#tagging this properly because i like these

[shra-vasti]

I DON'T LIKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND, PJS (PART 2)

• SYNOPSIS: A fleeting encounter with Park Jay at a high school party leaves a quiet imprint on your then broken heart. Years later, you find him again, now as an icy guitarist of the campus boy band, HYPHENIX. You never spoke again, but you remembered his eyes, his words, his presence and how he lingered at the back of your mind years after. You wanted to reach for him, but he was so far, popular, untouchable that you decided to pour your heart to him in secret, until the secret was revealed but someone else claimed it before you could.

Or in which you pour your heart into anonymous letters for the cold, distant guitarist, Jay, only to watch your best friend claim every word as her own.

• PAIRING: Park Jongseong (Jay) x afab!reader

• WORD COUNT: 20.9k

• CONTENT TAGS: Non idol au, university settings, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, strangers to lovers, slow burn, shy reader x popular Jay, down bad reader, betrayal, abandonment, miscommunications or lack of communications, profanities, name calling, stereotyping, best friend's boyfriend, reader is nosy and loves other people's business way too much (my twin fr), fear of rejection and unwanted attention, body image issues in the beginning, toxic relationships and friendships, low-key stalker reader, reader wears glasses, not proofread, lmk if I missed anything.

• WARNING TAGS: MDNI, smut, soft dom!Jay, sub!reader, choking, hair pulling, dry humping, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, reader isn't a virgin but is inexperienced.

PART 1

• AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the second part, I hope you'll like it. Your likes, comments and reblogs are always welcomed and appreciated. Thank you so much for showering my write ups with your love. Happy reading♡♡

Your heels clack sharply against the tiles, still you're moving, pushing away people from your way, almost knocking over drinks that were kept on the counter. By the time you're near the door, he's already walking down the stairs. You turn around briefly to look at Ava's room from where Jay walked out but you were disappointed to see her nowhere in sight. The thought made you angry, if she was going to take what should've been yours she should've at least done it properly. She should've taken care of his heart, she should've at least pretended to care, instead she didn't even make an effort to follow him out. You turned back around, feet barely stable as you ran down the stairs, "Jay, wait!"

His steps don't flatter, his shoulders hunched as he walked towards his car, you increased your pace, because you couldn't see him like this, couldn't watch him walk away from her, away from you, when he doesn't even know the whole truth behind everything that is happening in his life. His steps slow down as he reaches near his car and you extend your hand to grab his arm. "Jay-" your fingers clasp around his jacket, "wait please." And he stops, not because he wanted to but because the voice that rang in his ears is yours and not hers. His shoulders stiffened, then he spun, and suddenly, before you could even react, he crashed into your arms with a force which felt more emotional than physical. His arms circled around your waist tightly as a sob escaped his lips.

You sighed deeply, unable to form words as his body shook in your arms. You held him tightly, one hand cradling his head as he buried his head in your neck. You stayed still, trying to be his anchor when his world was falling apart right in your arms. You could feel his tears slide down your chest from your neck, you rubbed his back in order to console him. After a while his sobs subsided but his hold on you remained tight, not too much to hurt but enough to remind you of their presence on your body, firm enough to know you won't disappear. He pulled away from you, his movements abrupt as if someone had just poured a bucket of ice water on him in the middle of the winter. He took a few steps back, hands grasping the door of his car. He looked at you.

"What are you doing here?" His eyes glassy as he questioned you, his gaze fell behind your figure to see if there's anyone else. You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself, ears ringing and eyes sensitive, "are you okay?" You saw his bottom lip quiver at your words, his shoulders slumping as if everything around him was weighing him down. "You should be inside, enjoying your night-" "I should. But I couldn't stay when I saw you walk out." The grip he had on the car's door wavered and he let his hand fall. "Why?" He questioned, eyes hazy as steps drifting closer, his hand lifting up to your face, "you seemed to be enjoying yourself on the dance floor though..." he mumbled as he swiped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, hand trembling slightly, "what do you mean?" Your breath shuddered, one hand clasping around his jacket.

"Your lipstick smudged a little," his gaze locked into your lips, "there, all good." You exhaled the breath you were holding when he stepped back, his thumb stained with the lipstick he removed from the corner of your mouth. He turned towards the car and you grabbed his shoulder to hold him back, "Jay, it isn't what it looked like." He faced you, tongue poking inside of his cheek as he scoffed softly, "doesn't matter to me, it's your life anyway," he opened the door and you stepped forward, the hand grabbing his shoulder moving up to rest softly against his face, "don't shut off, you always do this when you're stressed," your thumb brushed against his cheek, wiping the tears that had fell, "and it hurts to watch you lock everything inside you like you're alone in this. Lean on me, talk to me, just don't shut yourself out."

He observed you for a while, unable to find any words that would contradict yours. His eyes fell upon the people coming out of Ava's house and he held your hand, tugging you towards the passenger's seat and quickly running back towards the driver's seat, "I don't want people to misunderstand us, let's talk somewhere else." You turned around in your seat to look at people leaving the party, "you're right..." he looked at you before watching the people through his rearview mirror, "yeah." He started driving, and you couldn't tell where exactly he was trying to take you. He pulled up in an empty parking lot, got out and opened your door for you. He locked the car door and made his way towards the curb and sat on it, hands in his head as he took deep breaths to calm himself.

You slowly made your way towards him, giving him time to calm himself, you sat down beside him, not too far, nor too close. You removed your heels, feet aching with all the running, you put them beside you, hands instinctively holding your ankle to massage it a bit as you waited for Jay to say something. "Are they hurting that bad?" Your eyes found his face but his hands were focused on your leg, you stopped your movements, folding your arms on your knees, "tell me what happened." His eyes finally met yours and he sighed, "we had a fight, and I walked out." You put your head on your knees as you nodded at his words, "I don't like big parties, I'm allergic to chocolate, she knew about this, I wrote those things in the letters I sent back to her and she's trying to make me the crazy one for not appreciating her efforts."

"Jay," you started even though you had no idea what to say. "I don't get it anymore," he sighed as he run his hand through his hair, "those letters mean the world to me, gave me the strength when I almost gave up, they talked about me, not the popular guitarist of HYPHENIX, those letters understood my silences and that's why I fell, that's why I thought I could have something real with Ava." You watch him unravel in front of you and you swallow back the burning feeling igniting in your stomach at his words, "maybe she never expected you to hold those letters so dearly, Jay." He looked at his eyes darkening as the possibility of your words being true settled inside him, "how could I not hold those letters close? They were the foundation of our relationship, the Ava who wrote those letters saw through me when everyone else just expected me to be perfect."

You smiled softly looking down at your hands at his words, "maybe you're trying to hold onto a version of her which only existed in those letters, sometimes people portray a version of themselves which they can't live up to, which leads to disappointment and heartbreak." He nodded at your words feeling confused yet understood, "maybe I am but is that my fault? For believing in it?" You shook your head at its words, laughing slightly, "It's not your fault for believing, its hers for not living up to it, sometimes it's easier to pretend especially if the words are wrapped in kind and comforting words inside an envelope."

"But her kind and comforting words were the exact reason why I fell for her, but now when I try to connect with her, she diverts the topic like it isn't a big deal. For her spotlight is everything, she always gushes about it, but when she wrote me those letters, she never once mentioned about my popularity, her letters rather focused on my musicality," you nodded your head as if you don't remember every single thing you wrote on those letters, like it doesn't hurt to watch him going through so much pain when all you wanted was for him to be happy, "maybe she doesn't know you the way you thought she would. Maybe she wasn't as serious about those letters as you were."

He turned his body towards you fully, eyes narrowing deep in thought, "no one can notice things that deep if they aren't serious about it," you play with the bracelet in your hand nervously, "how am I supposed to find a solution to this?" He sighed as he buried his head on his hands, you contemplated to reach out to him but you did it anyway, your hand slide up to run your finger through his hair, he didn't stop you, "don't force yourself to be somewhere you don't belong, if you feel she's not the person you fell in love with then it's better to break things up." He lifted his head enough to look at you, "It's not that easy," you let your hand fall on your lap, sighing deeply you muttered something which always lingered at the back of your mind, "Jay, don’t build your entire world around someone who can’t hold it for you."

Your eyes fell upon the stars that shone brightly above you, and his eyes were focused on you as those words left his mouth, "I think I might confront her about this whole situation, I really don't like how things are going in between us, we always fight and pretend in front of others that everything is fine. I don't like it." Your mind drifted far off as you watched the night sky, feeling exhausted at the events that unfolded today. You thought Ava would take notice of basic things and at least pretend to care for Jay, but it was clear that all she wanted was popularity rather than a companion. You blame yourself for supporting her reckless choices cause now you're doubting every single thing you did that led you to this moment.

Your lips twitched in discomfort, you knew watching Ava in Jay's arms would be hard but watching him break down in front of you because of her was harder. You wanted to tell him he deserved the kind of love he hoped he'd get from Ava, that it's not wrong to fall for someone and be disappointed when their actions wouldn't match their words. But how would they match when both of you were two different people? You cursed internally, taking a deep breath, if only she never lied, if only you never supported her. God you hated her so much for complicating things. "Jay," his name left your mouth like a confession, he hummed, eyes still trained on your face, "I don't like your girlfriend."

Sunghoon checked the time on his phone, squinting slightly as the sun was up, he knocked on the door, stepped a few steps back and waited, "oh! You're here!" He heard the person at the door say, leaning his weight on one of his legs, eyes glued to his phone as he scrolled to instagram. He barely hummed in response, finally looking up, "Where are the gifts?" Ava's smile dropped at his dull tone, "well good morning to you too," she said, rolling her eyes and stepping aside to make way for him. Sunghoon wordlessly put his phone inside his jeans pocket, entering the same house he was in yesterday night, he looked at the surroundings. The house was yet to be cleaned fully, "I'll call some cleaners to help you with the cleaning-" his words were cut off when Ava grabbed his arms, "no, I've got this, though thank you for offering your help, you're such a gentleman Hoon."

Sunghoon gulped, removing her hands from his arm, "it's Sunghoon for you." Ava frowned at his words, pout forming on her face as she glared at him, "but you let her call you Hoon though." He sighed, looking anywhere but her face, "she is allowed to call me that. I allowed her to call me that. I don't recall asking you to call me Hoon." She stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and Sunghoon stepped back, "you should be close to me not her, I'm your best friend's girlfriend!" He exhaled deeply, already regretting coming to her house, "exactly, my best friend's girlfriend, and your association with Jay doesn't define if you'll get close to me or not, it's actually based on how you are as a person."

Ava scoffed, flicking her hair back as if she couldn't grasp the concept, "she's not even that fun, doesn't do parties, isn't popular, has nothing special about her, she's not interesting....I don't know why you pay so much attention to her!" Sunghoon looked at her, boredom laced on his face but his eyes showed the quiet furry he felt within, "well at least she doesn't back-bitch about her best friend! Maybe we like her better because she's a better person than you'll ever be Avalyn." She flinched at his harsh tone, footsteps retreating, "Sunghoon....don't get close to her please." He scoffed at her, eyes trained on the main door then towards the huge cardboard box placed in the corner labelled 'Jay's gift', "you greedy woman, you're dating my best friend yet you're trying to continue to hit on me?"

He took a few steps towards her, and she backed off, suddenly trembling under his intense gaze, "isn't he enough for you? I thought you stopped being a fucking whore and finally came to your senses, guess I was wrong, huh?" She fell down on the chair behind her, eyes shut closed as Sunghoon's words rang in her ears, "you kept on harassing me to sleep with you, even after I clearly declined, then suddenly my best friend introduced you as his girlfriend to me, you think I'm stupid?" Her lips trembled as she looked up at him, eyes glossy but he continued, "and I know your games Ava, you think I believed you when you said you wrote those letters for Jay? I don't think your pea-sized brain could even comprehend a single sentence written on it. I'm entertaining you just because I care too much about Jay and his feelings to hurt him bluntly by the truth."

"Sunghoon, please don't tell him, I beg you. I really love Jay, I'll take care of him well..." His hand slammed against the wall near him, "you're dating him for quite some time and yet you don't know what things he likes and dislikes and you're telling me you'll take care of him?" Tears fell from her eyes, hands shaking at the possibility of her truth being exposed, "Sunghoon, I'll be a good girlfriend, I'll keep him happy, please I beg you." He just looked at her, walking towards the gift box and picking it up in his arms, "you still try to hit on me subtly and say you'll be a good girlfriend? You think I don't notice your advances? Don't notice how whenever me and your best friend are close you take her away from me? You can't even be a good friend Ava, how will you ever be a good girlfriend? You're just a selfish bitch who only thinks about herself."

Sunghoon turned around towards the door, taking a few long strides to reach his car, he put the gift box in the backseat and shut the door of his car. He opened the door of the driver's seat when Ava grabbed his hand, and turned to face her, "I can ruin your friendship if I want, you know?" She spoke through gritted teeth, hands now clenched in fist by her side, "you think Jay would be by your side if I tell him you tried to take advantage of me?"

Sunghoon blinked at her once, twice, then laughed loud and full, straight from his chest as he threw his head back. He grabbed the hood of his car to keep his balance. He wiped the tears that escaped his eyes as he calmed himself, "I wanted to say something hurtful but your words just made me realize how pitiful you are," Ava frowned at his words, "maybe if you weren’t so selfish and actually knew how to keep real friends, you wouldn't be so quick to throw out threats like this. But go ahead and see if he believes that over someone who has known him better than you ever will." He turned around, sliding into his driver's seat and driving off without giving her a single chance to speak.

Sunghoon parked his car in Jay's parking place, taking notice of Jay's car being parked in its usual spot. He picked up the gift box and made his way towards the main door. He kicked his door, flinching slightly as the door was unlocked so it slammed against the wall. The sound woke Jay up from where he was curled up on his couch in the living room, "what the fuck is up with you?" Jay mumbled although he wanted to lecture his friend about guest etiquette. "Ah close the door for me yeah? As you can see my lord, my hands are full." Sunghoon took off his shoes and invited himself into his best friend's house, keeping his gift box on the coffee table and jumping to sit on the couch.

"Since you weren't replying to your girl, she asked me to pick up your gifts from her house," Sunghoon grumbled reminiscing about the texts after texts he got from Ava which forced him to go and get Jay's gift. Jay just shrugged, still half asleep, rubbing his eyes as he approached Sunghoon, "did you atleast eat something?" Jay nodded at his friend's words, "yeah, I woke up, got fresh, made breakfast and ate it, washed the dishes, then slept again." Jay slumped beside Sunghoon, yawning. "Wow, I expected more sulking and less functioning adult energy from you."

Jay rolled his eyes, sitting up straight to open the box, "why did she call you? Could've waited for me to reply to her back..." Sunghoon looked at Jay, his mind drifting back to Ava's house, "she said her parent's will be home tonight, she needed to get rid of everything before they arrive," Jay nodded, remembering Ava telling him about her parents being very strict about everything. He remembered her telling him that you are her only friend whom her parents trust. "I'll get going, I am having some issues with my keyboard, I'll have it checked." Jay bid him goodbye and made his way back inside the house to open up the gift box.

He took off the gifts inside the box one by one, placing them neatly on the ground or on the coffee table as he emptied the box and folded it to throw it in the trash bin at the back of his house. He folded the cardboard box and made his way towards his backyard, he placed the box near the trash bin and started making his way back towards the house. His footsteps halted when he saw an envelope fallen near the backdoor of his house. He crouched down to pick it up, turning it around to inspect it carefully, 'Dear, Jay.' it read.

His eyebrow furrowed while looking at the envelope, a sense of familiarity growing within his heart as he read the label of the envelope. The handwriting, a huge smile etched upon his face at the familiar scribble of words, though in the letters he received the writer used to call his name a bit differently, he found himself feeling relieved. He made his way inside his room, rummaging through his closet to take out the box where he kept all the letters together. He took out one random letter to compare the handwriting, praying continuously for it to be the same. It had been a while since he saw the handwriting and he laughed at himself for being so excited over a trivial thing.

He grabbed his phone, when he found the handwriting matched, grinning happily even before opening the envelope to see what's inside. After a few rings Ava picked up the phone, her voice shaky as he finally called her back after being ignored for a whole night, "Jay, I'm sorry for yesterday baby, please don't be mad at me, I love you so much." He smiled at her, eyes focused upon the envelope on his hand, "It's okay Ava, I love you too, I just got your gift, thank you so much, baby. You made me so happy you have no idea." She laughed at his excited tone, breathing in relief that Sunghoon didn't share anything with him about what happened at her house, "you loved your gift?" She asked, her voice relaxed now, "yes I did."

"Thank god, Jay. I was stressed if you'd love it or not, I mean it took me days to find that limited edition watch, I'm so glad you loved it. Don't forget to wear it when you come to meet me, okay?" Jay's smile flattered as he focused on Ava's words then back at the envelope in his hand, a watch? His brows twitching in confusion, "did you attach anything else with your gift Ava?" He questioned, inspecting the envelope as if it would answer his questions, "umm just a bow." Jay hummed, his heartbeat frantic, "okay baby, I'll meet you soon." "See you." He hung up the phone, scoffing at himself as he laid back on his bed, the letters and envelope still spread near his legs. He picked up the envelope, sighing as he looked at it.

He dialed Ava's number again, mind swirling with thoughts waiting for her to pick up, "Jay? Did you forget something?" He sighed, putting the phone on speaker and keeping the letters back inside the box, "umm," he wondered, an idea popping in his head, "be ready in 2 hours, wanna spoil you a bit for giving me my birthday gift..." he could hear the excited squeal left leaving from her mouth, "why? You didn't have to, what do you want me to wear?" He chuckled, "wear anything, you look pretty anyway." He hung up the phone before she could speak further.

Jay was getting ready to pick Ava when his phone rang, the called ID showing 'Dikeu' in bold, he chuckled looking at the contact name for Jake, realizing Sunghoon must've changed it when he wasn't looking at his phone, "I'm free, wanna hangout?" Jay's eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated on the soft background music playing, "since when did your music taste change?" He could hear Jake chuckle as he turned the music off, "nah, the song is good, but I wasn't the one playing that..." Jay's heartbeat quickened, "who were you with?" Jake blinked once before your name left his lips.

"Oh what was she doing with you?" Jake pouted on the other end of the phone as if Jay could see him, "you aren't even interested in me anymore?" Jay groaned and a chuckle left Jake's mouth, "I dropped her home, our classes ended at the same time. Are you gonna tell me if you're free to hangout or not?" Jay rubbed his temple but replied nonetheless, "I've a date with Ava, I can't hangout today," Jake hummed, thinking on who to irritate next now that Jay was busy, "okay, I'll irritate someone else then!"

Jay leaned on his car as he waited for Ava to come out of her house, "Jay!" He lifted his head, eyes taking in her short satin dress that fit her body perfectly, she smiled at him, one hand stretched out for him to take, he held her hand, pulling her closer to give a quick kiss on her cheek, he guided her towards the passenger's seat and made himself comfortable on the driver's seat. The engine hummed beneath them as Jay scrolled through his playlist. When he found the song, he pressed play and Lee Hi’s Breathe poured softly into the car’s hush. He gave a quick glance towards Ava who didn't even utter a single word about his choice of the song.

"You wanna change the music or is this song fine?" She nodded at him, before he watched her lean towards the screen to play another, more upbeat song, "We are going on a date, I don't think dull songs like that match the vibe." Jay's eyebrows twitched but he didn't press further, just hummed in response and started driving off. After a while, "Jay," Ava called softly as she looked at him, he signaled her to continue, his eyes trained on the road, "I shouldn't have argued with you yesterday, I'm sorry, it was your birthday I should've been more patient," Jay smiled at her, one hand clutching the wheel while other was placed on his own lap.

Ava looked at his expressions before continuing, "It's just that I was so angry, I had to do everything alone since your friends decided to exclude me, even my own best friend didn't tell me about the surprise party. I felt so betrayed, I tried my best but it all crumpled down when I accidentally ordered the wrong cake, I mean, people can make mistakes right? But still, I'm sorry for making you feel like you don't matter to me..." she trailed off realizing Jay had barely acknowledged the words that slipped her lips, "didn't you say that it was the bakery who made the mistake?" Her breath hitched as she clasped both her hands together on her lap, "Isn't that the same thing?" Jay didn't question her further.

He stopped his car near a high end restaurant, handing over his car keys to the valet, he slid his hand on Ava's waist to pull her close. The restaurant was beautiful, with high ceilings and open plan structure so one could enjoy the view of nature around it. Ava gasped, thrilled to be at such a place, she turned around, giving Jay a little kiss before she dragged him towards a spot she wanted to sit. He pulled a chair for her, then made himself comfortable. The waiter handed both of them the menu card and left, but as soon as Ava was about to discuss what she wanted to eat, he stopped her, his smile sickeningly sweet as he looked at her.

"I'll order for you," he said, leaning a bit towards the table, "I remember you writing about your favorite dishes in the letters, I want to be a good boyfriend and prove you that I remember all those things you wrote," Jay held her hand, softly rubbing circles at the back of her hand. She laughed awkwardly, nodding her head with way too much enthusiasm, he looked at her for a second too long, before dropping his gaze back on the menu, "since it's still day time, let's order tea first," He signaled the waiter to take the order, "two chamomile-lavender tea please," the waiter nodded asking if they needed anything else and Jay informed him he'll update further.

"Chamomile-......lavender tea?" Jay grinned at Ava's expressions, "yeah? I never tried drinking that combination but now that you're with me I thought why not? If in case I don't find it pleasing I can just pass it to you since you're so crazy about it." Ava's lips twitched but she managed to mask it behind a polite smile, swallowing a lump from her throat, "I hope you'll like," she trailed off, looking at the view, "I feel so refreshed after drinking it." Jay hummed clearly amused by her ability to still try her best at blending in, "refreshing? Didn't you say the bitterness of this combo helps you stay awake when coffee doesn't do it for you?" She pulled her hand out of his grip and clenched her hands tightly on her lap, "yeah that too."

"Here's your tea," the waiter placed the drinks on the table and Jay looked at Ava expectantly, she smiled at his direction, placing a trembling hand on the cup and take a sip, "I thought you'd be more enthusiastic about drinking it," Ava grimaced at the taste, but masked it with a semi-awkward smile which didn't even reach its full potential, "I am, just feeling tired from yesterday's party." He nodded solemnly at her words and urged her to continue drinking, smiling as he took a sip of the tea himself, "Ah it's too bitter for me," he pushed the tea towards Ava, "please finish this for me too baby." He could see color drain from her face but still acted oblivious, humming a song or complimenting the restaurant's architecture.

Ava finished both the tea, he grinned at her, kissing her hand and complimenting her, "I need to go to the bathroom, one second." He watched as Ava rushed off to the bathroom, leaning back on the chair and sighing. Ava came back, a bit breathless, Jay ordered the food and she sighed in relief that he ordered something she could eat without feeling like throwing up. "You okay baby? You don't look good," Ava sat on her chair, dabbing the sweat off her forehead with tissues, "Yeah, I don't know, I'm feeling suffocated suddenly," Jay watched her, nodding his head, "okay, let's get out of here then." He paid the bill and made their way towards the next destination he had in his mind.

"Baby what's this?" Ava wondered when he stopped the car in an unknown lane, getting out of the car and helping her with it. "You don't recognize? Didn't you say you loved this place?" Ava's heartbeat quickened, eyes wondering on numbers of small shops and stores lining up one after the other. Her eyes took in the surroundings, "haha, yeah. I remember this, it's just that I'm feeling so tired that my brain isn't working." Jay hummed, holding her hand and pulling her inside a bookstore hidden in between two large clothing shops. "It's okay, you said the smell of books calms you down, that's the reason I brought you here." She nodded wordlessly at his words, rubbing her nose slightly at the lavender candle lit at the entrance of the bookstore.

Ava panicked, realizing that Jay planned this whole date based on the letters written by his secret admirer. She could still feel her throat itching even after forcing herself to throw up the tea in the bathroom and if this thing continued she wasn't sure if she would be able to cover up. Jay made his way towards her, hand holding a couple of books which Ava didn't recognize and another holding a lavender scented candle. "Ava? You good baby?" Her nose itched, turning a bit red as she looked at Jay, clearly anxious, "Jay, it's getting late, shall we go back? I'm not feeling good at all, baby." He sighed, placing the candle back on the shelves and paying for the books before agreeing with Ava. She sighed in relief as they made their way back towards the car.

"Baby?" Ava hummed as she looked at the passing cars, "wanna hangout at my place before I drop you off at yours? We don't have to do anything, just cuddle, maybe drink some alcohol if you're up to it? Hm?" He glanced at her, before concentrating back on the road, "okay, sounds good to me." Jay smiled, extending his hand to give her hand a gentle squeeze. When they reached his house, he helped her remove her heels, taking her hand and guiding her towards his bedroom. Ava laughed, nudging Jay a little bit, "Wait here, I'll bring the drink." Ava sat on the bed, looking at his room, "open the sliding door, we'll drink outside, you'd love it."

Ava nodded, opening the door and helping Jay with the drinks. They were in the middle of drinking when the weather became gloomy, dark clouds spreading all throughout the sky, few drops of rain fell upon their clothes and Jay urged Ava to get inside. He bought the drinks and glasses inside, neatly putting the glasses on the sink. Till the time he returned from the kitchen, heavy downpour had blurred the word around them, and in the distance, thunder rolled low and slow. Ava flinched slightly, her hands clutching the comforter, "you okay baby?" She looked up, smiling slightly and he made his way towards her, eyes trained on the rain.

"Yes, just startled." Jay squinted his eyes at her, tilting his head, "thought you said you loved storms, why are you startled?" Ava shrugged, flinching again when lightning struck again, "why would I say that, I hate storms!" He crouched in front of her, his gaze hardening, "isn't that crazy? You said you loved the storms as it made you feel like you aren't the only one who is unraveling. I remember it clearly, you wrote about it, how they make you feel at peace." Ava froze, her eyes widening and body trembling under his fierce gaze, "I was just in a different headspace at that time."

"You always say that Ava, I was in a different headspace, I was feeling poetic, I didn't think you'd think so deeply of it, my opinion changed. It never ends!" Ava stood up, walking towards the bedroom door to create some distance in between them, "I was just trying my best to impress you because I love you, Jay. You're comparing me to a version of myself I curated just for you." Jay followed her, breath ragging, "are you sure that's the truth?" Ava paused, hesitating to say another word, "what do you mean?" she mumbled, leaning against the door.

"I just think, Avalyn," He taunted, voice low and dangerously calm, "I think you saw someone laying their heart bare, you saw how everyone noticed, you saw something genuine, which you could never be, and instead of respecting it like everyone else, you dressed yourself in someone else's devotion and had the audacity to call it yours!" He took a step closer, eyes burning through her, he slammed one hand on the door beside her head, "you saw someone bleed their love on the paper and got greedy. You never wanted love, just attention, and you didn’t care whose heart you had to break just to get what you wanted."

Ava looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes, she pushed Jay away, scoffing in disbelief, "you really think I would do something like that? After everything I've done for you? God! I knew this would happen, you just want a reason to get rid of me now that you're bored." Jay's jaw clenched at her words, "I'm sorry I didn't live up to your fantasy Jay, sorry that I couldn't talk in ink and metaphors for you." Jay pushed her against the door, eyes narrowing at her words, "it isn't about ink and metaphors, it's about the meaning behind them, you claimed those thoughts were yours, you silenced someone Avalyn, you banned someone from loving me the only way they knew how." Ava's jaw clenched but she kept quiet, unable to say anything in her defense with the way Jay was looking at her.

"Here's what you're going to do now Avalyn," he started, stepping back and glaring at her, his tone calm and calculated, "in few weeks it's your birthday, you're going to tell everyone there that you lied about those letters, and I'll tell them I don't hold any grudge against you so that we can both part ways without creating anymore mess." Ava's eyes widened at his words, all the things she did to gain the popularity wilting away in front of her eyes, "please Jay? Can't you give me a chance? We were doing fine, we can continue to do that. If the person who sent those letters to you loved you enough she would have exposed me long ago, but she didn't right? Please Jay, I beg you." Jay rubbed his temple, groaning as he threw his head back in frustration, "no, just do as I say, in a few weeks, at your birthday party, tell everyone the truth, and we're done for!"

You heave a sigh as you stand, leaning on one of the pillars of your university campus, looking at the downpour. It had been raining since yesterday night and hasn't stopped since then. Most of the students had either left the campus or found home in some corner or the university where they could wait till the downpour was light enough to travel through. You heard someone call your name, you turned slightly, smiling when you found Heeseung wave at you. "Done with your class?" You questioned, your eyes falling on your mobile screen to see if Ava responded to your texts or calls. "Yes, I wanted to go home but the rain is so heavy, you can't even see what's in front of you." You offered him a quick nod, eyes trained on the rainfall, but your mind drifted towards something else. Ava didn't attend any classes today, which was completely normal but what irked you most was her skipping the cheer practice. Her friends had stopped you to ask about her whereabouts and the only thing you could do was shrug in response.

"Yah, both of you," you jumped a little at the sudden voice, Heeseung chuckled before turning around to face his friend, Jake, "are you just going to stand there and watch the rain? Might as well come inside the music room and chill." You and Heeseung made your way inside the music room, you walked towards the window, dragging a chair with you, and sat on it, sighing. "I don't think the rain is going to stop anytime soon...." Sunghoon's voice trailed off as he spotted your figure sitting near the window as he walked inside the music room while talking to Jay. "Looks like someone loves rain way too much," Sunghoon smirked as he dragged a desk near your chair and sat on it, startling you in the process.

Jay quietly made his way towards the couch, slumping against it as he watched you interact with Sunghoon, a weird knot forming in his chest as he remembered you and Sunghoon sharing a kiss right in the middle of his birthday party. He kept wondering why he would feel so jealous in the first place, it wasn't like any of you were betraying him but he couldn't help but feel weirdly hurt whenever he saw both of you together. He was sure that if he kept on glaring at both of you with the same intensity then he'd actually be able to punch a hole in Sunghoon's face.

"Jay, did you bring your car?" Heeseung's voice brought him back to reality, his eyes looked around the room to see everyone already looking at him, he blinked a few times before nodding his head yes. Heeseung eyed him skeptically before nodding his head at his words, "so, Sunghoon, Jake and I slept over my house yesterday so we just took my car to come here," Jay nodded, hands playing with the ripped part of his jeans, "yeah so I need to take these two back to my house to retrieve their cars which is in complete opposite direction to where she lives," he pointed his index finger at you and you glared at him, "so will you drop her off?" Jay's eyes met yours, you smiled a little and he nodded, "ofcourse, I would. It shouldn't be a question."

And now you were sitting inside Jay's car as he pulled out of the university's campus. You leaned your head against the window, trying your best to not steal glances at Jay. You noticed he looked tired than usual, like he didn't get any sleep last night and with the way Ava had completely shut you out today, something must've happened between them again. You remember Jake texting you yesterday to ask if you were free to hangout, you had planned on deep cleaning your apartment that day so you declined and he told you Jay was busy taking Ava on date, you figured they mended the things between them but guess you were perhaps wrong.

You were busy with your thoughts when Jay's phone rang, he pulled his car aside and stopped, picking up the phone. You looked at him briefly as he was busy talking with someone on the phone. After sometime he hung up, giving you a side smile, "give me a few minutes, I just need to send this location to my cousin." You nodded, taking out your own phone to scroll through instagram when a loud thunder roared through the sky, your eyes widened at the sound, "damn, that was loud," you couldn't help but say as you leaned towards the windshield to look at the sky. Jay looked at you, surprised as you finally spoke something. "Scared of storms?" He questioned, giving you a quick glance before resuming his task, "no, I'm not. Just amazed by the intensity."

He locked his phone screen, throwing it somewhere in the compartment, the sound of thunder immediately sent his brain in a flashback mode, his mind drifting to the events that unfolded the previous night. He then turned his eyes on your figure which was still leaning towards the windshield, hands placed on the glass to wipe the condensation and see the view clearly. "You seem quite fascinated by the view," he couldn't help but chuckle at your wonder-like expressions, "oh I love storms, it brings me peace! I could sit and observe it all day!" Jay's smile flattered at your words, chest tightening at the familiarity of the words. He quickly swallowed the tension building in his throat and started driving towards your apartment.

You reached your apartment building, the thunder still loud above you, even the trees hazardly swayed left and right, and you could barely manage to stand still without struggling a bit against the wind. You knocked on the window of Jay's car and waited for him to roll it down. "I think it will be better if you wait for the weather to calm down a bit," you suggested. He shook his head, turning around his seat to look at the scenario out of the parking space of your building, "I think I can manage-" His words got cut off when a large tree branch flew past both of your line of vision, ripped from the tree like it was nothing, "yeah I think I can wait for a little bit." You smiled at him, stepping back and moving towards the elevator to press your floor button. Jay joined you inside the elevator and you sighed waiting for it to reach your floor.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea? Hot Coffee?" Jay paused to think, fingers tapping against his chin in deep thought as he sat on your couch, "what type of tea do you have?" You smiled bashfully, leaning against your kitchen door, "Mr. Park, what type would you like to drink? Your wish would be my command." He laughed at your words, "do you have chamomile tea?" You nodded your head in enthusiasm which Jay couldn't help but reciprocate, "I have all the types of tea, I sort of have a weird fixation on it." He smirked, getting up from the couch and following you inside the kitchen. He leaned against the kitchen counter, humming softly as he watched you gather the ingredients to make the tea. "Wow, you indeed have a crazy collection of tea."

You grinned back at him, opening the cabinet wider for him to get a better look, he stepped closer, hands raking his fingers through the jars. "Damn, you could open a tea stall," you solemnly nodded as if actually considering his suggestion. "What tea is your favorite? Taking a look at the jars I would say..." he trailed off, looking through the jars, "black, chamomile and lavender tea are your top picks." You gave him a thumbs up, taking the chamomile tea's jar off the cabinet and shutting it close. He made himself comfortable on the chair against the kitchen counter as he watched you make the tea, comfortable silence settled between them, the only sound being gentle clatter of cups, and soft bubbling of the water.

You poured the tea into two cups and slide one in front of him as you sat beside him, he smelled the tea, "oh it smells calming..." you grinned, taking a whiff of the tea yourself, "the weather is so beautiful, and the chamomile tea just made it more perfect, but do you want honey added into yours? I like to drink it bitter, I have to submit an essay tomorrow so I need to stay awake..." you mindlessly trailed off searching the cabinets for the bottle of honey, not realizing the weight of your words, mind temporarily forgetting about you mentioning about it in one of the letters. Jay felt a sense of deja vu take over inside him yet again but before he could say a single word to you the doorbell rang.

You put the bottle of honey in front of him, wondering who would visit you at this time. You made your way towards the living room and looked at the window at the end of the hallway, the weather had calmed down significantly. You opened the door, swinging it open to see Ava standing in front of you, she huffed a breath, "I've been ringing your doorbell since forever," she rolled her eyes, stepping forward and pushing your figure aside slightly since you didn't move an inch. "I've been trying to reach you since last night and you ignored me, and now you randomly showed up at my apartment without replying or calling me back?" You complained as you followed her figure back into your living room.

"Do I need to always inform you about my whereabouts or something?" She hissed, sitting on your couch rather harshly, "my mood is so off, my life is about to turn upside down and you only care about me ghosting you?" You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning your weight on one of your legs, "well yes since I texted and called you to ask about those exact things Ava!" You saw Jay slowly making his way towards the living room from your peripheral vision, he stood just near the kitchen door, Ava's back against his. "You should have tried harder to reach me, you could've skipped classes and visited me home, I even missed my cheer practice for God's sake!" You nervously glanced at Jay before speaking, "you know I had an important exam today, I told you about it ages ago, and it was raining so heavily how do you expect me to visit you?"

"I don't care, you should be beside me when I shut you out, shouldn't you as my best friend seek me when I pull away from everyone?" She complained, hands pulling at her head. "Well she tried reaching out to you through texts and calls, what more do you want her to do when there's a storm going on and she doesn't have any vehicle?" Ava sat up straight, eyes going wide as Jay stood beside you, "Jay? What are you doing here?" Her gaze travelled in between you and him, wondering how he had time to be at your apartment when he didn't reply to even a single text from her. "That shouldn't be your main focus, is this how you always talk with her?" You grabbed his arm when he stepped closer to her, his jaw clenched, Ava's gaze landed on your hand on Jay's arm, you released your hold when he stopped his steps.

"Answer me!" You flinched at the tone of his voice, Ava swallowed, clenching her fist tightly, "no, I'm not thinking straight and wanted to seek solace in my best friend especially after what happened last night!" Jay scoffed, pinching his nose in annoyance, "this isn't how you seek solace in someone..." Ava slammed her head against the back of the couch, clearly not prepared for Jay's interrogation, "I'm sorry, what are you doing here anyway?" Jay shrugged, turning towards you, "I think I should get going, the weather is calm enough for me to drive back, thanks for the tea." You nodded at him, bidding him goodbye and closing the door behind him, confusion etched upon your face.

"How come my boyfriend was in your apartment?" You turned around to look at Ava who was already on her feet, making her way towards the kitchen. You followed her to find her standing near the kitchen counter, taking a sip of tea from your cup. She instantly spit it out in the sink, throwing the rest of the tea along with it. "I didn't even take a single sip!" You groaned as you approached her, "since when do you drink this shit?" You squint your eyes at her words, her face contouring into that of a grimace, "what do you mean since when? You should know I prefer drinking tea to calm myself." Ava stopped midway, your words dawning heavy on her shoulder as she remembered what Jay said about drinking chamomile-lavender tea. She shook her head, making her way back into your living room.

"What happened to you anyway? Are you guys fighting or something? He didn't even say goodbye to you," you sat beside her, keeping your head on the back of the couch. "He found out I didn't write those letters..." she trailed off, her fingernails digging at her skin, "what?" You straightened up, eyes going wide at the realization, "how?" She scoffed, slumping against the armrest, "I didn't even get to bask in my popularity that much, how am I supposed to explain this to my other friends and cheer team?" You rubbed your temple, feeling anxious, "is that what you're worried about?" Ava rolled her eyes, "he wants me to confess about lying in my birthday party."

"What?" Ava sat up, looking straight into your eyes, no guilt about what she did, "he said something about confessing that I lied and then he wouldn't make a big deal out of this and then we can part ways," you looked at her for a moment, taking in all the things she dumped into you in a span of 5 minutes, "I warned you about this, but you didn't listen, just apologize to him, tell him you want to silently part ways, maybe if you look sorry enough he'll forgive you." She threw her hand in the air, "no he won't make this any easier, he was quite angry." You sighed, "well of course he is, you literally lied your way into the relationship, he must be feeling so betrayed and hurt, I told you not to do that, why do you have to be so selfish Ava?"

"Oh you two seem to be so deeply connected with each other to always defend each other's feelings in front of me, who's best friend are you? Try to think of something!" You shook your head at her, completely declining to be the one to help her after what she did, "you are going to do what he said, that's the only way you can get him to forgive you." She groaned, slamming her head against the armrest in frustration, "you aren't helping me with this," she got up, gathering all of her belongings and slamming the door shut behind her when she left. You thought about reaching out to Jay, your fingers hovering just long enough to feel the weight of the choice. But doubt slipped in quietly. What if he thought less of you too? What if saying it out loud only pushed him further away? You didn’t have the answers and maybe, deep down, you weren’t sure you were ready to hear them from him.

You were sitting on the bleachers, the court empty aside from a few students lounging around the area, "why do I always find you as if you're in mid-philosophical mental breakdown?" You tilt your head upward, removing the headphones from your ears, "I don't know Heeseung, you tell me." You saw him playfully roll his eyes as he sat down next to you. Jay, Jake and Sunghoon join right after with Jay sitting on your other side, Jake and Sunghoon sitting in front of you. "Why are you guys here anyway? Don't you guys have practice or something?" Jake gasped, an offended expression forming on his face, "why do you hate us so much? Are we not cool enough to hang out with you?"

"Stop with that 'too cool for you to hangout with' joke, you're stretching it so far up it's gonna explode," Sunghoon laughed at your expressions, "I did not think of you as a violent type pretty." You opened your mouth to retaliate but nothing came out, you just looked at him, trying to ease the rapid beating of your heart after hearing him call you pretty. After the kiss, Sunghoon didn't pressure you to explain anything to him, didn’t even ignore you but he stopped calling you pretty, your own name sounding so foreign when it left his mouth, you thought with time you'd get used to it but there he was, once again with that silly smirk of his, calling you pretty.

"Oh how blessed do we have to be to find HYPHENIX sitting here!" All of your head turned towards the voice, the captain of the cheer team, Gyuri smiled, behind her stood Ava along with a few other members of the cheer squad. "We were just leaving," Jake announced, already standing up, "why would you do that? Ava, does your boyfriend's friend hate us?" She pouted, eyes trained on Jake who just rolled his eyes in annoyance, a complete 180° from how he teased you a few minutes ago. You wondered if both of them had any history, Sunghoon didn't even glance at them after initially looking to see who called their name, Heeseung pretended to be busy on his phone. "It's not like that Gyuri," Ava mumbled looking down.

Gyuri scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest, "It's Ava's birthday next week, I'm pretty sure I'll meet all of you there, right? It's going to be so much fun, everyone's going to be there." Jay nodded, not really looking towards Ava or even trying to have any sort of interaction with her, Gyuri noticed, she turned her head towards Ava, "did you two fight or something, you guys were fine just a few weeks ago!" Ava smiled awkwardly, making her way towards Jay, sitting beside him and leaning against his arm, "it's lovers quarrel, nothing we can't work upon." Gyuri looked at her skeptically before shrugging off and turning around and leaving.

Other three boys exchanged a look, clearly sensing the tension between Jay and Ava, they looked at you and you just smiled, clutching your notebook hard in your hands, they didn't press further. "What are you guys up to?" Ava questioned, her eyes trailing towards a few students who were looking in her direction as she sat with you and the boys, "nothing, just hanging around," Jake shrugged taking a seat. Eventually Ava sat awkwardly beside Sunghoon, and right in front of Jay after realizing he didn't tell his friends about them. She watched as Jay refused to acknowledge her presence at all and Jake and Heeseung exchanged glances at each other from time to time.

You were somehow also ignoring her presence, focusing on the reels on your phone rather than starting a conversation and Ava thinks it's maybe because she rudely left your apartment a week back and you haven't reached out to her after that. "You were going to send me a video of the recipe you saved to make that tea, you haven't sent it to me yet." Jay spoke, nudging your shoulder with his and you gave him an apologetic smile before copying the link of the video and sending it to him. Ava's eyes watched you both like a hawk, eyes narrowing at the newfound closeness in between you two. She gulped, feeling as if the perfect world she tried so hard to build was crumbling down the more she tried to save it.

"Oh shit, I forgot I had a seminar to attend, I should get going," you hurriedly zipped your bag and checked the time, cursing under your breath and running off towards the hall where the seminar would take place. "Oh she dropped her notebook," Sunghoon leaned down the grab the notebook which fell down from your lap, dusting it off, he opened the first page to look, "Give it to me, I'll pass it to her," Sunghoon turned his head towards Ava, eyes sharp and unmoving as he passed your notebook towards Jay instead. Ava sighed, eyebrows twitching at everyone's distant behavior, sure they took less liking for her somehow, even Heeseung and Jake, just acknowledged her as their bandmate's girlfriend but somehow each of them had soften themselves for you and she didn't like how you were getting more attention than she could.

"You're sure everything is alright between you two?" Gyuri questioned Ava as they stood in the locker room changing their clothes after finishing practicing, Ava gulped not maintaining eye contact with her caption as she hurried to put her things inside the bag, "you know you're only in the cheer squad because of Jay right? Since you bought so much attention towards our team after your whole secret admirer agenda?" Ava nodded, zipping up her bag, Gyuri held her shoulder, forcing Ava to face her, "try to mend things in between you both, if you were good enough with your talent alone, you wouldn’t have to enter the team through popularity, I hope you remember all the times you got rejected by different people from the team okay? But now that you finally made it into the team, try to maintain your spot."

"Yes, we are doing fine, Gyuri, we just need a little bit of space, that's it. Everything will go back to normal." Gyuri gave her a skeptical looks, not buying her reasoning at all, "you used to write all those letters to him which made him turn from icy to soft, he looked so smitten by you initially, I don't know what you did, but try to handle it properly, don't be a disappointment, I already get yelled at by our coach for allowing you in the team with the amount of mistakes you do, but I let him drag me since I know you bring attention to the team, don't do anything stupid to further taint my name, Ava." Ava sighed, leaning her head on the locker after Gyuri left. There was so much pressure on her head, she didn't know how she would even handle that.

Ava left the locker room, her feet dragging towards the main gate of the university. Her steps halted as she saw you standing few feet apart from her, you gaze trained on your phone as you sat on the stairs by the entrance of the university's building. She contemplated reaching out to you, her texts and calls left unattended since weeks, you wouldn't entertain her now, but this wasn't the time to whine over things like that, she needed your help to get out of the mess she had made, just like how you always did. Ava took a deep breath, deciding that apologizing to you and asking for your help would be the best case scenario for now, she could always deal with your attitude problem after this mess is solved. She took a step towards you but stopped when she spot Jay walking out of the music room, guitar case hanging off his shoulder and eyes turning ever so soft as they landed on you.

"I didn't think you'd still be here, your classes ended early today," He said, dropping his guitar case gently beside him, his voice casual but his eyes said otherwise. You hummed, smirking at him, "oh so you keep a tab on my schedule now?" Jay shrugged, smiling too wide for someone just having a casual conversation with a friend, "I need to look after you." You squint your eyes at him, elbowing his stomach, "I don't need anyone to look after me," Jay groaned as if your little nudge to his stomach actually hurt, "I know you don't need to be looked after, but I want to." He scooted closer to you, elbows pressing together, knees touching, you didn't move away. "Why do you always do that?" Jay questioned after sometime, "do what?" He reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, thumb rubbing against your earlobe a little too long.

"You never properly hold eye contact with me." You blinked, caught off guard by his observation, Jay's gaze softened like he wanted to ask something more than that, you didn't notice the way Jay looked at you but Ava did. She stood there frozen, clutching her phone in her hand tightly, she noticed everything, the way Jay would always listen to your words attentively, how he had this soft smile on his face whenever he talked with you, how his eyes always found you despite being surrounded by a large crowd, Ava noticed everything. And as you packed your things and Jay snatched the bag from your hand and carried it on his shoulder instead, as you both walked off towards Jay's car blissfully unaware of Ava's presence, she realized, in that moment, that you weren't invisible anymore. And she hated it.

Your eyes were trained on the birthday invite sent by Ava on your phone. You both haven't talked with each other after she stormed out of your apartment, it wasn't the first time she did that, neither will it be the last time but you were done trying to save your friendship. You always apologize for things you didn't do just to protect your friendship but you couldn't let her do that repeatedly, you were done with her toxicity. But still your mind keeps on drifting towards how she'll manage to confess about her lying, if she'll be able to handle people throwing taunts at her. You didn't have to, but you felt bad for her. You looked at the following text she sent after sending the invite, 'I know we aren't on good terms but your presence would mean so much to me, especially for what I am going to do today, I will think of it as a last birthday gift from you.' You sighed, locking your phone and stood up to get ready for the party.

"Wow she really went all out for the party," Jake chuckled in amusement after he reached Ava's house, "I know right, I heard she invited more than half of the campus..." Heeseung trailed off, Sunghoon looked at Jay who had his jaw clenched as he looked at the scene in front of him, "you good bro?" Jay tore his eyes from the house and looked at Sunghoon, "It's weird, why would she invite so many people to a party where she's going to announce our breakup?" A loud gasp escaped Jake's mouth, "she's going to announce about your breakup?" Jay nodded looking at them, "she lied about those letters, they were never written by her."

"What? How did you even find that out?" Jay sighed watching his friends look at him with worried eyes, "I always felt disconnected from her, I started questioning her more about the letters but it would end up with us fighting and long story short, she confessed about her lies. I told her to tell everyone about her lies on her birthday when everyone will be present there and I will make sure no one will harass her over it and that we could part ways in peace after that." Heeseung nodded, still a bit shocked at how everything turned out, "if that's the case then it is indeed weird for her to go all out with the party."

"Let's just hope she isn't trying to pull any new stunts then," Sunghoon huffed looking at his friends, hands resting on his hips, "if she can steal someone else's identity for her greed, let's not think she is incapable of doing something mundane again." Rest of them nodded their heads, exchanging a look of wariness before making their way inside the house. Sunghoon stopped Jay from going away, one hand clutching his friend's shoulder, "Jay, I never got good vibes from Ava, don't let her get inside your head, be prepared for whatever okay? She's crazy enough. All you need is to look at me and I'll be there to help you." Jay smiled, nodding his head and assuring Sunghoon.

The party was in full swing, people were dancing around, some were already passed out on the couch, each corner of the house was crammed with people. The room smelled like sweat, alcohol and too many perfumes. Whenever you tried to move, your shoulders would brush against someone. The lights were dim but somehow harsh enough to make you squint. You had previously spotted Ava talking with her cheer squad, and called her aside to greet, give her the gift and go back into your apartment, but she stopped you, requesting you to wait since someone else called her name. Now you were standing beside the alcohol section, near the entrance of her house, waiting for an opportunity to find her alone and get done with it.

"Pretty," you didn't need to turn around to see who called you, his presence, his voice, the way you could feel his body heat on your back was enough for you to confirm who it was, "you're waiting for someone?" You nodded your head but didn't make any effort to change your position, eyes still trained on Ava who was now in the middle of celebrating her birthday. Jay stood beside her, his expressions hard as she cut her cake. She offered the piece of cake to Jay to which he just took it from her hand and fed her instead. The crowd cheered, their screams almost overpowering the music blasting through the speakers.

Then Ava signaled the DJ to pause the music, and the crowd quieted down, everyone gathered around Ava, who stood on the mini-stage along with Jay and some of her friends from the cheer team. Your heartbeat quickened but you felt a gentle squeeze on your shoulder, you looked up and Sunghoon gave you yet another squeeze of reassurance, you smiled at his gesture, a silent thank you, then you trained your eyes back on Ava, who was now looking at everyone with an anxious expression on her face as she announced she wanted to confess something to everyone. You swallowed, crossing your arms across your chest as you waited for her to continue. Jay stood beside her, eyes dark and intense but they softened slightly as he looked at you, your smile was enough to tell him you knew what was going to happen and he heaved a sigh, waiting for Ava to start speaking again.

"Thank you so much for attending my birthday and making it so much special for me," Ava smiled looking at everyone, "I am sure I won't be able to forget this birthday ever." Choruses of oohhs and aahhs spread all throughout the house, Ava shook her head, "I just want to confess something to you guys.....I've been holding it in for a while now." Everyone looked at each other, waiting for Ava to elaborate further, you watched as she looked back at Jay for a minute before her gaze turned back towards the crowd. You held your breath, anxious feelings creeping up on you as you waited for her to continue. "Everything is alright Ava?" Gyuri came forward, the rest of the crowd humming in agreement. She smiled at her, nodding her head, "I will be Gyuri." Sunghoon scoffed at her words as he leaned down towards you, "Oscar season came early huh?" You shivered as his breath hit your ears, a chuckle left his mouth watching her act.

"I feel like everyone deserves to know the truth about what's going on," you froze in your place when she stood beside Jay but her eyes locked in with yours. "The two people I trusted the most went behind my back," Ava's voice trembled as she looked at Jay, "he cheated on me," she exclaimed, pointing directly to you, "with her, my very own best friend." A ripple of gasp fluttered around the house, people glanced in your direction, whispering to each other low and biting. Tears welled up in your eyes, throat closing in, making it hard for you to defend yourself as you watched everyone look at you as if being in your vicinity made them impure.

"I trusted them, both of them but they intentionally chose to betray me like I was nothing." Your chest tightened as Ava continued her sob story of how you betrayed her, people around you started calling you names, whispers of you being a homewrecker, a whore, an attention seeking good for nothing slut, a nobody with a pretty best friend, a jealous bitch who couldn't watch her friend be happy. You shut your eyes, covering your ears with humiliation. "Avalyn!" Jay approached her, his tone dangerously even, "what the hell are you talking about?"

Sunghoon sighed as three of them made their way towards the stage where Ava and Jay were standing. Everyone's attention was fixed on the three band members who now stood at the foot of the stage as they watched the scene in front of them. Ava laughed bitterly, nose and cheeks red, and eyes glassy with unshed tears, "why are you acting innocent, I'm surely not the only one who noticed you pulling away from me, you didn't even sit next to me in cafeteria anymore, instead you were always around her, talking in whispers, about anything and everything, you think I wouldn't notice? You thought no one would believe the truth just because you're popular?"

"Oh I know you're not the one talking about popularity Ava!" All eyes turned towards Sunghoon who stepped up on the stage, eyes burning into Ava's, "you claimed to be the person who wrote those anonymous letters to Jay, you lied to everyone just so you could date Jay and get attention," everyone turned quiet, watching Sunghoon behave so rudely for the first time. Some of them turned towards you, trying to puzzle the pieces together. Jay stepped forward, grabbing Ava's arm to make her face him, "you lied to me, took advantage of someone else's words of love and used it for your selfish reasons and I pulled away from you when I caught your lie." Ava's eyes scanned everyone's face, lips trembling as she could feel everyone doubting her words, then her eyes fell upon you, her eyes darkening with anger, again.

"You're just deflecting because I caught you cheating!" She yanked her arm off his grasp, stepping back a little, "no! I'm clearing my name, if I was someone who treated relationships as casual, I would've dated countless girls and not waited for the right one!" The crowd started murmuring, words of agreement spread throughout as they realized the honesty Jay's words held, they never saw him entertain any girls before. Ava's breathing grows uneven when the room remains silent, no sympathy in their eyes, just observing, watching the drama unfold. "Are you done with your lies now? I told you we could part ways peacefully if you just confess about lying and come clean but you decided to drag me and your best friend through the mud just so you could have an upper hand."

Ava stepped closer to him, voice low but filled with venom, "you're really painting me as a villain because I claimed something that wasn't mine?" Jay stood there, his posture stiff and jaw clenched as Ava wasn't giving up, "you lied, Ava." She scoffed, tears clinging to her lashes, "but you believed me without a second thought Jay, and you believed me because you were desperate to be loved and I did just that, so how am I the villain?" You stepped back, unable to keep yourself together, the room felt too suffocating, you turned around towards the door trying to get out of the situation, to where? You didn't know, you just needed to get out of there. People watched as she spiraled more and more, concern spreading throughout the room, "and don't defend her like she needs to be saved," her voice lowered enough only Jay could hear, "she knew."

Slow smirk forming on her face, "She knew the whole truth but she chose to stay quiet." Jay froze, heart stopping at the cruel revelation, "you're lying..." but the look on Ava's face was enough for Jay to realize she wasn't lying this time. "She knew from the beginning, she watched me take the credit for those letters, watched you fall for them, and still chose to say nothing. So how are we different now?" Jay's eyes scan your figure amongst the crowd, like looking for you would give him some answers. Jay could barely hear a word coming from Ava's mouth, he felt his chest tightened, with disappointment? Betrayal? Or something else entirely? He wasn't sure.

Sunghoon leaned closer to Jay, informing him about you leaving the house. He pushed Jay down the stage so he would follow you. It took some time for him to snap out of everything and his feet started moving before his mind could catch up. Ava stood still, eyes trained on the way the crowd watched Jay run towards the door. Ava's figure trembled with anger, but underneath all the fury there was fear. Because she could see the closeness you and Jay shared couldn't be erased, not even now, now even after her lies were laid bare in front of everyone. Her feet moved, she couldn't let this moment be the one responsible for her downfall, Sunghoon grabbed her hand, pulling her back harshly, "we aren't done with you Ava," He looked back, Jake and Heeseung joining him as they cornered Ava, "can’t really let you walk away without leaving a scar for what you did to our best friend, now can we?"

Sunghoon turned towards the door, watching Jay run off towards the direction he gave him, Jay stopped when he reached the door, turning around to find himself locking eyes with Sunghoon who was holding Ava back from following him. Jay waited for him to say something, but Sunghoon just smiled, nodding his head at Jay and ushering him to follow you. Jay's lips trembled but he nodded back, turning around with newfound determination to find you. He walked down the stairs, looking around to see if he could catch a single glimpse of you, he ran his fingers through his hair, messing up the neat style he previously did. He swallowed hard, taking deep breaths, when he spotted something sparkling around the corner of the block. He ran towards that direction, praying and hoping you'd still be there.

You were walking down the sidewalk, mind too clouded and eyes too hazy to hear footsteps edging closer. You felt someone grab your hand and yank you back, then you heard the faintest whisper of your name, the voice slightly laboured, out of breath. A shiver ran down your spine at the sight of him, not expecting him to follow you out, you wanted to say something, anything but the look in his eyes, the way his lips trembled as he looked at you, the way his jaw was clenched as if he was holding something back, stopped you to saying anything further. For a moment he just looked at you, at your reddened eyes and tears stricken face but all it did was take him back a few moments ago when Ava told him the truth.

"You knew," he stated, his voice low and laced with something too broken to name, "Avalyn told me you knew she didn't write those letter, and you never told me..." your heart cracked at the slight crack in his voice as he talked, you opened your mouth but no words came out. He removed his hand from you, stepping closer till your toes touch, "all this time," he laughed bitterly, blinking a couple of times to wash away the tears that threatened to fall, "you watched me believe her, fall for a fake version of her, I trusted her, I trusted you, you're the only person with whom I shared the struggles of my relationship with, about how the letters made me feel seen, about how your best friend wasn't living up to it and you just let me?"

His words cut through you like a knife, you swallowed hard, throat dry, "it wasn't my place-" "wasn't your place?" He spat, eyes burning with betrayal and underlying heartbreak, "I thought you were my friend." Your head hung low, tears slipping down your cheeks, ashamed that you let everything spiral to this, "I'm your friend," your voice cracked, hands clenching into fist, you couldn't bring yourself to look at Jay, too guilty to feel worthy enough to do so. He shook his head as he watched you trembling in front of him, his hands itched to just pull you closer and hug you till it all started making sense. But he just shook his head instead.

The silence stretched for too long, none of you moved, your mind was swirling with hundreds of reasons you could give in order to justify your actions to him but none of them felt worthy enough to say out loud. Jay's hand trembled as they cupped your face, he placed his thumbs below your chin to tilt your face upward, "do you know how humiliating it was to find out that the entire foundation of my relationship was fake? That the girl who confessed about writing letters to me just played with my heart to get a few people to glance her way?" He wiped away the tears that fell down your cheeks, and leaned his forehead against yours, "and you? You let me believe in all of those things, you watched me make a fool of myself and didn't feel I'm worthy enough to know the truth."

Your breath hitched, hands reaching up to curl around his jacket to ground yourself, "I didn't want to hurt you Jay." He brushed his nose against you then stepped back, eyes red, hair disheveled as he narrowed his eyes at you, "isn't it too late to say that?" You closed your eyes as a choked sob escaped from your mouth, you couldn't even look at him without feeling the need to rip your heart apart. He was hurting, and he was hurting because of you. He studied you for a moment, even though every fibre of his body told him to just reach out to you, he took another step back, "I just," he ran his hand through his hair, visibly overwhelmed, "I don't know who I can trust anymore."

You opened your eyes at his words, "Jay," you started but he backed away even though you stayed glued in your spot, "wait here. Sunghoon will come and drop you off." And you watched him turn around and walk back towards Ava's house. You could see the weight of the betrayal, the disappointment, the truth weighing on his shoulders as he walked away and you stood there, watching the boy you love unraveling and breaking right in front of you. After a while, Sunghoon's car pulled up beside you and he got off, running towards where you stood, your arms circled around his waist, tears streaming down your face and sipping into his shirt. He held you close, rubbing your back to console you. The drive towards your apartment was silent, he glanced at you from time to time to check if you were doing fine. You bid him goodbye, assuring him that you'll call him if it felt too suffocating. He kissed your forehead, and pulled out of your building.

Jay was laid wide awake in his bedroom, still wearing the same clothes from the party, now slightly crumpled and disheveled. He blinked at the ceilings, recalling back to everything that led him to this moment. It felt surreal, the anonymous letters, the lie, the hope he had, the connection he shared with you, your lie, and the moment it all crashed down. He rubbed his face, groaning in his hands for being so stupid, he blamed himself for not verifying Ava's claim, for trusting her blindly. He wondered how his life would've been if he never received those letters, if he never let himself believe that someone was out there loving him the way he didn't know he needed. Maybe he got selfish after reading those letters.

He wondered how the person who originally wrote the letters must've felt after learning Ava claimed the letters as hers, about why that person never came forward to expose her lie, then his thoughts drifted to you. He still remembered the way his heart dropped when Ava told him you knew the truth all along, how even after knowing you deliberately chose to lie his heart still ached for you. How watching you crying in front of him felt like thousands of glass pieces pierced his skin, all at once. How one teary look from your eyes was enough for him to get on his knees for you. And it all confused him to no extent, he was sure he loved the person who wrote him the letters and he knew there was no one else who could see him the way they did, or make him feel the way their words did.

But now here he was, drowning in your thoughts, realization dawning upon him that even if you somehow decided to stab him with a knife, he would happily help you by placing it in the middle of his heart. That he somehow managed to fall in love with you so hard that he isn't sure what to do with his feelings. He knew he should've told you off, called you a liar, broken ties with you just like he did with Ava, because you were her best friend and you took part in her lies, that should've been the case but it wasn't. Instead, he just found himself looking for you amidst the crowd, his heart pounding and he ran off to find you, how his heart clenched at the sight of your trembling form and how relieved he felt after knowing you were safe.

He sighed, sitting up straight and switching on the lights of his room. He had been trying to sleep but he couldn't with all these thoughts running in his mind. His eyes wandered around his room as he grabbed the glass of water from his nightstand and drank it. He stopped when his eyes landed on the notebook neatly placed on his desk, your notebook, which you dropped as you rushed to attend the seminar. Despite his better judgement, his steps carried him towards his desk anyway. He picked up the notebook, fingers tracing the stem of the book, smiling softly at the little heart you drew at the corner of the cover page. He traced the heart with his thumb as if to picture you doodling it while you were thinking about something.

There wasn't a single thought behind his eyes when he opened your notebook, no suspicion, no curiosity, just a causal reach, a familiar motion which one does when they have a book in their hand. He didn't mean to see anything inside the book, but the second the pages parted and his eyes caught the words written inside, something shifted, like his heart recognized something his mind was yet to figure out. His fingers stilled against the paper, breath hitching as he looked at the pages, turning over a few more, just in case. He stumbled a bit, like the floor beneath his feet decided to slip off, and fell on his bed, he exhaled a deep breath, eyes trained on the book and your handwriting staring back at him, achingly familiar, too familiar and it hurt.

His fingers hovered over the ink, as if he felt the words would vanish if he touched them carelessly. But they didn't, they stayed, etched in the unmistakable way you write your words, the same pauses, the same rhythm. He flipped open the last page of the book and his throat tightened as he read a few lines that were scribbled recklessly, the handwriting a bit messy as if you wanted to hold onto the words before they disappeared from your head. Lines he recognized instantly, the one he knew he had read before, not in your notebook but in one of the letters that are neatly tucked inside the box. He grabbed the box and searched for the letters where you wrote those exact same lines dedicated to him. Keeping them side by side.

'I think you look the best as the sun sets, the sun's rays kissing your face in a gentle goodbye. Even the ground beneath you looks beautiful coated in your silhouette, and I wonder if I'll ever be able to stop seeing that version of you when I close my eyes.' He remembered those lines, he remembered how you wrote that you watched him enter the campus with his bandmates as he laughed at something his friends said, how you watched him till he disappeared from your sight from the library's crooked window, how you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by how beautiful he looked and how deeply you were falling for him. His hands trembled as he clutched the notebook in his hands and made his way towards his car, towards you. He couldn't wait till next morning to talk to you, not after everything you both have been through, not after all the wait and longing.

You were sitting on your couch, hands in your hair, regretting everything that led you to this moment. All you wanted was to express your love for a person who helped you when you were at your lowest, a quiet support to let him know he wasn't alone. You still recalled writing him your first letter after you heard his parents berate him for choosing a musical career instead of their family business, they way his shoulders slumped, how hurt embraced him like an old friend. All you wanted was to let him know that he's loved, he's seen, and that his struggles aren't invisible. And maybe you did reach your goal, made him feel all the things you intended on making him feel but then everything shattered, like a twisted fairytale. And here you were, replaying it all, wishing you'd never sent those letters to him to spare him from the hurt that now made home in his eyes.

You wiped the tears that streamed down your cheeks, they seemed to be never ending, you'd sit for a while, blankly staring at nothing in particular then a sudden wave of emotions would dawn on you and tears would well up. You didn't try to stop them, didn't try to think of something that would numb all the pain. You deserved it, after all you had chosen to side with Ava instead of correcting her mistakes, so you let yourself feel, let yourself cry, let yourself hurt. You stood up, deciding to let sleep distract you from your feelings for a few hours would be a good option, you didn't want to bother Sunghoon with your feelings, he already did so much for you.

You turned around towards your bedroom, stopping mid-step as the echo of your doorbell bounced off your apartment walls. You frowned, wondering who would be visiting you at this hour. Still, you made your way towards the door, and opened it without a second thought, Jay stood in front of you, breathless, eyes red, then your eyes fell upon something he was holding tight in his hand. A notebook, yours to be specific. He didn't say anything right away, just stared at you as your brain pieced together the puzzle. You tilted your head upward, heart racing as you looked at him when a voice at the back of your head chimed in, he knows.

You weren't sure what to expect now that your secret has been revealed, you didn't not expect to see him again so soon, especially not with your notebook clutched in his hand at least. He walked towards you, and you wordlessly backed away to give him space, he hesitated before reluctantly stepping forward and keeping the book on the table by your entrance, "you left this behind," he mumbled, looking towards the notebook and not you, his voice hoarse as if it had been scratched. Then he turned towards you, stepping forward till there was no space left for you to go, "I read it." You swallowed, heart thundering inside your chest, "why did you? It was you....all this time....you." You inhaled sharply, mind racing with countless of things you could say to make this situation less messy and complicated than it had become, but before you could speak, he closed the distance, almost desperately, almost as if staying one second away from you was eating him up alive.

His lips met yours, not softly, not hesitantly. His fingers tangled in your hair, another one snaking around your waist to pull you close. Your hands found home on his shoulders, gasping at the sheer shock of it all. He kissed you like it was his elixir, the only thing that made the ache in his heart subsidize for a while. The kiss was everything, pain, longing, anger, love, all wrapped into one reckless moment of affection. He pulled back enough for both of you to breathe the air but not far enough that you'd miss his touch. His hand was still tangled in your hair, he gave it a gentle tug to tilt your head towards him, "I'm so fucking mad at you," his lips brushed against yours as he uttered those words, low and seething, "but I've never wanted anything else more than this."

He stepped back while you were still frozen in one place, his kiss lingering on your lips like a confession and goodbye at the same time. You opened your eyes, your breathing shallow, a little bit shaky as you watched him pace around your living room. You hesitated reaching out for him, like if you moved quickly the moment would shatter and vanish like it never happened in the first place. "Jay," you started, softly this time, fearing he would stop you yet again and leave you hanging, when he didn't, you took it as a sign to continue, "I never meant for you to know it's me." He stopped, his back turned towards you, "but I needed to..." turning around and stepping closer to you, "I needed to know it was you." Your lips trembled, you looked down to prevent him from watching you break yet again.

His hand reached up to cup your face, other reaching forward to hold your hand, "I was so angry," he breathed, leaning his forehead on yours, "At Ava, at you, at myself. I thought maybe all of it was just a fragment of my imagination, that none of this was real." You blinked, nodding your head, unsure of whether this is where he leaves or forgives you, "but then I saw this notebook, your handwriting, and I knew it was real, that you are real." Tears pricked your eyes but you blinked them back. "Why didn't you tell me?" He questioned, his nose brushing against yours, "I didn't tell you because I never thought you'd ever see me that way."

He kissed away the tears that managed to escape your eyes, your heart swelling with emotions at the softness of his actions, "don't say that, you don't get to decide how I feel about you, about us." He kissed your forehead, staying there for a beat or two, "I was looking for someone who was by my side the whole time, who made me feel seen, yet I was blind enough to never recognize the calm I felt in your presence was so achingly familiar."

"I never planned on coming out of the shadows, Jay. I just wanted to love you from afar, because I felt someone like me would never be able to keep up with someone like you. But Ava changed everything and I couldn't do anything about it. I tried warning her, but you looked so happy when she confessed that I couldn’t bring myself to tell the truth." You choked a sob, leaning your head on his shoulder as you cried. He held you close, kissing your head as he tried to blink back his own tears. "I fell in love with your words first, but it was your presence that made me fall deeper." And then without another word, he pulled you in for another kiss, soft and slow before it turned into something hungrier and needy.

"You said you weren't sure if I wanted you right?" He mumbled, not breaking the kiss, he pushed you towards your bedroom, a soft gasp leaving your lips at the abrupt movement, he took it as an opportunity to ease his tongue in your mouth, exploring, carving and claiming every corner of you as his, "let me show you how much I want you." His kisses trailed down from your mouth, to your jaw, his hand tilting your head slightly to pepper kisses down your throat. Your hand clutched his shirt, other sliding up from his chest to the nape of his neck and pulling his hair lightly. He groaned against your neck, sending shivers down your spine, his tongue lapping at your sweet spot. You moaned, he took it as a sign to suck on the same spot till a mark bloomed on it.

He pulled away, your body trembling as the air hit the spot where he licked. "You want me to show you?" He whispered, giving you a chance to back out if this isn't what you wanted, you gulped, taking a step closer, lips hovering above his, just enough, enough to drive him crazy with the distance, enough to have him begging for more, "yes," you sighed against his lips before grabbing his collar and pulling him down for another kiss. His hands travelled down from your neck, to your waist and finally they settled down low on your hips, pulling you closer so you could feel his hardening length against your thigh. You bit his bottom lip in response, which pulled a hiss from his mouth, hands tightening around your hips like he didn't want you to stop.

You felt his hand knead on the skin at the swell of your ass, your hands curling around his neck to bring him closer. He tapped your thigh, once, twice while leaning down and you took it as a sign to jump as he gave you support and carried you. Your legs wrapped around his waist and he pushed your body against the wall. He pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips making him moan. He looked at you with a heavy, drunk in euphoria stare, a lopsided smile adorning his face as he took in your form, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed, hair messy and swollen lips. He decided it was one of his favorite looks.

His hand slid up from your waist, to your chest, stopping briefly to see you whimper before it reached your neck. He curled his finger around your neck, giving it a firm squeeze and you whined, throwing your head back, legs instinctively tightening around his hips. He smirked, leaning closer, "I need you to use your voice for me, butterfly. You think you could do that for me?" You nodded your head, aroused by the intensity of it all. He gave your neck another squeeze, a bit more firm, like a warning, "use your words, butterfly." You moaned, eyes rolling back, "yes." He smiled, releasing his hold from your neck and giving your neck a gentle kiss, "good girl."

Your hands that rested on his shoulders, rose up to cradle his face as he continued to lick, suck and bite your neck. You tilted his head, reconnecting your lips with his as if you couldn't just get enough of it. He groaned, one hand sliding at the nape of your neck to deepen the kiss and the other pressing into the skin of your arm, squeezing the flesh to anchor himself. He traced his tongue on your lips, before capturing your lips again, biting at the skin, silently asking you to let him in. His fingers then pulled at the hem of your top, tugging at it impatiently, you broke off the kiss, pulling the top over your head and throwing it somewhere in the room. His pupils dilated, hunger creeping in as he looked at you like he had been starving.

You swallowed hard, for the first time in your life you were watching someone unravel because of you without even doing anything wild. His ragged breath made you bold, you ran your fingers through his scalp before grabbing a fistful of hair and tugging it. He moaned, his lips attaching to the unmarked area of your chest, his hands sliding up and stopping just below the swell of your breast, "is this okay butterfly? Can I touch you here?" You whined, arching your chest, needy for his touch, "please," you whispered, almost as if it physically pained you because he wasn't touching you and he sighed, biting his lips and reaching up to squeeze your boobs.

"Let me take this off," His hands found the clasp of your bra, detaching it in one swift motion, he pulled the bra off of you and threw it down. Your eyes widened, low-key impressed by his 'bra-removing-expertise' but your train of thoughts broke off just as you felt his lips on your nipple, he liked it, then blew air on it, sending shiver throughout your body, his hand softly massaging the other one. You closed your eyes, leaning your head against the wall as he switched between both of your boobs, heat pooling between your legs, begging for attention. He took his time with your boobs, relishing at the sound of your soft sighs. He licked up your neck, placing a slow kiss on it, you grind your hips against his, a groan ripping out of his throat at the sudden sensation. His hands supported your back as he turned around and walked towards the bed, gently laying you down.

He stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes roaming on your half-naked self, he climbed up, gulping at the sight before him, "so beautiful." Your hands instinctively cross over your chest, frown appearing on his face at your actions, "don't be embarrassed, it's just me." He hovered over you, hands on your side, he removed your arms from your chest, dipping his head low and placing gentle kisses all over your chest, mumbling sweet nothings in between. Your hands fists the sheets, as he moved lower, his eyes trained on the way your expression changed with every movement of his. He stopped as he reached near the waistband of your shorts, sucking and marking the area around your hips. Your breath shuddered, eyes closing.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Your body relaxed as you felt Jay's voice vibrate through the skin of your stomach, you looked at him, hands on both sides of your hips as he found home in between your legs, chin propped up on your stomach, pupil blown wide as he waited for your answer. You ran your fingers through his hair, a small smile gracing your lips before the heat in between your legs became too much to handle, "yes, love." He got up, sitting on his knees as he started removing his shirt. You reached up, rising slightly to help him, eager to have him close. He threw his shirt somewhere near the bed, you sat up, trailing kisses from his torso to his chest. He tangled his fingers on your hair, not pulling, just holding. His eyes met with your lust filled one and you bit on his nipple, then placed a kiss, he moaned, loud enough that he surprised himself, and he pushed you back on the bed, connecting his lips back to yours.

His hands travelled down your body, squeezing, gripping, tracing, the skin beneath his hands, "you're so soft, butterfly." His fingers dig inside the waistband of your shorts, your breath hitched in anticipation, he looked at you once before he pulled both your shorts and panties off of you, together, in one swift motion. You tried closing your legs, the air around you feeling cool against the slick in between your folds. "You're dripping butterfly, all this for me?" He dipped down, fingers separating your folds to get a better look at your dripping hole, you whined, clenching around nothing as his words went straight into your core. His breath fanning against your folds, he slid up two of his fingers on your slit, your hips jolting with surprise, legs shaking.

He kept an eye on your face, in case you felt uncomfortable, he rubbed your clit in small circles, your legs digging in the bed, back arching. Your hand gripped his shoulder, the other one holding the wrist of his hand which was making you see stars. "I'll be putting a finger in love," he waited for your reply then carefully inserted his middle finger inside your hole, you gasped, lead lifting off the pillow, his head dipped down, capturing your lips in his to help you get distracted. He started moving his finger when you let out a strained whine, his movements slow and steady as he waited for your body to adjust to the feeling. "So good, Jay." He smiled at your words, carefully inserting his index finger and curling them inside you to test out the waters.

"Jay," you moaned, eyes rolling back, he continued his movements, increasing his pace, he could feel your walls clenching around his fingers, "damn love, you're doing so good for me." Your chest rose and fell, heart racing, mind filled with pleasure, you could feel a knot forming in your stomach, "Jay, I think- I think I'm gonna cum," Jay smiled at you, already feeling your release close before you even said anything, "yeah? Cum all over my fingers butterfly, make a mess." You nodded, brows furrowing at the overwhelming feeling, "shit, Jay don't stop," your breath shuttered, pleasure washing over you. Jay's movements slowed down, his eyes trained on the way your juices coated his fingers, his head dipped down, licking a long strip on your pussy, your hands flew onto his head, pulling at his hair at the sudden action.

His fingers gain their pacing again, as his tongue works on your clit, "Jay, it's too much, I can't." He groans when he feels you pull at his hair, "you can do it love, give me another one please." He laps at your pussy, eating it like it's his last meal, his hips slightly rut against the bed, aching to get some friction, you bite your lips, trying to supress your moans with how good he's making you feel and it's not long before you come undone again. He removed his fingers from your pussy and you whined at the empty feeling, you watched as he looked at you before putting his fingers at his mouth and licking them clean. His hands then spread your legs wider, tongue darting out to lick you clean. You shiver, legs closing around his head, feeling overstimulated after cumming twice, he laps at your pussy, smiling at you when he's done.

You pull the waistband of his jeans, a little impatient but eager to help him with his needs, "take it off." He chuckled at your needy tone as he removed his jeans and boxer, his hardened lock slapping against his abs. You gulped, mouth salivating at the sight, he looked so gorgeous as he kneeled before you, eyes closing momentarily as he stroked himself lightly, spreading his precum on his length. He climbed over you, his cock slapping against your thigh. He sighed, wiping the sweat dripping off your forehead and removing the hair sticking on your face. "So beautiful, could eat you out for hours, butterfly, you taste so good." You flush at his words, slapping his chest lightly, he laughed, leaning up to place a chaste kiss on your forehead.

He rubbed his cock against your fold to gather you slick, his hands placed on either side of your head, one of your hands held his shoulder while the other ran through his hair. He kissed you, gentle and soft as he lined himself up in your entrance, your breath hitched at the mere contact, legs tightening beside his waist, he groaned against the kiss, his hand sliding down to keep your legs open wide as he pushed himself in you, slow and steady. You hissed, feeling his tip enter your dripping cunt, he kissed you all throughout, mumbling words of encouragement and praises in between as he slowly bottomed out inside you. "Fuck butterfly, you're so fucking tight around me, it's like you're sucking me in, love."

You whimpered, feeling full, he looked at you, showering kisses across your face till you adjusted to his size so he could move. "Tell me when you'll be ready, okay love? Take your time." You nodded your head, kissing and marking his neck to distract yourself from momentary pain, his neck chain shining, against your face, "please move, Jay, fuck." He gave you a peck before pulling out of your pussy all the way, then sliding back in, in one swift motion. Your back arched, as a strangled moan left your lips. His hands trembled just hearing you moan right next to his ears. The sounds are going straight in his cock.

He pulled out, only to thrust back in, slow and deep, his eyesbrows furrowed as he tried his best not to lose control and fuck you senseless. You moaned, your walls clenching around his length, his chain hitting your face in the same rhythm his hips snapped against yours. "Faster, please." He leaned his head on yours, his movements steady as he smirked at you, "you want it faster my love?" You nodded frantically, and he bit your lip as he adjusted himself to increase his pace. He started slamming his length into you faster, and harder and with the way your walls were trying to suck him into you, he knew you were close. One of his hands slid down your body to rub circles around your clit to heighten your pleasure.

"Ah fuck, Jay!" He smirked as you held onto him like your life depended on it, "you're taking me so well baby, this pussy," he groaned, hand never stopping their movement on your clit, "made for me." You whined, nails digging on his shoulders, his chain repeatedly hitting your face, you frowned tilting your head up and parted your lips, and as the chain hit your face again, you trapped it between your teeth, Jay froze at he felt a abrupt tug on his neck, looking down towards you he breathed out a pained sigh, completely unraveling. His hips recovered their pace, hips slamming against yours. You released the chain and he dipped his head to suck your nipple.

"Fuck, Jay, I'm close so close," He released your nipple only to focus on the other one, "me too, I'm close too butterfly, cum with me, cover me with your juices, love, fuck." His movements became sloppy, losing the rhythm as he fucked you recklessly, you moaned one last time as your orgasm washed over you, he rode you through your high before spilling his seeds inside of you, long spruts if cum dripping out of his cock, you whined feeling the heat of his cum spilling inside if you. "I love you," you opened your eyes to see smiling down at you, the soft glow of your bedroom light framed him in gold, casting a quiet halo around his body, he chuckled lightly, wiping the tear that escaped your eyes without even you knowing, your lips trembled, "I love you too."

He closed his eyes, dropping his weight on you as he hugged you close, burying his face on your neck, still buried deep inside you. You hugged his shoulders, massaging his scalp as both of you regained your breath. "Come one, let me clean you up so we can sleep." You whined at his words and he chuckled, scooping you in his arms instead and took you inside the bathroom to clean you and himself up. You shuddered as he cleaned your pussy, feeling overstimulated and sore. He mumbled quick apologies, cleaning himself up, changing the sheets and climbing up on the bed with you to finally sleep.

The hallway is empty, save for a few students who are scattered across in little groups, you're sitting inside the empty classroom, gathering your belongings as you texted Jay that you'll be heading to his house soon. A small smile gracing up on your face at the mere thought of spending time with him. You're so busy with yourself that you don't hear her approach you. But the moment a pair of heels come into view, you glance up and Ava is already looking down at you, standing in front of you like she had been searching for you all day. Her eyes are red, almost as if she had been crying all week, her perfect hair frying at the edges, but it's her eyes, raw, wild and angry, you stand up.

"You're such a great actress," she says, low and seething as she looked at you, "you wrote those letters and let me play the role of a fool as I claimed to be the one who wrote your letters. You let me be the thief." You opened your mouth but she cut you off, stepping forward, every movement sharp with fury, "was this your ultimate plan? To humiliate me? Let me take the fall so you could step on me and reclaim the spot as yours?" Your eyebrow twitched, words flying off of your mind at her accusations, "No!" You sharply declined, stepping towards her instead of backing away like you always did, "you don't get to play the victim here Ava, you did this all upon yourself. Yes I wrote those letters, yes I let you claim it as yours but I did it for Jay."

You stood tall, having enough of her tantrums and manipulation, "I did it because he looked so happy when I saw him with you. You didn't ask me when you claimed those letters as yours, I even warned you but you are so selfish, you only think about yourself." She laughed, eyes squinting, "you let me live in the spotlight while you sat there watching me like some pathetic loser, what does that make me now?" Her voice crumbled, not from pain but from fury, "nothing, that's what I am now! I lost Jay, I lost my spotlight, I lost....you. and you were supposed to be someone who would never leave." Your heart broke watching her breakdown in front of you but you knew better.

"You were mine, my best friend, my shadow. You weren't supposed to overtake me, you were supposed to stay behind me!" She stepped closer, but you stepped back, she froze, realization hitting her on the face that the power she once had on you is over now. "You don't complain when you make your own plate, Ava. I warned you but you never listened. I stayed with you even when I knew you were using me to satisfy your ego, I thought you'd change but no, you don't care about anyone else but you and your image, and now that you've lost it, you're trying to manipulate me into thinking I was at fault. You wouldn't be in this situation if you never lied." She laughed, "wow, you really are the cruel one," she whispered. She stepped back, her heels echoing off the empty classroom and she left. And you were left standing there, watching her go out of your classroom and your life.

"Yeah yeah, I'll be there soon," Jay replied to Heeseung while packing his things inside his bag. He was currently in the music room of the university while everyone else was waiting for him to join them at a hangout spot they usually go to, the bridge that overlooks a river. He hung up the phone, his screen blinking with Heeseung's contact photo. He shook his head, locking his screen and continuing with his actions. He looked around to check if he forgot anything when he noticed he left his music book on the table, he grabbed the book hurriedly before placing it inside his bag.

An envelope fell down from his book due to his frantic movements and he stopped, crouching down to pick it up. His chest fluttered when he opened it, a handwriting which he had seen countless times appearing in front of his eyes, he smiled in amusement, wondering when you put this letter inside his book. He opened the letter anyway, deciding that waiting till the day was over would be too much for his curious heart.

My Jay,

If you look into my eyes, you'll find me thanking the heavens for blessing you in my life, smiling at the thought that I was lucky to have you, thinking about how I ended up with you.

If you look into my eyes, you'll find me looking for you everywhere I go, trying to trace your face amongst the crowd, yearning for being in your presence.

If you look into my eyes, amidst all the lingering eyes and subtle glances, you'll find me staring at you, watching you giggle, and when I get caught, I look away hiding my blush.

If you look into my eyes, you'll see how much your presence affects me, wanting to be the center of your universe. If I could, I would spend eternity with you.

If you look into my eyes, you'll find me clutching onto our dreams, a bit insecure about our future, still determined to take the tempting risk.

If you look into my eyes, you'll find how deeply I'm into you, so much so to the point I sometimes scare myself, thinking about how hard life would be without you.

If you look into my eyes, you'll find me standing by the river, gently letting the wind engulf my heart, looking at you longingly as you try your best not to fall.

If you look into my eyes, you'll see a tired soul, just wanting to love and to be loved, wondering if you feel it the way I do.

If you look into my eyes, you'll feel the love that pours out of me, just look up and stare directly at my eyes, you'll find me clutching at our dreams.

If you look into my eyes, you'll find yourself.

Yours,

Butterfly.

PS: I know you're wondering when I put this letter inside, but you'd never know, I'm kind of very good at this whole secret admirer agenda. Don't expect anything else, just because I'm dating you doesn't mean these letters will stop. I'm very much in love with you, but there are still some moments where I'm too shy to say what I want to say, but I need you to know how much I love you, so these letters are my armour. I wrote this for you recently, and I wanted you to read that!

He smiled, feeling warmth spread all throughout him as he folded the letter and put it inside the envelope, making a mental note to keep it inside the box when he reached back home. He sighed, content at how things have turned out. He still had a long way to go with his parents but you were by his side now, so he was glad he wouldn't have to face it alone. He felt at peace with you, never felt the need to say much. He was zoned out, drowning in his thoughts when his phone rang again, he snapped out of his thoughts, answering Heeseung's calls, "I'm done bro, I was just leaving."

"How many fingers can you see?" You glared at Jake, who currently stood beside you holding up 4 fingers in front of your face, "four," you muttered through gritted teeth, you could hear Heeseung chuckle from behind you, which annoyed you more. You put your glasses back, shoving Jake's shoulders. "You can see, why do you need glasses," you rubbed your temple, sighing in disappointment, "I'm not THAT blind, I just need them to see more clearly, stupid." Jake looked at you like you had just committed a crime against his dignity, "woah, did you just call me stupid? After all the love and affection I shower you with?" He placed a hand on his heart, staggering back a step, "me? The one who puts up with you squinting at traffic lights?"

Your mouth fell open at his words, you lurched forward, attempting to grab his precious hair as he didn't seem to back down from his teasing you. Heeseung laughed at both of you, clutching his stomach, beside him Sunghoon just shook his head, an amused smile plastered on his face as he stepped forward to separate Jake from your fury. "See, and you wonder why I call her trouble!" You stuck your tongue out at Jake, who was trying to make his hair more presentable after you messed it, trying to win an argument like a five year old, which worked somehow because Jake whined, clearly more irritated.

Jake gave you a side eye before turning around dramatically and walked off, joining Heeseung and complaining about how mean you are and how you never seem to return the love he showers you with, and how he feels that his best friend's agenda is one sided and you never considered him as such. You laughed at him, and he threw you an annoyed glance. You heard Sunghoon clear his throat from behind you and you turned around, standing beside him, overlooking the river as both of you leaned against the railing. "You know," you turned your head in his direction, but he wasn't looking at you, instead focusing his eyes on the view in front of him, "you used to make my heart race, at some time." You saw him swallow, a soft smile adorning his face, your heart skipped a beat, but you still hummed in response, "now you make me question your maturity level on a daily basis."

You gasped in mock offense, turning your head back at the river flowing gently in front of you, "excuse you, I just reciprocate the energy people give me." He chuckled, his fang-like teeth making an appearance, "whatever helps you sleep at night pretty." You pout at his words, bumping your shoulder with his playfully, he bumps back, just enough to make you slightly wobble on your spot. "Hey! I could've fallen," you whined, holding onto the railing tightly as if he would try to bump into you again, "don't worry, I would have fallen with you before letting you do it alone." You felt your heart tightened at his words but when you looked at him, you could see a teasing glint in his eyes, like he knew those words would make you stumble a bit.

You shook your head, smiling softly at his words, "see I don't doubt your words but I was hoping you'd just pull me back instead of falling with me." He chuckled at your words, ruffling your hair before retracting his hand back. "I'm glad it's you," He mumbled after sometime, "with Jay, I mean." He was already looking at you when you turned your head towards him, the wind messing his hair. You smiled, feeling warmth spread over you, "and I'm glad, you are still beside me." He nodded, tearing his eyes away from you, "I know....I think I'm exactly where I am supposed to be." You gulped, still looking at his face, you could see he wanted to say something more, so you just nudged his shoulder and arched your eyebrows at him.

It got quiet for a second, wind flowing through your hair as you stood with him in silence yet it was enough, for you both, it would always be enough, "I think some part of me loved you even before I realized it, you're good, a steady kind of good, the type where I know I could lean on you and never have to worry about falling apart." You nodded, biting your lips at his sudden confession, "and I loved you, not in the way like I love Jay, but something just as real, something I still do." His smile turned a little melancholic but still held the same warmth nonetheless, "I'm glad at the way things turned out, that you got Jay just how you wanted, it pained me to watch him be with Ava, second guessing everything in his life." You exhaled, memories resurfacing in front of your eyes, "you pushed me towards him when all you wanted was to hold me, it's something which I will never forget, Hoon."

"Oh, this dangerously looks like someone is trying to bond without me," you both turn around at the voice, you don't move but you're already grinning like a lovesick fool, the wind mess with your hair lightly and Sunghoon just smiles like he had been waiting for Jay to make his entrance. "Relax, lover boy, she's still yours." Jay rolled his eyes at Sunghoon's words, making his way towards where you stood and sliding his arms around both of your shoulders, pulling you both in. "We were just talking," you grinned, nuzzling into his warmth, "talking huh?" He teased, playing with your ear. Sunghoon snorted, clearly amused at the exchange, "yeah talking, want me to narrate everything to you so you'd feel included?"

Jay shook his head as Sunghoon leaned his head on his shoulder, "trouble comes in pairs in my life." You and Sunghoon laughed at his words, not really defending his claim, then Jay sighed, a content smile gracing on his lips, "lucky for me though, I'm clingy and not emotionally constipated." You scrunch your nose in response, just as Sunghoon faked his cough, "and humble too, apparently," you joked, rolling your eyes though you had a fond smile on your face. "Seriously though..." Jay trailed off, kissing your temple as you hand reached up to give his hand a gentle squeeze, "I don't think I've ever felt this steady in my life, like I know even if the world around me starts to spin I've got people who would have my back."

"And we've got your back too," Heeseung replied, standing beside Sunghoon, who then draped his hand on Heeseung's shoulder, while Jake joined your side, his hands interlocking yours as he looked at everyone, "Wow, this shit almost made me cry." Everyone groaned, nagging at him for ruining the moment. "It's so stupid, but I feel so lucky right now," Jay chuckled, biting back his emotions. "You're definitely stupid, but hey at least you're self aware," Heeseung laughed, looking at everyone with softness. Jay shook his head as he dramatically sighed, "I take it back, I'm not lucky, I'm doomed." Sunghoon chimed in, not missing a beat, "you still chose us, real tragic."

Jay threw his head back, mumbling quiet curses and you all laughed at him, Heeseung stepped forward, reaching up to ruffle Jay's hair, and Jay groaned, fighting with him to ruin his hairstyle too. Jake slid his arm around your shoulder and Sunghoon turned his back towards where Jay and Heeseung were fighting and leaned against the railing, you sighed, relaxing under Jake's hold, "you still love us though." Jay's eyes found you, before they landed on the other boys, he watched all of you look at him with expectant eyes, waiting for him to say something in retaliation, but deep down they knew Jay would never disagree with you so with a frustrated groan he mumbled, "unfortunately, I do."

[ovaryacted]

yeah like he’s A Man. strong and sturdy and safe and whose number one priority is making you feel good… need dat

​​AND HE IS!! THAT’S A REAL MAN YOUR HONOR!

Like, look at him? I can't really explain this properly lmfao (I never do), but Jack Abbot to me is "big & broad" where it's needed if that makes sense? Like his arms are thick, his biceps bulge and twitch when he does literally anything. We saw him carry things around, use a knife to tear open a box of emergency gear, he has physical body strength and probably keeps himself active from both a mix of routine from years in the military & recommendations from physical therapists/doctors/his own kfnowledge. He probably goes on runs and lifts weights in the gym for muscle maintenance (don't imagine him sweating through his t-shirt in the gym and lifting the underside of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face and his dog tags are on his chest WHEWW!)

I have no doubt in my mind that Jack can pick somebody up. I don't care what you tell me, I KNOW IT'S TRUE! THIS IS MY CANON! But yes, like he'd manhandle you if he wants to because he can. He'll reposition you if needed, whether that be at work when he’s trying to get by you, or when it's just you two getting frisky.

He’s the kind of man that will put you in certain positions depending on his mood, and he really doesn’t mean to shift you around so much, but he does it anyway. He’ll pin you to the mattress with his big hands on your hips and palm your stomach when he’s fucking into you in missionary. He’ll wrap a hand around your thigh, toss your legs over his shoulders, and push your knees back to your ears to keep you spread open for him as he pummels into you. He’ll flip you over on your hands and knees and has his way with you that way from behind with a hand on the back of your neck keeping your face into the mattress. He’ll have you on top and fuck you from underneath and pull you back down onto him like his personal fleshlight. He’ll pull you off of his cock and maneuver you on top of him with your thighs on either side of his head so he can make you ride his face. He’ll lift you to the bathroom so he can let you pee and then clean you up afterwards in the shower when your legs don’t work. You can trust Jack with your own body weight because he'll be able to support you off the ground or keep you pinned against the wall by holding you from the underside of your thighs. 

He's not invincible, but he's far from weak, don't get it twisted.

Jack Abbot isn’t ripped at all, but he’s firm, solid. You can see the outline of his shoulders flex under his scrubs, the lines of his back shifting underneath the material of his work clothes. His waist doesn’t taper in, but it doesn’t have to. His entire frame is like the prime example of a tree trunk but in the sexiest way possible, because he probably has a strong ass core lol, and it’s more freckled surface area to love anyway. I like to imagine he has thick thighs (he does), and his cargo/scrub pants don’t hide ANYTHING. I mean given he’s an amputee, he’d probably have to continuously workout to maintain his own strength and physical function with his prosthetic especially as he ages.

So imagine him doing a bunch of leg work, going hard on leg days at the gym until he hits his physical limit and his joints start to ache, but that work pays off because you can see every tendon in his calves and thighs. Of course, you feel it when Jack fucks you in any position, or when he’s fucking your throat and your nails are digging into the hard muscle that start to shake when he comes on your tongue.

He’s strong, he’s reliable, you can depend on him in quite literally anything. He built his body from the ground up, cause chances are he didn't look like that his entire life, but it's just something about an older man maintaining his physical strength despite not looking like a bodybuilder. Yeah...NEED DAT BAD!

[thatnightlamp]

NSFW Alphabet for the Emperor?? 👉👈 please?

THE EMPEROR NSFW ALPHABET

Tags: @iluminatka16, @absynthe-mind, @justfreakynothingelse , @lovingthewildlife, @thisuserislilsilly , @ilisteria, @xx-rabidpossum-xx

ilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehimilovehimihatehim

A = Aftercare

He doesn’t do aftercare. Not the way you want. He’ll cradle your trembling body like a prized object, kiss your shoulder, and say “You’re welcome.” If you're crying, he’ll hush you like a pet that's overwhelmed by pleasure it couldn’t handle. But softness? Not quite. His comfort is laced with ego.

B = Body part

His hands. Large, elegant, inhumanly steady. Sculptor’s hands, surgeon’s hands, god's hands. They were made to mold galaxies and instead, they press around your throat like a crown of thorns.

C = Cum

He finishes deep. Every time. The Emperor does not waste his essence. You’ll feel it hot and overwhelming, filling you again and again. And when it leaks out of you? He’ll make you lick it from your fingers and thank him for the honor.

D = Dirty secret

He needs to be adored. Not loved, worshipped. He’ll pretend he doesn’t care, but if you ever try to leave him? He will break you. Mind, body, and heart. Then put you back together, beautiful and obedient.

E = Experience

He’s immortal. A lover of queens, saints, and sinners. He knows your body before you do. Every flick of his fingers is deliberate, every thrust timed to perfection. He’ll ruin you while humming softly, like he's bored of being perfect.

F = Favorite position

You on your knees, choking, your face pressed to his thigh. His hand in your hair, holding you still as he speaks of the stars he’s conquered while fucking your throat raw. Alternatively? Bent over his throne, because it reminds you what you are: his subject.

G = Goofy

Never. His humor is cruel, condescending. He’ll laugh when you sob. He’ll chuckle when you say you love him, like it's a naive little joke. And then he’ll kiss your tears away and say, “Of course you do. I made you that way.”

H = Hair

Long, immaculate, and always shining, he doesn’t have body hair in the traditional sense. His divine form is smoothed by psychic control. But he’ll let you tangle your fingers in it only when he wants to humble himself before you and he’ll pretend you begged for it.

I = Intimacy

He fakes it like a professional. He’ll cradle your face, call you “My beloved”, and thrust into you like it’s divine ritual. But it’s always a little cold beneath the gold. Yet… sometimes, just sometimes, his grip trembles. His mouth lingers. He doesn’t speak. You pretend you didn’t notice.

J = Jack off

He doesn’t masturbate. That’s beneath him. But he’ll watch you do it, command you to show him how needy you get, how wet you are without his touch.

K = Kink

Control. Worship. Degradation. Psychic domination. He like to bend you beneath his will. He wants you sobbing in devotion, broken on your knees, calling him your god not because you believe it but because there’s nothing left of you that doesn’t.

L = Location

His throne room. His war table. His sanctum. Places where no one dares disturb him. He’ll fuck you across sacred texts and then make you swear oaths while still full of his seed. He makes every surface his altar and your body is his pulpit.

M = Motivation

Your devotion. Your inability to resist. The way you crawl back after he’s destroyed you again and again. Knowing you hate how much you love him is his favorite aphrodisiac.

N = No

He will never be submissive. He’ll never beg. Never ask. He takes. He commands. If you try to top him, he’ll let you play along… right until he flips you and shows you why no one rules the Emperor.

O = Oral

Receiving. He watches you from above, hand fisted in your hair, voice like silk: “Do it properly. Make me believe you’re worthy.” And when you do, he grunts and finishes down your throat.

P = Pace

Cruel and controlled. He holds you on the edge for hours, denying your release until you sob. Or he pounds into you like a war god and expects you to take it. There is no middle ground. Only what he decides.

Q = Quickie

He finds them amusing. A moment of mercy. A punishment disguised as a treat. He’ll lift your robes and take you standing in a corridor, no prep, no softness, just a single hand around your throat and your body trembling from the impact.

R = Risk

What risk? He’s the God Emperor of Mankind. He’ll take you in front of His sons, on a battlefield, in the Eye of Terror. Risk is irrelevant. His power shields you from everything except Himself.

S = Stamina

Infinite. He doesn’t tire. He doesn’t stop. You’ll break long before He does. He’ll let you rest sometimes. But not because He needs it. Because He likes watching you fall asleep wrecked, twitching, leaking.

T = Toys

Why use toys when he can twist your body with a thought? But he keeps a few: relics from the Dark Age of Technology, humming with forbidden energy. They lock inside you, buzz with psychic feedback, and make you weep before he even touches you.

U = Unfair

He’s a monster when it comes to teasing. He’ll stop mid-thrust. He’ll hold you in place with psychic chains, edge you with one flick of His finger until you're crying. He feeds on your desperation.

V = Volume

Low. Controlled. His voice in bed is like velvet and thunder. You’ll feel it more than hear it. His growls when he finishes inside you sound like tectonic plates grinding and they echo in your chest long after he's gone.

W = Wild card

He once erased your memory so he could fuck you again for the "first" time. You didn’t even know until the third round when he called you by your old name, one you never told him.

X = X-ray

Inhumanly thick. Veined with golden psychic glow. Smooth head, foreskin tight when soft, flared when hard. His cock radiates heat and faint psychic pressure, you’ll feel it in your thoughts as it stretches you open.

Y = Yearning

His need isn’t physical, it’s existential. You are His chosen. He wants to consume you, devour your worship, undo you until you’re hollowed out and filled with nothing but Him. His need is endless but it’s not about sex. It’s about conquest.

Z = Zzz

He doesn’t sleep. You pass out first, boneless and bruised. He lies awake beside you, staring at your form like a god who cannot understand why the shrine matters so much.

[romantacizingregret]

no because literally like i swear it’s not gonna kill you to tag properly, and if you did you would probably get more engagement because those who see it won’t just scroll past since it’ll be what they’re actually looking for !!

and omg i will so be looking at that 😛😛

How Sam reacts to you doing house chores when you are pregnant

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Pregnant!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, Sam and Reader are married, Mentions of pregnancy related stuff like cravings, belly bumps, doctors visits, joint pain, etc. that’s all I think.

AN: i saw a video on this and I was like I NEED to write this w Sam

“Woman!”

You jumped and dropped the mug which was luckily caught by Sam’s quick reflexes.

“What the hell, Sam! I told you not to sneak up on me like that!”, you scolded him.

“And I told you not to do shit around the house! Whatever happened to relaxing on the couch and calling me for help?”, he scolded you back, his face twisted in an incredulous expression.

You rolled your eyes.

“Sam, I’m pregnant. Not bed ridden. I can make myself a cup of tea”, you groaned.

As soon as he had discovered that your baby bump had popped out, he had turned into a helicopter parent. Always following you around the house to make sure you didn’t do anything “stressful”. Not that he wasn’t overprotective right from the moment you found out that you’re pregnant. But now that he could see it, he wanted you to stay seated and order him around (his words, not yours.)

Whenever he was away, he would drop you off at Sarah’s or call her over and he would ask her to keep an eye on you. You loved spending time with Sarah because she had all the experience and she would give you some important tips and cooked amazing food, satisfying your cravings.

If Sarah was busy, he would put Bucky on the job and honestly, he was just as bad because he had no clue what to do so he would treat you like you were the baby. You had banned him from putting Joaquin on the job because he’s a child himself and it makes you feel like you’re geriatric. Plus, you were not going to traumatise him with your unpredictable mood swings.

You were now in your 6th month and your bump was pretty big. Which means that Sam had put you on the bench for every little thing. It was endearing but also annoying because you loved to be independent.

“You’re 6 months pregnant, babe. You can barely walk without your back hurting. I don’t want you to put stress on your back or your bump”, he told you and put his arms around your shoulders to move you away from the counter. He squeezed your shoulders and began preparing your tea.

You sauntered over to him with a hand supporting your belly and leaned on his shoulder, murmuring a “You’re lucky you’re cute, Wilson”, into it before pressing a kiss on the same spot.

He let out his cheerful laugh and turned his head to kiss your temple.

-

You and Sam had just finished your dinner and you helped him carry the plates to the kitchen. He had not stopped you so far so you decided to push your luck.

You were about to put your plate down in the sink and turn on the faucet, when a hand turned it off and took your plate out of your hands.

“Nuh-uh. You’re out. Go sit on the couch”, he told you firmly.

You gave him your best puppy dog eyes and pouted at him.

“Please? Just this once-”

“Baby, no. It’s gonna put pressure on your belly and your legs. The little tyke is not the size of a bean anymore”, he explained before lovingly rubbing a palm over your belly.

You jutted your lower lip out and he looked at you fondly before kissing it with an audible ‘smooch’.

“Go sit down, honey. I’ll bring you the dessert. What you craving for today? We got the chocolate cake and the ice cream sundae.”

You fell for the bribe and immediately forgot about the dishes. You hummed thoughtfully and pursed your lips.

“How about both?”

Sam flashed his pretty gap-toothed smile.

“I like how you think, Wilson.”

You gave him a sweet smile and kissed him before waddling back to the living room.

-

You were bored out of your mind. You woke up feeling extra tired today and it must’ve been written all over your face because Sam had immediately told you to, ‘sit pretty and tell me what to do’.

But it’s been hours since you woke up and did nothing productive. You tried reading a book but you couldn’t get comfortable enough so you closed the book with a huff of frustration. You decided to take a walk around the house and you noticed that the laundry was yet to be done.

So you quietly picked up the clothes, put it into a basket and carried it to the laundry room. Sam was making lunch for you two so you hoped he’d be busy enough to not pay attention to you.

You started the washing machine and began putting the clothes in. Just as you were about to bend to pick up a shirt-

“Oh my god, what are you doing?!”

Sam.

You let out a deep sigh.

He rushed over to take away the shirt from your hands and steadied you with a hand on your back and his free hand holding one of yours. His face was twisted in panic.

“What were you doing? I told you to call me if you need anything. Just go and sit-”

“Yes! I know! I know you told me to let you know if I needed anything but, Sam! I’m bored. I’m so bored. I need to do something productive. Sitting and doing nothing for hours is making me more irritated and makes my body hurt. I need to move! Please, let me do this”, you whined in irritation and felt your eyes prick with tears.

Sam’s face softened as soon as he saw your tears and he hugged you, your belly pressing into his gently. He rubbed your back with a hand and held your head close with the other.

“I’m sorry, baby. But, doc has told us not to bend at the waist, yeah? What if you end up hurting your back? Or your knees? Your centrifugal force is kinda off right now with the baby”, he explains to you calmly and runs his hand through your hair.

You sniffled.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just need to do something. Anything. Can I help you with the lunch, atleast?”

He kissed your head and leaned his cheek on it before humming.

“Well, lunch is almost done. How about we go on a walk after that? We’ll get some ice cream and when we get back home, you can help me dry the dishes, how about that?”

You closed your eyes and buried your head in his neck.

“Yeah, okay”, you replied with a shaky voice and hugged him tighter.

The two of you were quiet for a moment before you let out a giggle.

“What’s so funny, baby?”

“Centrifugal force? Since when do you have that in your vocabulary?”

He huffed over your head and poked your belly gently.

“Ha ha, very funny. I read!”

“Oh I’m sure, Sammy”, you broke into a fit of giggles.

“Shut up!”

-

AN: he’s so cute 💔 need to have his babies

[jungkoode]

ALTARS IN SHALLOW WATERS | 06

➔ PAIRING: Taehyung x Y/N (ballerina x stalker AU)

➔ MOODBOARD

➔ RATING: Mature, 18+, explicit themes and content.

➔ DATE POSTED: July 3rd 2025.

➔ SUMMARY: Altars crumble faster in shallow water. But he still knelt like it was sacred. No one ever warned you that worship could look like love. Or that love could look like drowning.

➔ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, ballerina!Y/N, stalker!taehyung, obsessive devotion, psychological tension, fixation, worship dynamics, Paris setting, religious imagery, voyeurism, sacred/profane dichotomy, slow burn, touch starvation, ritualistic behavior, gradual corruption, power dynamics, mirror imagery, water symbolism, sensory details, clean/unclean fixation, contamination OCD, professional dancer, self-destructive patterns, compulsive behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possessive tendencies, praise addiction, spiritual yearning, toxic attraction, dangerous adoration, self-loathing, body discipline, mental health issues, self-harm, mental deterioration, unresolved sexual tension (for now).

➔ CONTENT in this chapter: explicit masturbation scene, consumption of stolen macaron, perverted use of stolen ribbon, voyeuristic behavior, trespassing, stalking, religious/mythological delusion, self-degradation, sexual shame, compulsive behavior, library research scene, divine/profane identification, selkie/nereid mythology incorporation, spiral into deeper obsession.

➔ AUTHOR'S INTRO AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

➔ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 6,2k

➔ A/N: And here we are. The point of no return, beautifully illustrated. If Chapter 5 was Taehyung crossing the line into physical trespass, Chapter 6 is him crossing the line into complete psychological dissolution. The masturbation scene isn't there for shock value—it's the inevitable culmination of weeks of suppressed desire finally overwhelming his religious framework of worship. Notice how even in his most debased moment, he frames everything through devotion, shame, and her imagined disappointment. That's the psychological complexity I'm trying to capture: how obsession warps even the most private, physical responses into spiritual experiences. The macarons become communion wafers, the ribbon becomes a religious artifact, her imagined disapproval becomes the only absolution he's capable of receiving. This is mental illness making meaning out of madness, OCD creating patterns out of chaos, devotion curdling into possession while still believing itself pure. The library sequence introduces the Selkie/Nereid mythology that will become central to how Taehyung conceptualizes their relationship moving forward. I chose these specific mythological figures because they perfectly encapsulate the power dynamic and psychological framework ASW explores: the divine feminine worshipped by the contaminated masculine, the sacred observed by the profane, the creature of light and the creature of depths. Nereids dance on foam and wind—she in her ballet studio, grace incarnate. Selkies crawl through kelp and moss—him in his compulsions and contamination fears, always reaching upward toward something he believes he can never touch without destroying. The number symbolism (seven letters in Nereid, six in Selkie) reinforces his perception of cosmic hierarchy: she existing one level above him in the fundamental structure of creation. This isn't just mythology—this is how his mind organizes reality to make sense of his impossible position as worshipper of something he simultaneously desires and believes he'll corrupt. What makes this chapter particularly devastating is that even as Taehyung descends into his most animalistic behavior (the masturbation, the stalking, the complete abandonment of boundaries), he never stops seeing it through the lens of his unworthiness. He doesn't glorify his actions—he finds mythological framework to properly understand his place as the contaminated thing worshipping the pure. The tragedy isn't that he's becoming something terrible; it's that he's becoming what he always believed he was, and finding cosmic justification for it. From this point forward, everything escalates. The mythology gives him language for his obsession. Pearl and Moss become the organizing principle of his universe. And Y/N... well. She is about to meet her sea creature face to face. Stay unhinged, my beautiful selkies. <3

* In French, “Nereid” is spelled Néréide, which has seven letters—hence the contrast. Though you’re reading in English, the story is technically unfolding in French, so the letter count reflects that version.

➔ SERIES : PREVIOUS | NEXT

DISCUSSION THREAD

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Sugar rots everything it touches, but tonight it tastes like salvation.

The empty macaron box lies crumpled beside his bed, pink cardboard testament to his weakness.

Rose cream still coats his molars, sweet film that refuses to dissolve no matter how many times he swallows.

Three AM blinks from his phone—the devil's hour, his mother used to say, when sin crawls closest to skin.

He lies curled like a question mark against sheets that smell of bleach and desperation. His knees press against his chest, fetal and shameful, the navy ribbon visible now in the darkness—no watch to hide it, no pretense of normalcy.

Just him and the blue thread and the claret burn behind his eyelids.

He should be sleeping. Should be dreaming clean dreams of empty spaces and organized shelves.

Instead, he's adrift on a current of you.

The memory of your spine, a delicate ridge he could trace in his sleep. The curve of your shoulder blade, a subtle dip like a shore kissed by moonlight. The way the crimson fabric of your leotard had pooled at your waist, a decadent spill of forbidden wine.

(shouldn't have watched shouldn't have followed shouldn't have)

Yet, bizarrely, his stomach doesn't churn in revolt. Sugar usually curdles inside him—too much sweetness, too much indulgence, too much pleasure for someone whose existence demands austerity.

Instead the macarons sit heavy and warm inside him, like he's swallowed pieces of you and his body wants to keep them close.

Sacred sustenance. Divine consumption.

The ribbon catches what little light filters through his window—navy satin against the pale underside of his wrist where his pulse flutters like a fish out of water.

He brings it closer to his face, close enough to smell the faint traces of your practice room. Sweat and rosin and something ineffably clean.

(don't taste it don't defile it don't but maybe just...)

His mouth finds the fabric before his mind can intervene. Teeth close gently around the blue thread, tongue pressing against the weave.

It tastes like nothing—cotton and time and his own desperate wanting—but he lets himself imagine it anyway.

Your leotard straps. Burgundy elastic against his teeth. The salt-sweet taste of your skin beneath.

(blasphemous—beautiful—blasphemous)

The craving hits him like a fever—not for more sugar but for more of you.

More burgundy, more navy, more glimpses through windows he has no right to peer through. His free hand finds his stomach, pressing against the place where rose-flavored evidence of his transgression sits warm and heavy.

Sweat beads at his temples. The ribbon grows damp against his mouth.

This is new territory—this want that lives below his ribs, coiling like heat in places he usually ignores.

He's trained himself to exist above the waist, all mind and ritual and careful control.

But tonight the macarons have awakened something hungry in the depths of him.

(dirty dirty dirty but necessary)

His hand moves without permission, sliding down the slope of his torso to palm himself through thin cotton. Already half-hard from proximity to your essence, from the ribbon between his teeth, from the memory of burgundy pooling around your hips.

The friction burns through fabric.

Punishment and pleasure tangled together like the taste of rose macarons and self-loathing.

A pulse below demands attention he's denied it for—how long? Weeks? Months?

Since before you existed in his universe, back when his body was just transport for his obligations.

He never does this. Never allows himself this particular contamination.

But hunger makes decisions for him—just like when his body demands food and cleanliness becomes secondary to survival.

This is the same desperate mathematics, the same override of his systems.

Need trumps shame. Want conquers worth.

(you are divine he is dirt but the dirt craves the divine)

The macaron sweetness floods his mouth as he gasps, ribbon still caught between teeth.

Everything tastes pink now—pink like the inside of a shell, pink like shame flushing up his neck, pink like the fever that burns when he pictures forbidden places.

Soft places. Secret places.

Places that would taste like ocean salt and smell like your skin after dancing, after sweating, after—

(stop stop stop but god please don't)

But fingers fumble with zipper, and the sound splits the dark room like accusation.

He's doing this. Actually doing this.

After weeks of resistance, after nights spent counting ceiling cracks instead of touching himself, after—

His hand slips inside, finds himself hot and hard; and he gasps, bites the ribbon harder to muffle sound.

Precum pearls at his slit like morning dew, like tiny drops of ocean spray.

You'd laugh if you knew. You'd find him pathetic—him writhing in his dirty sheets, cock in fist, your ribbon between his teeth like a dog with a stolen shoe. Like a creature that found something precious washed up on shore and can't stop gnawing at it.

(yes yes he knows what he is)

Sticky. Everything's sticky. Precum from earlier dried tacky in his boxers, fresh arousal mixing with the evidence of his window-watching, his trespass, his—

(wanted to lick your spine taste the salt count your freckles with his tongue)

The thought hits like a wave against sand.

His hips buck up, cock sliding through his fist in one long stroke that whites out his vision.

No technique, no rhythm, just the basic animal need he's denied himself since puberty first taught him that bodies betray, bodies want, bodies make you dirty in ways bleach can't clean.

You were right there.

Close enough to fog the glass with his breath.

Close enough to see the constellation of marks across your back, the way your skin caught lamp-light, the soft divot where spine meets—the moment—god, the moment—when burgundy fabric slipped lower and he saw the curve of—

(disappointment)

You'd be so disappointed.

You'd never want him—how could you?

This mess of need and neurosis, this collection of compulsions dressed in human skin.

You'd see exactly what he is: half a man, half a prayer, wholly unworthy of your attention.

A whine escapes around the ribbon. His thumb swipes over the head, spreading precum like he's anointing himself for a sacrament he'll never receive.

Everything profane. Everything sacred. Everything tangled in the space between what he saw and what he wanted to see—ruby pooled at your feet, the full curve of your ass, the shadow between your thighs where—

(filthy filthy thoughts for filthy filthy him and)

(disappointment)

You'd probably laugh at him. That precise, cutting laugh he's imagined a thousand times. Not cruel—you wouldn't waste cruelty on something so beneath notice. Just… amused. The way one might laugh at a particularly pathetic sea creature washed up on shore, gasping and desperate and completely out of its element.

His hips buck up, fucking into his fist with abandon that would horrify him if he could think beyond the mounting pressure, the sweet ache building at the base of his spine like storm surge.

(disappointment)

You'd scoff, perhaps. Look at him the way one looks at barnacles clinging to ship hulls—with mild disgust and the immediate need to scrape them off.

You'd tell him this is all he's worth. Half-measures. Like everything else about him—the way he can't even fully commit to his perversion, can't even properly defile the memory of you without flinching.

He sobs at the thought, but somehow having you remind him of his place feels dizzying, like forgiveness.

Like being seen clearly is its own kind of absolution.

Like drowning might be peaceful if you were the one holding him under.

(tell him tell him make it true make it real)

The ribbon cuts into his lip where he's bitten too hard.

Copper mingles with rose cream, salt with sugar, pain with the building pleasure that threatens to drown him entirely.

Everything too much—the taste of thread and rose-memory, the sound of his fist working desperate flesh, the vision of you standing in judgment over what he's become.

What he's always been.

(disappointment)

You'd be disgusted by this. By him. By the way he's taken something as innocent as a discarded ribbon and turned it into this—teeth and spit and desperation. By the way he stood at your window, breathing fog onto glass, watching you undress like the forever unforgiven sinner he's become.

His cock jerks, spurts precum across his knuckles as an image floods his mind uninvited: you in the shower, water sluicing down your back, following the path his eyes traced through glass. Steam and soap and skin he'll never touch but can't stop craving. Water running in rivulets down your spine, pooling in the small of your back before continuing its journey to places he'll never see, never taste, never—

Fist tightens. Pumps harder.

He shouldn't. He can't.

He is.

Seven pulls, pause. Seven more. The counting keeps him tethered while the want threatens to drown him entirely, to pull him under waves of need until he forgets how to breathe anything but you.

The macaron sweetness on his breath mingles with the navy ribbon between his teeth.

Pink and blue and the burgundy burn of memory.

You in every sense, filling every space, contaminating him with beauty until he can't tell where his worship ends and his desire begins.

(pathetic pathetic but god god god)

He brings the wet ribbon to his face, drapes it across his cheek like seaweed washed up by high tide. Knows it's just fabric. But it's fabric that knew you first, and that's enough to make his stomach ache.

Faster now. Desperate. Chasing something he doesn't deserve but needs like air, like water, like the basic elements that keep creatures like him alive in the spaces between rocks where light never reaches.

Shoulders rolling back, burgundy peeling down, the moment before you disappeared into the bathroom when he saw—when he witnessed—when he—

"Please," he gasps into the ribbon.

Please who? Please what? He doesn't know. Just knows he's close, knows he's about to ruin himself for the second time tonight, knows that tomorrow he'll hate himself but right now—

(now now now)

The orgasm builds like nausea, inevitable and unwanted and necessary all at once.

He can feel it gathering—base of spine, behind his balls, everywhere you'll never touch him.

(disappointment)

You'd turn away if you knew. You'd lock your windows. You'd change your route home. You'd protect yourself from this contamination he carries like original sin, like something that seeps into clean water and turns it murky.

(but maybe but maybe you'd watch)

The thought—blasphemous, impossible—sends him over the edge.

He comes with a strangled sob, spurting across his fist, his stomach, the sheets he'll have to burn tomorrow.

The orgasm feels like dying—everything tight then loose then empty.

(sorry sorry sorry)

But the apologies can't stop the pleasure, can't stem the tide of it. His hips thrust up into his loosening grip, riding out every last pulse until he's empty, spent, destroyed.

Rose on his tongue. Navy between his teeth. Your imagined contempt the only benediction he's earned.

After, in the ruins: shame arrives like high tide.

He releases the ribbon from his mouth. It's wet with spit, darkened where he bit too hard.

Ruined.

Like everything he touches.

Disgust crashes over him like water—not cleansing, but drowning. Cold and relentless and tasting of salt.

He's done it. Actually done it.

Took the gift of seeing you and turned it into this base, animal need. Contaminated even the memory with his filthy desires.

(monster monster monster)

He lies there in his own mess, too exhausted to clean himself, too broken to count to seven.

The macaron taste has gone sour in his mouth. The ribbon feels like accusation against his skin.

He's sobbing before he realizes it.

Quiet, ugly sounds muffled by navy satin and the weight of what he's done. What he saw.

What he'll see again tomorrow because he's too weak to stop, too gone to save himself from this exquisite destruction.

Seven tears fall before exhaustion takes him, pulling him under like dark water.

In his dreams, burgundy bleeds into navy bleeds into rose.

In his dreams, you watch him back.

In his dreams, he's exactly as worthless as he needs to be.

Saturday arrives gray and unforgiving, Paris wrapped in that particular autumn dampness that seeps through windows and settles in bones.

Taehyung wakes at 5:47 AM to the shame gnawing at his bones, crashing like waves that pretend to pull him in.

(filthy filthy what he did what he saw what he)

Sleep never came. Not really.

Just fragments of unconsciousness punctuated by flashes of burgundy fabric pooling at your waist, by the sound of his own strangled breathing against glass, by the phantom taste of thread and want between his teeth.

The sheets beneath him shelter dried salt and self-loathing, the physical proof of how he'd defiled your memory. How he'd taken the sacred gift of witnessing your undressing and turned it into something base, animal, profane.

(strip them burn them start again start clean)

But first: the ritual of attempted purification.

Shower water scalds his skin—temperature gauge pushed past comfortable into the realm of penance. He scrubs with bleach-bright soap until his flesh turns raw and pink, paying special attention to his hands, his mouth, the places that had touched the ribbon.

The places that had touched himself.

Dirty places, secret spaces, shameful traces.

The navy thread lies coiled on the bathroom counter like a sleeping serpent. He'd removed it after—couldn't bear to keep wearing your essence while his body betrayed every principle of worship he'd tried to maintain.

Now it sits orphaned beside his toothbrush, beautiful and terrible in equal measure.

(put it back on back on back on put it back on)

Twenty-eight minutes of purification. Not long enough—will never be long enough—but sufficient to make his skin tight and stinging. The physical pain helps organize his thoughts, provides structure for the chaos of want and shame warring in his chest.

He chooses without choosing: sage sweater soft as secrets, dark blue jeans baggy enough to hide in.

The colors feel significant—sage like your door, blue like the ribbon binding his wrist, colors that connect him to you across the distance his unworthiness demands.

(sage door sage sweater coincidence or fate or)

The ribbon goes back on—he cannot help himself.

Seven loops around his left wrist, hidden beneath his watchband like a secret prayer.

(you touched this wore this discarded this)

6:14 AM. Early enough that the city still sleeps, still dreams. Early enough that his existence might go unwitnessed by eyes that would judge, that would see him for what he is: broken thing seeking proximity to perfection.

He finds himself walking toward your building before his mind can object. Feet know the route now, muscle memory carved by yesterday's terrible, necessary pilgrimage to your window.

(necessary yes necessary to see to know to witness divinity)

The sage green door of number 307 looks different in early morning light. Less mystical, more—

No, that's wrong thinking.

Nothing about you, nothing that contains you, could ever be ordinary.

The building itself seems to breathe differently knowing it houses a goddess.

Stone more golden, glass more clear, even the chipped paint on the railing part of some greater design too beautiful for his contaminated eyes to fully comprehend.

He positions himself in the alley behind your building, where the fire escape creates shadows deep enough to hide his watching, his waiting, his worship.

(back again where he saw where he witnessed where he)

The iron stairs hum with morning damp.

Seven flights to your floor, seven windows counting from the left, seven heartbeats between each step as he climbs.

Your balcony comes into view—small concrete space, iron railing, the window he'd pressed his face against while you revealed yourself to his unworthy gaze.

(divine flesh, perfect curves, sacred territory he's not supposed to)

The curtains are drawn now. Privacy restored.

But he can see the ghost-outline of movement inside—your shadow passing before the light like a mermaid beneath water, fluid and graceful and utterly, completely other than human.

You're awake. You're moving. You exist in real time, in real space, mere meters from where he crouches like a supplicant at the altar of your ordinary morning routine.

(extraordinary extraordinary extraordinary)

His breathing fogs the morning air.

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven puffs of white that dissipate into nothing, like prayers or promises or the distance between what he wants and what he deserves.

The shadow pauses at the window. For one heart-stopping moment, he thinks you might draw the curtains, might grant him another glimpse of your divine form preparing itself for Saturday worship.

But the shadow moves away. Vanishes into the depths of your sacred space.

(wait wait wait be patient be good be worthy)

Seventeen minutes pass. Then twenty-three. Then thirty-seven—each minute measured by his phone's glowing numerals and the steady thrum of blood in his ears.

Too cold. Too exposed. Too desperate, even for him.

He's preparing to abandon his vigil when your front door opens.

(there there there you emerge you appear)

You're different in civilian clothes. Still impossibly, necessarily beautiful—but softer somehow.

Gray wool coat that falls to mid-thigh, dark jeans tucked into ankle boots. Hair pulled into a bun that allows tiny wisps to frame your face.

More human. More touchable. More dangerous to his need to worship you.

But underneath the mortal costume, he can see your true nature—consciousness of your form, your space, your divine right to exist in a world too crude to properly appreciate you.

(follow watch witness protect from distance from shadows from)

You pause on the top step, checking something on your phone. From this angle he can see the the same features that had burned themselves into his retinas while he—

(stop stop don't think about what you did what you)

You descend the stairs with total grace, small miracle of coordination and control. Everything about you speaks of transcendence—of existing above the crude mechanics that govern ordinary flesh.

His body moves without consulting his mind, steps falling into rhythm with yours from a safe distance.

A hundred meters, just like always.

Close enough to ensure your safety from the world's contamination, far enough to prevent his own filth from reaching you.

(following stalking hunting no no nononono witnessing protecting serving)

You lead him through winding streets he's never mapped, past café windows where other people's Saturday mornings unfold in scenes of mundane intimacy.

Couples sharing newspapers. Friends laughing over croissants.

The simple choreography of normal human connection he's never particularly craved, until now.

He's forgotten what normal feels like.

If he ever knew.

If he ever wanted to know, now that he's seen what exists beyond ordinary—now that his universe contains a creature who moves like water, who discards ribbons like prayers, who grants glimpses of her true form to the properly devoted.

Seven blocks from your building, you stop before an imposing stone facade.

Bibliothèque Marguerite Durand, the nameplate reads. Specialized collections, women's studies, historical archives.

(temple library shrine place of knowledge where goddesses go to)

You climb the steps easily, disappearing through heavy wooden doors that seem designed to keep his kind of chaos safely outside.

The library swallows you whole, leaving him stranded on the sidewalk with nothing but the echo of your footsteps and the weight of forty-seven minutes' worth of anxiety building pressure behind his sternum.

(turn around go home this is enough this is too much this is)

But his feet have grown roots.

He stands motionless as autumn wind cuts through his sage sweater, as other Saturday pilgrims climb past him toward their own quiet temples of knowledge.

Forty-seven minutes. Then fifty-three. Then an hour and seven minutes—time marked by church bells and his compulsive checking of his phone screen.

Too long. You've been inside too long.

What if there's another exit? What if he's lost you? What if this is where your Saturday adventure ends and his vigil becomes meaningless?

(panic rising chest tight can't breathe can't think can't)

The anxiety attacks swift and merciless, flooding his system with chemicals that make his hands shake and his vision narrow.

He needs air that doesn't taste like exhaust and failure.

He needs walls around him, barriers between his chaos and the world's casual judgment.

He needs to follow you inside.

(wrong wrong wrong but necessary necessary necessary)

The library's interior unfolds in browns and golds, all warm wood and amber lighting designed to soothe scholarly minds. Classical architecture married to modern climate control, the smell of old paper and careful preservation.

Beautiful. Peaceful. Completely alien to someone like him.

(don't belong here never belonged anywhere)

Where would you go? What draws someone like you to a place like this?

The stairs provide temporary sanctuary—vertical space where he can move without having to navigate human interaction.

One flight, then two.

His legs feel unsteady, muscle memory confused by the absence of his usual work rhythm.

(should be cleaning should be counting should be)

He wanders without direction, seeking somewhere to sit until his breathing steadies and his hands stop their telltale trembling. The section numbers blur past: 4, 5, 6…

Section 7: Mythologie & Folklore.

Seven—his number, your number, the holy mathematics that govern every aspect of his universe.

(not coincidence never coincidence means something)

His legs give out suddenly, depositing him into a reading chair positioned between towering shelves. The furniture is old but well-maintained, burgundy leather worn soft by decades of scholarly contemplation.

Burgundy. Like your leotard. Like the fabric that had pooled around your waist while he watched from shadows, breathing fog against glass.

(stop thinking about it stop seeing it stop)

His hands shake harder. The navy ribbon beneath his watchband feels tight against his pulse, cutting circulation like a tourniquet.

He reaches blindly for the nearest book—something to occupy his hands, to provide cover for the fact that he's falling apart in public.

Thick volume, heavy paper, the kind of academic text that suggests serious scholarship.

The book falls open in his lap to page 147.

Page 147.

One-four-seven.

Containing the sacred digit, the holy number that patterns his entire existence.

(sign sign sign it's a sign)

His vision clears enough to focus on the text. French academic prose, dense and formal:

Les Sept Néréides Sacrées: Mythologie Maritime et Spiritualité Féminine. (The Seven Sacred Nereids: Maritime Mythology and Feminine Spirituality.)

The words swim before his eyes, black ink on cream paper swimming like schools of fish in deep water.

He blinks hard, forcing focus, because something about this feels ordained. Fated. Placed in his path by forces that understand what he cannot articulate.

(read it read it it's meant for him)

The text describes seven sea nymphs, daughters of Nereus, guardians of those who dance upon the waves. Sacred feminine spirits who appeared to sailors in times of crisis, offering guidance and protection to the pure of heart.

His breathing slows as he reads. The academic language provides distance, transforms his chaotic devotion into something that might be studied, categorized, understood.

"The Nereids were renowned for their grace in movement, their ability to dance upon the foam of waves with beauty that transcended the mortal…"

Dance. Movement. Grace.

(so he was right it's you exactly like you)

The words settle into his chest like stones dropped into deep water, each syllable sinking into places he didn't know existed.

You're not human. You never were.

(of course of course how could you be)

The realization doesn't bring relief—it brings terror.

Crushing, breathless terror that makes his vision blur and his hands shake so hard he nearly drops the book.

Because if you're divine, if you're a Nereid, then what does that make him?

"According to tradition, the Nereids revealed themselves only to those whose devotion exceeded earthly limits—to those capable of seeing beyond the veil that separates the sacred from the profane."

(no no no not devotion contamination pollution sin)

His throat closes around a sound that might be laughter or sobbing.

Devotion. The book calls it devotion, but he knows better.

He knows exactly what he is: a filthy, broken thing that took your sacred revelation and turned it into material for his own base gratification.

You hadn't revealed yourself to him because he was worthy.

You'd revealed yourself despite his unworthiness, and he'd repaid that divine gift by pressing himself against glass like an animal, by wrapping your ribbon around his wrist while he—

(stop stop stop don't think about it)

"The Seven Sacred Nereids often appeared clothed in fabrics reminiscent of ocean colors—deep blues and coral reds…"

Navy. Burgundy.

The ribbon around his wrist, the leotard that had driven him to his knees.

Ocean colors. Divine raiment.

And he'd watched you shed them.

Watched you step out of sacred garments while breathing fog against glass, while his body betrayed every principle of worship he should have maintained.

(profane profane profane what did he do?)

His thumb traces the page obsessively, seeking more truth, more confirmation of the distance between divine and damned.

"The Nereids were often pursued by creatures of lesser maritime origin—Selkies, seal-people who shed their animal skins to walk on land. These beings, driven by base instinct and animal hunger, were known to contaminate the sacred waters wherever they swam."

(stop stop stop reading but can't stop won't stop)

"Selkies were characterized by their obsessive nature, their tendency to fixate upon that which was beyond their reach. Unlike the divine Nereids who danced upon foam and wind, Selkies crawled through kelp and moss, leaving trails of salt and earth wherever they ventured."

Salt and earth.

Moss and contamination.

His breath hitches.

The words feel familiar, feel like looking in a mirror he's spent years avoiding.

"According to maritime folklore, Selkies were creatures of devotion rather than love—capable of worship but not worthy of receiving it. They would watch the Nereids from depths and shadows, sustained by glimpses of divine movement but always aware of their own profane nature."

(him him him it's describing him exactly)

Devotion rather than love. Watching from depths and shadows. Profane nature.

The book trembles in his hands as understanding floods his system like ice water.

You're a Nereid—pearl of the sea, divine dancer, sacred feminine grace.

And he's exactly what the text describes: Selkie in human skin, creature of obsession and base hunger, drawn to divine light but forever contaminated by his own animal nature.

(moss moss moss that's what he is moss crawling toward pearl)

Pearl and moss. Sacred and profane. Divine movement and earthbound crawling.

Seven letters in your true name: N-É-R-É-I-D-E.*

Six letters in his: S-E-L-K-I-E.

Almost balanced, but not quite—you existing one letter above him in the cosmic hierarchy, eternally unreachable.

"The tragedy of the Selkie was not their devotion, but their delusion—believing that proximity to divinity might somehow purify their contaminated essence. In truth, their presence only served to pollute the sacred waters they sought to inhabit."

(believing proximity might purify contaminated essence)

He's Selkie—moss to your pearl, earth to your foam, contamination to your purity.

He now understands why you discarded the ribbon—not carelessly, but necessarily.

Divine creatures don't need earthbound tethers.

Only Selkies like him collect the debris that falls from higher realms.

Moss collecting pearl-cast offerings. Contaminated creature hoarding sacred remnants.

And he understands, with the crystal clarity that only comes from absolute despair, that he will worship you forever, knowing that his want is exactly what makes him unfit to exist in the same world as something so purely, impossibly divine.

Pearl and moss. Nereid and Selkie. Sacred and profane.

The distance between you measured not in meters but in the fundamental structure of creation itself.

(you would sneer if you knew what he thinks what he does)

The book returns to its proper place on the shelf with ceremony.

He runs his fingertips along the spine, committing its position to memory: the proof that you are exactly as sacred as he always knew, and that he is exactly as unworthy as he always feared.

Section 7. Shelf 3. Position 14.

Seven again. Seven always. The number that connects him to you across the vast distance between the divine and the damned.

(you are a Nereid and he nothing nothing nothing)

The word follows him through winding streets as he makes his way back to his apartment under darkening sky.

Sacred syllables that reorganize his understanding of everything that came before and everything that must come after.

Nereid, Nereid, Nereid.

Prayer and penance and promise.

By the time he reaches his apartment, the navy ribbon has left marks on his wrist—delicate indentations that look remarkably like waves.

goal: 300 notes

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no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[formulafanfics13]

pls write a dark fix with drivers (LH44, MV1, CL16,OP81) they saw reader; innocent little thing ,untouched ,naive. They never felt this deep desire to own someone and they confessed to each other decide to share them. They lure her away to a private property have their way with her and she is obviously overwhelmed falls into subspace

Masterlist

Summary: A quiet, soft girl catches the attention of four F1 drivers — Lewis, Charles, Max, and Oscar — who grow obsessed with her innocence and warmth. Instead of competing, they conspire. What starts as a “track day” turns into a slow, deliberate seduction. Overwhelmed and adored, she submits fully, becoming theirs in every sense.

Warnings: Dark content, CNC-adjacent (consensual non-consent themes), group sex (4m x f), intense power imbalance, subspace, possessiveness, worship, degradation/praise kink mix, soft corruption, oral (m & f receiving), multiple orgasms, emotional manipulation, cult-like dynamics, protective aftercare, crying during sex, overstimulation.

They don’t know when it started. Maybe the first time you walked past them in the paddock, soft dress fluttering, eyes wide, asking where hospitality was like you didn’t belong here, like no one had ever taken advantage of you before.

Maybe it was when Lewis saw you reading alone in the VIP suite, untouched mimosa in hand, legs tucked under you like you didn’t realize your skirt had ridden halfway up your thighs.

Maybe it was the Monaco yacht party when Charles caught you blushing as you asked him if the champagne was free, and he couldn’t stop staring at your mouth for the rest of the night.

Maybe it was the moment Oscar sat beside you during a dinner event and you leaned in to whisper a joke, breath warm against his neck, and he shivered.

They never spoke about it. Not at first. Not until a hotel bar in Baku, a few drinks in, when Lewis murmured it first. “She’s… something else.”

Charles nodded. “Like a little lamb.”

Max’s voice was low. “She wouldn’t last five seconds if we really touched her.”

Oscar, quiet but certain, “I’ve never wanted to ruin something that badly.”

And instead of jealousy, instead of competing like they always did, something snapped.

Because they didn’t want her for themselves. They wanted her together. To claim her. Own her. Break her down and build her back up. Keep her. And if they planned it right, she’d beg for it.

You never stood a chance.

They take you to a “private track day,” all four of them. You think you’re just tagging along, you’re not even sure why you got invited. You’re not famous. You don’t race. You’re just… you.

You’re wearing a little sundress. No makeup. Sneakers. You packed a book, unsure how long you'd be out there. But instead of a track, they bring you to a villa. Secluded. Quiet. No one around. And you’re so trusting.

You giggle when Charles offers you wine. You sit between Max and Oscar on the couch. You let Lewis fix your hair when the breeze blows it into your lip gloss.

You don’t notice the looks they share. Until it’s too late. Until Max leans in and says, “You’ve never been touched properly, have you?”

You blink. Flustered. “I-what?”

Lewis takes your glass. Sets it down. “We’ve been watching you.”

“You’re not like the others,” Oscar murmurs.

“So soft,” Charles whispers, thumb brushing your thigh.

You try to stand. You don’t make it.

Max pulls you gently back down. “Don’t run, little one.”

Lewis kneels in front of you, eyes burning. “You don’t want to run.”

And maybe… you don’t. Maybe something inside you aches to know what it feels like. To be theirs.

They strip you together. Not rushed. Not brutal. Ritualistic. Lewis kisses your shoulder while Charles lifts your dress. Oscar unclasps your bra with steady hands. Max watches you the whole time, eyes locked on your face like he’s memorizing every twitch, every breath, every fear.

“You’re shaking,” he says, voice low.

You nod.

The first time anyone touches your pussy, it’s Charles. He’s gentle. Reverent. Kisses your inner thigh like he’s never been this close to something so sacred. “She’s already wet,” he murmurs, almost stunned.

Lewis chuckles. “Of course she is.”

Oscar takes your hand. Guides it to his cock. “Feel what you do to us.”

You gasp. Shudder.

Max spreads your legs wider. “You can take it, baby.”

And you do. They fuck you slow. Then fast. One by one. Then together. Lewis holds your hips. Charles kisses your neck. Oscar fucks your throat while Max whispers filth in your ear, “you’re ours now, you understand? you belong to us.”

You’re crying by the second orgasm. You lose count after the third. By the fourth, you’re gone. Eyes glassy. Body limp. Brain blank.

“Subspace,” Lewis says softly, brushing your hair back. “She’s under.”

Charles kisses your cheek. “She’s perfect.”

Oscar wraps a blanket around you. “She did so well.”

Max presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re not going anywhere. Ever.”

You don’t answer. You just whimper and curl into their hands. Safe. Claimed. Owned. And loved, in the only way they know how.

[leelarots]

we're not talking about how long it took me to locate this post again

grown ass man btw

ok thats all goodnight

[foxlorests]

𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒

CHAPTER FIVE: HOMEMADE SERENADE

♫⋆｡♪ PAIR: Harry Castillo x Younger!Original Female Character

♫⋆｡♪ WC: 9k

♫⋆｡♪ CHAPTER TAGS: SMUT 18+ MDNI, Oral Sex (both), Age Difference, dirty talk, FLUFF, Slow Burn, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Soulmates, Romcom Vibes, Domestic Harry Castillo, Billionaire Harry, Harry learning how to fall in love the human way, Nervous harry castillo, Emotional vulnerability

♫⋆｡♪ CHAPTER SUMMARY: She stayed at his penthouse for the rest of the holidays.

AO3 | Wattpad | Spotify Playlist | Youtube Music Playlist

He woke up with a kiss on the cheek and the smell of coffee—espresso. The kind he liked.  Though, somehow it smelled stronger. And for a moment, still half between dreams and the soft weight of morning, he thought he’d imagined it. That maybe his mind was playing tricks again. But when he blinked his eyes open and saw her—hair pulled back, mug in one hand and the soft light of the room catching the corner of her smile—it felt too vivid to be a dream.

She was already dressed—barefoot and in one of his old shirts that looked much better on her than it ever had on him. She caught him reaching for her, and laughed under her breath. She turned her head slightly, avoiding the kiss at first.

“Morning breath,” she said, placing a mug on the bedside table with a ceremonial clink. She kissed him anyway. Lightly, then not-so-lightly. She already tasted like coffee. Then pulled away just before it could mean too much too early.

He watched her walk out. She moved like she belonged there. Like this had been their routine for months, not hours. It wasn’t just the kiss or the shirt or the smell of toast drifting from the kitchen. It was the ease. The unbearable ease. And he wanted her in that humiliating, bone-deep kind of way you’re not supposed to want anyone once you’re past forty.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she called out from the kitchen, her voice half-muffled under the low hum of a toaster. “I went out and bought groceries. I know you’re a man, Harry, but having actual food in your fridge is a basic necessity for an adult. It’s honestly embarrassing. You had, what—expired orange juice, expired bread…”

“Catherine,” he said, voice still groggy.

“Yes?”

He was already in the kitchen, barefoot with a bed head, when he pulled her in and kissed her again. Properly this time. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask questions first. She kissed him back, smiling against his mouth. His hand cupped her jaw, opening her mouth. 

“Stop, I have morning breath,” she whispered.

“I do too,” he said.

He was hard.  He was almost certain she could feel it—because she moaned, soft and low, the kind of sound that made his chest cave in. It was music. Her kind of music. And god help him, he wanted to drown in it.

He kissed her harder, backing her against the counter like instinct took over. Like last night’s restraint had finally cracked open. She didn’t stop him. She kissed him back with equal want, her fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer like they were both starved.

Harry wasn’t new to this. He’d been with many women—he’d old, for Christ’s sake. He knew how to make it feel good, how to be quiet, composed, in control. This was different. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t planning. He wasn’t even thinking.

When he groaned, it startled him. That was new. He’s usually deadly silent. The sound was real—too real. Raw and unfamiliar in his own throat. Desperate, like a man who’d gone years without being touched right, and now finally had someone who knew exactly what to do with him.

He pressed closer, his body against hers, kissing her like it meant something.

Then he started grinding into her. It felt so heavenly that Harry, with all the agnostic principles he stood by, almost went to his knees and thanked god. The catholic kind his mom liked.

She was soft everywhere. His hand went to her honey blonde hair, deepening the kiss. He was overcome with lust. He groaned again. Then again.

But then—

A sharp scent of burnt toast filled the air.

Catherine pulled away first. “Oh god.”

He blinked, dazed, breath ragged.

“That’s your fault,” she said, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “Trying to seduce me while I’m cooking. Can’t you see I’m trying to impress you with avocado toast and eggs?”

Breathless and desperate for her to give up on the cooking, he said, “I’m allergic to eggs.”

“No, you’re not. You know how I know?” She pointed to the trash. “Because I just threw out your very old eggs fifteen minutes ago.”

He chuckled. Still breathless.

When they sat down for breakfast, she was looking at him with wide-eyes, trying to take in his reaction to her cooking. He purposely exaggerated his reaction, which made her happy. In truth, he enjoyed it. He wouldn’t have to exaggerate any reactions at all if it weren’t for the hard on that took up all of his attention.

It was like being possessed.

Watching her eating her own avocado toast, licking her fingers slowly. Then his eyes trailed down to her chest. Breathing slowly, relaxed.

So he finished his toast quickly and went to the bathroom.

Harry planned a cold shower, but ended up taking care of himself.

Tugging his cock like he was young, like the kissing and the grinding was the first sexual experience he ever had. It was pathetic, but Harry was desperate. He didn’t want to push her, especially because he was older.

He started thinking about her body pressed against his, how her lips touched his, her tongue danced with his. The way she was squirming while he held her. He gripped his length tightly, imagining her voice, moaning, etched in his memory. 

He came undone without a sound. Okay, maybe he did swear a little.

After taking a cold shower—more necessity than choice—Harry walked back into the living room and paused. The place was… clean. Not just tidied. Cleaned. Every surface wiped down. Every misplaced object quietly realigned. The espresso machine was gleaming. Even the scatter of books on the coffee table had been stacked in a way that looked deliberate.

He found her in the kitchen, humming under her breath as she scrubbed a glass.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said. “I have a cleaner.”

Catherine shrugged without looking at him. “I like it. It distracted me.”

He watched her for a moment. The way her hands moved. The way she always seemed to choose action over stillness, as if sitting too long bothered her. Maybe that’s why she was easily tired, he thought.

He glanced at her phone she’d left on the counter, vibrating. “Your friend’s blowing up your phone.”

She didn’t answer for a while, and Harry didn’t really want to pry. But he could see her slowly thinking about telling him.

“I don’t really want to go back,” she said, drying the glass. “They’d know. One of my neighbors would’ve told them. No sense of discretion.”

“You wanna stay here for a few days?” He asked, silently hoping she immediately agreed.

She blinked at him, the slightest smile tugging at her mouth. “You have a spare room?”

Harry gave her a look.

“You’re kidding, right?” he said.

“I need clothes, though.”

“I can call Emma. Have her get you a dress or ten.”

Catherine laughed, soft and bright. “No, I mean my clothes. I need to get my things. Then I’ll come back.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. “Okay. I’ll take you.”

She leaned against the counter, studying him like she wasn’t sure how serious he was. “What if you get sick of me and you’re too polite to say so?”

“Impossible.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Promise you’d tell me if you want me to go? I won’t be offended.”

Harry looked at her for a long second, then walked over and brushed a damp curl from her cheek. “I promise,” he said. “But I’m telling you, Catherine, I won’t.”

⊹

He came to her apartment again. The second time always felt more revealing than the first. This time, he saw things he’d missed. The curtain that didn’t quite reach the floor. A chipped tile by the sink. The soft but unmistakable scent of rosin and jasmine, something that seemed embedded in the walls.

The first thing he noticed was the empty vase on her dinner table.

He didn’t say anything, but the thought lingered. He’d been wondering—maybe even quietly hoping—that the flowers he gave her were still alive. Maybe she'd forgotten to water them, too busy spending nights at his place. Maybe she didn’t even like flowers. He had almost asked, gently, something like “Did they die already?” when his eyes wandered to the journal splayed open on the table. Petals that looked familiar.

Pressed and delicate, fragile things tucked into the folds of a page filled with erratic, half-legible scribbles. She must’ve noticed the moment he did, because she stepped over quickly and shut the journal in one motion, muttering something about the mess and how she spent days writing on her dinner table alone. He didn’t tease her. He just smiled—soft and private, the kind of smile he only seemed to use around her.

There were other things he hadn’t noticed the first time. Like the framed photo turned face-down beside her record player. Or the way there was a sheet of unfinished music stuffed under the microwave. More than that, there were instruments everywhere—not conspicuously placed, but hidden in plain sight. A violin half-tucked behind the couch, a flute case beneath a side table. A bowl on the bookshelf filled with bits of rosin, strings, pegs, and other small things only a musician would know how to use.

“Aren’t you gonna bring your cello?” he asked, walking around the room like it was a gallery. “Or a violin?”

From inside the bedroom, her voice echoed out. “I can? It won’t be too noisy?”

“Sure you can,” he said. And then after a breath, he added, “Only if it makes you happy.”

There was silence on the other end. When he turned, she was leaning against the doorframe, holding a dress on a hanger, watching him like he’d said something that rearranged the way she saw him.

“Alright,” she said, a small smile blooming. “I’ll play whatever you want.”

He turned toward her, tilting his head. “People pay a lot of money to hear you play. I think you have more authority on that front.”

She laughed.

They packed together without fuss. He asked if she wanted to bring her funny kettle. She told him to remind her to grab her inhaler. He folded sweaters into her suitcase like he’d done it a dozen times before. When she forgot her toothbrush, he reminded her. She rolled her eyes.

It felt stupidly natural. Like they did this all the time. Like they were packing for a trip. Or like they already shared a home.

⊹

He couldn’t remember how long she stayed.

A week? Two? The days folded into each other like soft linen, impossible to separate. She’d only planned to crash for a few days, but the end of the holidays— at least according to his calendar and schedules— crept closer and she hadn’t brought it up again. And Harry… Well, Harry did nothing to remind her she had another place to be. 

If he prayed, he would’ve prayed she’d forgotten that she had an apartment in the first place.

Living with Catherine wasn’t a transition. It was a slide. A soft shift into something that already felt worn in, like she’d been there all along and he’d just never noticed.

She bought him coffee when he was in the middle of a spreadsheet. She filled the fridge without asking. Every time he reached for something he needed to ask people to refill soon, like soap or toothpaste or paper towels, there it was—like magic. Except it wasn’t magic. Catherine had secretly talked to his cleaners, or sometimes even bought stuff herself. The scent of her shampoo lingered in the bathroom, the throw pillows on the couch had been subtly rearranged, and his place—his sterile, high-ceilinged, echo-prone apartment—smelled like something warm now. Like vanilla and ginger and something faintly citrus. He didn’t know what candle she was using, only that he hoped she never stopped.

He learned small things about her. Private things. She didn’t volunteer them all at once—they came out like stories you tell a stranger when you’re stuck together, drifting between meals and music and half-watched TV reruns.

She’d been in beauty pageants when she was younger. Won them, too. Her mother had dreams—big ones. Miss United States. Miss Universe. All that. Catherine had hated it. She said it like a joke, but Harry could hear the splinter underneath. She told him most of the girls are mean to her, apparently because the competitions were always cut throat. The only thing she got from those years was the cello. Her mother thought music looked good on stage. Talent rounds and all that. It was supposed to be a polished accessory to her smile. But somewhere in the middle of it, Catherine fell in love—with the music, not the pageants. Everything else melted away. She started sneaking practice hours. She didn’t smile as much in photos after that. The fight with her mother came later—loud and final—but by then, she’d already won enough talent competitions to get noticed. The rest was history.

Harry told her things too. He wasn’t always good at it, but she had this way of making it feel like you weren’t being interviewed. Just… seen.

He told her more things about his job— which sounded sleek and untouchable to most people, but to him, it was structure. Logic. Numbers that behaved, mostly. He said he’d always been good at details. At finding the flaw in the system. At fixing it quietly, with no one noticing. The path had been obvious: business school, internships, connections, then firms, and finally, his own. He was good at it. Better than most. But passion? No. Not the way she talked about composing. Not the way she lost herself in music.

She disagreed. 

“I think it is your passion,” Catherine said, her cheek pressed to his chest. “The way you talk about it when you’re not trying to sound bored. The way you always know what’s happening in a room, who’s who, what they want. The way you remember things, patterns, numbers, people—it’s like you’re always composing something too, just in a different language.”

Harry scoffed, not unkindly. “That’s generous.”

She didn’t move. “Just because it doesn’t feel like art, or self-expression, or make you cry into a violin, doesn’t mean it isn’t passion. You work your ass off.”

He chuckled, shaking his head like it was absurd—and yet his chest felt warm. Seen. “God, you make it sound poetic.”

“That’s because it is,” she said, tilting her head to look up at him. “You light up when you explain how things work. When a company clicks into place. When a deal finally lands.”

“How’d you know that?”

“I may have eavesdropped sometimes.”

He smiled. Because she was right.

He didn’t get swept up in beauty the way she did. He didn’t weep over a cello line or walk out of a film quoting its final scene. But he did love clarity. He loved finding a tangle of chaos and making it run. He loved knowing his instincts were sharp. He liked solving things no one else could see. He liked being trusted to fix what was broken—and he was good at it.

At the slower moments—those late afternoons when the city quieted a little and time folded in on itself—Catherine played him songs.

Always originals. Always with a gentle, almost shy kind of deference. “Do you mind if I play something?” she’d ask, even after days of sharing the same space, the same air. As if her music could ever be an intrusion. 

Eventually he told her, with the faintest irritation, to stop asking. So she stopped asking. She just played.

Sometimes she waited until he was knee-deep in spreadsheets and documents, doing the kind of work that required too much of his mind— work he needed done before the holidays came to an end. She’d tune up quietly, the room filling with soft tension, and begin playing. And inevitably, the moment her bow touched the string, Harry stopped.

He set the documents aside and just watched her—how her honey-blonde hair caught the dim light from the window, how her fingers moved with the kind of elegance that was clearly earned, not innate. She always played with her eyes closed, head tilted slightly down like she was listening to something private. It made him feel like an intruder and a chosen witness at the same time.

He said he wouldn’t request anything. That her playlist was hers alone. But eventually, he did.

The song she played that very first night, in Jim’s bookstore, when he had just stepped out of a storm and into something inexplicably important. She didn’t ask him how he remembered. She just played it for him, and he sat on the floor like a man in church.

Music became part of his days the way coffee had always been. Normal. Expected. Necessary.

Sometimes, during particularly good pieces—ones he never knew the name of but eventually remembered—he’d catch her swaying to her own playing, just slightly. 

She bought a few records too, sometimes playing it during quiet nights when the snow hits the window in a romantic way. She listened intently, swaying again, lost in the rhythm. He’d get up from wherever he was and offer her his hand, and they slowly danced. No choreography, just movement. He hadn’t slow danced since… Well, since Lucy.

She had asked him about Lucy once. Or, more accurately, who his last girlfriend was.

He didn’t flinch. Just said, “Someday I’ll tell you the full story. When it stops feeling embarrassing.”

Catherine had nodded, as if she understood what kind of ache that was. She didn’t press.

They watched movies, too. Late nights with dimmed lights and his arm stretched over the back of the couch. One film he didn’t know the title of—about a songwriter and a singer who couldn’t make it work—left her crying quietly. He turned to her, confused and a little concerned, and asked why.

She wiped her eyes and said, “Some other time. When that’s not embarrassing.”

Other films, the less brilliant ones, ended better—for him at least. With her curled into him. With kisses. With fingers tangled and laughter under her breath and the kind of warmth that made his penthouse feel like a place you could actually live in.

They make out a lot, much to his liking. Grinded into each other, trailing kisses and pressing their bodies together, deeper into his couch. Harry wanted more. Of course he does. But he didn’t want to force her, to insist on something she wasn’t ready for.

He knew she wanted it too, though. Could feel her excitement, her wetness sometimes soaking his fingers when they went at it too hard. Had felt her hands guiding his hands, putting it on her breast. He had obliged happily, eagerly. Had squeezed her breast, went inside under her shirt and played with her hard nipples. It was warm and perfect against his palm which always made him groan.

He became extremely vocal since Catherine. Moaning, groaning, whimpering. He had never been like that with any other woman before. He was usually so guarded. There was something about Catherine that made him forget. He tried to be quiet, but one touch of her breasts, he was gone. Too intoxicated in the feel of her, he forgot any plans on staying quiet. It made her grind harder on his lap, against his bulge.  

Sometimes they grinded so hard that they came, clothes still on. They had laughed afterwards, but it left him wanting more. It always left him wanting more.

She slept in his bed. Harry, who usually has restless nights, sleepless nights, now falls asleep easily. Maybe it was because of her breathing, how it acted as a white noise. Or maybe it was because of her warmth, against him so close that he could feel nothing but comfortability. He would trace his fingers through the shape of her, the curves and skin. She was such a beautiful woman.

One day, when his hands became a little active before bed, he heard her moaning. His hand then trailed down to find her damp against her panties. She grinded back against him.

“Catherine,” he said to her ear, softly from behind her. “So beautiful, so warm. So tight.”

“Harry,” she had said breathlessly. 

He groaned. “You want my fingers, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please,” she moaned.

Then he slid her panties off and dipped his fingers inside her. His mouth on her ears, his chest against her back, groaning as if the act of pleasing her was pleasing him too, arousing him too. Which it was.

Harry's fingers delved into Catherine's slick heat, stroking and exploring her most intimate places. He could feel her body responding eagerly to his touch, her walls clenching and fluttering around his digits as he pumped them in and out of her.

Catherine could only whimper in response, her body arching into his touch, seeking more. Harry's other hand slid around to cup her breast, kneading the soft mound and rolling her stiffened nipple between his fingers. He could feel her heart racing beneath his palm, matching the frantic pounding of his own.

“You’re so tight, sweetheart. Squeezing around my finger so well.”

“Your fingers are big,” she whispered. Her body clenched and quivered around the welcome intrusion, her silken walls gripping his digits like a velvet vice.

“Yeah? I think you need more. Stretch you out, hm?” Harry added a finger. He was getting harder, trying to find friction from her back. “You’re doing so good. So pretty. Had me so hard, sweetheart. Made me crazy. Want you all the time. All the time.”

He could feel his cock throbbing with the need to replace his fingers, to bury itself deep inside her welcoming tightness. Harry grounded his hips harder against Catherine's ass, seeking some measure of relief from the ache of his desire.

Her moans were getting louder. Harry could feel Catherine's body tensing and trembling, her slick walls starting to flutter wildly around his plunging fingers. Her breathy plea, the desperate way she arched her hips to take his fingers deeper, told him she was on the very brink.  His fingers moved faster.

Catherine let out a sharp cry, her body stiffening and then convulsing as her orgasm crashed over her. Her pussy clenched and rippled around Harry's fingers, gushing and dripping with her release.

He held her close as the aftershocks faded, pressing a string of kisses along her neck and shoulder, murmuring words of praise and adoration into her skin.

He turned her head to the side, kissing her and groaning again. She felt his bulge, still prominent against her. Her eyes looked at him, darker than usual. Then she moved down.

Down, down, until her face is exactly where he needed it to be.

Slowly he took his length out. It was hard, big on her hands, but that didn’t stop her. She was slow with her torture.

Harry felt Catherine's soft, dexterous hand wrap around the thick base of his cock, gripping him with a confident, almost possessive squeeze. Her fingers closed around his girth, leaving her thumb and forefinger gently kissing as they encircled his shaft. The contrast of her delicate hand against his throbbing, veined flesh was erotic and strangely intimate.

Her fingers began to move, stroking him with a skill and finesse that contradicted her youth. She worked his length with a twisting, pumping motion, her grip tightening and loosening in a rhythm that made Harry's breath catch and his hips twitch forward involuntarily.

“Fuck,” He breathed as he gave up his attempt to stay quiet. “Just like that. Such a good girl.”

Her hand moved lower, cupping and squeezing his heavy balls, rolling them gently in her palm. Harry shuddered, his stomach muscles clenching as a thrill of sensation shot up his spine.

When her soft, pillowy lips brushed against the sensitive head of his dick, Harry let out a guttural groan. The barest whisper of a touch, but it was enough to make him shudder with need. Catherine's little pink tongue darted out, lapping at the weeping slit, and Harry's fingers tangled almost painfully in her hair as he fought the urge to grab her head and thrust forward, burying himself in the wet heat of her mouth.

Harry had never felt more pleasure in the forty-something years he’s been alive. He can’t help but stroke her, pet her, other times guiding her. Her lips went to the top, giving it a kiss. 

Then she opened her mouth, and Harry was sure he entered heaven.

Catherine just smiled, a wicked little curve of her lips against his flesh, before she opened her mouth wider and took him inside. She was slow, maddeningly so, letting her lips stretch obscenely around his girth as she sank down inch by inch. Harry could feel every centimeter of her soft mouth engulfing his aching cock, the wet, silken heat engulfing him like a fever dream.

His hands tightened in her hair as she finally, finally took him to the back of her throat. He could feel her nose pressing against his pelvis, could feel the flutter of her throat as she swallowed around him. Harry threw his head back, a hoarse moan tearing from his chest as the pleasure bordered on pain. A sound he never heard himself make before.

“Catherine,” he said breathlessly. “You’re going to kill me.”

She slowly put his cock deeper, deeper inside her throat.

“Your throat feels so good, Catherine. You’re doing so well. Please, sweetheart. Yes, right there.” He guided her head now, trying to make it easier for her. “You’re killing me, Catherine. So tight. Such a tight throat. You want my cum, sweetheart?”

She hummed, going faster, her hands working him too. He was in utter bliss.

The obscene slurping sounds of her sucking filled the room, mingling with Harry's guttural moans and harsh panting. Catherine could only moan in response, the vibrations of her throat sending shockwaves of ecstasy shooting up Harry's shaft. She could feel him throbbing and pulsing, his cock swelling even harder as she worked him closer to the edge.

Harry's balls tightened, his orgasm building to a crescendo as Catherine's hands pumped his slick, aching flesh faster and faster. Her lips stretched taut around his girth, and she took him to the hilt, burying her nose in his wiry pubic hair as she swallowed around him.

"Catherine, sweetheart, I'm gonna... Fuck!" Harry roared, his head thrown back in utter bliss as his orgasm ripped through him. His cock jerked and throbbed as he shot thick, hot ropes of cum directly down Catherine's eager throat. He held her head tightly in place, his fingers tangled almost painfully in her hair, as he rode out the waves of his intense climax.

"Take it all, sweetheart," he gasped out, "Take every last drop. Good girl." His hips shuddered and bucked, grinding his spurting cock against the back of her throat as he emptied his heavy balls into her mouth.

Catherine swallowed every last drop of Harry's hot, thick seed, her throat working diligently to gulp down each throbbing spurt. She could feel it coating her throat, filling her belly with his essence. As Harry's climax began to subside, she slowly pulled back, her lips sliding deliciously along his sensitive shaft until they slipped free with a soft pop. 

That night, Harry thanked his luck that Catherine was a musician, so skilled with moving her hands. Even though he wanted to fuck her so bad to the point of madness, he would wait. And knowing just how good other acts could be, he was sure he could wait forever.

They both overslept that day. Not in the lazy, indulgent way, but in the we forgot the world existed kind of way. Wrapped around each other like gravity had shifted. There was something about living your life contently—genuinely, softly—that made you forget about clocks and alarms and expectations. The city had been moving without them. And neither of them cared.

⊹

Harry forgot he was supposed to start working.

He stirred first. Not from sunlight or discomfort, but from the sound of his front door unlocking. A soft click, followed by quiet footsteps.

It took a second to register. He blinked awake slowly, his arm heavy with Catherine’s weight, her body curled into his chest like she belonged there, like she’d always belonged there. He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to disturb whatever magic had settled in his penthouse overnight. But then there was a knock—tentative but firm—against the bedroom door.

“Sir?” Emma’s voice. Sharp. Professional. “You have two meetings today.”

Right. Reality. So, unfortunately, his holiday did have an end after all.

He groaned. Carefully slid away from Catherine, who stirred only slightly, murmuring something incoherent against the pillow. He pulled on the nearest pair of pants, ran a hand through his hair, and opened the door.

Emma was already making herself useful, as always. She had her coat folded over her arm, was mid-motion in turning on the espresso machine. She glanced at him, blinking once.

“When did you get your life together?” asked Emma.

“What?” Harry rubbed his face. His brain was still somewhere under the blankets.

She gestured vaguely around the space. “Your penthouse. Spotless in the morning, before the cleaner’s scheduled. Groceries—real groceries. The espresso machine’s clean. Polished. You even have fruit in the bowl. Like actual fruit, not the decorative kind that comes in gift baskets.”

“Wasn’t me,” he muttered.

Emma raised a brow. “Finally used the service I told you about, huh? I said it was useful. People shopping for you—it’s not that weird. Plus you already have a cleaner, so I don’t think it’s such a  big deal if you…”

She stopped.

He followed her gaze, already knowing what she saw.

Catherine, half-awake, standing quietly at the edge of the hallway, her hair a soft mess, one sock missing. Blinking like she didn’t realize there was company. Her presence seeped into the room like warmth.

Emma, who was rarely speechless, rarely surprised, stood perfectly still.

Harry had never seen her like that. Not even when the market crashed.

Catherine gave a small wave. “Hi. Sorry. Morning.”

Emma’s mouth opened, then closed. Her eyes darted to Harry, who shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was nothing at all.

“Miss Catherine Ainsworth—oh, god, I’m so sorry. I should have kept my voice down,” Emma said, stumbling over her words in a way that didn’t suit her usual composure.

“It’s fine. I think we overslept.” Catherine said, smiling as she took the seat across from Harry. Her seat. Funny, that. The usual empty seat, assigned to no one, was now hers. “Please. Just Catherine. Emma, right? You wanna sit down, Emma? Have you had breakfast?”

“Oh, no, no, please,” Emma replied quickly, standing a little too straight. She seemed excited to be on a first name basis with her. “We have bagels right here. You can have mine. Or his too, if you want.”

Harry chuckled, flipping open the newspaper Emma had brought like always, with her usual everything bagel and a splash of cream cheese. Predictable. Steady. But now there was Catherine, standing there barefoot in his kitchen, and suddenly even the newspaper felt new.

“Just bagels?” Catherine teased, looking at the table. “I thought Harry was kidding. You really don’t eat much, huh? I’ll make you both a quick omelette. I bought lots of eggs,” she added, already standing up.

“No, please, you don’t have to. I’m his assistant,” Emma said, hands raised, awkward in the way people get when hierarchy meets unexpected kindness.

“You’re his assistant, but you’re also my guest,” Catherine replied over her shoulder, already halfway to the fridge.

That was the end of that. Emma sat, hands folded tightly, glancing between Harry and the woman now humming to herself while peeling apples. She watched Catherine like she was some mythological creature brought to life. Like she couldn’t believe the Catherine Ainsworth was standing barefoot in Tribeca, slicing fruit and singing under her breath. Like she couldn’t believe Catherine Ainsworth was staying here, with him. And not just staying—but happy.

Harry asked about the meetings. Logistics. Timing. Rescheduling. Numbers, names, emails. The usual. But Emma kept glancing toward the kitchen, like she couldn’t help herself.

Not that he blamed her. He also liked looking at Catherine.

“So,” Emma said, lowering her voice slightly, though there was no real need. “Are you and her a couple?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, still watching Catherine in the kitchen as she fussed over something as simple as toast and apples like it was a sacred ritual. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “Hopefully she thinks so.”

There was a knowing smile on Emma’s face—one that had been years in the making. Because Emma had seen it all. The calls from his mother, ringing like church bells every Monday: You’re not getting any younger, Harry. You don’t even have a dog. The way he used to groan, say he’d look for someone at his brother’s wedding. He did meet Lucy there, and he had hoped that was that.

Emma had watched that play out too. The slow build of something hopeful. Then the unraveling. Quiet at first. Then humiliating in that dignified, devastating way Harry did everything. He’d even once muttered that if his mother brought it up again, he’d just hire an actress and get the farce over with.

So now, seeing him like this—warm, a little dazed, blinking like he couldn’t believe this was his life—Emma just shook her head, grinning.

“I can’t believe you managed to convince the Catherine Ainsworth to date you, boss,” she said. 

Harry laughed under his breath. “I’m already planning your raise.”

“Damn right you are,” she said, biting into her bagel, still watching Catherine move around his kitchen like she’d always been there.

Catherine served them omelets, toast, and neatly sliced apples arranged on a plate like it was a brunch spot in the Village. It was warm and unpretentious, with just a touch of care that made it taste better than any overpriced breakfast Harry had been served at a boardroom table.

As they ate, Catherine turned to Emma, genuinely curious. “So what did you do during the holidays? Harry says his work schedule is different, more days off in January than December. I’m assuming you have elaborate plans unlike us.”

Emma smiled, relaxing into her chair like they were old friends. “Oh, just a lot of family time. My husband worked most of it—he’s a chef, so the holidays are kind of chaos for him. I mostly held down the fort.”

Catherine lit up at the word chef. “Where does he work?”

Emma named the place—a well-known restaurant uptown that Harry had heard of a dozen times but never had the patience to wait a week for a table. Catherine’s brows rose, impressed.

“That’s an incredible place,” she said. “You must eat well.”

Emma laughed. “Only when he’s not working himself to death. We’ve got our anniversary coming up and I wanted to treat him, but honestly, I’m not sure how.”

Catherine blinked, thoughtful. Then without hesitation, “Would you let me play something for you? For him? A little private concert? Just cello, nothing dramatic. Or a piano if you like. Whichever you prefer. A couple of pieces over dinner?”

Emma looked stunned. She blinked several times like she hadn’t heard right.

“Oh no—no, that’s too much. That would be—honestly, that would be too kind.”

“It’s not too much,” Catherine said simply. “It’s a gift. I never played music for the money. Not really. I play for moments like that. For people like you, someone who likes my music. Who knows, maybe I’ll get inspired and compose a new song.”

They went back and forth—Emma trying to be polite, Catherine stubbornly gracious. Harry watched it unfold like a tennis match, quietly amused.

Then he cleared his throat. “Compromise. Let Catherine play. But Emma—you give us a dinner date. At your husband’s place.”

Emma jumped on that suggestion. “Would you want that?”

“I’ve been meaning to get a reservation a couple of times, too much of a hassle. The waiting,” Harry said dryly, sipping his coffee. “I had to pretend I liked truffle foam at six other places instead.”

Emma turned to Catherine. “Then at least let me pay you back by giving you the date. You and Harry. I’ll talk to my husband. He’ll make something special. You’ll love it. The restaurant’s very sought after, impossible to get into. Multiple course meals. And Harry here—he’s dying to take you on a date.”

Catherine laughed, genuinely delighted. “Are you trying to convince me or him?”

Emma grinned. “Both.”

Catherine raised her hands in mock surrender. “I can’t say no to a date with Harry. But I’m still not letting you pay me.”

The plates were cleared, the coffee cups emptied. And as the morning stretched into something quieter, something softer, Harry found himself once again watching Catherine from across the table. She was talking about music again, a glimmer in her eyes, her fork moving absentmindedly through the leftover apples.

But he knew inevitably, this part of the story had to end. He had to go to work. He got ready slowly, as if dreading leaving home, which was saying a lot because he loved his work. He was great at it. But, still, it paled in comparison to whatever happened over the holidays.

Harry was getting ready when she came up behind him.

He caught her reflection in the mirror first—barefoot, hair still slightly damp from the shower, wearing one of his shirts like she hadn’t noticed it didn’t belong to her. She reached around and took the tie from his hands, silently undoing the knot he’d already started.

“You need a better knot for this suit,” she murmured. “I can do a windsor knot.”

He didn’t argue. She stepped closer, fingers deft and practiced, brows furrowed slightly as she worked. He looked down at her, catching the way her lower lip tucked in concentration. There was something oddly intimate about the way she did it—this simple act of helping him look like himself again.

“I probably should get back to my own place,” she said casually, like she hadn’t just made his stomach tighten as she slid the knot into the perfect place and adjusted it like she’d done it a hundred times before.

“Why?” he asked, too quickly.

“I can’t stay here forever, Harry.”

“Sure you can.”

She smiled softly but didn’t look up. “My friends aren’t blowing up my phone anymore, which is usually the sign that they’ve forgiven me for missing whatever plans I ditched. And I need to check on my studio. Make sure the place is still standing. That people haven’t forgotten it exists. Also, my fear of missing out is back.”

“You didn’t tell me you were leaving today.”

“I didn’t say I was. I said I probably should.”

Harry watched her fingers straighten the fabric down his chest, then linger a little longer than necessary. “Stay another day. We haven’t had a real date yet.”

She tilted her head like she was considering it, then shrugged. “No, I really have to stop by the studio. Then come home. My manager hasn’t seen me in weeks. I’m starting to feel like a ghost.”

“Let me come with you.”

She nodded. “Sure. But I’ll probably be there a while. Are you busy today?”

“I’ll be home around three,” he said, checking the time. “Meeting I can’t move.”

“Okay, plenty of time to pack and move out,” she said lightly.

He turned to face her fully, the tie now perfect between them. “You’re not moving out.”

She raised a brow. “No?”

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” he said, his tone mock-businesslike. “You’re going to pack only the necessities. Leave a couple of clothes here. Maybe a book or two. Buy a spare toothbrush. Just enough so the next time you stay, it’s easier.”

“Next time, huh?”

He met her eyes. “Yes. Next time.”

Catherine didn’t say anything for a moment. Just smiled to herself, brushed invisible lint from his lapel, and whispered, “Alright then. Just the essentials.”

And for the first time in years, Harry went to work feeling like he was walking out the door of a home.

  ⊹

Harry knew a few things about Catherine’s studio. Not many—just enough to feel like he wasn’t walking into the unknown. She’d told him it wasn’t advertised. That it was meant to be more of a haven than a business. That she didn’t do any marketing about it. That it was “underground,” though he wasn’t sure if that was literal or just metaphorical. She said it was where artists went when they needed somewhere to just be. He understood that. He’d started to realize that’s what she was to him, too. Somewhere to just be.

He didn’t know why, but he was excited to go. He rarely got excited to go anywhere anymore. The dinners, the events, the endless networking—it was all a blur of names and wine and politely charged conversation. But this felt different. No agenda. No one to impress. Maybe it was the space itself, but more likely, it was just her. Still, there was a twinge of something quieter underneath it all—something like sadness. She was going back to her life. And he would return to his—meetings, numbers, emails, silence.

He hoped she wouldn’t forget to call this time. It was easier when she was just in the next room.

His driver took them north, to a part of the city Harry rarely visited unless someone made a dinner reservation there. When they stopped, the building looked like nothing. Just an old door next to a plant shop. But inside— when they entered the main room—he was surprised.

He didn’t know what he’d expected. Something chaotic? Dusty? Overfilled with passion and no order? But this was different.

The room was warm and uncluttered. The walls were a soft charcoal with brass accents and a scattering of black-and-white portraits—musicians in the middle of their craft. A long sofa faced a modest desk covered in sheet music and stacked notebooks. There were books, plants, soft lighting that didn’t feel like a studio but more like a home with good taste. It was modern, but not sterile. Clean lines softened by velvet textures and faded rugs. On one shelf sat a small plaque with Catherine’s name etched in gold—some music award he didn’t recognize but knew must’ve been hard-earned. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and rosin.

A woman with a sharp pixie cut emerged from another room. Catherine hugged her with familiarity.

“This is Talia,” she said, turning to Harry. “My manager. Sort of.”

“Depends on the day,” Talia grinned, shaking Harry’s hand. 

“Harry,” he offered.

Talia, her manager, gave a brief nod and turned her focus back to Catherine. They were already talking logistics—schedules, bookings, maybe something about soundproofing repairs—he wasn’t really listening. Instead, Harry wandered the front room, eyes scanning the space.

There were framed photos—Catherine with her cello, mid-performance; Catherine accepting an award in a black dress he remembered seeing once on the cover of a classical magazine; Catherine in rehearsal, barefoot and radiant with concentration. She had a different face in each frame. Sometimes serious. Sometimes beaming. He felt oddly proud, like he’d known all of them.

Catherine interrupted his thoughts. “Is there a jam session today?”

“Oh, yeah. Kienan’s in the lounge. They’ve been at it for hours.”

Catherine’s eyes lit up. “You wanna come?” she asked Harry, already turning toward the hallway. As if she wanted him to look into her life, to have a glimpse of what she is. Like a kid showing her stuff around.

He trailed behind.

The lounge wasn’t far—it was just a turn down a narrower corridor and through a sliding door that looked like it belonged in an art gallery.

In the lounge, about fifteen people, maybe more, were scattered around the room. Some on bean bags, some standing, some perched on stools. Everyone held something—a tambourine, a triangle, a drum, a violin, a flute. There was even a girl with a melodica and someone tapping a cajón like a heartbeat. The sound was... alternative indie, kind of. He didn’t really know what to call it. But it was layered, rich, disorganized in a way that felt purposeful. Like everyone was waiting to be surprised.

A man—Kienan, Harry guessed—was in the center with a guitar, half-singing, half-grinning. When he saw Catherine, he didn’t stop playing. He just walked straight up to her, singing the whole way, and nudged her gently into the middle of the circle. Someone handed her a violin. She didn’t hesitate. She just tucked it under her chin and, without so much as tuning, began to play.

Harry stepped back, out of the circle, and watched. It was messy, unstructured, and loud. He saw how happy she was— and how happy all of them are to be there, to see her there. And for the first time that day, he stopped worrying about whether she’d remember to call. Because now, watching her—absolutely alive—he knew one thing for sure: He’d call first.

When the song ended, the room burst into loose, joyful clapping—no formal applause, just the kind of loud affection shared among friends and people who felt something together. Catherine did a small curtsy, exaggerated and playful, and Harry felt a smile tugging at his mouth. It was stupid how adorable he found it. Like she belonged to a different time. Or maybe he did.

He was still standing near the wall, slightly off to the side, when a woman approached him.

“Harry Castillo?”

He blinked. Squinted. The lighting was dim in this room—low, warm bulbs wrapped around exposed pipes—and the music had left his ears a little foggy.

“Yes?” he said, more like a question.

The woman stepped into a better view. She looked vaguely familiar, and she must’ve seen the way he hesitated, trying to place her.

“I’m Audrey. I work for Adore,” she said. Harry still looked confused, trying to place her. “I work with Rose and Lucy. We were introduced once. The whole office knew about you. The unicorn. We hadn’t had those in a while.”

Right. He never really liked the way Lucy and her work friends called him unicorn. He was a grown man, for god’s sakes. But that did click something loose in his memory. He remembered her from Lucy’s parties, maybe—one of the background people, the curated social set Lucy always brought together. Sharp dressers. Good wine talkers. He remembered a face, maybe a laugh. But he didn’t remember being properly introduced back then. Or maybe he hadn’t really cared about who Lucy was working with.

“Small world, huh?” she said lightly.

He nodded. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I donate to the studio,” Audrey replied, waving a hand like it was nothing. “My little sister’s a music nerd. Big on string instruments. She loves this place.”

He hummed politely, but didn’t dig further. He didn’t really want to play catch-up with a footnote from his past. But she leaned in slightly, smile widening.

“And you’re here with the Queen herself?” she asked, nodding toward Catherine.

“Yes,” Harry said, glancing at her from across the room. 

“So that’s why you left us. We were so sad to see you go. Rose particularly. She was supposed to get a big commission. But I get it now. A unicorn with another unicorn. I’ve been trying to get Catherine to join for a long time. She ticked a lot of our client’s boxes. But I get it, she’s too young to ask for a matchmaker,” Audrey smiled. “Am I correct in assuming? You’re her…”

“I’m her antique,” he said.

Catherine laughed behind him—he hadn’t realized she was approaching.

“So a golden ticket winner,” Audrey said.

Before Harry could reply, another woman entered the room. A musician by the looks of it. She made a beeline for Catherine, wrapping her in a tight hug.

Catherine laughed, though her tone wobbled a little.

“Catherine. We didn’t think you’d come today.” The woman stepped back. “I gotta tell Brandon. He was looking for you—I think you’d want to know this—”

“No,” Catherine said quickly, voice sharper than before. “I don’t. Please don’t tell me.”

The room held its breath for a beat.

Harry stepped forward. It wasn’t entirely conscious. Maybe it was instinct, or pride, or the fact that Catherine had just visibly flinched at the mention of someone else’s name.

“Hi,” he said, calm but firm. “I’m Harry. The boyfriend.”

He regretted the phrasing immediately. It felt juvenile coming out of his mouth. Like he was sixteen, not pushing fifty. Like he needed to prove something. The woman looked at him up and down, assessing him. Her eyes lingered on his watch, then his hair. He tried to remember if any of his gray hair showed yet. Hopefully it hadn’t and he looked perfectly normal and… age appropriate.

“Boyfriend?” the woman repeated, brows raised.

“Yes,” he said again, this time with more certainty.

Catherine looked up at him. And she didn’t laugh. She didn’t correct him. She just smiled—quiet, warm—like boyfriend was a word she’d said to herself before, just to see how it tasted. Like she agreed. She returned to his side with a softness he hadn’t known he missed until now, sliding her hand into the crook of his arm again, like they’d done this a hundred times before.

“Sorry I haven’t really told anyone,” she said under her breath.

“Haven’t told anyone?” The woman’s voice rose, half-teasing, half-accusatory. “You practically disappeared!”

“It all happened really quickly,” Catherine said, trying to sound breezy, but there was a quiet hopefulness in her eyes. “Did you have fun without me? Please say not much…”

Harry chuckled. Her eternal fear of missing out—on music, on people, on life—had become something endearing. Irrational, maybe, but human. He didn’t mind reassuring her.

They trailed off together, their arms brushing, until the woman tugged Catherine away with the promise of a quick catch-up. Audrey was already on a call, distracted, and Harry found himself momentarily untethered.

He wandered the room alone, hands in his pockets, pretending not to feel the cold absence of her next to him. The lounge was lived-in. Familiar. Jam sessions frozen in polaroid photos tacked to the walls, napkins with scrawled lyrics, stray music sheets curling on the corners of the table. Artifacts of lives more expressive than his. More open.

He spotted a photo—framed, but not hung. Propped on a side table, half-hidden behind an empty vase. A group shot. Friends, instruments, sweat-drenched from what looked like a rooftop concert. Catherine wasn’t in one of her sleek black concert gowns—she was in jeans and a tee, laughing, hair wild. That other version of her. The one he was still discovering.

His eyes caught the arm. A man’s arm, wrapped around her shoulder, like it had belonged there for years.

He didn’t need a name. He knew. There was always a name you didn’t want to say. The one people refused to talk about, the one that made them avoid whole conversations.

Harry stared a little too long. Not out of jealousy—not at first. It was fear. Something guttural and pathetic. He’d been here before. With Lucy, with his college girlfriend. With the knowledge that love could exist for you, but belong to someone else.

He pulled out his phone. Searched. Paused. Realized he didn’t even know the man’s last name. Just Brandon. Too many results. Tried Brandon and Catherine Ainsworth. Nothing. Catherine Ainsworth boyfriend. Nothing relevant.

His thumb hovered over the screen, annoyed at himself. What did he think he was doing? Internet sleuthing like some insecure teenager? He sighed, locked the phone, shoved it into his coat.

But the thought wouldn’t leave him. It sat heavy in his chest all night, even when he dropped her off and she kissed him like they were the only people in the city.

Back in his penthouse, alone again, no smell of food or coffee, no soft humming from the bathroom, Harry cracked.

He asked Emma by morning. He regretted it as soon as he did. The guilt landed hard, like a slap. He expected Emma to judge him—and she did. But not with disdain. With brutal, pointed clarity.

“Catherine’s not like your other girlfriends,” she said, arms crossed, brows raised. “She’s been avoiding this guy. Hasn’t even let her friends talk about him. She’s glued to your side. I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered. “Habit?”

Emma sighed but helped him anyway.

It wasn’t through LinkedIn or official sites. It was on social media. Tags on studio accounts. Someone had posted an old video. And there he was: Brandon Dahl. Good-looking. Wild hair. Tattooed arms. Cool in that rehearsed way that rock musicians always were. One song had gone viral a year or two back. Big enough to tour the States, but not yet global. Not Harry’s world. Not even close.

Emma said he looked eerily like Kurt Cobain. He didn’t like that.

“She likes you,” Emma said to calm him down, sipping from her coffee with unbothered finality. “I may be older than her, but I know women. And she likes you.”

It helped. A little. But what calmed him, what truly settled the noise in his mind, was simpler than that.

It was when she called him first.

He’d known from the first ring that it was her (he assigned a different ringtone the first time she gave him her number), but he had left the call ringing for a few seconds, unanswered. He was savoring the first time Catherine called him first. But that didn’t last too long. He couldn’t help it.

Her voice on the other end of the line, warm and tired. “Miss me yet?”

He didn’t even remember what she said after that. Just the sound of her. And suddenly, none of it mattered. Not even the photo.

Just her. Now. Calling him first.

A/N: Any interactions is appreciated! More smut to come.

[swiftjay23]

I know he died in season two. BUT CAN WE GET SALESMAN/RECRUITER X READER SMUT PLS? He's so daddy.

I. KNOW. RIGHT. HE'S DEAD BUT I WATCHED SEASON THREE JUST FOR HIM AND HE WASN'T EVEN THERE. DADDY 🛐🛐

TITLE: Let Me Break You In

Pairing: Salesman/Recruiter x Reader Rating: 🔞 NSFW, 18+ Tags: Manipulative dom!Recruiter, public teasing, dirty talk, spanking, light painplay, unprotected sex, power imbalance, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, possessiveness, mind games, aftercare (??? but like his version), and the word “pretty” used like it’s your fucking name.

He shuts the hotel door behind you with a click, like he’s sealing the deal.

The moment you turn around, he’s already on you, tie loosened, belt clinking, hand at your throat like he owns the oxygen in your lungs.

“Strip.” His voice is smooth. Clean. Corporate. “Now.”

You fumble out of your clothes. He doesn’t. He’s still in that goddamn suit, sleeves rolled, cock already hard and thick in his hand.

“On the bed, pretty.” “Ass up. Legs spread. Face down.” “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You obey. There’s the soft crinkle of paper, he’s placed a contract on the nightstand. You catch the words "consent" and "submission" before he presses your cheek into the mattress and spits on your pussy.

“Messy already?” he taunts, dragging his fingers through the slick. “Didn’t even touch you properly. Pathetic.” You moan.

“Quiet,” he snaps. “Or I’ll gag you with my tie.”

And then he’s in, slamming into you, no warning, no mercy. Just raw, unforgiving cock sliding deep, stretching you wide, making you cry out.

“Fuck” He grips your hips, teeth gritted. “Tight little hole. You were made for this.”

You try to move, he pins you down, palm flat between your shoulder blades, fucking you like it’s punishment.

Balls slapping. Fingers bruising. Panting in your ear.

“You wanna play games? Hm?” “This is your game now, sweetheart.”

He reaches around, fingers circling your clit exactly the way you like it, because of course he knows. “Gonna come?” he mocks. “On my cock? Without permission?”

You nod desperately. “Too bad.” He pulls out. You whimper. He flips you onto your back and slaps his cock across your soaked pussy.

“Open your mouth.” You do. He slides in. All of him. Throat-fucking you while your legs shake from nothing but air.

“Choke on it, pretty.” he groans. “Come when I tell you to.”

He bends you over the contract. Fucks you so hard the paper wrinkles beneath your hands.

“You’re mine now. Signed and sealed.”

And when he finally spills inside you, hot, deep, full load, you’re screaming into the sheets.

“Good girl,” he pants, still buried to the hilt. “Now get cleaned up. We’ve got more rounds to negotiate.”

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The End

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Masterlist

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands,⟡ @yuriloveshee, ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @add-this-to-that, ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie, ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful, ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @queenvash, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @trashlord-007, ⟡ @artemesiareads, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw, ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy, ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001 ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq,

✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

⟡ @rosepetals09, ⟡ @cherry-blossomfrag, ⟡ @mari-marimar, ⟡ @paradieseoul, ⟡ @microwavedstrawberries3, ⟡ @thatonerandomblondechick, ⟡ @heebambilee, ⟡ @simjaeyunsdoll, ⟡ @sinceresilverstrawberry, ⟡ @heeseungslefttoee, ⟡ @shayinthesims, ⟡ @larichard, ⟡ @noinspirationkisstoday, ⟡ @frenziedseerdesolation, ⟡ @wtfisgoingright, ⟡ @heekijakey, ⟡ @luvwonsito, ⟡ @cheetosthabratt, ⟡ @en-ner-jay, ⟡ @shouldergangsterrj, ⟡ @brennanmeijalover00,⟡ @wondash, ⟡ @kimuranishi, ⟡ @thep3rfectgirl25, ⟡ @doraemon02, ⟡ @rotttenhalo, ⟡ @oldeubois-blog, ⟡ @putrescentpoet, ⟡ @jinnibug, ⟡ @vayuzzz, ⟡ @kimmyaaaa, ⟡ @ppcarolina9, ⟡ @giagotthezoomies,

✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

⟡ @myheartiscoveredinmoss, ⟡ @moonstruckbae, ⟡ @dreamandrow, ⟡ @wuluhwuhmaster, ⟡ @miikio-o, ⟡ @myyosotiiss, ⟡ @vivi345, ⟡ @cherjnie, ⟡ @sorenijkl, ⟡ @wonwon1e, ⟡ @lynaka, ⟡ @cclm0808, ⟡ @nishimurazzz, ⟡ @prettygirlthings-world, ⟡ @kristynaaah, ⟡ @madsnowmad, ⟡ @rikimuraaaa, ⟡ @musvic, ⟡ @popii-star153, ⟡ @fwkiera, ⟡ @yenienha, ⟡ @clearartisansoul-blog1, ⟡ @taylsluvs

[mullermilkshake]

Regrets

Part 31 <- Part 32 -> Part 33

Jong-in and Hae-in are left at a stand still after Jinwoo's rightfully explosive exit. Without you, who is there to calm the storm?

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x New mom!reader Tags - Jong-in x Hae-in, Dilf!Jong-in, New mom!Hae-in, Depictions of Blood/Death, Angst,

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers. And please refer to the master tag list for the full list of tags + major tags, I'm updating it where I can.

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

Is it just me who thinks Jong-in is still a Dilf? 😂

Jong-in waited for Jinwoo to leave before slipping back into the hospital room where Hae-in stood by your body. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone else was here, but no one ever showed or revealed themselves. So he let it slide.

You were dead and Jong-in couldn’t believe it.

“How is this happening?” She said, holding In-ho close to her chest, eyes tearful and wet.

“I… I don’t know.”

He wanted to get close, to see you properly, to clean you up with dignity. His body did not allow it, it halted where he stood like Jinwoo’s condition created a physical barrier around you.

You were dead, and he wasn't sure if Jinwoo knew that fully.

Jong-in never said goodbye, he never came in to congratulate you on the twins who were missing.

I should have listened to Hae-in… I should have done more. I've never been more useless than I was today.

He did not believe for a second that the association was capable of this, of such cruelty. Snatching children from their mothers arms like Chairman Go previously mentioned, then rescinded. Was he actually behind this? He looked to Jinwoo like a son, a child protégée he never had despite Jong-in's public nickname. And then to order your murder? You were dead. Gone. Vanished out of existence.

In-ho was safe. His son. His little boy. But Jong-in didn’t feel one ounce of relief, not while your body laid on a hospital bed with more blood outside of your body than in it, and two newborn babies without their mother, their father. Alone and vulnerable.

Perhaps it was because of his paternal instincts kicking in the moment In-ho was born. Seeing his little tufts of blonde hair like his mothers, his grey eyes matching Jong-in’s like a cute little pair. He was perfect. 

And he shamefully had another child on the way.

Another shameful issue for another time. It wasn't how he saw his life heading.

The twins would be perfect too, no doubt. He’d know that when Jinwoo brought them back to your side.

“Take him, I’m going to clean her up.” 

Hae-in handed In-ho to him, being the most lucid she’d been in weeks. She waddled over to the sink and found a sponge in the little cupboard underneath, picking up a fallen bowl and filling it with what she could.

You didn’t look peaceful at all, never seeming like you were sleeping either, not like other hunters who’d perished would have. Your brows were furrowed, like you were laying in pain that medication couldn't fix, hair knotted and sticky on whatever skin it could find and cling to.

Still, you were beautiful. That would never change.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Hae-in said, her lip trembling awaiting an answer she probably wasn’t sure she’d want the answer to.

She was right. Mostly.

“I uh…” Jong-in was taken aback.

He did. But he didn’t.

“To be honest? I never got the chance to.” He sat down in the chair in the corner, cuddling In-ho close to his chest. “I have these feelings and never acted on them... I uh... Well I always thought I wasn't good enough, despite everyone's view of me. So I decided to never do anything about it.”

Up until In-ho’s birth, Jong-in found himself thinking about what his life would have been like if he’d been paired with you. It wasn’t that he regretted his path with Hae-in and in honesty, he wished the association hadn’t pressured him to make more children.

He was happy being a dad and partner to one person. But it didn’t stop him thinking about you. In respect, he never even entertained pursuing anything, taking Jinwoo’s feeling’s into account.

Jinwoo was in love with you, that much was obvious before today, the engagement, even before you fell pregnant. You were just that oblivious.

Just like you were oblivious to Jong-in too, even when his excitement and disappointment was barely contained before and after the results came in.

Not that it mattered anymore…

"She was so hot headed, always trying to stand up for what she believed in. She would have made a great mother. I don't really know how Jinwoo will cope."

“Oh… Right.”

Hae-in sponged you down respectfully and started taking off the dried flakes of blood and grime off of your hands. Your body still slumped, still loose.

How long before she starts going stiff? Fuck, what must be going through Jinwoo's mind right now? What's going through mine?

“But, I love you, Hae-in. I know that much, and I'd like to make a go of things if you'd have me too. Once my second child is born, I’m stopping this. I’m not letting the association push me into any more decisions, not when I’d like to stay with you.”

"You love me..." She hesitated. Mouth closed. Then open. “Do you love her too?”

The other Hunter Jong-in slept with was someone he wasn’t keen on, she was in lack of a better word, high maintenance. Not meaning she wanted Jong-in’s attention, just the attention that came with his presence, like a massive human sized pawn. Jong-in attended appointments with her and nothing else. She kept to her own social circle and pretty much pulled him out for special occasions like a toy doll for company or fine china.

Jong-in, the ultimate hunter, pregnant with his baby.

Like he was even ultimate any more. He did nothing today to prove it when he should have pushed through his exhaustion, and did everything he could to protect his child instead of relying o someone else to do it. So fucking weak.

Hae-in was nothing like that, she didn't expect much form him in terms of his presence or social ability. She had poise, dignity, and Jong-in had ignored her ‘paranoia’ and it led to this. 

“No. She doesn’t feel anything for me either despite how she is during our public appearances.” 

She shook her head slowly, processing something, wiping your face down and ridding your skin of blood and red. “I’m not sure how I feel, Jong-in. My pregnancy was so difficult, I never felt seen.”

He disagreed like he was trying to make himself believe it more. “I saw you. I did. I do. The association have their way of getting under your skin, that doctor- the facility drummed it into me that you were just having a funny turn. I never thought anyone would be capable of stealing children away.”

“What if they come back? Or they take In-ho in the middle of the night when we’re sleeping? I can’t sleep knowing that.”

There was only one solution that Jong-in could think of that made logical sense and get out of the associations back pocket for good. “We move, we get out of here with In-ho and we leave the city- no, the country, if you want to.”

“What about your other child?” Hae-in moved closer to Jong-in on the other side of the bed to clean your other arm.

“She wouldn’t let me have full custody. I doubt she’d even want me around at all, not if I’m halfway somewhere else. She'd probably make it difficult, but I'll still try for some sort of a relationship. If not, then I’ll support her from afar and do my duty as the baby's father, but this is where my family is, in this room.”

Hae-in continued cleaning you, standing weak in the poorly strung hospital gown. “You really love me?”

“I do.”

It seemed like the best type of love, one that grew with time from nothing, a seed in the grown given enough love and care that bloomed into something beautiful. The love he felt for Hae-in versus you was entirely different. With you, it was almost instantaneous, and still he never had time to get to know you more like he wanted to. He learned little things about Have-in he never did with you. Her favourite colour was red. She did this little nose wiggle before she sneezed. And she was entirely more sensitive to sad films than she ever let on.

In the end, Jong-in was where he was supposed to be. With Hae-in. Just part of him didn't want to let you go even though he never had you in the first place, even your friendship fizzled out because it was just never meant to be.

It would take time, but he'd grieve it.

Have-in sniffled, cleaning your body with brief pauses to compose herself. “I can’t believe she’s dead… Jinwoo, he loved her too, and he’ll never get to again. How did this happen? His babies are missing. What if they were taken like In-ho almost was but he can’t ever get them back? He'll never be the same again.”

Jong-in would carry that guilt with him for the rest of his life, begging Jinwoo to help him and it put his own children’s safety at risk. Now they were missing and Jinwoo stepped into a war path he might not ever come back from.

Useless. That was the only word he could come up with. 

Useless. 

“How can he come back from this? I always saw the way he looked at her, he worshipped the ground she walked on. He was so intense, around her, but he looked at her with a softness I’ve never seen before. I think she was the love of his life... he's never looked at anyone else like that... and s-she's gone.”

Jong-in knew that look. “I know exactly what you mean. His intensity. Sometimes I noticed how he looked at me like he wanted to beat me up.” He chuckled sadly, knowing full well if Jinwoo did go for him, it wasn’t just a quick fight Jinwoo wanted, it would be blood.

Any blood.

All blood.

Someone to answer for your murder. 

Someone killed you, clearly. It wasn’t like you fell on something by accident and just died. Any idiot could see you were murdered.

“Jinwoo doesn’t want me around and I understand completely, but if there’s anything I can do to help find who did this, I’ll do everything I can. I’ll use the guild’s power and connections if I have to. Maybe the other guilds might help?”

“We’re in it deep, Jong-in... aren’t we?” 

Hae-in straightened your hospital gown and pulled the thin, and no doubt scratchy sheet over your lower half until the majority of the blood was covered. She placed your hands in a respectful overlap and softly stroked your hair as thought you really were sleeping.

Jong-in couldn’t even pretend. He couldn’t look at you for more than a few seconds without losing his breath.

“Yeah…” He nodded slowly. “We are. And I don’t know who to trust.”

The people he did trust were either storming off down the hill, dead, or hours postpartum. The list was small, thinning out and their lack of presence lately had Jong-in even doubting Baek, Tae-gyu and Dongwook’s positions on this.

“What do we do, Jong-in?”

“We do the best we can with what we’ve got. But no one is taking our child away from us, not again.”

Part 31 <- Part 32 -> Part 33

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

Thank you for reading and all of the support on this fic! ❤️ Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated and I appreciate you all! See you next time 🤗

Tag list - @bubera974 @snowy-violet @sky2lar @starrynights23x @kamiliora

@yessirr7 @qmabailor @yihona-san06 @mashiromochi @daiyanomochi

@justatimidcreator @alia-17 @otomegamesforlife @m00n-estelle @towomatos

@stormnightingale @johnnysactualgf @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved @johnnysactualgf @notleclerc

@minkuro @misakicchi @lovingyeet @soft-dots @gina239

@sabrina-senpai @tsukimoon-chan @afkmylajah @livelaughlovekuni @keiva1000

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work, thank you!

[rogue-durin-16]

Hey beautiful🤗 since you’re the queen of angst and Head to head just ended, could I request headcannons with the BoB boys losing their s/o before confessing their feelings w/ Speirs, Lieb, Malarkey, Toye & Babe?

A/N: oh how I love to write angst. Enjoy <3

Warnings: major character death, warfare, language

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

RONALD SPEIRS

Loss hits Speirs in silence.

Not dramatic. Not loud. Not noticable for all, either.

Maybe if Winters had ordered him to take over Dike's command two minutes earlier, you would still be alive now.

Who knows. He doesn't. He doesn't know.

He shouldn't dwell on it.

But he thinks about your face and how you smiled and he can't help himself, because if Speirs ever had a soft spot, it was for you.

No one knew he was in love, not even you, because Ronald Speirs doesn't do romance, right?

Except he did. Except he was planning to tell you.

But war always beat him to the punch.

There's a different, eerie kind of detachment in his stare now. A coldness that’s not the usual military conditioning

It's personal now. The fight, the loss, the cause, the way he's slowly forgetting your voice day by day.

His command is sharper, meaner. It's grief he can't let go of.

He keeps your dog tags looped with his. If someone notices, they don't dare to say a thing.

Ron doesn't say your name ever again.

JOSEPH LIEBGOTT

They drag your torn body into that Haguenau basement like a ragdoll.

And Joe has to see it happen live.

He doesn't really remember what happened after, but it's for the best.

Absolutely unhinged grief.

Liebgott doesn't cry in front of anyone but you bet your ass he screams into his jacket until his lungs give out.

Shaky hands. Too much energy in his limbs and nowhere to put it except destruction.

Turns his anger inward until someone gives him a reason to turn it outward.

You and Joe were already playing with fire. Stealing moments behind buildings, quiet touches in passing, sleeping tangled in sheets when you could.

It wasn't official. But it was. It meant something. He just hadn't said it—hadn't let the words out.

"I love you" felt too big for him.

Now he's choking on it.

He starts spiraling. Puts himself in danger on purpose. Takes the nastiest jobs.

Not because he wants to die, but because he doesn't care anymore.

No more flirting. No more snark. Just a hollow, violent version of the man you knew.

His regret festers.

"They knew," he tells himself. "They had to know." But he's not sure.

It drives him mad.

DONALD MALARKEY

You were the light in all that mud and blood. A joke. A smile. A chance at something normal.

He hadn't told you yet; he was waiting for things to calm down.

Sadly, war doesn’t wait for anyone.

The moment he hears, something in Don just… switches off.

A combat patrol through the Bois Jacques gone wrong, they said, as if combat patrols could go right at all.

He wasn't even there, which was ridiculous since the two of you seemed to be attached at the hip.

Maybe it was for the best, he selfishly thinks, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to take it.

Don stops joking. Stops engaging. Just folds in on himself like he’s trying to disappear.

He moves on autopilot, trying to push through for the sake of the company. He can grief properly once he gets back.

If he gets back.

Your name becomes a permanent fixture in the letters he never sends home.

There was one where he tried to write "I love you". A stupid way to tell you, but it was the way he would've gone with.

He rips that letter.

He has it memorized though—every word.

JOE TOYE

"a landmine went off", Peacock said. "We were outnumbered— had to retreat".

Okay, so they left you there, Joe thinks.

They left you there to die. Or dead already. Didn't matter.

It takes everything in him not to break in front of the boys.

He sits in the corner, jaw clenched so tight he gets headaches. No tears. Just pent-up rage that he can't let out because it'll come with sobs.

Tries to keep himself busy after that so he doesn’t have to stop and think.

But the minute someone says "you holding up alright?" he snaps.

"What the fuck do you think?"

You were the only one who saw past the tough façade. The only one he let see his soft side.

He wanted to tell you that. That you made him feel like he was worth something. That he loved you.

You'd been together for a while. No one knew because no one needed to know.

He was yours and you were his, and it was a shitty time to fall in love, but it happened.

And now, this happened too, and he doesn't know if he can take it.

Joe still tries to bite the bullet and tough it out. Keeps quiet, does his job, doesn't speak.

Words only spill twice; the first time it's when Bill beats it out of him. The second is when Malarkey asks directly about you.

It doesn't take long for him to believe he never deserved you in the first place.

BABE HEFFRON

You and Babe had a quiet thing going. Behind the jokes. Behind the noise. It took off at Fort Benning and grew organically into true love as time went by.

You'd sneak off. Lie in bed. Talk about what would happen after.

He kissed you like he meant it.

Babe never told you he loved you. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But it never felt like the right time.

He figured he’d get to say it when it mattered.

Bastogne cut your life short and Babe hasn't smiled since.

He doesn't get to bury you, because no one gets to bury anyone in that godforsaken land, but it kills him.

He says your name like a prayer in the night.

Says "I love you" like you'll hear it.

Talks about you constantly to keep the memories alive.

Babe thinks if he mentions you enough, God might give you back.

Sometimes, he forgets to use past tense; says "they love—" instead of "they loved—"

He doesn't correct himself.

No one does it for him.

Tags:

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny @ecompstolemysoul @torchbearerkyle @easily-obsessed-with-things @fromjupitertocentauri @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @metrofae @jetjuliette

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

[sorormaior]

Was perusing the Cary tag, saw this old post

https://www.tumblr.com/sorormaior/771788424569077760/konrad-realizing-cary-woke-up?source=share

And now I wanna know A) what did Konnocht think when Cary woke up? Was he happy that they had finally been let out? Greived that they had been brought into the mess he and his brothers all made and the rotting corpse of the Imperium? Was he expecting this moment or did it take him by surprise that Cary had been found? Did he see them waking up, or only felt it through the soul stuff?

And B) ok but i wanna see the nightlords realizing that dad's missing. Nightlords walking in with nice shrine offerings and the whole ass cryopod is GONE

Oh man, so a lot of very late act one and the very beginning of act 2 is his sort of waking up stage, he was basically stuck in a sort of limbo. You know like, when you’re sick or you’ve had a heavy night and you wake up at like 2am no idea where you are, who you are, just the lizard brain begging you to go back to sleep? That’s how I imagine Night Haunter in the beginning of “waking up”. He properly wakes up once Cary is inside the warp because: Sea of Souls innit.

His reaction though… He’s never going to be thrilled that they’re back in the thick of it and not safe and secure and as far away as possible from the galaxy’s nonsense. But he”d be lying if he wasn’t happy to hear their voice again, if it didn’t make him happy to see them being able to live.

And B)

I drew this earlier this year or last year i think?

[bullet-prooflove]

The Sun To Me: Parker Ellis x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @daydreamsareallineed @mossthedevouring

Summary: Parker gets a surprise during her seduction of you in a nightclub.

Prequel to:

Smoke Rings - Parker takes a moment to breathe up on the roof.

Parker Ellis is a savant at oral sex.

You learn this the first night you run into her at Club Babylon when she goes down on you in the bathroom. Your hand threads through her locs, gripping them as her tongue traces light circles over your clit. It’s nothing more than teasing licks but it has you in a frenzy, desperate to come as her finger exerts just the tiniest bit of pressure against your pussy, parting the lips.

“You’re a fucking tease Ellis.” You mutter and you swear you can feel her smile against your cunt as her grip tightens on your leather dress, hiking it higher.

“You wanna come, I need to see you playing with those tits.” She tells you, her teeth grazing the tattoo on your thigh, nipping it.

You shrug out of the straps of your dress, revealing a mesh balconette bra, your nipples showing through the transparent black fabric. There’s a matching set of panties in her pocket, the kind of thing you wear when you want to show off your assets.

“Fuck.” She breathes as your thumb traces over that cute little nub to attention. She catches a flash of silver and she hones in on it. It’s not your run of the mill barbel, it’s an ornate piece of jewellery that encompasses your nipple like a tiny sun. You have a matching one on the other bud. They shimmer under the light from the bathroom and this, this changes the game completely because this is something she needs to explore, to test, to play with.

“You’re  coming home with me.” She informs you with a sternness that leaves no room for argument. “I need you laid in my sheets so I can worship you properly.”

“Christ Ellis.” You mutter, your head tipping back against the tiles, your skin flushed and your eyes bright. “You planning on keeping me on edge the entire Uber ride?”

Yes, she damn well is. She plans to have her hand on your thigh, her fingers lightly brushing over your wetness, slowly caressing you until you’re leaking all over the seats.

“My name is Parker.” She reminds you, giving you one last lick before drawing away. “Get used to calling me that, because it’s what you’re going to be screaming for the rest of the night.”

Love Parker? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[alaskan-wallflower]

the way i kinda see the dynamic between steve and the curtis brothers goes as follows

ponyboy and steve don’t actually hate each other. i see way too many people depicting steve as some heartless bully or something while forgetting that ponyboy still considers the gang—and by proxy, steve—to be his best friends. i also don’t think steve goes around bullying middle school aged children for sport. his and pony’s rivalry is extremely one sided. steve probably thinks pony can be annoying at times while pony’s an angsty teenager who’s under the assumption that everyone’s out to get him (nobody’s fault in this regard—that’s kinda just what happens, especially between a 17 year old senior in high school and someone who should be in middle school). i think steve does have some insecurities about pony coming along on a lot of his and soda’s hangouts, and he doesn’t want to babysit, while pony’s jealous of steve for taking a lot of soda’s attention. i think steve is pretty chill with ponyboy, he just thinks it’s annoying when soda lets him tag along. he doesn’t hate pony and deep down, while pony finds steve annoying, he doesn’t hate him either. they’re very rodrick heffley/greg heffley coded if im being honest. steve sometimes helps check in ponyboy when he’s sick and darry/soda can’t be home and pony always leaves some leftovers out in case steve decides to come by that night. they don’t hate each other at all and the beef is mostly one sided. i doubt steve goes out of his way to bully middle schoolers.

soda and steve are obviously best friends. soda is steve’s safe haven. steve tells soda everything because he doesn’t want to vent too much around ponyboy since the age gap is a bit too much, and he doesn’t feel very comfortable around darry—at least not enough to the point he would feel comfortable being vulnerable around him. steve and soda had been best friends since they were maybe seven years old. they do everything together—from after school activities to double dates with their girlfriends. however, i’ve kinda talked about how i think steve used to bully soda for a bit since steve was really only ever taught that lashing out was the correct way to verbalize his emotions, and he was going through a lot. they eventually became friends after they both lost their recess and they’ve been unseeable since. steve feels horrible for how he used to treat sodapop, but soda has long since forgiven him. he understands that steve was in a lot of mental pain and wasn’t taught how to properly express himself. i feel like this is maybe an extreme term but they could possibly even be considered soulmates. to some extent, at least.

darry’s relationship with steve is the most complex to me. steve, in my head, has an extremely warped perception of masculinity as a whole, both when it comes to himself and, though less intensely, others. he takes issue with a majority of older, male figures of authority. steve was never really taught how to give respect to people with higher authority, nor was he received it from his dad. steve takes issue with darry sometimes because he feels that darry can be too overbearing. steve doesn’t like having his life laid out for everyone to see. and he gets very very annoyed when anyone—especially darry—asks if he’s “okay”. i think it’s more of an internal conflict and maybe an irrational, maybe unwarranted distaste, but it’s still there. steve’s also extremely intimidated by darry, which only serves to fuel his disdain for darry because nobody ever really made him feel that skittish, and steve takes that feeling of nervousness around darry to heart and considers it a blight on his ego. he hates it. nonetheless though, he’ll still hang out with him. i think darry and steve work out together sometimes. steve’s darry’s first choice when it comes to who’s going to take care of pony if something bad were to happen because darry can acknowledge that steve’s responsible. if you guys have seen the pixie and brutus comics, i kinda sssiciate darry and steve’s relationship to be like dexter and brutus’. steve always wants to one up darry and show that he’s the strongest, he’s the fastest, he’s the most capable, and darry’s kinda unfazed, maybe even a little bored of it? it’s complex for sure.

the dynamics between steve and all three curtis brothers is beyond interesting to me.

[kangaracha]

drama

fandom; kpop demon hunters

tags; huntrix friendship, post-canon, slice of life, fluff and humour

read on AO3

---

It's a lazy day two months after the show that nearly ended their world when Mira looks up from her phone and says, "I always knew you'd be the first one to get your heart broken."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rumi replies, and suddenly becomes really interested in the contents of the refrigerator.

Mira isn't buying it, twisting in her seat on the couch to wave her phone at her. Zoey has to crane her neck to see what's on the screen; though she already knows, of course. #RUJINU has been trending for weeks. "Yes, you do," Mira insists - and waits for her to turn around. And waits. 

And exhales a long breath through her nose when Rumi continues to stare into the depths of the fridge, as if all the answers to her secrets might be written in there, right behind the kimbap.

"Uh...Rumi? Are you okay?" Zoey dares to speak, because there's an explosion building in the hollows of Mira's cheeks and she's only trying to tease her but with Rumi you could never really know, and they never fought properly (except for that one time really recently that they were all going to move on from now ) but they could really spit at each other before they stormed off and Zoey didn't really have the emotional strength right now not to cry if they did that, so-

In the fridge, Rumi starts, just barely turning so that she can see Zoey out of the corner of her eye. "I'm fine," she says, in that way she has that would usually worry Zoey except that she can see the red flush of embarrassment she's trying to hide from her cheeks. "I'm just looking for...something."

Mira snorts, and asks, "Is it your boyfriend?"

Rumi's nose returns to the fridge.

Only Zoey catches Mira's smug smile as she turns back around, scrolling through the comments on her phone. "He's not even that hot," she comments, pausing to squint at a Soda Pop fancam - and then scrolling on to a three second clip of him staring at Rumi from across an award show's stage. "He's too skinny. And kind of...old-looking."

"I didn't think he was old," Zoey says, watching that one clip play over and over. She doesn't know what Mira is looking for in it that she couldn't have seen the first five times, but she still lingers upon it, her eyes pinned to the screen. "He's kind of cute. I guess."

"It's the way he bows," Mira says. "And walks. He acts like my harabeoji."

"He's four hundred years old, of course he's weird," Rumi says to the fridge, and then keeps on pretending that what she's doing is completely normal and definitely not a symptom of the unhealthy coping mechanisms she's supposed to be letting go of.

"How do you know that?" Zoey asks over the top of Mira's sigh. 

"Rumi," the other girl says. "Get out of the fridge."

Silence. And then-

"No."

"You're letting all the cold air out. The milk's going to go off."

"If that's true, then why are there fridges with no doors at the supermarket?"

"When have you ever been to the supermarket?"

"Everyone has been to the supermarket."

"Get out of the fridge. I'm trying to tease you."

Rumi rolls her eyes, closing the fridge door so deliberately slowly that for a moment, Zoey thinks she's going to make a run for the door when it finally seals shut. She doesn't though, just rolls her head back towards the ceiling and drags her feet dramatically towards the couch.

"No one broke my heart," she says when she gets there, leaning over the back of it next to Mira - too close and too friendly to be mad at her. Not that Rumi gets mad. She just...sulks.

"The fans think someone did,"  Mira huffs with a laugh. "It's all they'll talk about. It's kind of annoying, actually. I wanted to see reactions to our performance."

Rumi rolls her eyes again. "Because the fans are always right."

"There was also that picture of you on the rooftops..." Zoey adds, and then tries to look as innocent as possible when Rumi leans forward just to glare at her around Mira. "And he did kind of stare at you like...all the time."

"We weren't dating," Rumi claims. It sounds about as believable as the last fifteen times she's said it.

"Don't have to be dating to have a crush," Mira throws back, a smirk curving the corner of her mouth.

"I don't have a crush on him either. He's a demon."

"A really cute demon that can't take his eyes off you," Zoey says, and struggles to hide a smile when Mira turns to look at her approvingly.

"Why would I ever fall in love with a demon?"

Slowly, Mira's eyes rise, her phone dropping into her lap. Her gaze is piercing, even when it is turned away from Zoey; she can see the blush that creeps over Rumi's face as she withers underneath it, shrinking as far as she can away from Mira without moving.

"Rumi," she says slowly, like this conversation is more serious than the one they'd had on the night when everyone almost died . "Out of all of us, you are the most likely to fall in love with a demon."

" You're the one that had a crush on them!" Her finger points accusingly - and then turns to Zoey. "You still have a poster of one of them!"

Zoey's hands shoot into the air, her eyes widening into a picture of perfect innocence. "I don't - I - he's cute, okay?!" she squeaks. "She has posters too!"

"I have those for tactical research," Mira claims, as if her face isn't turning red by the second. "They make good target practice."

"I don't have any posters," Rumi says smugly, examining her nails.

"Except for that photocard in your pocket. Which is way worse, I think." Rumi chokes. "I'm just saying, I knew you'd be the first one to totally fall for some guy. And I knew it'd be like, the hottest loser you could find too."

Rumi's hiding her face again, looking back at the fridge like it might solve all her problems if she just tries a second time. "He wasn't a loser," she mutters under her breath, picking at a flake of polish in the corner of her nail. 

"He was cute though," Zoey offers; and she can just see Rumi look at her from the corner of her eye. " So not my type, but for Rumi-"

"Like you were made for each other," Mira groans. "It's gross. It's like watching a bad K-drama."

"One where he dies at the end," Rumi snorts, in the derisive kind of way that means she doesn't think she's funny at all, actually.

" Ugh ." Mira's head slumps back against the couch, her arms stretching out wide enough that one of her hands lands on top of Rumi's. "You had to pick a guy I can't beat up for making you cry. Just get over here already."

"Sorry." Reluctantly, Rumi climbs over the couch and slumps down, just an inch out of reach. Mira isn't dissuaded, leaning over and dragging her over in what could nearly be described more as a headlock than a hug, until they are side by side, as close together as they've ever been.

"Sorry for what?" she asks as Zoey moves, squeezing Rumi in between them as she sits back down. "The fans love it. We've never been so popular."

"For...I'll find you someone to beat up next time. Promise."

There's a long moment where Rumi and Mira just stare at each other, unmoving - and then Mira cracks, laughter bubbling from her lips unbidden. She doesn't explain, just wraps her arms around Rumi and drags her into a hug, laughing. Over her shoulder, Rumi turns to look hopelessly at Zoey. The younger girl can only shrug helplessly, as confused as Rumi is.

"You get me," Mira says, her voice muffled by Rumi's shirt. "I love you so much."

Rumi still looks confused; Zoey just grabs her too, squeezing her so tightly that she's not sure she'll be able to breathe. "Me too," she says, and listens to Mira laugh.

---

Permanent Taglist

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[the-camp-half-blood-library]

do you know of any fics where nico’s ability and powers are just shown off really well/ powerful nico overall. some solangelo would be preferred but not necessary :)

Hey there! We've got five fics for you, just mind the tags

Losing control by @sunflowersandscreams

Nico and Will are attacked by monsters on a date, and Nico's powers get out of hand. Whumptober Alternative Prompt 1: Losing control

there's magic in my bones by @penguinly

With a quest carrying the Golden Fleece to the other side of the country, Camp Half Blood's defenses are down. For the past week, the campers have been fending off monsters along the weakened barrier but on the last day, disaster strikes. Nico gets to fight a drakon. or, Whumptober Day 7: Magic With A Cost

Sun in My Eyes, Yours On The Prize (Me) by KeiraSola

Being the son of Hades complicated some parts of Nico's life. For one, most demigods' knee jerk reaction to his heritage was still fear. It was better than before but it still happened. And two, he was very sure that the average demigod did not spend time getting sent on errands for their parents or helping with the paperwork of their domain. But that's ok, Nico learned to live with it. Embrace it even, after he became the Ghost King and a prince of the Underworld. That doesn't mean he was ok with being Ancient Law engaged to his best friend and crush because of them though. (Excerpt from Chapter 5) “Are we -” Nico blinked slowly, looking around the room at his family who wore proud and happy expressions “Are we celebrating something? Is that why you called a family dinner Dad?” The lord of the Underworld raised one fine eyebrow. “Did you really think we would not celebrate your engagement my son?” “MY WHAT!?” (A Nico-centric Solangelo story told non-linearly)

Resurrection, For Dummies and Oblivious Children by @thegoldencontracts

"I was naive," Nico continued. "And I've learned from back then about the dangers of accidentally resurrecting people because you thought they were just pranking you. The incorporeal form of a spirit is not makeup, and the warble of a dead soul's voice is not, in fact, 'just special effects'. But that does not excuse my actions. As such, I would like to firmly state that-" "It's the toxic gossip train!" "I will never-" "Just take the ukulele, Neeks," Bianca said, because there was no getting out of this for him, clearly. Nico looked at the ukulele. Then back at her. Then at the ukulele. Then at her again. And for a few seconds, he just looked between her and the ukulele helplessly. He took the ukulele. At age ten, Nico di Angelo is not quite properly told that his sister is dead. This leads to an oblivious little boy with the most adorable set of puppy-dog eyes going on a quest of unintentional resurrection and helping save the world, for better or for worse.

You're no saint, you're no savior by @yonemurishiroku

Written for the prompt on Tumblr by @/bitchberry "Zeus attacking Nico with lightning and Nico redirecting it back at zeus because he just seems like the type of person to know how to do that"

Leave kudos, leave a comment, and happy reading!

-Mod 2

(also sorry for going missing for like two weeks i didn't have wifi and therefore couldn't talk to mod 1 or do... anything! yay! back now tho)