Hawks X Male Reader

All along, I've been following a social media account that's dedicated to a couple sharing about their romance. It doesn't have a lot of followers, but the posts are all very heartwarming. The owner of the account records all the little details about his relationship with his girlfriend. They get into arguments over a plate of pasta before breaking into laughter and calling each other an overgrown child. They climb up the hill to hold each other under the sky full of stars, wishing they could make time pause at that very moment. Even though the owner of the account never reveals his face, I am always moved by the words he writes. The day before my wedding, the owner uploads a new post. "This marks the end of our ten-year relationship. From now on, she'll be his wife, and I'll only be his friend. There won't be any more updates to this account. I wish nothing but the best for my best friend and the woman he loves the most." The picture uploaded with this caption is one of my fiancee and me, taken from behind.

When news of my arranged fiancee's death arrived, I didn't cry or make a scene. Instead, I quickly reclaimed her shares and had the death certificate issued. I did it because I've been reborn. In my past life, Dad was worried that women would eye my fortune as the heir to the wealthiest family. So, he arranged for me to marry one of three women he personally picked. I chose the most outstanding one, Monica Harris, and married her. However, just three days after our wedding, she died suddenly. Heartbroken, I was persuaded by the remaining two women to give up on marriage and remain single for life. At 80 years old, when I returned to our special place in Sunmere Valley to reminisce, I saw Monica. She should have been dead for 60 years! She stood beside Liam Rogers, my driver who'd gone missing decades ago, surrounded by their children and grandchildren, living a picture-perfect life. I realized I'd been deceived my entire life. The shock sent my blood pressure soaring, and I died of a stroke on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, I was transported back to the day I died. This time, I'm going to find out exactly how someone who's supposedly dead keeps on living.

I got a security job in an upscale neighborhood.  One day, I got a call from a resident.  “I think there’s been a break-in.”  I rushed to the scene. Instead of an intruder, I was greeted by a beautiful woman in barely anything.  She held me and pleaded, “I’m scared. Can you stay with me?”

On Valentine's Day, I paid in full for a sports car and gave it to my wife as a gift. But when my wife arrived at the private dining restaurant, she brought her parents—and her childhood sweetheart—along with her. The moment my mother-in-law saw it, she slammed her hand on the table, furious. "Tyler, do you have so much money that it's burning a hole in your pocket? Is all this really necessary just for a meal? "Megan pinches every penny at home, and here you are throwing money around outside—just to show off?" Embarrassed, I tried to explain that this was simply a token of my love for Megan. My father-in-law, however, kept a stern face. "No matter how expensive the car is, it's still going to get stuck in traffic during rush hour! It's not even as useful as the electric scooter Brandon gave her. If you ask me, you didn't put any real thought into this. "Oh, right. I heard the salesperson who sold you the car was introduced by Brandon. How exactly are you planning to repay that favor? No matter how busy you are with work, you can't just push everything onto Brandon to handle for you." I could hear the hidden meaning behind his words. So that was what this was really about. They were still holding a grudge because a week ago, when my father-in-law had twisted his back, I hadn't gone to the hospital to visit him. But at the time, I had been busy cleaning up the mess Brandon Hayes had caused for the company. I'd even kept him out of prison. Yet, instead of gratitude, they were turning the blame on me. After a long silence, my wife finally looked at me. "Tyler, transfer ten percent of the company's shares to Brandon as repayment." "And if I don't?" My father-in-law barked angrily, "Then I'll have Megan divorce you!" I laughed. Then I calmly pulled a divorce agreement from my pocket and placed it on the table. "Go ahead," I said. "Sign it."

"Hubby, kiss me. I miss you so much. When are you coming home?" Out of nowhere, I received a text. The sender was the cold, untouchable CEO who was currently scolding us in a meeting, Veronica Starling. What shocked me even more was the timestamp on the message. It was sent five years in the future.

In the first year after marrying Victoria Kingsley, I choose to celebrate the holidays with her in her childhood home. At dinner, my mother-in-law suddenly claims that she's lost her gold bracelet. That's when Victoria's childhood friend, Jonathan Zane, points at me. "You must be the one who stole the bracelet! After all, you've been a serial pickpocket since you were young!" Everyone turns to stare at me, their gazes unkind. I thought Jonathan must have mistaken me for another person, so I tell everyone that I never stole the bracelet. But Jonathan continues confidently, "You were punished for stealing from others in high school all the time! Not to mention, I saw you at the police station last month! There's no way I'd have gotten the wrong guy!" Then, Jonathan lays down the details including the time, location, as well as the clothes I was wearing that day. All I feel is mixed feelings at the moment. The thing is, I was at the police station because I needed to obtain some evidence. After all, I'd already joined the judiciary a long time ago. Last month, I was even promoted to the presiding district court judge.

Studying abroad can be incredibly lonely at times. That night, I was in my room, indulging in a little treat for myself, when my best friend suddenly burst through the door. "Doing it yourself is no fun. Come on. There's a super cool cabaret show going on. Let's go see it together!" On stage, my friend was reclining in a chair behind the curtain, with two strong-looking men on top of her. "Come on. Join us for a group dance..."

Following an army mission, I ended up spending three years in a coma. After regaining consciousness, I request a temporary leave from the hospital. I sneak over to the army base where my wife, Major Alicia Connor, is stationed. With my heart bursting with joy, I prepare to give her a surprise—only to spot her on the training grounds, cradled in the arms of another man while he does his squats. The newly recruited soldiers cheer them on, saying, "Kiss her! Kiss her!" I figure they're just joking around, but Alicia proceeds to kiss the man without any hesitation. Still clinging to hope, I tell the soldier on guard to tell Alicia to come out and see me. Instead, it's that man, Steven Greene, who shows up. He gets the other soldiers to press me in the mud, snarling menacingly, "He's the monster who kept stalking Alicia three years ago and took advantage of her when she was drunk!" He stomps on the bouquet of asters I bring with me, driving them into the mud as well. "How dare a scar-faced cripple like you set your sights on Alicia? She's the youngest female major in the history of the army! "I'm going to make it clear to you today that Alicia isn't someone a loser like you can get any ideas about!" Blood sputters from my mouth as they give me a good thrashing. The bones in my already injured leg split and fractured even more. But what Steven doesn't know is the fact that, without me, Alicia can't even remain in the army, let alone be a major.

"This is the body donation agreement, Mr. Lewis. Please sign here." Joel Lewis looks at the paper before him. His hand trembles as he grips a pen. The other party can sense his hesitance. They say considerately, "Body donation is a big thing, and it's normal for people to change their minds at the last minute. You can go home and discuss this with your family—" "I've already signed it." Joel smiles bitterly. "Family" is a term that's beyond him. There's no longer any space in his wife's heart for him, after all.

Three years ago, my girlfriend suffered severe post-traumatic stress after saving my life. She later had a speech impairment that kept her from speaking normally. To cure her, I take on three jobs a day and survive on only bread and water just to come up with the money for her therapy and speech recovery treatment. I happen to be working part-time as a cocktail party waiter one evening when I see my girlfriend, who supposedly has a speech impairment, standing in a fancy dress and being fawned over by the crowd around her. Everyone is calling her "Ms. Holden" and "the heiress of the Holden family". But how can an orphan like her possibly be an heiress?