#you can love yourself without lying to yourself

[lvl1l1]

Yes hello I will sell my soul to you if you give us a “who did this to you” type reaction with the love and deep space boys WAIT walk with me their lover calls them trying not to cry asking them to come get them they show up BAM they see them with bruises barley holding it together the ask what happened BAM AGAIN tears just crying as they explain that someone they kind of knew made a pass at them and when they were shut down they hit them yeah they are a hunter but they were so stunned who’s losing it and about to commit a crime and who’s silently about to actually ruin their whole life for hitting their princess that the boys would love and die for

All seriousness I know I made light of the reaction but I fully understand the serious implications of it if you don’t feel comfortable or that this is maybe to heavy to post feel free to ignore it I couldn’t find any rules about what you wouldn’t write for I hope this request doesn’t make you uncomfortable or is triggering in any way and if it is I sincerely and deeply apologize

“Who did this to you?”

Or: LaDS men when someone hurts you

pairings: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader

WARNINGS: assault, harassment(please lmk if I missed smth)

content: hurt/comfort

a/n: someone tell me if the new format looks better

Xavier

The apartment was so quiet without you there.

Xavier was lying in bed, awake for a change.

He originally planned on taking a nap but as he noticed your side of the mattress being cold and untouched, he couldn’t fall asleep.

Sleep refused to come to him, while you were still out with your friends.

He couldn’t resist the unease in the back of his mind, gnawing at him.

He kept his phone close, just in case you needed him.

He finally felt his eyelids getting heavier, when the shrill buzz of his phone brought him back.

Your name lit up the screen and he instantly sat up.

His lips curled up into a small smile.

He picked up, anticipating your sweet voice.

But the moment he answered, all he was met with, were soft, broken sobs.

He felt the blood in his veins freeze.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

His voice missing its usually composure.

His was already moving before his mind had even caught up.

His posture was rigid as he got off the bed.

“Xavier, can you come get me, please?”

Your voice cracked, barely being above a whisper.

Before you could even hear his reply, Xavier already teleported across the city, he couldn’t be bothered to grab a jacket or change his clothes.

The moment he appeared before you, his heart broke.

You were standing under a flickering streetlight, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if to hold yourself together.

Tears were running down your cheeks and there was a slight tremble throughout your body.

But what made his hands curl into fists, were the bruises on your face, ugly, purple marks marking your perfect skin.

He didn’t move at first.

He couldn’t.

The fury raging inside of him was dangerous, violent.

He felt, that if he moved a muscle, he’d lose the weak grip he had on his restraint.

His jaw was locked, eyes raking over your form, taking in all your injuries.

His voice came out quietly, deathly calm but laced with barely contained anger.

“Who did this to you?”

You sniffled, forcing out the words,

“I thought he was a friend. The others left, we were standing here together and then-“

You interrupted yourself by choking on your words,

“He was-“

You inhaled deeply, trying to pull yourself together,

“When I rejected him, he got angry. He hurt me.”

The world around Xavier blurred momentarily, he felt consumed by the rage running through him, his ears were ringing.

But louder than that, was the sound of you, crying.

That’s what pulled him back.

You first

You were always first

He approached you, slow, careful steps, with his arms open but he wasn’t forcing you.

He was waiting, waiting for you to come to him.

You stumbled forward, collapsing into his chest.

The way he held you was oh so tender, one hand caressing the back of your head, the other drawing soothing circles into your back.

He was shaking now, not out of anger but the overwhelming desire to protect, to heal, to be enough to make all your pain go away.

“I’m here.”

He whispered into your hair,

“You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you again. I swear to you.”

Your sobs only came out stronger and he simply held you tighter, encouraging you to let it all out.

Minutes passed like that. Hours, maybe. Time didn't matter.

Once your cries finally turned softer, becoming hiccuping breaths, he pulled back just enough to tilt your head up.

His usually bright eyes were burning with something darker, colder.

“His name. Tell me.”

His voice was low, dangerous

You hesitated but you knew Xavier.

You knew he wouldn’t let this go, not when it came to you.

You whispered the name and watched Xavier’s expression harden into something even more terrifying.

“Let’s get you home.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing away any left over tears.

“I’ll have to go for a bit after.”

There was a finality in his words, a promise.

You grabbed onto his sleeve weakly,

“Xavier, don’t. It’s not worth it.”

He looked down at you, pausing and his gaze softened again.

“For you,”

His voice a murmur,

“there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”

In the blink of an eye, he brought you home, before turning.

The night swallowed him up, like a silent predator.

He was going to hunt down the man who dared to hurt the one who was most precious to him.

Zayne

Zayne stepped out of the hospital, watching as the last golden rays of the setting sun stretched across the city.

It had been another long day and he couldn’t wait to see you again.

Just as he reached his car, his phone buzzed up.

A smile immediately curled onto his lips, as your name flashed on his phone screen.

Maybe you had finished up shopping just in time for him to come pick you up.

He answered on the first ring,

“Hello, darling-“

But he stopped mid sentence, when he heard a soft sniffle.

His heart plummeted.

Your name softly left his lips,

“What happened?”

His voice was sharp with panic now, he felt his muscles tensing.

Fighting your sobs, you tried to explain, while tripping over your words.

You ran into this guy you barely even knew.

At first, it seemed harmless enough, just engaging in some casual small talk with him.

Your answers were short and clipped, trying to be polite.

Then, when you tried to leave, he wouldn’t let you.

He blocked your way, getting increasingly more aggressive when you made it clear you weren’t interested.

Zayne tighten his grip on his phone, something tightening in his chest as he heard how the situation had escalated.

How you had gotten hurt.

You sounded so small. So scared.

“I’m on my way.”

He said firmly, getting into his car.

“Stay on the phone with me, alright? Tell me where you are.”

You gave him the name of grocery store, telling him you were waiting in the parking lot.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, as he weaved through traffic, dreading every second he wasn’t by your side.

You kept talking.

Or rather, he kept you talking.

His voice was low and steady, even when you fell silent, he didn’t rush you, didn’t push.

Just making sure you knew he was there.

When he pulled into the parking lot, his breath caught in his throat.

You were sitting there, curled up on the curb.

Bruises visible on your skin, he noticed your wrist swelling from afar and the blood drying on the corner of your mouth.

But what really got him, was the hollow look in your eyes.

He wasted no time getting out of the car, he crossed the distance with long strides.

The moment you lifted your head and saw him, the tears started back up and you let out a broken sob.

You got to your feet, feeling almost apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Zayne. You’ve been working all day, I shouldn’t have dragged you here-“

He cut you off, his hands cupping your face gently, so carefully as to not hurt you further.

“Don’t. Don’t apologise for needing me.”

You could hear the emotion in his voice,

“I’m glad you called. You could never be a burden. Never.”

You finally let your body relax, falling into him and he caught you, arms wrapping around you, securely.

You two stayed still like that for a long moment, he was holding you safe against him and you clung to him.

He pulled back slightly, he brushed your hair out of your eyes, tenderly.

"Let’s get you taken care of."

He said softly.

He lead you to his car, opening the door for you and helping you in, a display of gentle care that made your eyes well back up.

The drive to the hospital was filled be a comfortable silence.

He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other rested on your knee in a silent reminder, showing you that he was by your side.

As soon as you arrived, Zayne parked hastily.

He held your hand as he helped you inside.

His face was grim and his whole body was tense but every time he looked at you, his gaze softened.

Once inside, he immediately called over Dr. Greyson.

After a few short, urgent words, Greyson took you under his care, leading you to a hospital room.

Zayne squeezed your hand before letting go.

"I'll be right here."

He said, voice low but certain.

As the door shut behind you, your boyfriend stood still before it.

He could feel his usually steady hands clenching at his sides.

His mind was racing, needing to make sure the man who did this to you would never come near you, or anyone else for that matter, again.

He sighed, thinking of how to best comfort you later.

Zayne would take care of everything.

You were safe now.

Rafayel

Rafayel stood off to the side of the gallery’s floor.

He thought tonight’s exhibition to be especially insufferably boring, the pretentious crowd leaving him annoyed.

He would’ve flat out refused Thomas if it hadn’t been for your soft kisses earlier that evening and your promise that you’d be fine hanging out with your friends.

That, however, didn’t stop him from mourning the time he knew he could’ve spend together with you instead.

All night, his mind kept drifting to you, your smile, your hand that had lingered on his cheek as you said goodbye.

He kept checking his phone, hoping for a message from you.

Nothing yet.

Some keen socialite kept trying to converse with him, throwing buzzwords around that he couldn’t care less for.

His phone finally vibrated against his palm.

Rafayel didn’t excuse himself, he simply turned and left, not sparing them another glance.

He lifted the phone to his ear, a grin pulling at his lips.

Then, he heard you.

You were crying.

His playful demeanour vanished in an instant.

He felt his heart constricting in his chest and his body snapped to attention.

“Where are you?”

His voice was low and commanding, not leaving any room for arguments, sounding like he was ready to tear through anything that stood in his way.

You managed to choke out your location through your sobs, somewhere a few blocks away from the location you had initially met your friends at.

You softly asked if he could pick you, not wanting to cause him any trouble.

“Trouble?”

He echoed darkly,

“I’m on my way already. Find a store and stay inside. Don’t leave until you see me.”

Rafayel hung up without another word, heading straight for the exit, ignoring the confused calls from the people around him and Thomas’s protests.

Non of that mattered. Nothing aside from you mattered.

The drive to you was a blur of red lights and the sound of cars honking, nothing that made him slow down.

His hands clenched around the steering wheel so tightly, the leather was creaking under his grip.

It was like the only thought on his mind was you.

You were standing by the door of a small convenience store, when he finally pulled up.

Your eyes were wide and red from crying.

Once you spotted his car, relief washed over your posture and Rafayel was out of the car and by your side in seconds.

He reached for you, one hand gently wrapping around your elbow and the other ghosting above your waist as he looked you up and down.

Bruises. Bloody fabric. The fear still lingering in your wide eyes.

Rafayel’s jaw clenched so hard the thought his teeth might end up cracking.

His body and mind were screaming for him to do something, to destroy someone but he forced himself to stay soft and gentle with you.

“What happened, cutie?”

He asked in a low tone,

He noticed the way you hesitated first but then you opened up.

You told him how your friends had all left one by one until you were alone with a man you barely knew.

You tried to leave before things got weird, but things ended up getting weird anyway.

He started making gross, inappropriate comments and when you tried to shake him off, he followed.

And lastly how when you turned him down for good, he decided to hurt you.

Rafayel didn’t interrupt you once as you were speaking.

He listened in silence, drinking in every word, every tremble of your voice and every tear that slid down your cheeks.

Once you finished, he pulled you into his arms, the way he touched you was so soft, so careful, almost reverent.

Like he was afraid any amount of pressure could hurt you.

As he held you close, he pressed his face into the top of your head, inhaling deeply.

“I got you.”

He murmured.

“I’m not letting go.”

He wasn’t pushing for the man’s name, not yet.

He wouldn’t ask for details he could find out later.

Right now, all you needed was him.

He carefully lead you to his car, helping you settle in.

You two spend the rest of the night relaxing.

Once you had gotten back home, he took all the time in the world to tend to you.

He gently cleaned the scrapes on your arms and knees.

He gave you one of his sweaters, having it frame you like a shield.

He made you drink water, brought you warm towels and curled around you on the couch.

Once exhaustion overtook you, you drifted off to sleep, leaning against him, your fingers curled loosely in his shirt.

And only when he was certain, that you were fast asleep, your breathing steady, did Rafayel slowly and carefully remove himself from under you.

He made sure to tuck you in properly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

And then his expression hardened into something sharp and dangerous as he picked up his phone again.

No one would hurt you and walk away.

He’d make sure of that.

By morning, that man would regret ever laying a hand on you.

Sylus

Sylus was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth while the meeting was dragging on.

The men sitting across from him kept talking and talking about things he could easily fix in his sleep.

His mind was elsewhere, with you.

He couldn’t wait until this was done and he could get home, grab a bottle of something decent and have you curl up against him, just as you had planned.

Thinking about you, waiting for him, a sleepy smile grazing your lips, was the only thing keeping him from snapping at the idiots in the room.

Then his phone vibrated in his jacket’s pocket.

He knew it was you but that thought didn’t exactly excite him.

As he read your name on his phone, he straightened.

You never called him while you knew he was working, not unless something was wrong.

Sylus quickly lifted his hand, silencing the man who was mid sentence.

He stood up casually, answering the call with his usual teasing charm.

"What's up, kitten?"

The moment your broken sobs reached his ears, his expression shifted.

You were crying so hard you could barely breathe.

He didn’t care about anything else but you, didn’t care for the men hearing the desperation in his voice,

“Talk to me, love. Breathe. Tell me what’s wrong.”

It took you a few seconds, your voice shaking but you finally managed to gasp out,

“Can you please come pick me up?”

He stalked out of the room, offering no explanation.

“I’m coming.”

There was no need for Sylus to ask where you were, you had stayed late at the Hunter’s Association to finish some reports.

He was familiar with your routine.

He quickly send Mephisto to your location.

On his way, he broke more than enough traffic laws as he ripped from the N109 Zone to Linkon City.

Your broken sobs kept replaying in his head and it caused him to lose focus multiple times, you were the only thought running through his mind.

When he finally screeched into a street near the Association, his gaze locked onto you immediately.

You were sitting on the sidewalk, looking so small.

Mephisto was protectively perched near you.

Luke and Kieran look out from the car, feeling bad seeing you like this.

Sylus moved without thinking.

He dropped to his knees right in front of you, the expression he was wearing was heartbreakingly soft.

One of his hands landed on your leg.

You looked up at him with tired and red rimmed eyes, a weak smile tugging at your lips,

“Hi.”

You whispered hoarsely, voice weak.

His chest tightened as he looked at you.

The desire to tear the city apart burning inside of him.

He controlled himself,

“Ready to go home, kitten?”

You nodded, lips trembling.

Sylus helped you up, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you as if you were made of glass.

Once you were standing again, you quickly covered your mouth with your hand and started sobbing again.

Sylus was hurting with you.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, whispering calming things, trying anything to ease your pain.

You clung onto him as he lead you to the car.

Once you were both settled in, Luke took off, driving back to the N109 Zone, while Kieran was glaring daggers out of the window.

You two were sitting in the back together and he was cradling you against his side.

His fingers brushed through your hair.

When you gained the strength to open up, you did.

While your voice was hitching here and there, you told him about the man, some guy you only knew through mutual friends, who ended up cornering you once you left the association’s building.

You told about how he kept pestering you, making disgusting comments, refusing to leave you alone.

How, when you finally turned him down firmly, he got violent.

Sylus listened to every word, not interrupting you once.

He didn’t ask for the guy’s name.

He didn’t need to.

He already had everything he needed.

For now, you were all that mattered.

Arriving at the base, Sylus carried you inside like you weighed nothing.

He set you down on his bed, covering you with the soft blanket.

He cleaned your wounds with a patience he wasn’t known for.

His touch never hurt.

Every single one of his movements was an unspoken promise,

“No one will ever hurt you again.”

He stayed close all night.

Held you until you felt better.

Ran his fingers through your hair until morning came and you fell asleep, curled up in his arms.

And once he was sure, absolutely sure, you were truly asleep, did he slowly pull away.

He softly kissed you on the lips.

Then, he straightened.

Rolling his shoulders, his eyes turned dark.

He wasn't going to leave this to his men.

No, Sylus was going to personally make sure that bastard understood exactly what it meant to touch what belonged to him.

By morning, the world would be free of one more pest.

And Sylus would be back before you had even woken up.

Caleb

Night was just starting to roll around when Caleb finally returned home.

His uniform felt suffocating after such a long day.

He was halfway through unbuttoning his coat, when his phone buzzed.

Your name lit up his screen.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He figured you and your friends must've wrapped up earlier than expected, and you needed him to come pick you up.

He picked up immediately.

But the moment he heard your voice, that smile crumbled.

You were crying, not the usual soft sniffles from watching a sad movie or dropping your snack.

This was gut wrenching, helpless sobbing.

Caleb stilled, his body tensed, something deep inside of him breaking at the sound of your pain.

“Hey, hey,”

He quickly said, voice gentle.

“What wrongs, pips? I’m here.”

You were stumbling over your words, hiccuping,

“Do you think you could pick me up now?”

You sounded so small, so weak.

“Of course.”

He answered without hesitation,

“Stay where you are and keep your location on.”

Not that he needed it.

He already knew where you were.

Near the old library.

He always kept tabs, not because he didn’t trust you, but because he needed to make sure you were safe in a world that wasn’t always.

Caleb wasted not time, not even bothering to change out of his uniform.

The streets were relatively empty but even if they weren’t, it wouldn’t have changed anything.

Caleb wanted to get to you as quickly as he possibly could, that meant ignoring speed limits and red lights.

When he spotted you, his heart broke.

You were sitting on a pair of steps, rubbing your eyes sore.

You looked up when you heard the screech of his tires and the slam of his car door.

Caleb was running towards you.

He stopped a few steps away.

His purple eyes roamed over you quickly, taking in the bruises that were forming and how disheveled you looked, the way you were shrinking in on yourself.

His eyes darkened, hands balled into fists at his sides and his muscles were flexing under his uniform.

“Who did this?”

Voice rough, barely a restrained growl.

His whole body was screaming for violence, to hurt someone back, inflict what they had done to you.

You shook your head, tears spilling again.

Caleb instantly softened.

The fury on his face was replaced by a loving look.

"Come here."

He murmured, stepping forward.

His arms pulled you into an embrace, so carefully that it made you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

And to him, you were.

You leaned into him, your sobs were muffled and he was whispering sweet nothings against the crown of your head.

You pulled back just enough to speak, your voice trembling.

You started explaining,

how your two friends had to leave early and how the guy one of them had brought along, had stayed behind.

At first, it wasn’t too weird.

A few uncomfortable jokes, some flirting you politely brushed off.

But it didn’t stop, even when you mentioned Caleb, your boyfriend.

He just became more aggressive, more persistent.

Until you tried to leave, that’s when he became physical.

Caleb didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

You knew what he felt through his arms tightening around you.

Showing his anger, how he was hurt for you, telling that no one would touch what’s his.

The kiss he pressed to your forehead was grounding.

He lead you into the car, buckling you in himself.

Once you two were back in his apartment, he ran you a warm bath.

He was staying close, helping you clean up if you as much as asked.

He fetched you some soft towels, your favourite hoodie of his, anything that he knew would comfort you.

He was sitting right outside of the bathroom door while you soaked, close for you to call his name so he could be there in an instant.

Later, as you were curled up in his bed, wearing his hoodie, lying under a mountain of blankets, Caleb sat beside you.

He was reassuring you, squeezing your hand that was holding onto his.

He kissed your knuckles, he lingered, murmured promises against your skin.

He whispered,

“I won't let anyone touch you ever again."

You eventually drifted off to sleep, coaxing you to.

And once he was sure, Caleb stood from the bed quietly, moving like a ghost.

He headed straight for his office.

He overlooked his screens, fingers flying over the controls, looking into camera footage, facial recognition, movement trackers.

It didn’t take long to find that bastard.

Caleb’s eyes were cold as he tapped a finger against his cheek, calculating.

Joining the fleet and ever had taught him how to fight in ways that left no witnesses, no survivors, no traces.

The man who hurt you would find his life dismantled piece by piece.

His reputation, his finances, his freedom, all gone in the blink of an eye.

No one could protect him from Caleb’s wrath now.

And when Caleb finally returned to bed, slipping under the covers and pulling you close to him, he softened once again.

He held you, trying to make you feel his silent promise.

The promise that no one would ever hurt you again.

Not while Caleb was still breathing.

[dksfml]

eighteen - yjw (part I)

pairing: fboy!jungwon x reader summary: where on your 18th birthday, you receive a blessing that lets you see the future, only to find yourself married to jungwon, the college heartthrob you’ve barely spoken to, with a child calling you mom. genre: college au, university au, soulmate (?) au, making out, fluffff, jungwon has a big bike (that's hot tbh) word count: 7.6k playlist: 18 - one direction, stuck with u - ariana grande & justin bieber, you belong with me - ts, lavender haze - ts, wish that i could - umi, meddle about - chase atlantic

You don’t remember falling asleep.

But you wake up to a warmth that doesn’t belong to your real life.

You’re lying on your side, skin pressed to something solid, someone. There’s a strong arm wrapped around your waist, holding you in place like you might float away. His grip isn’t rough, just sure. Certain. Like he’s done this every morning for years.

Your breathing catches.

The room is bathed in soft morning light, golden and quiet. Dust drifts through the air, glinting like stars. It smells like sunlight and cotton and something so familiar it makes your throat tighten.

You try to move to lift your arm, to turn your head but your body doesn’t listen. It’s not frozen… just heavy. Like something else is moving for you.

And then his voice finds you.

Low. Smooth. Sleep-warmed and fond.

“You’re not allowed to run away this morning.”

Your heart stutters.

“Not until I’ve had enough of you.”

The words are dipped in something dangerously soft. Like honey laced with electricity. They settle over your skin, deep and warm, and suddenly you’re not sure if you’re breathing at all.

Your head turns slowly, not by your own will.

And then you see him.

Jungwon.

Older. Sharper. Ridiculously handsome.

His hair is tousled, lashes casting shadows over cheekbones that have grown into sharper lines. His lips part slightly as he smiles at you. Lazy, teasing, like he already knows every inch of your heart.

But it’s his eyes that undo you.

He looks at you like you belong to him.

Like you always have.

“I didn’t think you could get prettier,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against your cheek. “But here you are proving me wrong. Again.”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You’re stuck somewhere between awe and confusion. And even though your mind is spinning, your body melts into his touch like it’s been doing this for years.

His hand slides slowly up your arm, fingers curling against your back like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your spine.

“Come on,” he whispers, voice dropping lower. “Just five more minutes.”

“Let me have you to myself. Just five more.”

You try to answer, to say what is this? or what’s happening? But your lips move without sound.

There’s no fear. Just a strange pressure in your chest. Like your heart is trying to remember something your brain won’t accept yet.

“I have to get up,” you manage, barely.

He tenses behind you. Then—

“No,” he says instantly, his arms tightening. “You get up, I have to share you. I’m not ready.”

The words come out softer than they should. Almost like a confession.

You whisper his name. “Jungwon…”

At the sound of it, he exhales shakily, like you’ve touched something sacred.

He presses his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed.

“Let me love you quietly… just a little longer.”

And before you can say anything more, your body moves, like instinct.

You slip from his arms, legs brushing the edge of the bed. Your bare feet hit the hardwood. It’s warm.

Too real.

You reach for something at the foot of the bed and your hand wraps around fabric, his hoodie. You slip it over your head like you’ve done it a thousand times.

And you walk barefoot into the quiet glow of a house that isn’t yours… but somehow feels like it.

The hallway is lined with soft light and softer memories.

A second toothbrush beside the sink. Two mugs on the drying rack. A stray sock by the couch that definitely isn’t yours.

You pause outside the kitchen.

There, on the wall framed in wood worn smooth by time is a photograph.

You can’t breathe.

It’s you.

Smiling, windswept, holding a laughing boy in your lap. Jungwon is behind you, arms around both of you, lips pressed to your temple like he never wants to let go.

The boy is bright and soft and radiant, about five, maybe, and his name tumbles out of your mouth before you even think it.

“Jihoon…”

You don’t know how you know.

You just do.

Suddenly—

“Eommaaaa!”

Tiny footsteps thunder down the hall like a stampede of joy.

Before you can react, a small boy in dino pajamas hurls himself into your legs with all the power his little body can muster.

You catch him somehow. Arms instinctively cradling him close.

“Jihoon…” you breathe again.

He grins, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. “I want toast! And Appa said I can have Choco milk if I say please like a gentleman!”

You laugh. It feels strange coming out of your throat. Like a sound from someone else’s body. But it feels right.

And then a voice behind you—

“I also said you have to kiss your mom good morning. Or I get double.”

You turn, slowly, heart already racing.

Jungwon walks into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and unfairly beautiful. His shirt is half-buttoned, collar wide, hair falling across his forehead. He looks like a dream.

But his smile?

That smile is real.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“You left the bed too early.”

You don’t speak.

You can’t.

He walks right up to you, presses a kiss to your temple, then one to Jihoon’s cheek.

“Unfair,” he whispers in your ear. “Wearing my hoodie and stealing my whole heart before breakfast.”

Your throat tightens.

And before you can answer, he scoops Jihoon into one arm and turns toward the stove, all casual affection and practiced ease.

“I’ll make the eggs,” he says with a smirk.

“You just stand there and look pretty.”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The alarm blares, a sharp, unforgiving sound that rips you from sleep. Your body is sluggish as you roll over, eyes still half-closed. There’s a strange weight on your chest, like something that doesn't belong to you. You reach for it instinctively, only to find the bed beside you empty.

You freeze.

That dream. That dream.

The warm embrace of Jungwon’s arms around you. His voice, low and possessive, as he held you like you were his and his alone. The image of Jihoon, smiling up at you as his tiny hands reached for you, and you just knew his name. It all felt so real, like you could feel their presence even now.

You shut your eyes tightly, trying to push it all away.

But no—this isn’t real.

This isn’t how your life is.

Your heart starts to race. It was just a dream. Or was it?

You groggily grab your phone from the nightstand and swipe across the screen, your thumb trembling slightly. The words are there, just as they always are when your birthday arrives:

🎉 Happy 18th Birthday, Y/N! 🎉

It's time to check your Blessing 💫

You blink, trying to focus. You’ve been waiting for this moment. Everyone has been waiting for this moment.

In this world, everyone receives their Blessing on their 18th birthday. It’s a gift, a special power that defines your life. But it only comes once a year—on your birthday—and you can only use it that day.

Blessings are a mysterious and magical part of life. Some people get practical abilities like the gift of perfect memory or the ability to always know when someone is lying. Others receive mind-bending abilities like controlling the weather, seeing through time, or reading minds. There are even rare Blessings that come with superhuman strength or the ability to heal wounds with a single touch.

It’s always a huge deal. Everyone anxiously awaits what their Blessing will be, and it shapes their path forward. Some Blessings are more powerful than others, but no one ever knows until the moment it activates.

And today... it’s your turn.

You swallow, nervous. This is the day you’ve been waiting for, the day when you finally get to know what you’re meant to do in life. A strange fluttering sensation rises in your chest as you tap on the notification, feeling your heartbeat louder than before.

"Blessing Activated: The ability to see into the future."

You blink, your heart skipping a beat. You read it again.

See into the future.

Your mind instantly flashes back to that dream. Jungwon. Your son. The home. The family. Everything that felt too real.

But no. No way. That’s not possible. It can’t be.

It was just your wild imagination running rampant, a byproduct of your complicated feelings for Jungwon, the popular, carefree guy who could charm the entire campus with a smile and a wink. The one who always seemed to have a crowd of girls following him around, eagerly hanging on to his every word, craving his attention. It wasn’t his fault. He was just... well, Jungwon, always in the spotlight, effortlessly cool, and always a little out of reach.

You, on the other hand, were the ideal responsible student body president, constantly trying to keep everything in order while keeping your unaddressed feelings for him under wraps. It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than that, a fleeting daydream. Your mind must've just tangled everything up, creating a perfect world where you were married to him and raising a child. But no. You couldn't let yourself believe it was real.

It was just another one of those wild, embarrassing fantasies... right?

That’s all it was. Right?

You shake your head, trying to banish the thought. But deep down, you feel the weight of the words still pressing on your chest.

The bell rings, signaling the start of the school day. You drag yourself out of your seat, trying to focus on the tasks ahead, but the words on your phone, the words about seeing the future linger in your mind.

Your Blessing has been activated. And yet, you're not sure if you should even believe it.

How can that be your Blessing? How could you see the future? Maybe the system made a mistake. Maybe you read it wrong. There’s no way that what you saw in your dream could be your actual future, right?

You’re so lost in thought that you almost miss Sunoo sitting down beside you, his usual wide grin greeting you with far too much energy.

“So, Y/N, any plans for your Blessing today?” He’s practically bouncing in his seat, eyes sparkling. “I’m so jealous! It’s going to be so cool! What did you get?”

You glance at him, blinking rapidly to clear your head. “I... I’m still trying to figure it out,” you mumble, your voice sounding unsure, even to yourself. “It’s just... hard to process.”

Sunoo giggles. “Of course you are. It’s always hard to accept, right? I mean, last year, my sister got the ability to talk to animals. She’s been living with a pet snake for months now, and I swear, that thing is smarter than me. Some people get the craziest gifts! It’s just so exciting.”

You nod, trying to sound upbeat, but the mention of talking to animals only makes you feel even more confused. There are so many kinds of Blessings: there’s the ability to control fire, to read minds, to move objects with a glance, and some less flashy ones, like the ability to memorize anything you hear, or even the ability to speak every language fluently.

But seeing the future?

You shake your head. No way. That’s... too much. Way too much.

“Hey, Y/N, did you get your notification?” Sunoo asks, leaning in curiously. “I bet it’s something super cool. You’re going to be amazing with your Blessing.”

You can barely focus on his words as you pull out your phone again, a dull weight settling in your stomach. You scroll through the notification. Still there. Still the same message.

"Blessing Activated: The ability to see into the future."

You try to dismiss it. Your mind starts to race. Could it really be true? Could you really see the future? You look around the classroom, feeling a sudden wave of self-doubt. Was this a mistake? Or was your mind still so caught up in that dream with Jungwon, that it created something out of fantasy?

You glance out the window, distracted by the thought of what your future could hold. And yet, despite the fluttering feeling in your chest, you can’t shake the nagging thought at the back of your mind: What if it’s real?

The soft hum of the classroom was interrupted by the creak of the door opening, and in walked Jungwon.

“Holy shit,” someone whistles from across the room, dropping their pen. “Jungwon, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

You turn your head, and there he is.

Coming in the doorway, disheveled in a way that shouldn't look good but somehow does. His white button-up clings to his frame, damp and slightly wrinkled, the top two buttons undone to reveal a sharp collarbone slick with sweat. His usually styled hair falls messily across his forehead, and he’s practically glowing under the fluorescent light like chaos wrapped in charm.

Someone tosses him a bottle of water.

“What happened to you?” another guy laughs. “It’s third period, man.”

Jungwon catches the bottle effortlessly, twisting off the cap like he owns the moment. “Big bike broke down,” he says, taking a long drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tire popped near Namsan intersection.”

“Damn. That sucks.”

“Why didn’t you call a cab or something?”

Jungwon’s lips curl into that infamous smirk, the one that always starts trouble.

“Couldn’t,” he says casually. “Left my wallet last night.”

“Where?”

He pauses dramatically, eyes flicking to the side before he says it:

“Some girl’s dorm.”

The silence is brief but heavy. Then, like clockwork, the room breaks into amused groans and howling laughter.

“You’re insane,” someone cackles.

“Bro. Again?”

“Whose this time?”

Jungwon just laughs, tossing his bag onto a nearby desk and shrugging out of his damp uniform jacket like he’s done this a hundred times. Which based on reputation, he probably has.

You look away, jaw clenched.

What were you thinking?

He might be handsome, charming, and seemingly always the center of attention, but that’s not you. You’re the class president. Always prepared, always on time. The responsible one professors rely on. You’ve talked to him maybe—what—twice? You barely share two classes, and even then, he never remembers to bring his ID, you even reprimanded him about that one time.

And yet this morning, you saw yourself in his bed.

His arms around you. His lips on your cheek. A little boy, Jihoon calling you Eomma.

A wild fantasy. That’s all it could be. A side effect of your Blessing. A trick of your crush-riddled brain.

Because that boy over there? The one with sweat dripping down his temple and a lazy grin on his lips while he talks about his nightly rendezvous like it’s a joke?

You take a breath, as if that thought alone should pull you back into reality.

But then you can’t help but glance at him again. The way his hair falls messily over his forehead, the glint of mischief in his eyes, how effortlessly the attention of the room falls on him like gravity pulling in everything around him.

And as your thoughts spiral, Jungwon catches your eye again. This time, he doesn’t look away. His gaze lingers just a second longer than it should, a playful glint sparking in the depths of his dark eyes. It's almost like he can sense your gaze, like he's aware of the tension in the air.

The weight of it all hits you. There’s no way someone like Jungwon could ever be husband material for you.

But you did have a crush on him, don’t you?

The question hits you like an electric jolt, and the realization makes your skin burn with embarrassment. You feel like a fool. A huge, pathetic fool for letting this fantasy play out, for letting him take up so much of your headspace when he barely knows you exist.

Your heart stutters, and you quickly look away, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control. No, you tell yourself. He’s not for you.

He’s not someone you fall in love with.

He's someone you survive.

That night, you had a plan.

A quiet café near the riverside, your favorite spot, where the view of the night city glimmers like constellations trapped in water. You’d go there alone, sip on something warm, pretend the world paused just for you, and think.

About the dream.

About the Blessing.

About how stupid it is to have someone like him trapped in your mind like he’s yours.

But before that… duty calls. Being class president means more than title and praise—it’s also staying late to organize reports other people forget exist. You’re hunched over your desk in the empty student council room, sorting folders by department, your phone buzzing softly against the desk.

It’s a message from Sunoo.

Sunooooo 🐥:

hey prez 😗 i left my USB in the drama club office, can u grab it for me?? it’s in the drawer beside the speaker. i owe u 2 bubble teas 😭🙏

You sigh, push your chair back, and stretch your arms. The building’s almost empty now, the halls eerily quiet, lights buzzing faintly overhead.

The drama club’s room is on the third floor. You climb the stairs, footsteps echoing, your mind halfway to the riverside already.

The door creaks open when you push it gently.

And everything inside you halts.

Your breath catches. The air leaves your lungs before your brain can tell you what you’re seeing.

Jungwon.

His back is to you, but you’d recognize him anywhere, even with his uniform shirt half-off, even with his mouth locked on someone else's neck like he’s starving, even with a girl tangled around him, her skirt pushed up high on his thigh, hands pulling him closer.

It’s raw, messy. Real.

The girl gasps and pulls away first, eyes widening in panic.

Jungwon turns. Hair mussed. Lips swollen. Chest rising and falling fast.

The room falls silent. Everything slows.

He sees you.

“Y/N?” he says, like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just split your world open.

You feel your legs move before your mind catches up. You don’t say a word. You just back away, out the door, letting it click shut behind you.

You don’t remember how you got out of that room.

The door closed behind you with a click that felt too loud in the silent hallway, but your legs didn’t stop. You walked—no, stumbled—down the corridor like a ghost. Your heart still thunders in your chest, a strange mix of fury and humiliation burning behind your ribs.

You hear someone calling your name just as you turn the corner.

“Y/N!”

It’s Sunoo, jogging up to you with his usual bright energy and a hopeful grin. “Did you find the USB?”

You stop. Slowly turn to face him.

The expression on your face makes his smile falter.

“You—” your voice comes out shaky, then steadies with a strange coldness. “You seriously need to start screening the students in your club.”

Sunoo blinks. “Huh?”

“There’s a line, Kim Sunoo,” you snap, the words cutting sharper than you intended. “And whatever the hell was happening in that room? Way past it.”

He stares at you, brows furrowed in genuine confusion. “Wait, what are you—?”

You don’t wait for him to finish. “Tell your vice president to clean that space properly. And keep the door locked when it’s not in use.” Your tone is clipped. “This school has rules for a reason.”

And then you’re walking. Fast. Past the bulletin boards, down the stairs, out the doors into the open night air where it’s cooler, easier to breathe.

Sunoo calls your name once more behind you, but you don’t turn back.

You clutch your tote tighter, your steps hard on the pavement. Your thoughts spiral.

What the hell were you expecting?

That he was different?

That a man like Jungwon, irresistible, untouchable, a walking magnet of trouble and girls and charm would someday settle for someone like you?

You? The uptight, rule-following class president? The one who frowns at missed deadlines and documents everything in folders? You’ve spoken maybe twice. He probably doesn’t even remember what your voice sounds like.

The dream wasn’t a vision.

It was delusion.

A cruel, beautiful lie spun by a Blessing you hadn’t even asked for.

You sigh, pushing your hands through your hair as you finally round the corner, the warm light of the café now glowing just ahead. It’s quiet inside. A perfect place to sit with your thoughts, maybe even rewrite them into something less… pathetic.

But as you approach the glass doors, your reflection stares back at you.

Eyes wide.

Still shaken.

And behind all the anger, confusion, embarrassment—

There’s something else.

A flicker of hope that refuses to die.

What if it is the future?

What if, somehow, against all odds, things change?

And would you even want that?

You push the door open, the bell chiming softly above your head. The scent of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon wraps around you.

You find a seat by the window. You order something sweet.

And for the first time today…

You let yourself breathe.

The next day arrives colder than usual, the gray sky draping a slow, sleepy atmosphere over the campus. You’re halfway through skimming your notes at your desk when something plops onto the table beside your laptop.

You look up.

Sunoo grins, placing a cup of brown sugar bubble tea beside a bright yellow pack of gummy bears.

You blink. “What is this?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a flicker of something mischievous in his eyes. “One of the two bubble teas I owe you.”

You raise a brow. “This?” Pointing at the pack of gummy bears.

He nods. “That’s... uh, from Jungwon.”

That makes you freeze.

Sunoo scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “He said I should give it to you since he felt bad about what happened yesterday. Said he didn’t mean for you to walk in on that.”

Your brows knit. You glance toward the door, scanning the incoming students. No sight of that familiar tall figure. “Where is he, then?”

Sunoo blinks. “Huh?”

“If he really felt bad,” you say, crossing your arms, “why can’t he say it to me upfront?”

Sunoo stammers. “Ah—he’s not skipping or anything. He just said he had something to take care of today.”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

Sunoo shrugs again. “Lab research. BioChem. Said he’s getting data from the lab.”

Your eyes widen.

Lab research?

Your breath catches as you fumble to grab your phone. You had completely forgotten.

Two days ago, your Biochemistry professor had handed out a research task due in five days. You hadn’t even made a group chat yet for your team. You were supposed to assign roles, divide the work, set a meeting.

You swallow, fingers rushing to open your inbox and sure enough, there it is.

A message request from Jungwon, sent exactly two days ago.

hi y/n, i know we haven’t made the gc yet, but i was reviewing the assigned enzymes, so i made a quick draft of the intro and references. we can revise later. let me know if this is okay.

Attached is a PDF file.

You tap it open.

And you go still.

It’s… detailed. Clean. Formatted correctly. The citations are already APA 7th. He even included notes and potential corrections in the comments, like he expected you to edit it yourself.

Your eyes linger on the timestamp.

You feel a twist of guilt settle in your chest. Two whole days. And you only saw it now.

God, you think. He’s not just messing around all the time.

Jungwon may have the reputation of being a flirt, a wild card—hell, even that guy who disappears after parties—but his grades are stable. You’ve checked. Of course you have. And now, seeing this…

You hate that your heart flutters a little.

You shake it off. It’s ridiculous. You need to be logical. Collected.

Still, your fingers hover over the screen.

You type.

hey. sorry i just saw this. the draft looks good. where are you now?

You stare at the text, hesitate, then hit send.

The typing bubble doesn’t appear. Yet your chest is already tight.

Sunoo notices the way you keep looking at your phone.

“You okay?”

You hum noncommittally.

Because the truth is…

You don’t know what you want his reply to say.

Your phone stays silent all through your next class.

And the one after that.

You keep glancing at it when no one’s looking—pretending to scroll through lecture slides while secretly refreshing your messages. Nothing. Not even a “seen.”

By the time the afternoon rolls around, your head's a mess of static. You try to lose yourself in your workload, drowning in spreadsheets and professor emails, but everything tastes like paper and air. That dream still clings to the back of your mind like static on skin. Warm breath on your neck. That stupid soft voice calling you mine.

You shake it off again. It's all just hormones and brain chemistry and—yeah, maybe a little too much pining. You can get through this.

You push away from your desk, grabbing your bag. You’ll head to the lab early, maybe reorganize the data files. Be useful. Do something.

But as you exit the building, your heart stutters.

Jungwon is there.

Not in your imagination, not folded behind a dream, but actually there. At the shaded edge of the quad near the science wing, one foot propped against the wall, head tilted as he scrolls his phone. His uniform shirt is crumpled in that lazy way that’s probably not intentional but always looks intentional. His neck glistens faintly with leftover sweat from the walk, and his bangs stick slightly to his forehead.

He hasn’t noticed you yet.

You freeze.

Part of you wants to turn around.

Part of you wants to go straight up and ask him why the hell he didn’t respond. Why he’s acting like nothing happened. Why your name still sits unopened in his inbox when he’s clearly online.

But mostly you just stand there.

Then, as if summoned by your indecision, he lifts his gaze.

Your eyes meet.

The air shifts. It doesn’t crash. Doesn’t burn. But it thickens.

He pushes off the wall slowly, slipping his phone into his back pocket, eyes locked on you.

No smirk. No signature grin.

Just him. Watching.

Then he calls, voice low but unmistakably Jungwon: “Hey. President.”

You stiffen.

Not Y/N.

Not even hey.

Just President. Detached. Teasing.

Like he didn’t make you spiral last night without even trying.

Like you didn’t see him tangled with another girl just hours after dreaming of his arms around you like a promise.

You square your shoulders.

“You got the lab data?” you ask plainly, walking forward with steady steps.

Jungwon nods, pulling a crumpled printout from his bag, and holds it out. “Compiled the results. Some weird numbers in the catalase trials, though. Might be a pipette issue.”

You take the paper, fingers brushing.

You pretend not to notice the tiny flicker in his eyes.

“Thanks,” you say, voice clipped. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

You turn to leave.

But just before you walk past him, his voice comes again, quieter this time, a little too casual.

“…You saw the file?”

You stop. Don’t face him. Just nod once.

“And?” he asks.

You pause again. Swallowing the lump of everything you could say.

“It’s good,” you mutter, before walking away.

You don’t look back.

But you feel his gaze burning into the space where your footsteps used to be.

That night, the campus is quieter than usual.

Most of the dorms have dimmed down, the courtyard echoing only with the soft chirp of cicadas and the occasional motorbike in the distance. You’re back in your room, the soft yellow desk lamp casting long shadows across your textbooks. The lab report glows on your screen, and your fingers move on autopilot, editing, cross-checking, reformatting Jungwon’s initial draft.

You hate how well-written it is.

Hate how focused he must’ve been when writing it.

Hate that he sent it before you even made a group chat.

He knew. He just… did it anyway.

The way your mind keeps replaying today’s encounter isn’t helping either. That careless tone. The unread message. The way he looked at you, not like you were someone he’d kissed or remembered, but like you were just another task to check off.

You sigh hard through your nose, shoving your glasses onto your head and pushing away from your desk. You grab your phone out of habit.

Still nothing from Jungwon.

You frown.

And then like a cruel joke your phone buzzes.

Unknown Number

[9:47 PM]

hey.

You blink.

The typing bubbles flicker, disappear, flicker again.

Then:

it’s jungwon.

You stare at it. Right, you never saved his number. You consider leaving it on seen, out of pure spite.

But then another message arrives.

thanks for checking the file.

Simple. Casual. No emojis. Not even a period. You almost roll your eyes.

You don’t respond right away.

The dots appear again.

are you still mad about yesterday.

Your jaw tightens. Your fingers hover over the screen, unsure whether to ignore or unleash. But before you decide—

it’s fine if you are. just wanted to say i wasn’t trying to... make you uncomfortable or anything.

You blink again. This time, slower.

Another message comes.

didn't know you’d walk in.

That annoys you. A flick of your thumb and you're typing fast before you can stop yourself.

[You]

Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t make me uncomfortable.

[You]

I’ve seen worse.

You hit send and set your phone down, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit.

But he responds almost immediately.

you sure? you looked like you saw a ghost.

You inhale sharply.

[You]

I was just surprised. That’s all.

Typing bubbles again. Then pause. Then again.

sunoo said you looked pissed.

[You]

Well, maybe tell Sunoo to mind his business.

Another pause.

Then finally:

you don’t like me much, do you.

Your fingers freeze.

For a second, you consider lying. Saying of course not, brushing him off.

But your thumb hovers too long.

And somehow, you type:

[You]

I don’t really know you.

This time, it takes a little longer before he replies.

But when it comes, it’s unexpected.

then maybe let me fix that.

You blink at the screen.

The cursor waits, asking what you'll do next.

The next day, Jungwon is already waiting in the hallway by the science building when you arrive.

It’s unusual—he’s unusual.

Not late. Not surrounded by a gaggle of students laughing at his latest offhanded charm. He’s just… there.

Leaning against the white-tiled wall with his arms folded, sleeves rolled up, and the usual smirk playing at his lips. But this time, it’s softer. Almost thoughtful.

You slow your steps. Part of you wants to ignore him. Pretend last night’s conversation didn’t exist. Pretend he wasn’t the reason your thoughts kept short-circuiting through biochemistry formulas you didn’t study for.

But of course, he notices you before you even consider slipping away.

“Morning, President,” he calls, straightening from the wall. “I was starting to think you’d ditch lab today.”

You give him a sidelong glance. “Why would I?”

As you step inside the lab, Jungwon follows quietly, his footsteps just a beat behind yours. For once, he doesn’t try to fill the silence with jokes or idle flirtation.

Just as you reach for your lab coat, he says it. Casual, but too quiet to be harmless.

“You seemed a little different last night.”

You pause mid-button, fingers stilling at your collar. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, not meeting your eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe I had different views about you until yesterday.”

Your gaze narrows. “And what would you know about me last night?”

His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile. “Just… stuff. The way you talked. Your messages. The way you suddenly replied. It felt different.”

There’s a weird pressure building in your chest. An old instinct, fight or flight.

Your voice comes out sharper than intended. “If this is your way of getting back at me for… walking into that night, then please—I hope you stop.”

That makes him blink.

For once, he doesn’t have a snarky comeback ready. He just watches you, expression unreadable, lips slightly parted like he wasn’t expecting that.

You drop your bag on the nearest chair and turn away from him, fixing your gloves with more focus than you need. The lab is silent except for the hum of overhead lights and the slow clink of glass being arranged.

And still, you can feel his gaze.

Heavy. Focused. Not the kind that undresses you, but the kind that unravels.

He doesn't speak again for the next ten minutes.

But whatever he’s thinking?

It lingers in the air between you strange, searching, and unsettlingly curious.

“Right, I read the sample analysis section you made this morning. You write well,” you say.

He grins, leaning closer as you reach for the lab equipment. “Well, maybe I wanted to impress you.”

You choke slightly on air. “Excuse me?”

Jungwon’s smile doesn’t falter. “What? I figured if you’re gonna think I’m just some fuck-up with a nice face, I should prove you wrong.”

His words hit sharper than they should. Like they were dipped in something hot before being handed to you.

You fix your gloves with more pressure than necessary. “I don’t think that,” you lie.

He hums. “You sure?”

You glance at him. He’s already pulling on his goggles, but the tilt of his mouth is too smug for someone who’s not enjoying this.

He’s trying.

Not in the way people usually do, with flowers or pick-up lines or chasing you through the quad. But trying in his own strange, infuriating way.

Jungwon, campus heartthrob, late to every second class, always with a hickey or two to hide, is suddenly showing up on time, preparing lab notes, offering to help you with the pH balance readout before you even ask.

And the most confusing part?

He’s not flirting like he usually does.

There’s no winks. No lazy drawls of your name. Just this steady, unnerving attention. Like you’re a problem he wants to understand, and maybe, just maybe, solve.

Halfway through titration, you break the silence.

“You know,” you say quietly, not looking up, “we barely know each other.”

Jungwon glances at you over the rim of his beaker.

“That’s kind of the point,” he says simply.

You glance back. “What?”

“I want to,” he says, voice calm, low, and sure. “Get to know you.”

You freeze.

There’s no laugh behind his words. No teasing. Just sincerity. Raw and strangely unfamiliar, coming from him.

You drop your eyes again, hands tightening around the glassware. “Why?”

He tilts his head like the answer is obvious. “Don’t you ever get tired of people pretending around you?”

You stare at the blue liquid swirling in the beaker.

Yes.

But you don’t say it.

Because how the hell does he know that?

Your grip on the beaker tightens, knuckles paling. For a second, you forget to swirl.

The silence hangs there, suspended like the acid fumes in the air. Unspoken, unexplainable.

Jungwon doesn’t push.

He just returns to his notes, pen scratching gently across the paper, like he hadn’t just peeled open something raw in you without ever looking up.

The rest of the lab passes with that same strange rhythm. You work in silence, too aware of his presence beside you, too aware of the weight in his glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

You don’t know what’s changed. Only that something has.

And whatever it is, it’s throwing off your balance.

When class ends, you’re the first to gather your things. You need air, space, anything to clear the mess in your head. You sling your bag over your shoulder, brushing past the last lab bench, when you hear him behind you again.

“Hey, wait.”

You stop. But you don’t turn around.

“About what I said earlier,” he continues, and his voice is softer now, almost hesitant. “I meant it. I want to know who you are. Not as the class president. Just… you.”

You swallow hard. “You’re weird today,” you mutter, forcing a laugh that doesn’t sound like yours.

Jungwon doesn’t respond immediately. Then, as you start walking again, he says quietly:

“Maybe you just finally started paying attention.”

You leave before he can say anything more.

That night, you lie on your bed, staring up at your ceiling as the hum of the city fills your ears through the open window.

Your phone is beside you, lit up with the unanswered messages from your org groupchat, some random memes from Sunoo, and one still unopened message from Jungwon, sent just now.

You hover over it, thumb twitching.

Lab partner:

Let’s meet again tomorrow. I’ll bring the spectrometer data.

…Also, I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just think you’re interesting. That’s all.

You stare at the screen for a long moment.

How does someone change overnight?

How does someone who never cared suddenly act like they see you?

You lock your phone and press it face-down onto your chest.

Maybe this is just how college goes. People are unpredictable. Feelings shift. You’ve seen it happen.

But deep down… something in your gut says this isn’t just feelings.

It’s something else.

Something you can’t quite name.

Not yet.

Jungwon watches your retreating figure until you disappear into the stairwell, the glass door swinging shut behind you with a soft click.

He exhales. Runs a hand through his hair.

What the hell are you doing to me?

"Yo!" A familiar voice calls from across the courtyard. Jay’s already halfway toward him, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, lanyard swinging lazily from his neck. “You free?”

Jungwon nods wordlessly and falls into step beside him.

They walk in silence for a while, the wind cool and sharp against his skin. It's late afternoon now, the sun low, casting long shadows on the pavement as they make their way to the parking lot.

Jay’s halfway through a story about a classmate bombing their presentation when Jungwon suddenly cuts in.

"Hey," he says, voice low. “How stupid do you have to be… to not realize your long-time crush actually likes you back?”

Jay pauses mid-step. “Damn. Where’s that coming from?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer right away. He kicks at a pebble on the ground. “I mean, you’ve liked someone for so long, but you didn’t know—couldn’t tell—that they might feel the same.”

Jay raises a brow. “Well, I wouldn’t say the person is stupid. It’s not easy to assume something like that about your own crush. Most people don’t want to believe in something unless, they’re sure.”

Jungwon hums, thoughtful.

Jay goes on, more carefully now. “And if that person—the crush—doesn’t show anything? Doesn’t flirt, doesn’t confess, doesn’t even act like they notice you? Then yeah. I can see why you wouldn’t suspect it.”

He shrugs. “Especially if you’re the type who’s also good at hiding your own feelings. You both end up playing it cool. Two silent idiots in a stand-off.”

That earns a half-smile from Jungwon. “So, it’s a draw?”

“No,” Jay chuckles. “It’s a mess.”

Jungwon laughs, then quiets again, eyes drifting up to the campus skyline. The same classroom windows, the same building. But something feels different now.

He thinks about the way you looked at him today. Guarded. Defensive. Scared, almost, that he was pulling some kind of joke on you.

And god, maybe he deserved that. Maybe he was a joke, before yesterday.

But now… now he knows something else.

Not from gossip. Not from rumors.

From you. In your own thoughts.

He shakes his head.

“Still feels like I don’t deserve to know something she hasn’t said out loud.”

Jay glances sideways. “You saying you’re hearing confessions in your dreams now?”

Jungwon smirks faintly. “Something like that.”

They reach the parking lot. The quiet hum of passing cars fills the space between them.

Jay finally says, “So what are you gonna do?”

Jungwon leans against the side of his motorbike, crossing his arms. The late sun glints off his helmet, dangling loosely from the handlebars.

“I’m gonna stop pretending I don’t care,” he says. “And I’m gonna make sure she knows I see her now.”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “You really got it bad, huh?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer.

He just looks toward the building one last time, expression unreadable—but no longer unsure.

"Late birthday gift," Jay says casually, already fiddling with his car keys. "Didn't have time to hand it yesterday."

Jungwon rolls his eyes but there's a genuine grin tugging at his mouth as he peeks inside the bag.

Inside, there’s a simple keychain—a silver motorcycle charm—and a half-eaten pack of mint gum taped to a note that says “For fresh starts. Don’t mess it up.”

Jungwon shakes his head, amused. "You're the worst gift giver."

Jay grins, unapologetic. “You’re welcome, asshole.”

Jungwon slips the keychain into his pocket anyway, feeling the small weight of it settle there. It's stupid. It's small. But somehow, it feels heavier than it should.

Maybe because yesterday wasn't just about turning eighteen.

Maybe because it wasn’t just about the blessing he received.

It was about everything starting to tilt sideways—about seeing things he never allowed himself to see before.

About realizing that maybe, just maybe, the person you spent so long pretending you didn’t notice… was already standing in front of you, noticing you too.

Jay unlocks his car, tossing his bag into the backseat. "You coming?"

Jungwon swings his helmet onto his head, the faint jingle of the new keychain in his pocket.

"Nah," he says, voice a little lighter. "Think I'll stick around a bit."

He watches Jay pull out of the lot, then leans back against his bike, staring up at the dimming sky.

For the first time in a long while, Jungwon isn't rushing anywhere.

He’s just… waiting.

For once, he doesn't mind.

Or at least, he thinks he doesn't until he checks his phone and sees your name sitting quietly in his notifications.

No new message.

Just last night’s thread, and your last reply still stuck in his head.

Something pulls at him. Impulse, maybe. Or instinct.

Without thinking, he swings one leg over his bike, starts the engine, and makes a turn back toward the front of campus.

The tires crunch lightly against the pavement as he rolls to a smooth stop just outside the main gates. His eyes scan the crowd.

And there you are.

Walking alone, the sunset catching the edges of your hair, a plastic bag hanging from your wrist—maybe takeout, maybe something from the café nearby. Lost in thought, your expression unreadable.

Jungwon lifts his helmet’s visor, smirking.

“Hey, wife!”

Your head snaps up.

You freeze, eyes wide, mouth slightly open like the word itself just slapped you in the face.

Jungwon chuckles, resting his elbow casually on the handlebar. “What?” he says, shrugging. “Hop on. I’ll give you a ride.”

You blink, still in shock, unsure whether to roll your eyes, yell at him, or melt into the sidewalk.

Probably all three.

You stare at him like he just spoke in another language.

Wife.

Wife.

The word still echoes in your ears, sharp and ridiculous and dangerously familiar. Too familiar.

Your hand tightens around the plastic bag. “What did you just call me?”

Jungwon only grins, a maddening glint in his eyes. “You heard me.”

You narrow your gaze. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

He shrugs, tapping the seat behind him. “Depends. Are you going to get on, or keep standing there like I didn’t just offer you the smoothest getaway from a long day of work?”

You glance at the bike. Then back at him. And suddenly your mind flashes, uninvited, to the dream you swore was just that: a dream.

A boy with dark hair, arms wrapped around you on a bike.

Laughter. Wind. A familiar warmth pressing into your back as the city blurred behind you.

You shake the thought away. No.

Absolutely not.

“Are you trying to be funny?” you ask tightly, your voice firmer than your heart feels. “Because I’m not laughing.”

Jungwon’s smirk softens. Not entirely, but enough that it startles you. There’s something in his eyes now, something quieter. Not playboy-charming. Not smug. Just… sincere.

“I’m not trying anything,” he says, almost too casually. “I just figured… we don’t really know each other, right?”

Your breath catches.

“And maybe,” he adds, his voice dipping lower, “you might want to get to know me too.”

For a moment, neither of you move. The wind brushes your hair into your face. His helmet gleams under the last stretch of sunset.

Then, slowly, you take a step forward.

His eyes flicker with something…surprise? Hope?

You raise an eyebrow. “Call me wife again and I’ll throw this bubble tea at your face.”

Jungwon laughs. Really laughs. “Noted.”

You roll your eyes. “One ride. That’s it.”

He pats the seat, triumphant. “One ride,” he echoes, and you swear his voice sounds just a little too satisfied.

You hesitate once more before climbing on, arms uncertain.

But when the engine roars to life, your fingers instinctively curl around his jacket.

And as the bike pulls away from campus, you don’t see the knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You don’t know he knew everything.

Not yet.

But soon—

You will.

lmk your thoughts :D

permanent taglist: @1starqi @imfuckingwhipped @moon0fthenight @jiawji @shawnyle @simja3 @babyboomysweetie @50-husbands @charlizefaye @anudocuments @ooriwoo @sa-brinaaa @luumiinaa @personallyminelol @yjwonsgf @lvvstruck @leah-rose03 @kanonjji @kyunlov @somuchdard @seongiewon @theothernads @luumiinaa @enhaverse713586 @lynanist @moriwori @han-to-my-minho @hhyvsstuff @gardenwons @frankenstein852 @firstclassjaylee @lamin143 @serenadehera @elove2047 @cookiesha11 @enhamysunshines @tkooooop @lizdevorak @hoshilysm @meggxsxs @deluluscenarios @babyboomysweetie @tinycatharsis @leesolbeesol

[moonstruckme]

hi mae!!!! i was wondering if you could write any marauder x reader where it's the readers first time and during she begins to not enjoy it as its kinda painful for her and wants to stop, and the marauder of your choosing is just very lovely and reassuring about her not wanting to continue. i love all your writing!!! xoxo

Love you, thanks for requesting <3

cw: mature content mdni, afab reader, implied inexperienced/virgin reader

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 825 words

You keep James close. There’s safety in his embrace, in the gentle press of his lips against yours, and you crave that solace right now. You hold his face in your hands, making sure he doesn’t retreat far enough to see your face or to leave you here by yourself. 

You want a partner, not a witness. 

“You feel so good,” he says, voice dropped about two octaves since you got him out of his clothes in the dimming light of his bedroom. “So perfect, angel.” 

You keep your hips still and kiss up at him half desperately. 

James groans. “Oh, god. You’re so perfect. How’s that feel?” 

Your kisses turn breathier, your tight chest not taking in quite enough air. You let him cup your breast in a loving hand. 

“Angel? Talk to me, m’love.” 

You don’t feel confident you have the breath to speak. You don’t know why you can’t just do this.

The next exhale you send out pushes James away. 

“Stop,” you say, voice already breaking. 

To James’ credit, he follows your instructions immediately. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“I’m sorry, I want to stop.” 

“Okay. Okay, lovely.” You cover your face with your hands as James sits up. The slight movement of him inside you isn’t enough to hurt, but the feeling makes you tighten anxiously anyway. You hear him hiss. “I’m just going to pull out, alright?” 

It’s a funny sensation when he does, loneliness and relief both at once. You try not to make a sound as tears turn your skin slippery beneath your fingers. 

“What’s the matter?” James’ tone is gentle, devastated in a way you think he’s trying to hide but can’t. “Does it hurt?” 

“No,” you choke out. 

Impossibly, his voice quiets further. “Did it hurt?” 

A tiny sob jostles its way out of you. You nod without moving your hands. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” James sounds gutted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. 

“What’re you sorry for? Hey, can I touch you? Is that alright? You can say no.” 

There was never any doubt in your mind that you could, but you wouldn’t want to. You nod again, and in an instant James’ warm hands are soothing up your sides. The loneliness dissipates. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do it,” you say, still unwilling to move your hands. “It didn’t hurt that badly, I just—I freaked out.” 

“Angel.” James sounds like he might be chiding you, if he could bring himself to do it. He takes your hands, and as it turns out, you’re perfectly willing to have them moved by him. His gentle touch has your face coming out of hiding, bearing witness to his crushed expression. 

“Please don’t apologize,” he begs. “I don’t want to hurt you at all. I definitely don’t want to scare you.” 

“I know that.” Your voice is frail. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

James’ brows hook. “I think I probably had some role,” he says, dropping a tender kiss to your cheek. “Does it still hurt?” 

“No.” 

“Would you tell me if it did? You won’t hurt my feelings.” 

He’s absolutely lying, but you’re telling the truth. “It doesn’t, James. It barely even hurt when it happened.” 

Your boyfriend makes a soft, sad sound. “Still.” He places a kiss next to your nose like he’s planning to soothe you inch by inch. “Do you think you might be bleeding?” You’re unsure. “Can I check?” 

You hum your consent, albeit somewhat nervously. James kisses you in thanks. He reaches a hand down between your legs, bringing it back up to find only the sort of wetness you both intended. He wipes it off on his own leg, kissing you again. Kissing, kissing, kissing. 

“We can try again,” you start to say. “Maybe not today, but—” 

He shushes you. “We don’t have to, lovely. I mean, if you want, of course we can give it another go, but don’t feel like you have to.” 

You feel a sort of shrinking in your chest. A quiet, vicious insecurity darkens your thoughts. “You don’t want to?” 

James’ eyebrows jump. “Do you?” 

“I…” 

“Sweetheart.” He rubs your hip, brown-eyed gaze soft. “You said you got freaked out, right? I mean, it’s understandable, I would have too, but when I have a bad experience with something I usually want a bit of a break before going at it again. Don’t you want a breather?” 

“Oh.” Your voice quiets. “I don’t…I’m not sure.” 

“That’s okay,” he says. “Take your time, lovely, I’ll be here. You just have to say the word, yeah?” 

Your reply is a low hum. You finally muster the courage to go to him. You sit up to put your arms around James’ shoulders, your warm chests pressing together. He envelops you without hesitation. 

“It wasn’t a completely bad experience,” you mumble into his skin. 

You can practically feel the bloom of his smile as he presses it into your forehead.

[baepsays]

Hi there!!! I absolutely love your Cat-Satoru series (and literally all of your other works too) and I was wondering if we could get a oneshot where Suguru and reader get into a fight so reader doesn’t come around for a while and cat Satoru gets really sad and misses them until they make up?

hi bb thank you sm <3 oh I am loving writing silly stuff about them hehehe I'll try to reflect your vision through my words best to my abilities ^^

Suguru hates fighting with you. Because he knows how petty you are, and how much pettier you can get. Unfortunately for the both of you, he is no less petty.

He holds grudges like he holds a mean grip on your waist in crowded places. So what happens is that poor Satoru gets caught in the crossfire. And the poor thing never understands, despite amazing comprehension of human language, why are you two even fighting in the first place?

If you asked Satoru whether fighting over bedsheets was a valid reason or not, he'd say a big—"MEOW!"

‘NO WAY!’

I mean that day when he woke up under his favourite coffee table, after an amazing nap, to you and Suguru shouting at each other, he just sat between you two with his head tilted and nose twitching.

"YOU CANNOT JUST KEEP USING THESE BLACK SHEETS! I WANT SOME COLOR! AND SILK IN SUMMER IS THE WORST!" You pointed at the bunched up black and shiny sheets on the bed.

"YOU CANNOT JUST CHANGE THEM WITHOUT ASKING ME?" There was a pile of pink cotton sheets right beside the black silken ones.

"Oh. So now I have to ask you before doing you a favour and changing your sheets to better ones?" Sure your voice lowered, but that did not mean you were feeling any more clam than before.

"This is my bed. So yes. You should've asked." Suguru stated as a matter-of-factly.

"Hmm. Alright then, sleep well on your sheets all by yourself." And that was all you said before you headed towards the door with your bag in your hands, with no intention of coming back for at least a few weeks.

What pissed you off more and made that week turn into two weeks, was when Suguru yelled from behind you, "YES I WILL!"

And all that was left in Suguru's apartment was his black silk sheets, your scattered belongings, the beeping noise of the rice cooker, and a very disappointed Satoru who could not run fast enough behind you.

The first few days, Satoru was hopeful you'll drop by at least to see him, but he spent three days by the large windows in the living room, and the bedroom balcony, to realize you're not dropping by anytime soon. And like that almost two weeks were about to pass.

And rolling around in your clothes, or pillows was not working for neither Satoru nor Suguru.

"Meowwwww." Satoru butted his head to Suguru's, who spent his weekend lying on the couch, eating barely anything, and smoking more than what he usually does. Work on Monday was equally shitty, teaching kids suddenly became headache inducing.

"What do you want, Satoru?" Suguru grumbled and changed the show playing on his tv.

"Meowwwww meowmeow." If someone looked close enough, it almost looked like this white fluffy ball of meows was pouting.

Suguru sighed in response, as he has been for the past week, to Satoru's howling meows, and tantrums. "She won't just show up if you meow enough to make my ears bleed."

"MEOW! Meow meowmeow!" Satoru was truly a cat of many abilities, because why is giving relationship advice to his hopeless owner? 'CALL HER! Just call you dumbass!'

"Yeah well she is not responding to me." Suguru changed to another show.

"MEOW! Meow, meow meowmeow." Which translated to something like, 'YEAH DUH! Go over to where she is hiding.'

"Please Satoru. Just go to bed to wait by the window like you always do or something, I'm on the verge of losing it." He just turned the tv off, and laid flat on his stomach, face smooshed in the couch cushions, and ignored Satoru.

"Meow." Satoru jumped off the couch and walked away from Suguru's pity party. 'Hopeless.'

He walked with intention, to find Suguru's phone. Which was charging on his nightstand. Satoru maneuvered carefully from the floor to bed, then bed to the nightstand, tapping his paw all over the phone.

He had no clue what he was doing, all he knew was that sometimes when you were away for work or anything, Suguru would hold the strange box near Satoru and you'd talk through it. And he desperately needed to hear your voice right now, and also convince you to come back.

Somehow Satoru managed to call Suguru's emergency contact, which fortunately happened to be you.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri-

"Hello?" Your voice sounded groggy from the other side, Satoru was not sure whether it was because you cried like you do while watching sad movies, or like when you played the strays with him and then cried while hugging him. Or that you were just sleepy.

"MEOW!"

"Satoru?"

"MEOW! MEOWMEOWMWOW MEOW!"

"Is everything alright? Where is Suguru? Did you call me by yourself?" You were starting to feel worry creeping into your chest.

"MEOWWWW MEOW." Satoru at this point, what sounded like, was basically crying.

"Are you two ok?" You immediately got off your bed, and reached for your pants and jacket.

"MEOWWWWW! MEOWWWW." Satoru did not mean to worry you, but if his meows were about to get you back here, then sure.

"I'LL BE THERE IN 15 MINS!" And with that you hung up the phone, to grab your keys, then drove down to Satoru and Suguru's place.

When you haphazardly got to Suguru's door, to open it with the key he gave to you—Satoru was sitting there, in front of the door, waiting patiently for you to arrive. As if he understood your panicky scramble, when you told him you'd be there in 15 mins. 

“Meow! Meow!” He quickly tangled himself in your legs, as you stepped out of your shoes. 

“Hi Toru, how have you been?” You crouched down to pick up the cat in your arms, which he gladly obliged. No place better than your arms. 

He felt just a bit more thinner, his fur felt rougher than usual, and the way he was nuzzling and purring in the crook of your neck, it was clear how much your presence was missed. You did not mean to ignore Satoru in the midst of your fight with Suguru, but your pride held you back from opening the front door with the key you were given. Even when you made it that far, you just could not step in. 

Upon walking into the living room, you saw Suguru lying on the couch. His clothes, and hair looked disheveled. There were visible bags under his eyes. And now you could match the pleading tone in his texts, that he's been sending for the last few days, ro his pitiful state.

You cleaned up the living room, turned the tv off, gave Satoru somlove and treats. And went to the bedroom to grab a blanket for Suguru, where you found his bed which was not made, and was decorated with the cotton sheets that started this entire thing. 

So you cleaned up the bed, grabbed a blanket for yourself and Suguru, and fluffy enough for Satoru to sleep on as well—and headed to the couch.

In the morning when Suguru woke up, to Satoru’s butt and tail in his face, he was ready to kick the poor kitty out of his house, when he felt arms tightening around him. He found your face shoved into his chest, holding him tightly, legs tangled up with his, and Satoru’s head resting on yours. 

“You're gonna keep staring?” Your voice rumbled through his chest, as you asked him the question without looking at him. It took him some time to gather the courage to speak to you.

“I am so sorry baby.” His arms tightened around you, and he rolled over to have you lie on top of him, as he nuzzled his face in the crown of your head.

“I know. I am sorry too.” 

“You don't need to be. I was way out of line.” You just needed to understand where he was coming from, Geto Suguru does not function as a unit, but he is learning. He learned how to have Satoru in his life, and he's now learning how to have you in his life. 

“Meowwww.” The moment was broken by a hungry cat’s whining, who required food and your attention. So Suguru once again faced Satoru’s fluffy butt, and tail that made his nose itchy.

“SATORU, I AM SO CLOSE TO LOCKING YOU OUT IN THE BALCONY!” Suguru screamed at him, and went to grab him. But alas, couldn't match Satoru's agile, feline movements.

“Meowmeow meowwww.” And it made you realize just how much more you kissed these two than what you thought. As you sat on the couch, watching Suguru run after Satoru.

‘Catch me if you can, loser.’

ADVENTURES OF CATORU & SUGURU.

a/n: dividers by @/enchanthings-a. not proof read.

[h1biscusgal]

Tee hee y'all, i'm not back but i loved y'all sm so take this subliminal i took six days to perfect.

I AM NOT BACK, NO, I AM SO SORRY.

my studying session been going good AND YALLLLLLL I MISS YOU SO MUCH, I CAN'T EVEN EXPLAIN.

so, last week, when i closed tumblr, my mind was reeling from one thing it kept repeating itself:

"i wanna give smth to my people in tumblr."

why? i've seen people having problems for the void, i've seen people say they are so close but their "heartbeat" stops them, some say they sleep without knowing.

so i thought.

"mf, why not a subliminal that will fucking guarantee you to enter IN EVERRRYYYY situation?"

think you need to keep awake? this sub

think you need to sleep to enter the void? still this sub

need to enter while using it? this sub

need to enter but can't have your phone with you during sleep? again this sub, you can listen to it during the day and try at night.

like WHATEVER the fuck you do, i have made a loophole for it, now for god's sake please be careful, it gave me such a headache making it my head is still pounding, it has PURE fucking delta waves and 5 set of repeated NON-LAYERED NOT TOO SPED UP affirmations, why?

these are the safest type of affirmations that penetrate the subconscious, i cannot express this enough please.

PLEASE BE FUCKING CAREFUL WITH IT, DON'T LOOP TOO MUCH, DELTA WAVES CAN MAKE YOU DEADASS TIRED.

now this? holy shit this? i call it my beautiful Voided Hibiscus project, and yes i love hibiscuses-

this sub???

here's the benefits:

Voided Hibiscus is a one-of-a-kind, high-power subliminal crafted to guarantee entry into the Void State — no matter your state of mind, environment, or experience level.

Whether you're lying still or fidgeting, wide awake or asleep, listening consciously or with it running in the background — the moment this subliminal activates, the Void becomes inevitable, it is fucking guaranteed and i made so sure of it by science.

During these exact 22 minutes and 22 seconds, your mind will swallow THE LITERAL definition of "master at void." The affirmations are layered with master precision — spoken, whispered, echoed, reversed — to penetrate the deepest layers of the subconscious, bypassing every mental block, doubt, or distraction. Delta isochronic tones pulse beneath the surface, gently entraining your brain to the perfect frequency of surrender, silence, and awareness, like ya'll i am NOT playing.

This is for you if:

You want to enter the Void effortlessly, with full certainty.

You want to enter during the day, or while sleeping — either way works.

You’re tired of trying methods and want results without effort.

You want a subliminal that works permanently — even after you stop listening.

Features:

Affirmations that dissolve fidgeting, overthinking, boredom, and resistance.

Built-in confidence: You will never doubt your ability to enter the void again.

Repetition formula designed to rewrite your subconscious with absolute certainty.

Works even if you accidentally fall asleep.

Activates the Void even when played silently or in the background.

After consistent listening, your command over the Void becomes instinctual.

like mf, you is the bored type? you is the annoyed impatient as fuck type? you is the type to try for 2 minutes and give up? homie this shit will throw you in the void while you move, fidget, breathe hard, feeling bored, sleep accidentally.

like what the fuck am i supposed to do next-

THIS CAN BE USED IN THREE WAYS:

awake method: lay down and have it on your head (no mf you won't sleep accidentally and ruin it bc i backed it up that you'll wake up there) and simply repeat affs for it, watch yourself enter without even knowing how the fuck you entered, i swear if you trust? you'll enter within the duration of those 22 minutes and 22 seconds, there's no "when", it's like a guarantee.

sleep method: if you is the type that yo parents let you have your phone with you? use it overnight and watch yourself wake up in the void.

thru-theday method: just listen to it during the day and do any method before sleep or just anywhere and bam.

there's no "how" here, this sub? almost made me tumble, i am not tryna brag, no seriously, but i thought to post smth that helps ppl, now let me stop yapping the fuck out and take this:

(so sorry for this quick and messy post-)

good luck loves, and send me the asks and messages coming! i'll be on here for a very few minutes and see what asks there is to answer.

EDIT: I AM SORRY WHAT THE FUCK???? LAST TIME I CHECKED I HAD 661 FOLLOWERS NOW IT'S A 1700 SMTH????? I AM SCREAMING PLEASE I LOVE YALL SO MUCH??? I CAN'T BELIEVE IT I WANNA CRY PLEASE.

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 7: Apologize

series masterlist

Chapter Summary: When you call it quits on secrets, it’s funny how more of them spill out. Then Harry comes sprinting after you, begging for forgiveness. I mean, how can you say no to that face? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 10,5k, ROMANCE, feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk, love triangle authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

As the elevator headed up to the penthouse, disbelief hit you hard. How could Harry have lied to you like that? You’d been cleaning his place without even knowing it. It felt like a total betrayal, but honestly, you were more pissed off than anything. Then another thought struck you—those cameras. Had he been watching you this entire time?

“Jerk. Fuckin' asshole.”

“Huh?”

Right, you were in the elevator with Mia, this little girl you just met, both of you heading to the same flat. But it was clear you had a shared goal. The elevator chimed as you reached the penthouse, and Mia stopped you. “I need to do something first.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Mia peeked out of the elevator, checking the area. “The cameras,” she said.

You were caught off guard.

“I can’t let my mom find out I’m here, so I need to shut them down before we go in.”

“Your mom is Maria, right?”

“You know her too? Who even are you?”

With a smirk, you said, “Just think of me as your partner in crime.”

Mia raised an eyebrow. “Partner in crime?”

Leaning in a bit, you said, “I want to take down those damn cameras too.”

She thought about it for a second, narrowed her eyes, and then glanced at your uniform. “So that’s you, huh? My mom mentioned you.”

“What did she say?”

She smirked. “You are the girl who made Uncle Harry look like he’d been hit by a truck.”

You giggled. “I really want to hit him with a truck right now. Because you see, I didn't know it was his apartment when I was cleaning here, he played a trick on me. And as if that wasn't enough, he watched me on the cameras. So what do you say, partner? You want to smash those cameras?”

She frowned. “Smash them? What are you, a vandal?” She took his tablet out of her school bag. “Here, I'll activate the app here, but since we're partners, I need you to turn on the signal first, can you do that?”

You felt like an idiot next to this smart 10-year-old girl. “Okay, tell me what to do, partner.”

“Since you're the cleaning lady who always comes here...”

“Maid.” 

“Yeah, maid, whatever. I need you to go to the control panel on the wall and choose the option to connect to nearby devices.” 

You frowned. “Why can’t I just walk over and hit the button to turn off the camera? There has to be an option for that.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks Einstein, if you do that, the camera's feed will be disabled and Uncle Harry will receive a notification, which could make him suspicious. I’ll just link to the camera from the tablet and adjust its angle. Then there won't be anything to worry about. It's not like Uncle Harry is going to be monitoring the camera constantly during his meetings at work.”

Now you felt even more silly; it was a super clever plan. “Wow, you’re really smart,” you said. She styled her hair like her mom. “I know. Just go do what I say.”

You chuckled softly, “Understood, ma’am.”

She flashed a grin.

As you entered the apartment, you acted casually, avoiding the cameras while strolling down the corridor. “It feels like I’m in a movie,” you whispered to yourself. You quickly connected to the cameras through the control panel’s touch screen and hit "add device." Moments later, Mia's tablets name appeared, confirming the connection.

“Connection complete,” Mia announced as she walked in.

“High five, girl!” you said, extending your hand.

She laughed and high-fived you back. “We make an awesome team. I like you.”

“I like you too, Mia,” you replied with a wink.

Looking at the cameras, you realized Mia was indeed controlling them from her tablet. They were all aimed toward the corners, so as long as you didn’t walk by, the cameras wouldn’t catch you. Mia sprawled out on the couch as if it were her own home and started watching a video on her tablet. Glancing at her knee, you noticed it was slightly bleeding.

“Hey, let me take care of that knee,” you said, heading to grab a first aid kit. When you returned, you sat beside her and cleaned her wound with some alcohol. “Is this because you skipped school today? Is it about your mom?”

She sighed. “Yeah, it’s about her and my dad. They keep saying they’ll get divorced, but nothing changes.”

You paused. That must be tough for her. “I didn’t know; that sounds rough. How do you feel about it?”

She shrugged. “I just want them to figure it out already. I’m so tired of their drama and constant arguing.”

“I get it. If it ever gets to be too much, just call me. My place isn’t nearly as big as this one—barely bigger than the living room—but I’ll make room for you. What do you think?”

Mia smiled with a maturity beyond her years. “Thanks, you’re a really good friend.”

You smiled back and wrapped her knee with some bandages. “Alright, don’t take this off until tomorrow, got it?” 

“Got it, thanks,” he said as he flopped back onto the couch. “You’re mad at him, huh?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m really angry. I just want to break everything in here,” you muttered while glancing around. 

“How mature,” he remarked quietly. 

Feeling a bit embarrassed, you looked at her. “I mean, of course I won’t actually do that.” 

“My mom did,” she replied, surprisingly calm. “She broke everything in Dad’s office. You adults can be super childish sometimes, and then want us to act like we’re grown-ups.” 

You let out a nervous laugh. “You’re not wrong; we can be pretty childish about things.” 

“Just talk it out and figure it out,” she said.

You grabbed the first aid kit and stood up. “What if I’m so mad at him that I don’t even want to talk?”

She smiled. “I don’t think you are.” You raised an eyebrow. “Well, I hope you are not, because I don’t want him to be upset.” She was messing with something on her tablet.

You loved how she was just like her mom, always keeping an eye on Harry. “I don’t want to upset him, honey, but I have to make him eat a little humble pie, okay?”

“But you’ll forgive him later, right?” she asked with hope in her voice.

“Of course, I love him,” you said softly.

“Awesome,” she said, clearly happy, and went back to playing with the tablet.

“Well, I guess I should get back to my chores,” you said, heading into the kitchen to start cleaning up.

“What's up?”

Oliver stepped into his office to find Harry staring at his tablet with a frown.

“There’s something wrong with the cameras. They won’t rotate and there’s no sound coming through. Do you think there's a bug in the app?”

“Maybe your girlfriend got fed up with the cameras and sabotaged them,” he quipped, taking a closer look. “Let me see.”

“I can't blame her,” Harry replied, guilt creeping in.

Oliver noticed Harry’s troubled look as he fiddled with the app. “Seriously, when are you going to tell her?”

“I’m planning to do it tonight,” Harry said with determination. “I just couldn’t find the right moment this morning.”

At that moment, Maria walked into the office. “Harry, I'm seriously considering taking that tablet away from you. You’ve been messing with it more than Mia. I worked really hard to convince them—it’s not worth ruining the meeting over.”

“He was just worried he couldn’t see his girlfriend on the camera,” Oliver muttered.

Harry shot him a glare.

“Okay, that’s enough. I’m calling her right now and telling her everything,” Maria said, pulling out her phone.

Harry jumped up and grabbed the phone from her hand. “Stay out of it. I’ll handle this.”

Just then, her phone began to ring. “School,” Harry said, handing her phone back to Maria.

Maria picked up immediately. “Hello? Yes, this is her mom.”

Harry glanced at Oliver. “Have you fixed it yet?”

“Nope, it’s weird. It’s like someone else has logged into the cameras on their phone and taken over.”

“What did you just say?”

They both turned to Maria, who looked concerned. “Okay,” she said, hanging up.

Harry frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Mia,” Maria said as she dialed another number. “Her teacher said she didn’t show up to school today. Come on, pick up the damn phone.” But Maria’s face dropped when Mia's dad said he hadn’t seen her either.

“Or perhaps she went back home,” Oliver added.

“We’ll find out now,” Maria said, pulling up an app on her phone.

Harry moved closer to her. “What are you doing?”

“Tracking Mia with a smartwatch app,” she said, waiting for the app to locate her. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll try the app that tracks her phone.”

“Geez, Maria. Have you planted a bug on her, too?” Oliver said with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did,” Harry scoffed.

“You’ll understand when you become parents,” Maria replied, giving them a pointed look.

“Hopefully not for a long time,” Oliver said.

Harry chuckled at the idea.

“There! I’ve got it,” Maria said, her eyes widening. “Oh no. Harry, you need to see this,” she said, showing him her phone screen.

Harry froze, staring at the location the app found. “No…Fuck...”

Oliver leaned over to take a look. “Damn, this is your apartment.”

Cleaning duty today felt tougher than usual. Ever since you discovered it was Harry’s house, things had started to feel different, especially now that you were technically his girlfriend. It made you feel a bit like a housewife, which was both thrilling and painful at the same time. You still needed answers, as you felt genuinely hurt. But your love for him was so strong—what could you really do? Deep down, you weren’t sure how long you could cling to your anger. With your pride and stubbornness tossed aside, you weren’t thinking straight anymore, so you chose to let it go for now.

As you walked through the hallway with the cleaning bucket, your eyes landed on that door—the locked door.

The secret room.

What was Harry hiding behind it? There were no keys in sight, so how would you ever get it open?

Did Mia know about this room?

When you walked in to check on her, her eyes were closed; was she asleep? Just as you turned to slip out quietly, you caught a hint of a muffled sound—no, she was crying.

“Mia? Are you okay?”

She sniffled and nodded, but kept her eyes shut. You moved to sit beside her on the couch. “Hey, what’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing... just nothing.”

You gently patted her head. “You sure?  You can tell me. I'll keep it between us, I promise.”

“My mom and dad... I hate them, especially my mom. They decided to get divorced without even consulting me. I don’t want them to split up, but they didn’t even ask how I feel. They won’t love me anymore, and they’re going to be busier with their work.”

“Shh, don’t think like that. Of course, they’ll still love you. They’re your parents, and their love for you will never fade, I assure you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because a mother’s love for her child is unconditional; it can’t just vanish. You're not the reason they're breaking up, I swear. Sometimes, even if adults love each other, things get messy, and splitting up is the only way to handle it. It might seem like the end, but it can also lead to something better.”

“Really?” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Absolutely, trust me. You’re lucky to have both your mom and dad around; I’m sure they’ll take care of you, even if things change. I kind of envy you because I lost my mom, and I'll never get the chance to tell her how much I miss her. I wish she were still alive. As for my dad... it feels like he doesn’t care about me—he doesn’t even bother to call, you know?” Your voice cracked slightly. “But your mom and dad are with you and must have been searching for you all morning, haven’t they, Mia? I’m sure they are worried—”

Looking down, you saw that she had fallen asleep, holding your hand tightly. A smile crossed your face as you wrapped your other arm around her. Suddenly, you felt tired too, and before you knew it, you drifted off beside her.

“Mia? Sweetie?” Maria called out for her daughter.

You blinked awake, realizing Harry’s face was mere inches from yours, and his hand was gently resting on your cheek. You stared at him for a moment before pushing his hand away and getting off the couch.

How did you even fall asleep?

Mia stirred and rubbed her eyes. “Mom?”

“What happened to your knee?” Maria's voice rang out.

“It’s nothing, just a little scrape. I fell in the street, and she helped me clean and bandage it.” She pointed to you.

All eyes turned to you, but you avoided their gazes. You forced a smile at Mia and quickly looked away. “I think it’s time for me to go. I hope you enjoyed my service, Mr. Castillo,” you said, trying to sound casual as you made your way to the door.

Oliver stood by the entryway, looking guilty.

“Wait,” Harry called after you. Just then, Maria touched your shoulder.

“Thank you. I’m so relieved that Mia has been with you all day,” she said, pulling you into a hug that took you by surprise.

“You’re welcome, she’s a very smart girl,” you replied, feeling a bit evasive.

She beamed at you, and you offered a smile back, though it felt awkward given the situation.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Harry approached you from behind, his voice soft but insistent.

You turned to face him. “With whom? With your girlfriend? Or with your maid-in?”

Harry let out a troubled sigh, his frustration evident as he glared at you. You turned away again. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, stepping closer to the door.

Maria nudged Harry from behind, encouraging him to move. He stepped in front of you, causing you to halt abruptly.

“How can you say there’s nothing to talk about? There’s plenty,” he insisted, moving closer and locking eyes with you.

You turned your head away again. “Were you trying to get revenge? If you wanted to talk, you should have spoken up sooner.”

“Revenge?” he replied, confused.

“So because I lied to you from the start and deceived you, this was your way of getting back at me?”

“I would never, never do that,” he shook his head, his expression earnest.

“Is it out of pity then?”

His brown eyes darkened with frustration. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then why, Harry? Why did you hire me for this job without giving me a heads-up? You totally deceived me. Did you actually enjoy watching me on camera the whole time?”

“I’m sorry. I felt responsible because you were unemployed because of me, and I wanted to help—”

“It wasn’t because of you! Besides, I could have found a job myself. You didn’t need to use your money or power. Did you really think I would feel better about this? Right now, I just feel like a complete idiot. How could you do this to me?”

Maria took Mia’s hand and started to leave. “You two talk it out; we’ll give you some space, come on, Ollie.”

“No, there’s nothing left to say,” you snapped angrily.

"But you'll forgive him later, won't you?" 

"Of course, I love him." 

Oh no, that sounds just like what you told Mia earlier.

Did she record you? 

"Mia!" you complained, glancing at her.

She just shrugged, holding her tablet. "Sorry, my finger slipped."

"That's my girl," Mia said with a giggle, as she high-fived her. 

Oliver chuckled, and Harry smiled. 

But you narrowed your eyes at them, feeling furious. 

"Oops, we should get going," she said to her mother. They quickly headed for the elevator, leaving you alone with Harry.

But before you could go after them, Harry came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off your feet.

“What are you doing? Harry! Put me down!” 

“Nope. You're going to listen, sweetheart. No more running away.” 

“Let go!” you protested, but he refused to budge. 

 He carried you to the couch and set you down next to him, holding your hands tightly, but you turned your head away. 

“Baby, please forgive me. I tried to explain before, but I just couldn’t find the right words. I thought helping you find a job would make you happy. I never meant to offend or hurt you; please believe that.” 

“Did it have to be your house?” you grumbled. 

“Isn’t this better than being at someone else's place?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

His hand trembled as he sighed. “I mean, I hate this too. It hurts to see you so exhausted, to watch you work so hard, and I can’t stand the thought of your beautiful hands being worn down in those cleaning gloves. I want to kiss those lovely fingers, to cherish them.” 

As he began to kiss your fingers one by one, your heart raced. You almost let your guard down, almost kissed him.

Almost.

“Harry,” you whispered. “This is my job, and—” 

“Don’t,” he interjected, frustration evident in his voice. “Can’t you just skip the cleaning? You can keep working with Chef Bruno, but please, no more cleaning.” 

“Is it because you don’t want to introduce your girlfriend in that way?” 

“No, what I mean is—” 

You stood up, your frustration boiling over. “I’m sorry, but this is my life. I have no problem introducing you to my friends, but it seems you hesitate to do the same. I can’t change who I am.” 

He rose to his feet as well. “I don’t know how we ended up here. I never intended for this to happen. Listen-” 

“Harry, you listen. I understand your intentions, and I appreciate them, but I wish you had considered how I might feel in all of this. And I can't do this if...” 

“Wait a minute, why do I feel like you’re giving a breakup speech?” 

“Because I am,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes. 

“No, no, no, don’t do that.” He moved closer, but you took a step back and raised your hand. 

“We agreed there would be no secrets between us, but we couldn’t even manage that. How can our relationship develop from here?” 

“There are no secrets left now that everything is out in the open,” he said, trying to smile. You crossed your arms and bit your lip, acknowledging his point. Then he drew nearer and wrapped his arms around you.

“I promise, baby, there will never be any secrets between us again, I swear,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his breath soft and tender. “Please don’t leave me.” The plea struck deep within you, twisting like a knife. How could you even entertain such a thought? The very idea of parting from him was unbearable, a wound that throbbed in your chest and brought stinging tears to your eyes. It was the last thing you wanted—a painful notion that sent ripples of hurt through your heart.

In that moment, you set aside all other emotions and surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, allowing yourself to rest your head on his chest for a while.

“What about that locked room?” you asked then, glancing toward it, wiping your tears meanwhile. “I wonder what you’re hiding behind that door.” 

A sly grin crept across his face. “Do you want to see it? But promise me that once you see what’s inside, you’ll tell me you love me again, and you won’t leave me. Deal?” 

“It all depends on what’s in there.” 

He chuckled, then walked into the bedroom, still holding your hand. Nervousness washed over you as you tried to pull your hand back. 

“Relax, I’m not trying to lure you into bed,” he laughed. “At least, not right now.” 

“You wish,” you grunted. 

He chuckled as he opened the nightstand drawer. “Funny. You were practically begging me last night. I can still hear you meowing.” 

Your cheeks flushed. “I don’t remember any of that,” you lied. 

He pulled out a box from the drawer and took out a key. “I have the scars on my back to prove it, kitten,” he teased. 

Your face was burning now, as red as a tomato. “Stop it and do what you need to do.” 

Chuckling, he held up the key, “Here it is; come on,” taking your hand again. 

Together, you stood in front of the locked door. Harry inserted the key into the lock and paused to look at you. “Are you ready, baby? The big secret is about to be revealed.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Stop showing off and open the damn door,” you muttered. 

Grinning, he unlocked the door and stepped back, inviting you in with his hand.

You hesitated before stepping into the room, shocked at what you saw. 

To your left stood a massive floor-to-ceiling wardrobe filled with clothes, and to your right was a complete wardrobe of bags and shoes. In the center was an elegant dressing table. Harry slid open the wardrobe, revealing all the clothes and shoes he had ever bought you, carefully arranged. He embraced you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and kissing your cheek. “It’s all yours. This room is for you. I was waiting for you to say yes to me before I revealed it to you.  I kept it locked and tried to stay away, but I found it hard to resist many times,” he whispered, nuzzling along the curve of your neck.

You were rendered speechless, taken aback. Then you noticed a jewelry box on the dresser. “Isn’t that the earring?” You walked over, picked it up, and examined it closely. “Have you had this all along?” 

“Oops, looks like another secret is out,” he said with a chuckle. 

You shot him a pointed look. “You really. Why didn’t you say anything when I told you I would pay you back?” 

“Because you broke my heart,” he replied softly. “You told me you never wanted to see me again, so I thought the earring would be a good excuse to get you to meet me.” 

“You're unbelievable,” you shot back, your irritation surfacing. 

“What about you?” he countered, but then his expression softened as he noticed the look on your face. “I love you,” he confessed, his lips forming the word like an apology. 

Damn he was so cute.

His adorableness made you giggle despite yourself. 

“You didn’t say it again.” 

“Say what?” 

“Do you want me to make you say it? Just like last night,” he whispered, leaning in close. “You remember how well that turned out.” His lips brushed against your earlobe as his hand slowly slipped down, hovering dangerously close to your thigh. Your reaction was instinctive; you caught his hand. However, his lips found their way to your neck, and you couldn't help but bite your lower lip and roll your eyes. “Harry, stop.” 

“I know you want me, baby; don’t try to deny it,” he purred, his voice low and teasing. 

“No, you’re wrong,” you replied, almost breathless. 

“Then why are you holding my hand so tightly?” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. 

You withdrew your hand quickly, shocked at your own reaction.

What the fuck?

When did this escalate?

You frowned at his chuckle. “I really hate you,” you whined, though your irritation was half-hearted. 

“No, you don't,” he laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. 

“Well, I really like this room, but that doesn’t mean I forgive you. And it definitely doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into bed with you,” you declared stubbornly. 

“Then what do I need to do to win your forgiveness? I’ll do anything,” he said, voice dripping with seduction.

The look he gave you was enough to make you avert your gaze. 

“I don’t know; I need to think,” you said, fighting back a giggle. “But I have to go now—I told Bruno I would head to the hotel early.” You turned to leave the room. 

He followed right behind you. “I’ll give you a ride.” 

You responded without looking back. “Well, if you’re that eager.”

With a smile, he followed you behind as you walked toward the elevator.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” Harry asked again as he parked the car in front of the hotel.

“You just asked me that five minutes ago."

“I’ll keep asking until you say you forgive me,” he replied, shutting off the engine.

You opened the door and turned to him. “At least let me think it over.”

He took your hand, pulled you closer, and placed a quick kiss on your cheek. “Whatever you say, kitty. Good luck at work.”

“Thanks for the ride,” you said with a faint smile, stepping out and closing the door behind you.

As you made your way to the hotel entrance, Harry watched you from the driver’s seat. Just then, you spotted Alan getting out of his own car, heading your way.

“Good evening,” he greeted you.

You turned and smiled, “Good evening, Mr. Finnegan.”

“Come on, call me Alan already, will you?”

Harry, watching from a distance, muttered, “Asshole.” Trying to keep his cool, he stepped out of the car and approached you two. “Baby,” he called out, and before you could react, he spun you around and kissed you so passionately that it left you breathless. Pulling back, he glanced at Alan and added, “I almost took off without kissing my girlfriend goodbye.” The way he said “girlfriend” caught his attention and everyone around the street.

Alan’s expression darkened.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, caught off-guard by how intimate the kiss had been.

“Anyway, I should be on my way,” he said.

"Yeah, you do that," you said, squinting at him and gesturing for him to leave.

“Good night, Finnegan,” Harry said, getting into his car, clearly amused by Alan's reaction.

Shaking your head at Harry, you noticed Alan squinting at him, clearly unamused. “I didn’t realize you were with him,” Alan said as he walked inside.

“Well, things are a bit complicated,” you murmured.

“Not surprising, things always get messy with Castillo,” Alan muttered quietly. 

“Excuse me?”

“I just... You really should think twice about being with him,” he warned lightly.

“Alan, it’s—”

“Anyway, I suppose my employees’ personal lives are none of my business,” he said with a smirk, heading toward the elevator.

What just happened?

Why had he said that?

And why was he suddenly in a good mood?

You really should have asked Harry about the weird thing between them, but now you had to focus—you had a kitchen to get to.

Things were really hectic in the kitchen, and as if that weren’t enough, Alan was having a business lunch in the dining room and asked you to make some desserts just for him. As you handed off the treats to the waitstaff, he called you over and praised your work. If he wasn’t your boss, you might have said something about his overwhelming attention, but you figured it was best to keep quiet until your internship was over. Then, just when you thought the day couldn’t get any worse, Melanie called.

“What do you want?” you asked, annoyed.

“What do I want? I need you to talk to my dad, and I want you to do it right now, like you promised!”

“I will, but I've been super busy and haven’t had time yet.”

“Well, it’s on you. If my dad doesn’t let me come back home, I’ll just crash at your place.”

“Wait, what? You called my house a disgusting little flat. Aren’t you with Nate? Can’t he help you out?”

“Don’t even mention that jerk!”

“Did you two break up already? Wow, that was quick, even for you.”

“Just drop it, okay? It’s none of your business. Talk to my dad tomorrow night or I’ll make your life miserable!”

“As if you weren’t already a pain in my ass!” you shot back and hung up in frustration. As you walked toward the exit, muttering under your breath, someone called out from behind.

Ugh, it was Alan again.

“Are you okay? You sounded like you were venting at someone on the phone,” he said, wearing that annoying smile.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“Well, if you did it, they probably deserved it,” he said, grinning.

Just when you thought it was over, you turned to leave but almost bumped into the revolving door. Alan grabbed your arm, pulling you back.

“Watch out!” he said.

What the hell?

You could’ve easily dodged the door; you weren't that clumsy. His other arm wrapped around you, too.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” you said, carefully pushing his hand away. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he replied, watching you walk away as you stormed out. Your phone buzzed again, but you ignored it; you weren’t in the mood for more of Melanie’s drama.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Harry.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? Are you okay?” he asked, and just seeing him made you feel so much better.

“Yeah, sorry, thought it was Melanie,” you said, spotting the bouquet of pink roses he was holding.

“Is she still being a pain?”

“Forget about her; I’ll handle it. Are those for me?” you asked, trying to hide your smile.

“Of course they are, beautiful,” he said, handing you the flowers.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a whiff of the roses.

“Come on, let’s get to the car.”

As you walked together, he leaned closer. “Am I forgiven?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not in a day, ol'man.”

Harry sighed and opened the back door for you. “So, if I asked you to spend the night at my apartment instead of going home, you wouldn’t consider it?”

Ah, damn...

Those puppy-dog eyes and dangerously tempting lips made it hard to say no, but you somehow managed to act like you weren't interested, thanks to your stubbornness.

And the oscar goes to...

“N-no, sorry, I need to check on Zoe. She’s still home alone,” you stammered.

He sighed again and closed the door after you settled in the car.

“Hey, Ollie,” you said while he was chilling in the driver’s seat.

“Hey, girl! How’s it going? You two good now?”

“We’re good, right, baby?” Harry said, sitting next to you.

“Kind of,” you muttered, still eyeing the roses in your lap.

“Kind of?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged, teasing him.

“Come on, really? Okay, I’m taking you on a date tomorrow night, and we’re going to sort everything out,” Harry grumbled.

“Uh-oh,” Oliver chimed in as he drove.

You squinted at Harry. “If you ask me with that tone, you might be going on that date alone.”

“Okay, sorry,” he said with a sigh. "Would you like to accompany me for dinner tomorrow night, lovely lady?"

You giggled but kept your expression cool. “Um, let me check my calendar first.”

Oliver chuckled.

Harry squinted again.

“Alright, fine. But I need to have a quick chat with Jack tomorrow. If he agrees, you can pick me up at the hotel again.”

He smiled widely taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “As you wish, darling.”

As you stepped into the apartment, the sweet scent of the bouquet Harry had given you lingered in the air, enveloping you until you finally reached your place with the flowers cradled in your arms. When you opened the door and walked inside, you were taken aback by the scene in front of you.

“Oh sweet Jesus!”

John and Zoe were on the couch, wrapped up in a passionate kiss—thankfully, they were fully dressed. The moment they noticed you, they pulled apart, and John shot up from the couch, his face a canvas of embarrassment.

But you felt even more embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry, guys, I, uh…”

“No, no, no, I’m so sorry!” John stuttered, quickly averting his gaze, adjusting his hair.

“Awkward,” Zoe murmured, covering her mouth in surprise. “I thought you were with your boyfriend,” she added, glancing at you and the bouquet still in your hands.

“Well, yeah… I mean, no, I wasn’t. It’s a long story.”

“I’d better be going. Bye, girls. Good night,” John said, grabbing his jacket and making a hasty exit.

Once the door closed behind him, you turned back to Zoe. "Jesus, girl, what just happened?"

Zoe huffed in disbelief. "I have no idea! He helped me change my bandage, touched my leg and then… suddenly we kissed. It was so strange, but it felt amazing."

“Strange”? You seemed pretty into it."

“It might have turned into something really hot if you hadn’t barged in,” she replied with a hint of annoyance.

“Sue me,” you muttered, placing the flowers in a vase on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You were with him last night, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s a long story.”

“Still not officially together? Seriously, get your shit together already. What’s going on with you two?”

You let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know. Just when I think things are finally going well, something messes it all up, and I'm left feeling hurt again…”

“Uh-oh, spill everything.”

"Okay, do you want something cold to drink?"

"Yes, please! I’m dying of heat over here."

You giggled as you made your way to the fridge. “So if I had come in five minutes later, would you have been completely undressed? Good thing I didn’t.”

“You're so bad,” she laughed.

You began the day with that text that pinged on your phone the moment you woke up, that familiar message from the person you had been longing to hear from, the one you had been waiting for eagerly.

Morning, kitten. The sun is shining, the birds are singing— Isn't it the perfect day to make you feel like forgiving?

Was he rhyming?

He was really good at it or bad not sure, but he would have to try a little harder.

Hmm. I'm not sure if today is the day. You'll know for sure tonight, doll. I'll make you. Hmm, how ambitious. Always I am.

After you changed, you stepped into the living room and saw Zoe was getting ready.

“Where are you off to?”

“To the hospital to get my ankle checked.”

“Do you want some company?”

“John will,” she replied with a cheeky smile. “Besides, you’ll be off on your date with Harry tonight, right?”

Your cheeks warmed at the thought. “Well, yes, maybe.”

“I’m planning to invite John over for dinner, and he’d better come clean about something tonight.”

“Oh, I see, you’re trying to get rid of me, huh?”

"Come on, he shares an apartment with three guys; it’s more convenient for us to be here."

“Okay, don’t worry, I won’t crash tonight,” you replied with a grin, thoughts drifting to Harry’s bedroom.  

“Awesome!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.  

“Wow, you could be a bit less eager about this.”

“Sorry, but I can’t help it, I’m in love,” she said, giggling.  

“Apology accepted,” you responded, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door. Just then, you bumped into John in the hallway. “Hey."

“Hey there. How’s work treating you?”

"Good. Listen, John, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what’s up?"

"Do you have feelings for Zoe?"

"Yes, she’s a wonderful person, and cute too," he said, smiling.

He was definitely into her.

“I mean, I thought there was something going on between you and that woman Lucy at the wedding. I need to know if you really like Zoe.”

"Lucy is just my childhood friend and ex. But, don't you know her already?"

"I only know she's Alan's girlfriend and a matchmaker."

John crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Surprised that Castillo hasn’t told you about her."

“What’s there to tell?”

John let out a troubled sigh. “You know, I’m not sure if it’s a good time for me to drop this on you, but those two were actually together a few years ago.”

Damn, you were worried about this. "So that’s why," you murmured after a brief pause.  

“Listen, he will share the details with you, but Lucy isn't like you or Zoe. She deceived both me and Castillo, leaving us heartbroken in the end. I can't hold a grudge against her because we share this strange bond, but I promise you, I’ll never hurt Zoe because of this."

You nodded. "It better stay that way, John. You should tell her as soon as possible, or I will," you said. After receiving a nod from him, you turned and headed down the stairs to leave the building.

All day long, as you worked, your thoughts kept drifting back to Lucy. You regretted asking John about her. It wasn’t just that Harry hadn’t mentioned her—after all, that was fine considering the incident had happened years ago. What truly unnerved you was the possibility of her showing up at any moment, especially as Alan's girlfriend. It felt like trouble was just around the corner, and you couldn’t shake that feeling. Alan himself was another source of tension; his frequent encounters with you and his growing interest were weighing heavily on your mind. You knew deep down that sooner or later, things were bound to get complicated.

You really hoped this internship would wrap up soon, and that Chef Bruno would write you a glowing letter of recommendation. Yet, with the fair approaching and the day ticking down, you had to press on through the culinary internship.

Earlier, you'd called Jack, and he had already said he wanted to meet. As you waited at the table, you spotted him approaching and stood up to greet him. "Thanks for taking the time to meet me here," you said, shaking Jack's hand as he took a seat across from you.

"Of course, no problem," he replied, settling into his seat.

"Jack, about Melanie—"

"Save your breath, honey. I’m not here for her."

You were taken aback. "What do you mean? I thought that’s why you came—"

He pulled out a bunch of newspapers and magazines from his bag and dropped them on the table with a bang, making the glasses and plates rattle.

Your eyes went wide. “What’s all this?”

“Why don’t you check for yourself?”

Following his lead, you picked up the top magazine, and your heart sank at the sight of your own image on the cover. Someone had captured a photo of you and Harry dancing at the wedding from a distance.

Who is the mystery girl dancing with famous businessman Harry Castillo? the headline read.

You quickly grabbed another magazine, revealing a picture of you and Melanie.

Get ready for a surprising twist! How did the maid in Melanie Johnson's mansion pretend to be her and trap a famous billionaire?

“Ugh, what a bunch of vultures,” you muttered, shaking your head.

As you continued flipping through the articles, the headlines turned more shocking. Words like "gold digger," "sneaky housekeeper," and "fortune hunter" jumped out at you.

"That's what I was warning you about," Jack said. "I don't want you to worry, though—none of these magazines have been printed yet. These are all test editions. We managed to confiscate them before they went into mass production, and Harry’s assistant has ensured the online stories have been taken down."

You looked up at him, relief washing over you. "Thank you, Jack."

"You don’t need to thank me for dealing with the news, which includes Melanie; I did that for my own reasons. But regarding the rest..." He pointed to the magazine cover with your dancing picture. "This is the thing I wanted to discuss. I see you as a daughter, so take this advice from a father to his daughter: end whatever is happening between you and Harry before it spirals out of control. If this keeps up, there’ll be more stories about you, people will dig into your past, and in the end, it’s you who’ll get hurt. Do you understand?"

You sighed. "Jack, I honestly get what you’re saying, and I do appreciate it. But there's nothing in my past or family that I’m worried about. Gossip like this finds someone new to focus on every day; it could just as easily be me one day and someone else the next."

He paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. "So, it appears there's something more between you two than I realized. You've made up your mind. Well, it's your life, after all. I just hope you don’t wind up hurt and come to regret this decision.”

"Jack."

You both turned your heads, and damn it was—Alan. He usually didn’t come to the hotel on Saturday nights, but today was clearly an exception.

Of course.

Jack stood up to shake his hand. "Alan."

"How are you? Didn’t see you at the wedding."

"I was in D.C.," Jack replied. Just then, his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and answered. Alan looked at you with a smile, and you returned it.

Damn, he might have noticed the magazines on the table, you thought.

"Sorry, I’ve got to leave," Jack said suddenly.

You stood up, worry creeping in. "Is everything okay?"

"Melanie," he hissed, frustration clear in his voice. "She ran away from home."

"What do you mean she ran away? Or have you been keeping her locked up?" Your voice rose higher than you meant it to.

You couldn't shake off the memory of that one time Jack had locked her in her room, and it had ended poorly. A shudder ran through you at the thought.

"I had no choice. I thought she’d see reason and come to her senses, but apparently, I was wrong."

"Jack, are you out of your mind? Do you really not know your daughter? Locking her up isn’t the solution!"

Heads in the dining room turned toward you.

"You’re right. I messed up this time, but I couldn’t let her keep hanging out with that playboy Nate."

"I can’t say I blame you for that," you replied quietly.

"Anyway, I really have to go. Catch you later, Alan."

"See you, Jack."

As Jack strolled away, casting a backward glance, a heavy sadness settled in your chest. Melanie hadn't matured much and was acting like a nightmare. Despite his faults, Jack was a good father—if only he showed a little more genuine care to his daughter more than his work.

"Sounds like Melanie’s giving Jack a rough time," Alan said, still holding onto that smile.

"Yeah, she’s a bit immature," you admitted quietly.

To your surprise, Alan looked around the table and sat down in Jack’s vacated chair.

"Have a seat; your dessert's still waiting."

You did your best to keep it together and not roll your eyes. "Thanks, but I really need to go—"

"Just give me five minutes, alright?" he said, leaning in a bit closer.

You glanced at your watch, thinking about how Harry would be picking you up in about an hour. With a sigh, you plopped back down. "Fine."

"Thanks," he said, adjusting his suit jacket and settling in. "I know what happened here last time." You looked at him in surprise; this wasn't what you expected. "About what Lucy did..." He paused and took a breath. "I want to say sorry on her behalf."

Your eyes widened. “Alan, it’s okay. But if you start treating me differently because of her, it will only make her dislike me more. Plus, this kind of stuff probably isn't over yet."

“It won’t happen again,” he stated firmly. “I won’t allow it in my hotel. I broke up with her, and I doubt she will be coming back here.”

“That can’t be the only reason you decided to break up with her, right?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, but it played a part. It’s disgraceful to have such disrespect shown here, especially towards our customers. I was wrong about her; she’s not the kind and innocent person I thought she was.”

"I’m sorry," you said, your tone a touch insincere.

"Not me," he replied with a grin. "I’m kind of relieved."

What was that supposed to mean?

A nagging feeling grew as you sensed he was gearing up to say something you wouldn’t like.

"One of the reasons I broke up was because of a question she asked me."

Oh, please, let this be over.

"She wanted to know if I had feelings for you."

You fought to maintain a neutral expression.

Don't say that, please don't.

"I couldn't answer her because, honestly, I actually have feelings for you that I didn't realize until now."

That was more than you could handle.

"Alan, do you even realize what you’re saying?"

"Yes, I’m fully aware."

You sighed deeply. "Maybe you’re mistaken," you suggested, looking away and starting to shake your foot nervously.

"No, I absolutely know how I feel now. I like you." He reached across the table and took your hand, catching you off guard.

You quickly pulled away. "Alan, I’m with Harry."

"You mentioned before that things were complicated between you two," he said, casually picking up one of the magazines.

"That doesn’t mean I don’t love him," you shot back, your voice sharp.

His serious expression told you he wasn’t taking it lightly.

You stood up, feeling a surge of urgency. "Look, Alan, whatever you’re feeling, you need to let it go, or I won’t be able to stay here."

"Are you really going to quit your internship?"

"If I have to, yes," you affirmed.

"Alright, I won’t pressure you unless you come to me yourself."

Surprise and annoyance washed over you. "That’s not going to happen."

He leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile on his face. "Don’t be so sure; life has a funny way of surprising us.”

What the fuck?

Your phone started ringing, and you just held it in your hand without answering as you rushed out of the dining room, still shaken by what had just happened. It was Nate calling, so you definitely weren't picking up; you quickly silenced your phone. Taking a deep breath, you let it all go and shifted your focus to getting ready for your date. Harry had offered to buy you a dress again earlier, but you turned him down. This date was meant to feel like a fresh start, a first date of sorts, and you wanted to treat yourself to the entire process.

During lunch break, you popped into one of those upscale department stores and slipped into the black, shimmering backless dress you had chosen—probably the priciest dress you had ever bought, costing almost four months' salary. You tried to keep a positive mindset; nothing would ruin tonight. The expensive Birman black shoes that Melanie had given you the night before matches perfectly with the dress. Just as you were putting the finishing touches on your makeup, your phone rang again, but your smile quickly faded when you glanced at the screen.

It wasn’t Harry.

Seeing "Trouble" light up the screen only added to your anxiety.

No way were you picking up.

The phone could ring its heart out. When it rang again as you reached for your red lipstick—perfectly matching your nails—you pushed on, determined to finish your look.

However, the incessant ringing soon got on your nerves, and you finally answered, ready to give Melanie a piece of your mind. “Look, I can’t deal with your drama right now—”

“It’s me, Garry.”

You could barely hear him over the loud music in the background. “Garry? What are you doing on Melanie’s phone? And where in the world are you?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on her for a while; she’s completely wasted, and I don’t know how to handle this. Please, I need your help.”

“Look, I have a very important date tonight—”

“And it seems we have our new volunteer dancer!” a woman’s voice chimed in, followed by masculine cheers and applause.

Oh man.

“Don’t tell me you’re at a strip club!”

“You just heard it. I’ll try to drag her out of here, but you need to hurry. I’ll send you the location.” Garry hung up before you could say anything. “Garry! Hold on—what the hell! What kind of night is this?” you exclaimed, quickly changing up your outfit and bolting out of the room.

When the taxi driver brought you in front of the strip club, you were cursing inside, nervous and angry. It was too much, the strip club was too much, even for her. How could she be so thoughtless and reckless?

At the entrance to the door, unfortunately, everyone was staring at you, including the women.

Oh that's right, you were all dressed up, probably looked breathtaking, but it wasn't to come here, damn it, it was to meet your boyfriend. 

Things got even worse when you entered the club. You've never been in a club like this before, it wasn't like other nightclubs.

You're thinking, No shit, I wish it was.

The music was blaring, and two girls were dancing on stage. Some men were cheering and staring at you.

Great.

Ignoring the gazes, you spotted Garry and made your way to him. However, just like the other guys, he seemed fixated on the girls performing. “Hey!” you nudged him.

“Oh you're here? Wow girl, you look great, but I wish you hadn't come here wearing a dress like this.” he said, looking around at the men.

“I couldn't change because you called me while I was getting ready for my date.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, but Melanie's gone crazy.”

“Where is she?”

“She was going on stage and tripped and fell, I was tried to check her but the women wouldn't let me in. That's why I called you.”

“Goddamn it,” you grumbled, shoving your purse at him. “Hold this, I’ll go get her, and then we’ll all head to the car together, okay?”

“Got it. I’ll wait here.”

Just as you left, Garry couldn’t help himself when your phone started ringing non-stop. He didn’t think to check your purse without asking, but when it rang like crazy, he finally picked it up. “Yeah?”

Harry nearly wrecked his car when he heard a guy’s voice on the other end. “Who the hell are you? Why are you answering my girlfriend’s phone?”

“Mr. Castillo, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Mr. Johnson's driver.”

“Wait, is that club music I hear? Where is she?”

“We're at the strip club. It’s kind of complicated.”

Harry was stunned and slammed on the brakes, making the tires screech on the road. The car behind him honked and yelled, but he didn’t care. “Just tell me where the club is!”

"Melanie, I swear to God, if you don't come with me right now, I'll drag you out of here by yanking your hair if I have to! I'll do it, believe me, I will!"

“Not until Nate gets here!” she snapped.

The girl was not only drunk but also trying to climb onto the stage. You were tugging at her from behind the curtain, hoping Garry could lend a hand, but she was putting up a fight.

“Hey, you two, get lost! Stay clear of the stage!” one of the dancers hissed at you.

“I'm not interested; as you see, I'm trying to get her out of here!” you retorted, still struggling to pull Melanie back.

“No! I’m going up there! I paid for it!” Melanie shouted defiantly.

“What did you just say?” you exclaimed, bewildered. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Leave them alone, girls,” an older woman chimed in, casting a knowing glance at you. “The guys who wanted you on stage shelled out a lot of cash,” she said with a sly smile.

Melanie laughed. “See? They’re dying to see me! Nate needs to get over here right now, call him!”

“It wasn’t for you,” the woman replied, eyes darting between Melanie and you. She surveyed you up and down, a smirk playing on her lips. “They paid for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “I’m not a dancer or stripper.”

“That doesn’t matter, darling. You look fantastic. I could even give you half the take.”

“What the fuck? You promised me that I’d go on stage! Not her!”

You narrowed your eyes and glared at Melanie. “No one’s going up there!” you shouted firmly.

“Enough with this! Girls,” the woman called out, and the two dancers approached you, trying to take off your jacket.

“Hey! Get your hands off me! What do you think you’re doing?” you exclaimed, wrestling against them.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t overreact. Just trust yourself,” she replied, grabbing your wrist. But before she could pull you away, someone else seized her arm and pushed it back.

“Leave her alone!”

When you spotted Harry, a mix of surprise and embarrassment washed over you, yet relief followed quickly. He grabbed your arm, pulling you behind him, and draped his jacket around you, wrapping you with it.

“Hey, mister, what do you think you’re doing?” the woman asked, taken aback.

"If you touch my girl again, I'll bring this club down!" Harry growled.

Just then, a man approached you two, dressed in a suit. "Mr. Castillo, there's been a terrible misunderstanding. Please forgive us, sir." He then turned to the girls. "Get back to work and return the money to those customers." 

"And give me back my jacket!" you shouted. 

Harry reached over, snatched it from one of the girls, and pulled you closer. "Are you okay?" 

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Melanie! Harry, stop her!" you exclaimed, pointing at her. Harry grasped her arm and pulled her away from the stage. 

That's when Nate strolled in, his phone in hand, ready to take pictures. "Oh no, did I miss the show?"

The son of a bitch was grinning.

"It's all your fault!" you shot back at him. 

Garry came over to Melanie. "Miss Johnson, let’s head to the car, please." 

Melanie clung to Harry's arm touching his face. "Hey, old man, want a lap dance?" She was clearly trying to make Nate jealous, but it was Harry she had her hands on. 

Your man. 

Harry chuckled as he gently pushed her hand away. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not interested."

Wait a minute.

Not only was Melanie, but almost all the women dancers were looking Harry up and down. A wave of jealousy washed over you.

And then you lost it.

You were so angry that you pulled her off of him by the hair. "You little slut, who do you think you're touching?" You pushed her towards Nate. "Take your girlfriend and get the hell out of my life! Garry, you call Jack right now!" you said to him. Grabbing Harry's hand tightly, "Let's get the hell out of here." you urged.

He was still laughing as you pulled him out with you.

“Stop laughing, Harry,” you scolded as you made your way to the car.

“But you were so cute when you protected me from real Melanie back there,” he replied, still chuckling.

You paused and turned to face him. “Are you really enjoying this?”

“Actually I don’t know what to think. Do you know how angry I was when I saw you here with those women? And those men… the way they look at you? I think I hate the real Melanie.”

“Welcome to the club,” you replied sarcastically. “But I’m sorry; you are right. I shouldn't have come here. Tonight was supposed to be special, and now it’s all ruined—just like my hair,” you said, running your fingers through your locks.

Harry glanced at the clock. “Um, the restaurant is about to close.”

“I really messed up,” you said, biting your lip. “I’ve ruined everything.”

He gently took your face in his hands. “Nothing’s ruined, baby. We’re going to plan B.”

“You had a plan B?” you asked, intrigued.

“I just came up with it,” he said with a grin. “Come on, we’re starting over.”

You smiled. “Okay, but where’s your car?”

“There it is,” he said, pointing to a red sport car.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “But it’s a Mustang GT!”

“That’s right. I rented it just for tonight,” he said, pulling the keys from his pocket and handing them to you. “So, am I forgiven now?”

You snatched the keys from his grasp. “Let me take it for a spin, and I’ll think about it.”

He laughed, and as you slid into the driver’s seat, he took the passenger seat beside you. You fastened your seatbelt and started the engine. “Hold on tight, ol'man.”

“Drive carefully, honey. The streets of New York are a whole different beast compared to the traffic you dealt with back in Paris.” 

You shot him a playful glance before slamming your foot on the gas. “I accept the challenge.”

“Hey, that wasn’t a challenge,” he retorted, his eyes wide as he clutched the seat.

You laughed, the thrill coursing through you. “Relax! A little excitement never hurt anyone.”

“You excite me enough in that dress, babe,” he grinned, glancing at you with a mix of admiration and mischief. 

After a few exhilarating laps, embarrassment washed over you when the flashing lights of a police radar caught you speeding through the night. Still, you found a way to enjoy the moment, laughing together as you swung by a 24-hour diner to grab some late-night munchies before heading toward Harry’s building. “Wow, that was an incredible ride."

“Yeah, it was a blast, even if it’s going to cost me a few hundred bucks in fines,” Harry said, opening the car door.

“Oops, sorry about that,” you said, stepping out of the car.

As he opened the trunk, he pulled out a huge bouquet of roses. “If it hadn’t been for that strip club incident, I would have met you at the hotel with this.”

“Harry,” you murmured, touched.

“Here you go, Cinderella—99 roses.”

You raised an eyebrow as you accepted the bouquet. “Why not a hundred?”

“That’s you,” he said, smiling sweetly. “The hundredth rose is you.”

You felt yourself melting at his words.

“That’s very romantic, ol'man. Thank you,” you said, reaching out to kiss his cheek.

“So, you forgive me now, right?” he asked, extending his arm so you could take it.

“Come here,” you said, encouraging him to lean closer. He complied, and you shared a tender kiss, sweet and gentle. “You’re forgiven, Mr. Castillo.” 

He grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with more passion, the world around you fading away. But since you were still out on the street, you gently pushed him back, laughter in your eyes. “Save the rest for later, mister.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer with one arm still wrapped around your waist, and together you strolled toward the entrance.

“Here we have some Bordeaux wine,” he said as you unpacked the food and set the plates on the table. 

“Parfait,” you replied with a smile, embracing the French language. 

With skilled hands, he uncorked the wine using a polished corkscrew, the soft pop echoing in the cozy room, and poured the ruby liquid into your glasses, its rich color glinting in the soft light. 

“Hmm, delicious,” you remarked, savoring the first sip. 

As you shared the meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving in and out of tales about Melanie and the others, laughter bubbling up like the wine in your glasses. “That’s actually much better,” you said softly, feeling the warmth of the evening. “I mean, it’s better that we’re here than in a bustling restaurant.”

“I couldn’t agree more; it’s just the two of us,” he replied, his fingers entwining with yours.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your gaze locking with his, a deep connection simmering in the air between you. 

He sighed and stood up, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I have something for you.” 

“Another surprise?” you asked, intrigued. 

He returned with a small box, sitting back down and handing it to you across the table. Different from any jewelry box you’d seen, it piqued your curiosity.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day. There’s something I’ve come to realize. I’ve wanted you to be in my world, but I was wrong, I was missing something,” he explained as you opened the box. 

Inside lay a card and a key

At once, you recognized them; it was the same card and key you had used so many times for the elevator and the door of the apartment. “Harry,” you breathed out, astonished. 

“You said you don’t belong in my world, so let me into yours.” 

Your eyes filled with tears as you rose and embraced him tightly. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” 

He pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you before leaning in for a kiss. Then, he turned on some soft music from the stereo. “Will you dance with me?” 

You nodded. “Absolutely.” 

You found yourselves swaying together, lost in the slow, sweet melody, savoring the magic of the moment in comfortable silence.

But then the tension between you began to rise. Harry ran his hand through the fabric of your dress. “Great choice of dress by the way.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he whispered.

“What about my bra?” you said huskily, guiding his hand to the lace strap of it.

“I admire it,” he purred.

You lifted the skirt of the dress, revealing your lace garter stockings. “My stockings?” your eyes twinkling.

He smiled at you and reached out, drawing a circle on your leg with his fingertip. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on the side of your neck. “I worship it, baby,” he said, his voice breathy and deep.

Your arm found its way around his waist, and your fingertips caressed his back. “Mmm. Keep doing that, please.”

He chuckled and continued, his hands slowly creeping up under your dress. You gave a deep, breathy moan when he latched on to the spot behind your ear, licking, sucking. Getting eager, you found his lips and kissed him, your tongue sweeping into his mouth tentatively. He responded by grabbing your hips and pulling you, lifting you into his lap. Then you broke the kiss to unbutton his shirt.

Taking a brief moment to admire you he let you stripped him out of his shirt before kissing you deeply, exploring your mouth hungrily. Popping the clasp on your bra with ease he let it fell to the floor, whilst he kissed a path between your breasts leaving a trail of goose flesh in his wake. Noticing your nipples were already pert betraying your arousal, taking one between his thumb and forefinger he rolled it making you cried out, lowering his head he circled you other with his tongue before drawing it into his hot mouth and sucking. He could feel his cock straining against the his pants but he ignored it focusing all his attention on you. He repeated the action with your other nipple before moving on, his lips gliding down over your ribs, across your stomach towards the garter belt and waistband of your panties.

Hooking his thumbs into the lace, he pulled the small scrap of material down your shapely legs until you could kick them off, but letting the garter belt still be on you. Kneeling before you he cupped your hips bringing you closer to him inhaling your scent, then he ran his tongue along your wet folds the cry that escaped you when he circled your clit was guttural, he felt his cock throb begging for attention but he ignored it once again. Slowly he worked you over, teasing you with shallow thrusts of his tongue into your velvety softness over and over again until your skin was slick with sweat and your thighs began to tremble.

“Please,” you begged, your fingers tangled in his curls, clinging to him. In answer to your plea, he flicked his tongue over your swollen bundle of nerves until you cried out when your orgasm hit. Keeping a tight grip on your hips, he held you steady, letting you ride it out before kissing his way back up your body, finally claiming your lips once more. You tasted yourself on his tongue, but you didn’t care; you devoured each other desperately.

Once your equilibrium returned, your hands found his belt, quickly you unbuckled it and pulled it from the loops before popping the buttons on his fly and pushing the material down over his hips. He shucked his pants and his boxers off and before he knew it your hand was around the base of his throbbing member and you were pumping him into your fist. He gritted his teeth, "Fuck, baby, you are such a needy kitten aren't you? Good girl. But there’s no way I’ll last if you keep that up."

Taking your hands in his, he threaded your fingers together and crushed his lips to yours once more, pinning you against the wall with your interlocked hands above your head. You gasped in response. His aching cock lied heavily against your core, you shuddered. He realized he couldn’t stand it anymore; he needed to be inside you.

Hoisting you up, he hooked your legs around his waist, pushing into you in one smooth stroke.

"Harry," you moaned, feeling dizzy with incredible consuming lust.

Your hair was plastered to your sweaty face now and in the throes of passion when your pupils dilate, cheeks flushed.

"You're breathtakingly beautiful just like this, darling," he hummed.

You were soft and warm, and your walls gripped him tightly as he thrust into you, making love to you against the wall. God he’s missed you so damn much, burying his head into the crook of your shoulder he picked up his pace, he knew you were close because he can feel your inner walls begin to tremble around him. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, your heels press into his firm ass as he pounds into you deeper and deeper.

As you ran your fingers through his hair down to his neck, spurring him on with sweet cries. "Harder, faster, please."

"Fuck," he growled, pressed his forehead against yours so that he held your gaze as your second orgasm striked. You screamed his name as your body locked up, your sex gripping his cock in an iron grasp.

He made an incoherent sound and cursed as your orgasm triggered his, and he released himself inside of you. You collapsed into each other a hot, sticky, sweaty mess, panting heavily. When finally he caught his breath, he ran his nose along your smiling devilishly down at you.

“So how was it, baby?” he asked waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Fast, delicious, hair-raisingly good,” you giggled.

"How about a second round? This time in the bedroom?" he panted, still catching his breath.

You tightened your arms around him playfully. “You betcha, mister."

Just as your words finished, he scooped you up and rushed toward the bedroom, causing your laughter to ring out cheekily through the hall.

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

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lots of love 💋💋❤️❤️

[luna-azzurra]

What to Give a Sh*t About While Editing Your Book

↳ Emotional Impact

Ask yourself: Do I actually feel something here? If a scene is technically “well-written” but emotionally flat, it’s dead weight. Your readers won’t remember your clever metaphors, but they’ll remember the way a quiet line of dialogue made their stomach drop. So yeah—give a sh*t about that.

↳ Character Motivation That Actually Makes Sense

If your characters are making decisions just because the plot needs them to… we’ve got a problem. In edits, zoom in on their choices. Are they acting like real, flawed, complex humans? Or puppets? Edit until their actions make you nod and go, “Yep. That’s exactly what that little disaster would do.”

↳ Cutting the “Almost Good” Stuff

This hurts, but it’s necessary. Some lines are nice. Pretty. Kind of smart. But if they’re not serving the story, they’ve got to go. Save them in a “kill darlings” file. Grieve if needed. But don’t let “kinda good” block the greatness trying to come through.

↳ Scene Purpose

Every scene needs to earn its place like it’s paying rent. Does it move the plot? Deepen character? Build tension? Ideally, two out of three. If the answer is “it’s vibes,” that might work for a paragraph—but not for 3,000 words. Cut. Condense. Clarify. Your future reader will thank you.

↳ Pacing That Doesn’t Bore People to Death

Look, I love a moody slow burn too. But if your story crawls for 50 pages without conflict, tension, or curiosity—your reader will ghost you. Read your scenes out loud. If you’re zoning out? So will they. Tighten that sh*t up.

↳ Dialogue That Sounds Like Real People (and Not AI)

If your characters sound like they're reading from a very polite script, it’s time to rewrite. Interruptions, unfinished thoughts, weird little phrases—those are gold. Make it messy. Make it sound like how people actually talk when they’re nervous, angry, or halfway in love and lying about it.

↳ Themes You Accidentally Nailed (and Can Now Strengthen)

Themes tend to sneak in while you’re drafting. During edits? Time to spotlight them. Don’t slap it on with a neon sign—but do lean into the emotional throughline you already created. It’s probably smarter and more beautiful than you gave yourself credit for.

↳ Your Voice

Don’t edit your weird out. Editing is for clarity, not sanding down your style until it sounds like generic internet writing. Keep the voicey bits. The odd metaphors. The lines that sound exactly like you. That’s what readers fall in love with—not perfection.

↳ Trusting That You’ll Need Multiple Rounds

This isn’t one-and-done. Your second draft will suck differently than your first. Your third might suck less, but still suck. That’s fine. It’s part of the process. What matters is that each time, it gets sharper, truer, and more you.

↳ Not Quitting Halfway Through Just Because It’s Hard

Editing is hard. But you’ve already done the impossible: you wrote a damn book. That’s massive. Now you’re just sculpting it. Don’t give up because it’s messy. Don’t panic because it’s not “there” yet. Keep showing up. Even if it’s just one scene at a time. Even if you’re crying into your tea. Especially then.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤWHORE’S FANTASYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : John Constantine x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : There are some +18 parts. Minors DNI. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You don't notice him at first.

Not really.

You're too busy tugging the hem of your cheap purple dress down over your thighs, smeared lipstick staining the corners of your mouth.

Mascara streams down your face, thick and ugly, like bleeding spiderlegs across dead eyes.

You’re half-high, half-drunk, standing barefoot behind the shitty little bar where the real dirtbags like to crawl, and you’re lighting another cigarette with shaking fingers. The end of it flares like a dying star, and you pull the smoke into your lungs like you’re hoping it'll fill the hollow parts of you.

You stink of alcohol.

You smell like roses.

You taste like regret and somebody else’s hands.

He sees you.

God help him, he sees you.

John Constantine, bastard mage, conman, addict, cynic — he’s not a savior. He’s not a white knight.

He's just another piece of shit who recognizes his own.

He flicks the end of his cigarette into the gutter and watches you struggle with the strap of your dress, tits half-hanging out in the yellow light of the alleyway.

You should look pathetic.

You should look cheap.

You do.

But somehow, you look... more, too.

There’s something about you, something cracked and shining and wrong.

Like a broken mirror catching all the wrong reflections.

Something that crawls under John's skin, burrows between his ribs and digs in sharp little claws.

He tells himself it's nothing.

Just another lost girl.

Just another night.

But he’s lying.

Already, he’s lying to himself.

He lights another cigarette and steps out of the dark.

“You alright there, love?” he rasps, voice like a bad memory, smoke curling from his lips.

You look at him with those dead doll-eyes. No fear. No real interest, either. Just this slow, heavy indifference like you're already halfway in the grave.

You shrug.

You hitch your dress up higher.

You don’t bother pretending to be shy. You gave up pretending a long time ago.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice raw from cheap whiskey and cheaper choices.

John should walk away.

He knows this kind of girl, the ones with nothing left to lose. They eat you alive without even meaning to. They rot you from the inside out.

He should turn around.

He should let you slip back into the filth where you came from.

Instead, he laughs.

Soft, almost pitying.

“Just a light, sweetheart,” he lies, flicking open his battered silver lighter even though his own cigarette is already burning between his fingers.

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious, but too tired to care.

You let him light your cigarette anyway, leaning in, close enough that he can smell the roses in your hair, the smoke on your skin, the slow stink of desperation leaking off you like cheap perfume.

You don't know it yet, but you've already cursed him.

That first night, he doesn't touch you.

He just watches you, out the corner of his eye, as you stumble back inside the bar, laughing that dry, broken laugh at something nobody else can hear.

He tells himself he won't come back.

He tells himself it's none of his business.

He tells himself he’s already got enough bloody ghosts to haunt him without adding another.

But he does come back.

Again.

And again.

You don't really notice him after that first night.

Not the way he notices you.

To you, he's just another face in the blurry noise of your nights — another man with a lighter, another set of boots tracking dirt across the floor.

You don't know he comes back.

Every night now.

You don't know he sits in the corner, half-drunk, chain-smoking, pretending to mind his own business while you keep carving pieces off yourself and handing them to anyone who asks.

You're too far gone to care.

Always high, always halfway between laughing and crying.

Your eyes — God, those fucking eyes —

half-lidded, lazy, dead as winter, but still so pretty it makes something sour twist in John's gut.

It happens on a Tuesday.

You’re outside again, the bar's back alley, slumped against the crumbling brick wall like a broken doll.

Dress bunched up around your hips, one shoe missing, a cigarette burning forgotten between your fingers.

You’re shaking. Coming down hard.

You’re muttering to yourself under your breath, something sharp and ugly.

John watches you for a long time before he moves.

He hates himself for it.

Hates that he cares.

But he moves anyway.

Without thinking, he fishes a crumpled wad of cash out of his coat pocket and crouches in front of you, holding it out like a white flag.

"Here," he says gruffly, avoiding your eyes. "Get y'self something to eat. A bed, maybe. Somethin' better than... this."

You blink at the money.

Then at him.

And then — slow, crooked grin splitting your face — you laugh.

That dry, brittle laugh, like something breaking.

You grab the cash with one hand — and with the other, you reach for his belt.

John freezes.

You’re clumsy, sluggish, but determined, tugging at his pants like it’s just the most natural thing in the world. Like this is just how the world works:

money = you.

"Y'wanna fuck me, right?" you slur, eyes glassy but sharp underneath. "Go on then, mister. Paid up, didn't you?"

He grabs your wrists, not rough but firm.

Pushes your hands away.

"Christ," he mutters, like a prayer, like a curse. "That’s not why—"

You tilt your head at him, mascara streaked down your cheeks, lips dry and cracked.

You look at him like he's the crazy one.

"Then why else you givin’ me money?" you ask, so blunt it cuts.

"No one gives girls like me free rides, mister."

You grin again, crooked and sad, and your dress slides even further up your thighs.

You don't even notice. Or maybe you do. Maybe you just don't care.

John exhales smoke through his nose, staring down at you, feeling something black and oily coil inside his chest.

"Pity," he says finally, bitter. "Maybe I’m a stupid sod with a savior complex. Maybe I’m just drunk."

You squint up at him through the smoke and the haze, studying him like he's some strange animal you've never seen before.

Then you shrug.

Simple. Easy.

Like you’ve already decided it doesn’t matter either way.

"Y'can fuck me if you want," you say, almost sweetly. "You're not ugly."

John laughs. A short, sharp, broken thing.

He almost wants to take you up on it, just to feel something real for a change.

Almost.

Instead, he shakes his head, rubs a hand down his face.

"Go sleep it off, love," he says, voice rough. "Get a hot meal. For once."

You clutch the money to your chest like it’s something hole.

Like it’s the first good thing anyone’s given you in a long time.

And you just smile at him —

this soft, stupid little smile that shouldn't hurt to look at, but somehow does.

John tells himself it's still just pity.

Just a bit of guilt, a bit of bleeding heart nonsense.

But when you stumble away into the night, barefoot and laughing under your breath, he stays there, standing in the alleyway like a man who's just been punched in the gut.

And he watches you go, smoke curling around him, cigarette burning down to the filter between his shaking fingers.

He doesn't leave.

Not for a long, long time.

He sees you again three days later.

He’s not looking for you —

at least that’s what he tells himself.

Just grabbing a pint.

Just passing through.

You find him first.

"Hey, mister."

Your voice cuts through the noise.

Soft. Small. Almost shy.

He turns, half expecting the same disaster he left behind in that alley —

the smeared makeup, the too-short dress, the wild deadness in your eyes.

But you’re different this time.

You're...

sober.

No makeup.

No booze in your veins.

No cigarette dangling from your fingers.

Just you —

barefaced, raw, skin looking almost too thin for your bones, but real.

Alive.

You stand there awkwardly, hands buried deep in the pockets of a too-big hoodie, cheap sneakers scuffing the pavement.

You don’t look like the kind of girl who sells herself to survive.

You just look like a girl.

"I’m not a beggar," you say suddenly, fidgeting. "But... thanks. For the money."

John blinks, caught off guard.

You flash a little smile — nervous, genuine, heartbreaking.

"Mister's a good man," you say.

It punches something deep in his gut.

He’s not.

You’re wrong.

He’s done worse than you could imagine.

But you say it like you believe it. Like it’s fact. Like it's written somewhere in a book bigger than either of you.

He swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat.

"You hungry?" he hears himself asking.

You light up. Not much, but enough.

A flicker. A spark.

"Yeah," you say simply.

You spend the day together.

It’s stupid.

It’s perfect.

You get street food — cheap, greasy chips wrapped in newspaper.

You drag him through the streets like a manic little hurricane, pointing out dogs that look like goblins, shouting compliments at old ladies, daring him to race you down alleyways.

At one point, you find a children's park — some half-dead little patch of grass and rusting swings.

You bolt for it like a kid.

"C'mon, mister!" you holler, kicking your shoes off and running barefoot through the patchy grass. "Play with me!"

John stands there like an idiot for a second, cigarette halfway to his mouth.

Then he sighs. Drops the smoke. Crushes it under his boot.

And jogs after you.

You end up pushing each other on the swings, spinning until you're both dizzy, laughing like two drunk ghosts.

You even convince him to climb the jungle gym — which ends with him cursing and almost falling on his ass.

You laugh until you wheeze.

He grins despite himself.

You’re smiling.

Really smiling.

Not that broken, brittle thing he’s seen before.

This one’s messy and real and full of life, like you don’t know you’re supposed to be miserable.

For a few hours, you’re not a ghost.

You’re just a girl.

Later, you sit side by side on the grass, lighting cigarettes with shaking hands.

The sun's sinking, staining the sky blood-red.

John takes a drag, exhales smoke in a long, slow stream.

"You..." he starts, hesitates. Scratches the back of his neck, suddenly awkward.

"You gonna... y'know. Work. Tonight?"

You turn your head slowly toward him.

Wide eyes.

Clear and open and a little confused, like you genuinely don't understand the question at first.

And then—

You laugh.

Sharp, bright, cutting.

"Why?" you grin wickedly, teeth flashing. "Mister wanna make his money’s worth?"

John winces.

You elbow him lightly, still laughing under your breath, cigarette bobbing between your fingers.

"Nah," you say finally, settling back on your elbows, face tipped toward the sky.

"I’m good. Probably won’t need to for a week, thanks to you."

You tap ash into the grass.

"Guess you bought me a vacation, mister."

There’s a strange peace in your voice.

No bitterness. No shame.

Just simple, stupid gratitude.

John wants to say something —

something clever, something to fill the aching silence between you —

but the words stick in his throat.

You crush the cigarette out on the sole of your sneaker, rising to your feet in one fluid, tired motion.

"See ya, Mister," you say, tossing a lazy wave over your shoulder as you drift away into the gathering dark.

John stays where he is, sitting on the grass, smoke curling around him like a noose.

He watches you go.

Again.

And he tells himself it’s just pity.

Still just pity.

It’s a week later.

Exactly a week.

John remembers, because you said it.

Because your voice — lazy and teasing and sweetly poisonous — stuck in his bloody head like a song he can’t turn off.

"Probably for a week," you’d laughed.

And now it's been seven days.

He tells himself he’s just passing through.

That he’s not looking for you.

He’s lying to himself. He knows it.

The night air smells like piss and diesel.

The streets are sticky with old rain and regret.

The city yawns open, ugly and hungry, swallowing girls like you whole.

He’s late.

He knows it the second he spots you.

You’re stumbling down a filthy back alley, shoes dangling from one hand, the other hand dragging along the brick wall for balance.

You’re half-folded over, bent at the waist like you’re trying to walk on a sinking ship.

Your pretty dress is twisted.

Your hair’s a mess.

Your mascara — the little you bothered with tonight — is bleeding down your cheeks.

You giggle.

It’s a wet, broken sound.

You take two more steps, your legs buckling.

John’s moving before he can even think.

You're about to hit the concrete when John lunges forward and catches you.

"Whoa there, love," he mutters, arms wrapping around your shaking frame.

You giggle again, breathless against his chest.

"Heyyy, Misterrrr," you slur, blinking up at him with those wide, beautiful, dead eyes. "You gonna fuck me nowww?"

John frowns, adjusting his grip on you.

Your body is practically boneless in his arms, and you reek of cheap booze and something sweeter underneath —

roses wilting in dirty water.

"You alright, pet?" he tries, voice low.

You don’t answer.

Just hum some tuneless nonsense under your breath.

Your fingers tug weakly at the sleeve of his coat like a child needing comfort.

"Christ," he mutters, pulling you closer.

"You’re a bloody mess."

You nod cheerfully like you heard him, but you're not really there, not really.

Your head lolls back and you grin up at him — wide, dumb, beautiful — before you suddenly double over and—

you vomit all over him.

All over his coat, his shirt, his bloody boots.

John grimaces, steadying you as your whole body shudders.

"That's alright, love," he says quietly, patting your back while you cough and gasp and sag against him.

Still — something twists deep in his gut.

Doesn’t even think about it.

Instead, he just tightens his grip and scoops you up —

like you’re something precious, something fragile, something he’s terrified might break if he’s not careful.

He takes you to his flat.

It’s not much —

just a shitty little place that smells like old books, cigarettes, and alcohol.

But it’s clean.

It’s safe.

He strips off his ruined coat, tosses it into the sink, and carries you to the couch.

You’re half-passed out by the time he gets you there.

You’re murmuring under your breath, little nonsense things, like a kid muttering in their sleep.

John finds a blanket.

Tugs it up around your chin.

Your face is flushed.

Your lips are parted.

You look so fucking young like this. So stupidly young and vulnerable.

He pulls a chair close to the couch and sinks into it heavily, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.

He watches you.

He watches you all night.

He doesn't move.

Doesn’t sleep.

Not really.

When he finally dozes off — just for a moment — the dream hits him hard.

It’s you.

Of course it’s you.

Your body under his.

Your mouth gasping his name.

Your nails digging into his skin.

Hot and dirty and desperate.

His.

He jerks awake with a sick, guilty twist in his gut, heart hammering against his ribs.

You’re still sleeping, innocent and oblivious, curled up like a child under the blanket he gave you.

John scrubs a hand down his face.

"Fucking hell," he mutters.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

You don’t remember a damn thing when you finally stir hours later.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket like a cocoon, staring down at your hands.

When you see him, you blink.

Confused.

Flickering through memories that aren’t quite there.

"I... um," you start, frowning. "Did I...?"

"You threw up on me," John says dryly, tossing a clean t-shirt over the back of the chair.

"And passed out. Real classy."

You flush — a soft, miserable red creeping up your neck.

"Sorry, mister," you mumble, cheeks burning. "Didn’t mean to be a bother."

John ruffles your hair, chuckling dryly.

"S’nothin’, love. You’re alright."

You sip the coffee that he gave you, curling your bare legs under you, shrinking into yourself like a kicked dog.

John doesn’t like that look on you.

Not one bit.

He makes you breakfast —

burnt toast and greasy eggs and orange juice that tastes like tar.

You eat like you haven’t had a real meal in days.

He watches you across the table, smoking and pretending he’s not watching.

When you’re finished, you wipe your mouth on your sleeve and stand up awkwardly.

"I should... go," you say, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

"I'll drop you," John says quickly — too quickly.

You blink at him, surprised.

"Really, mister. It's fine—"

"I insist," he says, already grabbing his keys.

He tells himself it’s just to make sure you get home safe.

He tells himself it’s not because he needs to know where you live.

He’s lying again.

The walk to your place is quiet.

You lead him through crumbling back alleys and graffiti-smeared stairwells until you reach a battered old building that looks half-abandoned.

You pause at the front door, shifting from foot to foot.

"This is me," you say softly.

You smile — small and sad and shy.

"Thanks, mister," you add. "For... y'know. Not letting me die in a gutter."

John shrugs like it’s nothing.

Like it didn’t cost him anything.

Like he didn’t dream about you all fucking night.

You wave again —

that same lazy little wave —

and disappear inside.

John stands there for a long time after you’re gone.

Smoking.

Thinking.

Feeling things he doesn’t want to name.

He can’t stop thinking about you after that.

He tells himself he’s just worried.

Just making sure you’re alright.

But it’s not just that.

It’s the way you looked curled up in his blanket.

It’s the way you smiled at him like he was the only good thing in a world full of monsters.

It’s the sound of your voice — broken, brutal, beautiful.

He starts going back to the places he might find you.

Starts listening for your laugh.

Starts noticing every girl with a cigarette and mascara-smudged eyes and thinking, There she is. That’s her.

But it’s never you.

And the empty ache in his chest just grows bigger and bigger.

It becomes a ritual after that.

Every night now, John comes to take you home.

Doesn’t matter where you are, what you're doing.

He finds you.

In some shit-stained alley.

In the back of some filthy dive bar.

In the arms of strangers.

Sometimes he catches you mid-fuck —

bent over some broken table, some guy's hands bruising your hips, your eyes half-closed, mouth open but silent.

Sometimes you’re wiping your face with the back of your hand when he gets there.

Cum glistening on your cheeks, your lashes, your lips.

John doesn't say anything.

Doesn't yell.

Doesn't judge.

He just shrugs out of his coat, drapes it over your shoulders, and leads you away like he’s guiding a sleepwalker.

But it eats him alive.

Every time he sees another man's hands on you, another man's cum dripping down your chin —

something black and ugly and furious wakes up inside him.

He hates it.

He hates it more than he’s ever hated anything in his cursed, miserable life.

So he starts giving you money.

Not much, at first.

Crumpled bills tucked into your pocket with a gruff, embarrassed cough.

"Buy yourself a proper meal, yeah?" he mutters, looking anywhere but at you.

You smile — that soft, broken little smile — and take it without question.

You don’t ask why.

You don’t ask for more.

But John sees the change almost immediately.

You stop letting strange men touch you.

Stop letting them buy your drinks, pull you into dark corners.

You cling to John instead.

Follow him home like a stray cat.

Sleep curled up on his couch, wearing his t-shirts, stealing his cigarettes.

And he lets you.

He fucking lets you because somewhere along the way, he stopped being your savior.

And started being your jailer.

You just don’t realize it yet.

You trust him.

God help you, you trust him because he’s the only man who hasn’t tried to fuck you.

The only man who doesn’t look at you like you're a thing to be used and thrown away.

John keeps telling himself that's all it is.

That he just wants to protect you.

That it’s not about the way your t-shirts ride up over your thighs when you stretch.

Not about the way your bra strap slips off your shoulder when you laugh.

Not about the way your lips wrap around the neck of a beer bottle absent-mindedly when you're not even thinking about it.

It’s not about any of that.

It’s not.

Until the night it is.

You're sitting on the couch, barefoot and cross-legged, wearing one of his shirts that’s far too big on you.

Talking.

You were rambling about your past again—

About shitty foster homes and shittier men.

About how you learned real young what men really wanted.

About how you stopped believing in fairytales because your prince charming turned out to be another monster with rough hands and a mean mouth.

You were laughing when you said it.

That pretty, broken laugh of yours.

Like it didn’t hurt anymore.

Like you didn’t care.

John should be listening.

He really should.

But he’s not.

He’s staring.

At your lips, moving so soft and easy.

At your chest, rising and falling with every careless breath.

At the hint of skin peeking out when you shift, the worn fabric of his shirt clinging to the curve of your tits.

He feels his cock twitch in his jeans.

Hardening.

Throbbing.

And suddenly he’s not hearing a word you're saying anymore.

Just staring.

Just wanting.

You don’t notice at first.

You're still talking —

some story about some bastard who left you bruised and bleeding and crying at a bus stop.

But then you glance at him.

Catch the way his eyes are dark and heavy and fixed on your mouth.

Catch the obvious, aching bulge in his jeans.

Your smile falters —

just for a second.

Just a flicker of something sad and brittle flashing across your face.

And then you smile again.

A dull, tired smile.

Like you're used to this.

Like you expected it all along.

Like it doesn’t even hurt anymore.

You crawl across the couch to him.

Settle between his knees.

Fingers working open his belt like it's just another job, just another disappointment.

John grabs your wrists.

"Wait," he rasps, voice cracked and desperate.

You look up at him.

Not angry.

Not pleading.

Just resigned.

"’S'alright, mister," you murmur, that flat smile never leaving your lips. "You’re different, yeah? It’s fine."

He wants to tell you no.

Wants to shove you away and run and never see you again.

But he doesn’t.

He lets you.

Lets you free him from his jeans, your small hands working his cock free, hard and throbbing and leaking pre-cum.

Lets you take him into your mouth —

warm and wet and willing.

Lets you suck him off slowly, lazily, like you're doing him a favor you don't even care about.

And it feels good.

God, it feels so fucking good.

Better than anything he’s had in years.

Better than magic.

Better than whiskey.

Better than the cigarettes burning a hole in his lungs.

He groans low and broken, one hand finding its way into your hair, guiding you with trembling fingers.

You don't protest.

You don't flinch.

You just take it.

Take him.

Until he’s spilling into your mouth with a raw, guttural gasp, the world going white around the edges.

Afterwards, you sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Still smiling that awful, empty smile.

John pulls his jeans back up with shaking hands.

Silence stretches thick and suffocating between you.

Finally he croaks out, "Do you... do you hate me now?"

You tilt your head at him, considering.

Shrug.

"Hate’s a strong word," you say lightly. "I'm just disappointed."

The words slice into him sharper than any blade.

But you don’t seem to notice.

Or maybe you just don’t care.

You stand up, stretch your arms over your head, and yawn like a cat.

"It’s fine," you add, already wandering toward the kitchen.

"Not that it matters. You're the one paying me now, right? ‘S'all good."

And somehow, that hurt worse than anything.

Worse than if you had screamed at him.

Worse than if you had slapped him across the face.

He just sat there, jeans still undone, staring at you.

At the hollow place where your soul used to be.

At the pretty, broken thing he was slowly making his own.

After that night, something inside you changes.

You’re not sweet anymore.

You’re not soft.

You still smile —

God, you always smile —

but it’s dull now.

Lifeless.

Like a neon sign buzzing in a dead city.

You're full.

Full of disappointment, full of resignation, full of the ugly truth.

John's just another piece of trash.

No different from the rest.

Just another man who wanted something from you, no matter how pretty he dressed it up.

John tries to pretend it’s love.

Tries to kiss you like you're a fucking miracle. Tries to touch you like you're made of something holy.

But you're not.

You’re empty.

You're a vessel. A cracked and leaking thing.

And he’s just another man filling you up with his filth.

Another Mister who wants something and takes it.

You don't hate him.

You don't love him either.

You just accept it.

Same as you always do.

Then it happens again.

And again.

You don’t protest.

You don’t pull away.

You let him touch you.

Let him rut against you.

Let him use you.

But you don't feel it.

Not really.

You don't kiss him with your mouth.

You kiss him with your absence.

You moan because you know he likes it.

You arch your back because that's what they want.

You scratch your nails down his spine because someone taught you that men like to feel owned, just a little.

But your eyes are always distant.

Wandering.

Dead.

John notices.

He notices everything.

How you never meet his eyes anymore.

How your smile never reaches your cheeks.

How you don't fall asleep curled against him like you used to.

You just lie there —

cold, silent, naked —

like a broken doll someone forgot to put away.

Sometimes, when he’s fucking you, he talks to you.

Whispers your name into your neck.

Tells you how good you feel, how beautiful you are, how much he needs you.

You don’t answer.

You just whimper prettily when you think you’re supposed to.

It drives him insane.

Because you’re there —

but you’re not.

He can touch you, own you, fill you —

but he can’t reach you.

You’re a locked room he lost the key to.

You’re a dead girl smiling.

One night, he’s rougher than usual.

Not violent.

Just desperate.

Hands grabbing too tight.

Mouth bruising your skin.

Fucking you deep and hard, like he's trying to break through whatever walls you’ve built between you.

You let him.

You always let him.

Afterward, he collapses beside you, panting, sticky with sweat and shame.

You roll away from him, staring at the cracked ceiling.

Silent.

Smiling.

He touches your hair, brushes it back from your face.

"You’re not... you're not mad, are you, love?" he asks, voice raw.

You blink slowly, still smiling that awful, empty smile.

"Nah," you murmur. "You’re just Mister, right?"

You say it so sweetly.

So gently.

And it cuts deeper than any knife ever could.

John doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t know how to fix this.

Doesn’t know if he can.

So he just lies there, listening to you breathe, feeling the space between you turn colder and colder.

Like a grave filling up with dirt.

After that, it gets worse.

The sex is mechanical now.

A transaction.

A ritual.

He gives you money.

You give him your body.

He holds you like a lover.

You let him.

He kisses you like you're precious.

You let him.

He tells you he needs you.

You let him.

But in your eyes —

God, in your eyes —

he sees it.

The truth.

He’s no different.

He’s nothing special.

He’s just another man who fucked you when you were too broken to fight back.

Just another name on the list you’ll forget one day when you're drunk enough, dead enough, free enough.

And the worst part?

You don’t even blame him.

You just accept it.

Because that’s all you’ve ever known.

And John...

he hates himself more every day.

But he still keeps coming back.

Keeps reaching for you like a man dying of thirst reaching for a poisoned cup.

Keeps hoping for a miracle that never comes.

Because you’re already dead inside.

And he’s the fool who helped bury you.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[dior-luxury]

the way u write is like 5 a star cuisine where u feel like exploding from how satisfied you are after eating. PLEASEEEE I’m begging for another wind breaker!pinning boys! I’m not picky abt which character so go wild with it :]] (but maybe umemiya if u can—🥹🙏🏼)

—munchieschomp

How'd They Pin After You

( ✧ ) ────── crush stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] sakura . suo . mitsuki . sugishita . ren . umemiya

- [𝐩:𝐬] jealousy . possessiveness . negative thoughts . the boys being convinced you're out of their league

Note: Thank you so much for the compliments, munchie! ^^ And I included umemiya just for you! (＾▽＾)

Sakura Haruka

At first, Sakura doesn't even realize he likes you.

He's too busy being… himself — blunt, guarded, always picking fights and refusing to show vulnerability. But then one afternoon, after a brawl outside a convenience store, you show up without fear, patching a scrape on his knuckles with the small first-aid kit you always seem to carry.

“Idiot," you mutter as you tape gauze over his hand. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day.”

Sakura feels a strange, hot sting in his chest, stronger than any punch he'd taken that day.

For the first time in forever, someone wasn't looking at him like a weapon or a problem to be fixed — just... someone who needed taking care of.

From that moment, he becomes hyperaware of you. When you’re around, Sakura stands a little straighter. His fists tighten at his sides when someone talks to you too casually.

He'll shadow you from a distance, pretending it's "just in case" trouble shows up, but really, it’s because the thought of you getting hurt churns his stomach.

He tries to offer you things — a drink he bought but pretends he doesn’t want, his hoodie on chilly nights (gruffly tossed over your shoulders without a word).

But the worst part for Sakura is the jealousy.

One afternoon, he sees you laughing with Suo and a few of the Bofurin members. It's not romantic, but the easy way you smile at them sends a roaring, ugly fire through him.

He disappears for the rest of the evening, picking fights just to bleed out the frustration.

At night, lying on his bed staring at the cracked ceiling, he replays every interaction with you. Every glance, every accidental brush of hands, every small smile you saved just for him.

He tells himself he's fine. That he's strong enough to ignore it. But then you show up after another one of his street fights, worry in your eyes, stubbornness in your voice as you grab his arm—

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

And that’s when Sakura realizes:

He’s already lost.

You're inside his ribs, inside every stupid breath he takes. He's in love with you, and he has no idea how to tell you — only that he’ll protect you with everything he’s got, even if it costs him everything.

Suo Hayato

Suo knows almost immediately that he's drawn to you. It’s in the small things — the way you listen to people, really listen, without judgment or rush.

The way you stand your ground, no matter who’s pushing. The way your laugh feels like summer sunlight.

At first, Suo watches from afar, quietly folding himself into your world. He always seems to show up at the perfect time — helping you carry something heavy, offering an umbrella when rain catches you by surprise.

He doesn’t push. He never rushes.

He treats your friendship like the slow blooming of a rare flower.

When he falls, he falls silently and completely. There’s a soft sort of longing in the way he watches you when you’re not looking.

A small smile playing on his lips when you rant about your day or get excited over something silly.

He memorizes the little details: Your favorite snacks. The way your hair falls into your eyes when you're focused. The songs you hum under your breath.

And Suo supports you in a thousand unseen ways — fixing the broken strap on your backpack without telling you, subtly stepping between you and drunken strangers at street festivals, cheering the loudest (but most politely) when you accomplish something you're proud of.

But oh, the ache of it.

The nights Suo lies awake, wondering if he should tell you. If risking your friendship is worth the hope clawing at his chest.

When you’re close, he finds it harder and harder to keep up the calm facade. There are times his hand brushes yours and he aches to just hold it. Times he catches you smiling at him and has to look away before he gives too much away.

One day, sitting side-by-side on a quiet rooftop, sharing a bottle of soda, you lean your head on his shoulder — tired, trusting, unguarded.

Suo closes his eyes and lets the moment wrap around him like a secret promise.

Even if he never confesses, he thinks, he'll stay by your side. Always.

Mitsuki Kiryu

Mitsuki Kiryu is composed — always.

Cool voice, sharp eyes, a smile that never quite reaches the corners of his mouth. He’s the kind of person everyone trusts but few really know.

So when he realizes he's drawn to you, he doesn't panic. He studies it — like a problem to be solved. He watches the way your eyes sparkle when you’re excited, the way your face crumples slightly when you're worried.

And the more he watches, the more he realizes: He's in trouble.

Mitsuki handles his crush like he handles everything: with intense, ruthless control. He tells himself it’s fine — he’ll just stay by your side, keep you safe, protect your smile.

And he does. You start to notice him more and more — how he always seems to know when you need a break, a snack, a quiet moment.

How he watches over you during fights like an iron wall, stepping in right before something could hurt you without making a big scene.

But inside? Inside, Mitsuki is a storm.

Late at night, alone in his apartment, he leans against the kitchen counter with a hand over his mouth, hating how much he aches for you.

He clutches his phone, staring at your last message, debating if he should text you goodnight, or if that would be crossing a line he can’t uncross.

Sometimes, his mind drifts — to the thought of holding your hand, of pulling you gently toward him during one of your casual walks home together.

Of brushing your hair behind your ear, of finally letting himself feel.

But he doesn't.

He stays in the shadows of your life, a silent guardian, convincing himself it’s better this way — better if you never know how much he burns for you.

Because if you knew, and didn’t want him back? It would break him.

Sugishita Kyotaro

Sugishita is used to big emotions.

He lives loud, he feels loud — fists flying, voice raised, loyalty tattooed into his very bones.

So when he starts falling for you, it's like being hit by a truck he saw coming but didn’t dodge. It’s violent, overwhelming, immediate.

At first, he’s a disaster. He snaps at you for dumb things. If you tease him even a little, his whole face goes red and he stutters through excuses. He picks fights with anyone who even looks at you sideways — even if it’s just a glance, even if it’s harmless.

And you? You smile at him like he's just Sugishita.

Like he’s not clumsy and stupid and reckless around you.

It kills him.

Sugishita doesn't know how to flirt. Instead, he becomes... louder.

He invites you to training sessions with him, showing off like an idiot, pretending to be casual when he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye the whole time.

He gives you his hoodie without asking when it’s cold. He buys you your favorite snacks but pretends it was “just extra.

He says things like, “Dumbass, don’t make me worry about you!” when what he really means is, "I can't stand the thought of you getting hurt, even a little."

At night, when he’s alone and the world is quiet, Sugishita curls his fists in his bedsheets, desperate to tell you.

He imagines blurting it out — yelling it into the sky, grabbing your hands in his calloused ones, shouting how much he cares.

But every time he sees you laugh, sees how easily you move through the world without needing him, his heart cracks a little.

He tells himself: You deserve better than a loudmouth like me.

Still, he stays by your side. He’ll fight the whole damn world for you. Even if you never see how deeply he's already yours.

Ren Kaji

Ren Kaji doesn’t fall easily. He doesn't trust easily, either. But you — you tear through his defenses without even trying.

It starts with the small things. The way you look him straight in the eyes when most people shy away. The way you speak gently, without pressure or demands. The way you see through the cool, detached mask he wears like armor.

He doesn’t understand it at first. Why his pulse quickens when you’re near. Why he memorizes the way your voice sounds when you're tired versus when you're laughing.

Ren handles it badly. He pulls away — keeps conversations short, keeps his distance — not because he doesn’t want you near, but because you make him feel too much, too quickly.

He starts to notice the way your presence makes the noise in his head quiet down. How your touch — a hand brushing his sleeve, a casual nudge — sends shockwaves through his system.

When you look worried for him, his chest tightens until it physically hurts. And when you smile at him? It feels like forgiveness for a crime he hasn’t even committed.

But Ren refuses to act. He watches you from across the room, quietly aching. He notices when you're upset, when you’re tired, when you need someone — and he’s there, without you needing to ask.

He tells himself like Sugishita:"I don't deserve them."

Instead, he pours his affection into little acts: Fixing your bike when you’re not looking, leaving your favorite snack on your desk, pretending it was someone else, and stepping in if someone gives you trouble, but fading into the background before you can thank him.

At night, lying alone in his room with only the hum of the city outside, he lets himself imagine a world where he’s brave enough to reach out. Where he could hold your hand without fear, without guilt.

But then morning comes, and Ren folds himself back into silence — pining from a distance, quietly breaking every day he keeps his feelings hidden.

Umemiya Hajime

Umemiya Hajime is pure light.

He’s the easy grin in a crowded room, the steady hand in a fight, the soul that refuses to turn cold no matter how cruel the world gets.

So when he starts falling for you, it’s immediate, blinding — like stepping into sunlight after a lifetime of rain.

He notices everything about you. The way your eyes light up when you talk about your passions, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh too hard, the way you treat even strangers with a kindness most people reserve for friends.

Unlike others, Umemiya doesn’t hide his affection. But he doesn’t rush it either.

He’s patient. Content to walk beside you, matching his pace to yours, letting the bond grow naturally.

He teases you endlessly, but always with a softness underneath. He protects you in fights without making a show of it, letting you be strong while making sure you never have to stand alone.

He cooks extra portions of food and claims he’s "just used to big meals," when really, he loves seeing you eat something he made.

But for all his confidence, he gets scared too.

Sometimes, when you lean against him after a long day, when your laughter rings too close to his heart, he feels terror seep into his bones.

What if he’s not enough? What if you deserve someone calmer, quieter, less messy?

Those fears crawl up his throat late at night, when he replays every small moment between you, wondering if he’s imagining the way you seem to drift closer to him, piece by piece.

But Umemiya is hopeful by nature. He believes in the possibility of things. In second chances. In building homes inside each other’s hearts.

And he knows — with quiet certainty — that one day, he’ll tell you everything.

Not with grand declarations, but with a hand held out, steady and sure.

"Whenever you’re ready," he’ll say.

"I’m here."

And he will mean it with every broken and healed piece of himself.

[thirteenheavens]

Criminally horny reader with jeonghan, joshua or mingyu

Need more than that|| Kim Mingyu

Notes: damn this icon be doing some things to meeee

You're lying in bed next to Mingyu, already in your pajamas, but you can't stop thinking about him. The way his muscles flex when he moves, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you...

"Mingyu," you whine, pressing yourself against him. "I can't sleep." He chuckles and wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. "What's wrong, baby? Need some cuddles?"

You shake your head and straddle his lap, grinding down on him. "I need more than that," you say, your voice sultry. Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise, but he can't hide the fact that he's starting to get hard. "Y-Y/N, we can't," he protests weakly. "It's late and we have an early schedule tomorrow."

But you don't care about schedules right now. You need him, and you need him badly. "Please, Mingyu," you beg, pouting up at him. "I'll be quick, I promise." Mingyu groans and runs a hand through his hair, torn between desire and responsibility. "You're not making this easy for me," he says, his voice strained.

"Please, Mingyu," you repeat, your voice taking on a desperate tone. "I need to feel you inside me. I need to cum." You start to unbutton his pajama shirt, revealing his toned chest. "I'll do anything," you whisper, leaning down to kiss his neck. "Anything you want."

Mingyu's resolve is slowly crumbling, and he can feel himself getting harder with each word you say. "Anything?" he asks, his hands moving to grip your hips. You nod eagerly, grinding down on him again. "Yes, anything," you promise. "Just please, please fuck me."

Mingyu's eyes darken with desire, and he suddenly flips you over, pinning you beneath him. "You're such a needy little thing," he growls, attacking your neck with bites and kisses. You moan and arch your back, loving the way he's taking control. "Yes, I'm yours to use," you say, spreading your legs wider for him.

Mingyu pulls your pajama bottoms off in one swift motion, his eyes raking over your naked body. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, running his hands up your thighs. He positions himself between your legs, his cock hard and leaking pre-cum. "You want this?" he asks, rubbing the head against your wetness.

"Yes, please," you beg again, trying to lift your hips up to take him inside. "I need it so badly." Mingyu tuts at your eagerness, but the sound is more playful than disapproving. He slaps his dick against your clit a few times, making you whimper.

"Patience, baby," he says, a smirk on his face. "You'll get what you want, but only when I say so." He leans down to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You're so wet already," he murmurs. "Did you get this wet just from begging me?" Mingyu teases you with his dick, sliding it up and down your slit without entering you. The tip brushes against your clit with each pass, making you squirm and whimper beneath him.

"Please, Mingyu," you plead again, trying to move your hips to get him inside. "I can't take it anymore." But he holds you down, his strong hands keeping you in place. "You can take it," he says firmly. "You'll take whatever I give you, won't you?"

You nod frantically, your eyes locked on his. "Yes, I'll take it," you promise, your voice shaky with need. "I'll be good, I swear." Mingyu smiles and finally positions himself at your entrance, slowly pushing in. You gasp at the feeling of him stretching you open, your back arching off the bed.

"Fuck," he groans as he sinks deeper into you. "You're so tight." He gives you a moment to adjust before starting to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first. "Is this what you wanted?" he asks, his eyes dark with lust. Mingyu watches as your head falls back, your mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. He takes this as a sign to pick up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with more force.

"You're so perfect like this," he says, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. "Taking my cock so well." He reaches down to rub your clit in circles, his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure to make you see stars. "Are you going to cum for me?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. Mingyu keeps up the punishing pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he nears his own climax. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with your moans and his grunts.

"I'm close," he warns, his breathing ragged. "Where do you want it?" You manage to speak between moans, your voice barely above a whisper. "Inside," you say, your nails digging into his back. "Cum inside me, please." Mingyu groans and buries his face in your neck, his hips stuttering as he finally releases inside you. The feeling of his hot cum filling you up sends you over the edge as well, and you cry out his name as you cum.

He collapses on top of you, both of you breathing heavily. After a few moments, he rolls off and pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you protectively. Mingyu holds you close, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He kisses your cheek softly and whispers, "I love you, Y/N."

You snuggle into his embrace, feeling safe and satisfied in his arms. "I love you too," you whisper back, closing your eyes as sleep starts to overtake you. The room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing, and you can feel Mingyu's heartbeat slowing down to a steady rhythm. You know that despite the late hour and early schedule, you'll both get a good night's sleep after that intense moment.

[torueater]

SUITED UP.ᐟ - KENTO NANAMI

“Is this really necessary?”

He’s bent on one knee fixing the edges of your newest dress suit like a fussy stylist. Tailored just to your shape and height, snug where it needs to be. Never mind the perfectly fine suits still unworn from the last time he’d gotten some tailor made. Blues matching blues, sandy hues matching sandy hues. Nothing screamed ‘married coworkers’ like tacky matching outfits, right?

It’s so out of character that it still has your head spinning because this isn’t even the first matching set he’d done. The last time could be written off, navy and black suits were common work attire colors – but the pinstripe? The pocket squares that match his ties?

It’s your third matching outfit of this quarter, you’ve officially ran out of excuses to tell yourself.  “Baby, everyone’s gonna look at us crazy again.”

He hums, like he’s only half-listening, too busy smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle near your shoulder. "But you said you liked this colour.”

“On you, yes. I love this colour on you.” The comment had not at all been an invitation to drag you into his antics.

“And I like it on you.” Nanami rises to full height to fiddle with the lapels of your suit, thumbing the smoothness of the expensive fabric, lifting his gaze to you. “You weren’t against the fitting.”

“The fitting that you filled me in on when we were already 2 minutes to the place?”

“Minor details.” He says in return, waving a hand in an empty motion before dipping to kiss your forehead. “Looks perfect. Look.” His hands lower to skim the edges of the suit that taper at your waist, spinning you to face your reflection. “Should’ve started doing this sooner, honestly.”

Despite your apparent disinclination, you can admit (grudgingly!) that the fits looked good together. Not the exact same shades this time, but complimenting each other embarrassingly well – almost like puzzle pieces that are made to fit together. You catch him eyeing you in the mirror, all sharp-eyed, smile satisfied in a way that makes your stomach do a little flip. “Does this make you that happy?”

“Oh, extremely. I’m elated. You look beautiful.”

Keep-work-and-personal-life-private Nanami, mind you. Over-the-top displays are tacky Nanami, mind you. Polite and professional Nanami that now looks at you like you hung the moon yourself.

You wonder if your past self would look at you like you had two heads if you told her that you’d be married to the intimidating man that had sat across from you in your first meeting working for the company. That he’d someday put a shiny ring on your finger, custom made based on things you’d brought up in passing. That he’d be fitting you in suits matching his with no care for how ‘corny’ it might seem.

“You’re so silly,” you huff, turning to face him again, own hands lifting to toy with his tie, tightening the knot, “What happened to the man that hated tacky displays?”

"He married you," Kento says without missing a beat, shrugging. Lengthy fingers find your waist, tugging you in until your chest bumps his. "and now he has far better things to prioritize." His head dips to bump your forehead against his lightly, "Plus, it's not corny when we do it."

You huff out a breath, fighting the building heat in your cheeks as you pick at invisible lint on his shoulder. Suit’s far too new, too crisp to even have a singular ball of lint but it helps with the bashfulness that had washed over you. “So silly.” you repeat, biting the soft inside of your cheek to stop your growing smile. “I miss boring Nanami.” Though, he hadn’t ever really been boring, not really. Maybe more reserved, stoic – but never boring. He entertained you plenty, you seemed to like his humor and antics far more than anyone else. You wonder if you should’ve taken the whimsical little cheetah tie as a sign.

His hand smooths down your head in a soothing gesture like some small, pitiful creature. “I think you’re lying to yourself.”

Which, you are, of course. You secretly love the corny matching suits that he gets for you and how they’re practically a way to stake claim. How it’s his way of showing you off in a…not so subtle way. He also just likes seeing you in suits, quite a bit. It’s cute – not that you’d tell him that. “Perhaps.”

Your chin presses up against the front of his suit jacket, head tilted up just enough to look at him, “Is this going to be a common occurrence? Will we be matching socks and shoes soon as well?” “Oh, definitely not.” he says in answer, idle hands tugging at your jacket to settle it, smoothing it out just one more time. “That’s going a bit too far, a little tacky.”

Drawing the line at matching socks and shoes but not at entire matching suits…never a dull moment with him, really. “Far, far too tacky. just the worst, I agree.”

“Exactly, we’re on the same page here.” he hums, “There are limits.”

Matching briefcases would be cute, though.

a/n: never opening pinterest again! nanami in a suit isn't good for my health.

[billiesbabygirleilish]

Can I request a Billiexreader fic were reader had a rough upbringing and turns to sh to cope with the pain and she meets Billie and starts falling for her but trys to hide her demons until she can't and Billie finds her one day and comforts her and it's like hurt comfort and fluff I know it's a heavy topic but I have been feeling a type of way and want some hurt to comfort cuz I love Billie so much

Everything I Wanted

⚠️: sh, emotional pain, trauma, angst. read at your own risk dearies ⚠️

.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.

.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.

You never meant for Billie to see you like that.

From the beginning, Billie had been like a firefly in the dark — a small, stubborn kind of light you couldn't ignore no matter how much you tried to stay hidden. She found you in the backstage crowd after one of her shows, standing alone with your hands shoved into your jacket pockets, invisible to everyone else.

Except her.

Billie saw you. She always saw you.

It started slow — casual conversations, late-night texts, FaceTime calls that stretched until sunrise. Billie was a whirlwind of sarcasm and warmth, one second teasing you, the next looking at you so softly it made your chest ache.

You told yourself you could keep your demons buried. Locked up tight behind carefully chosen words and forced smiles. She didn’t deserve to carry your darkness — she deserved someone who didn’t flinch when memories clawed at them, who didn’t wake up some nights and fall back into old, ugly habits just to feel something.

You thought you were doing a good job.

You wore your long sleeves like armor, even when Billie joked about you "dressing like it was winter in July." You laughed it off. You kept your distance on the worst days, claiming you were "busy" or "tired."

It worked for a while.

Until it didn’t.

It was a random Thursday night when everything cracked open.

You hadn't expected her to show up — she texted you that she'd gotten free from the studio early, and before you could make up an excuse, she was already at your door. Laughing. Smiling. Carrying two milkshakes and a pack of Sour Patch Kids.

You tried to pull yourself together. You wiped your face, yanked your sleeves down. Forced a smile. You thought maybe — maybe — she wouldn't notice the weight dragging behind your eyes.

But Billie noticed everything.

You saw the exact second her smile faltered, the second her eyes narrowed in concern. She stepped closer, setting the milkshakes down on the counter without a word.

“Hey…” she said softly. "You okay?"

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired.”

Billie didn’t push. She just gave you a look — the kind of look that said she knew you were lying but wasn’t going to call you out yet.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a second to breathe, to get your head straight. You closed the door behind you and leaned against the sink, squeezing your eyes shut.

You didn’t hear her follow you. Didn’t hear the door crack open.

Not until you heard her small, broken voice.

“Y/N…?”

You froze.

Your sleeves were still pushed up — the fresh red lines on your arms plain as day.

Panic clawed at your chest. You stumbled to pull your sleeves down, to hide, to disappear, but Billie was already there, gently taking your wrists in her hands before you could.

"Don't," she whispered. "Please don't hide from me."

You couldn't meet her eyes. Shame burned through you. "I'm sorry," you croaked. "I didn't want you to see this. I didn’t want you to see me like this."

Billie's hands were shaking slightly as she cupped your face, forcing you to look at her. Tears were building in her eyes — Billie, who always tried so hard to act like she was made of stone.

"You don't ever have to be sorry for hurting," she said, voice cracking. "You don't ever have to hide this shit from me."

You collapsed into her, the weight of it all finally too much. She caught you like she always did — strong and soft all at once — pulling you tightly against her chest.

You cried until there was nothing left.

And Billie stayed. Stroking your hair, whispering quiet things you couldn't even process at first. Things like "I'm here."And "You’re not alone anymore." And "You are so, so loved."

Later, you sat curled into Billie’s side on your bed, wrapped in one of her giant hoodies. She had one arm around you, her thumb tracing lazy circles on your thigh, grounding you.

You felt raw. Exposed. Terrified.

But Billie just held you closer.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said. "Even if you think you’re broken. Even on the bad days. Especially on the bad days."

You leaned into her, feeling the way her heart beat steady against your cheek.

Maybe you weren’t as alone as you thought.

Maybe love wasn’t about hiding the broken parts — maybe it was about finding someone who chose you anyway.

[inkivaari]

hear me out some dom!gn!reader x sub!conquest? I just wanna tame and take care of that big old man hdjshdjsjs he has so much potential to be pathetic if he's treated well 😩 reader can be bottom who says you can't be a dom AND bottom?

it's been a hot minute guys, been on my academic grind, semester's over and i have a little wiggle room before exams next month so lets try and clear this inbox 😛😛😛

once conquest knows you, once he's dependent on you and your presence, he lets his high guard down. sure it takes a while: he's used to blind dominance, and it does feel great to fuck you into submission, don't get him wrong. and yet... it feels so damn good to let you take the reins.

he comes home from a long, tiring day... he doesn't want to think for himself, not for tonight. his sweetheart is in the kitchen making his dinner, always thinking of him, always taking such good care of him and his needs, who loves him unconditionally though he'll never truly know why... and he's on autopilot immediately.

you've got your own docile, needy big bear to play with on nights like this, and you couldn't be happier: feed him, wash him, touch him all you want, he'll only purr and beg for more! big old baby!

he knows you're insatiable, and he gives up his big body to be your personal playground. instruct him, make your demands, tell him to touch you there, hold you there, bend this way and that, and he complies without complaint: he's so lovedumb and pleasuredrunk that he'd do anything you demand. so BE DEMANDING, he'll tell you over and over again that he can take it, that he was born to take it, that he's yours to take <3

that thick uncut cock is all for your enjoyment: he loves lying back and dozing off while you play with him, or while you're getting yourself off using his body. when he's relaxed, he lets that high guard down, and he cums without shame over and over again, coating your curious roaming hands and his hairy belly. you could keep going until he's shooting blanks, but that would take a good few days... those balls are always so big, always making more cum for his sweetheart :p

he grunts like a wild animal, lazing on the bed while you fuck him stupid, drooling incessantly, eye rolling back as he lets you get away with your teasing, your rough movements, when you need to take your stress out on that fat cock. he needs this time too!

[op1umeyes]

I am OBSESSED with ur hotch story’s, if ur taking requests could you do one where the unsubs lawyer (when the unsub in the the interrogation room) is hotches academic rival and then just normal rival back when he was an prosecutor or smth

thxxx

~ 🔮

Some Things Never Change

Aaron knew it was you from a mile away- your laugh, your posture, your voice. Back in college, he had all the time in the world to memorize everything about you to make sure to avoid you and anything to do with you.

You were talking to another woman near you, stoic face bringing back every memory of every test, quiz, and assignment you had silently boasted about- getting the better grade (best out of the class).

You turned, the door opening twenty minutes earlier than scheduled grabbing your attention. Aaron watched you closely, giving nothing away about how he felt. Your face- mirroring his own bland expression- gave nothing away. But the way your right pointer finger and thumb twitched made Aaron tilt his head up in acknowledgment.

You stared back, eyes glinting. Were you excited to see him, even though you had been sole rivals in college? Was that… anger? In your eyes? It would make sense if you were mad, I mean, Aaron was your competitor for so many years. But Aaron couldn’t decipher the way your lips started to move before he heard his name being called.

“Who’s that?” The woman at your side inquired. She let her gaze drop and examine Hotch thoroughly- possibly too thoroughly.

Just like you did at school, you kept Hotch pinned with your sharp eyes until he finally turned his head away. While his back was towards you, you let yourself note how his shoulders and back had filled his suit jacket nicely. His crisp black pants were not like the sweatpants and jeans he was usually wearing in college- something that made you unconsciously smile at. Hotch’s dark hair was brushed neatly away from his face. “No one. Let’s get to work.”

Hotch watched you bid goodbye to your assistant after the judge had sustained a recess. Your mannerisms had changed since college, Aaron noted, but didn’t altogether disappear. You still kep a solemn face even in the face of stress, your left eye still narrowed slightly whenever you suspected someone was lying, and you still tilted your head back when you laughed. Maybe some things don’t change, Aaron mused.

Before he knew it, Hotch found himself darting over to fall in line with your steps. “You look well, l/n.”

In response, you shook your head. “What do you want, Hotchner? Come to ask me to lay off of your clearly guilty client?”

Hotch cleared his throat. “Well, no. I’d cone to ask you if you’d like to grab lunch.”

“To compare test scores and personal case statistics? No thanks,” you brushed off quickly. When the hallway came to and end, you pressed the button to the elevator without sparing a glance at Hotch. Deep down, you were worried that if you even looked at him, all those years of convincing yourself that you actually hated him would fall apart.

“No, y/n. I wanted to get lunch with me so we could talk. About anything. You can choose.”

Aaron cursed himself for sounding so… pleading, but clearly he was embarrassing enough to finally get you to look at him. And when you did finally meet his eyes face-to-face? The world faltered.

The unspoken accusation in your eyes were as bright as ever: an oddly comforting fact that soothed Aaron to know you still loved your job. Your cheekbones weren’t flushed like they usually were when Aaron got one more extra credit point than you. Your lips were pursed- beautiful and breathtaking as he remembered- as you observed him.

“Italian. I’m driving, you’re paying.”

Aaron smiled. “Lead the way.”

You tilted your head up a little- like you did whenever you bathrd in the success of winning. Some things never change.

[h1biscusgal]

hey, hey!! what do you think about this post?

https://www.tumblr.com/galaxygirl-8/781652008786624512/my-love-how-was-your-first-void-experience-how?source=share

I'm a bit confused, this girl is saying that in the void we cannot manifest, because in the void there are no thoughts and etc.

help, Is this girl saying the truth or not?😭🙏

okay, i did not want to answer any asks yet but i had almost 5 ppl send me this post-

and for once, i will say this: please PLEASE PLEASE don't say something that you meant it in another way.

first, i LOVE her, like SO SO much, i adore her page and her way of explaining and all, and everything here i am about to say IS MY OPINION, IT'S OKAY TO DISAGREE, AND I RESPECT HER BELIEF.

but, let's get into something to break them down, i've been around for 6 and a half years so i do know what i'm sayin', rest assured.

the whole concept of being pure awareness means there's no limit, and i get her point, i think she meant "you are the method, and you are the one who manifests, the void is not what you need."

which ofc i agree, but.

yes i have entered, and YES i have manifested IN the void for seeing stars, think i'm lying? i'm sorry that's too bad, but i genuinely saw it, now isn't this a manifestation in itself?????

"⇉I didn’t affirm anything, because I realized it’s simply not possible. (I know I've always thought and said the opposite but now I can say it from direct experience).The void doesn’t manifest anything by itself.

It’s the Law of Assumption that manifests, always."

please just say "i did not manifest anything because i wanted to relax in it."

not "oh bc it's not possible." ????????? don't word it and say it's not possible, THATS a limit in itself, yes agree that the law of assumption is what makes the void manifestable but c'mon, using the word "not possible." ???

the law of assumption clearly states that you are aligned to a version of yourself to manifest something, and wanna know something?

the void is different from the law of assumption.

"OMG COCO HOW????"

LOA = change your view, change your version, you change, you change your awareness to the version you wanna be.

void = pure awareness with no limit.

MANIFESTATION IN THE VOID = changing the pure awareness to the version you wanna be.

what both have in common = manifesting.

i mean. please.

i adore you girly, please don't think this is an attack or a hate post certainly not, i adore you and i SERIOUSLY love you.

i think you could mix up the "manifestation" part, the void is LIMITLESS, which means, what you say, will happen, because again, it's awareness NOT attached to a goddamn mind that could perhaps "limit" how something is seen.

LOA = you will take the "limit" away yourself from your mind without the need of being pure awareness, so yes, BOTH are the same when it comes in manifesting, but girly the void is it itself.

but, i think she could've meant it in another way, bc if you say that the void is only a method and you are the person who manifests, then yes that's right, but no i am sorry, if you think that the void is somewhere where you can't manifest in it, don't limit yourself, i had the sam experience in you, and no i did not say "oh it's because it's impossible to manifest in it."

but you just manifested it's not possible for you.

you said it yourself, it's the law of assumption, so assume you manifest from it?????

NOW LET ME BREAK IT DOWN FURTHERRRR:

what she said that i agree

“There was nothing there, no thoughts, no identity. Just peace.” Yes, this is consistent with genuine Void experiences. The Void is pure awareness — no self, no concepts, no ego. That’s spot-on.

“The Void just is.” Yes again — the Void is not a place where you do things. It’s Being itself. All this is in alignment with most direct accounts.

what she said that i DONT agree

"It’s not possible to manifest in the Void."

→ This is an assumption, not a fact, you did this assumption.

It’s true that while in the Void, there’s no identity to do the manifesting in that moment — but this doesn’t mean manifestation doesn’t happen from the Void.

People who return from the Void and see instant changes did not “manifest inside the Void,” they manifested because of the Void — because the old self dissolved and no resistance remained, so yes, it's a method people use, and again, is backed up by LOA, but it certainly can be manifested in it.

This creates a false separation between the two, LOA and Void.

The Void is the foundation. it’s what’s left when you strip away all assumption.

The Law of Assumption works because of consciousness. And the Void is pure consciousness.

To say “only the Law of Assumption manifests” is like saying “only the sun gives heat” — true, but the sun and heat are not separate.

"Those who truly manifested never returned to their old identity / were already in the new one / were relaxed."

→ This is actually accurate — but it doesn’t contradict Void manifestation. It supports it, they used the void to erase it.

Entering the Void erases resistance, identity, and story.

When you come back, what you identify with becomes real because there’s no opposing frequency left.

That’s the core mechanism behind instant manifestation from the Void.

so for the love of god and everyone else, the void is you, pure consciousness/ awareness, a part of you that is USED for the manifesting that is BACKED UP by LOA.

both is accurate, again, no hate, but the void is limitless, stop pushing limits through the mind, i've had friends that manifested, thousands here manifested with it, i understand your perspective but you could word it better.

mwah ml, you're an amazing person, and i hope i didn't offend anyone.

this is not a hate post, not a post to "educate" her, i don't mind her belief but some people here freaked out about it.

I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU SEND HER HATE I WILL PERSONALLY- nvm, I WILL HAUNT YOU DOWN, SHE SAID SHE'S SORRY SO DONT YALL DARE GET CLOSE TO HER, SHE MAY HAVE WORDED IT WRONGLY, I SIMPLY CORRECTED IT FOR THE PEOPLE, NOT TO EMBARRESS HER, NOW LEAVE MY BABY ALONE YALL ARE TOO HATEFUL FOR HER, POOR HER.

[616ioi]

NEED THAT MIND BREAKING UZUKI RAAHHHH

AT YOUR SERVICE RAHHH WITH A BIT OF FACE RIDING THO NO GENITALS ARE MENTIONED IM SORRY

Please, I feel like it's hard to get him in a state so vulnerable. Intimacy; itself, is very sacred to this man. To be open and to allow that special someone into his life. It's so... scary.

So, the first couple of times, he's probably discussed what he wants and what he likes. He likes praise, he wants safety. There is a safeword and there's one thing where he draws the line — feeling too good.

His head gets dizzy and he loses control of his own mind. Voices in his head, scrambling to get out.

Yet, for some strange and degenerate reason, it also turns him on.

To be on the brink of passing out from how good he feels when your hands are all over him, from that little safe head-space he gets in when you hold him down as you "force" him to take everything you give him — all of you.

The way he watches you with wet, heart eyes as you ride his face makes you throb. His pupils start to blank over as he feels light headed. It's been hours. His flushed, pale skin was covered in bites and hickeys. Even drenched with mixed juices, yours and his combined.

Uzuki would typically allow this to slide without a second thought, but, today, something was off. He seemed hyper aware of his sticky situation.

His hands ball up into fists from their restraints. Your belt. He's shaking.

Whats that now? He can't breath.

Uzuki pants against you, his throat closing in. He tries to whimper, to warn you as his hips squirm and thrust into the air.

Sane him would've called out his safeword. He wouldn't have to look so pathetic as he tries to muffle out pleas, struggling to allow oxygen through his nostrils but even so, you're blocking it.

But he didn't.

Uzuki wants to be tested. As he discussed prior to the session.

You watch him, carefully. Even when tears start to flow out and his teeth softly graze you as he can no longer keep his mouth open, you continue to grind into him, yanking at his hair to keep him still.

"What's wrong, doll?" You tease with a grin. You would be lying if you said this wasn't turning you on.

The sight of the notorious slur teary-eyed, chest heaving and tied down without any way to escape (read: he can escape, yet, he chooses not to).

You lift your hips off for a split second but he dives right back on in, tongue swallowing you whole.

"Tsk," you click your down as you push yourself off him to catch your breath. "Slow down, kei."

Then, he growls.

The mood shifts.

You tilt your head curiously. That's not like him.

You watch him carefully, calmly. His eyes are glazed over with lust, rather than love. His face flushed and covered with drool. His white hair sprawled underneath him. But his personality... it's another.

You scoff in disbelief. There's no way.

You messed with him so bad (good), his mind and body subconsciously searched for someone to help him out.

How cruel.

note. pov: he says to keep going. that's not your man, would u keep the show on the road?