#I'm not crying I am Just in need of fix it fics

[xylatox]

mama, i’m in love with a criminal || pjs

ANOTHER RAIN FIC EEKK!! I wanted to read this so bad oh my god, I love small town vibes, i love toxic religious beliefs AND IT HAS DARK THEMES. Its literally so perfect to me.

Anyways unto my thoughts (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) i just know i'm going to lose my mind.

Before I begin, a moment to appreciate rain’s graphics???? They're always so good its actually ridiculous

The chapel smells like old pinewood and older secrets. You sit between your brother and your mother, stiff in your Sunday best, your spine straight as the hymnals stacked behind the pew. The stained-glass windows cast slivers of color across the congregation, blood reds, bruised purples, the blue of a cold winter sky. Light falls like confession, quietly and without permission. You are not paying attention to the sermon. You never do. — ugh the beginning is going to drive me insane. As a small town girl who grew up heavily in religion [Catholicism and other branches of Christianity] I am going to be so annoying in this fic i apologize.

The pews smell of lemon oil and something more human, powder and old perfume, the sweat of people trying to look holy. — god the way my brain knows the scent. We literally have a lemon-scented furniture polish and I can feel it leaking through my veins. Its a scent i feel like is so haunting, not just of memories but a familiarity of home that doesnt necessarily feel like home and more like responsibility? Anyways ill hush now.

I can practically see the scene before me. The way i know how the mc feels rn and honestly, I feel sick personally. Too many times have I sat in church with my mother and she was definitely one of those in church who commented on someone’s kid crying and I just felt so bad like, theyre babies girl what more can a parent do. She literally always said they needed to be disciplined and ‘given something to cry about’ but i feel like because she never had to deal with that (i wasnt a crier as a baby) so she cant really sympathize with the parents if that makes sense?

You lean in, ear to the crack. Another grunt. And a voice; feminine, breathy, choked with a sound you’ve only ever heard behind closed doors in dramas you weren’t allowed to watch.  — god i hate (love so badly) that so many little aspects of her remind myself. Like idk what it is with strict Christian households but I wasnt even allowed to watch Spongebob as a kid, most shows in fact i havent seen because my mom was so strict with me and just focussing on education or what she deemed appropriate.

Holy shit that scene with Jay, the way you expressed things, Rain, please let me inside your head what the heck. I love the way everything sounds almost like country small town vibes? At least thats how it feels to me.

She stands with Jay’s mother, who is dressed in pastel pink, too pristine for the venom coiled beneath her voice. Their conversation is coated in sugar, but you can hear the brittle underneath; like porcelain tea cups about to crack. “Oh, she’s grown so much,” Jay’s mother says, her smile wide and empty. “Just lovely.” Your mother laughs, high and bright like wind chimes in a storm. “Time goes fast. I can barely keep up.” — oh i love this, this is exactly how some people in my old town behaved.

THE COMMENT FROM THE DAD OH MY GOD???? Girl im living for this i cant even lie

“If I ever catch you talking to the likes of Park Jongseong,” he says, without turning his head, “I will ship you off to a convent so fast you’ll be reciting rosaries before supper.” The words hang in the air, stark and heavy as thunderclouds. “Yes, Daddy,” you say softly, your voice a breath against the wind, your eyes fixed on the ground — i love how rural this feels. I really am resonating with the feelings here.

Going to appreciate the innocence of Minji, God bless her pure little heart. Family matters, especially those where words are so poisonous always make me feel a little sick inside.

A moment to appreciate Taehyun :(((((((( hes such a cutie pie (yes i can feel the fierceness in him but all i see are 2 boba eyes)

“We’re heading to the bake sale. Church is raising funds for that wedding coming up. Sohiya and Heeseung, bless them.” — ヾ(≧▽≦*)o Heeeseunggggggg

RAIN I AM LIVING FOR THIS TOWN DRAMA. AHHH LIKE — “Have you heard?” she whispers, the kind of tone that makes your stomach drop before you even know why. “Sohiya’s pregnant. That’s why the wedding’s so rushed.” Your brows lift in quiet shock — this is literally the shit people talked about back home oh my god i kid you not. Literally so much so my mom literally told me to not embarrass her because people or family will talk. Like so many people knew me and I didnt know them that i literally had to be nice, have manners and do no wrong near anyone because someway and somehow my parents would’ve found out.

Thinking about that fight between Felix and Jay and I can only see the height difference, its kinda funny but actually situation is so sad I feel bad for Felix :( I love how Jay’s character is here actually, literally had to play criminal, the vibe is just too good.

“Why do you act like this?” Jay blinks slowly, like you’ve asked him a question no one’s ever dared to. Then, in a voice barely louder than a confession, he says, “Because people already made up their minds about me a long time ago. Figured I might as well give them what they want.” It slices through the silence like a nail through silk. — I FEEL BAD FOR HIM I CANT HELP IT. the way your reputation depends so heavily on people sucks

“Run along now,” he mutters, eyes dark. “Before your daddy comes lookin’. Wouldn’t want you shipped off to a convent, would we?” — i laughed at this but i really shouldnt (my high school was a convent, like no joke)

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he says, his voice low, more exhale than sound. “Conversations like that aren’t meant for young girls.” — RAIN YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME IM TAEHYUN BIASED. THIS WILL DRIVE ME MAD. Holding my head in distress. Its crazy they’re only a year apart and Tyun and he really is behaving like hes so much older (i assume it has to do with his responsibility)

Jay saving mc. Jay. Saving. Mc. I want him so fucking bad oh my god.

He looks at your face, and something flickers in those storm-dark eyes of his; something close to concern, but too buried beneath bravado to fully surface. His fingers ghost the edge of your jawline, not quite touching but close enough to feel like lightning waiting for the right tree. He tilts your chin ever so slightly, examining the swelling beneath your cheekbone with an expression that makes your stomach twist. — I WANT HIM SO BAD NOOOOO.

Also her dad and Tyun seem kinda bat-shit, i kinda like it (her dad is a bit more stinky ion like him that much, just the craziness)

Holy shit the first kiss oh my holy shit. — And then, with aching softness, he leans in again and places a second kiss on your lips, quieter this time, reverent almost. A kiss like a secret. A kiss like a promise or a threat. You don’t know which. Then he stands. — I AM GOING MAD. MAD.

You lift the latch. He climbs in without ceremony, without sound, landing like wind on the floorboards. The air shifts the moment he enters, and suddenly your small, worn bedroom feels like a world away from everything else; everything loud, everything righteous. You barely whisper his name before his hands find your face, cradling it with a hunger that feels like grief and something more dangerous. He kisses you like he’s been drowning since birth and your mouth is the first breath of air he’s ever tasted. — oh. my. God

Am I being brought into a false sense of comfort? I hope not and Im going to ignore everything else (yes i saw the warnings, i will be ignorant till the end)

“I’m not just some girl you kiss in the dark,” you say, eyes catching his. “I don’t do this. I don’t just… fool around. I believe in love.” — i couldnt help but giggle shes so fucking cute actually

What were you asking for? Were you ready to have sex? To lose your virginity? and to Jay of all people? You weren’t sure. It was like Jay could sense your hesitance, his head shaking no as soon as the words left your lips. “You’re not ready, baby.” He whispered into your temple. and he was right. You weren’t. So instead he stayed in your bed. Not much longer but long enough for you to really miss him when he left. — god i am not your strongest soldier.

Jay and mc are like a flame and a moth. This girl really pretended to care about Minji’s play date to go to their house. I will say it again, I absolutely love Jay’s character and how complex it is. I really do feel bad for him because there are so much things unsaid about him (so far) and it actually hurts that words and people can cause the behaviour. Like, him coming to her house after they has the little moment when she was over hurts. The way he was hurt, the way he literally cant tell her ugh :( 

You could’ve leaned in. You could’ve kissed him right then, let him forget the pain with the press of your mouth. But you didn’t. Instead, you cupped his face, thumb stroking gently beneath the bruise that bloomed like a violet shadow under his eye. “You didn’t have to come here,” you whispered. “I didn’t know where else to go.” And your heart cracked wide open. — my heart is too fucking weak for this oh my god im actually close to tearing up.

If they ever came for you…” His jaw tightened, that fire lighting behind his gaze again. “I’d burn the whole fucking earth down first.” Your breath caught. There was no poetry in his words. No soft metaphor. Just pure, raw promise. And it hit you harder than any poem ever could. — oh my god. 

Tonight, He wasn’t the boy with blood on his hands and secrets behind his teeth. You were just two people, breaking open beneath the weight of something delicate and real. — the vulnerability, i actually cant handle it

You stiffened. The words felt like claws scraping against your skin, peeling away the quiet you’d wrapped around yourself. You looked up, your fork frozen in your hand. “He’s not like that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but it rang clear through the room like a church bell cracking. “You don’t know him.” The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating, like the house had stopped breathing. — ?!?!?!?!? HELLO. Good for her honestly but im scared of the dad.

He didn’t answer at first. The space was small, too small, like a secret made physical. You could feel his breath at your temple, the heat of him seeping into your skin. “Forgive me, Father,” he murmured, voice low and sacrilegious, “for I am about to sin.” — oh my god. Holy fuck. The way he just downright confessed before he was about to start.

Jay—” you tried to protest, but he leaned in, forehead resting against yours, and the world tilted. “I want you so bad.” he said, softer now, like a confession. “I couldn’t help myself.” — Rain, youre going to send me crazy.

RAIN? RAIN???? IN THE CONFESSIONAL BOOTH????? 

“Oh god —” You let slip out. A wave of panic washes over you. 

“Yes.” Father Lee hummed. “Call onto our lord and our savior..” Jay adds another finger his pace quickening along with your breathing, your chest heaving and moans knocking at lips begging to be set free. — the way father lee responded, the i what ???? i literally cannot form coherent words rn. The catholic freak in me is living for this.

“Yes, god.” You whimpered, moving your hips to better aid Jay’s fingers. “Yes, yes, god.” 

“That’s it.” Father Lee nods. “Call unto him, as he is the only one who can judge you.” — I feel like i have to go confession after this (I havent done that since highschool)

“Do you accept this prayer and are you ready to confess all your sins?” Father Lee says as a closing statement. Your orgasm washes over you like a wave, pleasure coursing through your veins straight to your belly. You convulsed around Jay’s fingers withering under  his touch. 

“Yes! Yes!” You chanted “Oh my god.” Your breathing was uneven. Father Lee shuffled beside you. “We can begin..” He trailed off. 

“Tell me, what would you like to confess?” Your eyes find Jay’s once again as your breathing slows. What did you just do? Jay flashes you a smile, a shit eating grin that you can’t help but send back. You were in trouble with him, you were falling in love with him. And nothing good could come from that. — RAIN. I am so sorry but I just had to highlight this entire thing because OH MY GOD. Its so blasphemous (i love it)

AND WHEN I THOUGHT THINGS COULDNT GET WORSE ITS FELIX WHO DIES???

He looked up, startled, and then he smiled. “Hi, beautiful. What a surprise.” — on my knees. On my fucking knees.

The confession from Jay? His fucking dad being like hook, line and sinker? I feel fucking sick. And this was the false sense of security i fell into.

The way Jay was finally there, the way he killed Chul, the way immediately after police, her dad and taehyun appear. The way they cuff Jay…the way just. Everything. 

And then you kissed him. Fiercely, tenderly. Like the world was ending, because maybe, in some way, it was — oh my god i feel sick, tears in my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice breaking. “I love you.” And then they took him. — no :((( 

Rain this was so freaking good. Like its literally the most immaculate piece. I love literally every moment. I love the way you did the plot, the way it progressed. The way Jay had so many complexities to him and in a way him and mc were on opposing sides of the same coin. Both with complex families, except with mc her dad more or less protected her purity and with jay his dad basically exploited him. I feel sick. I will always, and i mean always love your writing style, its really how I achieve to be.

Again, I really loved every bit of this piece. Your Jay will be remembered.

MAMA, I'M IN LOVE WITH A CRIMINAL P.JS

೨౿ ⠀  ׅ ⠀   ̇ 24k ⸝⸝ . ‌ ׅ ⸺ word count.

pairings 𝜗𝜚 criminal ! jay ៹ rival family ! kang ! reader ᧁ ; smut ˒ angst ˒ violence ˒ romeo and juliet au

warnings ⊹₊ ⋆ smut body worship fingering (in a church) angst graphic depictions of violence dark themes (i’m being serious) kidnapping held captive death injuries forbidden romance romeo and juliet au some toxic religious beliefs small town vibes ft taehyun (txt) ft yunah (illit) ft felix (stray kids) made up names for jay's parents fictional death of real life idols

in which ୨୧ He was a mystery. One you didn't know if you could solve. Hidden behind the shadows of his past and his duty to his family. He was no man for you, no. You needed a good man, a man that could provide and you knew that. So why did you want him so bad? No matter how dangerous, no matter how wrong.

★ ! rain's mic is on ⋆ ͘ . lord. I seen a tiktok edit to Britney Spears 'criminal' with jay and I literally couldn't stop thinking about it. I'm a sucker for Romeo and Juliet type of stories and jay is so perf for this. Also; I hope you guys will understand the ending to this — i tried to make it clear that i was not romanticizing the things that happened in here but also make it known that not everything is black and white in the world; sometimes decisions are more complex than just simply right or wrong. If you have any questions on my intentions with the ending; feel free to respectfully ask and i’m more than happy to explain. There will be no part two.

The chapel smells like old pinewood and older secrets. You sit between your brother and your mother, stiff in your Sunday best, your spine straight as the hymnals stacked behind the pew. The stained-glass windows cast slivers of color across the congregation, blood reds, bruised purples, the blue of a cold winter sky. Light falls like confession, quietly and without permission. You are not paying attention to the sermon. You never do.

The pastor drones on at the pulpit, words like smoke dissolving into the high beams of the chapel ceiling, but your mind drifts toward the murmuring of silk dresses and the creak of wooden pews, toward the undercurrent of small-town theater playing out in god’s house. Your father sits to your left, a statue carved of stone and pride. You feel the tension in his body like a heat source; silent, simmering, the kind of rage that has long since been iced over by responsibility. Your mother holds Minji in her lap, fingers curling gently around your little sister’s arm, but her eyes are watching everyone else in the church. 

The pews smell of lemon oil and something more human, powder and old perfume, the sweat of people trying to look holy. Minji starts kicking the pew in front of you, gently at first, like she’s testing the patience of the wood. Tap, tap, tap. Then harder. Thud. Your brother, Taehyun, flicks her a warning glance, but says nothing. You lean over, whispering sharp and low, like the way your mother does when guests are over “Minji. Stop.”. She glares at you with the full offense of a seven-year-old wronged. Her lip trembles. You already know what’s coming before she opens her mouth. 

She starts to cry; loud, wet, dramatic sobs that echo off the vaulted ceiling like thunder in a quiet storm. Heads turn. A few old women in floral skirts give sympathetic glances; others look annoyed. The pastor doesn’t pause, but you feel the church shift, the way it always does when something unscripted happens. Your mother turns to you, lips tight, voice sweetly cutting.  “Take her to the bathroom,” she hisses, her nails brushing your wrist like a warning. “Now.” You nod, standing and tugging Minji’s hand. She follows, sniffling, dragging her feet like she’s on the way to execution. You step out into the aisle, heat rising in your cheeks from the attention; most eyes pretend not to watch, but you feel them. You always feel them. Small towns are built on watching. You rush to the bathroom in the very back of the church, closed off and muggy. Surrounded by a long hallway of doors upon doors with who knows what in them. 

The bathroom smells like baby powder and old tile, the kind of sterile clean that never truly feels clean. Minji is humming a made-up song to herself behind the heavy door, the sound broken now and then by the rush of the faucet and the scrape of her shoes against the floor. You lean against the opposite wall, arms crossed, eyes flicking across the narrow hallway that leads deeper into the back corridors of the church; the kind of place children are told not to wander and adults forget to remember. It’s quiet here. Too quiet. You can still hear the low cadence of the sermon through the walls, like a heartbeat underwater. But underneath that; there. A sound. A sharp rustle, then a low thump. Muffled. Human. 

You stiffen. For a moment, it’s nothing. Could be a broom falling over, could be the wind sneaking through the stained glass seams. But then it comes again: a grunt, quick and strangled. Another thud. You glance toward the end of the hall, where a door hangs slightly ajar. Beyond it, darkness pools like ink in the corners of the church’s storage room. A place for old hymnals, broken nativity statues, forgotten folding chairs. You shouldn’t move. You know this. Every instinct in you, trained by caution, by family, by a lifetime of walking straight lines, tells you to stay planted, to wait for Minji and return to your seat and never speak of what you thought you heard. But curiosity, you’ve learned, is a quiet rebellion. A whisper that grows teeth. 

So you walk. Slowly. Barefoot-quiet in your heeled shoes. You reach the door, place your palm on the wood, breath hitched in your throat like a prayer waiting to break. You lean in, ear to the crack. Another grunt. And a voice; feminine, breathy, choked with a sound you’ve only ever heard behind closed doors in dramas you weren’t allowed to watch. You flinch, but your hand betrays you, fingers curling around the handle like it belongs to you. And then you open it. 

The light from the hallway slashes across the room, carving shadows into skin. You freeze. Park Jongseong. His back is bare, muscles flexing like a marble sculpture brought violently to life. His shirt is bunched around his waist, and his hands are on a girl. A girl you recognize, barely. Yumi. Her mouth is open in a gasp that doesn’t get the chance to leave. Her dress hiked up like it never belonged to her in the first place. Their limbs are tangled, their sins so vivid it feels like you're watching a sacred text being burned. Jay looks up. His eyes catch yours like a knife catches light. They widen, not with guilt, but with recognition — you, of all people. The breath leaves your lungs like glass shattering on cold tile. You slam the door so hard it rattles the frame.  

You’re trembling, though you don’t know if it’s from shame or shock or some strange cocktail of both. You spin around, heart thudding a war drum in your chest. Minji is just stepping out of the bathroom, drying her small hands on her dress. She doesn’t notice the way your hands shake as you reach for hers. Doesn’t see the way your eyes are wide, unfocused, filled with something that shouldn’t be there. “We’re going back,” you say, voice too high, too sharp. She doesn’t argue. Just nods and follows you, humming again, a tune too sweet for the ruin in your chest. 

You walk back into the sanctuary like a ghost in a girl’s body. You sit beside your mother, folding your hands in your lap like nothing happened, like you didn’t just see sin spill in a place meant for salvation. Your father doesn't glance at you. Taehyun doesn’t notice. But your mother turns slightly, just enough to give you a once-over; the kind that sees everything and says nothing. She thinks the crying was too much for you. She thinks you’ve been startled by your sister’s fit. And maybe she’s right, in a way. You’ve been startled. You’ve been unmade. 

And across the church, hidden in the shadows of holy silence, you feel him. Jay. And it’s not just what he did. It’s not just the shame of seeing it. It’s the way he looked at you. Like you were the one caught. Like he had nothing to hide. You stare straight ahead at the altar, but your mind stays in that room, with the taste of heat and velvet breath and the raw burn of a boundary shattered. You were innocent. Now, you’re aware. And awareness, you’re beginning to realize, is the beginning of every great tragedy. 

The service ends with the gentle hush of murmured amens and the rustle of Sunday clothes brushing past one another like leaves in a breeze. The congregation begins its slow migration out of the pews, a tide of polite smiles, handshakes, and the same conversations they’ve had for years, wearing different dresses. Your mother and father slip easily into their places; your father all firm nods and clipped words, your mother like a practiced socialite, her smile painted just perfectly at the edges. You, Taehyun, and Minji remain behind, lingering in your spot like the forgotten echo of a hymn, three children carved from the same silence. 

Minji swings her legs, her little shoes knocking against the pew in soft rhythm. She’s already forgotten the earlier outburst, too busy playing with the lace trim of her dress and watching Soojin across the room with an expression that flickers between curiosity and envy. Taehyun leans back, arms crossed, eyes roving lazily over the crowd. You try not to look for him. Not for Jay. But your eyes betray you like they always do, wandering before your mind gives them permission. And there he is. Standing by his mother, tall and lean like a shadow at sunset, too sharp around the edges to be beautiful, but too striking to ignore. Jay. His hands are in his pockets, posture relaxed, but there's a glint in his eye, dangerous, knowing. His mouth tilts into a crooked, unbearable smirk when his gaze meets yours. 

Like a match lit in the back of your throat. He knows. He knows you saw. You look down instantly, cheeks burning, staring at your shoes as though they can explain how to erase memory. But there’s no forgetting the picture burned into your eyelids. No way to smother the sound of that half-stifled breath, the friction of skin, the fall of a name not yours. You hear your name drift through the air like a ripple over still water. “Come here, sweetheart,” your mother calls, her voice sweet enough to sting. You rise on instinct, smoothing your skirt with trembling hands, and walk the long aisle toward her like you’re walking a tightrope, each step balanced between ruin and restraint. 

She stands with Jay’s mother, who is dressed in pastel pink, too pristine for the venom coiled beneath her voice. Their conversation is coated in sugar, but you can hear the brittle underneath; like porcelain tea cups about to crack. “Oh, she’s grown so much,” Jay’s mother says, her smile wide and empty. “Just lovely.” Your mother laughs, high and bright like wind chimes in a storm. “Time goes fast. I can barely keep up.” 

You can feel their words curling around you like ivy, decorative and choking. You nod, bow your head politely, try not to flinch as Soojin skips up to Minji and pulls her by the hand to the patch of grass outside the chapel. They giggle, bright as birdsong, unaware of the blood history buried beneath their fathers’ names. And beside them, like a wolf in Sunday clothes, stands Jay. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. He looks at you like he’s still in that room. Like he can still see you there, wide-eyed, breathless, trembling at the threshold of something you shouldn’t have witnessed. His smirk deepens, lazy and cruel, and you feel it all the way in your stomach.

Your skin prickles. “What the hell was that look?” Taehyun mutters behind you, his tone low, edged with suspicion. He nudges you sharply with his knee, and you nearly stumble. You keep your eyes on your feet. “Nothing,” you say, too quickly. “I’ll tell you later.”

Taehyun narrows his eyes but doesn’t push. He knows you. He knows when to wait. You stand there, between your mother and your enemy’s mother, with your hands clasped and your mouth sewn shut, while your past, your present, and your sins walk the churchyard outside; laughing like children, smirking like boys who don’t believe in consequences. You think maybe you don’t either. Not anymore. 

The conversation begins to wilt, as all forced things do; smiles sagging at the corners, eyes flicking elsewhere in search of escape. Your mother and Jay’s mother trade the kind of compliments that glitter like broken glass: delicate, dazzling, and meant to cut. Behind them, laughter ripples from the church lawn, where Minji and Soojin chase each other in slow, dizzying circles, their dresses fanning out like blooming petals, too young to know the soil they’re rooted in. You glance once toward Jay, who leans against the edge of the wooden steps with his hands still buried in his pockets, his dark hair curling slightly at his temple, his expression unreadable now, less amused, more distant, as if even he feels the weight pressing down from generations above him. And then your father arrives. 

He moves through the crowd like a tide against stone, unyielding and deliberate. The chatter quiets a little wherever he steps, the way air thins before a storm. You feel him before he speaks; a presence that coils around your ribcage and makes your breath shallow. His eyes are sharp beneath the brim of his hat, and when he stops beside your mother, you see the brief flicker of something harden in Jay’s mother’s posture. “Mrs. Park,” he says, voice even, smooth, but cold in the way marble is cold. “Where’s your husband this fine morning? Too busy for the Lord?” 

She blinks once. Her smile holds, but only just. “Business,” she replies. “He’s out of town, dealing with a shipment issue in the city.” Your father’s silence stretches just long enough to make everyone feel it. “I’m sure he is,” he says finally, the words slow and heavy, like stones dropped into a still pond. The implication hangs there; thick, clinging, undeniable. 

You feel your stomach twist. Even the sun seems to dim for a moment, slipping behind a lazy cloud as if to shield its eyes. Your mother steps in like a practiced violinist interrupting a wrong note mid-performance. Her hand grazes your father’s elbow with the familiarity of a thousand such interventions. “Well,” she says lightly, too brightly, “we should be going. The roast will overcook if we linger much longer.” She turns to Jay’s mother with that polished grace only women in battle can master. “It was so lovely catching up. Truly.” 

Jay’s mother nods. Her smile has slipped further now, the edges brittle. “Of course. Always.” You’re ushered away quickly, your mother’s hand at your back firm and urging, her pace brisk as she gathers Minji from the grass, calls for Taehyun, and pulls your family together like a shepherd herding sheep out of a lion’s den. No one speaks until the church doors are behind you, the air suddenly cooler, less suffocating.

You’re nearly free. The gravel of the church path crunches beneath your shoes as your family moves forward, a cluster of matching postures and purposeful steps, like soldiers retreating from a battlefield dressed in Sunday best. The weight begins to lift from your chest, bit by bit, with every step away from those lingering glances and brittle conversations. You tell yourself you’ll forget what you saw, that it was an accident, a fleeting mistake swallowed by stained glass and holy silence. But just as you pass the old oak tree near the chapel gate, a hand snakes out and closes around your wrist. You freeze. The world seems to narrow into a pinprick.

Jay. His fingers are calloused, his grip strong; not enough to hurt, but enough to root you to the spot like a nail through your spine. He’s close. Too close. His face is calm, cold, carved from the same shadows that seem to cling to him even in the daylight. There is no trace of that smirk now. No mischief. No boyish charm. Just steel. “Don’t tell anyone what you saw,” he says, low and sharp, each word slicing into the quiet like the snap of a branch underfoot. “Or you’ll regret it.” 

There’s no drama in his voice, no raised tone, no overt threat. Just certainty. Like a promise. Or a prophecy. Your breath lodges somewhere beneath your ribs. You can’t even muster a word, only a nod, small and trembling, as your heart begins to stutter inside your chest like it’s trying to run ahead of you. He lets go as suddenly as he appeared, melting back into the periphery like a sin you can’t prove you committed. The imprint of his touch remains, hot and phantomlike, as you hurry back to your family with your head down and your thoughts unraveling at the seams. You slip into step beside them just in time to hear your father’s voice break the fragile calm. 

“If I ever catch you talking to the likes of Park Jongseong,” he says, without turning his head, “I will ship you off to a convent so fast you’ll be reciting rosaries before supper.” The words hang in the air, stark and heavy as thunderclouds. “Yes, Daddy,” you say softly, your voice a breath against the wind, your eyes fixed on the ground. And that’s it. No argument. No protest. Because even if you wanted to fight, what would you say? That you didn’t talk to him? That his hand found yours, not the other way around? That he threatened you? That you saw something you can’t unsee?

No. You say nothing. You bow your head like the good girl you’re supposed to be. Like a daughter dressed in obedience and stitched with silence. But beneath your skin, something writhes. Something that feels a lot like shame and a little like fear, but more than anything, like curiosity warped by danger. And as the chapel disappears behind you, you realize this is how it begins. Not with a kiss. But with a warning. 

That night the dining room is warm with the scent of roast chicken and buttered root vegetables, the table laid with modest care, linen napkins folded neatly, wine glasses filled just a touch too high, as though the evening itself demanded the illusion of celebration. Outside, the crickets begin their song beneath the veil of twilight, and the house hums gently with the quiet rituals of family: chairs scraping wood, silverware clinking like distant bells, Minji humming to herself between bites of mashed potatoes. 

You sit across from Taehyun, who nudges your foot under the table once, curious, wordless, but you give him nothing. Not yet. Your mother, dressed in her favorite pale blue blouse, cuts her meat with careful precision, while your father, ever the figure carved from unyielding stone, sips from his wine like it's an act of judgment rather than indulgence. The conversation flits from the mundane to the mechanical, your father talking about a shipment delay, your mother noting the fundraiser next month, Taehyun making a dry comment about work. You listen halfheartedly, moving food around your plate, your thoughts wandering back to the church, to the oak tree, to the ghost of a hand still wrapped around your wrist. But then your mother says it. 

“So,” she begins lightly, as though she’s offering a dessert menu instead of kindling a fire, “Jiyo invited us to dinner next Saturday.” The clink of your father’s knife against his plate is immediate. A small, sharp sound that lands like a gavel. 

“She what?” he says, his voice too calm, the kind of calm that thins the air. Your mother waves her hand, trying to dismiss the storm before it forms. “Just a friendly gesture. She said she’s wanted to reconnect. It’s been years since we’ve sat down like civilized people.” Your father laughs, but it’s humorless, a short, cutting sound like a blade being tested. “And you said yes?”  

“I said I’d think about it.” 

He sets down his fork, dabs his mouth with a napkin, and leans back in his chair like a man preparing to deliver a verdict. “You know how I feel about Chul. That woman chose to build her life beside a snake. What makes you think we owe them the performance of kindness?” 

“She’s not her husband,” your mother says, her tone still soft but no longer passive. “She’s always been sweet to me. To the kids. Especially when you were… gone.” The word lingers — gone — and you feel it hit the table like a dropped stone. Your father’s jaw tightens. “There’s nothing sweet about a woman who lays down with scum and lets him poison the earth around him.” 

“Well,” your mother says, straightening her back, her voice sharpening to a whisper-thin edge, “then I suppose I must be just as rotten. I married a man who once made deals with him too, didn’t I?” The silence that follows is deafening. Your father turns slowly to her, his expression unreadable but his eyes like winter; the kind of cold that doesn’t melt come spring. “Say that again?”

Your mother holds his gaze for half a second longer, a war trembling behind her lashes. But she looks away. She says nothing. Only returns to her plate and cuts her chicken in silence. And that’s it. The conversation dies. No one breathes too loudly. Minji doesn’t notice, she hums and chews and swings her feet. Taehyun reaches for the salt, eyes flicking to yours with quiet warning. Your appetite vanishes like mist in morning sun.

Outside, the wind brushes the windows like fingers trying to get in. Inside, you realize that your family is not made of glass, but of iron, bent into shape by betrayal, rusted over with resentment. And some metals, you think, cannot be reforged. Only buried. 

The night unfurls like silk, cool and gentle, stitched with stars. The backyard hums with crickets and the distant rustle of trees whispering secrets to one another in the dark. You’re curled on a poolside lounge chair, the spine of your book bent beneath your thumb, but your eyes have glossed over the same sentence three times. The page is just a veil now; something to hide behind while your mind wades through the wreckage of the day. The pool glows a soft, pale blue beneath the surface lights, and Taehyun slices through it like a blade through water. His strokes are steady, strong, the kind of motion that speaks of routine, of something he’s learned to rely on. You envy that; his ability to push everything down, to lose himself in rhythm and breath and the sound of water folding in on itself. 

You sigh and adjust your legs, the night air cool against your skin. Sometimes, in rare hours like this, you let yourself believe Taehyun might be the only one who truly sees you. The only one who knows how to read the pauses between your words, the weight behind your silences. Besides Yunah, who is far away tonight, it's always been him; your confidant, your reluctant protector, your brother. He swims one final lap, then glides to the edge and pulls himself out in a single fluid motion, water streaming off his skin in rivulets that catch the dim light. He grabs a towel from the back of a chair and rubs it through his hair, gaze flicking toward you, unreadable but searching. You wait. You know it’s coming. 

He sits at the pool’s edge, legs dangling in the water, shoulders still rising and falling from exertion. The silence thickens, until finally he breaks it. “What was that today?” he asks. “At church. Jay looked at you like…” He pauses, frowns. “And then he grabbed you. What the hell was that about?” You close your book slowly. The words don’t come easily. They never do when shame tangles them first. But this is Taehyun. If there’s anyone you can give them to, raw and imperfect, it’s him. 

“I saw something,” you begin softly. Your voice is barely a whisper, as if the night might shatter if you speak too loudly. “In the church. When I took Minji to the bathroom.” His eyes don’t leave your face. “There were… noises. From one of the storage rooms. I thought someone was hurt,” you say. “But when I opened the door, it was—” You hesitate. “It was Jay. With some girl. Yumi, I think. They were…” 

Taehyun groans, dragging a hand down his face before you can even finish. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, hugging your knees to your chest. “I slammed the door shut. I didn’t even mean to see it.” 

“And that’s why he grabbed you?” Taehyun says, his voice laced with disbelief and anger, a storm gathering behind his words. “That’s why he gave you that look; like he was daring you to open your mouth.” You nod. “He told me not to tell anyone. Said I’d regret it.” 

Taehyun curses again, sharper this time. “What a goddamn asshole.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically rid himself of the thought. “He treats people like shit. Always has. He walks around like the world owes him something for the family name he was born into. I don’t care how tragic his little story is; his dad screwing over ours, his mom pretending to be sweet, he’s just as rotten.” 

The silence stretches again, heavy with unspoken fears and the slow bloom of something darker. “He’s sick for doing that in a church,” Taehyun mutters, his voice low and hard. “And then threatening you about it? He’s lucky it was you who saw him and not me.” You glance at him then, at the way his jaw clenches, his hands balled into fists against his thighs. It should comfort you, the fierceness in him, the way he leaps to your defense without question. But instead, it only deepens the ache inside you. Because no matter how wrong it is, no matter how much your brother’s fury burns bright and righteous, there’s a whisper in the back of your mind that still wonders what it is about Jay Park that makes your heart stutter like that.

“I won’t talk to him,” you say quietly, more to convince yourself than him. “Good,” Taehyun says, looking over at you. “Because that boy doesn’t just bring trouble. He is trouble.” And yet even as the stars blink overhead and the pool water laps gently against tile, you feel the echo of Jay’s voice coil around your spine like smoke. You know what you saw. And worse; you know what you felt. You tuck your head against your knees and close your eyes, wishing the night could swallow the memory whole. But some things, once seen, never go quiet again. 

The house is still, cloaked in the velvety hush of after-hours, when dreams drip slow like honey and silence wraps around the walls like an old lover. The moon hangs low outside your window, its pale light slanting across your bedroom floor like an invitation, or a warning. You wake to something — not a dream, no — but the low hum of voices bleeding through the stillness, muffled and sharp, like the scrape of metal under cloth. Your breath catches. You sit up slowly, ears straining. The clock beside your bed reads just past three. The voices murmur again. 

You slip out of bed on bare feet, the cold floor biting against your skin as you tiptoe to the door. The hallway yawns long and dark before you, stretched like a corridor in some haunted chapel, the air thicker here, like it's been keeping secrets of its own. You hold your breath and follow the murmurs, each step soft, careful, barely there. The kitchen glows faintly ahead. dim yellow light spilling out like spilled whiskey beneath the doorframe. You press yourself to the wall and lean forward just enough to see. Your father stands near the table, sleeves rolled up, a glass untouched by his hand. Taehyun leans against the counter, arms crossed, face grim, eyes flickering toward two men you’ve never seen before, older, stern, the kind of men who carry weight without needing to raise their voices. They speak in hushed tones, but the tension rides every syllable, thick and bitter. 

“…can’t let them find out we’re disturbing their shipments,” one of the men says, low and urgent. “If Chul gets wind of it, he’ll burn this town down to find the leak.” Your heart jolts. Shipments? Leak? “They already suspect something,” the second man adds, fingers drumming against the table like a metronome counting down to disaster. “That little punk, Jay, he robbed one of our guys. Sent a message. You know what that means.” 

Your father’s face is carved from stone. “Of course I do.” Your stomach twists. Jay. “He’s getting reckless,” the man continues. “Acting like he’s untouchable. We don’t deal with people like that.” 

Taehyun’s voice is calm, but edged like a blade honed too long. “He can try,” he mutters. “If he comes near our side again, I’ll handle it.” Your blood runs cold. There’s no hesitation in his tone, only the promise of violence. Your hand flies to your mouth, breath trembling through your fingers. The room spins slightly, your body suddenly too small, too quiet for the weight of what you've just heard. The world feels different now, fractured. You’d known there were histories buried beneath this town, old grudges and whispered deals that had sunk roots deeper than the oak trees. But this — this was something else.

They weren’t just rivals. They were at war. And Jay, whatever he was to you, whatever strange heat curled around your being when you thought of him, was in the center of it. 

You back away from the doorway, heart racing, afraid they’ll hear the thunder of it. You scurry down the hallway like a ghost retracing its steps, back into the sanctuary of your room where shadows feel safer than light. You close the door with trembling hands and slide down the back of it, sinking to the floor. Your mind echoes with voices; dangerous, sharp-edged voices and Jay’s name spinning like a coin tossed too high. Sleep does not find you again that night. Only questions. And fear. 

The morning slips in on golden threads, soft and unassuming, the kind of light that warms the wooden floorboards and dapples the countertops in sleepy patches. You haven’t said a word about what you heard the night before those heavy truths folded into the silence between heartbeats but they thrum beneath your skin like a second pulse. Still, when your mother calls you down the hallway, brisk and bright, you answer as if nothing inside you has changed. “Put on something nice,” she says, her voice already trailing off into the kitchen. “We’re heading to the bake sale. Church is raising funds for that wedding coming up. Sohiya and Heeseung, bless them.” 

You pause with your hand on the stair rail, her words wrapping around your throat like ivy. Sohiya. She was your age, sweet and soft-spoken, with delicate wrists and laughter like wind chimes. And Heeseung, kind-eyed and quiet, the type who always held the door open and bowed his head when he prayed. The idea of them marrying, so young, so sudden, presses strangely on your chest. You dress in silence, the pastel linen of your skirt swishing against your legs like a lullaby as you smooth your hair, your reflection half-faded in the antique mirror on your wall. Outside, the town is already stirring, the sleepy streets of your village slowly waking, touched by the scent of sugar and cinnamon wafting through the breeze. 

At the town square, white tents have been strung with bunting, and tables bow beneath the weight of confections, pies with latticed crusts, sugar cookies shaped like doves, and cupcakes topped with icing roses that seem too delicate to eat. The air hums with the soft murmur of neighbors, laughter bubbling here and there like springwater. It is all so pleasant, so falsely perfect, like a painting trying to forget the shadows in its corners. You spot Yunah by the jam stall, her dark braid swinging as she waves you over with a grin, her mother deep in conversation with someone about flour prices and wedding favors. As soon as you reach her, she grabs your arm and leans in, eyes glinting with mischief. 

“Have you heard?” she whispers, the kind of tone that makes your stomach drop before you even know why. “Sohiya’s pregnant. That’s why the wedding’s so rushed.” Your brows lift in quiet shock. Yunah nods, savoring your reaction like a bite of forbidden cake. “I heard it from my cousin who heard it from Eunju, who heard it from her older sister. Her parents found out last week and demanded the wedding happen before anyone else starts talking.” 

You glance across the bake sale and find Sohiya near the lemonade stand, her hands wringing the hem of her blouse, Heeseung standing beside her like a ghost, present, but hollow. She looks tired, like someone who’s been carrying a secret too long, her smile wilting at the edges every time someone congratulates her. Your heart aches in the quiet way only girlhood understands. You’re the same age. You’ve braided your hair the same, sat in the same church pews, hummed the same hymns. But now she’s stepping into a life that feels ten years too soon. A house. A husband. A child. 

“I couldn’t imagine,” you murmur, voice soft and low, “being married right now.” Yunah shrugs, biting into a shortbread cookie. “You and me both. But you know how this town is. A scandal like that?” She shakes her head. “It’s either a wedding or exile.” You nod slowly, eyes lingering on Sohiya, on the way she keeps glancing over her shoulder like the whispers might catch up to her. The same way you feel the breath of last night’s secrets still clinging to yours. Beneath the sugar and sunlight, the square feels brittle. Like one wrong word could make it all shatter. 

It happens suddenly, like thunder splitting the hush of an approaching storm. One moment you’re nibbling on a vanilla cupcake and nodding along as Yunah whispers about scandalous bridal fittings and strict seamstresses, and the next, the air warps; sharp, brittle, buzzing like a struck wire. The shift is instant, the kind of moment that bends the bones of a quiet afternoon and sets hearts galloping. You hear it first; a voice, sharp and raw with fury. Then the low, sickening thud of someone being shoved against a wall.

Your head snaps toward the commotion, and the whole bake sale ripples with the echo of gasps and stilled conversations. Tables tremble, frosting smears, and parents clutch their children a little closer. Near the corner of the community center, just beneath the old iron sconce where flyers for choir practice flutter weakly, Jay is pinned; pressed against sun-warmed brick by another boy, taller, angrier, eyes gleaming with betrayal. It’s Felix. You know him. Sweet-talking, easy-laughing Felix who works at the town’s little mechanic shop and always smells like motor oil and mint gum. His voice is raised now, ragged and venomous. 

“You fucked my girlfriend, you sick bastard!” he roars, his arm slamming across Jay’s chest, voice loud enough to slice through every inch of sugar-sweet air. Yumi is there too, her mascara running like rivers down her cheeks, her hands fluttering uselessly in front of her as she pleads with Felix, voice breaking like porcelain in her throat. “It wasn’t like that, please,” she cries, grabbing at his arm. “Please, stop. It was a mistake — he didn’t mean—” 

But Jay only stands there, infuriatingly calm. There’s a half-lidded smirk painted across his lips, smug and gleaming like polished obsidian. “Relax, Felix,” he drawls, voice thick with venom-laced honey. “I didn’t know she was yours. She didn’t exactly say no.” The words are a match. Felix snaps. His fist connects with Jay’s jaw in a brutal arc, a punch that sounds like thunder cracking bone. Gasps scatter like doves taking flight. Yumi shrieks, and a cupcake tray crashes to the ground somewhere nearby, frosting splattering like a pink and white wound. 

Jay stumbles back from the blow, hand flying to his cheek but then he laughs. Actually laughs, a low, taunting sound, wild and cruel and so full of gall it steals the breath from your lungs. “You hit like a fucking choir boy,” he spits, blood blooming on his lower lip like a rose in ruin. People rush in, pastors, parents, volunteers with gloved hands and worried brows pulling Felix back, dragging Jay away, trying to stitch dignity back into the seams of a moment too far undone. 

The crowd swells, then parts. Jay is being hauled out by a man in a navy windbreaker and a church elder with trembling hands. But even bruised, even bleeding, Jay looks untouchable; smirking like he owns the goddamn town. And then he sees you. Eyes dark as ink, wild with something you can’t name. He meets your gaze across the chaos, across the bodies and ruined cakes and shattered calm. He winks. It’s slow. Intentional. And it sets your spine on fire. You forget how to breathe. He disappears into the crowd, the echo of that wink burning behind your eyes like the sun. 

Your heart is still galloping when the crowd begins to settle, when the ripples of scandal soften into murmurs and murmurs dissolve into sugared distractions. Parents usher children away with tight smiles and tighter hands, as if sweetness could scrub away the memory of fists and curses. Jay is gone, at least from sight. But not from your mind. “You know,” Yunah says beside you, folding her arms, her voice sharpened with knowing, “he’s no good. Just trouble in designer clothes.”

You nod, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. What you’re expected to believe. What every decent girl in this village is raised to fear. But inside you, curiosity blooms like a slow-burning match, small and dangerous. You mumble something about needing the bathroom and excuse yourself before she can press further, her eyes already narrowing in suspicion. The church looms behind you as you slip away, its whitewashed walls glowing warm in the early afternoon light, the air thick with the scent of sun-baked frosting and wilted roses. But beneath it — just barely, you catch another scent. Smoke. Acrid, earthy, wrong. 

You follow it. Each step feels reckless, like dancing barefoot on a chapel floor. Like carving your name into a hymnbook. The scent grows stronger as you round the corner of the church, your breath catching in your throat like a moth in a jar. And there he is. Jay.

He leans against the wall like he was born to break rules and balance on the edge of forgiveness. One foot propped behind him, head tilted back, the collar of his shirt loosened and stained with a drop of blood near the seam. His cigarette glows like an ember in the low light, the curl of smoke rising from it like a ghost ascending. He doesn’t look surprised to see you. In fact, he barely even glances your way. Just takes a drag, exhales slow, like the chaos he caused hasn’t even nicked his soul. Like the fight, the punch, the girl, the whispers, none of it mattered. 

“Didn’t think you’d come looking,” he says finally, voice low, almost bored. But there’s a thread of something else underneath; taunt or tease, you can’t tell. “You don’t seem the type.”  You should leave. You should turn around, march back to the bake sale, and pretend you never followed smoke down a church wall. But your feet stay planted, heart hammering as loud as the chapel bells. You don’t say a word. You just watch him, silently, like he’s a puzzle carved from shadow and sin and the ache of wanting something you know you shouldn’t. 

Jay flicks ash onto the gravel path, his eyes cutting toward you through the smoke, one brow raised lazily. His lip is split, a bloom of red painting the edge of his smirk. “You see something you like?” he asks. And for one terrible, breathless moment you don’t know the answer. The question drips from his mouth like smoke, slow, curling, coaxing. Not crude, not exactly. But not innocent, either. It lands somewhere in the charged space between your ribs and your throat, where breath gets tangled with hesitation.

You should scoff. Roll your eyes. Offer him the same disdain he so casually invites from the world. But you don’t. Because there’s something about the way he looks at you; like you’re not just another girl in a white dress and soft shoes, but someone he sees through, into. Like he knows your name and the weight it carries. Knows the walls you live behind, and the cracks that run silent and deep beneath your polished smile. You step closer without meaning to, arms crossed loosely, trying to look like the kind of girl who doesn’t care what boys like him say. But your voice comes softer than you mean for it to. “I didn’t come looking for you.” 

Jay chuckles, low and dark, like gravel skimming the bottom of a stream. He doesn’t believe you. That much is clear. He drops the cigarette to the dirt and grinds it out with the heel of his boot, the smoke hissing away like a secret being silenced. “No?” he says, stepping just slightly forward, head tilted. “Then why are you here, church girl?” You flinch a little at the nickname. It’s not mean. But there’s weight in it. A reminder of everything you’re supposed to be. Everything he isn’t. 

“I heard… noise,” you mumble, eyes darting away, to the cracked siding of the church wall. “From earlier. I just… I wanted to see if you were okay.” Jay scoffs this time, straightens, stretches the muscles in his shoulders like a wolf rising from slumber. “You mean after I got punched for screwing some girl who cried over it?” 

He says it like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t matter. Like none of it, the punch, the drama, the girl, was anything more than a flicker in the dark. And still, the wound at the edge of his lip glistens like it wants to be noticed. You hesitate, then speak quietly. “That was cruel. What you did.” 

He watches you now, like your words are more interesting than they have any right to be. “Probably,” he agrees, not flinching. “But she knew what it was. I’m not the one playing pretend.” The words settle over you like dust, heavy and old and aching. You want to hate him. You really, truly do. You want to believe he’s everything your father says, that he’s rotten at the root, grown from betrayal and greed and the same sharp-edged steel his father used to cut yours down. 

But he looks at you then, and there’s something in his expression, not smugness, not bravado; but something rawer. Wearier. Like he’s been fighting a war so long he’s forgotten what peace feels like. You find your voice again, softer now. “Why do you act like this?” Jay blinks slowly, like you’ve asked him a question no one’s ever dared to. Then, in a voice barely louder than a confession, he says, “Because people already made up their minds about me a long time ago. Figured I might as well give them what they want.” It slices through the silence like a nail through silk.

You swallow, the wind tugging at your skirt, the chapel bells tolling in the distance; calling the faithful back inside, as if to protect them from boys like him and girls like you who linger too long in the gray. Jay takes a step back, pulling another cigarette from the pocket of his jacket, but he doesn’t light it. Just rolls it between his fingers like a habit he hasn’t learned how to quit. “Run along now,” he mutters, eyes dark. “Before your daddy comes lookin’. Wouldn’t want you shipped off to a convent, would we?”

And this time, when he smirks, there’s no cruelty in it. Just something almost sad. You hesitate one more breath, just one, before turning, your footsteps light on the gravel, your heart anything but. But as you leave, you can feel his gaze still on your back. Burning. Etching your outline into his memory like a prayer he’ll never speak. 

You scurry back around the side of the church, fingers fumbling with the hem of your dress, your breath still tinged with the ghost of smoke. The sun presses down hard now, warm and high in the sky, yet you feel cold beneath your skin, as though the truth of that boy has left a frostbite behind, unseen but pulsing. The bake sale has resumed its sugary rhythm, laughter bubbling from ladies with sunhats and teenagers handing out lemonade like the world isn’t slowly unraveling around you. As if it’s all sweet and simple, and boys like Jay Park don’t burn holes in the script you were meant to follow.

Yunah finds you with a look that speaks volumes, one brow raised, lips pursed slightly like she already knows you’ve done something that would make your parents spit their tea. She doesn’t say anything, though. Just hands you a paper plate with a melting brownie on it and raises her eyes toward the sky like she’s giving you a silent prayer. You offer a small, guilty smile and fall in step beside her. But your thoughts are no longer here. They wander, wild and unbidden, to the shadows of last night. 

To your bare feet on the cold wood floor, the whisper of your nightgown brushing your ankles. The hush of the house heavy around you as you crept down the hallway, drawn like a moth to the faint hum of voices in the kitchen. You hadn’t meant to listen. But once you’d heard, you couldn’t unhear it. The names, the threats, the implication that beneath all this civility was something far darker. Something like war. “We can’t let them find out we’re disturbing their shipments.” — “That little punk Jay needs to be dealt with.” — “He can try,” Taehyun had said, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard it, like a blade honed under moonlight.

Your father, standing there like a general. Cold. Unmoving. He hadn’t even flinched at the suggestion of retaliation. Of vengeance. You hadn’t wanted to believe it, but there it was, your family wasn’t just at odds with the Parks over pride and betrayal. There were stakes hidden deeper than Sunday sermons and fake smiles at bake sales. Stakes that bled and burned. Stakes that made boys disappear and fathers never come home. Jay. A name spoken like venom in your house, a boy your father swore was born from rot and ruin. A boy who had dared to look at you today with something that felt like a challenge. Or a warning.

Your fingers tighten around the paper plate in your hands, the brownie trembling on the wax paper like it knows it doesn’t belong in your grip. You don’t belong here, either. Not really. Not with your head full of cigarette smoke and secrets. Yunah is saying something beside you, but the words slip past like water on stone. You nod when you’re supposed to. Smile when expected. But inside? Inside, you’re still standing at the edge of that hallway, hearing the words that changed everything. Inside, you’re still by that church wall, staring into the eyes of the boy your father would rather see buried than anywhere near you. And worse than all of it is the ache that curls low in your belly because you don’t know if you’re scared of Jay… or of how much you want to understand him. 

That night, the air in the house is thick with something unsaid. Like storm clouds gathering just out of sight, grumbling low and slow in the distance. The walls creak with old secrets and the whispers of generations past, all of them watching, waiting. You lie in bed, the covers tangled around your legs, staring up at the ceiling where the shadows stretch like spiderwebs. But sleep doesn’t come. Not when your mind is still caught in that kitchen, when you still hear your father’s voice like thunder and Taehyun’s like flint striking stone. 

The question gnaws at you, small and sharp and relentless: what did they mean? What are they doing, what is Jay tangled in that your family feels the need to speak of him like a threat, like a ghost they can’t quite kill? So you get up. The floorboards are cold under your feet, the hallway dim save for the light spilling beneath Taehyun’s door, a golden sliver cutting the dark. You hover there for a second, unsure, your hand paused mid-air. Then you knock gently, once, twice. 

“It’s open,” his voice calls out, slightly muffled. You step in and find him hunched over his desk, textbooks spread like wings, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looks up at you, blinking like he’s surfacing from underwater. “What’s up?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting just barely. “Don’t tell me you need help with trig again.” 

You close the door softly behind you and step further into the room, suddenly unsure how to phrase what’s been burning in your chest for the past twenty-four hours. So you just say it, straight and small:

“I heard you. Last night. You and Dad.” His entire body stiffens like wire pulled taut. He leans back in his chair, pen dropping from his fingers as his face darkens with something between disappointment and dread. “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he says, his voice low, more exhale than sound. “Conversations like that aren’t meant for young girls.” 

You bristle. “I’m only a year younger than you.” He gives you a look, half warning, half weary affection. “And that year makes a difference.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” you insist, crossing your arms. “I’m not a child, Taehyun.” He sighs and runs a hand through his damp hair, frustration flashing across his face like lightning. “You think being an adult is about age? It’s about what you’re ready to carry. And you’re not ready for this.”

“Then help me understand.” Your voice is soft but steady. “Help me understand why everyone talks about Jay like he’s poison. Like he’s something to be eliminated.” The name slips out before you can stop it. Jay. A matchstick against stone.

Taehyun’s eyes narrow. “Why do you care?” 

“I don’t —” you start, but the lie tastes bitter. He stands abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the hardwood. “You do care. Don’t lie to me.” 

You look away, your heart pounding like it wants out of your chest. “I saw him today,” you admit. “At the bake sale. We didn’t talk long. I just —” 

“You talked to him?” Taehyun’s voice cracks like a whip. “Are you out of your mind?” 

“He didn’t hurt me—” You started. 

“That’s not the point,” he snaps. “You don’t know what kind of shit he’s involved in. What his family is capable of. This isn’t some schoolyard rivalry, alright? This is blood and business. He’s dangerous.” 

“You don’t get to tell me who to talk to,” you hiss, your hands trembling. “You’re not the boss of me.” His jaw clenches so tight you swear you hear it grind. “Actually,” he says slowly, icily, “I am. Until you know better, I am.”

That does it. The fury rises in you like a storm tide. You don’t shout. You don’t cry. You just spin on your heel and stalk out of his room, your footsteps like gunshots down the hallway. Behind you, Taehyun doesn’t follow. He just lets the door click shut between you. And you, you retreat to your room with your chest heaving and your thoughts in shambles, torn between the brother who wants to protect you and the boy who might just ruin you.

But wasn’t that what drew you in the first place? Not the danger.The possibility. The proof that something — someone could make you feel something real, even if it burned.

The bell above the shop door tinkles faintly as you step out into the embrace of night. Mrs. Chen waves at you from behind the counter, her fingers still dancing with a needle and thread as the lamplight paints golden halos around her silver hair. You smile, small and tired, the weight of the day settling in your bones, and close the door behind you. The sky outside is bruised with twilight, bleeding violet and blue as the sun disappears behind the hills that cradle your little town. The street lamps blink on one by one, flickering like hesitant stars, and the cobbled road that winds through the town glows amber in the gathering dark. 

You wrap your shawl a little tighter around your shoulders, feeling the press of the cool evening air against your skin. The walk home isn’t far, just fifteen minutes down roads you’ve known since childhood, roads that smell of lilac and woodsmoke and safety. Roads that always, always felt like home. But tonight, something feels different. It begins as a whisper at the base of your neck. That sense; not quite sound, not quite sight but the ancient, instinctual knowledge that you are no longer alone. Your footsteps echo a beat behind yours, too steady to be wind, too light to be mere imagination. 

You glance back. A man. Far enough that he could still be a coincidence, close enough that your pulse begins to drum faster. You turn onto a narrower lane, hoping to lose him in the winding streets, past Mrs. Lee’s bakery now shuttered for the night, past the small chapel with its bowed iron gates and flickering candles in the windows. Your footsteps quicken. So do his. You try to convince yourself it’s nothing; just a late walker, a neighbor maybe, but your hands are starting to shake. Then you hear it. 

The scrape of shoe leather quickening. The sound of breath, heavy, sharp, close. Panic surges like a tide inside you. You break into a run, your feet pounding the pavement, your breath catching in your throat, heart clawing at your ribs like a wild animal. But you don’t get far. A hand slams over your mouth. Another arm snakes around your waist, yanking you back so fast your heels lift off the ground. You try to scream, but your voice is strangled by a palm that tastes of sweat and cigarettes, of something sickly and metallic. The world tilts. You’re dragged, stumbling, into the shadows of an alley.

The narrow passage smells of rust and rot, wet stone and old things. Your feet scrape against gravel, your knees buckle, and still he drags you like you’re nothing more than a sack of flour. “Shhh,” he hisses into your ear, breath hot and rank, “make a sound and I swear to God—” But you’re fighting now, kicking, flailing, desperate not to disappear into the black corners of this town like a ghost no one will remember. Your mind reels. You think of Taehyun. Of your mother’s soft hands. Of Jay’s cigarette smoke curling like a warning. You think: not like this. Not like this.

You are a wild thing now, thrashing and clawing like some animal pulled too soon from the womb of safety, a fledgling bird tossed mid-air and told to fly. His arm is like iron around your chest, squeezing until breath is no longer breath but gasps made of salt and fear. You kick. You scream. The sound doesn’t even sound like you, it's raw, primal, jagged like broken glass tearing up your throat. Then instinct, burning desperate inside your veins, you sink your teeth into his hand. Hard. Hard enough to feel flesh give, to taste copper and skin and filth. He howls, a sound not quite human, and in the next heartbeat, his hand rears back and strikes your cheek with such force that the world spins. White-hot pain blossoms beneath your eye like a cruel flower, petals blooming in shades of red and violet.  

You fall. Hard. The gravel bites into your palms, your knees scream, but nothing compares to the kick to your stomach that follows. A boot, sharp and merciless, lands right where your breath lives. It punches the air from your lungs and leaves you folded on the earth like a broken prayer, stars exploding behind your eyes, nausea clawing up your throat. He’s above you now, shadowed and snarling, and there’s a moment, a single, stretched-out beat of time, where you wonder if this is how the story ends. A foot raised. The night around you holding its breath. Your body too stunned to move. 

Then it happens. A blur. A sound like thunder colliding with flesh. The man is ripped away from you in an instant, tackled to the ground with such force that the cobblestones rattle. You hear the grunt of fists meeting ribs, the dull wet thud of a punch, another, another, bone against bone, like a drumbeat played by fury. Jay. He’s on top of him now, all sinew and violence, his face carved in rage, lips peeled back like a wolf in the final act of warning. His fists fly like they’ve waited their whole life for this moment, no technique, just raw, vicious instinct. The man beneath him sputters, tries to buck him off, but Jay is unrelenting. There’s blood, somewhere, someone’s and it paints Jay’s knuckles like war paint. 

“Touch her again,” he growls low, venom slithering through each syllable, “and I’ll make sure you never touch anything again.” He says it not like a threat, but like a promise carved in stone. You can’t move. You can barely breathe. You're crumpled on the cold ground, blinking through pain and fear and disbelief. But through the haze, you watch Jay stand, chest heaving, jaw clenched, the man groaning at his feet like something discarded. But Jay doesn’t stop. 

His knuckles keep rising and falling like thunder crashing on a cursed shoreline, relentless, wild, each blow drawn from something deeper than fury, a darkness that lives in his marrow, in the cracks behind his eyes. The man beneath him is coughing now, spitting blood between laughter, a cruel, rasping sound that haunts the alley like a specter. And Jay, jaw set like a guillotine, grabs the man by the collar, shoving him harder against the wall, until the bricks groan and dust spills like ash. “Who sent you?” Jay spits, voice sharp enough to cut air. “Who do you work for?” The man just chuckles, a hideous, broken sound leaking out of a bruised throat. His lip splits wider with every word, but still he smirks like a man with nothing left to lose. 

“You think I’d ever tell you?” he sneers, coughing through blood. “You’re just a kid playing gangster.” Jay growls low in his throat, an animal sound, and the next punch lands with such weight it echoes. The man gasps. You flinch. The wind shifts and carries the scent of blood and cigarette smoke into your lungs like smoke from a funeral pyre. 

You push yourself up, your limbs trembling, bones whispering protest. Pain blooms in your side where his boot struck, your face throbs, but still you crawl forward, palms scraping against gravel and broken glass. You reach them. Jay’s crouched like a storm about to strike, the man limp but still smirking like he knows some secret that Jay doesn’t. “Stop,” you say, voice hoarse, barely a whisper, like something stitched together with threadbare breath. “Jay, stop. You’re going to kill him.”

He doesn’t even look at you at first. His eyes are locked on the man, flame-red and feral, his chest rising and falling like the sea before it devours a ship. Then slowly, he turns, and there's something broken in his face, something wild and bitter and unspoken. “Good,” he says, teeth gritted like steel on steel. “He deserves to die.” The words fall heavy in the dark, sharp as glass in a chalice. You reach out, your fingers barely grazing his shoulder and shake your head, a tremble chasing the motion. “Please,” you whisper, not sure if you’re begging for the man’s life or for Jay’s humanity to return. “Please… just stop.”

He breathes in hard. For a moment, the silence stretches too long, pregnant with violence and decision. But then something flickers behind his eyes, a light sputtering back to life, weak and shaking, but there. Jay lets go. The man crumples to the ground, groaning, blood trailing from his mouth like ink from a broken pen. He stares at Jay, equal parts terrified and awed, and then stumbles to his feet, sways like a drunk ghost, and bolts into the dark alley without another word, just the sound of his heels slapping pavement like a heartbeat fleeing death. The world is quiet again. But not peaceful.

Jay turns to you, breath ragged, hands stained red. His jaw twitches as if he’s trying to say something, but the words dissolve before they can take form. He just steps forward, closing the space between you and reaches down, hand outstretched. “Come on,” he says, voice quieter now, softer, not sharp enough to cut but still trembling from what it almost became. You stare at his hand for a moment, at the boy who just fought like a monster to save you. And then, with shaking fingers, you let him pull you up from the wreckage. 

He looks at your face, and something flickers in those storm-dark eyes of his; something close to concern, but too buried beneath bravado to fully surface. His fingers ghost the edge of your jawline, not quite touching but close enough to feel like lightning waiting for the right tree. He tilts your chin ever so slightly, examining the swelling beneath your cheekbone with an expression that makes your stomach twist. “That’s going to bruise,” he mutters, voice low and sandpaper-rough. You nod, slowly, wincing as the movement stirs pain. “Why did you help me?” 

The question hangs in the cool night air like incense in a chapel, sweet, uncertain, sacred. He shrugs, a movement so nonchalant it’s maddening. Like he hadn’t just saved your life. Like the blood on his knuckles wasn’t still drying into his skin. “I don’t know,” he says, eyes flickering away like they don’t owe you the truth.

You stand there, aching and trembling and furious at the way your heart stutters beneath your ribs. You should be scared. You should be disgusted, shaken to the bone from the violence, from the pain still blooming like a bruise across your ribs. But all you can feel is warmth curling in the pit of your stomach, uninvited and undeniable. “Thank you,” you whisper, unsure if it’s gratitude or confession. 

“Don’t,” he says sharply, cutting his gaze back to yours. “Don’t thank me.” His tone is firm, but not cruel. It’s the sound of someone who doesn’t want to be a hero, who’s been told too many times that he doesn’t deserve kindness. And maybe he believes it. Maybe that’s why he can’t take your thanks, because it tastes too much like absolution. He glances down the road, toward the dim golden lights of town, and then back at you. “I’ll walk you home.”

You hesitate. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m not asking,” he cuts in, already moving. So you fall into step beside him, the silence between you stretching long and strange. Your body aches with every step, and yet you feel like you’re floating, disconnected, dazed, and tethered only by the steady rhythm of Jay beside you. Like gravity shifted the moment he touched you, and now you orbit around him whether you want to or not. When your house comes into view, a knot tightens in your chest. The porch light is still on, like an accusation. You can already imagine your father’s face, already hear the questions wrapped in thunder and expectation. Jay stops at the edge of the walkway, still cloaked in night. 

“When your father asks,” he says, voice low, “don’t tell him I helped you.” 

You blink. “What?” He looks at you, unreadable. “Make up a lie. Say you fell or something. Just don’t bring me into it.” 

There’s no warmth in his voice, no smile, not even the smirk you’ve come to expect from him. Just a quiet, raw kind of resolve, like he’s asking you to keep a secret that might burn you both if it ever saw daylight. You nod. “Okay.” Jay lingers for a moment, as if he wants to say something more, like maybe this night changed something in him, too. But whatever it is, he swallows it down and turns away without another word. 

You watch him go, his silhouette swallowed by the dark, and then you push open the door and step into the light of your home, where lies are stitched as easily as hems and truth is just another thing buried beneath silence. The bruise blooms like a purple flower across your cheekbone. The door clicks shut behind you with the hush of finality, as if the night itself is sealing the pages of its most brutal chapter. But there is no rest in this kind of silence, only the jagged inhale of your mother’s gasp as she turns from the hallway and sees your face under the dim foyer light. 

Her slippers skid against the wood as she rushes to you, hands fluttering like frantic birds, afraid to touch, afraid not to. “Oh my god — what happened? What happened to your face?” Her voice is thin, stretched like silk pulled too tight. You flinch as she brushes your cheek with trembling fingers, and just like that, the whole house stirs. Taehyun barrels in from the kitchen, his voice already rising. “What the hell happened?” 

Your father follows in his shadow, his presence larger than the room, chest puffed with immediate anger and the bitter scent of panic barely masked beneath the cologne he always wears. “Who did this to you?” The world tilts slightly as all eyes converge on you, their questions digging at your skin like teeth. You open your mouth and close it again, suddenly aware of how fragile the truth is, how it quivers in your throat, aching to be spoken but dangerous to free. 

So you breathe in, steady and slow, and choose the half-lie with the cleanest edges. “I was walking home from Mrs. Chen’s,” you begin, voice carefully pitched between tremble and calm. “There was a man… I didn’t recognize him. He followed me, grabbed me. I fought back. I bit his hand. He hit me, but then —” You hesitate, careful not to look in the direction of the window, of the dark where Jay had disappeared only moments before. “He must’ve gotten spooked. He ran off. I don’t know why.” You lower your gaze as the lie coils around your tongue, heavy and sour, but necessary. 

Your father’s fists curl at his sides, his jaw set so tight you wonder if he’ll ever speak again. “A man did this to you?” he growls, like the words themselves are fire in his throat. “He laid hands on you?” Taehyun mutters a curse and kicks the wall, hard. The sound cracks through the air like lightning, loud enough to make Minji stir upstairs. Your mother’s hand moves from your cheek to your arm, guiding you to the couch with the reverence of someone handling broken porcelain. She’s whispering something now, prayers, you think. Or maybe just the names of every saint she knows. 

“I’ll find him,” your father says, voice flat and cold. “I don’t care if I have to turn over every damn rock in this town.” 

“Dad —” you start, but he’s already storming toward the back office, barking orders to no one and everyone at once, a storm given form and fury. Taehyun sits beside you, anger still rolling off of him like heat. He watches you with eyes too sharp, too knowing. “Did you really not see who it was?”

You shake your head, slowly. “It was dark. It happened fast.” He exhales through his nose, not convinced but not ready to argue. “I’ll walk you from now on,” he says. “No more being out late by yourself.” You nod, grateful and guilty all at once, because what you’ve said isn’t the truth, but neither is it a lie that came easily. And somewhere, in the places they cannot see, your body still carries the memory of Jay’s arms, of his rage not directed at you, of the unspoken promise that lived briefly between the blood and bruises. You fold your hands in your lap and lower your eyes, letting your family whirl around you with worry and vengeance and vow. And inside, you tuck your secret into the hollow behind your ribs, where all your dangerous truths now live. 

The church bells toll in the morning like an old warning, iron-voiced and hollow, their echoes slipping through the mist that clings to the town’s narrow streets. You walk beside your family in silence, each step heavier than the last, as though shame itself has taken root in your heels. The church rises before you in its usual whitewashed sanctimony, but today it feels more like a stage and you, unwilling, have become the play. You step inside, and instantly, the weight of a hundred unspoken things crashes over you. The air is perfumed with lilies and incense, but beneath it, there's the acrid tang of gossip, hushed tones curled behind cupped hands, eyes flickering like candle flames in your direction. You feel them long before you see them: judgmental, narrow gazes that prick against your skin like nettles. Their stares are veiled in piety, but you know better. You've been raised in a house of wolves pretending to pray. 

“They say her daddy’s sins are catching up with him.”

“She was always going to be a target with a name like his.”

“Poor thing — pretty won’t protect you from retribution.”

You don’t hear the words exactly, but they ripple through the wooden pews like ghosts, rising and falling with the organ's song, threading themselves between hymns and halfhearted smiles. It’s in the way they glance at the bruise blooming on your cheek like a crushed violet, in the silence that stretches too long when you pass, in the pity dressed up like politeness. You lower your head, eyes fixed on your polished shoes, hands clasped demurely in front of you, but your pulse hammers in your ears. You don’t dare look around. You don’t need to. You can feel the weight of it all pressing down on you like a stone in your chest. The truth you swallowed last night has soured in your gut, bitter as wormwood. 

And then, you feel it. A gaze unlike the others. Heavy, direct. You look up instinctively and your eyes lock with Park Chul; Jay’s father. He is sitting two rows ahead with his family gathered close, looking too much like a king among snakes, his tailored suit flawless, his posture regal, and his smile; oh, that smile, it slithers across his face like oil on water. It doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s nothing warm there. Just calculation. Recognition. He sees the bruise. He knows what you’ve left out. The smile he offers you is slow, like a blade being drawn from its sheath.

You blink once and look away, your heart suddenly loud in your ribs. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the pew as you sit down beside your mother, who is already lost in prayer. Your father doesn’t notice, he’s too busy glaring across the aisle at Chul, his disdain worn proudly like a second suit. Jay is there, too, seated beside his sister and looking maddeningly unaffected. He doesn’t look at you. Not at first. But as the choir begins to sing and the congregation rises, you catch it, just the flick of his eyes toward yours, the shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips before he turns his head away like nothing ever happened. 

You stand, too, murmuring the first verse of the hymn without really hearing it, the sound a dull hum in your ears. And even though your lips are moving, your mind is far from holy things. Because something is shifting. And though you can’t name it yet, can’t shape it into something solid, you know, deep in the marrow of your bones, that the bruise on your face isn’t the last mark this war will leave. The sermon drones on, words thick with dust and self-righteousness, echoing off vaulted ceilings like old warnings written in blood and parchment. You sit in the pew like a ghost in borrowed skin, present in body but floating elsewhere. The preacher’s voice is meant to be comforting, commanding, divine, but today it’s just noise, a hum beneath the cold stares and whispered rumors still clinging to you like static.

Another glance. Another hushed voice behind a lace-gloved hand. You feel it before you see it, someone’s eyes skating down the bruise along your cheek like it’s a badge you chose to wear, like you’re not already burning beneath their judgment. Your heartbeat climbs, fluttering in your chest like a caged moth. The walls feel too close, the pews too narrow. You can’t breathe. You rise, a breath of movement in a still room, and excuse yourself softly. Your mother doesn’t look up. Your father is lost in thought, your brother staring ahead like he might kill a man with his eyes. You slip out the heavy doors like a shadow, letting the sun kiss your skin again, warmth meeting chill. Outside, the world is quieter. Calmer. Honest. 

The church steps are cool beneath you, stone soaked in centuries of rain and repentance. You hug your knees to your chest, resting your chin atop them, and try to slow your breathing. The air carries the faint scent of roses from the cemetery down the hill, and further still, the faintest trace of last night’s terror still lingers behind your ribs. Footsteps behind you, Soft but certain. Crunching gravel. You whip around, heart climbing into your throat. But it’s only Jay. Only. 

He stands a moment, watching you with that unreadable expression of his; half smirk, half storm and then lowers himself beside you without a word. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t lean in close. Just sits, legs stretched out in front of him like he owns the steps, the church, the whole damn town. You open your mouth to thank him again, to tell him you haven’t stopped thinking about the way he pulled you up from the darkness like a ghost from the grave, but before you can speak, his voice cuts across the silence. “Don’t,” he says. Not cruel, not cold, just… tired. Like he doesn’t need your gratitude weighing down what he did. Like it was inevitable.

Then, quieter, more tentative: “Are you okay?” Your heart stutters at the question. You nod, slow. “Yeah. I think so.” He scoffs, not at you, but at everything. The town. The church. The bruises on your face and the venom on their tongues. “Fuck what those hypocrites in there think,” he mutters, eyes flicking toward the stained glass windows above. “They’d rather pray for sinners than help them. Would’ve left you bleeding on the street if it meant saving face.” 

A breath of laughter slips from your lips. Not out of humor; more like release. Like someone finally said what your heart couldn’t. And something shifts. The air between you thickens. No longer easy, no longer innocent. It crackles now, like a wire pulled too tight or a sky just before thunder. You turn to him, and he’s already looking at you, really looking, like he sees through the bruises and the silk dress and the good-girl smile you’ve worn like armor for years. Like he sees the fire buried beneath the ashes. And before you can think, before you can flinch, he leans in. 

His mouth is warm and certain on yours, and everything slows. The birdsong quiets. The breeze stills. Your breath catches, trembling in your lungs, and for a moment you forget where you are, who you are, just lips and heat and the wild drumbeat in your ears. It’s your first kiss, and it doesn’t feel gentle or hesitant. It feels like a match struck against stone, sudden and bright and dangerous. He pulls back, just slightly, and his eyes hold yours with something fierce and searching. As though he's not sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all.

And then, with aching softness, he leans in again and places a second kiss on your lips, quieter this time, reverent almost. A kiss like a secret. A kiss like a promise or a threat. You don’t know which. Then he stands.

Doesn’t say goodbye. Doesn’t look back. Just runs a hand through his hair and strides back into the church as if nothing just happened. As if he didn’t just turn your world on its side. And you sit there alone, the stone still cool beneath you, the taste of him still on your mouth, your heart trying to decide if it should beat faster in fear or in longing. And for once, you don’t feel like a girl waiting to be told what to do. You feel like a match still burning. 

You don’t know how long you sit there, still as breath in a cathedral, the stone steps beneath you holding the echo of his kiss like holy ground. The air around you feels different now, touched by something raw and shimmering, like the hush after lightning splits the sky. Your fingers brush your lips, still warm, still tingling, as though they remember him better than your mind dares to. You’re not sure if it’s madness or magic, but whatever it is, it’s lodged in your chest like a second heartbeat, louder than the church bells, steadier than the sermon inside. Eventually, you rise, legs stiff from sitting too long, and drift back into the chapel’s shadow. Inside, the congregation is standing, voices rising in a hymn that scrapes the heavens, all sharp harmony and practiced devotion. You slip into a seat beside Yunah, whose gaze flickers toward you. There’s something unreadable in her eyes, not judgment, not surprise, just knowing. She doesn’t ask, and you don’t tell. Some moments are too fragile for words, too wild to be captured without breaking. 

The service ends, and the tide of townsfolk washes out of the church, trailing perfume and rumors behind them like smoke. Your family is gathered near the front steps, your mother speaking softly to the pastor’s wife, your father speaking not at all, his eyes like twin flints scanning the crowd for any spark of danger. Taehyun stands off to the side, arms crossed, watching Jay with the wary contempt of a guard dog who’s seen the wolf smile. You don’t say anything as you fall into step beside them. Your father reaches for your shoulder like a shield, and you let him, though you feel the ghost of Jay’s touch burning on your skin. The day unfolds like it always does in towns like this, slow and sun-soaked, filled with the scent of pies cooling on windowsills and the soft echo of children’s laughter skipping down cracked sidewalks. But inside you, something is stirring. Something restless and wild and hungry for the unknown.

At home, lunch is quiet. The clink of cutlery against porcelain plates sounds louder than usual. Your father doesn’t ask again about last night, he simply studies you, the way a man might study a cipher he doesn’t like not knowing how to read. Your mother fusses over your bruises with gentle hands and worried eyes, placing a cold compress against your cheek as though she can will the world to be kind with the sheer force of her care. Taehyun is brooding beside you, silent but heavy, like a storm that hasn’t decided whether to stay or roll in angry over the hills. But even with their eyes on you, even with their questions unasked but still hanging in the air like incense, your thoughts are elsewhere. 

You think of the alley. The press of fear. The sharp, unforgiving sting of a slap and the curling pain of a foot against your ribs. You think of the man’s laugh, hollow and fearless, and how Jay’s fists had answered it like judgment. You think of Jay’s eyes, dark as spilled ink, and how they’d searched your face like he didn’t want to miss a single flinch. How he kissed you like he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. You think, absurdly, foolishly of what it would be like to kiss him again. And that thought terrifies you.

Because you shouldn’t want him. You shouldn’t even know him. He is every warning your father ever gave you made flesh. He’s trouble written in bold letters across your stars, a promise of ruin in every glance. But still… you want to read him. You want to open that book and trace every redacted page with trembling fingers. That night, you sit on your bedroom floor, your journal cracked open in your lap like a confession booth. You don’t write his name. You don’t dare. But you write how it felt to be seen. To be saved. To be kissed like the world had stopped spinning for a heartbeat. You write it down not to remember, but to prove to yourself it happened. That it was real.

Outside, the moon hangs low, a silver eye watching you from behind thin clouds. And in the silence, your body aches, not from the bruises or the fear, but from wanting. From wondering. From knowing that something has shifted inside you, and nothing will ever be the same again. You lie back on your bed, staring up at the ceiling as though it might whisper answers to your questions. You close your eyes, but sleep does not come. Only his face. Only that kiss. Only the fire you didn’t know could live in someone like you.

The night presses against the glass like a velvet shroud, moonlight sifting through your curtains in soft, trembling strands. The tapping begins like a whisper too shy to speak, delicate and insistent, a beckoning on the other side of the veil. Your heart jolts, caught between sleep and something more primal; something curious, something afraid. Barefoot and cautious, you cross the cool wooden floor, each step light as breath, each movement threaded with unease. When you pull the curtain aside and see him; Jay, standing beneath your window like some starless phantom, your pulse skitters. He’s bathed in silver, his jaw sharp in the moonlight, a shadow of rebellion scrawled across the lines of his face. His hand lifts, two fingers beckoning you closer, not like a thief in the night but a boy who’s lost and desperate and burning with something too big for words. 

You lift the latch. He climbs in without ceremony, without sound, landing like wind on the floorboards. The air shifts the moment he enters, and suddenly your small, worn bedroom feels like a world away from everything else; everything loud, everything righteous. You barely whisper his name before his hands find your face, cradling it with a hunger that feels like grief and something more dangerous. He kisses you like he’s been drowning since birth and your mouth is the first breath of air he’s ever tasted.

It’s urgent, almost clumsy in its passion; his fingers lost in your hair, your hands curled into the cotton of his shirt, anchoring yourself to something that shouldn’t feel safe but somehow does. He walks you backwards with care disguised as chaos until your knees hit the edge of your bed, and you sit, breathless, dizzy. He follows, mouth never straying too far from yours, until the world disappears around you. But you pull away, gentle but firm, your palms pressed against his chest like a barricade made of hope and confusion. “What are you doing?” you whisper, your voice trembling not from fear, but from the storm gathering beneath your ribs.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes search your face like he’s looking for absolution in your gaze, something holy to balance the weight of whatever he carries. Finally, he breathes out, low and rough. “I needed to see you.” You sit in that truth for a beat, the quiet humming between your heartbeats. “Is everything okay?”

Jay looks away for the first time. His jaw clenches, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “No,” he says, simply, honestly. “But it doesn’t matter.” A bitter smile plays on his lips. “My father wants something I don’t want to give him.” You nod, not asking, not pushing. There is so much you don’t understand yet, but you understand him. The way he sits next to you with shoulders heavy and breath uneven. The way his fingers find yours again like it’s instinct.  

Your hand finds his cheek. It’s a quiet gesture, a lullaby without words. “You can stay,” you whisper. He exhales, and there’s something sacred in the way his forehead falls against yours. The kiss he places on your lips this time is different; softer, deeper, unhurried. It tastes like gratitude and confession, like the first pages of a book too dangerous to read aloud. His hands settle at your waist as if anchoring himself in you, and yours curl around his shoulders. You don’t speak again. Not for a while. You let the silence fill the cracks, the breaths between kisses soft and slow, the kind that linger and promise without saying anything at all. 

And when he finally falls asleep beside you, his head resting against your shoulder, you stay awake a little longer, watching the way the moonlight rests on his lashes. You think of what it means to keep a secret this delicate. What it means to fall for someone forged in the fire your family fears. You don’t have the answers. But for tonight, you have him. And that is enough. 

Dawn unfolds like a sigh across the sky, the pale blush of morning slipping between your curtains and brushing the walls in hues of gold and rose. The world is still hushed in its waking breath, and for a moment, it feels as though time itself is holding its inhale, reverent of the quiet magic nestled between tangled sheets and slow, secret heartbeats. You stir, not with the abruptness of alarm, but the gentle unraveling of sleep's cocoon. There’s warmth beside you, not the abstract kind, but the tangible, breathing presence of someone tethered to this moment with you. Jay lies on his side, propped slightly on an elbow, his gaze fixed not on the window, nor the ceiling, but on you. 

There’s something unguarded in the way he looks at you; no smirk, no mask, no carefully constructed armor. Just eyes like storm clouds caught at sunrise, soft and searching. It startles something in your chest. You blink sleep from your eyes, voice still laced with dreams as you ask, “What time is it?” His lips quirk, that familiar crooked grin ghosting over his features as he leans closer and murmurs, “Almost six.”

Then, without waiting, without asking, he presses a kiss to your lips, slow and deep and reverent, like he’s memorizing you all over again, like he’s tracing every fragile thread that tethered last night’s chaos to this quiet intimacy. You kiss him back, languidly, until the haze lifts just enough for reality to set its feet back down. You pull away, breath brushing his cheek, and whisper, “What are we doing, Jay?”

There’s a pause, a brief flicker of hesitation across his brow. His hand, warm against your hip, stills. “We’re having fun,” he says at last, like it’s simple, like it’s something that doesn’t ache to hear. You sit up, the sheets slipping from your shoulders like petals falling in protest. There’s a steel note in your voice now, a tremor wrapped in resolve. “I’m not just some girl you kiss in the dark,” you say, eyes catching his. “I don’t do this. I don’t just… fool around. I believe in love.”

He’s quiet for a heartbeat too long. Then he sits up, too, crossing the small distance between you with one hand gently cupping your jaw. The air stills. His thumb traces the edge of your cheekbone as his eyes search yours. “You’re my girl,” he says, voice low, like a promise soaked in shadow and light. “If you want to be.” The simplicity of the words catches you off guard. No grand declarations, no silver-tongued poetry. Just that raw and real and something you can hold. 

A blush colors your cheeks like the blooming of first spring after a cruel winter. You nod, your voice a thread of warmth, “I want to be.” And then you’re kissing again, with a new kind of urgency, not born from fear or secrecy or rebellion, but from the aching sweetness of something finally named. His hands cradle you with more care this time, reverent, as if he knows what you’re giving him. Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring him, anchoring yourself to the weightless gravity of this moment. 

It grows heated; breath against necks, hands skimming skin, whispered sighs and unspoken want. But there is no rush, no need to chase the edge of desire. You pause, your forehead pressed to his, and he doesn’t push. He stays. He breathes with you. And in that moment, it feels like the world, with all its judgment and fury, has fallen away. There is only this morning. Only this softness. Only the boy who held you under a bruised sky and the girl who believed, still, in love. 

His kisses continue softly, his hands still like steel on your hip — grazing the skin where your pajama top rose slightly. “Jay..” You trailed, breathless. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” He looked at you with heavy eyes, a dopey smile on his face. You were playing with fire here — suiting up to get burned. This was dangerous, who knew what your father and Taehyun would do if they knew Jay was in here with you, kissing you. It could very well be the end of him as you knew it. Your hands found Jay’s chest, pushing slightly to give yourself room. 

“I’m worried.” You say, your voice small. “My family hates you —” 

“Who cares?” 

“I do.” Your voice was stern. You wanted him to know you were serious. That even though you sometimes hated how protective they were, you still loved them, respected them. And what you were doing right now in your room was forbidden, it was wrong. A part of you didn’t care. You felt free from the shalkes tied to your life for the first time and you’d do anything to keep that feeling. But an equal part of you felt ashamed at the lying. You were not one to lie. Especially to your family. 

“They can’t tell you what to do.” Jay’s tone is soft like he knows this is a delicate topic. He’s using his kid gloves on you and you hated it. 

“They don’t.” You huffed. Jay’s eyebrow lifts slightly, like he doesn’t believe you in the slightest. “Fine.” You sigh. “They do.” 

“Don’t let them.” 

“It’s not that easy Jay.” 

“It can be.” He argues. “Just do whatever you want.” 

“You try doing that with a father like mine.” The words slip from your lips before you could stop them, before you could think. Because Jay did have a father like yours; they were one in the same no matter how much they hated each other. Jay looked at you like he understood your slip up. He said nothing further, he didn't need to. It was an unspoken agreement between you too. 

“Jay?” You asked warily. Jay hums, returning his lips to your collarbone as he leaves feather-like kisses over the skin. “What did your father want you to do that you didn’t want to?”

You don’t miss the way his entire body stiffens like a statue made of clay. You don’t miss the second he takes to answer and the shift in his tone. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, okay?.” He says, a smile on his face. You stay silent and he doesn’t elaborate, instead reattaching his lips to your neck once again. Maybe in distraction, or maybe because he really didn’t care — either way, it worked. 

You allowed him his freedom to roam your body as he pleased. and you enjoyed it, god help you — you actually enjoyed it. You craved more and like the devil himself took over you, your lips parted only a sigh leaving “Please.” 

What were you asking for? Were you ready to have sex? To lose your virginity? and to Jay of all people? You weren’t sure. It was like Jay could sense your hesitance, his head shaking no as soon as the words left your lips. “You’re not ready, baby.” He whispered into your temple. and he was right. You weren’t. So instead he stayed in your bed. Not much longer but long enough for you to really miss him when he left. 

It was barely seven am when he decided it was time to climb out the window he came from the night before leaving only a whisper of himself and the memory of his lips on your own. It was a hollow feeling, one you couldn’t show when the rest of your family awoke and crawled out of their beds. You had to act normal. Like the enemy wasn’t right under their noses only a door down for the entirety of the night. 

The morning light was pale and indifferent, stretched thin across the sky like a faded lace curtain, and you watched your father and Taehyun disappear down the long gravel drive, their figures swallowed by the dust trail of the pickup truck and the unspoken weight of their business. You didn’t need to be told anymore, it was stitched into the sharp glances exchanged over dinner, into the coded conversations that dropped into silence when you entered the room. “Shipments,” they called them. But you were no longer a child swayed by misdirection and empty euphemisms. You had lived enough in shadows now to know when men spoke in half-truths and loaded words. Still, you said nothing. Because silence, you were beginning to learn, was its own kind of survival.  

Your mother bustled through the house like a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower, gathering Minji’s shoes and packing a tin of the sweet bean buns Mrs. Lee down the road had brought over. You watched her from the hallway, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, half-lost in your thoughts until she mentioned she’d be taking Minji over to the Parks’. “To play with Soojin,” she said, not looking up from her careful wrapping. Her voice was light, casual, like it was nothing more than an errand, like the name Park didn’t hold tension in your bones and a sudden, blooming heat in your chest. “I’ll come,” you said suddenly. Your mother looked up, startled, brows slightly lifted. “You want to come?” Her voice held a delicate edge of suspicion, like she couldn’t decide if she’d misheard you or if you were up to something you hadn’t yet put into words.

You nodded, steady. “Yeah,” you said, reaching for your coat. “I’d like to see Soojin.” That was the lie you chose. And to your surprise, your mother offered no protest, just a quiet, searching look and then a simple, “Alright then.”  The drive to the Park house was quiet, save for Minji’s soft humming in the backseat and the rhythmic turning of tires on dirt. The landscape rolled past in sepia tones, fields dotted with brittle grass, fences leaning like tired old men, the occasional burst of gold where the last stubborn wildflowers refused to bow to autumn’s chill. And then, the house appeared, grand in its own weathered way, with its wide porch and flaking paint and the lingering ghost of old money, old power, clinging to its bones. Soojin ran out to greet Minji, her laugh a bright trill in the cold morning air, and your mother excused herself inside with Mrs. Park, Jiyo, with a container of red bean buns tucked beneath her arm like a peace offering. 

You lingered on the porch, pretending to straighten Minji’s jacket, pretending not to scan the windows, not to listen for footsteps. The air was thick with anticipation, though nothing had yet happened. That was the trouble with secrets, you carried them even when no one asked you to, let them soak into your skin until they colored everything. And then there he was, Jay, stepping out from around the side of the house with that same easy, careless gait, a cigarette between his fingers and mischief in his gaze. He was the storm you had let into your room, into your lungs, and now he lingered like the scent of smoke in your pillowcase. You didn’t speak, not yet. Just held his eyes as he approached, the ground between you crackling with everything unsaid, everything that was coming. And in the quiet beat before words, before explanation, you realized you hadn’t come here for Soojin at all. You’d come for this, to stand in the belly of the lion’s den and feel the pulse of something forbidden, dangerous, and real. 

The sun was yawning low over the tree line, casting molten ribbons of gold across the Park’s backyard where Minji and Soojin chased each other in dizzying circles, their laughter rising like wind chimes caught in a summer gust. You watched them through the gauzy screen door, a ghost on the threshold, your arms folded across your chest like you could contain the gnawing question that kept pressing against your ribs: Why had you come? Inside, your mother and Jiyo sat in the sitting room with glasses of white wine that caught the light like glassy honey. Their voices rose and fell in polite crescendos, dulcet tones masking whatever quiet rivalries or histories they once shared. You could see the familiar curve of your mother’s mouth as she smiled too much, nodded too often. The room felt warm and distant, like a dream you weren’t quite invited into. 

You didn’t feel like staying downstairs, didn’t feel like sitting with women who spoke in codes and closed-lip smiles. “Excuse me,” you said softly, stepping into the living room. “Could you tell me where the bathroom is?” Jiyo looked up and gave you a generous nod, her hand gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. “Upstairs, last door on the right,” she said, then turned back to your mother with the easy grace of someone who had already forgotten you were there.

You climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking beneath your weight like a warning whispered through wood. The house above was hushed, muffled by carpet and secrets. You passed doors half-ajar, the sterile scent of lemon cleaner and aging wood perfuming the air. But when you reached the top of the stairs, something stirred in you, an itch, a pull, the unmistakable gravity of curiosity. You didn’t go to the bathroom. Not at first. You wandered. 

It started as a glance into rooms left ajar. A study with a too-clean desk, a guest room with a bed so stiffly made it looked untouched by any soul. And then, Jay’s room. You knew it without needing to be told. The door was slightly cracked, and the air that filtered through was familiar, cologne and cigarette smoke, sweat and something wild, something him. You pushed it open. The room was dim, cluttered but lived-in. A guitar leaned against the far wall, strings dusty but taut. Sketches littered the desk, some crude, some startling in their intensity. A record played softly in the corner, a crackling blues tune that seemed to slow time. You stepped further in, eyes skating across his world, your fingers itching toward the mess.

You told yourself you weren’t snooping. But then you saw them. A pair of sneakers shoved halfway beneath the bed, saturated with dried blood, crusted around the soles. Beside them, a shirt, rumbled and wrinkled, with a maroon stain blooming like a dying flower across the chest. The sight of it stilled the air in your lungs. Your mind raced. You knew that shirt. Or thought you did. It haunted the edges of memory, like a face seen once in a dream or a name heard in a half-slept conversation. Your fingers hovered above the fabric, not quite brave enough to touch it, not quite smart enough to turn away.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice broke across the room like thunder ripping through a still sky. You spun around. Jay stood in the doorway, a silhouette carved in shadow, his face unreadable and hard. The kind of hard that wasn’t born overnight, it was forged, sculpted in fire and violence and too many buried truths. “I — I was just —” you stammered, your throat drying like sand beneath sun.

“You were just what?” he growled, stepping forward. “Looking through my shit?” His eyes blazed with something you didn’t recognize. Not anger exactly, something deeper, more wounded. Betrayed, maybe. Or scared. You opened your mouth, tried to explain, tried to make it sound innocent, but the room felt like it was tilting, spinning around the bloodied cloth and your thundering heart. He was inches from you now, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he said, his voice low, like gravel and regret.

You swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.” But even as you said it, you knew sorry wouldn’t fix this. You stiffened, the air around you charged like the moment before a summer storm breaks, still, electric, heavy with the promise of thunder. Your fingers twitched away from the shirt just as his voice split the silence again. “I was looking for the bathroom?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Jay said, his voice cutting through the space between you like a cold blade. “You weren’t looking for the bathroom.” You turned to him, spine straightening like iron pulled through a fire, and lifted your chin. You took a breath, steadying your pulse, willing your voice not to tremble. “Don’t talk to me like that,” you said quietly, firmly, like a line drawn in the sand. “I asked you not to.” 

He blinked, thrown off by your calm. His chest rose sharply with a breath he hadn’t meant to take. For a heartbeat, the fire between you crackled without direction. Then you reached down, hand hovering once more above the bloodied shirt, and asked the question that had begun clawing at your ribs since the moment you saw it. “What is this, Jay?” Your voice wasn’t accusatory, just soft, curious, laced with something more dangerous than suspicion. Concern. “Why is there blood on this? Are you hurt?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to the shirt, then back to your face, something stormy building behind his lashes. Without a word, he stepped forward and yanked it from your hand with a violence that wasn’t meant for you but sliced through the moment all the same. “Mind your own damn business,” he growled, gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Don’t touch my things.”

The room seemed to grow smaller, the walls pressing in. Your stomach twisted, not in fear, but in hurt. The air between you, once filled with charged possibility, now choked with something unspoken and ugly. “I care about you, Jay,” you said, voice softer than it had any right to be. “If that blood’s yours, if you’re hurt, I deserve to know. I want to know.” He looked at you, really looked, his features warping with conflict. And then, so quietly it was almost a breath, he admitted, “It’s not mine.”

You waited, searching his face for more; anything. But his jaw locked, and his eyes shuttered, and you knew he was already pulling away from you. “Then whose is it?” you asked.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Jay —”

“I said I’m not telling you.” There was finality in his voice, a wall thrown up in a single breath. The boy who kissed you on the church steps, who tapped at your window like a lover from a poem, he was gone now, replaced by something harder, colder, cloaked in silence. Something broke in you. Not loudly, not with fireworks; but quietly, like frost spreading across glass. “Fine,” you said, each syllable clipped and cool. “Keep your secrets.” 

You turned and walked past him, your shoulder brushing his as you stormed through the door. His scent lingered; cologne and smoke and something wild, and you hated how your body still ached for him even as your heart folded in on itself. You didn’t look back. Not even when you heard him sigh behind you. 

The hour was brittle with sleep, the kind of silence that makes the world feel like it’s holding its breath. Your room was bathed in pale moonlight, the only sound the hum of the summer night outside; until the tapping began again. First gentle, like fingertips brushing a memory. Then louder. More insistent. A quiet desperation dressed in knuckles against glass. You curled tighter beneath the covers, clutching the edge of your pillow like it might anchor you to the dreamless dark. You didn’t want to see him. Not tonight. Not after that. Your heart was still bruised from the words he’d thrown like stones, from the blood he refused to explain, from the locked vault of his silence that you could not pick no matter how softly you knocked.

But the tapping wouldn’t stop. You hissed under your breath, casting a panicked glance toward your door; no footsteps yet, no flickering hallway light. If your mother woke, if Minji stirred... you’d never hear the end of it. Gritting your teeth, you kicked off the covers and padded to the window, throwing back the curtain with a fury that masked the fluttering inside your chest. There he was.

Jay. Like some bruised ghost conjured from a fever dream, standing half-shadowed in the night. But the moment your eyes landed on him, all that anger, the sharp, glittering shards of it, melted away like ice against fire. His face was a tapestry of pain: lip split, eye swelling, blood at the corner of his mouth. There were scratches across his neck, and he was holding his side like something inside him was broken. You pushed the window open without a word and stepped back. He climbed in slowly, like every movement cost him something. And when his feet hit your floor, his strength gave out, he sank onto your bed with a groan, his head tipping forward, hair falling over his eyes.

“Jay,” you whispered, kneeling beside him. You reached for him instinctively, your fingers ghosting along his arm. “What happened?” He winced, jaw tightening. “Don’t ask.”

“Jay —” 

“I can’t tell you,” he said, voice raw and quiet, like something torn. “Just — don’t ask.” And for once, you didn’t. You swallowed your questions, letting them die inside your throat. Because the way he looked, beaten, broken, and showing up at your window anyway, was answer enough for now. You fetched the first aid kit you kept hidden in your drawer, remnants of scraped knees and childhood falls, and returned to him. The bed dipped under your knees as you leaned in close, the soft sound of tearing wrappers and unscrewing ointments the only conversation. He hissed as you dabbed antiseptic across a gash on his temple, his hands gripping the bedsheets so tightly his knuckles went pale. But he didn’t pull away. 

You worked in silence, your touch gentle despite the chaos churning inside you. There was a sacredness to the moment, a kind of intimacy that didn’t need words, just breath, and closeness, and the quiet permission to fall apart in front of someone. You brushed the blood from beneath his nose, cleaned the dried smear along his jaw. Your fingers trembled, not from fear, but from the unbearable tenderness that unfurled inside you. He looked at you then, through one bruised eye and one clear, his lips parted like he might say something. But nothing came out. 

You could’ve leaned in. You could’ve kissed him right then, let him forget the pain with the press of your mouth. But you didn’t. Instead, you cupped his face, thumb stroking gently beneath the bruise that bloomed like a violet shadow under his eye. “You didn’t have to come here,” you whispered. “I didn’t know where else to go.” And your heart cracked wide open. 

Jay turned his face toward you, and for a moment, he looked unbearably young. Not the smirking boy with chaos on his tongue, not the ghost who haunted alleyways with fists and fury, but just a boy, lost in something far bigger than himself. The confession was quiet, barely more than breath, but it landed heavy in the hollow of your chest. You looked at him for a long moment, searching the shadows in his face for something, fear, regret, guilt. You didn’t find it. Just sorrow. And a strange, bitter tenderness. 

There was a silence, then. The kind that doesn’t ask to be filled. The kind that stretches its limbs across a room and curls up beside you like an old friend. Your fingers found his beneath the covers, roughened knuckles grazing your softer skin, and for a time, you just breathed together, matching rhythm for rhythm, heartbeat for heartbeat. But then it spilled out of you, like water through a cracked dam. “I hate the secrets,” you said, voice catching. “I hate not knowing. I hate feeling like I’m being kept away from something real.” 

He turned to face you fully, his brow furrowed. “They’re not to hurt you,” he said. “They’re to protect you.” You scoffed lightly, the sound bitter on your tongue. “That’s just another way of keeping me in the dark.” Jay reached up, brushing your hair back from your face. His fingers were still trembling slightly from whatever hell he’d crawled out of, but his touch was impossibly gentle.

“There are men out there,” he said slowly, “much worse than the one who grabbed you in that alley. Men with no soul behind their eyes. Men who would burn down your world just because it’s beautiful. If they ever came for you…” His jaw tightened, that fire lighting behind his gaze again. “I’d burn the whole fucking earth down first.” Your breath caught. There was no poetry in his words. No soft metaphor. Just pure, raw promise. And it hit you harder than any poem ever could.

Your chest ached with a tenderness so sharp it almost felt like grief; for the boy in your bed, for the pain in his silence, for the thousand versions of himself he had to bury just to survive in the daylight. And in that quiet ache, you leaned in. Your lips met his like a secret, like a prayer. Not rushed. Not ravenous. Just two souls pressing together in the quiet lull of honesty. His hands cupped your face with reverence, as if you were something sacred he wasn’t sure he deserved. You kissed him again, and again, letting the silence slip away with every touch. This wasn’t heat. It wasn’t the chaos that had sparked between you before. This was slower, deeper, an unraveling.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he whispered something you couldn’t quite make out; maybe your name, maybe a plea. You didn’t ask. Because for now, this moment was enough. 

The night seemed to stretch on forever, suspended in the quiet hush that followed whispered promises and half-spoken truths. The air in your room was still, yet it hummed with something electric and unspoken; like the pause before a storm or the moment just before a symphony begins. Jay lay beside you, his fingers threading gently through yours, his gaze roaming your face as if memorizing it, committing it to something deeper than memory, carving it into bone, etching it into breath. You turned to him, eyes wide and open like the night sky, and he met your gaze with the same soft wonder. No more walls. No more masks. Just two young hearts aching for something real in a world built on silence and shadows. “I want this,” you said, voice no louder than a falling feather. You were ready to give yourself to him; completely. 

Despite the lord's word of marriage before intimacy this felt right. At this moment you couldn't think of anything more perfect than this. He didn’t ask if you were sure. He saw the truth written in the way your hands trembled as they found his face, in the way your breath hitched not from fear but from anticipation, from a kind of reverent awe. The kind that settles between two people who have never done this before; who, even if one of them had, had never done it like this. 

There was no rush. No fumbling urgency. Just slow hands and soft sighs, as if the whole world had narrowed to this moment; the curve of your cheek beneath his touch, the shape of your name in his mouth, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Outside, the night pressed close to the glass, the moon a silver sentinel watching over the hush of your room, the silence of surrender. When you gave yourself to him, it wasn’t with hesitation; it was with trust, wrapped in candlelight and starlight and the unspoken understanding that nothing would ever be quite the same. Not after this. And in that moment, you weren’t the daughter of a man wrapped in danger. 

“Oh my god.” You sighed out as he thrust into you with a decadent ease. His touch light, his hands roaming your body like he owned it. And tonight, he did. Your moans were quiet — not to disturb your mother and sister. The soft thump of the headboard against the wall only slightly worrisome to your otherwise clouded judgement. Tonight, He wasn’t the boy with blood on his hands and secrets behind his teeth. You were just two people, breaking open beneath the weight of something delicate and real. 

He held you like something precious, like a wish whispered into the dark, and you clung to him like a prayer. And when it was over, when your bodies stilled and the world exhaled around you, you lay in his arms with your heart thudding softly against his chest. Not afraid. Not uncertain. Just full. And maybe that was the real miracle. Not the act itself, but the way you both emerged from it; still whole, but changed. Softened. Strengthened. As if love, in its quietest form, had found you in the dark and called you home.

Morning came like a whisper you didn’t want to hear; pale light creeping through your curtains, unwelcome, stirring you from the warmth left behind on your sheets. You reached instinctively for him, for the imprint of his body beside yours, but your fingers met nothing but the cool quiet of an empty bed. Jay was gone. You sat up slowly, sleep still crusted in the corners of your eyes, the remnants of last night clinging to your skin like faded stars. It wasn’t disappointment that he’d left, he was never the type to stay but a hollow ache bloomed in your chest all the same, tender and unnamed. You didn’t know if you expected a note, a goodbye, or even a lie wrapped in sweetness, but the absence spoke louder than anything. And still, you weren’t sorry. 

Your house felt changed when you walked through it; heavier, like the walls had swallowed some of the night’s truth and were trying to keep it secret. Your father and Taehyun had returned, the sound of the front door slamming earlier than sunrise pulling you halfway from sleep. Now they were back and the air was different, taut like a fraying wire. You didn’t know what had happened during their absence, but Taehyun carried the shadows like a second skin. He moved through the house like a ghost with a fuse in his chest, snapping at your mother over nothing, brushing past you with glass in his eyes, his hands shaking when he thought no one could see. You stayed out of his way. The silence between you two felt sharp and uncertain, like the edge of something waiting to be named.

Dinner that night was a ritual gone wrong, a prayer said with a mouth full of venom. You sat at the table, poking at your food, the warmth from your mother’s cooking doing little to ease the unease curling in your stomach. Your father, red-cheeked from whatever he’d been drinking, leaned back in his chair like a king on a crumbling throne, waving his glass with a crooked smirk. “That bastard Chul still thinks he can outplay me,” he muttered, voice thick with contempt. “His whore of a wife putting on fakeness like she’s better than the rest of us. And that boy of theirs... that Jay. Arrogant little shit. You can see the rot in him from a mile away.” 

You stiffened. The words felt like claws scraping against your skin, peeling away the quiet you’d wrapped around yourself. You looked up, your fork frozen in your hand. “He’s not like that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but it rang clear through the room like a church bell cracking. “You don’t know him.” The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating, like the house had stopped breathing.

Your father’s face twisted, his eyes going dark in an instant. The chair groaned as he shoved it back and stood, fists curling like thunderclouds. “Don’t you ever defend him again,” he snarled, the words spit like poison. “Do you hear me? If I ever hear you say that bastard’s name in this house again, I’ll lock you away so tight you’ll forget what sunlight feels like. There is nothing about that boy worth defending.” Your breath caught in your throat, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. Your mother said nothing, eyes fixed on her plate like it could save her. And across the table, Taehyun stared at you; not with anger, not with disgust, but with something else. Something unreadable. Suspicion, maybe. Or worry. Like he was trying to put together a puzzle that suddenly had one too many pieces. 

You looked away first, throat burning, fingers shaking under the table. The warmth of last night felt galaxies away now, replaced by the cold realization that you were dancing with danger on a threadbare stage. And everyone around you was starting to notice. 

Sunday returned like clockwork, draped in solemn hymns and ironed dresses, as though the week’s secrets hadn’t been dragging behind you like chains. You found yourself sitting in the same pew as always, hands folded politely, head bowed beneath the weight of a hundred stares that whispered like ghosts behind you. The church was beautiful in that way all cages are, ornate, holy, and full of silences no one dared name. Incense curled like serpent smoke in the air, clinging to your lungs, your clothes, your bones. Jay was there. He always was. 

But today, he looked like the devil in disguise, ink-black suit pressed sharp enough to wound, and that crooked halo of hair that caught the light like it knew exactly how to tempt. He didn’t sit near you, didn’t look your way. Not really. But you felt him, his presence a gravity that tugged at your pulse. You couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t think right, not when the ghost of his mouth still lingered on your skin like last night had never ended. When the time for confessionals arrived, you rose slowly, walking the familiar path toward the booths. The red velvet curtain felt like blood between your fingers, and the small wooden seat creaked beneath your weight. You bowed your head, ready to whisper into the lattice the half-truths you’d rehearsed in your mind. But then you heard it. 

The rustle of fabric. The soft push of the curtain behind you. The scent of cigarette smoke and something darker, familiar. Before you could turn, Jay slid into the booth beside you, his body too close, his knee brushing yours in the dark. “What are you doing?” you hissed in a breathless whisper, heart already rioting in your chest like a church bell rung wrong. 

He didn’t answer at first. The space was small, too small, like a secret made physical. You could feel his breath at your temple, the heat of him seeping into your skin. “Forgive me, Father,” he murmured, voice low and sacrilegious, “for I am about to sin.” You turned sharply toward him, eyes wide. But in the dark, you could barely make out his expression, just the glint of something wild in his gaze. His hand found yours in the stillness, fingers threading through with the quiet urgency of someone drowning. 

Jay—” you tried to protest, but he leaned in, forehead resting against yours, and the world tilted. “I want you so bad.” he said, softer now, like a confession. “I couldn’t help myself.” Your breath caught, and suddenly you weren’t in a church anymore. You were in a storm. You were in a dream. You were in that fragile place where you didn’t know where faith ended and he began.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though you didn’t really want him to go. 

“I know.” His hand slipped to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “But I had to see you. Had to let you know that you’re still mine.” His lips brushed yours like a prayer, slow and reverent, and you kissed him back, like you were trying to absolve every wicked thought in your head, every rule you’d ever followed, every chain you were ready to break. The booth was a confessional, ye; but what you whispered into each other’s mouths were not sins. They were truths. Unholy. Beautiful.

You hear a rustle next to you — the priest had entered the booth beside you, ready to hear your sins. Your eyes widened with a mix of panic and excitement. You were not the type of girl who hopped into confessionals with their boyfriend. You weren’t the type of girl to rebel in anyway, it seems like lately that's all you've been doing. 

“Good morning.” Father Lee sighed from the otherside of the confessional. “I will begin with a prayer.” Jay’s fingers danced delicately along the lines of your dress, pulling the hem up slightly. Your eyes are wild as they shoot to his face. Jay only sends you a smirk in response, his thumb ghosting over your panties. 

“Dear heavenly Father..” Father Lee starts the prayer but his words fall on deaf ears, the only thing you can concentrate on is the way Jay’s fingers feel over your clothed clit. Circling his thumb like a bird on prey. “We’ve come here today to atone for our sins..to seek forgiveness… —” 

Jay’s moves your panty to the side; now ready and bare for him. Your breath shutters in your throat as a moan threatens to spill past your lips. You let out a squeak as Jay’s fingers found your sensitive nub rubbing slowly up and down. Jay looks at you with a devious smile, lifting his unoccupied hand to shush you with a finger against his lips. Your eyes narrow in his direction. This was so wrong. So so very wrong. How could you let him do this? How could you like? 

“We ask you, our lord, to bring peace unto us. To help us prosper —” Your hand grips Jay’s shirt, a sigh leaving your lips as he dips one single finger into your entrance. 

“Oh god —” You let slip out. A wave of panic washes over you. 

“Yes.” Father Lee hummed. “Call onto our lord and our savior..” Jay adds another finger his pace quickening along with your breathing, your chest heaving and moans knocking at lips begging to be set free. 

“Yes, god.” You whimpered, moving your hips to better aid Jay’s fingers. “Yes, yes, god.” 

“That’s it.” Father Lee nods. “Call unto him, as he is the only one who can judge you.” You feel your orgasm building in your belly, clutching onto Jay’s shirt and the arm chair you sat in; the small booth becoming hot and humid. Luckily your chants had been mistaken for prayer — something you knew you’d be ashamed of once the haze of Jay’s magnificent fingers faded. 

“I’m–” You whispered low, so close you’re not even sure Jay had heard you. He continued his movement inside you catapulting you closer and closer to your end. 

“Do you accept this prayer and are you ready to confess all your sins?” Father Lee says as a closing statement. Your orgasm washes over you like a wave, pleasure coursing through your veins straight to your belly. You convulsed around Jay’s fingers withering under  his touch. 

“Yes! Yes!” You chanted “Oh my god.” Your breathing was uneven. Father Lee shuffled beside you. “We can begin..” He trailed off. 

“Tell me, what would you like to confess?” Your eyes find Jay’s once again as your breathing slows. What did you just do? Jay flashes you a smile, a shit eating grin that you can’t help but send back. You were in trouble with him, you were falling in love with him. And nothing good could come from that. 

The morning opened soft and unsuspecting, wrapped in the perfume of maple syrup and brewed coffee, the clink of cutlery on porcelain playing a quiet lullaby in the kitchen. You sat across from your mother at the table, a gentle spring of sun dripping through the curtains, casting golden bars across her cheekbones. She looked peaceful, almost angelic, eyes trained on the television in the other room, the morning news murmuring low and steady in the background. Minji giggled somewhere down the hall, her laughter like bird song, but your focus remained tethered to the screen, distant, detached, until you heard the name. “Breaking this morning,” the anchor announced, her voice dipped in solemnity, “the body of Lee Felix, was found submerged in Blackwater Lake just after midnight…”

You froze. The fork slipped from your fingers and clattered against the ceramic plate, a jarring sound in the otherwise delicate quiet of brunch. Your breath caught like fishbone in your throat, your entire body leaning unconsciously toward the screen, as if proximity could rewrite the story you were hearing. The screen flickered. A photo filled the frame. Felix.

Smiling in that too-cocky way he had at the bake sale, his cheek bruised, his eyes alight with some reckless thing. But it wasn’t his face that rooted you to the ground like a gravestone. It was the shirt. The unmistakable burgundy fabric. The fraying collar. The splash of print along the bottom edge. The shirt you’d held in your hand just days before, trembling with unspoken questions, stained with blood and too many terrible possibilities. Felix was dead. The shirt was his. You couldn’t breathe.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, a tremor leaking into the quiet air. Your mother looked up in surprise, her brows creasing with maternal concern. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You were already moving, scraping your chair back so violently it nearly tipped, heart pounding so loud you could barely hear her through the static in your head. You mumbled something, a headache, a book you left at the shop, you weren’t sure. Lies came too easily these days. 

You didn’t wait for her permission. You ran. Out the door, down the walk, across the street. The wind caught at your hair like fingers trying to pull you back, but you didn’t stop. The streets blurred around you, faces passing in a smear of color, sunlight too bright and air too thick. Every step closer to Jay’s house was like descending deeper into a question you weren’t ready to ask, but couldn’t leave alone. You didn’t hesitate to slam your knuckles against the front door, the sound thunderous in the quiet morning, like something wild had come knocking. The door opened too slowly for your frayed nerves, and Jay’s mother stood on the other side in a lavender cardigan and confusion painted across her face. 

“Oh… hello, sweetheart,” she said, blinking at your expression. “Is everything all right?” 

“I need to see Jay,” you said, your voice sharp and breathless, like it had been carved from ice. She flinched slightly at the urgency, but stepped aside, her brows drawing together. “He’s upstairs…” You didn’t wait for further instructions. You moved past her like a wave breaching the shore, like fury given legs and purpose, charging up the stairs that once felt so intimate, so safe. Each step was a scream. Each breath a question with no answer.

His door was closed. You didn’t knock. You pushed it open with trembling hands and a pounding heart, ready to wield truth like a blade. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, thumbing through a worn paperback, the early light painting soft shadows along the cut of his jaw. He looked up, startled, and then he smiled. “Hi, beautiful. What a surprise.” You could have wept. For a moment, you could have let the lie of his voice fold around you and lull you into peace again. But the pain sharpened you, drew you back into the wound he left open. 

“Cut the bullshit, Jay,” you snapped.

He blinked, the smile faltering. “What’s going on?”

You stepped further into the room, the space between you tightening like a noose. “Felix,” you said, your voice trembling at first, but hardening with every syllable. “They found his body. He’s dead, Jay. And he was wearing that shirt, the one I saw in here. Don’t lie to me again.” Confusion flickered across his face for the briefest second. A hesitation. Then a breath. Then something darker took root behind his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking abou — ” 

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked like thunder. “Please don’t lie to me again.” A long silence stretched between you, thick with guilt, with ghosts, with things unspoken and too dangerous to name. Finally, Jay stood. His hands trembled. “I didn’t want to,” he whispered. “But it wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

“So it’s true,” you breathed, your heart crumpling like paper inside your chest. Jay looked at you then, really looked at you. Not with the charm he wore like a second skin, not with that crooked smile, but with a hollow kind of desperation. A boy unraveling in front of the girl he swore to protect. “My dad…” he began, his voice thick. “He wanted to send a message. He made me follow Felix after the bake sale. Said we had to scare him. But things got out of hand. I — he — ”

But his confession never found its end. Because in the next moment, there was a hand. It covered your mouth. Strong. Cold. Reeking of cologne and iron. You tried to scream, but it caught like thorns in your throat. You thrashed, but the grip was vice-like. Jay’s face drained of color. His eyes widened, not in confusion, but in shame. In knowing. He didn’t move. From behind you, a voice like oil and gravel poured into your ear.

“Good job, son,” it said, calm and cruel. “Right where we wanted her.” You couldn’t see him, Jay’s father, but you could feel the venom in his smile. The triumph.

Your blood ran cold. You looked at Jay. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t reach for you. Didn’t fight.

And that was the worst part of all. The boy who once held you like he could protect you from the world now stood silent as it swallowed you whole. Everything went black. The last thing you remembered was his eyes. And how he didn’t even blink. 

The world came back to you slowly, like a fog lifting, like a dream turning to ash in the light of dawn. The first thing you noticed was the ache. Not just in your limbs, which were bound tight and cold against the wooden arms of a chair, but deep in the soft animal center of you, where all tenderness used to live. There was a throb behind your eyes, a ringing in your ears that ebbed and pulsed like the ocean, but no comfort came with the sound. Just dread. Just the realization that this wasn’t a nightmare. You were really here. The room was dimly lit, bare walls stained with time and secrets. The air smelled like mildew and something sharper, gasoline, maybe, or the acrid ghost of sweat and fear. Your heart pounded in its cage as your vision cleared and faces came into focus.

Chul was there. So were two men you’d never seen before, both cloaked in the quiet violence of people who had done unspeakable things too many times to remember. One was smoking, the other cracking his knuckles absently, like he was waiting for permission to break something. You realized with a start that the "something" was you. And then there was Jay.

He stood a little apart from the others, like the guilt itself had pushed him away. His eyes were on the floor, fixed on a crack in the tile like it was the only thing holding him to this earth. Not once did he look at you. Not when you stirred. Not when you cried out his name. Not when you whispered, “Jay?” as if saying it softly enough would undo everything. You struggled against the ropes that held you, panic rising in your throat like a scream half-formed. “What is this?” you demanded, voice raw and hoarse. “What the hell am I doing here?” 

Chul stepped forward, all easy menace and slick suits, the kind of man who wore his power like a second skin. His mouth curled into something that was almost a smile, but not quite. “Payback,” he said simply, like that single word explained the rot in the walls, the bile in your throat, the betrayal eating you alive from the inside out. He crouched beside you, eyes level with yours, and you hated how calm he looked, like this was just business, like you were nothing more than a bargaining chip on a bloody chessboard. 

“Your father,” he said, voice smooth as oil, “has been a real thorn in my side. Took down nearly every operation I had on the east side. Raided our shipments, turned men against me. You know how much money I’ve lost because of that self-righteous bastard?” You stared at him, your mouth dry, your stomach turning over with nausea and fury. 

“You’re lying,” you whispered, but the words held no weight. “Am I?” Chul chuckled. “You’re just a pawn, sweetheart. Your old man declared war, and war always has casualties. You just happened to be the most… convenient.” Your gaze darted to Jay again, desperate, pleading. But still, he wouldn’t meet your eyes. He stood there, carved of stone, spine rigid, jaw clenched.

“How could you?” you asked him, voice shaking, eyes burning. “Jay, please… how could you?” But something in your question broke him. Or maybe it simply exposed what was already broken. His shoulders heaved once, and he turned abruptly, storming from the room without a single word. The door slammed behind him like a sentence passed. Your heart shattered in real time. The betrayal settled into your bones like frost. You were alone now with wolves.

Chul clicked his tongue, rising back to full height, then nodded toward the men beside him. “Don’t worry, princess,” he said. “We’re not gonna kill you… yet. But if your daddy wants to see you again, he’s gonna have to cough up something big. Otherwise?” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. They left you then, all of them, the door groaning shut with finality and locking behind their footsteps. The silence that followed was unbearable. You sat there, in that cold, empty room, and the sob that broke from you was ragged and deep, a sound pulled from the belly of something ancient and wounded. Tears fell hot and relentless down your cheeks, carving rivers through the dust on your skin, baptizing you in despair. 

You had loved him. With the kind of reckless tenderness that only a heart untouched by betrayal could offer. And he had handed you over like a gift-wrapped threat. You didn’t know what was worse, the fear of what was to come, or the ache of what had already been lost.

Four days passed like smoke curling in a dark room, slow, choking, shapeless. Time didn’t pass so much as it bled, drop by drop, down the walls of your confinement. There were no windows in that room, no clocks, no way to mark the hours except by the grumble of your stomach or the ache in your spine. You lived in the rhythm of silence broken only by the door creaking open, just once a day, when she would come. Jay’s mother.  She entered like a ghost, quiet and grieving, her eyes rimmed with something too deep for sleep to ever touch. She carried with her a tray of food, a bowl of water, a cloth to wipe the bruises blooming across your face like cursed flowers. She said little, only the softest of whispers falling from her lips, prayers to a God that seemed to have turned His back on this house long ago. She would kneel before you, brush the hair from your face with fingers trembling as if your pain were a flame she longed to touch but could not bear to hold. “I’m sorry,” she’d murmur, like a litany. “I’m so sorry.” Then she would rise and vanish once more into the dark.  

Jay never came. Not once. And that betrayal festered like a splinter lodged too deep to remove, its pain dull and constant, until it owned you. But the fifth night was different. You felt it before it began, an electricity in the air, a crackle in your bones. The door opened like a breath being drawn, sharp and final, and in stepped Chul with the air of a man who enjoyed drawing blood from stones. His suit was immaculate. His smile, not.

“Well,” he said, striding toward you with slow, deliberate steps. “Looks like Daddy dearest doesn’t want you back after all.” The words crashed over you like waves too high to rise above. You gasped, shook your head, tears leaping unbidden to your eyes. “No,” you whispered. “No, you’re lying — he wouldn’t — he —” Chul crouched, one hand on the arm of your chair, the other cupping your chin with mock gentleness. “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he said, tone slick with venom. “This is what happens when you pick the wrong side.” And then the slap.

It came like thunder, a sudden crack of bone against bone that left your ears ringing and your vision swimming. Your head snapped to the side. The copper taste of blood bloomed on your tongue. You barely registered the movement beside him until a voice, hoarse, breaking, cut through the din. “Stop!” Jay shouted, lunging forward, only to be yanked back by one of the other men. “Don’t touch her!” Chul’s laughter was a bark, cruel and sharp. He turned to Jay and struck him hard in the stomach. Jay doubled over, coughing, and Chul’s voice hissed through the room like smoke curling from a fire.

“You idiot. You love her?” he spat. “You really think that means anything here?” Jay didn’t answer. He couldn’t. But his eyes oh, his eyes, finally found yours. And in them you saw ruin. You saw remorse painted in broad, bleeding strokes. You saw a boy unraveling beneath the weight of his choices. A boy who had built his house upon the sand and now watched the tide take it all away. Chul pulled out his phone, leaned down, and took a photo of your face. “Let’s send this to her dear old dad,” he sneered. “Maybe this’ll make him reconsider.” 

You tried to turn your head away. You tried to disappear into the corners of the room, to become so small the violence couldn’t find you. But the blow came anyway. Sharp, final, slicing through your mind like lightning through a tree. The force of it sent your chair tilting, your cry echoing like a bell rung in mourning. “Stop it!” Jay shouted again, voice ragged with desperation. Chul raised his hand for another strike, and then the world changed.

The gunshot split the room in two. It was not the loudness that startled you but the silence that followed. A breathless, unnatural stillness, as if even the air had forgotten how to move. Chul’s eyes widened in shock before his body pitched forward, collapsing like a house gutted from the inside. Blood pooled around him, red as prophecy, thick as grief. Behind him stood Jay. Still. Gun in hand.

Smoke rising from the barrel like a spirit torn from its shell. He didn’t move. Not at first. Just stood there, breathing hard, his expression hollow and carved from something beyond pain. He looked older in that moment. Not like a boy. Not even like a man. Like something ancient. A myth unraveling in real time. Then he dropped the gun, and it clattered to the floor like a broken promise. He rushed to you, hands trembling as they touched your face, your shoulders, your bindings. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, again and again, as if the words could erase the hurt, the betrayal, the pieces of yourself that now lived in a place too dark to name. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know — I didn’t know how to stop him. I should’ve — God, I should’ve…”

And for the first time, you saw him for what he truly was. Not your savior. Not your villain. But a boy who had been used like a blade and turned back to find himself stained in the blood of everyone he loved. Jay’s fingers worked at the ropes in frantic desperation, his breath uneven, ragged with panic and something else, grief, maybe, or guilt so deep it had built a home inside his lungs. The ropes gave with a rough snap, and your hands were free, your legs unbound but the weight that clung to your chest, to your soul, was not so easily unknotted.

And then the world broke open. The thunder of boots against tile. Shouts reverberating down the hall like echoes from a war long lost. The door burst open in a flurry of violence and authority, police in black and navy, weapons drawn, voices commanding surrender. Behind them, a storm of familiar faces: your father, his jaw set in stone, and Taehyun, eyes wide with something between horror and relief. And in the center of it all, your body still trembling, Jay standing before you with blood on his hands, his father’s, and maybe his own. They pointed the guns at him. They shouted at him to step back, hands up. 

He did. Quietly. No resistance. Just a soft exhale from lungs that had been holding the moment too long. His eyes flickered toward you once more, and something like peace passed through him, fleeting and fragile. The cuffs clicked around his wrists like fate locking its teeth. “No!” you cried, stumbling forward before your knees could give way. “Wait — wait!”

The officers halted just long enough for you to cross the room, pushing past your father’s grasp, past Taehyun’s startled call. You stood in front of Jay, close enough to feel the heat of him, the sorrow radiating from his skin like the fading warmth of a star long burned out. He blinked at you, the shimmer of unshed tears catching on his lashes like morning dew. You reached up, took his face between your hands as if to memorize it, every angle, every flaw, every beautiful, broken piece. And then you kissed him. Fiercely, tenderly. Like the world was ending, because maybe, in some way, it was.

Your forehead rested against his when you finally pulled away, breath mingling with breath, time halting between heartbeats. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words shattering against your skin. You didn’t say it was okay. Because it wasn’t. Not really. Not ever. But you let him hold your gaze, let him see that despite the betrayal, despite the blood and the lies, despite everything, you still saw him. Beneath the wreckage. Beneath the boy who had chosen wrong and tried, far too late, to make it right.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice breaking. “I love you.” And then they took him. Through the door and out into the blinding blue morning. The house echoed with the quiet that follows storms, shattered glass and distant sirens, your own pulse pounding in your ears like a drum. You stood there long after he was gone, your wrists red and raw, your heart half in your chest and half walking away in a squad car under the watchful eye of justice and tragedy alike. Your heart is split open like a wound that hasn’t quite healed. Like a prayer said to a god who may or may not be listening. You carry him with you, in the silence between breaths, in the spaces love once occupied. Some nights, when the wind howls just right through the trees, you swear you can hear the echo of his voice.

Not calling for forgiveness. Not even for understanding. Just saying your name like it was the only true thing he ever had. And somewhere out there, the world goes on.

(★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah , @simj4k3 , @sangiewife , @hyunj00 , @firstclassjaylee , @teddybeartaetae , @i-am-not-dal , @xylatox , @desistay

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[chuluoyi]

first ultrasound with gojo (love entries) headcanons?❤️

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 12:55 P.M 」

*sigh* why am i so weak to domestic requests... this is just a little thing i wrote in one sitting while stalling my nanami fic (and after coming back from the company retreat!) sobs, i'm going back to it i promise!! :')) this loosely takes place after daddy-to-be <3

a part of gojo's love entries

“now let us see…”

you were lying on the examination table as the ultrasound gel made contact with your still flat abdomen. the sheer coldness and the way the probe pressed hard on your skin made you wince a bit, until that discomfort was eased by a comforting squeeze of your hand, prompting you to turn your head towards the source.

your husband, gojo satoru, offered you a smile so warm it made everything else fade into the background. beyond his sunglasses was the way he always fondly looked at you, as if he was silently assuring you that he would be by your side every step of this journey.

you couldn't help but smile back at him.

“ah, here’s the baby,” your doctor gestured at the monochrome screen with a grin. “around five weeks now. it’s the size of a seed.”

a seed? your gaze fixed on the screen with a sense of wonder. honestly you couldn’t really pinpoint where your baby was, until you saw one dot that the doctor zoomed in.

and there it was—the tiny beginning of life. the product of you and your husband’s love, growing steadily inside you.

suddenly it felt so real that you were carrying a new life. your heart overflowed with warmth, swelling with emotion, and you struggled to hold back tears as your gaze shifted between the screen and satoru, who offered you a comforting pat on the head.

“hush,” he whispered softly, seemingly moved too after looking at the living testament of his baby on the screen. “don’t cry now, hmm?”

after seeing the sonogram and had it printed, both of you sat before the doctor as she instructed you to take things easy from now on, and through it all, satoru held your hand firmly in his, attentively listening to everything the doctor mentioned and even proactively asking questions in return.

“doc, she gets dizzy and nauseous easily, can you prescribe her something to make it bearable?”

“i can certainly prescribe some anti-sickness medication, but i highly recommend you to have plenty of rests and eat healthy food too to reduce morning sickness—”

“hmm, and can you recommend anything to improve sleep? she can have trouble sleeping too…”

honestly it touched you to see satoru picked up on these little things about you despite being away so often. only now did you realize that he had always been watching over you, without fail.

back at home, he sat you down on your bed, back to being a carefree clown who would draw laughs out of you.

“now, little mom,” he began, his lips already turning up into a grin as he took your hands in his, kneeling before you. “you need to listen to me very closely, okay?”

you snorted. “don't address me like that!”

“uh-oh, no squirming,” satoru warned playfully, pinching your cheeks, and you swatted his hand, holding back giggles.

oh my. just what a blissfully happy couple you were.

“first thing first, now you are to have lots of breaks and rest,” he declared, amusement melted a bit from his tone. “the doctor said so. it'll help with your nausea too. if you feel the slightest bit unwell, you have to go back and rest.”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, yeah...”

“and no staying up late too,” he added, fixing his clear eyes on yours. “especially not for waiting for me to be home.”

that got you to clamp up. so he noticed it too, the way you would always wait for him, even at the cost of not sleeping at all. satoru never really said anything all this time, but now you knew, he was indeed worried.

once again, your chest burst with love and warmth. but still...

“can you promise me that?” satoru asked you gently, his smile still in place, but you knew the underlying command behind those words. “i'm coming back. always. i have everything i want here, with you. there's no way i'm not coming back.”

you hung onto his every word, and much like spellbound, you let go of everything and nodded.

“and now baby...”

he then shifted his focus to your tummy, gently brushing his fingers across it, and the gesture stirred something inside you, making you throb with emotion.

“you only have one job. grow big and healthy, and you can even bother mama sometimes! just don't make her too sick or i'll worry...”

somehow your vision blurred with tears, hearing how unusually earnest he was. “satoru, you're so silly.”

but as always, he would pick this moment to flip the switch, reverting back to his usual teasing.

“hmm, what's that? you're getting soft now, aren't you, mommy~?”

“...why do you have to sound like that? you're making it lewd on purpose!”

in this little world of love of yours, it was just you and him, along with the tales of your life together. you had weathered various moments side by side, and now, as you were embarking on another significant chapter with him, you were certain that everything would be alright.

satoru pulled you to the bed and smothered your head with kisses, trapping you between his strong arms. “hmm, comfy now?”

“mmm, yeah. keep cuddling me...”

and from his side, he was sure, that right now, everything had never been and felt so right than ever before—with the love of his life and future in his arms.

[gavisuntiedboot]

Cherry on Top

Gavi X Physiotherapist! reader (birthday special!)

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: suggestive content!

A/N: I am back once again with more self indulgent fics for my baby boo thang's birthday !!!

~~~

"Doctoraaa! When are you coming home? I'm withering away from boredom and loneliness."

You could practically hear his pout through the phone, imagining him sprawled out on the couch with his feet in the air.

"Gaviraaa I am studying so that I can graduate on time! Or do you want me to keep making a student salary forever?" You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder, still furiously typing away at your sample notes for your advisor.

"What are you even studying? You basically run our whole club's rehab program by yourself. What else do they need to test you on?"

That was actually an excellent question. It was coming up on the two year anniversary since you had become a Barca employee, and you had almost fully taken the reigns. Dr. Gonzalez had checked out, waiting for you to get your degree so that he could finally retire. Nicolas was a good assistant, but was still heavily lacking in his ability to make quick decisions, so he was stuck doing basic PT most of the time. The show was essentially yours to run.

"This last year is testing my leadership ability and teaching skills. When I graduate, I will start running the intern program at the club, and so they have to make sure I can correct staff mistakes."

Your typing was getting progressively louder as you continued angrily editing the note in front of you.

"Take this idiot Aaron. He has not written a single coherent note since he got assigned as my mentoring project. If he were an employee he would have been fired weeks ago. But since this is a "training and learning" opportunity or whatever, I have to fix all his notes and send him the edits so he can learn."

You heard shifting on the other end of the line, and then a soft thud followed by some whispered profanity.

"Pablo please don't injure yourself."

"Maybe it will bring you home faster. Oh no my other ACL!"

Despite his giggle, you went quite on the other side of the line. The day of Pablo's injury had been one of the worst of your life. He had been playing for the national team, so you had no choice but to stare at your TV through glassy eyes, utterly and completely helpless. One of your friends literally had to prevent you from collapsing (though to this day you maintain that it was dehydration, not hysteria). He had called you from the sideline, and the pain in his voice just made you break further.

"I need you."

You had been waiting at the airport to receive him, official team gear on in an attempt to distract fans from the fact that you were fully embracing him and crying into his shoulder. You had almost gone insane in the lead up to his surgery, triple checking the credentials of everyone involved. You stayed by his bed for his entire stay, spending most days and night making sure he wore his brace and didn't make any stupid decisions. It was on one of these nights, when you were once again complaining about not having your favorite undereye cream at his house, that he once again asked you his favorite question.

"Why don't you just move in?"

As usual, you brushed the comment off. Gavi had been asking you to move in weekly for over a year now, always unfortunately dead serious. There was an innocence and simplicity in the way Pablo say the world that you wished you could emulate. He liked you, he was comfortable around you, and he wanted you to live with him. Simple, right?

But it terrified you. You loved Gavi, probably more than anything else in your life. But long withstanding trauma lives up to its name of being long withstanding. That feeling that the expiration date of your perfect relationship was approaching? That never went away. It was like the more time you spent with Gavi, the more you were terrified that he was going to figure out what was wrong with you, why no one could love you until this point in time, and run for the hills. Your apartment was the one space you still had to be irate and disgusting and genuinely yourself without being afraid of scaring him. And it would make it much easier when he eventually broke up with you to date a pop star or a model or Pedri.

"I'm being serious, princesa. You're here every night. You spend more time here than at your own place. You barely sleep in your own bed because you're just obsessed with me and want to take care of me all the time."

"Pablo, we've talked about this..."

"Yes," he said, sitting up and opening his arms in a gesture for you to come cuddle with him. "We have. Back when we had only been together for only three months and we didn't know if you would be able to put up with me."

"Hey!"

"Let me finish." He hugged you closer to his chest, resting his chin on your head and rubbing slow circles into your skin. It was hard to maintain your composure when you were like this, feeling the warmth radiating off his skin and the pressure of his lips kissing your crown every so often.

"We've been together for a year and a half now. I've seen you in bad moods, heard your yelling, plucked your chin hairs-"

He restrained you from getting up, giggling at your embarrassment. He really was the most adorable little thing on the planet.

"I've seen you at your lowest points. Which, admittedly mi amor, were not that low. I saw a tiktok of this guy who had to pull out his girlfriend's tampon. This could be much worse. Hey, look at me."

You turned over, your chest pressed to Pablo's as he brought his hands up to cup your cheeks. You had learned how to do this in the last year, how to steel yourself under his intense gaze. Pablo Gavi looked at you like he was in the presence of a divine being, eyes big and soft and filled to the brim with adoration. He looked at you like just your image was all he needed to keep breathing.

"I love you. So much that sometimes I don't know what to do with it. I want you to move in so I can take care of you, and so that it's easier to let you take care of me. I want to annoy you with my morning training alarm and make you coffee and maybe mess up your laundry when I try to do the washing."

"This is not a convincing argument so far, baby."

"I just want to live with you. And be around you. And hold you like a weighted teddy bear while I sleep."

"What if you get tired of me being around all the time?" You asked between smooshed cheeks, finally losing your ability to maintain his stare.

Gavi refused to even dignify the question with a verbal response, instead letting go of your face to lift the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over your head. Your cheek was practically burning up pressed against his abs, still defined and solid despite days of immobility.

"Doctora, this is how close I want you to be. At all times. I am about to sew you to my torso. So will you please move in?"

And it was then that you agreed to it. Now the house was littered with so much merch on the walls and shelves it looked like a sports store, but it was yours. A home. You spent months taking care of Gavi, from driving him to appointments to at-home physiotherapy sessions. You took every opportunity to place a gentle kiss on the scar on his knee (ya know, when you were down there ;) ) and avoided all clips that showed him in pain.

"Come on, Doctora. I'm okay."

"I know, I know... it's just not a memory I can bring myself to joke about. Not while you're still in recovery."

"I'm sorry, amor. Can you come home and scold me about it?"

You groaned again, resisting the urge to slam your head into your keyboard. The progress notes were really terrible.

"And besides, you need to finish packing."

This was true. In about 6 hours, you and Gavi would be on a plane for his birthday trip to Ibiza. He had been buzzing with excitement about his birthday trip for months now, eager to take you someplace where there would be nothing to distract the two of you. Just perfect sand and perfect sea for a perfect weekend. He had talked about going farther than Spain this year, maybe Italy or at least Portugal, but injuries have a great way of canceling travel plans.

You reluctantly agreed, telling Pablo you would be home in about 30 minutes, before you began to tidy your workspace. You sent a polite yet pointed email to Aaron (with the head of department CC'ed) explaining that the work was too terrible to be corrected, and he should clear up some time in September to train with you before the season began in earnest and you would be too busy to teach him how to spell "bradycardia".

It was always a humbling experience to pull into the driveway and park your beat up little car next to Gavi's team-sponsored beauty. You were dreading the day he upgraded to something nicer - the neighbors would start thinking that someone was there to rob him. He was already standing at the door smiling wide when you pulled in. He walked up to your door, grabbing all your bags and ushering you inside away from the heat. This had become a regular for Gavi - tracking your location to greet you the second you arrived - so there was really no need to question it anymore. You leaned over and kissed his cheek, eternally grateful for the gentleness he showed you. After a quick yet heated rant about the incompetence of some of the students in your program, you headed upstairs to continue packing.

"Pablo, you think I need to pack more than two dresses?" You asked, looking over the satins and crocheted pieces that your friend ensured you was "totally in".

"I don't think you need to pack any dresses. Or even clothes for that matter."

You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend, who was leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Am I supposed to be naked for the whole trip?"

"Not the whole trip. Just pack some bikinis for during the day and some cute underwear for the night. The outfit you wear to the airport should be more than enough incase we ever need to leave." He walked over to where you stood in contemplation, arms wrapping tightly around your waist, and his head resting on your shoulder in the perfect position to kiss your neck.

"Be serious, Pablo. What if we want to go for a nice dinner for your birthday? I can't go in a thong or in my plane sweats."

He didn't stop his attack on your neck for an instant, addicted to the warmth and taste of your skin on his tongue.

"Mi amor, mi sol, mi vida - at the risk of being vulgar, I have to say that you will be the nice dinner on my birthday."

Your eyes went wide at this statement, and suddenly you were glad for his arms there to keep you upright.

"I don't even think I have more than one bikini that still fits."

At this, Gavi released you, running to the closet with your yells to slow down behind him (if you had a euro for every time you told him not to run in socks, you could pay off the club's debt). He came shuffling back out with a large black bag, which he promptly dumped out onto the comforter. There were at least ten swimwear sets in various colors and prints, ranging from polka dots to stripes to... was that cheetah print?

"I picked these out the other day. Well, actually, that's a lie. I sent your size to Aurora, and she placed the order online and I just picked up the bag at the store. Can you imagine what Instagram would do with pictures of me buying lingerie?"

"But there's no lingerie here?"

"Fuck." He scampered off once again, returning with another bag to repeat his previous actions. This time the contents were much more sultry, with dark silks and satins staring back up at you. Mainly reds and blacks littered the pale covers.

"Pablo, you shouldn't have. This is too sweet! But we are only going for three days. There's like a month worth of stuff here."

"Are you planning on never going out again after this trip? Just pick your favorites for this weekend. The rest will be waiting for you when you get back, just in case we ever go to the pool or you want to surprise your football star boyfriend by wearing these to work."

You couldn't even be mad at his words when your heart was so full from his gesture. Pablo was always buying you things - that was nothing new. But you had been worrying for days about not looking good on this trip, not having anything new to wear, and he took that burden off your shoulders.

"So I can pick any of these? They look expensive."

"Ay Doctora, don't upset me. Nothing is worth more than your happiness. I do have one request though."

"Yes, mi amor?"

"You have to wear this one on my birthday," he said while reaching past you to pick up a white bikini with red cherries printed all over.

"Why is that?"

"Because you're like the cherry on top of my birthday cake. You always look good, but I want you to look irresistible."

"Okay, let's relax that's a lot of talk for a- oh my God." Your eyes widened, and you grabbed Pablo's face with a dropped jaw.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh my God."

"You said that already."

"Pablo!"

"Yes, princesa?"

"An adult. You're going to be an adult tomorrow. As in not a teenager."

"We arrive at like 11pm so it's more like I won't be a teenager anymore tonig- are you crying?"

"I'm not going to have a teenage boyfriend anymore!" You threw your arms around him, hugging him so tightly there was a fear of his ribs cracking.

"I feel like I should be offended by this statement."

~

"3...2...1... Happy 20th birthday Pablito!" You said softly, a single cupcake with a lit candle on the top held before the birthday boy. It was the same as the previous year (iykyk), but this time with a red and yellow swirl to match the Spanish national team.

"Thank you, mi vida." He closed his eyes, deep in thought regarding his wish, and blew out the candle. He scooped up a dollop of frosting, placing it on your lips before kissing it gently away.

"I can't believe I get to spend another birthday with you," he whispered out, scared that anything louder would destroy the gentle atmosphere around the two of you.

After sharing more sugary kisses, you fell asleep on Pablo's chest, soothed to sleep by his slow heart beat and rhythmic breathing. You woke before him, placing a kiss on his forehead before getting up to dress, snickering quietly at his snoring. The poor boy was so exhausted. You put on the swimsuit he had picked for you, the material fitting you stunningly. You looked at yourself in the mirror and couldn't help but smile. The white and red complemented your skin, your hair framing your face still bare and slightly puffed with the remnants of sleep. Gavi's necklace dangled between your collar bones, the metal cool on your skin. Everything on your body was an expression of love.

Stepping out of the bathroom in your bikini and wrap around skirt, you found the bed suspiciously empty. There was a light breeze coming from the terrace, where you found your boyfriend leaning shirtless on the railing. As if sensing your stare, he turned over his shoulder and wave you to join him. The sun was starting to shine in earnest, the smell of the ocean filling your senses. There was no place you would rather be.

"Good morning, beautiful. I know I asked you to wear that, but I almost want you to take it off. You look too good - I'm scared I'll have to beat every other man away with a stick."

He took a seat on one of the deck chairs, and you took your rightful place on his lap, arms around his neck.

"Good thing this strip of beach is private then."

Your lips found his in a deep kiss, fingers traveling to play with the short strands at the nape of his neck. It was an intoxicating thing to kiss Pablo Gavi. His plush lips molded perfectly to yours, bringing you in impossibly closer. He was always so eager, gently nibbling on your bottom lip whenever he could catch it, soft breaths and little whines spurring you on. Neither of you could bring yourselves to stop, tongues tangled like high schoolers as you made out in the early August sun. His hands were firm on your hips, more for his benefit than yours. He was eager to drag you to the sand, but knew neither of you would leave the room if he allowed your hips to act on their own accord. He relaxed back, allowing you to take the lead, and whimpered a little louder when you bit his lip. It was your giggling that broke the kiss, and you rested your forehead against his, breathless and chest heaving.

"Big Bad Gavi likes having his lip bit. Who would've thought?"

He whined again, finding the column of your neck and to town, nipping and sucking, unwilling to not have his lips and tongue occupied by you just yet. When you started digging into his biceps, he released you, admiring his handy work.

"Pablo people are going to see." You said, pout on your lips and big eyes trained on your boyfriend. He kissed your jutting bottom lip and lifted you off him.

"Like you said - good thing this beach is private."

~

Pablo had so many moments with you where he thought "she could never be more beautiful than this". The first was the first night you fell asleep on his couch, face peaceful with sleep. The next was under the stadium lights, as he thrust a trophy in your hands and lifted you above his shoulders. Then it was in some French hallway, in a ballgown with no heels as he kissed you senseless, finally brave enough to take what he wanted. In coffee shops and grocery store aisles and on his mattress, he always thought there was no possibility for you to be more stunning. But as you lay stretched out on the sand, eyes closed and muscles relaxed, he had the thought again. The sun tinted your skin slightly, making you gleam like a goddess that had just emerged from the sea. The bright white against your skin had Gavi tingling, wanting to remove the pure material and access what it was protecting.

Your hair was soaked, and you laid on your stomach in the sand to gain some color and dry off after the exertion of swimming with Gavi. The sun was phenomenal on your damp skin, and you had never been more at piece. You felt a hand creep up your back, and suddenly your chest wasn't as supported as it should have been.

"Pablo! Did you just undo my top?"

"I'm just unwrapping my present."

He brought you to sit on his lap once again, your loose top fighting to remain around your neck.

"How private is this beach?"

"You think I would let you go topless if there was a chance another soul would see?"

You felt like a teenager again, embarrassed and looking around frantically for someone who would catch you in such an act with your boyfriend.

"I heard beach sex sucks and I'm not eager to get sand in my vagina."

"We're not going to have sex on the beach. I may be more grown up, but I still like seeing boobs every once in a while."

"So you just want to look at them?"

"Among other things. You want to see my checklist?"

You wrapped your arms around his neck once again, kissing him deeply as he fully removed the fabric from your chest. He brought a hand to your back, pressing you against him, your breasts flush against his chest. It was a thrilling sensation, being topless and against your boyfriend with the sun beating down against you both.

Gavi laid back on the sound with you atop him, unclipping you hair to allow it to fall down your back. In your current situation, you were still covered enough to not face public indecency charges. He played with the strands of hair, weaving his fingers into the locks as his teeth caught your bottom lip and sucked on it like his favorite hard candy.

"I'm going to have sand in my hair."

"Guess we'll just have to take a bath together so I can wash it for you."

You kissed him again, his fingers trailing up your torso and brushing the sides of your boobs, sparking electricity in their path. It was so high school: topless on a beach, making out with your boyfriend. But made you stir low in your stomach, a mix of desire and the deepest form of love. You loved Pablo Gavi. You loved his little antics, you loved the pleasure he brought to every aspect of your life.

"Enjoying your birthday so far?" You asked, reluctantly pulling away from his lips, chest heaving against his. Gavi took the opportunity to grab your breasts and squeeze lightly, playing with them like it was his favorite activity in the world.

"More than I can even express."

He brought you against him, arms around you and bodied pressed together, and laid back down.

"So you just wanted to feel me up while we make out?"

"I want to feel you against me, mi amor. I want you to feel how hard my heart beats when I'm around you. I want to do everything that comes to my mind with you. Being topless on the beach. Ordering everything on the hotel menu. Skinny dipping at midnight. Every experience in my life is better when you're in it. I want to make every memory with you, so that when we're old and hold hands in our matching wheelchairs, I can say "Hey remember when we were hot and young and topless making out in Ibiza?" I want to do everything in the world with you."

You pressed your lips to his again, a deep kiss that winded the both of you.

"I love you, Pablo. Happy birthday."

"I love you more, Doctora."

~~~

Okay here it is!! Happy birthday to the love of my life, the light of my soul, Pablo Gavi. I love this boy more than I can express, and he represents so much good in my life. I hope his 20th year is filled with every happiness in the world.

As usual, please like, comment, reblog - all the good stuff. If you like this dynamic, I have a full 10 part series of these two idiots in my masterlist. I also have an ongoing Pedri series! Check that out if it's more your speed.

Please also take a moment to check out the links on my pinned post to help families in Palestine. If you don't have the money to donate but still want to help, every comment with a watermelon emoji under my pedri posts = $1 I donate on your behalf. I think that's all I have to say. Love y'all <3

xoxo, GUB

[my-castles-crumbling]

OMG Clandestine is done!

I am so so so excited to say I just posted the epilogue to Clandestine! Featuring a beautiful commission from @itslotuseater!

Ships: Jegulus, background wolfstar, dorlene, pandalily, rosekiller Rating: M Length: 142k (FINISHED! COMPLETED! AHH!)

Summary:

He was crying. “You can do that?” He repeated, feeling like he was in some sort of dream. And then, Sirius seemed to realize. Because for a twelve-year-old, he was decently smart, and knew him better than anyone. “D’you…d’you want to do that, Reggie? I thought…I thought it was just a game?” But he could only shake his head. Because it wasn't a game. He was a boy. And he could tell from Sirius's nervously resigned expression that Sirius knew it, too. "It's...not a game." --- There's not enough Trans Regulus Black, so here's a fic to help fix the problem. Rated mature for lots of references to transphobia and Walburga Black being a piece of shit. COMPLETED (I'm not crying, you are)

Ahhh, my long-winded thank-you note:

First and foremost, thank you to Arson, my amazing Alpha Reader who brainrotted with me throughout almost the entire process. I literally could not have finished this without you, and I am so thankful to have you in my life. You've helped me through so many cases of horrible Writer's Block, encouraged me whenever I needed it, and you're an amazing friend. I hope you love your "Barty and Evan's Bitch" shirt :D

Second, to my wife, who literally dealt with me talking about this fic for TEN MONTHS. You're literally the most amazing and supportive person in my life, and I love you more than words. Thank you for being the James to my Regulus.

Third, to my Beta Reader, Kat, who is still wading through the trenches of this fic finding all my mistakes. I am so glad to have you and thank you for dealing with all of my errors and answering my messages at odd hours of the night.

Fourth, to all of the people who have encouraged me: Abby, Danielle, Kelz, everyone on the discord servers who has seen me struggle, you guys are amazing and I am so thankful to you.

Fifth, to the lovely people who created fanart for this fic. You all are amazing and you brought this to life. I bow down to you, truly, you are so incredibly talented.

Sixth, to the people who I interviewed about dysphoria and being on T, so I could have a more well-rounded understanding about Regulus's experience. Though I identify as trans, I am so thankful that other trans people were willing to give their experiences in areas I wanted to describe as accurately as possible.

And last, to all of you, who read and kudosed and inboxed and recommended and commented and kept me going. You all are amazing, and you've made this such a positive experience. This fic really was for me, to work through my own gender an discover about myself, and I am so thankful you have been here along this journey.

I want to reiterate that this is one trans person's journey, but I think it's so important to have representation in all forms of media. I'm hoping that my version of Reggie has helped with that a little bit! He's my baby, and he deserves all the good things.

Keep an eye out for the B-sides of this fic! I'll add a chapter to this work linking to it, so if you're subscribed to this, you'll get an e-mail. I'll also be editing this work to fix all the errors, and I'll be doing the B-sides as I go. It probably won't be for a couple of weeks, since I am now working, and I won't have any strict posting schedule, but I'm excited for those as well!

I love you all. Thanks for being a part of this journey.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

I'm Not That Girl ~ Bucky's Version

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST / MUSICAL INSPIRED FIC MASTERLIST

40's!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,140ish

Request:  hi lovely!! i hope you're doing well! can i request 40s!bucky with i'm not that girl?  i love wicked sm haha i've seen it three times on broadway and am going to see the movie again once finals are over

Warning(s): unrequited love

“Hands touch, eyes meet

Sudden silence, sudden heat

Hearts leap in a giddy whirl

He could be that boy

But I’m not that girl”

Your heart was hammering against your chest as Bucky pulled you onto the dance floor. His smile was as big as ever, causing his eyes to shine and making you feel so lucky to be so close to him. If only you could always be this close to him.

“Come on, doll!” Bucky laughed. “Don’t make me to all the work!”

You smiled and began pulling your weight in the dance. Though the dance hall was crowded, it felt like it was just two of you. Almost anytime you spent with Bucky felt like that. The world around you both was silent and still, allowing you to lean too much into your heart.

“She’s here!” Bucky exclaimed, eyes locked on the entrance of the dance hall. “Y/N, she’s here!”

Your heart fell as he let you go and headed straight for the woman who held his heart. Dot.

“Don’t dream too far

Don’t lose sight of who you are

Don’t remember that rush of joy

He could be that boy

I’m not that girl”

“Hey, doll,” Bucky greeted with that smile heart-stopping smile. 

“Hey, Buck,” you responded. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a guy stop by to see his best girl?”

Best girl. You always felt joy when he called you that, causing you to push aside the true meaning of that title. You weren’t truly his best girl, but his best friend aside from Steve. 

“Plus, I need to talk to you,” he continued, stepping into your apartment. “I need some advice about Dot.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You took a deep breath as you closed the door, trying to reign in your emotions.

“I think I love her.”

Your hand fell from the handle of the door as your heart shattered. “Oh?” You turned around and headed into the kitchen to fix up a snack. You needed to focus on something else right now or you were going to lose it in front of Bucky.

“Yeah. She’s perfect, doll. Like… the best thing that’s every happened to me.”

“That’s great, Buck. What advice to you need?”

“I need to know how to tell her. How do I tell her that I love her? Do I get flowers? Tell her while dancing? Take her out to a fancy dinner—“

“Just tell her, Buck. No frills. If she loves you back, she just wants to know you love her. That’s all she cares about.”

“You think?”

You sighed. “I know."

“Every so often we long to steal

To the land of what-might-have-been

But that doesn’t soften the ache we feel

When reality sets back in”

Your dreams were the only place that the wishes of your heart came true. Bucky chose you. Bucky loved you. You were truly his best girl.

But then you would wake and remember the truth. Bucky loved Dot and Dot loved him. You were just someone in his life, for now.

It was the early morning and you had just woken up from one of your dreams when a knock sounded at your apartment door. When great caution, you went over and opened it. You were surprised to find Bucky standing on the other side. But even more surprised to find him in military uniform.

“Bucky?” You questioned. “What’s going on? What are you wearing?”

“I know that I should have told you sooner, doll,” Bucky’s voice was laced with guilt. “But I didn’t know how… I’m shipping out to England.”

“What? When?”

“Now.”

There was no point in stopping the tears.

“Hey, hey, please don’t cry,” he pled as he stepped closer, his hands coming up to hold your face. “You know I can’t stand to see my best girl cry.”

“You should’ve told me sooner,” you cried. “I deserved to know.”

“I know, I know… I just… I couldn’t stand the thought of saying goodbye to you.”

“Then don’t.”

He gave you a sad smile. “Can’t do that, doll. But… you can come see me off. I would really love it if my best girl was there.”

“Blithe smile, lithe limb

She who’s winsome, she wins him

Gold hair with a gentle curl

That’s the girl he chose

And Heaven knows

I’m not that girl”

Dot was sobbing as Bucky held her close. You and Steve stood to the side, watching the scene as military personal hurried around the shipyard. Other goodbyes were happening around you, almost allowing the scent of tears to fill the area. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Steve whispered. He was the only one who knew of your feelings. He had figured them out just by watching you.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes on the couple. “I always knew that I wasn’t Bucky’s type.”

“Y/N—“

“Don’t try to make me feel better, Steve. I really don’t want it.”

Your heart clenched as Bucky brushed Dot’s golden hair from her face and gave her a kiss. A stray tear slipped down your face and you quickly wiped it away.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, turning around.

“Y/N!” Steve tried to keep you there, but you weaved through the crowd before he could.

“Don’t wish, don’t start

Wishing only wounds the heart

I wasn’t born for the rose and the pearl

There’s a girl I know

He loves her so”

You hoped that Bucky would write to you, but he never did. You heard that Dot was receiving letters and small gifts. Pressed flowers, poems, drawings, and a small pearl. Every time you got an update from Steve about Bucky it was due to his letters to Dot. It only hurt you further.

One day, Dot showed up at your apartment. You were curious and allowed her to come in.

“Bucky asked me to keep this a secret,” Dot explained as she seated herself on the couch. “But I know he didn’t keep any secrets from you and I just had to tell someone!”

“About what?” You questioned.

“Bucky sent a pearl in his latest letter. With the pearl, he asked me to marry him.” And you thought your life couldn’t get any worse. “Of course, I responded with a yes. We’re going to get married as soon as he returns.”

You pressed out a fake smile. “Congrats, Dot.” Your voice wobbled. “I’m happy for the two of you.”

“I knew you would be. I feel so much better now that someone knows.”

Dot didn’t stay much longer. It was a good thing, because you weren’t in a good place. As soon as she was gone, you had collapsed into a puddle of tears. Your dream was over. Bucky chose Dot over you. He loved her and not you.

“I’m not that girl”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three's a Crowd 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Abnesti, Steve Rogers, Steve Kemp

Summary: You're offered a deal without all the details.

Note: I'm stupid okay and fixed the description, etc.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You mop your face with the crumpled tissues. You swear, you cry more about people you never met than your own grandmother. You just can’t help it. No one should ever feel this pain, yet here’s a whole room of people struggling. Just like you. 

Martin stares at the floor as the room sinks into the silent aftermath of his words. He lost his daughter in a crash ten years ago and he’s still here. You can see in his posture, in his eyes, that he still feels it as if it were yesterday. 

You pinch your nose with the kleenex and gulp. You flutter your lashes and your gaze snags on another figure. Steve sits with one foot up on the bar of the stool, the other extended to the floor. A man his size makes the tall stools look small. His eyes crinkle before you look away. 

Rita sighs, “thank you everyone for being here. It’s always nice to have you. As usual, there are refreshments. Please have some before you go. I’ll be here for a bit if anyone needs to chat.” She clasps her hands together and gives a forlorn smile. “Don’t forget to do your journalling.” 

Martin gets up first. He doesn’t stay. He goes to get his coat from the rack of hangers. You slide off your seat as a few others trickle over to the table of cups next to an insulated urn and tray of cookies. 

You check the time. You have the time to get a few before your shift. You wait your turn and sense another behind you. You grab a napkin and take one of the cookies from the array of chocolate, macadamia, and oatmeal. You glance over, and up, at Steve. 

“You off to work?” He asks as he notes your uniform. 

“Yeah, again,” you stop and fill a cup of coffee. 

“Mm, I couldn’t imagine working after all this,” he says. 

“Gotta pay the bills,” you shrug. “I... I hope it’s not overstepping but I liked what you said about your wife today. About how missing her is a reminder of how lucky you were to meet her.” You chew your lip and your eyes tinge. You sniffle. “I’m sorry you lost her.” 

“Yes, well,” he takes a cup of his own. 

He wears a blazer over a dark red shirt. The cut looks expensive; too expensive for here. And the gold frame of his glasses are a bit dated but the Prada on the arm suggests not. You always catch yourself judging and feel bad. You just can’t help but think he could probably afford better than the free community grief counseling. 

“We’ve all lost someone,” he continues. “Your grandmother, right?” 

“Uh, yes,” you frown. “She raised me.” 

“Sounds like a very noble woman,” he remarks. “Oh, don’t let me keep you,” he checks his watch. The bend of his arm causes his muscles to bulge in his sleeve. “I hope it is a quick night for you.” 

“Thanks, Steve. I’ll see you next week.” 

“Next week,” he assures you and blows over his cup. 

You stop to grab your fleece-lined hoodie before you head out. It’s bitterly cold out but your old wool coat went missing in the work breakroom. At your second job. The first one, you at least get a locker. You tried to factor a replacement from your next check but most of that will go to rent. 

You sigh as you approach the stop, nursing the hot coffee and nibbling on the cookie. There’s no shelter there. The winds swirl around you and seep through your thrifted sweater. Can’t complain for a four dollar bargain. 

A car slows as it passes and the tinted window rolls down. It’s nice. Sleek. Fancy. Well above what someone working a drive-thru window can afford. Steve shoves his large hand out and waves. You wave back, biting down on your embarrassment. 

You turn your attention up the street and watch for the bus. When it comes, the last of your coffee is cold and your fingers are tingling but numb. You sit and rub your palms together as you watch through the window. 

You get to the burger place right before you’re set to start. You clock in and put on the mandated visor and start your vigil in the window. You’re not allowed to wear any coat except the company-issued one but you can’t afford to order one. So you shiver in your long-sleeved tee and keep the window closed between customers. 

A deep voice greets you from the speaker, “hello, um, might I ask what the wacky sauce is?” 

You give it some thought. No one’s ever really asked. They just order extra and throw a fit if you forget it. You turn and grab a packet and hurriedly examine the ingredients, droning out an ‘ummmmmmm’ into the microphone. You do your best to explain. 

“Mm, can I get the double without that?”  

You agree. It sounds gross once you look at the label. You key in their order as they make it a combo with your prompting. You tell them to drive around and get the machine ready for payment. 

You slide the window open and hold back a brrr. You nearly cough as you’re greeted by a familiar face. It’s Steve. 

“Huh, what are the odds? I thought you sound familiar.” He smirks. 

“Oh, hi,” you offer the screen for him to tap his card. You didn’t take him for the fastfood sort. 

“Bust night,” he muses. 

“A little,” you agree. “Do you need your receipt. 

“No, thanks, sweetie,” he winks. “Nice to see a friendly face.” 

He slowly rolls away and you slide the window shut. Ugh, you’re freezing. Not to mention a bit ashamed. It’s not hard to guess where you work since you wear your uniform all too often to the meetings, but it’s another to be seen out in the wild. 

Does it really matter? The group is not about judging. It’s about listening. If anything, a guy like him will forget this all in the shadow of the exciting things going on in his life. 

[olderthannetfic]

Does anyone have any tips on how to start writing by hand again? Not, from, like, a motor skills issue, but more from like a...focus issue/ADHD lens i guess?

I earnestly haven't written anything by hand in years. (I mean I still writes notes to myself and things like that but I mean writing in the creative sense.) Typing is faster for me, as it is for most people, but like, I USED to be able to write stories by hand! I want to get back into it because when I write on a device I'm too tempted to switch tabs and bullshit around on social media or games. Which is also an issue yes lol but for now I just want to fix a symptom, not a problem. I want to write again! I want to do it high school detention style, electronics locked away in another room and I just gotta write by hand! I want my hand to be cramping so badly by the time I'm done that when I crack my wrist I cry! Ok...maybe not that intense. But :P

This is either gonna sound really weird or really normal, but -- I feel like my brain is too fast for my hands. Or my hand is too slow for my brain. I just legit do not have the patience to write anything longform.

How do y'all recommend I get back into it and retrain myself? Should I maybe start with transcribing an already-typed fic? Should I start off with annotating books (if you're the type of person who thinks no one should ever write in books, pretend I said "take notes on a separate piece of paper", ok?) Obviously i know to start small and not try to immediately become Victor Hugo or anything like that, but I am wondering if anyone has any general advice on retraining that muscle.

I did go on google and reddit to try to find stuff but I guess I don't have the Search Engine Fu to word what I'm trying to say (most of the articles and posts were about, like, PT, or how to be less sloppy, and stuff) or it just seemed too...fluffy. Like "write in a pretty notebook uwu use your favorite pen!" Or just general focus/writing advice (quiet space etc) and not specifically on the Very Basic Skill of writing by hand, which is fair, lol. Plus honestly I'd rather get feedback from people I "know" even if it's just anonymously through fandom kvetching :)

I'd prefer tips specifically from someone who has genuinely retrained themself at this or at something that requires similar cognitive skills (I've worded that way too medically for such a silly problem ha i know), but obviously all input is appreciated!

--

My brain is definitely too fast for my hands. I usually prefer to type for that reason when I'm writing fiction, but I did just start using a new notebook with lovely mushrooms on it. I'm planning my porch redecoration/repainting, a bunch of knitting, decluttering, etc.

My biggest piece of advice is to get a really good pen. It doesn't need to be expensive, but it does need to have ink that flows beautifully. A frustrating pen is the death knell of getting anything done.

Anything that the shiny-light-chasing brain squirrels are supposed to calm down enough to do regularly can be built up to. It requires consistency. Set aside time every day. Treat it like those meditation exercises where the objective is less about never having a stray thought and more about coming back to the practice and re-clearing your mind every time it wanders.

[alchely]

My Top Gallavich fics

So, under the advice of the lovely @iangallagherisadeadman I've decided to compile a favorites Gallavich fic list along with a brief rec of each, this won't be a strict top 10 cause I'm not gonna torture myself into excluding some of these stories on some made-up self imposed arbitrary rules.

A bunch of disclaimers: most of these fics are long fics, going from 30k words up, I'm not purposefully excluding shorter fics, I have read plenty of them, but they do have a harder time sticking in my head months after reading.

Most of these fics will be explicit, just read the tags on the fic itself if you want to find out more.

Some of these fics don't have links because the authors chose to lock them and as such make them unlinkable, in order to read them you will need to go through the author's page while you're logged in your AO3 account.

This ended up ballooning out of control and is A LOT longer than ten fics, I apologize in advance :p.

YOU'LL NEVER SEE US AGAIN – spoonfulstar - 231k words

Mickey and Ian have been students at Marceline boarding school their whole lives, as their time at the institute draws toward the end they will start to discover many things, about themselves, about each other and about the world they live in.

THIS FIC! I CRIED! The number of fanfiction that are able to make me cry can be counted on a singular hand, the emotional stakes get higher and higher as the story goes on, leading to a beautiful and bittersweet climax.

This story will make you think and feel deeply about topics you'd never think a shameless fic would delve into.

I am obsessed with Mickey in this fic, he and Ian grow up in an environment that could not be more removed from South Side Chicago and yet his personality is still so recognizably and distinctly Mickey.

The story goes very dark at times, and the fic itself could be considered lengthy, but I assure you the author has made sure to not make you feel it. Those 200k words flowed so well the story did not feel long at all.

HELP ME (TEAR DOWN MY REASON) – wehangout - 34k words

Mickey is a detective and Ian becomes a suspect in an investigation except Mickey already knows him because he's his favorite dancer.

This fic falls under the umbrella of fics where “Mickey is so in love with Ian he does something unbelievably crazy”.

Oooh boy, this fic, it's written in second person (yes you've read that right), tbh out of all fics I've read from this author I think this one was the easiest to adjust mentally to the change in perspective.

I loved Mickey’s “love” in this, just… This raw connection to Ian, the perfect cocktail of feelings, I could read that all day long.

IN ANOTHER WORLD – Roryonic - 249k words

Mickey does not get sent to prison at the end of S5, what happens after and how his presence influences future events (mostly Ian, but also every other Gallagher as well as his own family).

As far as I'm concerned this fic is the closest to a perfect S6 and beyond fix-it. The dialogue writing in this story is so close to canon Shameless that I could picture entire scenes in my head with the actors playing the characters, with their body and personality quirks.

Sometimes I find myself describing this fic like it's the actual show's deleted scenes, “Look, Mickey has his own storyline! And Mandy is here! And the existence of Yevgeni does not become a plot hole!”

There are some Mickey lines in this fic that to me are as canon as if they'd been in the show. Absolutely iconic writing.

I love this author so here's a rec of some of their other longfics, however I highly suggest a lot of their other much shorter stuff as well:

BATTLESHIPS AND LOVE BOATS: Ian and Mickey start their “no strings attached” kind of sex relationship a little later than canon but their attraction and love is just as strong. This is a sort of High School AU that turns into a Prison AU that turns into something else and every shift is just as lovely as the next.

YOU SMELL LIKE LOVE: Ian and Mickey are childhood friends, to the point that the rest of the Gallaghers might as well consider Mickey a seventh brother, mmmh, I sure wonder how things will start to change. Look, I never thought I'd love a childhood friends AU for Gallavich yet here I am, if it's good it's good.

ME AND THE DEVIL: Mickey unconsciously calls for a vengeance demon and Ian Gallagher shows up at his door, because Mickey is a stubborn dumbass they fall in love instead. This story has a lot of twists and turns and the premise is only the very beginning of the story. I LOVED it!

THE INCREASINGLY POOR DECISIONS OF IAN GALLAGHER – Shamelessquestions - 309k words

Ian is a dancer in a club, he accidentally gets involved in the affair of a dangerous mafia don, but the true danger is the attraction he and the mafioso’s right hand Mickey feel for each other as soon as they meet.

What. A. Classic. Truly, an unforgettable story, and I don't mean this in hyperbole, I read this story around… 2016/2017 during my second round in the Shameless fandom, then I read countless other fics in a lot of other fandom and yet this story was the only one that my mind retained from back then, to the point that I could still remember some of the finer details as well as the final plot twists when I came back to reread it.

The plot is constructed beautifully and the original characters (part of the Shamelessquestions fanfiction universe, as they come back time and time again in every one of their AU to fulfill their role in the story) are just as vibrant.

What a story, truly.

Favorite original character in this AU: Sal, his downfall is so satisfying and yet so pitiful to read.

TEENAGERS SCARE THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME – Mellow_Yellow - 221k words

Ian finds something scary and calls Mickey for help, even though they had only reconnected that very day after two years of not seeing each other. Together, they get sucked into a situation they weren't at all prepared for. Can they even admit that they're in over their head?

The very beginning of this fic is SO cinematic it grabbed my interest from the very first scene and didn't let go until the end, DO NOT search for spoilers.

The only warning I'll give is that it does deal with a bit of gore and what I'm personally gonna define as slight psychological horror. That's it. Enjoy!

BROKE STRAIGHT BOYS – dancermk - 66k words

Mickey becomes a porn actor for a site where he has to pretend he's straight and not enjoying the copious amount of gay sex he's having on camera, enter Ian, another actor under the same agency and their off the chart physical chemistry.

This story has, needless to say, some really, really good smut. I especially loved their first time together, but every sex scene in this story is seared in my mind.

ETHERIZED AGAINST THE SKY – Snarfle - 213k words

So, I debated whether I should add this fic or not, but I think if there is one fic that will stay in my mind long after this Shameless binge of the past couple of months it's this one, and it should absolutely become one of those fic that everyone in the fandom should read.

After Mickey gets shot by Kash his life takes a completely different direction and he ends up in a group home where, through many difficult times, he turns his life around.

So many iconic moments in this fic, some funny as fuck, some sad, some so absurd that I'm surprised they weren't lifted straight from Shameless, one so gruesome in the very first chapter that I was surprised to have such a visceral feeling from just words on a screen. Yeah, this story will stay with me for a long time.

OLD RULES FOR NEW SIDE PIECES – Shamelessquestions - 217k words

Ian is a Fed and he spots Mickey looking suspicious in an art museum, the mutual attraction is overwhelming, Mickey is not what he seems and Ian is already with someone else, but that's not gonna stop him from pursuing what he and Mickey have.

Putting it as bluntly as I can, this fic made me face the realization that I love cheating fics (if the cheating happens to someone else to bring together the endgame couple). I have already reread this fic twice and I could probably go for another one and not get tired of it, it's that good, and out of all this author's fics it's probably my favorite.

Favorite original characters in this AU: It's a three way tie between Dre, Ivan and Carrie, they're all very captivating in this story.

Other fic from this author I'd recommend cause I really love their style:

LOST IN TRANSLATION: Ian meets a very attractive man while he's in Ukraine who doesn't speak English, a mere language barrier won't stop him from flirting for hours. (adorable)

YOU MAKE ME FEEL HUMAN – Dragona - 66k words

Ian is an assassin, he meets Mickey and thus begins a very sick love story.

To say I'm obsessed with this fic is an understatement, I suggest to everyone to just go read the original author’s own description of the fic, it sets the tone of the story magnificently.

This is an Ian Gallagher that almost resembles Jerome (also played by Cameron in Gotham) but like… a slightly more subdued and saner S1/S2 version of him. I love the layers that get peeled right in front of my eyes, the madness that creeps in a bit more every chapter. I LOVE this story.

DRIED INK - 87k words

This fic combines my two favorite Gallavich-specific tropes, one being ‘Mickey comes back from prison after s6, Ian is with someone else’ and ‘Ian cheats on that someone else for Mickey’

I love the Gallaghers in this and how unsurprised they are at Ian going back to Mickey right away. It's a little jewel of a fic.

Mickey tries SO hard to stop himself and Ian in this but their love is too magnetic, they're irresistible to each other.

THE QUESTION OF NORMAL – blue_newman - 92k words

Ian is a prison counselor, Mickey is in prison, they fall in love and it's beautiful and Ian is incredibly devoted to Mickey in this fic and I fell in love with them both in this.

KINDA RAW – catgrassplantdad - 6k

Quite simply this is my favorite short pwp fic.

Illustrating those “five times” in one night that Mickey references in 11x01.

This fic is so hot, I love it <3

QUATERVOIS – DodgerBear - 51k words

Soldier Mickey gets stationed in the middle of nowhere and meets a farmer called Ian who makes him question everything.

Falling under the same umbrella of “Mickey does something crazy for Ian” fics and this is why it stuck in my mind even if it's been a while since I've read it.

I LOVE this story, their dialogues and everything that happens in it. The setting is lovely and you will fall in love with the description of Ian’s farm.

Other fic by the same author that I also loved:

BURDEN OF PROOF: Cop Mickey gets caught in a legal battle between the two oldest Gallagher brothers, something doesn't feel right though…

THE WORDS HE DOESN'T SAY: Mickey is released before Ian in s10 and has to meet a court-mandated therapist. The story is from the therapist POV and goes AU from the beginning of s10 in that Mickey gets involved back into Yev and Svetlana’s life, the dialogue is, quite obviously, the main attraction of the story and it's really well done. (Also, written in first person).

THE MENAGERIE – CrossMyDNA - 147k words

Ian decides to re-explore his bdsm preferences at The Menagerie where he meets sub extraordinaire Mickey on his very first visit.

Shameless is undoubtedly the fandom that opened my eyes to what bdsm could be back in… approx 2016? When that other popular bdsm fic was still around *ahem*.

So it definitely feels like a sign that coming back into the fandom this fic now exists and is SO GOOD.

Obviously it's very explicit, the smut in this fic is one of the best I've ever read.

The chemistry between Ian and Mickey sizzles off the screen and can absolutely be felt even in moments not of the nsfw variety, absolutely recommended!

MICKEY MILKOVICH’S GUIDE TO FLIRTING – whatwouldmickeydo - 40k words

An s2 “missing moments” between Gallavich, completely canon compliant, all under the pretense that Mickey is following a step by step guide to flirting.

I wish this fic was describing canon moments, not kidding a single bit, I wish I could somehow magically manifest these scenes into existence they're that good and fit that well into canon.

M8TE – gallawitch - 53k words

Omegaverse fic where Ian and Mickey both start using an app and end up matching with each other, even though a connection is made almost instinctively, coming to terms with it with a sound mind will take a bit longer…

Hey,had to have at least one of these on here lol

I love omegaverse and this was everything I wanted from it, couldn't have asked for anything better really <3.

SHACKLED – MyRelapse - 19k words

Ian has a change of heart and he decides that Mickey IS the one he wants, even if he's still in prison, so he keeps in contact and goes through every hoop imaginable to have him back as soon as possible.

Reading this made me so happy like I could burst, love it.

WAITING ON MY OWN TOO LONG – Ride4812 - 266k words

This rec more than any other on this list is what I'm gonna consider self indulgent because it covers the trope I always craved to read in such a satisfying way: Canon AU where Mickey comes back from prison after 8 years, Ian has found someone else but the moment the two meet again they fall back into each other right away.

The series is made up of 4 smaller fics:

One more night

Something more this time

No more lonely nights

Ain't this life so sweet

(I will point out here and nowhere else that the last installment of this series has some segment that probably needed to be re-read a couple more times, but by that point I was too invested, and the quality fluctuates a lot only in certain parts)

The writing style is very direct and to the point, which I love, the smut is very present and written beautifully and most importantly never boring.

Ian is a MESS in this fic and had me Stressed™, mostly cause for some reason I can't handle too much casual depiction of drug abuse and addiction (I know, ironic considering the fandom).

Conflicts and resolutions are never clean cut, they don't necessarily resolve quickly or definitely or the way you probably imagine they should and I find this level of realism very satisfying.

Taking a bit of space here at the end to also rec a couple other Ride4812 fics that I also loved:

COUP DE FOUDRE - A model/photographer AU where Ian and Mickey fall in love the instant they meet and do some crazy things because of that.

HOPE HE MIGHT - A lawyer AU where Ian and Mickey are on opposing sides for the same client, an interesting murder mystery steeped in a religious cult.

Generally I feel like this author is really good at depicting just how unapproachable Mickey can be to anyone that isn't called Ian Gallagher and I eat it up every time.

WHAT THE NIGHT DOES TO THE DAY – andchaos - 9k words

A Gallavich childhood friends AU with a quite original arrangement for the story and the various segments of their lives. Very satisfying read.

RANSOM – BeckyHarvey29 - 112k words

Terry sends his sons to kidnap a Gallagher child to force Frank into paying back the money he owes, unfortunately for him Mickey and his brothers kidnap Ian, and a whole other kind of story unfolds.

Mickey and Ian falling in love in this fic is such a good read. I don't wanna spoil anything of how that or the kidnapping plot goes, since the two are so intertwined. Just know that it will be worth it.

UNDER LOCK AND KEY – Suzy_Queue - 106k words

Ian is assigned the night shift at his new job where he provides spare keys to his fellow college students stuck outside their dorm rooms. To make matters worse his shift coworker is the oh so infamous Mickey Milkovich.

I am magnetized by the way this author writes their pining for each other, their attraction and obsession, how it blooms and unfolds. This fic in particular had me develop a very bad case of tunnel vision, couldn't really turn away until I finished reading it all.

I still haven't read everything this author has to offer, but so far I also loved:

INHUMAN: A mysterious force starts attacking people close to Mickey and it all seems to lead to a mysterious redhead Mickey is oh so coincidentally obsessed with. Very cool paranormal story.

THESE FOOLISH GAMES: Mickey takes over as the boss of the local branch of a trampoline park, where Ian is one of the employees, they annoy each other to no end but what they don't know is that they're secretly texting each other.

IS THERE SOMEWHERE – andchaos - 48k words

Mickey is born with no words on his skin, convinced he's going to live a life of misery cause no one will ever say the words he's destined to hear, he's not a very happy guy. Here comes mute boy Ian who crashes into his life and won't let go.

A classic Soulmate AU, I love that like in a lot of other Gallavich fics their physical connection and compatibility usually comes before their emotional one, it is one aspect that I feel distinguishes their relationship to many other fandom’s ships.

LAST NIGHT AT THE VERONA GRAND HOTEL – the_rat_wins - 27k words

Mickey starts working at an ancient hotel who's supposedly haunted. Mickey doesn't believe in ghost stories, he is much more interested in this one guest he meets at night during his shift.

What a cinematic experience this fic is! Absolutely recommended, the length of it makes it so you can read it in the same time it would take to watch the same story in movie format.

Other fics by the same authors that have impressed me:

FADE THIS ONE TO BLACK: Ian dies of overdose in a pile of snow outside the club, when Mickey finds him there he vows to do anything to get him back.

I don't know why but this fic in particular gives off the vibes of being a pilot for a ya urban fantasy TV series, except we gotta imagine everything that comes after the first episode lol

NO LIE: Ian and Mickey are Soulmates and as such they can't lie to each other. This series is short and sweet and full of feelings, perfect

PARAGRAPHS – pink_ink - 100k words

Ian becomes a reading tutor for ex-convicts, Mickey is among them and Ian starts paying him more and more attention.

This is a story where they meet under very different circumstances and where they've lived slightly different lives compared to canon and yet they're still able to find each other in the end.

Also, sign me up for every fic where Ian has to work just as hard to help Mickey and care for him as the opposite, where Ian's brand of stubbornness is the only way to get through to Mickey.

I'm also adding a couple of ongoing fics, just two to not overwhelm too much.

NONE THE WISER – Loftec - ~218k words

Ian starts visiting Mickey’s diner, it takes a while and yet no time at all to warm up to each other.

I'm captivated by the author's writing style. I love Ian's and Mickey’s relationship. I love how they sort of take their time and yet pine helplessly for each other.

I'm obsessed with the fact that the whole point of the fic doesn't appear until two thirds of the way in cause the diner scenes were just too good to pass up on lol (and I 100% agree with them).

INTRO TO QUANTUM DATING – spoonfulstar - ~563k words

Canon Mickey and Ian meet in University. A college slice of life but drenched in the casual (and not so casual) darkness of canon shameless.

The dark humor in this is fenomenal and left me gasping laughing so many times.

Unexpectedly Ian in this fic is pursuing a linguistics oriented degree, which was what I studied when I tried university, the topics are explained in such an accurate way I have to assume the author studied them themselves and that this story is somewhat a reimagining of their own college experience because if not this would be an absurd amount of accurate research to make.

Reading this fic feels like living through the American college experience from the comfort of my home lol.

As I said before, this author's way of writing does not weight you down even with its length, the story flows perfectly from one scene to the next and before you realize it you've reached the end and you have to accept that 500k words weren't even enough.

Let's end this list with some quick recommendations

WHILE WE'RE MAKING OTHER (PEOPLE'S) PLANS - kyasticlikestea

Mickey is volunteered to organize someone's else's wedding after he managed to salvage his own so well, he'll do it, but his own Southside way.

THIS IS THE ROAD TO RUIN - bricoleur10

Ian and Mickey never go to rob Ned, the story unfolds differently from there. A fix-it with a lot of Gallavich longing , very good smut and some really good dialogue.

HEY, HONEY MINE (I WAS THERE ALL THE TIME) - serveteas

Mickey talks about his crush with Iggy and accidentally pronoun-slips. Short, to the point, funny af and I just really love it. Takes place after their fight at Kash’n Grab in s2.

AGAINST GLASS - AllThatMatters

Ian gets traded from one club to another as a dancer (and more) and ends up in the Milkovich family's club. This is a Mafia!Mickey story with some pretty tight sub-plots, I love his brothers in this.

ONE OF A KIND - fckyeahgallavich

Mickey breaks his finger and it has to be set in the hospital, chaos - of the homophobic kind - ensues. Protective!Ian, I wanna hug Mickey in this.

IAN THE FRIENDLY GHOST - Ravenheart

Ian is haunting an apartment and Mickey starts living in it, Ian is maybe starting to have a crush on him. This isn't angsty!

BLOOD IN, BLEED OUT - brewrosemilk, Whatsastory

Historical AU. Perfectly innocent bystander Ian Gallagher is thrown into the affairs of the Ukrainian Mafia back in 1954, his relationship with Mickey will span decades and he won't remain innocent for long, the mafia can corrupt anyone.

TEENAGE RUNAWAY - sadwhales

Ian comes to live and finish high school with his half siblings on the South Side, he's immediately captivated by a boy sitting under the bleachers, maybe his North Side naivety will catch his attention too.

GARDEN SONG - melwrtiesthings

A glimpse into their lives in their West Side apartment, a lot of initial angst due to a manic episode and then a lot of recovery and healing and learning more about themselves.

[nevermorefanfics]

Burning Hearts pt 2

Moodboard Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

Pairing: Eris x Reader, Earlier Azriel x reader

Summary: You arrive at the Autumn court and things are no longer what it used to be and without either your brother or Azriel in the way you and Eris start to catch feelings for each other.

Warnings ⚠️: A little agains, Mentions about sex, Alcohol, fluff, Mean!Azriel, mean!Rhysand, Swearing, mentions about cheating.

Word count: 1549

AN: Firstly I want to thank everyone who has supported me. I love you guys and I am ao thankful for everyone who's liked, followed or reshared. I'm sorry that it took such long time for me to finish this but I've had a lot going on. Hope you like the fic! Love/The cowinblack.

You arrived at the autumn court, feeling nauseous after the past events of the day. Azriel, the mate you’d loved ever since you met him so long ago, wasn't yours anymore. Looking up, Eris was already by your side, concern in his eyes.

“What happened, love?” He calmly asked.

“Azriel… Elain'' That was the only words that came out of your mouth, tears streaming down your face. But Eris didn't need anything else, he understood. You had told him about your concerns with Azriel and Elain earlier. Eris pulled you into a hug and you just stood there crying out for what felt like an eternity until the world became dark and you fell into a long dreamless sleep.

__________________________________

It had gone weeks since you got to the autumn court and you and Eris were closer than ever. Since Beron had been assassinated just months before there was a lot to fix here, laws to remove and things to change. You had helped Eris all you could, even if he said that you should rest and regain your strength. But you’d just laughed it off. Working distracted you and when Eris realized that he’d given you your own office and now you could sit all day working and helping people in need. 

Suddenly you heard a knock on the door and Eris walked in.

“Good afternoon sweetie, care for a stroll in the gardens? I’ve got dinner so we can have a picnic.” He told you. You hadn't really realized that it was already afternoon. Guess time goes faster when you have fun.

“Yeah, sure” Only now realizing how hungry you were.”I'm starving,” you added with a little giggle.

“Good you really should take more breaks from working, otherwise you're going to get wrinkles all over your beautiful face!” Eris joked and you shared a laugh. A laugh, that was the first time since Azriel cheated you’d actually laughed. Adoration shone from Eris' eyes, he really looked like you were his sun, the only thing that mattered to him. 

“Come on, I wanna eat before it gets dark!” You giggled, dragging him out in the fresh air. You and Eris walked around in the gardens for a bit before you got to your usual place, a beautiful orange tree beside a river. As you spread out the blanket Eris took out the stuff that was in his mystery basket. Strawberries, wine, pancakes and even more delicious things that made your mouth water. You sat and ate and talked for a while and when the time had reached midnight the two of you were drunk, like really drunk.

“You look really pretty tonight Y/N” He told you.

“ So do you, handsome.”

As his eyes met yours the both of you leaned forward and your lips met. The kiss wasn't gentle nor sweet, it was passionate, needy. As the kiss deepened something clicked. Maybe you and Azriel were wrong for each other. Because the passion you felt with Eris was something that you never had experienced earlier. 

Carefully Eris laid you down on the blanket.

“Is this okay with you love?” he asked nicely.

“Yes, Eris, yes.” You mumbled into his hair. And so you ended up making love in the fresh autumn air.

__________________________________

The next morning you were woken up by a gentle kiss pressed against your forehead.

“Good morning love, how are you feeling?” Eris asked. 

“Amazing, how do you feel?” You asked with a sleepy voice.

“Better than ever.” He said, now trailing kisses down your neck. “But we have to talk about us.” He continued.

“Of course, Eris I love you, a part of me always has, as you were the one who took care of me all those months ago when we got back from Under the mountain. You were there for me when no one else was, not even my mate. I totally understand if you don't have the same fee-” Eris cut you off with a kiss, a kiss so different from the one you shared before, this was so much more… Real. He wasn't leaving you.

“I love you Y/n, you're my world, I've loved you for so long, always thinking that you didn't see me in that way, we can take it slow if you want, but you’re the one I want by my side, forever.” Eris declared.

“Your little drama queen.” Was the only thing you could get out of your mouth, to shocked by the fact that Eris, the boy you’d had a crush on since you were so very young, was declaring his love before you.

“Well I'm your drama queen.” He laughed pulling you into another kiss.

__________________________________

Months past and you and Eris just grew closer. Your family had made several attempts to see you but you didn't feel ready. They had abandoned you when you needed them the most and you couldn't just forget that. Rhysands had said in a letter that everyone was missing me and that Cassian, Mor and Amren almost had killed Azriel for what he’d done. They were all sorry and just wanted me to come home.But the Night court wasn't your home anymore. Slowly you’d begun to love The Autumn Court and Eris and you had gotten married just days ago. Now you’re Autumn's high lady. It wasn't official. Just the court knew and you wanted to wait before declaring it, or at least make it dramatical. You and Eris had discussed when and where and then the perfect opportunity showed up:

 A High Lord (and lady) meeting was to be held at the Day Court, to discuss the restoration of Prythian. And you were going to be there, but for the first time you weren't going to stand by your brother's side, no you were going to have your own throne next to Eris. If you were going to see Rhys you were going to do it on your own accord. That was when you were going to reveal your title. And that meeting, that meeting was today. Right now you were packing and planning what to talk about, what to wear and how to act. You’d known Helion since you were a little kid and the two of you’d always gotten along. He was like you, hiding all his troubles with humor and you hoped that your friendship would help to stabilize an official, and well needed, alliance between the Day Court and the Autumn court.

“Love, are you ready? We have to get going now!” Eris said as he entered your room, greeting you with a kiss on your cheek.

“Yeah let me just get changed real quick!” You murmured to him.

“Do you need a hand?” He asked playfully. 

“No we don't have much time and I have a feeling that if you help me my dress is probably going off instead of on” You told him and quickly went into your ginormous wardrobe, an adorable chuckle following you. The dress you had chosen to wear was a piece of art. It was a clear beautiful red color which faded out into endless yellows and oranges. The bodice looked to be made of leaves in all of autumn's colors. It was in short just… Ethereal. You quickly got changed and right outside your room you saw the pleasant sight of your husband leaning against the doorframe. He was clad in a stunning tailored suit, a suit that matched your dress perfectly. In his hand he held the tiara version of the crown that covered the top of his head. He sweetly placed it on top of your head and then held out his arm for you to take. You laid your arm on his and a couple moments later you had arrived in Helions favored castle. 

Eris had winnowed the two of you to one of the many entrances where the two of you were greeted by a couple guards. They scienly led you into a ginormous, beautiful room with a glass roof painted in gorgeous golden patterns. Around a round marble table 8 chairs were placed. You quickly realized that the two of you were the first to arrive since the only people in the room, beside the two of you, were Helion and a couple guards. When he saw us he strode towards us with softness in his gaze. 

“Y/N! Long time no see. I heard what happened in the Night court and I became so worried that I wouldn't get to see you here!” He greeted you coming in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his broad figure as he lifted you up, spinning you in the air.

“Oh and hello to you too Eris, what a fine Lady you have gotten your hands on.” Helion said as he put you down.

Eris answered with a chuckle and then spoke. “Fine indeed. Helion could you be an angel and ask your guards to get another chair. We can't have Autumn's High Lady stand through the whole meeting!” He announced.

“High Lady? Well Y/N I guess congratulations are in order-” Helion abruptly stopped and you knew what just happened. You spun around quickly, Eris clinging to your arm, offering support, as you uttered the words “Hello big brother.”

Taglist:

@queerqueenlynn @se7enteen--black-blog @@mybestfriendmademe @cleverzonkwombatsludge

An: I've got loooots of ideas for the next part and I hope to see you then!

[literallylovelynosolaire]

This took me almost a month and I actually fucking hate it but for those who wanted the Treasure turning fic, it's your lucky day!!

Tag List: @darlin-collins @brainrotcharacters @aimedis @therealbr1gh7ey3s @spuffyfit and I think that's all

Warnings: Physical Violence, Car Accident, Unconsensual Turning, Mentions of previous arguments, suicidal implications, depictions of dissociation, probably some mischaracterization, and I will admit my writing here feels a little lazy so I apologise, also I didn't proof read because I'm tired.

Happy New Years/New Years Eve!! Depending on Timezone

"I'm not the only coward in this room"

Those words burned into their tender heart as they reminisce just moments before now. Their mind flooding with every blink of their eyes, their fists clenching as they glared at the laundry pile Porter had earlier ridiculed. They glared for what felt like hours until they felt a moisture slide down their cheeks. They couldn't possibly be crying. Their ears rang as the tears fell, and their body moved on it's own. Shoving through the door and wandering aimlessly and thoughtlessly.

*What am I doing?* Their thoughts finally coherent, the dissociation finally worn off. The feelings finally broken through their barricade. They continue to wander, to make any desperate attempt at escaping their thoughts. Their *feelings*.

Hours had passed, though it felt like weeks to them. Aimlessly trudging through damp, dark forest terrains, recklessly thudding into trees, bruising their arms and sides.

Their clothing now dirtied, their eyes sunken and red from the endless streams of tears, their nose stuffed with the agony of the earlier argument, their legs weak from the abuse they had given themselves to escape the abuse of their mind.

"If you think for one second that what we have here isn’t both of us running away, then you need to turn that appraising gaze inward for a bit."

There they were again. Those words burning and bruising their being as they question, everything.

Were they just an escape to him?

Did he ever truly care for anything *but* his escape?

Why them?

Their vision blurred as the tears stung their cheeks again, now stumbling out of the forst and onto a sidewalk.

"Look at that person over there, they look a mess!" A drunken voice cackled from across the street, followed by a group of friends laughing. Their gaze fixed onto the ground as their agony and despair turned to anger and a rage that would soon be unbridled.

Before common sense could stop them, they lunged off of the sidewalk and into the traffic, avoiding doom narrowly as they approached the group.

Seconds later, the voice's face was full of Treasure's fist. They pounded and pounded, wailing as all the emotion they carried finally poured itself out.

The moments blurred together, their arms were taken by another member of the group, one that unfortunately, looked a lot like Porter. The hair, the build, they screamed Porter.

"LET ME GO" They scolded in protest, flailing their limbs before the leader finally threw their punch. The Porter-lookalike, let them go just before the hit was landed. The impact threw their limp, weak body into oncoming traffic a car hitting them mid-fall.

Blood. It was all they could feel, all they could hear, all they could see. Barely conscious, in the middle of the street Treasure attempts to sit up, failing miserably.

Just as miserably as they failed at helping the one they loved.

Their body numbed as their thoughts continued to belittle them before unconsciousness finally overtook them. Their blood flooding the street as the driver leapt out of the car with urgency, Lovely. They rushed to Treasure's side, panic overflowing their senses.

Treasure would never be able to come back from this. Their bones snapped like twigs scattered across a park, bleeding out to what could've been death.

Lovely frantically rested their fingers on Treasure's neck, checking their pulse. Listening for their breathing. It was shallow, quiet, tortured and agonized.

***They aren't going to survive this.***

Lovely's head rushed as what little composure they could've kept cracked under the pressure. The adrenaline taking the reigns on their body, they bit their wrist before feeding their blood to the pitiful, withered, unconscious Treasure. Picking up Treasure's wrist and beginning to sip.

Blood for blood.

A new 'life' over a death that Treasure yearned for.

A death Lovely had almost granted them.

*Timeskip*

Ears ringing, heart pounding, body numbing like a corpse. Hushed voices came from behind the door as Treasure's exhaustingly heavy eyelids lifted themselves to reveal their unfamiliar surroundings. Their mind became frantic while their body was all too exhausted and broken to do anything but look around with anxious eyes. Taking in the exquisitely decorated room around them, it ever so slightly resembled the room Porter took them to, the night of their first dalliance.

Where am I?

Is this some sort of afterlife?

*Am I finally free?*

Questions arose within their mind as the doorknob turned, the long creak of the door opening ringing in Treasure's ears as Lovely entered. Their hands trembling with a guilt only a Maker would know.

"Are you alright?" Lovely chirped out, still shaken up themselves. They approached Treasure's bedside, resting their gaze on the pathetic creature.

"Wh..Who are you?" They sighed out, mind still rushing with questions their body wasn't ready to articulate.

"Lovely, Lovely Solaire. I'm so sorry I..." They trailed off, guilt dripping from their voice, their silvery crimson eyes avoiding Treasure's as they clasped their hands in a purely pathetic attempt of self soothing. "You.. were in an accident, and you weren't going to make it"

"Weren't?" Treasure's hoarse cracked voice interjected, "I'm not.." realization began set in. Making itself comfortable and torturing Treasure's mind almost immediately.

Death hadn't claimed them.

*Solaire*, this person was a member of Porter's house.

*Why can't I ever escape him?*

Their breath hitched as their mind began to rush again

*An accident?*

Their exhales became shakier as their lips began to tremble as they looked over at Lovely. Taking note of their eyes and paled skin, before looking down at their own hands.

Paled, dry, *dead*.

"What have you done?"

Lovely exhaled, trembling "I'm so sorry, I..I panicked and I lost control, it was the only thing I could think to do, and I know I shouldn't have, and I am eternally in apologetic debt to you, I'm so sorry" They sputtered, and stumbled over their words, sincerity dripping from their apologies as Treasure blankly stared down at their hands. Their senses blurring as their breaths became quicker, the thoughts became louder.

***This had to be a nightmare, right? They were going to wake up any second, in Porter's arms. Right?***

"You're lying. You have to be." Treasure muttered, their mind refusing to accept their new pathetically purposeless, eternal, reality.

"I'm so sorry...I'm telling the truth, this is all real and I'm so incredibly sorry"

The lump in Treasure's throat grew denser as realization had completed its task in making Treasure's mind its playground.

A strong tensioned silence filled the room, as Treasure began hearing what was once unhearable.

"..What does this mean for me?" A strange, unnatural, chilling calm had settled over them, still staring at their hands.

"I don't..I don't know. There's this house-"

"The Solaire house"

"Yes, the, Solaire house..they aren't, *ideal* but you'll need stability after something like this"

"Yeah. I get it."

Timeskip!!

Days passed like hours, the turning transition was rough, but Porter's absence was rougher. They'd never admit it after what he'd said but, they missed him more than any part of their humanity.

"Hey..you okay?"

Lovely's voice snapped Treasure out of their spiral, dragging back to their absolute shitshow of a reality. No matter how helpful their maker tried to be.

"You got everything?"

Treasure nodded, zipping up their last bag, full of their laundry.

"Whatever your equivalent conundrum would be, like..I don't know..should you actually do your laundry tonight or just push the pile farther over on the bed?"

***"Again?"***

Treasure hugged their arms into their chest, sitting on the floor of their old home looking around at its emptiness.

"Lovely"

"Yes?"

"Will I matter here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've spent my whole life mattering the least, being told that, my problems are mere and trivial. Will that change here?"

"I can't promise that you'll be treated the way you should be, not by everyone in the house."

"So no."

"You didn't let me finish"

"And you didn't let me die."

"I..Treasure I'm sorry I-"

"Forget it. Please. Let's just get this over with."

Treasure's pained snarky response punctuated the conversation as they stood, picking up their bags and carrying them outside. The moon gleaming down on their paled skin as they released the bags from their hands.

"What now?"

"William has sent assistance to help you take your stuff to your new-"

With a woosh Lovely was cut off by a fellow vampire arriving to the scene in a car. Without another word they loaded the car and off they went.

The short minutes dragged on in Treasure's mind as they made their way, before they knew it, they had arrived.

Stepping out of the car, they gazed upon what looked like a palace out of a fantasy book.

"Cmon, I've gotta introduce you to William..ugh."

Treasure arched their brow silently following behind Lovely, striding into the castle, a light clicking of their heels upon the velvety floor as they made their way atop the staircase. Lovely knocked, almost immediately warranting William's silky voice in response.

"Come in"

Lovely inhaled shakily, pressing the door open and stepping inside, Treasure trailing behind.

A tensioned silence flooded the room after the door shut.

"Treasure..?"

Porter stood, once facing William now looking at his jewel. Eyes widening at their altered appearance he studied them, "Treasure what happened-"

"Why so concerned Porter? Oh..i see, do I finally have more than laundry to worry about now? Am I extraordinary enough to care about you now?"

William cleared his throat, the room filled with an awkwardness only a poet has the words to describe.

"Lovely, I believe this..conversation is best had another day." He says with a rare gentleness, glancing between Porter and Treasure

"Right." Lovely nods, signaling Treasure to turn and walk back out. As Treasure lifted their leg to walk out, a swift hand snatched their wrist. Porter.

"Treasure, please I'm sorry-"

Treasure yanked their hand from him, turning on their heel as the door shut behind them, now in the hallway.

"You're not fucking sorry"

"Treasure please believe me there is nothing I regret more than the way I left you that night"

"Good."

"What..?"

"You heard me. You've got super hearing don't you? Fucking use it. You said you wanted us to get to know each other. You promised a vulnerability that you then cut me down and hurt me for wanting. I guess you were right, Porter...

I don't and never will understand you."

[bettystonewell]

HELLO BETH !

Thank you for your question (I‘ll reply to it asap. Need a moment to think about it 😂)

Now it’s my turn hehehe (thanks to you and @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth, you infected me with the tumblr zoomies!)

YOU‘RE MY FIRST VICTIM

Remember when you said that old lady kept asking you about the bible?

Well. She returns for a third time. And just when you wish someone would drag you away, she’s interrupted by a loud baby screaming in the line behind her.

You both turn to see this:

What would you do? Realistically and otherwise 😉🧡

WARNING: self/reader insert fic ahead + Aussie slang, but there’s also DEAN ❤️

Well, Hello Jolly!

OH, my friend. I don’t think you know what you’re asking. I know I seem so kind AND I AM, but I’m also a terrible person.

Before I answer your question, I need to give you some context, so I’m breaking this into two parts. The backstory, and then an actual story at the end featuring Dean, yours truly, and the old Bible lady.

You’re looking at close to 3k words.

*For anyone who might be reading, and are scratching their heads at this ask, HERE’s the context for it

(If you scroll down to the next purple line like the one above, you’ll find the fic)

My day job is what we call a merchandiser here in Australia. I’m one of those people who goes from store to store, representing the brand I work for. I fix displays, tidy, fold, unpack all the pretty new stock, etc. Because of all that, I’m also one of THOSE PEOPLE who tells you they don’t work for the store you need help in, even though I’m clearly working. And guess what? I’m allowed to say it if you’re not shopping for my brand.

Now, normally on the day to day, I have this weird default mode. I hate confrontations, and I would rather back down and walk away, or in this case be polite over telling old ladies all about twigs and berries.

So if I see a customer that clearly needs help, I have two options. I can tell them straight up, “Sorry, I don’t work here. I'm just working for XXX brand,” but sometimes I’m just not in the mood and what I do most often is this:

I’m fucking Houdini! The second you come near me, with something that I can tell is not my problem, I’m noping out. So today, well, technically, it was yesterday by the time of posting this, I saw an older lady doing an Austin Powers multiple point turn with her shopping trolley a couple of racks over. You know this:

Well, I did this:

I’m terrible. She knocked some stock over that wasn’t mine, and I fucking ran 😂

Which brings me to the crying baby.

Now. I have two kids. Love ‘em to pieces. People keep telling me I should try working in child care or becoming a teacher’s aide so I can work at my children’s school and work school hours and to that, I say HELL NO.

I love my kids. I worked as a teacher in Japan for four years and half that time I was teaching little kids. I LOVED those kids, too. I got two marriage proposals out of my junior high kids (that sounds super dodgy, but it was honestly 11-13 yo’s shouting out “Beth-Sensei! Will you marry me?” while I stood at the front of the classroom, straight-faced and trying not to laugh - seriously I have some stories to tell). BUT now that I have my own? I don’t love other people’s children. And I especially dislike babies.

You see? Terrible.

To further explain, until I got to the point in my life when I got clucky and thought having a baby would be a great idea, babies scared me! If a coworker came in with a brand new baby, guess what I was doing? Yup:

I’ll admit they’re cute, but unless I know you, I ain’t coming near that thing with a ten-foot pole. What do I do with it? What if I drop it? I might be polite (yk, my default mode) if I have to stand near you. I might agree with whomever I’m with on how cute they are, but honestly, that puppy across the road is looking a whole lot sweeter. Unless they’re my babies, of course, and even then, at their current ages, that puppy is looking mighty cute…

My four-year-old asked me to make him a toasted ham and cheese sandwich for dinner instead of the dinner I was actually making for us. I’m a nice mum. I said sure. When he asked if he could help, it was a little frustrating, but I let him because I don’t want him to be a man baby who can’t cook for himself when he’s older.

We got butter everywhere. We had a tantrum when I suggested he get his stool so he could reach the bench better. He wanted me to get it for him, I caved and got it (great parenting Beth, really sticking to your guns), and after all that, when he sat down to eat it, he wanted to pull off the ham and ditch the rest…

Okay, yes, a baby wouldn’t do that. But if I saw a guy like Dean, struggling to deal with Bobby-John, he’s the baby in my eyes, and I’m running away from him.

So to your question:

What would I do, realistically or otherwise, if I was being bothered by the old lady and her bible, and I turned around and saw Dean and the baby?

My first thought was, wait, do I know who he is? Is he Dean zapped not only out of the tv, but also Down Under for whatever reason? Is it Jensen Ackles hanging out in my local shopping centre, or is this Dean, Dean, and everything in the show is real, I’m in their universe playing a dumb civilian, and for whatever reason, he’s ended up Down Under?

Side note: Do you know what a down under kiss is? Or that in Australia we have a euphemism for vagina - the map of Tassie. It’s named after that tiny little island of Tasmania (that no one cares about) at the bottom of our map. Go check it out. Notice the shape… I’m not making this up.

Yes, I’m an over-thinker. Don’t ask me to tell you my favourite movie, I will sweat buckets thinking you’re going to hold me to my answer for the rest of my life.

I think you see where I’m going with this, but I’m still going to humour you with a swashbuckling tale of this situation.

*Cracks knuckles*

FOUR ADULTS AND A CRYING BABY

Starring: Dean Winchester, Sam, yours truly (in third person), the old lady with the Bible, and Bobby-John Summary: It was just a normal work day, until it wasn’t - or - holy fuck! That’s Dean Winchester! Why does he have a baby? Warnings: language, craziness

A Monday morning in March. A week since cyclone Alfred was supposed to hit her corner of the state, and she’s frazzled. Forgot she’d promised her manager she’d go into the store on Friday to make up for the visit she couldn’t get to on account of school being closed. 

Why couldn’t that cyclone have just hit? Really. All that fuss, and nothing to show for it. Yes. The fence had to be tied up with a zip tie so it wouldn’t fall down, “we will rebuild,” but where was the big emergency that made having the kids at home for almost a week worthwhile?

The fighting? The tantrums? Okay, she was lucky she didn’t lose her roof. Or the power. Her mum and dad are currently cut off from the main road in their town and can’t leave. Friends are running electricity through a generator because in their pocket of their tiny suburb, they still don’t have power. Yet SHE complains.

No bother. The kids have been dropped off. She’s going to treat herself to some McDonald’s breakfast and an iced latte. Chill for a bit in the food court, working on her writing before she goes to work. 

Her own slice of heaven, minus the noise, but she’s got her earphones for that. And she sits there at the little bench, charging her phone at the same time because Tumblr likes to drain her battery hard and she needs the device for work. Her hand burns under the heat of her iPhone’s blue, but cracked finish. 

She types away. Her fingers glide over the keyboard with ease as she whips up a headcanon about her current favourite hunk of spunk, Dean frigging Winchester, and why he likes to get slapped in the face by a woman wearing a Zorro mask during sex. 

She thanks H for that. H was a genius when she sent that ask. Hilarious H. 

Our heroine giggles to herself as she changes words like breasts to jubblies, and dicks to swords. She slides in another reference to Snickerdoodles & Special Sauce. She refers to Dean’s junk as a set of twigs and berries the second time. 

Damn, Austin Powers, you really are the man.

She’s so focused on her task at hand that she gets a little surprise when out of the corner of her eye she notices someone approaching. Someone who stares. 

But she is nice. She’s not feeling all that terrible at the moment. Frustrated, sure, but this is just a tiny kink in the machine that is her day. She’s enjoying her coffee. Her children are someone else’s problem. And she has not a care in the world. Daydreaming of Dean just does that. 

“Hi,” she says to the little old lady, smiling at her. 

She smiles back. Of course she does, because she is in default mode. She is nice. But inside? Inside, she’s screaming. She has her suspicions. Little old lady, frail and smiling. One who reaches her hands out to take hold of hers. One that’s not afraid to interrupt someone younger than her, busy on her phone and wearing earphones. One that lives in this part of her state, too.

She’s gotta be a Jehovah’s Witness. Or something similar. There’s no way this old lady wants to chat with her about anything other than god.

“Hello,” the old lady says. “Could I talk to you about—”

“No sorry.” There is no way she’s even letting the word slip from the sweet old lady’s mouth. Is she sweet? Really? Coming on up into her space to talk about a man in the sky. Chuck was not all that sweet in the show in the end. What does this lady know?

A smile exchanges between both women again, and the discussion, what lack there is of one, ends. 

The old lady goes to another unsuspecting group, and she’s left alone. 

But we all know that wasn’t the case. We know she moves. She moves closer to the store she’s working in that day, trailing through the shopping centre. Under the bright lights, dodging other customers going about their day.  

She passes the juice bar, Boost Juice, and she contemplates getting one if she has time when she finishes. Past a shoe store, a phone one, the giant grocery chain she shops at, but refuses to go to this one. She hates people, and this one is always busier. 

She finds another seat, a cluster of them right out front of the store she’s working at that day, and finishes what she’s doing. She knows she needs to start work soon in order to get to school pick up on time, so she’s quick. And as she finishes up her final edits, lo-and-behold, who appears, but none other than the old lady, wanting to talk about her Bible again. 

The transaction is quicker, thank god - the irony - and she’s left alone in peace again to finish and upload her piece. But it’s not over. No. Her other online friend J has decided it is not so, and so we jump in time to after the shift, when our heroine decides to pick up a few things from the same grocer she avoids.

Imagine if you will, dear friends. A large Australian grocery store. At the front, rows of shopping trolleys, a help desk behind them where cigarettes and gift cards are sold. Checkouts to the right, fresh fruit and vegetables to the left, and rows upon rows of groceries behind all that.

She likes to use the self serve checkouts, working in retail and often being time poor, she likes to do it herself. Knows how to work the registers faster than the other customers, but not today. She’s buying a carton of Coke, the drink kind, not the kind you sniff. She doesn’t even know what to do with the other stuff, let alone where to buy it.

So she stands in the twelve items-or-less line. She has one item, she’s allowed, and she’s waiting when lo-and-behold, guess who shows up?

How long can one old lady go around talking to people about the Bible in a shopping centre? Their last encounter was three hours ago… But of course she’s forgotten that, and she looks up at her with those kind old lady eyes and opens her mouth to speak when the shriek of a baby rampages through the air.

Dear lord. Was the kid dropped on their head? The sound is deafening. Her eardrums throb as the high-pitched sound pierces through the small skin that covers them and protects her brain.

Of course, she’s smiling. She’s in public, and she’s still in nice mode, but it’s wearing thin.

She looks to the sound with many regrets, but is stunned like a mullet who’s jumped into her father’s tinny, and slapped her young brother on the head. 

Dean frigging Winchester? No. No way!

She rubs her eyes as the cartoons her kids force her to watch on repeat love to do, and she takes a second glance.

“Oh how sweet,” old lady coos, but we know she’s delusional. She wants to tell people about god and forgets when she’s already asked them twice.

Our heroine thinks she’s delusional, too. Maybe cyclone Alfred was worse than they thought and she’s Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. Bumped her head? Had her house fall on a witch. Oz was in an episode of Supernatural, right?

Is that what’s happening here?

The guy who stands in the next checkout line over to her has Jensen Ackles’ face. If it’s not him, it’s a damn good doppelgänger, parading around in Dean’s clothing. What the hell?

He holds the screaming child up in the air, much like he did to Bobby-John, and - oh my god - is that Jared Padelecki, too?

What the hell are they doing not only in Australia, but in a suburban little supermarket, dressed as Sam and Dean?

She takes out her phone, close at hand, and opens up her camera. No way she’s not taking a photo of this. But she’s also torn. She doesn’t want to miss this opportunity. She’s going to the Sydney Supernatural Convention in June and those guys won’t be there, just Misha, and god knows who else, but there’s also a baby, and it’s screeching.

She takes a few photos, all while watching the fiasco. What would she say? What would she do? She doesn’t want to go near that baby. Her tummy is flipping all over the place, and the top of her lip twinges at the thought of ever saying hi.

They’re celebrities. She’s far beneath them, especially now, covered in work fluff, dust and sweat.

Her hair, frazzled. She’s wearing her retail black. She’s a hot mess, but she’s not bringing the hot. She’s only hot because she’s burning up with a fire that just comes around Jared and Jensen, or so she’s heard. She’s sure feeling it!

“Come on Bobby-John. What do you need, huh?” Jensen says, and man, talk about method acting. Where’s the cameras and crew?

“Dude. Would you do something?” Jared hisses loud enough so that she hears.

Should she be smiling? Should she expect someone to jump out any minute and say, “Smile, you’re on candid camera!”

Fuck that. 

She pays for her goods. She looks at the two men, even goes up a little closer, and tries to listen in on what they're saying some more. Of course, she pretends to be looking at her phone while all this is happening. It’s not even pretend. She’s zooming in on the photos to study their faces and clothes.

“We need to find a, ah, a working phone. Call Bobby. See if he can figure out what the hell’s going on,” Jared says as they move towards her now. Trolly full of baby supplies. 

“Hey, do you think the shifter’s a witch, too? A wifter?” Jensen gives a couple of heh’s. The same one he gave when Dean joked with Cas about the Ghoulpires. 

Damn. They’re good.

She glances at them, meets Jensen’s eyes. Fuck, he’s so handsome. That jaw. Those brilliant greens pick up the logo of the supermarket’s apple swirl. His smile as he catches her looking is lopsided. Embarrassed, but also curious. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, and she can’t breathe. They smell divine. That’s some woody cologne, and a touch of leather? Who cares! Jensen Ackles is talking to her with his Dean voice! 

She chuckles. It’s more of a choke, a whine, a moan? 

She can’t move. Can’t run away. She’s stupefied in the spot in the middle of the shopping centre while Jared Padelecki stares at her with a cocked brow. Hair tucked behind his ears, pushing a trolley and a baby, still screeching by the way, Jensen still at his side. 

“Don’t suppose we could borrow your phone there?” he gestures at the phone in her hand.

Without a word, because her lungs are still dried up, and she’s now having palpitations cause of the kid, she hands it over, fingers brush against his, and she’s now stuck there, only now realising their photographs are right there on the screen.

“What the hell are you doing taking our pictures” Jensen is no longer happy. There’s no goofy smile on his dial. Shit, she’s going to be staring down at an NDA soon.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked,” she says. Bow’s her head like she’s still living in Japan. 

“Do you know something?” Jared adds. His face is more relaxed, somewhat amused. 

What should she say, what should she do? “I, ah,” she lets out another weird laugh that squeaks in her throat, “I was too afraid to come up and say hi.” She shrugs. Where’s the old Bible lady now?

“Say hi? What? Do you know us?” There’s that Dean voice again, and it’s travelling to places she doesn’t wanna admit. He’s a married man.

“Ah, yeah? You’re Jensen, and he’s Jared,” she says, and at first the latter just stares. 

His mouth opens and closes. His green eyes go wide. “J-j-Jensen?” He turns to Jared, who’s looking just as shocked. “Son of a bitch,” he says, and she’s swooning. 

He said the line!

“Where are we?” he turns back to her, and now she’s confused. 

She states the name of the suburb they’re in, and when they both still look confused, which is impossible. How else did they get there? Come to think of it, where’s Cliff and their bodyguards?

“Brisbane?” she says, and still they stare.

“Queensland?”

She has to wave at their blank expressions. The damn kid still cries like a banshee.

“Australia?”

And this is where I leave you my loves! I hope that was enjoyable. If you want to know more, you will have to beg for it ❤️

I’m tagging my moots/readers who usually seem to appreciate the crazy, have enjoyed Aussie!reader content, who I know are parents themselves or have become involved in this for whatever reason - I’m SOOOOOO SORRY (but also not really) @waynes-multiverse @supernotnatural2005 @ambiguous-avery @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @middleearthislife @ladysparkles78 @losers-clvb @mostlymarvelgirl @my-stories-vault

[valkyriexo]

Microphones and Mistakes

ᑉ³pairing; Dad! Husband! Bangchan x idol! Reader

ᑉ³genre; Angst

ᑉ³warnings; Implied unwanted pregnancy, Arguments, Cursing

ᑉ³Authors Note; This is my first Tumblr Fic! Thank you so much for reading <3 Edited! Please let me know if there are any warnings I am missing!

ઇଓ Part 2

"We will be ready to start again in 5," a staff member near the sound booth said. You sighed as you plopped yourself down on the side of the stage. Another staff member ran over to you with water and a new microphone.

"I'm sorry about all the issues, Y/N. We're working to fix them now, and I assure you it won't happen again," he said, handing you the water.

"Thank you," was the only answer you could provide. Anxiously, you sat on the side of the stage, getting your in-ear monitors fixed, already feeling frustrated and out of breath.

This was your debut performance of the highly anticipated Stray Kids X Y/N song. Countless late nights had been dedicated to crafting this masterpiece, with you and your husband Chan pouring your hearts and souls into every lyric and melody. The song had soared to the top of the charts in a matter of days due to its popularity, which brought immense pressure. Any misstep during this crucial performance could spell disaster for both of your upcoming comebacks, tarnishing the success you had worked so tirelessly to achieve. You had run through the performance once, but unexpected sound issues had arisen, causing you to be behind schedule.

Chan, usually by your side and supportive, was busy with his own schedule, making sure he and the kids were prepared for the performance as well.

You scanned the room, watching staff buzzing around and fixing what you could only imagine were other issues. Each staff member moved with purpose, adjusting lights, checking sound equipment, and ensuring every detail was in place for the upcoming performance.

Amidst the chaos, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your nerves. You let the sounds wash over you, the cacophony blending into a soothing rhythm. With each deep breath, you felt the tension slowly ebbing away, replaced by a sense of quiet determination.

Then, you heard it.

The wailing of your almost 4-year-old son, Kai. He had decided that this particular moment was the perfect time to be anything but calm. He cried and wailed incessantly, much to the dismay of the nanny who had been entrusted with his care. Your eyes shot open to see Kai running towards you, with the nanny following just a few steps behind.

"Mommy!" Kai wailed as he ran into your arms.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. He slipped out of my hands and has been crying all afternoon, and I turned for one second to grab him a toy, and he ran off," the nanny explained.

"It's okay," you replied, turning your attention to the crying boy in front of you. "I w-wanna be with M-Mommy!" Kai cried out.

"Kai, sweetheart, you know you can't be in here." You replied running your hands through his hair.

"But Mommy—"

"No buts. Baby, I'm sorry, but both Mommy and Daddy have to work. You have to stay with your Nanny," you said gently, hoping to lure him back to his nanny. But Kai's disappointment was evident as he cried even more.

"We're ready to start again, Y/N," a staff member said ignoring the scene taking place in front of him.

"But I don't like Nanny!" Kai protested, his voice rising in pitch as frustration bubbled within him.

Your patience wavered, the pressure of the impending performance weighing heavily on your shoulders. "Kai, I understand, but you have to be a big boy for me, alright? Mommy and Daddy need to work. We'll spend lots of time together later, I promise."

His bottom lip jutted out in a pout, his tear-streaked face a portrait of stubborn defiance. "I don't want later, I want now!"

Feeling frustrated and overwhelmed, and with Chan nowhere in sight, the only solution in your head was this. You scooped Kai up, adjusting his soundproofing headphones as you got in place to begin the song.

But Kai seemed determined to make his displeasure known. As the music played, and you began to sing, you felt his tiny hands grasp onto your microphone, tugging at it with all his might. In the midst of the commotion, he also managed to yank out one of your in-ear monitors, leaving you disoriented and struggling to hear the music properly.

What you didn't realize is that Kai also had his sippy cup in his hand. With all the commotion, it popped open and spilled—

All over you.

As the music shifted, symbolizing the entrance of Stray Kids, you shot Kai a look, hoping to get him to behave. Your eyes met Chan's, and he shot you and Kai a look of confusion. He noticed you were struggling, and he quickly sprang into action. Despite needing to sing and dance during the sound check, he took Kai into his arms, attempting to calm him down while still fulfilling his duties on stage.

Meanwhile, with your microphone dangling precariously from one hand and your in-ear monitors in the other, you tried your best to soldier on. But the frustration was evident on your face as you struggled to maintain your composure amidst the chaos. The song ended, and you heard your manager through the one remaining in-ear monitor.

"Y/N, what's going on? This is your second run with all the issues fixed, and this one was worse than the first. We don't have time to do this again."

Out of frustration, you pulled the in-ear monitor out of your ear. Without a word, you stormed off the stage, taking Kai out of Chan's arms, leaving him and the rest of the kids behind.

You brought Kai into a nearby room and crouched down in front of him, your anger simmering just beneath the surface.

The sight in front of you was painful. Your little boy stood there, looking so innocent with the cup and a piece of your in-ear monitor in hand.

You couldn’t believe it.

You fought to maintain your composure, but couldn’t. The soft sound of approaching footsteps only served to heighten your frustration, pushing you dangerously close to your breaking point. With each passing moment, the pressure mounted, a simmering rage threatening to boil over.

"What the hell, Kai?" You let out. "What is wrong with you today? You misbehave all morning, are mean and fussy with your nanny, and then look," you said, pointing at yourself, "you pulled off my microphone and in-ears and spilled your juice all over me." The little boy stared back at you with big brown eyes and a pout on his face.

"I've raised you better than this, Kai. What is wrong with you?!" You raised your voice a little, causing Kai to jump. He took little steps quickly to hide behind his father, who was now standing in the room. His little hands were shaking, and his lips were quivering.

Chan's eyes softened as he felt little hands grip his pants.

"Baby...What's going on?" he said to you, picking up his son with one hand, wiping the tears that began to stream down his face once again. "Don’t stress out, baby. It's okay,"

"No, Chan. It's not okay. He's constantly disobeying, and every time he does, you just wipe his tears and let it slide. That's why he keeps repeating these behaviors. You've coddled him so much that we can't even put him down for a few minutes!" You groaned frustrated as you stood.

"Y/n, it's fine. He's just a baby—" You shot a pointed look at him instantly, causing him to fall silent and redirect his attention to his son, who was clinging to his shirt.

"I'm s-sorry," Kai choked on his sobs.

Chan's heart melted at his little pout. "It's okay, baby, no need to cry. Daddy's got you," Chan wiped the tears from his cheeks and gently took the cup from his tiny little hands. "Y/N, look what you've done, now he's panicking."

"Seriously Chan?" you replied, clearly annoyed.

"He's just a kid! Kids cry, they make mistakes. He's still learning, Y/N. We need to guide him, not scold him," his voice grew louder with frustration.

"So how exactly do you plan to teach him? By comforting him, telling him it's alright, and then forgetting about it, knowing he'll repeat the same behavior in the future?"

"HE'S A CHILD, Y/N! He learns through trial and error. He doesn't fully comprehend right from wrong yet. Why do you always resort to yelling? And why am I always the one expected to properly care for him?"

"Properly care for him? I'm the only one who does since you're hardly ever home! I do everything for him. I—"

"Stop being a poor parent and actually teach him. For someone who didn't want a kid, you're oddly protective of him."

You stared blankly at him.

You, the one who was up day and night when Kai was sick, While Chan was working in the studio

You, the only one who took him to all of his appointments, dance classes, games, and events, while Chan was away on tour.

You, the only one who sat with him when he was struggling with homework, when Chan was too tired to stay awake.

You, the one who took care of Kai and never took a break, while Chan never did.

You.

The tension in the air was thick. The shocked gasp that left your mouth was painful. Your head started to spin, your eyes turning red as your body started to overheat. The emotions you felt were overwhelming. Your eyes landed on your son, who was covering his face in his father's chest, as Chan's eyes grew wider and wider, realizing the weight his words had on you.

"I'm- I'm sorry," the little boy squealed again.

"It's okay, baby," Chan comforted his shivering body.

"Well, maybe since I'm such a poor parent and a terrible teacher, I should let you handle it all on your own then," you said, brushing past him and your son and closing the door behind you on your way out.

You were stunned, your mind struggling to process everything. Your hands felt icy, and the weight of it all became too much to bear. You were exhausted from constantly putting up a front, tired of shouldering everyone else's burdens.

You longed for the freedom you once had, to reclaim your own life.

The urge to flee, to escape from it all, gnawed at your thoughts.

Yes, you cherished Chan and the life you shared, but you yearned to rediscover yourself. You craved to feel cherished, to be loved by your husband like you once were. You wished to relive the carefree days of youth, to experience love anew.

You made your way to the dressing room, seeking solace. Despite the turmoil within, you had a show to perform tonight. Sitting down, you took a deep breath, gazing at your reflection in the mirror. Tears welled up in your eyes, staining your cheeks.

No.

You refused to let the chaos of the moment ruin the performance ahead. With determination, you steadied yourself, forcing a smile.

The show must go on.

ઇଓ Part 2

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[belles-non-wallpapering-content]

Library E.S x FEM! reader

Overture- You got called in to pick up a shift at the library when you met the most unusual guy. But then he runs away.

CWs- Mentions of Ghosts, reader is described as wearing a skirt, one use of y/n

A/N- First Egon Spengler fic, and I'm super excited about it. Second of 32 fics for October

You’d gotten called in for a shift at the library on your day off for what felt like the thousandth time, but today was actually interesting. The elderly librarian who so often judged you for your choices in outfits, music, and anything else– had seen a ghost. Whether she did, or had simply gone crazy, you were curious. 

You got there, set your stuff down, and were immediately glad you came in. You’d yet to see the mess waiting downstairs, one you’d have to reorganize, but it was someone in particular who caught your attention.  

A bit older than you, but most definitely your type, sitting criss-cross on the floor of the New York public library. He had something on his head resembling a stethoscope, but more intricate. While you wouldn’t call him intimidating per se, getting up the nerve to talk to him would be difficult. That was, until your boss came up to complain about your new fascination. 

“Hey, glad you could come.”

“No place I’d rather be.” You gave him a sarcastic, overly cheesy smile to drive the point of how unhappy you were to be here again. 

“Well, the big boss called some people from the university to come check on the ghost situation, mostly just because Alice has been freaked out for the better part of two hours, and he wanted her to finally stop crying. But since the resident shusher is out of commission, I’m going to need you to go tell that man he can’t sit on the floor in the middle of the aisle, and do whatever that is. Thank you.” He walked off, leaving you to do it without any complaint. You hated him for it. Not only did you now have to talk to the cute guy, you had to scold him? Every second you were regretting answering the phone more. 

You wandered over to him, nervously fixing your hair and clothing while you walked towards him.

“Excuse me sir?” He didn’t even look up when you called out to him and you decided now may just be your only chance to make an impression. You fixed your skirt before sitting down, legs pushed to the side, but otherwise matching his posture. That finally got his attention, and he finally pulled the stethoscope off his head so he could hear you. 

“Hello.” You weren’t sure if he was nervous or disinterested, but you steeled yourself to maintain customer-service levels of peppiness. 

“Hi. May I ask why you’re sitting on the floor?”

“I’m trying to get a PKE reading on everything in the building, to accurately predict supernatural activity in this area.”

“Ok, may I ask for a version of that answer suited for someone who hasn’t had a science class since high school.” 

“I’m just taking measurements to determine a baseline before my colleagues get here. We were hired by the director to come inspect the grounds after an incident this morning?”

“Oh ok, you’re one of the guys from the university! My boss sent me over here, he thought that you were just hanging out in the aisle.” You gave a small point to your boss, who was already staring daggers at you. 

“And here I thought you were just curious.”

“Oh believe me, I was. Still am.”

“Well I’d love to tell you about this, anytime.”

“I’d like that. Once you’re done with your job, come find me? I’m here all night.”

“Okay.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think there was a blush on his cheeks. You got back up, brushed off your skirt, and went to send your boss over. 

But the next time you saw him it was after a loud crash, and he and his colleagues were fleeing from the building as quickly as possible. Not exactly swoon worthy, but the way he nearly fell flat on his face while running did bring its own charm. 

—

You were convinced you’d never see him again, until you went to unlock the library doors the following week. There he was, in a full suit, with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. This time he was definitely blushing, but so were you, seeing him waiting there. 

“You’re back.”

“I am. I brought some equipment I’d like to test on the apparition, if of course, that’s alright with your bosses. I apologize for leaving last week, we needed funding for some new facilities and hardware.”

“I appreciate it, it is Doctor Spengler right? We never really got introduced.”

“Yes, I’m sorry again for not coming back sooner…Y/N” you tilted your head at him, because you were certain you hadn’t mentioned your name yet, and you couldn’t figure out how he knew. Until you happened to look down and catch the plastic ID badge hanging from your neck. 

“Oh right. Name tags.” You took a moment to just settle into the embarrassment before starting again. 

“I can walk you downstairs?”

“Are you sure your superiors are ok with it?”

“They’re not here today, so it looks like you’re stuck with me.” You gave him a cheery smile, and just a hint of puppy dog eyes. You really wanted him to ask you out, and the more time you spent together, the more time you had to make it happen. 

“Al-Alright.” You walked him down the hall to the elevator, and as soon as you arrived at the basement, he turned to you. 

“I think you should go back upstairs. This is highly experimental equipment, and I’m testing it on an apparition with full skeletal structure.”

“Sorry, can’t. I am to not let you leave without filling out paperwork, after last time. I don’t know if you noticed, but it is kind of trashed down here, and they’re pissed about it. But I can start by just reorganizing the card catalog, so I’m out of your way?” 

“Alright. But stay over here for your safety, ok?” 

“You got it.” You held your hand up to say ‘scouts honor’, and you thought you were home free, until he came back. He’d only gotten about 5 steps away before he turned back around and fished in his coat for a plastic cup. 

“There may be ectoplasm there, if you could please collect it in here for further testing.” 

“If this is an attempt to get me to give in and leave, it’s working.” 

“Please?”

“Yeah, yeah, go catch your ghost and try not to make too much of a mess?”

“Don’t you have janitorial staff?” 

“Yeah but I have to organize all the books that end up on the ground.” 

“Maybe don’t come back here for a while, then. There was an incident with a bookshelf earlier.” And then he just—walked off? No explanation, nothing. 

You got through 3 drawers of the card catalog, and collected a Petri dish full of what you hoped was ectoplasm, trying to ignore the loud crashes and yelling, before you saw Dr. Spengler again. He looked terrified, and was holding a smoking box. 

“Oh! Wow-uh, is that supposed to be happening?” 

“Probably.” 

“Reassuring, thank you Dr. Spengler.” 

“I don’t think I can leave this in here indefinitely, I may need to postpone doing the paperwork for your superiors.” 

“That’s—it’s fine, don't worry about it. Here’s your stuff, by the way, just come back later today?” 

“Definitely. And would it be— would it be possible for me to ask you—on a date…with me?” He looked like he regretted saying anything, but you were all smiles. 

“That would be great, how about you pick me up here in a few hours?” After nodding, blushing, and a quiet ‘alright’ he started to turn back towards the exit, making it about 2 steps before coming back. 

“I do feel compelled to tell you that I’m not—fun. Or at least from what I hear.” 

“Thank you for the warning but I think you’re very fun.” You put the same emphasis on the word to drive the point that you really did think so. 

You both stood there just looking at each other for a moment, before your eye was drawn again to the box, which was now smoking even more. 

“You might want to—um, before it sets off the fire alarm?” He looked back down, and the terrified look from before came back, and he started walking backwards towards the exit, keeping his eyes on the box the whole time. 

“I’ll see you tonight” you called out for him before he turned around, and his face split into a shy smile, before he gave you a wave goodbye.

[angel-bunnie]

🦇 The Littlest Bat 🦇

Cg! Alfred Pennyworth Fic

Summary: Being a part of the batfamily takes a toll when you feel like you're not doing enough. Thankfully, a certain butler knows just how to help.

This is a late birthday gift for @cutiecorner !!! This is also my very first agere fic so I hope I'm doing it right! Sorry this took me so long! I got really nervous about posting it 😭 But I hope you had an amazing birthday, Mouse!! 🫂🩷🩷🩷

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Master, I do believe it's time for you to retire for the evening", Alfred's soft voice carried through the room. The sound reached a certain bat's ears.

"Alfred. You know I have to finish this project... Gimme another hour or two."

He sighed and looked down at his pocket watch. "With all due respect, Master, you requested "another hour or two" 4 hours ago."

Your eyes widened at that. How long had you been down here working again? Last time you checked the clock, it read 5:42 PM. You turn to the clock and pale as it read 12:57 AM.

When the heck did it-

"Master? Can you hear me?"

"H-huh? Oh... Yeah! I hear you, Alfred. I swear I'm almost done."

Alfred raised a brow and softly shook his head. His footsteps got closer until you felt a hand on your shoulder. The kind bulter smiled softly.

"Dare I say, I think it's time for someone to get some rest, wouldn't you say so, tiny bat?" he asked gently.

Now that he mentioned it, it had been an awful long time since you regressed. Long days and endless nights of schoolwork, watching screens, and fixing up what you could had taken a lot out of you. And a nap did sound really good right about now... Wait! What were you thinking?

"Alfred you know I can't do that right now. I need to finish this for Bruce! He really needs this done as soon as possible..." You huffed, rubbing your tired eyes in hopes of getting some energy back.

You tried to help in every way you could. Bruce forbade you to go on missions. But that didn't mean you couldn't assist in other ways. And most times, that meant helping tidy up the house, fixing up gadgets or drawing out designs for new ones when you weren't buried in schoolwork.

"I do remember, and I also remember Master Bruce telling you to take it easy for the next few weeks due to how late you've been staying up." The butler sighs and looks at you with soft eyes. He really didn't want you pushing yourself like this.

"It's admirable, little bat. It really is. But you're only human-"

"Don't." You quickly interrupted as you frowned at him.

"Bruce is only human and he fights crime every night! Tim, Dick, Jay, even Damian! If everyone's so human then why am I the only one who can't be out there?! I wanna help too!!"

Your eyes clouded with tears and before you knew it, you were having a full on cry. It just wasn't fair. To stay inside and do so little. At least in your mind it felt that way.

Alfred stood there patiently, waiting until the tension left your shoulders to gently rub small circles in your back.

"There there, little bat. Who said you're not helping? You do so much for everyone here. Even me."

A whine leaves your throat as you bury your face in his shoulder.

The butler reaches into his pocket and gently wipes your tears with his handkerchief. "You are always helping us, little darling. Even when you don't think you are. The boys have told me themselves."

This made you look up at him. "Really?"

Alfred smiled at the hopeful expression on your face. "Of course, dear. I'd say you help us all out the most. Remember when you helped me wash the dishes last week?"

"Y-yeah... But it wasn't that big of a deal-"

"That's where you're wrong, sweetheart. You helped me get ahead of the chores and I got to have a bit more time to myself."

A look of surprise came across your face. You had no idea it mattered that much to him to do something so small.

"And remember when you helped Master Tim test out his new program for his computer? Or when you helped Master Dick find all his laundry? Goodness, even Master Damian and Master Jason have needed your aid."

Now that you thought about it. You suppose you did help a little bit more than you thought.

"Now how about we get you away from all these screens and we get you ready for bed? Does that sound alright to you, dear heart?"

"'Kay Alfie..." You mumbled as you stood up from your chair, took his hand, and walked with him back to your room.

"There's my littlest bat. Good to have you back, dear." He smiles softly as he rubs your back.

You gave a sleepy giggle at Alfred's words. Maybe being the littlest bat isn't so bad after all.

[nctstar]

idk if u write for tbz but if u do can i request haechan and sunwoo smut pls! if not gamer! hyuck and renjun would b great ILYYY

hi! this is so late I'm sorry :( I don't write for tbz! but definitely for nct. I tried my best with the gamer aspects but I am not a gamer so...ANYWAY I tried my best, what can I sayyy :D hope you like ily too <3

do i seem familiar?

The softness of his lips erupted on your mouth, shutting your eyes, letting him taste you. He slipped his tongue inside, and you gasped. Pulling away, you wanted to whine, beg, anything to taste him again. He brought one hand to your face, stroking the side of your jaw. “What’s your name?”

“_.” Your brain was yelling at you to stop, but you couldn’t help yourself. You leant it, letting your lips passively feel his. “It’s _.”

“Good girl.” That alone would have made your knees fall apart, but you stiffened, sighing gently. “I want to know what name I need to be moaning tonight.”

pairing: hyuckren x fem!reader (no hyuckren ship)

other members: none

word count: 5k

genre: SMUT bro what can i say

warnings: sexual content so minors please dni!! reader is a streamer/cam girl, reader and hyuckren speak in korean and english throughout and sometimes don't understand each other but everything is consensual! mention of breasts multiple times, threesome, breastplay, use of whore and slut, profanity, degradation (not too crazy), dom!hyuckren, bit of thigh slapping, fingering, squirting, being held down + manhandled, begging. oral (male receiving), praise kink, intense orgasms, double penetration, rough sex, crying during and after sex, tiny bit of overstimulation (not really), finishing inside, kissing, alluding to aftercare at the end (very important!)

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my (filthy) imagination. I don't know the nct members and don't claim that they act like this in real life. I also do not condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic. 

a/n: lowkey i think all my smuts are a little bit similar to each other haha. ALSOO the italics in quotations are things said in korean, and non-italics is english, hope that's not confusing.

y_3to3: you look so pretty today baby <3

A flood of messages inundated your screen, aggressively drowning out the simplicity of the one that had caught your eye. Much like a passing quiet comment as you walked down the street, or even less – a whisper of a thought, someone who knew too much, or not at all, the thought begging to be heard.

Your face felt hot under the mask, your eyes threatening to water at the light radiating off your many monitors. The red dot blinked, one, two, matching your heartbeat. Camera on.

“Thank you!” You responded as you fixed your top, a skimpy strappy corset top, your chest bursting at the seams as the old push-up bra did its work. You were suddenly nervous, as if he could really see you. Past all the screens, the messages flooding into your inbox, the red, blinking light.

You wondered what the other men would think knowing you and y_3to3 had met. Would they cry? Wail? Beg on their hands and knees in front of you – in front of him? Would they get aggressive? You hadn’t really thought of that. His handsome demeanour, your soft skin, the way your body just melted under the heat of his body…it was not something you could resist by thinking logically.

“No game today, guys. It’s Halloween! I thought we could just chat for a while!” You fought the urge to itch the strap underneath your right armpit, becoming more and more aware of how uncomfortable the bra was. Smiling through it all, you continued. “Uh, can anyone guess who I am?”

The messages didn’t stop coming, but nobody was answering.

You coughed awkwardly, readjusting yourself in your chair, sneaking glances in the mirror behind your camera to check what you were showing off. Damn, you thought, seeing your boobs pushed together, the pouty pink lips and the doe eyes staring back at you, I look like a whore.

New member. The notification caught your eye. No one had really added themselves mid-stream in a while now, not anybody new, at least.

“Hey, welcome!” Your voice came out hesitant, the same paranoia that always overtook you filling your senses. What if it was your mom, or your boss?

You gulped, but there was a message waiting for you within seconds.

해찬: 마스크걸?

Shit. You didn’t know how to read Korean, only learning how to speak bits and pieces here and there.

“Uh…” You were nervous, not wanting to make a fool of yourself, but also having this sudden urge to accommodate the stranger that had dominated all of a sudden. “My Korean is not great. And I can’t read. But, thank you.” You cringed at the sound of your own voice, and almost wanted to end the stream right then and there. But then, they replied.

해찬: you speak very good.

A weird warmth spread your stomach, and you couldn’t help yourself. “Thank you, uh, I’m not sure…oh gosh, I guess I have to Google Translate your username! That’s embarrassing.”

해찬: my name is hae-chan.

“Oh, n-nice, nice to meet you.” His forwardness took you off guard, mainly being used to men who had never spoken to a woman in real life joining your chat, timidly hiding in the shadows until they got a glimpse of cleavage and couldn’t hold it in anymore. You gave a small smile, one that would please everyone, but also hide something extra for the people you liked and wanted.

y_3to3: he said you’re mask girl. it’s pretty obvious.

y_3to3: you don’t need google translate. i can do it for you. and more. if you want.

Your heart pounded, suddenly quietened by this virtual conversation. Your eyes read the letters over and over again, until the texts rose on the screen.

해찬: yeah, so can i. i just thought she could read korean. my bad.

Your head swam, not knowing how to process all this. One had itched to turn your camera off, suddenly feeling really vulnerable and exposed. That blinking red light kept relenting in the background.

You clapped your hands together. “Guys, it’s kinda getting late! You guys need your sleep, and so does your Mask Girl!” You ignored the men who moaned and groaned at it being only 11pm, and how you didn’t even dance for them tonight, or spill water down your shirt. “Until next time, okay? Stay safe, everyone!” Your voice felt too perky, like it was out of a Black Mirror episode, unsettling and uncanny.

The red, blinking light went off, and you sighed. A million thoughts entered your brain, but they were all immersed in the fog of tiredness that took over your body. Legs moving at their own accord, you stumbled over to your bed, ripping the mask off in the process. As your stomach pushed up on the already too-tight top, you felt breathless as you lay at the foot off your bed, but you closed your eyes, listening to your muscles screaming for rest. “Renjun, his name was Renjun, I think…” You whispered, feeling a little crazy, a little like a witch or a little girl trying to manifest the attention of their crush they looked at for 2 seconds. He hadn’t taken his mask off, but you had felt him anyways. Inches sheathed inside you, thrusting in time with your moans. “Fuck.” How could you want someone that bad? Is this what those lonely men in your dms felt like?

Nevertheless, the memory of the smell of expensive cologne, hands roaming limitlessly on your uncovered body, dragon-like eyes watching you as you fell apart – all of it let you dream restlessly, your body twisted uncomfortably on your bed, your computer droning in the background and the makeup remaining untouched on your face, skincare be damned.

∞

You hadn’t seen his face before today, and you kind of hated yourself for agreeing to meet him again. He was mask-less, and you quickly realised he had a face sculpted by divine forces themselves, sharp, meticulous, perfect. Enough to ruin your life in a heartbeat.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Renjun? I-I’m sorry if I’m not pronouncing that right.”

He nodded silently, and you fought the urge to hold your breath, his skin shone even under the crappy lighting of the PC bang. An awkward silence ensued as your brain scrambled for the right words, not only to say but the ones that would be grammatically correct in Korean. “Thanks for inviting me here. Should we find a place now?”

“Are you hungry?” His eyes searched yours, and you felt the pull you had that night at that hotel room, last night as you read the message, he had boldly hit send on for the world to see.

“No.” You shook your head, trying not to smile in an off-putting way. You prayed he hadn’t noticed the pimple on your face, and your anxiety made sure you were thinking about the fact that you had done your makeup differently every second since you had left the house. It looks good. On camera. Not in person. You kinda look like a slut. But in a good way? Too much blush. Should have worn lashes. Should have worn makeup like the day he felt compelled to take you to a hotel and f-

“I brought my friend. Do you mind?” He looked nervous now, or maybe he was nervous the whole time? You weren’t sure. As you thought of other things, you didn’t process the fact that he had asked you a question.

“Is this her?” You could have sworn you had heard a voice, but Renjun didn’t react to it, and you wondered if it was another voice in your head. “That’s okay, right? Or if you don’t want him here-“

“Him?” Another person was definitely a little unexpected. But you swallowed the little shock you had and tried to reply normally. It’s not that bad. It won’t be awkward. At least he didn’t say she – HAH!

“No, I mean, that’s okay!” Your voice was started to travel upwards to an obnoxiously high pitch, and you willed it down again. “Is he here?”

“Renjun-ah, I already found a place for the two of us. You didn’t tell me she was-oh.” The unidentified voice stopped as soon as the man stood in your line of sight. The first thing you did was use all of your willpower to prevent your jaw muscles slackening and letting your mouth drop wide open.

Holy fuck. He is so hot.

“Donghyuck.” He nodded so slightly it could have easily been missed. Your brain on overdrive at the sight of two of the hottest men you had ever encountered in front of you made you momentarily mute, and it was like Donghyuck picked up on that. Smirking, he looked down, muttering cute.

Oh my god, what is happening right now…

“This is my friend…maybe we better sit down somewhere else?” You nodded, forcing yourself to hum in response so it didn’t seem like you had gone brainless suddenly. You tried to contribute to the visual search, looking around, but your ears heated up at the realisation that Donghyuck was staring you up and down. His black rimmed eyes, whether from makeup or lack of sleep, danced across your body before resting on your facial features, making your stomach start doing backflips. You pointed at an empty row, desperate now to sit down. “There. That works, right?”

“Sure.” The English rolled off Donghyuck’s tongue in a way that indicated it wasn’t his first language, but he was oozing with confidence regardless. You finally met his gaze, fire erupting in your throat as he smirked directly at you.

Minutes later, for some reason, you were seated in the middle of them – Renjun on your right, Donghyuck on your left. The nerves were being pushed aside with a sort of familiar comfort as the game, one you had played multiple times on stream, one you were famously good at, started up. Colours flickered across your shiny eyes as you stared, unblinking.

When you started playing, you might as well have forgotten about the last twenty minutes of your life. Your fingers sprung across the keys, words erupting out of your mouth without permission. At one point, Donghyuck’s character and yours fought for an entire five minutes, both of you getting so close to finishing before swapping over, going at it repeatedly (that’s what she said). At the last minute, you prevailed. You heard him curse loudly as the character fell to the ground, red blinking letters taunting him, filling his screen. “Oh, she’s good.”

“Mmm, she is.” The emotions that had raced through your body moments ago was fighting this newfound adrenaline in your system, and you wondered what to say next. What to do next. Your hands were getting clammy, cold. Your right leg bounced on the seat.

“Again?” You turned to Donghyuck, unaware of the confidence that was taking over. He glanced at you before returning to his screen, rebooting the game. You were getting ready to turn back around, face your screen, when he said,

“Were you mask girl on camera last night?”

It’s like you could feel Renjun’s eyes widen. You were shocked, hairs rising on end. The anonymity that came with your job shattered with dangerous intent, and you tried to shake your head, to deny it. You were never a great liar.

“We hooked up once, Donghyuck. It’s not what you think.” The words pierced you, and you were frozen in place, like someone just superglued you to your seat.

“That’s not what I was saying- Look. Renjun told me what you do. And, you kinda remind me of the girl I saw last night.”

So any girl with tits is a cam girl to you? You wanted to say, but the language barrier and the decency that comes with being in a public place stopped you. And what if I am? Why are you asking me this?

“Why are you saying stuff like this?”

“No, I-“

“Donghyuck.” Renjun’s voice came as a warning, but that was when you noticed Donghyuck’s name on the screen, unapologetically butting into the conversation.

해찬

“Oh my god.” Both men appeared concerned, stopping their bickering. You felt one hand rest on your thigh gently, tentatively. “Sorry, are you-“

“You’re Haechan?” You turned to Donghyuck, and he nodded carefully, dark eyes locked into yours, blank, unassuming. Your stomach swirled with the remnants of the thin instant coffee you had swallowed minutes ago, Renjun’s hand on your thigh stilling your bouncing leg. “I just, well, I didn’t expect-“

“It was, um, accident. I’m not like other men.” You fought the urge to snicker at his endearing broken English, sounding completely like an incel but not intending too. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was just curious. And Renjun told me he had met a cam girl, and, well, it kind of just made sense in the moment.”

You nodded, not sure how to react. You watched as Donghyuck’s hands flew as he spoke, his lips curled in, almost pouting, his features turning almost cartoonishly apologetic. It was so adorable, a stark contrast to the intensity of his eyes, the sharp edges of the hair that grazed his eyebrows.

Renjun sighed loudly, and you felt the warmth leave the middle of your thigh as he removed his hand from your body. He cursed silently, rubbing at his temples. “Sorry if this made you uncomfortable.”

“N-no, no,” You tried to be reassuring, but your voice shook, not for the reasons they had thought originally though. Here you were, your secrets out, quite literally in the middle of two men you had met in person that you weren’t sure if they were thinking the same thing as you – you needed them so bad – the hypersexual nature of your side hustle now glaringly obvious, threatening to break the taboos of a normal interaction. You shuffled in your seat, right leg itching to rest over your left. “It’s okay, um. You guys seem nice enough. Shall we get something to eat after this?”

One thing had led to another. One instance of Donghyuck swiping his card before you could even flick yours out. Let me. Renjun picking up a dessert you had said you liked in your streams maybe once. Them gesturing at your nose, realising the whipped cream had rubbed off. You licking your fingers with satisfaction underneath the white flickering lights of the convenience store. Tastes so good, wow. Donghyuck’s fingers grazing your hips as he pushed past you to open the door for you and Renjun. You pretending not to notice that Renjun was staring at your top, hoodie off to expose the crop you usually only wear at home, feeling embarrassed that there was a stain on the right arm. Wondering if he thought you were unkempt, unorganised. Wondering if that was a turn off…

“Wow, nice building.” Donghyuck’s hair shone as you looked back at him, your Hello Kitty bag slung over one of his forearms. You pressed your lips together, feeling a little vulnerable, maybe even a little scared. “Yeah, I get good money from, well. Maybe I should just quit my job!” Renjun laughed, but Donghyuck was silent, perhaps from not understanding, perhaps thinking about something else. You weren’t sure.

“Um, I don’t really have a dining room,” Your voice trailed off as you looked at the mess in your little kitchenette, the lack of a sofa or coffee table imminent in the blankness of the room. “Been kind of busy, didn’t really have time to…” You were more or less lying, more or less talking to yourself, forgetting that English was probably not the best language to explain things in right now. You nodded at no one in particular, before pointing at your bedroom door. “Should we…?”

Renjun had laughed audibly when stepping into your room, Donghyuck muttering cute once again but just a bit louder this time. You chuckled weakly, but your face started to burn, embarrassment leaking into your veins like a potent poison. The plushies and Sanrio merch made you feel more exposed than ever, and your eyes widened when you noticed your favourite orange dildo resting on the bed, as shameless as a naked lover waiting for you after a long day at work. “Uh, okay, um,” You began to babble, trying to quickly shove away the apparatus and praying it would grow legs and run away while they weren’t looking. “You can sit here.”

You bounced on the bed as the two men perched themselves next to you, you in the middle again. The plastic bags filled with random knick-knacks Donghyuck had swore you wanted crinkled as he bent over, tying a knot at the top. “You alright? You seem…nervous.” His nonchalant concern made you want to melt, want to lean over and start making out with him. What did you want, really? Why did you invite them here?

“Are you waiting for something?” Renjun’s breath tickled your ear, surprising you. You turned to face him. His scent the same as that night. Leaning over, his eyes darted back and forth from your lips to your eyes.

The softness of his lips erupted on your mouth, shutting your eyes, letting him taste you. He slipped his tongue inside, and you gasped. Pulling away, you wanted to whine, beg, anything to taste him again. He brought one hand to your face, stroking the side of your jaw. “What’s your name?”

“_.” Your brain was yelling at you to stop, but you couldn’t help yourself. You leant it, letting your lips passively feel his. “It’s _.”

“Good girl.” That alone would have made your knees fall apart, but you stiffened, sighing gently. “I want to know what name I need to be moaning tonight.”

As if on cue, you felt one arm wrap around your middle, knee nudging your legs apart. You tried to whip your head around, but Renjun stopped you, pressing down on your forehead so your head rested on the back on Donghyuck’s upper shoulders. You whimpered. “Donghyuck…”

“Shh, it’s okay. I got you.” You both adjusted so you were perched on his lap now, staring at Renjun, eyes wide in anticipation. You felt Donghyuck’s hard-on press into the ridge of your lower back. Stifling a moan, you tried to slip up and down his lap, but felt a hard slap on your thigh when you did, your actions failing to go unnoticed.

“Whore.” You whimpered, feeling Donghyuck nibble on your ear, relentlessly but also with a slight care, as if tending to an animal at flight risk. “Take your top off, if you want this.”

If you want this. His words swam in your ears, and both men paused, waiting for you to act. The tension in the air was thick, but also, you realised, fragile, like a bubble of lust that would pop with the right words, if you didn’t consent. They would definitely leave. They would never mention it again.

But you shrugged off Donghyuck’s arms around you, almost drooling at the veins, the muscles that bulged even as he let go. You pulled your top off, one hand behind your back to unclip your bra. You could feel the surprise, the shock, before Renjun latched onto one of your nipples, your back arching and Donghyuck pulling you flush against him again. “O-oh…”

“You think you can cum just like this? Filthy girl.” You weren’t really sure what exactly he was talking about, but you understood cum and whore, and you shook your head. “Want more, pl-, ah, Renjun-ah!” He started leaving love bites down the middle of your chest, another hand flicking your other nipple. You squirmed. “Please, please…”

“Showing off her rack to any man who wants it, Donghyuck-ah, did you know?” You did understand that, and your eyes watered at the humiliation, simultaneously feeling yourself get wetter as you did. “Fuck, I bet she gets off on it.”

You shook your head, but you were moaning too, which didn’t really help your case. “Please, wanna cum, please, no more-“ You tried pushing Renjun’s head off you, to which he obliged, silencing you with a kiss instead. “Tell us what you want. Come on. Otherwise I’ll leave. We’ll leave.” Donghyuck wiped your tears with his free hand, making you suddenly melt deeper into his body, into his strong arms. You breathed in deeply, your bare chest rising and falling. “Mmm, I want, um, I want your fingers, please.”

“Like this?” Renjun buried one hand inside your pants, and you took it as a sign to lose them, the both of you awkwardly shaking them off. He pulled your panties down just enough before pressing his index finger onto your clit, swirling around, making your thighs tremble. “More, please, i-inside!” Your voice rose as he inserted one inside you without warning, your fluids now gushing out, exposing you. You felt Donghyuck move his head over your shoulder, to watch you, you thought. The thought was enough to feed the humiliation even more, not even registering Donghyuck slapping at your thigh repeatedly as you watched your hole constrict around Renjun’s fingers. Moaning, you tried to move your leg away, panties now sliding off your calves and onto the floor. Donghyuck tutted, wrapping his arm underneath your thigh to push it closer to your chest. “Rest your leg on his shoulder for me. Quickly.” You complied, submission clouding your senses. The new angle allowed Renjun fingers to travel deeper, curling near that spongy part that always made you reach your climax when you pressed your dildo against it. The warmth and spontaneity of real fingers was making you shake uncontrollably, tears springing to your eyes. “Oh, haah, fuck! Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum!” You sobbed, whining and trying to scramble away as Donghyuck pressed your thigh to your chest tighter, groaning in your ear as he watched you squirt all over Renjun’s fingers, damp spots sprouting on his pants as you did.

Your eyes were ringing, spots clouding your vision. You babbled incoherently, trying to catch your breath. Renjun pressed a kiss to your forehead, then to your nose. “You okay?”

“Mmm.” you managed to make out, wiping your tears. “Wow, that was…really good.”

“Open.” Renjun pressed his fingers to your lips, allowing you to suck the ends, tasting yourself. Donghyuck’s chest vibrated as he hummed in satisfaction. “Fuck, you think you can suck me like that, baby?”

You nodded, pathetically, like a bimbo, holding your boobs as you scrambled towards the floor. You heard Renjun groan and unzip his pants as your knees scraped the carpet, and you flipped your hair over one shoulder, hands pulling at the waistband of Donghyuck’s pants. He leant back, spreading his knees further apart so you could inch closer to him, one hand sneaking up and feeling the ridges on his stomach. “Eager slut.”

The bulb sprung out, meeting your lips, and you teased his slit carefully, batting your eyes up at him in a way you thought he would like. He raised one eyebrow, but you could tell he was flustered from the way his ears burned red. “You can tease me, but don’t cry later when I do the same to you.” You giggled, wrapping both hands around his thick length. Wondering how it would feel nestled all the way inside you, whether you would be able to feel it in your stomach.

As soon as you opened your mouth, planning to suck the tip first, salty precum already pre-erupting in your mouth, you felt something hard press against your now exposed, soaking core. On instinct, you tried to straighten up through your back, but Donghyuck gripped the back of your head instantly, keeping your face close to his leaking cock. “No. You stay here.”

“Renjun-ah…” A sharp inhale as you felt him push inside, warm and so tight, the inside of your thighs now completely wet. You began to moan, mouth open, letting Donghyuck push you on his cock, shutting you up immediately.

Renjun groaned, throat constricting with every word he spoke. “Take me so well every time. Fuck. So good.” Your moans disappearing, morphing into lewd choking noises as Donghyuck held you in place. Your eyes pleaded with him, and he released you, sending you flying backwards, coughing up a mix of saliva and his precum. He gripped your chin, watching your glossy eyes stare back at him. “Don’t do anything. Don’t even think, baby. This is what you need.” You could only moan in response as Renjun gripped your hips, body flopping down as he began to thrust into you faster and faster. The way your walls constricted around him was orgasmic, nails scratching at the carpet as if it would help you anchor your body. “Fuck, yes, oh my god…” Your moans turned into cries, and you felt your impending climax overpower your body. “Please, nggh, so much…” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, feeling yourself lose control over your body.

Renjun pulled your hair so you were forced to look up. You squealed, chanting his name like a mantra. “Should I fill you up, baby?” You could only cry in response, core twitching without permission. Donghyuck brought his cock to your mouth again, cock prying your mouth open as you let your jaw slacken. Fully hard now, you gagged noisily. Renjun whispered praises in your ear as Donghyuck thrusted into your mouth, tears streaming down your face at the impact. “Good girl. Go ahead, cum for me. Cum for us.” You felt yourself fall apart, muscles paralysing as you came. Not long after, Donghyuck shot ropes of cum down your throat, swearing as he did. “You gonna swallow, baby?” No energy to nod, you brought one hand to stroke the back of his thigh, knees now sore against the rough carpet. As Renjun pulled out, you squeezed your thighs together, not letting anything leak onto the carpet. Donghyuck helped you up once you released him, carrying you bridal style to the bed, lips meeting yours once your back hit the mattress. “H-Hyuckie…”

“Oh fuck, baby. That’s such a pretty nickname. You wanna keep calling me that?” His eyes were roaming down your now naked body, your lower stomach glistening with fluids. He separated your folds with his fingers as you snapped your legs against his hand. He laughed as you shook your head desperately. “Fuck, wait, I’m sensitive! Wait a second…” Chest heaving, you watched as Renjun walked over to the bed, the outlines of his body now blurry from the tears and post-orgasmic bliss. “How are you guys hard again?”

Donghyuck responded by noisily kissing down your body. Unlike Renjun, he was sloppier, softer, more desperate. You craned your neck to watch him, feeling like you were having an out of body experience. Post two intense orgasms, every nerve in your body felt like it was singed at the ends. Yet, you wanted more. Your hips bucked up involuntarily, making you blush. Renjun pressed his thumb on your bottom lip, signalling for you to open your mouth. “You wanna taste my cock too?”

“Yeah…yes, please, I think…” Renjun laughed this time, stroking his length to its full hardness before pressing the head against your lips. At the same time, Donghyuck tapped your inner thighs, and, like a secret reflex, you let your knees relax apart, hips opening. You felt something unmistakably heavy rest on your exposed pussy, and you looked down to see Donghyuck’s rubbing himself up and down your folds. “Hnghh, Hyuck, oh, will it f-fit?” He looked at you with confusion, suddenly realising you had changed languages. Before you could answer, Renjun grabbed your chin and pushed his hips, letting his cock slip past your lips and fill your mouth. “Shhh. It’ll fit. Don’t you worry.”

“Fuck, noisy girl.” Your moans were vibrating around Renjun’s cock, making him thrust sloppily and deeply, one hand holding your head in place. You closed your eyes, feeling yourself getting filled to the brim, a feeling your tiny dildo could never come close to giving you. “Renjun-ah, she’s gripping me so tight. Fuck. We found ourselves a perfect little whore.” Talking about you as if you weren’t even there, mouth occupied, unable to speak, added to the humiliation tenfold and embarrassingly made you hornier than ever. As Donghyuck sped up his thrusts, the sounds of messy sex filled the room, riling up Renjun even more. Drool ran as far down to your breasts as he thrusted, one of your hands now gripping your boob for support. “You want me to cum all over those pretty tits? Hmm?” You nodded as much as you could with the little space you had, the visual of that almost sending you over the edge.

Donghyuck pressed one finger to your clit, making you slap Renjun’s knee so hard he pulled off with a surprised groan. “Fuck! Oh fuck, please, please…” You didn’t know what you were begging for, but Donghyuck pulled out, manhandling you as he pleased. Bending your hips, he pressed your thighs to your chest, pushing his entire length in as both your legs resting over one of his shoulders. This new position took your breath away, your mouth falling apart into a pornographic ‘O’ shape. Donghyuck’s eyebrows furrowed, and you felt him release inside you. Thumbing your clit, your hips jerked off the bed and you cried. “Oh my god! P-please, ah, I’m gonna, oh fuck!”

“That’s it, my baby. Soak the sheets for me.” With one final cry, you squirted the hardest you had ever done before, clit throbbing as you came down from your high. You felt Renjun gently move one arm away from your chest before cumming himself all over your breasts as promised, pleasured moans and stutters of your real name escaping him as he did.

My baby. You pulled Donghyuck near you, crying in his shoulder as he rubbed your back gently, bare skin against skin. “Shhh, you’re okay. It’s okay.” You felt Renjun pull your hand to his lips, kissing the back of your hand gently as you breathed deeply. “Good girl. You did so well. So perfect for us.”