness before a summer storm.

“Because,” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

Because it wasn’t fair. Because he wasn’t real—or at least, he wasn’t supposed to be. Because every time he looked at you like that, it made you want something you weren’t sure you could have.

V stood, his movements slow, deliberate. He crossed the small space between you in a few steps, stopping just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“Are you afraid?” he asked softly.

You swallowed. “Of what?”

“That if I touch you, you’ll feel it too.”

Your breath hitched. His hand lifted, hesitating just for a second before his fingers brushed against your cheek—featherlight, barely there. But God, you felt it. It sent a shiver down your spine, set your pulse racing.

You should have pulled away. You should have reminded yourself that this was impossible, that he was just a figment of your imagination brought to life.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb traced along your cheekbone.

“V…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His name had never felt so intimate before.

“I’m here,” he murmured, and then—he kissed you.

It was slow, hesitant at first, like he was learning, like he was savoring. His lips were soft, warm, pressing against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. You melted into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The world outside faded. The only thing that existed was the taste of him, the feel of his hands settling on your waist, the way he breathed your name between kisses like it was something sacred.

Maybe this was crazy. Maybe you’d wake up tomorrow and none of this would be real.

But right now, in this moment, you didn’t care.

Right now, you just wanted him.

*******

"I'm scared." His voice made you look up at him. He has never admitted before, that he was afraid.

"Why?" You asked and He hesitated before replying "I don't want to not exist." " I like being here, I like looking at you all the time, being in your presence, I like when I can smell you, I like to kiss you and I don't want to stop doing all of that."

You sat up on your bed and gave him a reassuring smile, "You are not going anywhere, I won't let you."

"And what if I do?"

"Then I'll paint you again, promise you'll remember me."

"I'll always remember you."

*******

A/n: if you wanna get tagged in this fic send me an ask or comment here.

[awkwardgtace]

'Air Tight and Secure'

Hello hello. I am finally back sort of. Starting with this we're picking up with gt july prompts from 2024 because I AM DETERMINED. That said they are all done. So here's betwixt and fun fact this was inspired by 1000xresist. Highly recommend very good game

Corus has been locked away by the doctors, but doesn't remember why. Mira can't tell him, he has to remember. Maybe he will this time...

'Air Tight and Secure'

Mira ran as fast as she could. Kaya’s words from their phone call that morning echoed in her head. 

“Mira, they said he remembered something new. It might-”

Mira pushed herself to move faster. She’d be there for him to remember. It felt like a lifetime before the facility Corus was in grew close. Her heart started to race. After a few more minutes she burst through the doors.

“Welcome, how can I-” the receptionist started. Mira didn’t bother to stop. She hopped over the small gate of the desk. They knew her even before all this. “I guess I’ll sign you in!”

“Thanks!” she shouted back.

Mira slowed to a brisk jog as she entered the first door on her left. She followed a hall down to another set of double doors. As soon as she pushed them open she found Kaya and Zeke. The two stood close together. Mira stopped just as they turned to see her.

“Mira,” Kaya said. They sounded upset, but she wouldn’t give up hope. 

“Did I miss it?” Mira panted. Zeke shook his head, Kaya hung theirs.

“The therapist just talked to us. Corus didn’t remember anything more than before,” Zeke said.

“So… nothing changed?”

Mira noticed the way Zeke stiffened. He shook his head as he tightened one hand into a fist. The other was held tightly by Kaya. He was as desperate as she was for Corus to remember. It was all her fault. Zeke said he didn’t blame her when she told him what happened, but she didn’t believe him.

“You should go see him,” Kaya said. Mira hesitated, but Zeke nodded towards the door. 

Mira mumbled a quick thanks before heading inside. Just before it closed behind her she heard Zeke whisper, “I want my brother back, Kaya.”

Mira closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. She wanted him back too. It had already been half a year since they locked Corus in here. There was a massive, opaque pane of glass that blocked off most of the room. It left roughly a third free, what she considered as her side. There were steps that led up to a small platform; at least ten feet off the ground. Once she stepped forward the lights tinted to a soft orange. A color she’d begun to hate.

As she stepped onto the platform clicks sounded overhead. Too high to ever hope to figure out the source. Sometimes she wondered if the high ceiling had something to do with why Corus was in this room. That thought was cut short as the glass turned translucent.

There he was, just clear enough that they could see each other. He wasn’t next to the glass this time. Usually she’d show up and he’d be waiting right in front of her. It was clear Corus hadn’t noticed her yet. She almost wished he had.

He was curled up and hugging himself. She could only imagine how much he hurt to be stuck in here. Especially when no one would tell him why. They’d fought the first weeks of his captivity. Corus demanded answers, but Mira wouldn’t give them. She couldn’t…

“There’s nothing else,” Corus called out. Mira set her hand on the glass. The lights on his side changed, something close to red. It was hard to tell the colors on his side, but they always had a red hue.

“Corus,” she murmured. To her he looked so far away there was no way he could possibly hear her, but he did. She could tell as he sat up. When wide, blue eyes stared at her. They probably weren’t blue anymore…

“Mira!” 

Corus climbed to his feet and ran towards her. The glass kept her from seeing anything else. She knew what he was behind it. This stupid glass kept so much hidden from them both. She fought fucking monsters, but they wouldn’t let her see what had happened to him.

Soon enough his hand met hers on the glass. For just a moment she saw something bigger. It was gone before she could gauge the actual size. It didn’t matter to her what size he was though. All that mattered was fixing her own mistakes. She’d find a way to help him remember; even if it meant she lived on the floor of this damned room.

“When did you get here?” his voice was soft. He didn’t like to let her see how he really felt about all of this. Not since their fight where the doctors intervened. Threatened not to let her visit anymore. As if that would have stopped her.

“A few minutes ago, I heard you remembered something new?” she tried to smile with the words. Push the hope she’d had as she ran to see him to the front. She still had hope. This was the fifth time this month he’d remembered something new about that day. It was only a matter of time. She’d wait a lifetime.

“It didn’t matter, the doctor said-”

“The doctor is an idiot. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Mira I…” Corus sighed and turned away, “he’s probably right this time.”

“What makes you say that?” She hated the doctor here. He was the most obnoxious handler for these cases. She tried to get someone different, but she wasn’t able to do that. Not when she was only his girlfriend.

“It was just a noise. One that didn’t actually matter, nothing tied to it… All in my head.” 

Corus let his hand fall from the glass. Mira wanted to hold him. She wanted to be close and promise it would be ok. That he’d remember. Instead she let her own hand fall. Sat down on the floor of the platform. Corus mimicked her. It was wild to think without this glass he’d be on the ground and she’d maybe be at his head.

“Tell me about it anyway,” she said. He’d pieced things together the other times they did this. When he got to sit down without anyone pushing his focus this way or that. It was better.

“It’s what I’ve already told you,” he said.

“Well I forgot.”

“Mira, we both know you have a better memory than me.”

“We can sit in silence instead, or I can tell you about some movies coming out. Ones we can watch when the doctors say you can leave.”

Corus leaned forward. His forehead was pressed against the glass. Mira scooted forward on the platform until she could mimic him. He slid down to match where she was. Little moments like this meant so much to her. There was no way he could still love her after he remembered. It was all her fault.

“We were at your house, I was telling you to hurry,” he started. 

That was the first thing he remembered from that day. Rushing her out of the house.

“I grabbed your arm just as you said you were ready. Dragged you behind me. You laughed at me, called me a puppy.”

“Well you are one,” she smirked. He made a face, but that only made her laugh.

“We met Kaya and Zeke at the park.”

The second thing. It wasn’t the two of them before it happened.

“We got together for a picnic, you were upset because you forgot something. I told you it would be fine.”

The third and most promising thing he’d remembered. She’d forgotten the most important thing she owned. Her bracelet.

“Kaya and Zeke left us… next thing I know I’m stuck in here and you’re looking at me from the other side of this stupid glass.”

The fourth. That they were alone when it happened. Details were missing, but none that mattered. It was after Kaya and Zeke left. That was the part he had to remember.

“What about the noise?” she whispered. Corus put his hand to the glass again. Mira put hers on to match.

“It’s there the whole time. A buzzing, I think. It gets louder when I look at you, I can’t understand why it…”

Corus trailed off. Mira stared into his eyes. There was something different in them, a sense of understanding. She held her breath; afraid even a slight noise could knock the look away. Corus’s hand on the glass curled into a fist. Mira bit her lip.

“It wasn’t buzzing,” he breathed. Mira shakily let out the breath she held. There was more, he had more. “It was pounding. My heart was pounding, every time I looked at you. It got louder each time, why did it… I was nervous, why was I nervous?”

Mira shook her head. If she tried to speak she’d say something she shouldn’t. She’d get her ability to visit taken from her. Corus’s eyes bore into her. If she didn’t know better she’d think he was reading her mind.

“I was… I did… I proposed to you…”

Mira nodded. Tears slid down her cheeks. He remembered more. There was hope.

“What did you say? I-I… Mira how did you answer me?”

“I can’t tell you.” She saw the shift in his eyes. The anger from their arguments at the start. It was a fire that doused itself almost as soon as it started.

“You said yes… I-I remember you said yes.”

Mira smiled as she nodded. Reached into her pocket to pull out the small box that held her ring. She’d kept it on her every day, just in case. If he remembered she’d put it on right away. Have a little while where she could believe he would still love her.

“Why… they said you couldn’t tell me?” 

She nodded. Corus slammed his fist against the glass in frustration. She couldn’t blame him. All of this built up time and again. Memories he should have that he didn’t. Ones the people around him had that they couldn’t tell him. For the thousandth time she wished they’d just let her in to see him. She was immune.

“I’m sick of this,” he growled. 

Mira pulled herself from the glass. Focused on slipping the ring on. Admiring the small design. Lavender encased in amber. The two of them, a promise he’d keep her safe. It was a cruel joke. She was the one who fought all the time. Her job, her immunity, put her in the line of fire. He still picked her. He tried to save her. She would never deserve him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Corus slammed his fist again. This time she closed her eyes and turned away. Today she couldn’t be strong.

“That’s what I’m sick of!” he shouted. That drew her attention. Made her look at him. She found him standing now. Looking down at her… he’d be so big when the glass was gone. “You, Zeke, Kaya, the doctors. All of you know something I’m missing and I hate this. I hate it because the people I care about are hiding something from me and it’s making all of our lives suck. Why can’t you just tell me? The doctors if you can’t!? What the hell did I miss?! Did I become a fucking occupant or-”

Mira fought back a gasp. He’d remembered the occupants. At least their name. A plague on the world. It wasn’t too bad at first, but then they started to turn people. The ones turned made the air toxic. Some people could still breathe it; she could still breathe it. It still had downsides.

“Occupants… I… how did I forget about them? They’re how we met,” Corus said. He started to pace. Mira watched. “You saved me, when someone turned into one. You… Mira you’re immune to occupants. That’s… how could I forget that?!”

“Corus, maybe I should-” 

“Wait… you forgot your bracelet. It keeps you safe from…”

“I’ll go-”

“From being one… I made you forget it. I dragged you out before you could check. Mira… Mira you must hate me, you’ve been coming here every day and there’s no way you-”

“I don’t hate you. I forgot it, not you. I could have gone back for it.”

She managed to pull his attention back to her. He’d remembered the occupants, he was so close. A little more. She couldn’t tell him. His eyes burned her as they studied her. She slid her hands behind her back, out of his sight. Where he couldn’t see the bracelet was missing. She couldn’t wear it when seeing him and didn't even bother to put it in her pocket. A part of her thought she deserved an attack without it.

“You’d die if you got hit, Mira.”

Silence. She couldn’t tell him nothing happened, but she couldn’t tell him what did happen. It was better if she left. A doctor had to be called. Corus couldn’t remember when it was just her.

“I should go, I’ll let the doctors know you remembered more,” she said. Corus’s hands slammed on the glass. It made her flinch back this time. 

“Please… don’t go. I… Mira I don’t get it? What’s going on?” Tears fell like a flood from his eyes. It was so… inhuman. Too much water. “Why can’t you tell me anything? Why did I forget something so important? You fight occupants and I… I forgot. What’s wrong with me?”

Mira opened and closed her mouth. Words kept trying to escape, ones she couldn’t say. What happened sat in front of him. He just had to try to remember a little more. He knew what occupants did, knew what danger humans turned into one posed. He had to connect the dots… so she’d give him one push.

“You’re smart, connect the dots,” she mumbled. 

Corus visibly recoiled at the words. He might not know why, but she did. After they met he kept asking her why. Begging to know why she’d killed the person who had turned. Plenty live out normal lives, what made this one so special. He still had a mask on that day. So she said those words.

Mira had been so tired before Corus entered her life. Month after month she’d go after someone the occupants turned. Some could be sedated, most were killed. All because she was immune. Something they found out when one arrived in her hometown. When all the people she knew died…

“No, Mira that’s a joke there’s-there’s no dots to connect,” he said. His words came fast. The flood of water grew worse. He pulled one hand from the glass to touch his face. “Why am I crying like this?”

“You know why,” she whispered. 

“Mira, you can’t be serious. This isn’t funny, tell me what happened that day,” his hands slammed on the glass, “Mira don’t just stand there! What am I forgetting!? I can’t be, you can’t really mean-” another set of slams- “I’m not an occupant!”

The subtle hue of orange in the lights died out. The translucence was gone. Opaque, solid wall sat in front of her. More slams from the other side. From Corus. He knew. Knew she wouldn’t play a game like this. He remembered enough to understand. He could connect the dots, just like she told him.

“Mira please… say something,” he begged. She tried not to picture him in her head. She tried to leave. Made it to the edge of the stairs before she caught his almost inaudible words. “Tell me you don’t hate what I turned into…”

Mira whirled around, ran right up to the glass. Slammed her own fists against it. There was a pain that tingled all the way up her arms. She couldn’t believe Corus kept going. Then again it had to be strong enough he couldn’t break out. Although the slams stopped after she made her own.

“Corus, I could never hate you,” she said. Her own tears started to flow. “Nothing would make me stop loving you.”

“You… kill people like me for a living. Someone like me took away your family. How could you not hate me?!”

“Because none of that was you! You’ve done nothing wrong Corus.”

“I must have, I’m in here. Mira, I’m so sorry. I… did I hurt someone? When did it happen? I-I remember you saying yes. I-I can’t remember putting the ring on you, there’s another noise. A new buzzing…”

Mira had to be quiet. She was glad he couldn’t see her right now. If he saw how much pain she was in he might figure it out. She waited for him to say more. Pressed the hand with the ring against her heart. A prayer he wouldn’t hate her once he knew.

“Are you still there?” his voice was raspy.

“I’m here,” her voice cracked.

“Can… I tell you about that day again?”

“I’m here, I’ll listen.”

Mira closed her eyes. Pictured what she remembered.

“I was asking you to hurry.”

Mira was hesitating, distracted. There’d been no calls from work for too long.

“When you came out, I grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the house.”

She was smiling as he pulled her along. She said, “You were acting like a puppy.”

“We got to the park before I let your hand go.”

They got to the park, without his grip she noticed something was missing. The bracelet that put a shield on her. It made sense that his skin was so warm as he dragged her along that day once she realized.

“Zeke and Kaya were there. We were having a picnic.”

He’d surprised her. Zeke and Kaya lived a few towns away, they were visiting. She couldn’t believe it, but that bracelet haunted her. She wanted to leave to go get it.

“You forgot your bracelet. Wanted to go get it. I told you not to worry. It had been so long since the last original occupant showed itself.”

She knew she should have left. She was selfish. The other three didn’t wear bracelets, they didn’t have immunity. It wouldn’t protect them, it worked with what made her immune to destroy the poison just before it touched her body.

“Zeke and Kaya stepped away. You watched them walk off. I got down on one knee.”

She’d been worried. If an attack happened she had to know where they were. Corus moving had been out of her mind entirely.

“I don’t remember what I said exactly, but I asked you to marry me.”

Her heart stopped when she turned to see him on one knee. He didn’t waste time with some long speech. Just asked if she would marry him. She said, “Yes! I love you!”

“You hugged me. Tightly. It made me fall over. We laughed… then the new buzz started. I-” a sigh “-I know it’s not a buzz. It’s something else. I see your face pale it’s… it’s a siren…”

The siren blared. Mira knew the danger she was in. She had to hide before the occupant showed up, before she ran the risk of it shooting her. It knew who she was, had threatened her more than once. Sick of her taking whatever the ones that made the air toxic gave to it.

“You tried to get off me… I held you tighter, rolled us over. Pushed myself up to stare down at you then… then…” 

She tried to get away from him. At least if it came she’d be the one to suffer. He didn’t deserve the risk of being around her. She had to hide or face death. It was her fault.

“I promised to protect you… Said I’d be the amber around you, just like the ring.”

He promised and she shook her head. Tried to argue, but then it showed up. She could feel the heat from its presence. Heard something that had probably been a threat made towards her. The sound of what she wished had been a normal dart gun.

“An occupant showed up. Said it found you… Shot at you. I blocked it with my arm. Then fell on you. Other people showed up, but everything started to go black for me. I heard you calling my name.”

Mira begged him to stop. Not to protect her. She could still see his arm move, the dart as it stuck him, the moment it disappeared. His weight that trapped her and hid her. The occupant couldn’t try to shoot her again. As he grew she only got safer.

“I protected you.” A whisper.

“You protected me.” She barely breathed it.

“I’m an occupant now.”

“A turned one.”

“You don’t hate me.”

“How could I hate you?”

“My head feels weird… but there’s something I still don’t understand.”

“What is it?”

“If I’m turned, why do we both look the same? I should be huge, shouldn’t I?”

“It’s this stupid glass, I’ve heard the slogan a million times now. ‘Stay air tight and secure. Keep us betwixt you.’”

“That’s a really bad slogan.”

“Corus, you have no idea how bad it used to be.”

They both laughed. She wanted to see him, but this wasn’t enough. He remembered, but nothing was a promise. Now they had to wait and see if-

“Toxin levels returned to safe levels. Raising the barrier. Thanks for using Betwixt brand glass. Remember, stay air tight and secure. Keep us betwixt you.”

Mira climbed to her feet as the announcement played. She stared at the opaque glass, nearly screamed as it started to slowly slide up. On the other side was Corus. She had no way to know what size he would be. For all she knew he reached the ceiling. She held her breath as it rose slower and slower.

“Mira,” Corus said. His voice was loud. So much louder than the glass made it. She didn’t care. “Should I… sit down again?”

“...no,” she said. Mira had to know his full height. See just what became of him. Ten feet in the air could be just at his eyes for the shortest of the occupants. The tallest don’t even live in the cities anymore. There was no way to know where he fell.

The glass rose so slowly she wanted to scream. After an eternity it was passing the platform. She saw… a shirt. That meant he wasn’t insanely huge. He could probably still live in the city. She waited for it to rise more. A bit worried when it passed her eye line and it was just barely near his shoulders.

Mira took a deep breath to steady herself before following the glass as it rose. Tracing up Corus’s neck. His skin had a hue of red it didn’t before. It passed his chin. Reached his lips where sharp, white teeth poked out. He had fangs now. Mira nodded to herself as it raised up until finally she met his eyes.

It felt weird that they were still blue. The pupils changed, they reminded her of a lizard. It made her shiver when the slit got thinner and bubbles of black formed along the line. She jumped when he moved, but he didn’t stop. Corus brought his hand up until his palm sat in front of her. Just like when the glass was between them. Mira placed hers on his palm.

“You’re so small,” he whispered.

“You’re the one who’s big,” Mira chuckled.

Corus curled his fingers into his hand. She was so small next to him. A fourth of his size now at best. She didn’t care. Her actions were what caused this.

“We should… get one of the doctors to check on you,” she said.

“Can we wait?” he breathed. His breath washed over her. She was glad her hair was tied back today. He’d make it a mess.

“I… I guess.”

“This whole time, you knew what was going on. Did you see me like this?” She shook her head. “So you’re as stunned as I am?”

“It’s a risk to show us, we might do or say something that tells you too much.”

“Right, right. Less memories we keep the worse the toxin is.”

“Yeah, that’s what they say at least.”

Corus leaned closer to her. A part of her was scared. He could kill her easily, but that wasn’t the man she knew. He wasn’t going to hurt her. He brought his other hand up. Ran a finger behind her arm. Lifted her hand up to look at her. It was the one with the ring, of course he was thinking about that.

“Mira,” he started, but she didn’t want him to say it.

“Don’t. I… I’ll drop it off with Zeke after I leave, just let me pretend for now,” she said.

Corus placed his thumb over her hand. Pulled her forward a bit. She stumbled, but managed to stay on the platform. He let the hand on his palm go, but pinched it between two fingers before she could pull it back. A part of her wanted to struggle as he leaned in. He pulled her hands towards his face, lifted her enough she could only reach the platform with the tips of her toes.

“I wanted to ask if you were wearing your bracelet,” he said. Mira turned away from him. “What are you leaving with Zeke?”

“The ring,” she whispered. The fingers holding her hands pinched tighter. Not enough to hurt, but enough she noticed. He was already so aware of how he could hurt her.

“You changed your mind?” 

Mira shook her head. She had to swallow a few times to clear her throat enough to talk. She couldn’t cry over this now. Not when he was the one who suffered.

“Then, why?”

“Haven’t you?” her voice cracked.

Corus pulled his fingers away. Mira wasn’t sure she could catch herself, but that proved not to matter. The massive hands surrounded her. They didn’t encompass her, but easily pulled her off the platform. She wound up sitting on one while the other pressed her into his chest. She could hear his heart. Every five beats it would skip one. Strange, but kind of comforting too.

“Nothing would make me change my mind,” he said. Against him the base of his voice shot through her bones. It made her shiver, but reassured her too. “Mira, even though I’m an occupant now will you still marry me?”

Mira gripped his shirt in her hands. She started to cry again. This time she was able to bury her face against him. Feel warmth that was more than he’d ever had before. She felt safe. Safer than she ever had in her life until now.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then we’re still engaged. I’m not giving up on you that easily Mira.”

She nodded into his chest, too relieved to say anything else. Later, once the doctors came to check on him they’d talk more.

[sunschay]

A Thunder Show || Wanda Maximoff x Reader!Fem

You didn't remember that Wanda was afraid of thunder until you found her hiding during a turbulent night of lightning and storms and heavy rain.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: None, just clingy stuff

Word Count: 797 words

The nights between you and Wanda were always the best. Especially because you were together, just the two of you, with no one else to bother or get in the way. You could easily be cliché and extremely clingy to each other without having to worry about it sounding inappropriate or boring in public, but there, alone on a night with a lot of rain and a lot of thunder, just a little bit of sweets and fatty junk food would be a great way to enjoy the night.

You deposited the chips in the transparent container, stealing one and chewing it quickly when you heard a deafening thunder cut through the sky, giving you a fright. Looking back, you picked up the container of chips and tried to support a bottle of water and two cans of frozen soda under your arm, walking quickly back to the living room.

“Wands, baby! I'm here with the food.” You exclaimed, putting the things on the table and went back to the kitchen just to get some jars with fruit and melted chocolate.

“Wanda?” You called again, surprised to see that Wanda wasn't in the room.

Your heart raced and you stumbled to your feet, running to the bathroom. Wanda wasn't there. Leaving the bathroom, you walked down the long hallway of the house you shared with the redhead, going to the master bedroom and it was also empty, apparently. Shit! You ran your hands over your head, hearing a noise near the bed and slowly bent down, seeing Wanda curled up underneath it.

“Baby, what are you doing there love huh? God, you almost gave me a heart attack, Wanda.” You breathed a sigh of relief, the tightness in your chest slowly fading.

“The thunder... my ears hurt.” Wanda whispered, her watery eyes staring into your face.

Your chest hurt at that. For a single moment, you had completely forgotten that Wanda was afraid of thunder. It was a childhood fear that had followed her throughout her life until now, you believed that her fear was based more on all the noise the thunder made than the thunder itself, but that didn't change her fear.

“I know, my love, I'm sorry. I'll protect you from those evil thunders, okay? Come, come here and I'll carry you so we can lie down together in the living room.” You offered your hand, feeling bad seeing her like that.

Wanda hesitated, still hesitant and her trembling hands trailing towards yours. She slipped away from there, standing up and throwing herself into your arms, hugging you so tightly that for a moment you swore she was going to crush your bones. Wanda Maximoff was stronger than she looked. You sighed, stroking her hair and kissing her face as you lifted her off the ground, wrapping her legs around your waist.

“It's okay my love, they will be gone soon.” You stated to him, murmuring more words of love and affection.

Wanda nodded, wiping her eyes and buried her head in your neck for a minute, inhaling the scent that soothed her so much. You moved to one of the dressers in the room, opening a drawer and opening a plastic bag. You placed two small pieces of cotton in each of her ears, making sure her ears hurt at least a little less with the noise.

“Can we still watch the movie?” Wanda asked innocently, her fingers stroking your chin lightly.

“We sure will, and we'll fill your tummy too. The Notebook again then?” You asked, seeing Wanda's eyes light up and she nodded quickly, hugging you tightly.

You weren't much of a fan of romance novels, but Wanda was madly in love with them and knew so many that you wondered how good her cinematic memory was. Either way, you would do anything to see her happy and well, she was the love of your life after all.

You returned to the living room and you carefully laid her down on the couch, covering her body and grabbing the remote, turning on the cliché movie. You sat on the couch next to Wanda, who quickly sat on your lap, resting her head on your neck and holding one of your hands, just to give herself more security. You picked up the pot of chocolate, dipping a grape in it and bringing it to Wanda's lips, who ate it slowly. You smiled, watching her smile and kiss your lips, staining you with chocolate.

“I love you, Y/n.” She whispered in a slightly weak voice, a loud thunder rising and making her close her eyes and cling to you even more tightly.

“I love you, Wanda.” You replied, watching her touch her nose to yours, then turning her attention back to the screen.