#if someone else doesn't write this I will | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shra-vasti · 1 day ago

Text

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."

#enhypen #park jay #park jongseong #park jay x reader #enhypen x reader #jay x reader #jongseong imagines #park jongseong x reader #jay imagines #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jay au #park jongseong smut #enhypen smut #park jay smut #jay smut #enhypen jay smut

254 notes · View notes

butyoudidthis4what · 1 day ago

Text

I hear you.

Andrew Pope Cody x F!Reader

Based on this ask for the 1k celebration! The prompt was "show me that bruise please."

6.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: Discussion of reader being very briefly assaulted in the form of her arm being grabbed hard; diverges from canon; a fairy bad bruise but no heavy graphic description; canon typical violence in the form of the guy who assaulted you being taken care of by the Cody boys™️; reference to use of a bat as a weapon; mention of a shotgun; super vague reference to drugs if you've watched the show and/or know Craig; mention of a bar; Pope struggles; heavy allusion to sex; emotional-ish but I think still quite fluffy; no use of y/n or related.

Summary: You come home to Pope with a bruise.

AN: My first time writing for Pope. He is a tough one to nail down in all aspects, voice, characterization, movement. So I'm very nervous and concerned about whether this reads and feels like him in those ways. I'm also only about half way through season 4 so I haven't seen all of him quite yet. I didn't get into too much into either Reader or Pope's internal thinking and feelings how I sometimes do. I was trying to keep it lighter and shorter. 😂 Anyway, I hope it reads and feels like him and is nevertheless enjoyable if it doesn't. I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments and thank you so much for reading!

You’re still thinking about how you’re going to tell Pope as you turn down the street of your house.

You suppose it doesn’t really matter in the end. His reaction will be the same no matter how gently you tell him or how much you play it down. Because it’s you. And so it’s visceral for him. Instinctual.

Especially when it’s you being injured by someone else.

The two of you met shortly after Deran bought and opened the bar. He hired you as a bartender. To the surprise of everyone, Pope included, the two of you hit it off. He’d come in and sit at the bar before opening while you prepped. You’d talk, he’d listen, would talk some. He talked more over time as he became comfortable with you. You started going to parties at the house which gave you more time together, got him more comfortable around you. Particularly because you generally spent about five minutes in the backyard before slipping with Pope to whatever free room was available and shutting the door.

You only ever talked. You’d lay on the bed side by side and stare at the ceiling while you talked and during the periods of comfortable silences. You never made him talk. Never made him try to be something he wasn’t. Never tried to push for more while in a bedroom with him.

He let you help with Lena. It was you he turned to when he had to let her go. He spent considerably more time at your place after, both because he wanted to be there and because you saw what Smurf was doing to him.

Your relationship was a slow progression. But he finally asked you out like you hadn’t been dating in a way already and things grew from there. You probably moved in together a little too quickly but you had to get him out of that fucking house and away from Smurf. The progression wasn’t linear. Nothing ever truly is. Both of you had things to work through, pasts that made relationships difficult. You stuck together though. And here you are a few years later. You just bought a house together and are both thinking about more in your own heads.

Pope’s on the couch waiting up for you and watching another nature documentary when his phone rings. His brows furrow a little when he sees it’s Deran. “Yeah?”

“Hey, so listen… little physical altercation at the bar tonight-”

“Involving her?” He’s already up and grabbing his keys.

“Yeah but she’s fine, man,” Deran sighs in that vaguely impatient and resigned way he does. “She already left and is on her way home. It really wasn’t much. Some guy grabbed her arm and that was really all he was able to do before it was handled. I just didn’t want to get yelled at for not telling you, so I called.”

Pope’s voice is even lower than usual, seething. “You better hope she’s really okay.”

He hangs up, turns all the living room lights on, sits back down, and turns the TV off. He’d love to know why the fuck you didn’t call him.

He hears the garage door opening, your car pulling in and it closing again. He’d taught you that when you guys moved in. To keep the car in reverse and close the garage door before parking, unlocking your car doors and getting out. Safer. Thirty seconds or so later the door leading from the garage into the house opens and you walk in, set your stuff down with its usual clatter. “Hey! I’m home.”

You toe your shoes off and kick them onto the bottom shelf of the shoe rack how Pope likes. The second you step into the living room and find the TV off, all the living room lights on, and Pope sitting straight up in the armchair you already know. His eyes find yours immediately and stay on you.

“Deran?” you confirm as you walk further into the living room. You stand near the armchair, close enough that he could stand and reach you or grab your hand as he sits but far enough away to give him space and not be looming over him.

“Called.” Pope’s face would be unreadable to anyone but you. Everyone would just see anger and his scowl. And yes, he is angry. But you see the slight softness to his eyes, the way his eyebrows furrow just a little differently than when he’s angry, and the way his head isn’t bowed in anger but rather lifted just a little with the slightest tilt. Worried. Pope is worried about you. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

It’s acerbic. It’s Pope being worried and struggling with the vulnerability that worry brings. He’s not sure what he would be without you. Not sure he would continue to be for very long without you.

You tilt your head at him a little, keep your tone soft and volume normal. “Of course I was.” You nod as you say it. “I just thought doing it in person would be better so that I’d be here and you could see I’m okay.”

After a few seconds of consideration your answer earns you an almost imperceptible nod. He likes that thought process, the way you were trying to make this even a little easier on him. “Are you hurt?” You shake your head at him and he accepts it for now. “What happened?”

You shrug. “I was walking back from a table and some guy stopped me and started talking. When I tried to excuse myself to get back behind the bar he grabbed my arm. I got away quickly enough. Left a bruise but it’s really not bad.”

“What?” It’s low, eerily calm and all gravel. And there’s anger, you think. Real anger. Not anger that’s in part masking worry. You can see it and you can hear it.

“Pope, I’m okay-”

“He left a mark on you. That’s not okay.” His breathing has gotten heavier as his anger grows. It’s not at you and you know that. He’s just livid at the thought of someone leaving a mark on you. He’s glad he can’t see it, that you’re wearing one of his shirts and the sleeve is long enough on you to just about hit your elbow. Glad he has time to try to prepare himself to see it.

“It’s not that bad, it’s just a bruise.” You offer him a small smile to see if it’ll help show him you’re okay. It does. Just slightly. Your smile helps him. Always helps him regulate and come back to center even if just the slightest bit. “I give myself them all the time.”

He shakes his head a little. “Doesn’t matter how bad it is or isn’t. And if it’s already visible it’s bad enough.”

“Pope, I’m okay. Look at me.” You offer him your hand and after a few seconds he takes it and stands up. You take one of his hands in yours and press his index and middle finger into your wrist, his fingers automatically adjusting until they find your pulse. You cup his face, keeping looking into his eyes. “I’m here,” you murmur. “I’m here with you and I’m okay.”

His jaw grinds a little but he nods and lets out a breath. It’s helped him come down a little. “Show me that bruise please.” His tone has evened back out. He’s not demanding. It’s a statement, but there’s just enough of a slight upward intonation at the end of the sentence that you know you could refuse.

You don’t want to refuse though. And there’s no point in refusing. He’s going to see it at some point tonight unless you change in the bathroom with the door closed and wear one of his shirts or something long sleeved.

“Okay.” You nod at him. Pope lets go of your wrist and your hands move from his face, one hanging at your side as the other grabs your sleeve and pulls it up, bunches it at your shoulder before coming down so he can see. You hold that arm out a little for him.

Pope’s breathing picks back up as looks at your arm, uses his finger to ask you to hold it out more and turn it for him. He’s a little lightheaded and a lot nauseous at the sight, red and purple blotches are already settling into your skin. But it’s not so much the red and purple that makes him lightheaded and nauseous.

“That is not just a bruise,” he grits out, his breathing picking back up again. “That’s his fucking handprint on your skin! That is his fucking handprint bruised onto your arm!” He doesn’t raise his voice or yell though he says the words with force behind them. The words are strained too. A man trying to keep himself collected. At least for now. At least for this conversation with you.

Pope thought he was livid before, thought he was full of rage. At whoever did this to you. At himself for not being there to protect you. But one look at the handprint shaped bruise on your upper arm has him thinking he’s never truly been livid before. Hasn’t come close to hitting true rage before.

“I’m okay. It doesn’t really hurt and it’ll fade.”

“Who was it?” Pope finally pulls his eyes off the bruise and back up to yours. “Is he a regular?”

You shake your head and let out a concerned breath. “Deran and I already took care of him, Pope. Please. I don’t want you to leave tonight or put yourself at risk while you’re this upset about it.” Your eyes grow a little glassy and the corners of your lips pull down.

Both your words and the look on your face make Pope pause for a second. He can’t let his anger go. But he can at least try to set aside for now. For you.

“You took care of him?” His eyebrows raise slightly.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Pretty sure I broke his nose. If I didn’t, Deran definitely did. He was there within seconds of my punch to take over for me.”

“With?” You know he’s asking how you might’ve broken the guy’s nose.

“My fist.” You smile a little at the way the quickest little smirk of pride flashes on his face.

“Does your hand hurt?”

“A little maybe.” You open and close it. “Nothing I’d be desperate to take ibuprofen or tylenol for.”

“Let me see.” He holds his hand out and you place yours in his. Pope looks down and doesn’t love what he sees. Your knuckles are very clearly bruised. “It’ll be worse tomorrow,” he releases your hand and looks at you, “it always is.”

You shrug. You don’t really care. “But hey, it’s not broken because I had such a great self-defense instructor who taught me how to protect myself for the times when I can’t be with my boyfriend.” Something about ‘instructor’ gets to Pope a little, makes his heart beat a little faster. You pull your sleeve back down, covering the bruise. “Probably the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on.” You hold out your hands for Pope and pull him gently and start walking backwards towards your bedroom once he takes them.

“He can be taken care of again.” He’s talking about the guy who did this to you. You give him a little nod, shrug in admission and acquiescence. The guy could.

“Auburn curls,” you continue, squeezing his hands. He goes to squeeze back but stops, doesn’t want to make the bruising worse. “The most beautiful hazel eyes. Big hands that enveloped mine. Soft yet firm tummy I could feel whenever he was right behind me helping me position my hands or something. Muscular arms.” You cross the threshold into your bedroom, warmth flooding through you when you watch the corners of his lips twitch up, his eyes crinkle a little as your words make him give you the smallest smile. “Sharp jaw with some stubble that made me shiver when it would scrape lightly over my ear and face when he leaned in from behind to give me instructions.” You stop walking when you and Pope are standing face to face at the end of your bed, stepping close to him and resting your hands against his chest.

“You were supposed to be paying attention.” He tilts his head slightly as he slides his arms around your waist. “To what you were being taught.”

You smirk at him. “Evidently I was.” You pull your bruised but not broken hand from his chest and wiggle your fingers at him.

“Maybe you need to take a refresher course from this instructor.” It seems teasing. Or the closest to this kind of teasing Pope will probably ever get. And perhaps it is in part, slight part. But really it’s a type of vulnerability Pope only gives you. It’s a veiled ask and expression of concern. He wants to teach you again, assure himself that you know how to defend yourself when he’s not with you.

“I’d be more than happy to do that.” You nod at him.

He swallows. “Thank you.”

“Always,” you murmur. You press your lips together and up, ask him for a kiss. He leans down and in to give you one. More than one. Brings a hand up to hold your jaw gently. Like you’ll break. Another silent ask, though you’re not entirely sure for what. You’re not sure he knows. You pull away a little at a natural break in your last kiss. “What do you need?”

He shakes his head a little. “I don’t…” His eyes wander around your face, jaw rolling as he tries to find the answer. Not because he feels he needs to give you one but because he wants to find the answer for himself. A few quiet moments pass, but you’re patient. You’re always patient with him. He finally gets what he needs articulable, brushes the thumb of the hand still holding your jaw over your lips, just enough force to tilt your head a little. “To look at you. To feel you.”

You nod as you study him, his eyes. There’s really two ways to give him both of those. But there is only one way he’s using his eyes and body to ask for, consciously or not.

If he wanted to strip you and lay you on the bed and look over you by kissing every inch of you his free hand would be playing with the hem of your shirt or the waistband of your pants and his eyes would flick to the bed at least once. But neither of those happen.

Instead his eyes stay locked with yours the entire time. His free hand squeezes your hip gently, gives it the slightest tug to the right. It matches with the way his thumb tilts your head slightly to the right. The bathroom is off to the right.

It’s obvious.

“Shower me?” Your words are important. Especially now, especially to Pope. Shower me. Not shower with me. You want him to do this for you. You’re giving this to him. Giving yourself to him. “Wash him off me. Please. I only want you on me.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “okay.”

You smile at him as he lets his hand fall from your jaw and take yours. He leads you to the bathroom, closes the door so the steam will heat the room, turns the shower on and lets the water get warm as he strips you, pants and underwear first, then himself completely, and then his fingers play at the hem of your shirt for a few seconds as he tries to brace himself to see it again before he takes it off, makes quick work of your bra.

His anger hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s right there beneath the surface. It flares when the bruise is revealed again, rings in his ears. But you’re more important than it. You need him right now. To take care of you and wash the guy who did this from your skin as much as he can.

And he needs you. Now and always. Needs to know you’re okay. He feels like his emotions, his worry and resultant need to see and feel you might be out of proportion with what happened, especially to an outsider. Because at the end of the day you are right. It is just a bruise. It’s not life-threatening. You don’t need any medical treatment. But for Pope it might as well have been. It was life-threatening to him because you were in danger and he wasn’t there. The situation was life-threatening even if the bruise it left you with isn’t.

The whole thing is a reminder of something he knows all too well, how fragile life is, how easily it’s taken away. How easily the woman he loves could be taken away. It makes him breathless if he thinks about it for too long. So maybe his emotions and his reaction feel out of proportion, would seem that way to an outsider. But they aren’t to him. He’s had too much ripped away, seen too much violence and death, and so every threat to you is life-threatening in his mind.

Pope grabs your hand again before he uses his other to feel the temperature of the water. You bite your lip at it because something about it is just adorable and precious. He wants to hold your hand here in your bathroom. Doesn’t want to be not touching you.

Once he’s satisfied with the temperature he gets you in first, makes sure you get completely wet and are warm before he lets you spin the two of you so that he’s under the stream of water. When he’s done he moves you back, has you get your hair wet again before grabbing your shampoo. He’s thorough, massages your scalp a little before rinsing and applying your conditioner. He holds you while it sits, hugs you to him, his head turning to rest on your shoulder. After enough time has passed he rinses your hair, makes sure all the conditioner is out.

The breath of air he lets out as he takes a step back to grab your body wash would be just that, him letting out a breath, to anyone else. But you see it for what it is, a small sigh of relief that he can now finally do what he’s been aching to do. He can wash you, can run a soaped up washcloth over you, follow behind it with his other hand so he can feel you as he looks you over, go over every inch of you to reassure himself. To comfort himself.

You grab the washcloth and start to get it wet as he grabs your body wash. But you stop him. “Yours, please.” He’s still for a few seconds before grabbing his and turning around to take the washcloth for him. You love smelling like him. And you know that smelling like your shampoo and conditioner and his body wash is going to be perfect for him in bed tonight. Because he loves the smell of you but also loves the possessiveness of you smelling like him. Best of both worlds.

The shower has been quiet and continues to be as Pope washes you, kneeling to wash your legs to make sure he feels all of you, looks at all of you. It’s not unusual. It’s Pope. He doesn’t need words to express himself right now. His hands and eyes and lips say everything. He’s worried about you. He’s scared. He’s angry at the guy who did this. He doesn’t like you getting hurt. He hates it. It’s unacceptable. He’s sorry he wasn’t there. He’s going to take care of you. He’s got you. You’re safe with him.

He loves you.

You don’t speak because you know how focused he is and wants to remain. You talking might interrupt or distract him. He might not get everything he needs from this. So you watch him wash you, run your hands through wet curls when he’s on his knees in front of you.

Pope occasionally presses kisses after the hand following the washcloth. To your hip, your collarbones, your knee, your inner wrist, your tummy, the back of your calf, your lower back, up your spine, your shoulder, your hands, your fingers, your neck. He doesn’t care about the taste of soap on his lips, he doesn’t even really register it.

He avoids it though. That one upper arm. But once the rest of you is finished and it’s the only unwashed part of you he turns his attention to it. You watch the maelstrom of emotions behind his eyes as he looks at it, watch his jaw clench and unclench. Pope looks at you, waits for the soft smile and nod you give him before his eyes turn back to your upper arm.

He’s exceedingly gentle as he runs the washcloth over the bruise, the hand that follows behind it feather light, fingertips dragging over your skin lightly enough to bring goosebumps to your skin even with the heat of the shower. The washcloth hitting the floor makes a slapping sound that neither you nor Pope really hear. He’s too focused on you and you’re too focused on him.

He leans down, drops his head enough to bring his lips to your arm, shifting as he needs to in order to kiss every single square inch of the bruise. His eyes stay on it once he’s done, fingers tracing over it again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he brings his eyes back to yours. His scowl has tightened enough to reflect how sad he is, how responsible he feels. They match his slightly glassy eyes. Shame clouds his features and he has to look away, afraid of what he’ll see on your face once his apology processes even though he knows your face isn’t going to change.

And there’s the fear you knew was coming for him.

The fear that he fucked up, that he wasn’t there and let this happened and failed to protect you so you’re going to revoke your love. Break up with him. Leave him. Or maybe just punish him with the silent treatment and put downs and little snide comments designed to inflict maximum damage until you decide it’s enough. He knows you won’t do any of that but that type of treatment is all he’s known and even with the years between you where you’ve never done anything of the sort, it’s still almost impossible for the fear to not take him over for a little when he feels like he’s messed up and let you down. It’s a Pavlovian response. And he knows you know that. That you don’t hold it against him or think it’s reflective of what he thinks about you.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Your voice is warm and even. It’s normal, how you always talk to him. You have to fight to keep it that way not because you’re mad at him or upset with him but because seeing him like this, being this hard on himself, feeling this guilty, makes your heart ache for him and hurts worse than the bruise or when it was left.

“I should have been there.” He shakes his head and you can see his scowl relax back into anger at himself, jaw setting.

You move your hand within his field of vision so that he knows it’s coming when you slide it into his and squeeze. “I know it feels that way, and your feelings are valid and your guilt makes sense, I promise. But we can’t be together every second Pope. And even if you had been there unless you were following me from table to table it would’ve happened all the same.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he’d have seen us together and not tried.” You tug on his hand a little, try to get him to come closer to you so that he’ll be in the stream of water. You can see that he’s cold. But you’re not surprised when he doesn’t move, knows he thinks being cold is just part of the penance he feels he deserves. So you step out of the stream and drop his hand so you can wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his chest. “And I’d have been there. I’d at least have been there.”

As you expected, Pope slides his arms around you and walks you both back into the stream of the shower. You stand there quietly with him for a few moments until he relaxes enough to truly hug you back, lean over you and rest his head on your shoulder. You rub his back, try to give him as much comfort as he’ll accept before you pull back and lean in to kiss him.

You break the kiss and let your hands leave his body to hold his face so that he’ll look at you again. “I know I can’t take it away from you or convince you that you don’t need to feel responsible or guilty or like you let me down or failed me. But I can tell you that I don’t feel like you’re responsible for it, I don’t feel like you let it happen or that you weren’t there for me or that you let me down or failed me. This doesn’t change anything between us. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going silent.” You give him another couple of kisses before smiling at him, watch him fight to accept your words. “I still love you more than I know what to do with and I still feel loved by you. There hasn’t been a single second since you first told me that I haven’t.”

“There hasn’t been a single second I haven’t.” He’s urgent in the way he says it, like he needs you to know, needs you to believe him.

“I know,” you murmur. You steal a lingering kiss from him and then settle him back into you. It doesn’t upset you that he doesn’t really verbally acknowledge the rest of what you said. You know he was listening and taking it in and is trying to process it all.

After another minute or so Pope pulls away from you so that he can quickly wash his hair and body. Normally you’d ask to do it for him but you know it would be too much for him right now, that he’d let you but grow even more tense with how much he’d feel like he didn’t deserve it. So you just watch, step out of the stream when he needs to rinse. And when he’s done he pulls you into him so that your back is against his chest, positions you just right so that the water falls on you both but keeps your heads out of the stream as you soak together.

Eventually you start to talk softly, chatter at him like you do. It’s something he loves about you. That you’ll talk to him and not expect him to talk in return. But you don’t talk constantly either. You know when to and for how long. You’re not afraid of the silence that often falls between the two of you, it’s always comfortable, always feels safe. Sometimes you just like to break it. Sometimes the energy shift within him as he starts to get in his head is so palpable you can feel it and start to talk to bring him out of it before he gets too far in. Sometimes it’s some of both.

He comments from time to time, gives you hums of acknowledgement to make sure you know he’s listening. He doesn’t need to because you know he’s always listening. Always remembering. He’ll bring up something you randomly spoke about as you guys make dinner a month after the fact. Sometimes you don’t even remember.

You bring a hand up and back and run your fingers through his hair for a second as best you can. “I love your curls when they’re wet,” you sigh happily.

“You always love them.”

You giggle a little at him and the way he says it so simply, like he’s saying water is wet or some other obvious fact, almost a little distracted, voice stoic in a way and low enough to be all gravel. “True.”

From there you tell him about other things that happened at the bar. Give him a little more info on just how well Deran took care of the guy.

“And as Deran’s hauling him over to the door Craig leaves the bathroom,” you pause in a silent we both know why, “and is like ‘yo, what the fuck?’ and starts yelling for Kai to hand him the bat and when she wouldn’t he started to go for the hidden shotgun. Luckily Deran had the guy out by that point, but then Craig found out what happened and was asking for the bat again and saying he was just going to find and have a talk with the guy and make sure he knew I was yours and that he was lucky it was him and Deran there and not you.”

“Fucking Craig,” Pope huffs. But you know his lips are upturned at least a little, know that he loves it, his brothers protecting you, that he loves them. “Deran should’ve let him.” You hum in acknowledgment and stand in comforting silence for a bit. “I’m glad they had your back.”

You don’t comment on those words, know he doesn’t want you to. Instead you tell him the rest of the night was uneventful, let there be a few minutes of silence before you start talking again, this time about whatever pops into your head. Things you need at the grocery store, somewhere you think you guys should go on vacation, another random story someone at work told you, how you need the oil changed in your car.

The entire time you chatter at him Pope holds you close, kisses at your neck and just below your ear, occasionally letting his lips pull up just a little at something you say or how animated you get, content to listen to you and let you drown out the thoughts in his mind trying to take over.

“Leave your car tomorrow and take mine. I’ll change the oil.” He gives your neck one last kiss and then moves his hands to squeeze your hips gently. “Let’s get out. The water is getting cold.”

“That would be very nice of you, thank you.” You spin to give him a kiss quickly before you wait for him to turn the shower off and step out, dry himself and wrap his towel around his waist. He holds his hand out for you and you take it, let him grab your towel and dry you off.

Pope wraps your towel around you to help keep you warm while he sorts out your wet hair for you. You both hang your towels to dry before heading back into your room.

“No.” He says it softly but it’s loud enough to hear and you turn to him, abandoning the pair of pajamas you were about to pull from the dresser. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you. “Please,” he whispers. He needs you skin on skin, no fabric between you. He needs to feel your warmth seep into him. Needs to know you still want his skin on yours.

“I’d love that.” You smile brightly at him. It makes his heart seize a little. He’ll never get over you wanting him in every way, of you looking at him like that. Like he’s your world.

Nor will he ever get over sliding into bed next to you and laying on your side, you seeking him out, tangling your legs together and resting your arm across the side of his waist as your heads lay on the same pillow and you look at each other.

There’s a couple moments of silence as you both settle in.

“How’d your day go? Anything you want to share?” The smile you wear reassures him he can say no if he wants.

He shrugs with his top shoulder. “It was fine until that phone call from Deran. Didn’t really do much.”

You hum at him. “Well I’m glad it was otherwise fine.”

He gives you a single nod and the peaceful silence returns. The two of you just rest together, looking at each other, hands running up and down your sides. You watch his face slowly tighten. He has something to admit.

You give him time to work it out in his head, don’t prompt him or ask him anything. And eventually the silence is broken.

“I’m finding him,” Pope admits.

You let out a small laugh, smile at him and nod. You squeeze his hip. “I know.”

“Does that make you mad?” That question is quieter, like he’s afraid of the answer and feels like shit for the way he’s not sure a ‘yes’ would be able to stop him.

“No.” You shake your head.

“I don’t want to make you mad.” He swallows thickly, like he’s trying to take his next words down with it. “But he bruised his handprint onto your skin. I can’t let that go, I can’t let that go.”

“It doesn’t make me mad, my love. I promise.” You run a hand through his hair. “Just be careful, yeah? Can’t have you getting hurt on me. Or anything else.” You don’t need to specify you’re talking about him getting caught and going back to prison. He knows.

There’s a brief pause as he accepts your words. “You like taking care of me when I’m hurt,” he mumbles like it doesn’t mean everything to him.

“Well yeah!” you huff a laugh. “But I’d gladly accept never getting to take care of you in that specific way again if it meant you were here with me and never got injured, or sick for that matter, again.”

Pope nods. More silence. He shifts in bed, just a small wiggle. But he has been the whole time. He’s restless. He knows you’re okay but he needs more to quiet his mind.

“You’re okay?” He breaks the silence again.

“I’m okay.” You smile at him and nod. Your eyes roam his face and then settle back on his as you hear what he wants. “It’s okay if you need more.” You grab Pope’s hand and roll on your back, tug on his hand to get him to follow you so that he’s on top of you. “If you haven’t felt me quite enough to really believe that I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” he breathes with a nod.

You lean up and kiss him, run a hand through his curls and use it to guide his head down with yours as you kiss. “Yeah,” you whisper against his lips.

He kisses you this time, gives you a tiny grunt of appreciation when you open your mouth for him so he can taste you. As you kiss you grab his hand, guide it over your body to remind him that he can touch you, that you’re his, all of you. He doesn’t need much of a reminder, hands roaming all over you as he kisses you breathless. His hands are softer than usual, gentler. He doesn’t squeeze quite as hard. It’s not that he doesn’t want to mark you, he loves marking you. But not tonight. He can’t tonight.

You whine in discontent when he breaks the kiss and pulls up to look down at you, hazel eyes blown and chest heaving slightly. “Thank you. For not making me ask.” He gives you another lingering kiss and pulls up a little and looks at you again like you’re unreal, a figment of his imagination. But he could never imagine something as good as you, no matter how hard he tried. “You never make me ask.”

“You do ask.” You sigh softly as he moves one of his hands closer to where you want it. Where he wants it. “Just not with words. You ask with your eyes. With your hands, your body. And I learned quickly how to listen. How to hear you.” You widen your legs for him letting his pelvis drop down and settle against yours more as you continue to look him in the eye. His hips and yours roll and his hand falters as you both find friction another way. He gives you a soft groan as his hand starts moving closer again, though for a different purpose this time. The pleasure Pope’s sending through you has your voice breathy and low as your hands tangle in his hair and pull him closer again so that your lips touch. “I hear you. I’ll always make sure I can hear you.”

I hope it was okay and 'Pope' enough! I love hearing your guys' thoughts and comments, they give me serotonin, motivation and inspiration!! Liking, replies and reblogging are always so so appreciated! My inbox and DMs are always open for thoughts, comments, and general screaming!

Want to be added to my Pope tag list? Interact with this post!

If you'd like to be tagged in future 1k celebration drabbles please interact with this post! I won't be using my regular tag lists for them. There are more Pope drabbles coming! Feel free to read this post and send one in yourself!

I also write for the Pitt! Checkout my masterlist here! Interact with this post if you'd like to be added to my Jack Abbot tag list and this post if you'd like to be added to my Robby Robinavitch tag list. (Each of my tag lists is a separate post!).

Divider by @saradika-graphics.

Tag list:

@loveyhoneydovey @taylorswifts-cardigan @readingaroundworlds @bubblesmaketheworldgoround-blog @beefbaby25 @ksyn-faith @iamawhore4life @niamhmbt @guardiancardigan @readiefreddie @cavillary @madprincessinabox @pear-1206 @estelsbloggings @borbalalikesdocs @qardasngan @diamond-gardens @flyinglama @phoenixhalliwell @imherefordeanandbones @marvelcasey05 @princesssunderworld @blackwidownat2814 @minos-minotaur @thatcorporategirlie @oldmanbunnylover @captainoates @gigidacoolest @mossthedevouring @firefoxkairan @blackirisesinthesunlight @ailujsenutna @itsnotevenridiculous @abllor @loveandpandora @cosmoscoffeee @softsundaymournings @seeminglyincurablesadnes @karavt @ultrabuzzlightyear @londonbeachgirl @natalie-rose05 @downwithpat @arigoldsblog @charlietriestoshift @uznea @simply-lovley44 @elenacarey @theteenagementality

358 notes · View notes

anya-nya-nya · 24 hours ago

Text

⚠light nsfw⚠

Every time someone writes hc about Mydei being rough in bed an angel dies. As if we still can only read the story but never made our own conclusions or ideas out of that. All tall, buff men have the same fate to be described as dominant cruel rough fuckers. Do we still live on the idea “big size” - “shitty behavior in bed”?

Out of all characters in hsr I feel like Mydei would be the most gentle one actually, cause he's very aware of his strength. A true warrior perfect not only the maximum force of his punch but the minimum brush of his touch, a hard exercise to develop new depth of control over your body. Yet Mydei is always so rabid and derisive when it comes to physical strength that he always ignores the second part and now he regrets it.

The features of your figure doesn't matter, be you short or tall, be you lazy or a bodybuilder yourself, he's still too afraid to break your bones when he slides his hands on your hips to sprawl you on the bedsheets. There's a hope in his mind that you're already dizzy enough with kisses and proximity of close contact so the tremble in his fingers when he let himself grope under the shirt isn't notable.

All the fierceness is for the battles and King of Kremnos, but, in the tet-a-tet moment with you, he's only a Mydei. A lovestruck man who kisses your chest and bosom so gently you need to open your eyes back to see if no one switched your boyfriend to someone else.

+I also feel like he would prefer face to face positions instead of doggy as it provides a more intimate contact - especially when your eyes lock.

Love to dominate? He would be cocky about it but the idea of actually passing control to you and just being a pillow prince for a night while you mounted on him is more alluring than Mydei would confess. He would appreciate both a rough treatment - well, when roles swipes he isn't afraid of it, you just can't inflict a real psychic pain on his body. And soft domination - the best way to forget about stress when you spoil him like this (The color of Kremnos is red but even the oldest men never saw such a bright hue as the one coloring Mydei's cheeks when you're being a soft dom and teasing him.)

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #mydei #mydeimos #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #mydei x you #mydeimos x reader #mydeimos x you

182 notes · View notes

ggidolsmuts · 2 days ago

Text

Fromis App Part 17 (Final): Exit Strategy - Fromis_9 Seoyeon, Jisun, Jiwon, Hayoung, Nagyung, Saerom

A/N: Use the !. @. #. $. %. to quickly skip to the idol you want to read, it's in the order they appear in the title and below.

Seoyeon, Jisun, Jiwon, Hayoung, Nagyung, and Saerom.

One, two, three, four, five, six... and seven. The group Kakao chat is flooded with celebrations and congratulations. Baby storks will be visiting the employees of Fromis App in a few months time, and it's all thanks to you. How did it get to that point though? It all started with a meeting...

"Hey oppa."

"Hey Saerom, what's everyone doing here?"

"Oh, we thought it's best everyone is here for the meeting."

"You never told me what it's about, and Chaeyoung was evasive." You look around, and realize Chaeyoung isn't here, oddly enough. "Where is she anyways?"

"Home, I assume, or shopping for new clothes." Saerom claps her hands and gets everyone's attention. "Meeting's starting!"

"So, as most of you know, the Fromis company is being bought out, and the FROMIS app will be absorbed into their platform."

"Is... That good or bad?" you ask Saerom.

"Good, we get paid out very nicely. However, a condition of the pay out is that we stay on, golden handcuffs, if you will."

"I see." The other employees look bored, like none of this is news to them—Nagyung is on her laptop, Jisun's on her phone, and Seoyeon is writing in her notebook. "Why am I here then? I'm not an employee."

"I'm getting to that. As I said, we have to stay on, but there's a way around it, and we want you to help us."

"Help you?"

"Yes. There's a way we can stop working but still fulfill the golden handcuffs requirement, and that is if we go on maternity leave."

"Maternity leave, how am I—" You stop yourself mid-sentence, the blood suddenly pounding in your ears.

"Word around the office is you're having plenty of sex with all of us, and you added Chaeyoung to the list recently?" You suddenly felt put on the spot, like you've been caught with your hand (or cock, in this case) in the cookie jar.

"Umm, yes."

"Then we're all set. We've gone off birth control, so just keep doing what, or who I guess, you're doing, and just let things happen naturally."

"Right. Uhh, what if I can't make it happen? I haven't gotten tested or anything to make sure, you know, that everything works."

"Oh no no, we've tested you. You're very potent. You've only had sex with Chaeyoung once right?"

"Right, one night, but it was er, multiple times."

"Close enough, you're batting a hundred percent then."

"You mean—" The gears in your head turn just slow enough for Saerom to fill in the blank for you.

"Yes, that's why she isn't here, she's already on leave."

"And you're sure I did it?"

"You're the only guy she's slept with in months, so we're very sure. First time she gets some, and bam."

"Huh, okay, I guess that's good? What happens if all of you go on maternity leave though, can the company still run?"

"Yes yes, we have Jiheon our maknae, she can handle things, she's very good." Saerom dismisses your concerns. "That's all from me. Anyone else?" You spy someone fidgeting from the corner of your eye, but Saerom continues. "No? We're done then, this was more for you to know than anything, everyone else already understands and agrees." As they begin to file out, you call them back.

"Wait, I think Seoyeon's ready."

"Ready for?" You walk over to Seoyeon, and she doesn't resist when you pull her out of her chair.

"For us to go public." You bend her over the conference table, kissing her as the others gasp. You feel under her skirt, smiling into the kiss—she's not wearing any underwear. "This is what we've been doing in the building the whole time. We've just kept it under wraps." You shimmy your pants and boxers down, rubbing your cock against her slit before pulling it away briefly, just to show them how shiny Seoyeon has already made it. There are no gasps this time, just everyone holding their breaths, focused on the lewd scene unfolding in front of them.

"But since we all know what's going to be happening from now on, I don't think there's any need to hide what we do, is there Seoyeon?"

"No..." It comes out as a brittle sigh, her pussy clenching around your shaft sliding in. "It's okay if they see now. See how you use me, how I use you." She tilts her head, reaching for your neck as you continue pumping into her from behind. She sucks on your skin, leaving marks unabashedly on you.

"We should give them a better view," she whispers.

"Hold on then." Seoyeon leans back, rolling up her skirt and wrapping her hands around your neck. With a grunt you stand and lift her by her spread knees, showing everyone just how you're splitting her open. The atmosphere in the room immediately gets charged with arousal—to see you so openly lifting and fucking their petite colleague in an obvious show of virility and strength is causing their imaginations to run wild, about what you would do to them. You start moving slowly, pulling out almost all the way before pumping upward into her, to emphasize your cock disappearing into Seoyeon's fertile body.

"Ohh fuck, that's so deep!" Seoyeon cries out, getting into the act of being fucked so brazenly. Before, the thrill of getting caught was what turned her on—the danger of letting a moan leak, a squelch of her pussy if she's inevitably too wet and fucked too fast, the ability to hear others talking nearby, oblivious to your illicit act with her. But now, Seoyeon's finding the rush of being openly watched just as enticing—she's whining and whimpering, so wet that she's dripping down your balls, and she can see her colleagues looking at her. None of them are even moving, let alone trying to leave or hide their eyes, no they're openly watching, and getting aroused.

Getting aroused due to Seoyeon.

"Nngh I'm cumming!" All of them watch Seoyeon's legs shake helplessly in your arms as you ram an orgasm up through her, her head thrown back against your shoulder, a heel dangling loosely off one foot. In minutes you've wrecked her oh-so-perfectly, taking her apart so easily that there leaves little doubt in their minds—you're going to make them all cum their brains out while you breed them.

"Alright, tell me when," you mumble into Seoyeon's ear, ramping up your thrusting, bouncing her up and down a little to really drive yourself deep into her.

"Now please!" You let Seoyeon slip down slightly, and she is impaled deep on your cock as you unload into her. The others gasp as they watch a spurt of cum leak out from around your shaft—just how much did you cum that you're immediately leaking out of her? Seoyeon's low moan of satisfaction rumbles against your chest as you continue pumping potent seed into her. You draw your hips back, and lifted over the conference table Seoyeon shows them just how much you've left in her—a repeated thudding sound is heard as drop after thick drop of semen hit the table, staining the black varnish white.

You put Seoyeon back down, and she manages to straighten her skirt and fix her tousled hair a little before sitting down and cleaning the cumstain she just left, trying to pretend as if everything was normal.

"Let me know if you need another Seoyeon," you say, as if you're referring to the tissue paper you just handed her, rather than the baby you put in her.

"Sure, thanks oppa," she answers just as casually.

Seoyeon did ask you for more, but it was quickly clear that the first round got the job done, and she sent the group the first positive test to many cheers.

Jisun was the second one to send the group a positive test, but it came in the most surprising of ways—you finished using a condom!

"F-Fuck my ass, fuck it hard oppa!" Your arms burn as you ram the dildo hard into her ass. It was a compromise—Jisun wanted you in her ass, but that would be counterproductive to being reproductive, so she settled for damming herself on top of your cock as you filled her ass "manually". You could feel the dildo going through her, rubbing against your cock basically, but what's more enticing is Jisun's tits, dangling right in front of you like juicy melons as she arches her back on each deep thrust into her ass.

"Oh— Oh yes, suck on them!" You do just that, leaving her pointed tips shiny and dripping. Speaking of shiny and dripping, Jisun lifts her hips briefly, showing you just how slick your cock and the dildo have become before slamming herself back down on you.

"Fuck!" She screams as she double-penetrates herself. Jisun kisses you, grinding herself on your cock, rocking her hips back and forth, making both cock and dildo pump into her like a well-lubed engine. "Wish you could cum in both my holes..."

"Could go a second round, make you a runny mess down there." You squeeze handfuls of her chest, showing her just how little you would mind doing that.

"You think you could? Don't you— Hnngh! Need to save some for the others?"

"You can cook me something healthy and hearty, give me more energy after." You keep Jisun hips down, keeping her hilted on you as you sit up, allowing you to slam the dildo over and over into her ass. She slumps into you as she cums.

"Oh god my ass... Is all this just a ploy to get me to cook for you?" she asks, hair tickling your cheeks as she nuzzles you.

"Maybe, you are the best cook out of all of them, unless you think otherwise."

"How dare you, of course I am!" Jisun leaves a hickey on you in revenge. "God, such a Casanova aren't you? Sleeping around with everyone, and then judging their cooking after?" You kiss her harshly in response, her lips rosy red from your passionate indignance.

"Says the pure and chaste lady who agreed to be bred by me in a group effort, and has both her holes plugged up right now?"

"Fair." She sighs as you begin moving the dildo again—you didn't mind just staying inside Jisun, letting yourself last as long as you could as you played with her ass. "Best cook, what else am I the best at?"

"You have the best thighs." You run your hands up and down her juicy thighs, squeezing them.

"Don't let Saerom hear that."

"Best tits." You definitely take the chance to squeeze those, hearing her gasp as you flick her nipples.

"Don't let Hayoung hear that."

"Best pussy." You grind up into her, hearing her whine.

"Don't let any of them hear that."

"Best ass." You're gripping her cheeks, kneading them appreciatively.

"Don't let Chaeyoung hear that."

"Hm, best ass that let's me play with it." You apply a bit of pressure to the dildo, pushing it that little bit deeper and feeling Jisun tighten in response.

"Good point, but I think you're missing something."

"Am I?"

"Yup." Jisun leans in close, nibbling at your earlobe as she humps you. "Best mommy."

"Yeah? You think you'll be the best mother?"

"Not mother, mommy." You groan as her pussy contracts around you tightly—Jisun never skipped on her kegels. "Best at getting herself knocked up. I'm going to drain you right now, then I'm going to feed you, and then I'm going to drain you again."

"Fuck Jisun that sounds good." She was barely moving or bouncing on top of you, and yet your cock feels like it's getting tugged on, pulled on over and over to try and get your cum out of you.

"Yeah? Does it feel good? Does trying to make me a mommy feel good?" Jisun's breathing heavily too—your hand never stopped moving, fucking her ass with slow thrusts of the dildo.

"Yes, fuck yes Jisun!"

"Then cum, give me that thick cum you've stored up, give— Hnngh!" Jisun takes it from you, cumming from the anal stimulation, and her suddenly uncontrollable tightening around your shaft has you launching your potent load up into her. She collapses on top of you, her chest cushioning her fall and pressed against you, your heartbeats thundering in tandem. As you soften you feel your crotch get warmer, your load beginning to leak out of her.

"Can I feed you later?" Jisun asks quietly.

"You don't have to, I was kidding about the whole cooking thing."

"No, not that... I know we shouldn't waste any of it, but I really want you in my ass."

"No one else has to know, if you really want it."

"Okay." Without a second word Jisun slips down your body, her plump lips around your shaft promptly, cleaning you and getting you hard again. Your eyes are closed, enjoying her cleanup effort. You even let out a decadent moan when you feel your cock get squished between two comfortable pillows—Jisun's really trying to get you as hard as you can. You only open your eyes when you hear a crinkle.

"Condom?"

"Just in case I want you to plug the leak." She turns around to show you, her lightly parted lips still dripping with your load, and right above it, the dildo still deep in her. "But what are you waiting for?"

Jisun has a point. You pull the dildo out of her with little ceremony and plug the gaping hole immediately, a deep groan bursting from her lungs as you push the air out of her. You're definitely deeper in her compared to the dildo, because her reactions to you pumping in and out of her now are nothing like before—her cries are loud and unadulterated, flesh rippling as you pump into her ass. Jisun pushes her hips against you, trying to get you deeper into her, and you lift her slightly, her knees almost off the bed when you pull and yank her small juicy body against you.

"Hnngh fuck! Don't stop, open me up!" You slap a hand on her cheek and pull, making Jisun's hole stretch that little bit more. "Oh god I missed this, missed a real cock in my ass." She whines when you pull out, and looking past where you're plugged in her ass you see the puddle of cum get bigger by the moment, each thrust making her clench and shake, causing more to drip out. "Uhff!" she's huffing, groaning as you stretch out her second hole. You lean over her, grabbing a breast and squeezing it, playing with her stiff tip.

"Such a handful, literally," you snarl and kiss her wanting lips. "Wasting a perfectly good load too."

"Sorry, ah, sorry!" You slap her thighs, red handmark planted conspiciously on her thigh—no short dresses for Jisun for a while, and then for a few months after. You pull on her tits, squeezing them and leaving them red too. Jisun isn't a glutton for punishment, but she doesn't mind at all when you get a little rough, her soft flesh jiggling perfectly to absorb everything you have for her.

"Just cum with my cock in your ass already." You pull back to the very tip before slamming home into Jisun's ass, and she detonates with a choked cry. She shivers underneath you, anal walls gripping you tighter than ever, and you simply let yourself go, your throbbing cock pushing against her contractions, filling the condom fully. You land on top of her, and her arms give way, the two of you collapsing on the bed.

"Ah... fucking unbelievable..." Jisun sighs, kissing your cheek.

"Remember, no more anal until the job's done."

"I know I know. Just, just leave it in me for a little longer."

When you finally pull out, you're soft, and devilishly you leave the condom in her ass.

"Take it out, it's going to spill out if I sit up!" Jisun whines.

"No, now you have two loads in your holes, just like you wanted." You stay the night, and your nose wakes up to the smell of Jisun's delicious cooking the next morning. To both you and Jisun's pleasant surprise, a few weeks later her test comes back positive even if your final load with her ended up in a rubber.

Buoyed by Jisun's meal the third positive reading came quite quickly after the second...

"About time you came over, my stocks aren't doing so well, so I need another line to be going up." Jiwon flashes her prepared pregnancy kits at you.

"I'll try my best." Jiwon's hands land on your shoulders, gently squeezing you, pulling you close... And then she pauses, nose crinkling.

"Jisun?"

"Yeah, I spent the night with her."

"Do you need to take a day off today? It's no good trying and trying and not getting enough rest." You hold Jiwon's hands, interlocking fingers with her before letting them drift down her palms and to her wrists, growling as you watch them go limp.

"No, Jisun made me a delicious meal, and I'm ready to have another one." Jiwon's eyes flutter shut, ready to be eaten. She sighs when you breath on her neck, and she's trembling in your hands—a fertile Jiwon is simply ready to be devoured. "You don't want me to take a day off do you? You want this so bad."

"Y-Yeah, I, I really want it." It leaves her as a whimsper, a whimper and a whisper. You're happy to take your time kissing Jiwon, her hands resting on your shoulders as you move yours down her body, feeling her curves through her dress. "Please, let's go to the bed."

"Okay." Jiwon's eager, and she jumps into you, wrapping her legs around your hips. But almost immediately she lets herself down, an alert ringing in from her home office. "Oh, let me just check—"

"No." You hug her from behind, making her feel what she's responsible for against her lower back. "What are you doing?"

"The US markets, they just opened over there, let me check my investments—"

"No, not tonight." You re-wrap your arms around Jiwon, pinning them to her sides. "Just hold and let things... grow." A hand runs down to her belly, and Jiwon shudders as you press firmly down on her, where she's going to grow.

"Just let me take a quick look—"

"Fine." You lift Jiwon, carrying her to her office and plopping yourself in her chair with her in your lap. "You have one minute." Jiwon's hands shoot forward to her keyboard, and your hands are not idle either, pulling her dress up.

"30 seconds," you hiss, feeling the immediate bare skin between Jiwon's thighs—no panties, god, she's just begging to be bred at this point.

"It hasn't even been 30 seconds yet!"

"I don't care." You pull Jiwon's dress up further and manage to shimmy your bottoms off just enough to pull your hardness out. "5 seconds." You're already sliding into her.

"Hnngh wait, ah!" You push yourself off the chair, tipping Jiwon forward against the desk. "Bed, bed!"

"Can't wait," you're grunting, hand slipping under the side of her dress and pawing at her chest. Maybe it's Jisun's meal, or the sight of Jiwon in what is effectively a honeymoon dress, but you feel your thoughts slipping away. "Fucking you now."

Jiwon isn't fairing much better, the graphs and tickers on her screen blurring with every thrust into her. She's already forgotten what she wanted to do, why she needed to look at the market today. All she can feel is your cockhead pressing right against her womb, your hands firmly around her hips—she's not going anywhere until she's thoroughly "invested" in.

"Oh god, right there, you're so deep, too deep!" Her face is pressed into the keyboard, leaving imprints on her cheek but hopefully not actually triggering any hotkeys on her computer. Your breath is hot in her ear, huffing as you shake the desk, slamming into her from behind. Briefly you feel her flail her legs against you before she hiccups cutely and goes limp. You spy her expression as you kiss her cheek—Jiwon's eyes are rolled into her head, mouth open, drooling on to her keyboard. A warm spray of her juice splatters against your thighs—she's your prey, conquered and submitting to the pleasure, to her desires both carnal and biological. With a satisfied growl you press yourself over her, and Jiwon whines as her womb is filled with thick, almost syrupy, semen, laden with virility. Her mind's playing tricks on her, but Jiwon almost feels heavier when she's pulled back on to the chair on top of you.

"I expect rapid growth from you."

"Me too," Jiwon leans back against you, sighing into your neck. "Feels so thick, like it's never going to come out..." She's playing with the little bit leaking from her pussy.

"That's the goal. Do you need to do anymore checking?"

"No, it's a lost day already. The money's made in the opening minutes." Jiwon wraps her arms around your neck, pouting a little. "Take me to bed, I'm going to need... an injection of liquidity."

You carry her to the bedroom, and Jiwon pushes you away with a giggle once you get there. She makes a show of removing her dress, a bit of pointless flirting as you're already hard again at the sight of the complete lack of underwear underneath and your previous load sliding down the inside of her thighs.

"You know," you're on top of her now, her thighs loosely spread for you—she already wants more. "I'm thinking this might not be a good investment, you're staying up late all the time, ignoring your agreed upon responsibilities to check the market. Where's the condom, I might need to protect my investment." It's a fake threat, and like a magnet your cock is already drawn to Jiwon's warm core, entering her with a smooth thrust.

"No! I'll be good, I promise."

"What do you promise? I hope you're not making risky trades."

"No, no more risky trades, no more crypto, only safe investments from now on."

"Crypto? Oh no, that's very risky. I really might need a condom." You tease her, hands playing with her chest once more—not big, but they're plenty fun handfuls.

"No, no more. I'll be safe so..." Jiwon wraps her legs around your back, locking you in. "Please do me raw."

"Always," you groan as you pull and push back into her, her wetness and tightness and creaminess almost overwhelming you—damn Jiwon is needy right now. Every gasp and sigh is designed to pump blood to your cock, every drag of her nails across your back primally calculated to get your balls to start producing more sperm, every squeeze of her thighs around you fundamentally insistent on getting you to leave her a bubbling fertilized mess.

You do just that.

"Oh god, right there, fuck me right there, please cum, give me cum, I want it, I want it I want it I want it—" Jiwon yelps when you slam into her and then don't move. She hears the raw growl that rips from your throat, and then feels the sudden burst of warmth inside her, and she's tipped over the edge one last time. She loses herself, contracting around you, the bed instantly wet as she squirts uncontrollably with a loud wail. The rush of fluids over your cock make you fuck her even harder, sending the last few potent shots of cum even deeper into her.

"So warm, so happy..." Jiwon sighs at the creamy mess your connection has become, a weight lifted off her back and perhaps growing elsewhere in her.

"You made such a mess."

"Your fault, I can't help it, you make me feel so good, I get so wet, and then it just happens."

"Well, there's going to be quite a few messes to clean up soon, good to get some practice now." Jiwon blushes a vivid pink at the thought.

"Hopefully you're right."

While you waited on Jiwon's positive test, you got to work on Hayoung's, and work it was, considering the time and place of it happening.

"You want to do it... here?" You're somehow back in the security room, having Hayoung drag you through the gradually emptying out hallways of the company. She's somehow pulled a whole couch into the security room. "Where did you even get this?"

"Lounge, with people leaving and you knocking some of us up and out, we don't really need it in the lounge anymore, so I thought, why not?"

"That's true, but why'd you ask me here?"

"Why do you think?" Hayoung pushes you to the couch, a playful tilt to her voice.

"You really want to do it here?"

"Why not, we've done it plenty of times here."

"I guess, just figured you'd want some place more private."

"This is plenty private, besides, where else can we have so much screen space." Before you can ask what she means by that, she pulls up multiple recordings—the time you fucked Jiwon in Saerom's office, the few indiscretions you had with Seoyeon, the other time you fucked in Saerom's office, except this time it was Nagyung. Front and center though, was the recording from when you bred Seoyeon right there in front of all of them in the conference room.

"Hmm, I guess this is more than appropriate," you murmur as Hayoung settles in front of you, allowing you to wrap an arm around her. It was almost like a intimate movie night, except the movie was porn.

"Yeah, what's one more fuck in the office?" Hayoung turns to kiss you passionately, and your hand slips under her shirt, her smooth skin raising goosebumps in the cold whirr of the security room AC.

"Mm, what's one more baby made in the office?" You undo her pants, and Hayoung quickly shimmies it off as you get rid of your own jeans. Your hand dives underneath her thin panties, feeling her wetness—she's ready.

"Ah, just do me like this, do me while we watch the videos." You kick off your boxers and pull her panties to the side, and leisurely you slide into Hayoung, her raised leg resting on yours a little awkwardly to give you access.

"Is that comfortable?"

"It'll be fine, just stay in me." The couch creaks slightly as you start moving, pushing in and out of Hayoung best you could. Underneath her shirt you push her bra up, palming her pebbled tips, and she sighs contentedly. "That's nice, keep doing it."

Watching the security footage of you fucking the other employees, neither of you hurry, slowly getting both of you wetter and harder as time passes.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask her.

"Wondering what they were feeling, what they thought as it happened? I wonder what Seoyeon and Jisun felt when you did it."

"Having second thoughts?"

"No, just, it's nice to share you, but I also wonder what they felt."

"You really are an F. What about you, what are you feeling?"

"Feels nice, but also um, nervous? Like I know this is peak fertility for me right now and— Oh!" Hayoung gasps as she feels you twitch inside her, getting a little bigger. "You like that?"

"Yeah, you never wondered about how I felt?" She blushes a little, looking almost ashamed.

"Not really? Not my best F moment."

"I'll tell you later, you said you are nervous?" Hayoung's starts unbuttoning her shirt, revealing her delectable chest to you, her bra misplaced thanks to your hands.

"Yeah, it should feel different right, but how different would it feel, and don't accidents happen? So that means it didn't feel different, so I'm not sure—" You kiss Hayoung to quiet her, pulling her leg over your hips, trying to angle yourself deeper into her.

"How did that feel?"

"Good, you're really deep." Hayoung's hand drifts down to her tummy, and you join her there, letting her guide you to gently press on her lower abdomen. "You're like... here or something."

"Does this feel different?" You nudge forward, trying to reach even deeper, until you can't go any further, pushing against the end of Hayoung. You can tell it does, her breath catching in the kiss. "That's where I'll be when I cum." Hayoung clenches around you in response, she realizes what the difference is—intent. The accidents are merely a possible consequence of unprotected sex, but now, Hayoung's actively trying, and you're very actively trying to knock her up. A thrill runs up her spine, and Hayoung's sensitivity spikes immensely.

"Yes it does feel different, you're so, ah, hard!" All of a sudden Hayoung's pussy is milking you, contracting around you like she's on edge.

"Yeah? You like it more now?"

"Yes, it's so hot, oh fuck." Hayoung suddenly feels far too hot in the cold security room, she's going into some sort of heat. "T-Tell me how it feels for you!"

"It feels better than regular sex, you get extra sticky inside, so nice to thrust into."

"Hnngh more, tell me more!"

"It's so hot when you tell me you're fertile, and I don't have to tell you when I'm close, because there's no fucking doubt where I'm going to finish, you're practically begging for it."

"Yes I- I am, I will! Did the others beg too?"

"In their own ways." Hayoung's begging for your cum in her own way, legs and arms trying to loop around your hip and shoulders and through your limbs, as if tying herself to you so you can't pull out. "Seoyeon scratches the hell out of me, Jisun drains me with both holes. You know the best part?"

"What is it?"

"They cum extra hard, they love it so much it feels so good, and then I— fuck!" The mere thought of cumming hard has Hayoung writhing against you, and she's dragging you down with her, forcing you to do just as you planned to describe. Hayoung feels it briefly before the stars take her—you exploding deep inside her, filling her womb with potential life! She's not sure if she's screaming or not, but by the time she comes down, her throat is strained raw, her limbs like jelly, and yet she feels fulfilled, satisfied at the deep breaths you take against her neck.

"Fuck, I cum just like that," you manage. You continue grinding your hips into Hayoung mindlessly, trying to drain your balls fully inside her.

"Wow, it feels like that every time?"

"Yeah, we'll do it as many times as needed."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Until we get a positive." Slowly Hayoung gets on top of you, a small grin on her face.

"You have a loophole, I'm just never getting a test then."

"I guess we'll have to keep trying then." A few strokes from Hayoung is enough to get you hard again, and her creamy warmth envelopes you this time.

"I guess so, and this time, we're going to film it."

Hayoung did eventually do a test, and much to the surprise of a few people (including you) who opened the message in public, Hayoung attached a "home recording" of the process to the message too. Regardless, Hayoung was satisfied biologically if not hedonistically (she tried to get you to film the others even), but you could focus on those who come after. And poetically, just like the first time you found FROMIS app, as if it was written, Saerom and Nagyung demanded to do it with you, together.

"Oppa, wait till you see what we brought."

"I'm already the luckiest guy in the world, you don't need to tell me I got luckier."

"Well, we might need a little bit more luck. It's never a guarantee, but we'll try to stack the odds in our favor," Nagyung chirps, carrying two large grocery bags full of food and water.

"Stack the odds how? With those grocery bags?"

"That's just for the week. No Jissen cooked up some herbal tea for you, and some floral tea for us. I tried a sip and ugh, I had to do everything to make sure I had enough energy for tonight." As Saerom tells you that, you feel just how warm she is when she slips her arm around your elbow.

"Horny?"

"More than that, I got myself off like three times and it barely changed anything. It's all sticky and gooey, like I need someone to get in me and clean me out, to rub against me everywhere inside I— You're going to have to fuck me first," Saerom ends quietly, blushing at her own neediness.

"She made me promise not to drink it until after the first round, I don't know what Jisun unnie cooked but Saerom hasn't been quite right the whole day." You see how right Nagyung is when you get into the elevator—Saerom's practically rubbing against you, leaning into your body, hungry for skin-to-skin contact. As soon as you're inside Saerom's apartment she's on you, hands already lifting your t-shirt.

"Go ahead and get started, I'll make sure the fridge is well-stocked." Nagyung's only halfway through emptying the first bag of groceries when she hears Saerom's moan of relief.

"God unnie, you really couldn't wait could you?" Nagyung quickly pushes the entire second grocery bag into the fridge, slamming it shut behind her before she hurries to get in on the action.

"Nakko, it feels so good!" Saerom squeals in greeting. She's riding you in reverse cowboy, all of her clothes still on except for her panties. Saerom rolls her hips like no tomorrow, making sure your cock rubs against every inch of her walls, and Nagyung has the perfect view, watching Saerom's gooey cream coat your shaft liberally. Your arms hook Saerom's shoulders, pulling her back on to you in a great show of her flexibility, and Nagyung's round eyes almost pop when she sees the smallest of bulges between Saerom's legs, where your cock is jammed up against her front wall.

"God you're so fucking tight right now!" Saerom groans and grunts as you plow into her from below, her toned body bucking and bracing against the hold, trying to slam herself down on to you. She keeps asking you to fuck her harder, and the squelch between her legs gets lewder and lewder until things reach its natural climax. From Nagyung's point of view it is less an explosion and more of a bubbling over, your cum slowly leaking out of the connection, but internally Saerom is exploding, the pleasure driving her pussy to grip and milk you until you've painted every inch of her walls with cum.

"Wow, unnie, are you okay?"

"Never better. Get oppa his tea, and then it's your turn." You're quickly fed a cup of Jisun's herbal tea, and as soon as Nagyung's done stripping you're on her, mirroring Saerom's own aggressiveness.

"Fuck Nagyung, what's in that tea?" You can feel the blood rushing down your body and a tingling down there, like your reproductive system is working on Adderall or perhaps more appropriately, Red Bull. The warmth gathers between your legs, and the more you see Nagyung naked in front of you, the less brain function you have.

"I don't know, Jisun unnie made it. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, but I— Yeah I need to cum in you." Your mind is a little blunt, your actions even more so as you grab a handful of Nagyung's chest and squeeze.

"Looks like someone's ready," she purrs, and she manages to get on top of you. You throw your head back, the warmth of her walls almost cooling to the fire in your hips.

"Ohhh, yeah that's good, that feels good." To your tea-addled brain Nagyung's wrapped around you like she was always meant to be, but to Nagyung she feels like she's being spread, stretched, expanded, hollowed out, all the synonyms for "boring a hole straight to her womb" all at once.

"Nngh you're too big!" The blood rushing to your cock making you one large breeding stick buried deep in her.

"No, just almost too big." You grab Nagyung's tiny waist and begin moving her up and down your cock, leaving her wailing in intense pleasure. You're spreading her thin, stretching her walls and making sure you're hitting every spot that just lights her brain up.

"It's... Haah!" she tries to move her hips to keep up with you, but it's no use—her legs don't work, her muscle control no longer there as you overload her with bliss, and she hasn't even drunk the tea yet! She leans back, trying to get away from you a little. But it just makes things worse, you're push against her front walls like you did with Saerom earlier, grinding against her g-spot .

"Too much, it's too much unnie!" Nagyung wails to Saerom, who's now providing her with support, letting Nagyung lean against her while she's fucked up and into.

"You can do it, he's going to cum soon, he's going to cum so deep in you..." Nagyung can feel it too, your throbbing length pushing against her pussy, and she's responding in kind, clenching around you.

"I— Ahh!" Nagyung snaps, and she bucks so hard you slip out of her, to disastrous results. You're bucking as well in orgasm, and as you slip out everyone notices the effect of Jisun's tea—the strength and volume of your eruption is so great that your first shot of cum blasts them across the face. Subsequent shots land on Nagyung, staining her skin in white all over.

But you're not done.

"Move, get her the tea." You wave Saerom off, flipping Nagyung on her stomach, cum and all soiling the bedsheets.

"Oppa?"

"Haven't cum in her yet." Saerom watches you stroke yourself hard and quickly follows your order. She returns to find you proneboning Nagyung, hands on her lower back—this time you're not slipping out of her.

"So, hnngh, good..." Nagyung trails off, eyes rolling in her head. Despite her improved stamina over time, something about the way you're fucking her now is unmanageable. Her petite pixie body trembles as you bounce your hips off her again and again, and when you cum this time, you sink fully into Nagyung and growl.

"Take it all!" Her hands grip the sheets, tighter and tighter as you continue to fill her, until finally the heat becomes too much, she chokes a sigh out and goes limp. When you pull out you see that you've left her drooling from both holes—spit from one, cum from the other.

"God she's out again. What now?" Saerom asks. You spy the white trickle down the inside of her thigh, and the need to add to that trickle flares up.

"Want to go again? Grab one of mine?"

"Are you— Yeah, okay." Saerom almost wants to question you, but she stops short—you're sweaty, flushed with exertion from the latest round with Nagyung. You should be tired, spent, drained, yet you still want to knock her up, and it makes Saerom feel wanted like never before. When she comes back with your drink you make her wait, pulling her down next to you.

"Love shot."

"Cheesy." Saerom laughs before hooking her arm around yours, the two of you downing your shots of sex in one gulp. "It's so much stronger!" You feel a tug on your neck—she's pulling you down with her, chest heaving and legs spread.

"You okay?" You hover over Saerom, your eyes meet, and Saerom's pupils dilate right in front of you, her grip around your neck tensing.

"Yeah I— I need you. Put a baby in me." She's still more coherent than you, because all you can manage is a simple nod. You push in, groaning as you watch Saerom's abs flex—she's gripping you tighter than before! As soon as you're in she wraps her legs around you, and she's already bucking up into you, trying to get to the fucking right away. Saerom's so tight but so wet, so easy to push into, and both of you are delirious with need.

"Fuck me, fuck me harder!" she cries into your ear, and you slam into her, drawing out yelps of pleasure. The two of you are one organism, working in tandem to produce another. Saerom whines for you to get deeper, so you push her legs back, folding her in half and letting you plunge into her tightness fully. A dull twinge runs through Saerom—either from you thumping against her cervix or from her legs being pushed so far back, but it didn't matter, so long as you cum deep in her.

"Cumming," you grunt, and Saerom quickly plays with her clit, wanting to finish with you, to have her body drain you at the perfect time. Her ankles seize around your neck, holding you there as you pour a full load straight into her womb, drowning it with potent seed. Neither of you are done though, and after a short rest period of kissing and catching your breath in between the kisses, you're ready for more.

"Doggy." You're reduced to one word sentences, but Saerom follows your actions, letting you flip her around and pull her hips up. As soon are you're hard enough you start rutting into her, humping her like it was the only thing you knew how to do. You watch her ass and thighs jiggle against you, back muscles flexing in pleasure, and you need to see more of it, so you fuck her harder, getting bigger inside her as you're back to full hardness.

"That's it, fill me up again, need your baby—" Saerom feels it too, your thrusts reaching deeper into her again, the throbbing inside her pussy becoming more insistent. Saerom finds herself moaning into a sudden kiss, her head suddenly twisted to face you.

"Our baby." Saerom whimpers into your mouth, her emotions turned up to eleven. Pinned underneath you, her tongue thrashing against yours is the only way she can express her pleasure right now, and it is twisting and tangling, wanting every part of you to hold her down and breed her.

"Give it to me, I want our baby. Lock me down and knock me up."

"This is the one." The tea is wearing off, you're more coherent now, and there's only clarity as to what's going to happen.

"Yes!" Saerom simply agrees, gasping as you start thrusting even harder.

When it happens both of you burst into loud moans of satisfaction, hot virile seed rushing out of you and into her, the biological pressures of shooting and squeezing working to fill Saerom to the very brim and then some. You collapse on top of her, breathing heavily, leaving hickeys on her neck and more than a trickle down her thighs.

"You know, I'm so glad you found the app," Saerom whispers.

"I'm so glad you found me," you argue back, kissing her tenderly.

Fast forward to today, somehow the plan went off without a hitch, the company is doing fine, even doing some sort of a re-launch with a few employees that ended up sticking around, but that's none of your business anymore. You have a new FROMIS to care about.

Final ROMance Is Saerom.

A/N: That's a wrap to the series. I actually started thinking and planning this during Chaeyoung's chapter, but then time was cut short by the new Fromis comeback (go check that out!). Sadly I couldn't get this out before the comeback, but because of that I get to use that Jisun pic lol. I'll still write for the members, but just wanted to put a cap on the series. Thanks for reading!

#smut #fromis9 #seoyeon #jisun #jiwon #hayoung #nagyung #saerom

326 notes · View notes

kissandtellus · 14 hours ago

Note

I personally headcanon Sylus as such a soft and gentle dom that every attempt from MC to act all bratty to rile him up always ends in failure. Every time MC acts like a brat, Sylus simply gives her the most gentle and heart-melting smile ever before saying something like "Now now, I know you didn't mean to do that. I know you can do better because you're my good girl", and MC just shortcircuits and immediately apologizes all flustered. Would you please write something like that as a request? I just love how patient he is in game (feel free to make it smutty if you want to)

Error of your Ways

Synopsis: After getting injured during a mission, your bratty behavior rears its head. But Sylus is quick to put you in your place:

Warning: Light choking, spit, choking, slapping, soft!Dom behavior.

Sylus sighed as he finished bandaging you up, his expression a mixture of concern and irritation. "You seriously need to be more careful," he said, his voice firm yet tinged with affection. "You're going to get yourself killed if you keep charging into situations without a second thought."

He gently touched your cheek, his touch soft but his gaze intense. "I worry about you, you know. You're important to me, so stop being such a stubborn little bird and listen to me once in a while."

You scoff and jerk your head away. “I can take care of myself you know.”

Sylus let out another exasperated sigh, running his fingers through his silver grey hair. "I never said you couldn't," he replied, his tone edged with irritation. "But just because you can handle yourself doesn't mean you have to go off half-cocked all the time. We work together, remember? We're a team."

He reached for your chin, gently turning your face towards him, his gaze locking onto yours. "Sometimes, letting someone else take care of you every now and then isn't a sign of weakness, you know. It's called being human."

You pull your arm away just as Sylus finished patching you up. “Just…stop trying to parent me.”

Oh. Now you’ve done it. Sylus quirks an eyebrow at your bratty attitude.

Sylus's gaze darkened, his irritation quickly rising at your words. He took a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. "Parent you? Is that what you think I'm doing? I'm trying to keep you safe, little bird. There's a difference."

He reached out and firmly grabbed your chin, his grip tight, making sure you couldn't look away from his intense gaze. "You're as stubborn as a mule, aren't you? You think you know everything, that you can handle everything on your own.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear before he speak. “That’s not how my good girl speak to me. Apologize.” He orders in that cool, even voice.

The tone of Sylus's voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you suddenly remember who you're dealing with. Your defiance quickly melts into submission, and you swallow hard before mumbling a soft apology.

"I'm sorry..." you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your gaze averted from his intense one.

Sylus smirked, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he noticed the change in your demeanor. "That's more like it," he murmured, his tone softer now. "A little obedience won't kill you, little bird."

Sylus's grip on your chin loosened, his touch becoming more gentle as he traced your jawline with his thumb. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he said, his tone still carrying the hint of authority.

He took a step closer, his body now only inches away from yours. "You know I just want to keep you safe, right? I care about you, even if you're a pain in the ass sometimes."

His hand moved from your chin to your hair, gently carding through the strands as he looked at you with a mixture of irritation and affection. "But you just have to keep pushing boundaries, don't you? You're like a wild animal, always itching for trouble."

He let out a low sigh, his gaze hardening again as he continued. "Sometimes I wish I could just put a leash on you and keep you locked up at this base, where I can keep you safe and in check."

You avoid his eyes, hands clenching in the fabric of your pants. “You’d like that wouldn’t you…to keep me in your trophy room like a-a pet.”

Sylus's gaze darkened once more at your words, his irritation returning full force. He moved even closer to you, his body practically flush against yours. "Watch your mouth, little bird," he warned, his voice a low growl. "You're playing with fire."

He grabbed your chin again, forcing your gaze back to meet his. "Is that what you think I'd do? Keep you locked away like some sort of prize? You really think I view you as nothing more than a possession, a toy to be played with and displayed?"

Sylus chuckles and stands from his seat, rounding the kitchen bar. He pulls his finest bourbon from the shelf along with two glasses. He never needed to raise his voice to get you to behave

You watch as he pours the amber liquid into the glasses, his movements smooth and precise. Despite your defiance earlier, there was something undeniably attractive about the way he carried himself.

Sylus set the bottle down and picked up one of the glasses, swirling the contents before taking a sip. "Come here," he said, gesturing with two fingers for you to approach.

You hesitated for a moment, still bristling with defiance, but finally, reluctantly, you made your way over to him. He held out the glass, an unspoken command for you to take it.

You take the glass from his hand, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment, sending a shiver down your spine.

Sylus leans back against the counter, eyes flickering over your form, taking in every detail. He smirks as he notices the slight tremble in your hand, the defiance in your eyes not quite as fierce as before.

"Drink," he orders, his gaze never leaving yours. "It will help numb the pain, little bird."

You stare into the glass, the liquor's rich amber color almost mesmerizing. With a sigh of resignation, you bring the glass to your lips and take a sip. The smooth, fiery liquid burns its way down your throat, leaving a warm trail in its wake.

Sylus watches you closely, eyes still studying every move you make. "Feeling a little more cooperative now?" he quips, his tone still carrying that hint of authority.

Despite your earlier defiance, you couldn't deny the soothing effect the alcohol was having on your frayed nerves. With a small huff, you take another sip, the burn less intense this time.

Sylus's smirk widens as he takes another swig from his own glass, clearly amused by your reluctant obedience. "That's my good girl," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends another shiver down your spine

You aren’t above playing dirty tricks to get what you want. When Sylus reaches to tuck in the string of the bad age, you give an over dramatic gasp. “O-ow!”

Sylus's eyes narrow, his concern quickly turning to curiosity at your exaggerated reaction. "Ow? Really, little bird?" he asks, his tone dripping with skepticism.

He moves closer, hand reaching out to check the area you just fake wince at, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his rough demeanor. "Let me see."

You jerk your head to the side. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just take care of it myself.”

You try to hold your ground, but the closeness of his body, the heat radiating off him, it's making it increasingly difficult to maintain your defiant facade. His gaze is intense, and you can feel the tension crackling between you.

With a huff, you finally give in, tilting your head so he can assess the area you just faked pain in. "Fine," you grumble, "you win. Take a look."

But Sylus is soft spoke . He doesn’t need to force your arm. You willingly let him look over his patch work. “How do you do that?” You question.

Sylus chuckles softly, his touch surprisingly gentle as he continues to inspect the bandages he applied. "Do what, little bird?" he queries, his eyes still trained on the wound as his fingers brush over the gauze.

"Make you obey? Make you submit?" He looks up then, his gaze locking with yours, and there's a knowing glint in his eyes. "I just know how to handle you, sweetheart."

And handle you, he does.

He kisses away any bratty complain your lips. Guiding you with a gentle hand to the couch. When your thighs meet the leather, he gives you a soft shove. Sylus has always been skilled with his hands, from firing weapons to the way his fingers wrap around your throat.

“Sy…-“

“Hush,” his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “Open your mouth. Aren’t you still thirsty?”

He chuckles at your slight hesitance. But when your lips part and your tongue lolls out, he’s gather the saliva in his mouth. He tilts your head up and lets a long string of spit drip down onto your awaiting tastebuds. He pushes the spit that dribbled down your chin back into your mouth.

“Oh?” He hums when your lips wrap around his digits. You are giving him the most insane puppy eyes he’s ever seen. His deep and rich chuckle sends a shiver up your spine. “Does it taste good, Kitten?”

Your response is a soft hum. You pout when he pushes his long fingers deeper into your mouth to the point he’s pressing them to the back of your throat. “Easy, easy, just swallow around them. Just like I taught you.”

It’s easier said than done when his calloused fingers are touching your uvula. Your eyes water but Sylus is still wearing a mask of unenthusiastic calmness. When he can feel your throat relax, he waste no time in pushing them down your throat.

A punishment.

Nothing severe, Sylus never gave you any true pain.

When your eyes water and the tone of your eyes change color, he pulls his fingers free. He doesn’t give you a moment to recover, before his fingertips come down across your flushed cheek.

“Don’t you see now? I have the power to protect you and make you see the error of your ways.” You sniffle and wipe the tears from your eyes. Sylus pulls the silk red handkerchief from his back pocket, dapping away the drool and spilled tears from your face. “My poor little bird, come. let’s get you in your pajamas.”

#lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace #lads smut #sylus myth #sylus x you #sylus smut #sylus fluff #sylus don #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x mc #sylus qin #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #lads sylus

222 notes · View notes

juliettejwnewinesa · 21 hours ago

Note

Hey I'm new reader to your blog but I love how you write for weak hero class 1 characters!! I was wondering if you could do a reader x geum seong-je? Like they've been dating for awhile now and the reader often talks about her younger brother who's Si-eun. But Seong-je obviously doesn't know that. I think it would be interesting to see with multiple misunderstandings and the drama with the Si-eun and the group seeing reader and Seong-je. Sorry if it seems similar to any other request I just thought it would be interesting

omg no problem sorry it took this long

Not Just a Name

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader (ft. your brother Si-eun) Genre: Angst / Drama / Romance Word count: ~700 Setting: After the events of Weak Hero Class 1

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You never meant to lie. You just… hadn’t gotten around to the truth.

“I swear, if I ever meet the guy, I’ll fucking kill him,” Seong-je spat one night, arm slung over your shoulders as you both sat behind an abandoned convenience store. “No brother lets some punk mess with his sister and lives.”

You froze. Because the punk he wanted to kill? Was your brother. Your little brother—Si-eun.

“…It wasn��t that serious,” you said weakly, keeping your eyes on the cracked pavement. “It’s fine now.”

But it was that serious. Every time you saw bruises on Si-eun’s neck, or his stiff shoulders walking through the front door, you wanted to scream. You wanted to burn every school in the city to the ground. But he never let you fight his battles. So you didn’t.

You started dating Seong-je later, long after he’d stopped showing up in Si-eun’s stories. You weren’t stupid. You knew what kind of person he’d been—violent, cruel, possessive of his friends. But the boy who stood behind you in fights now, who kissed your temple when you flinched at loud sounds—that wasn’t the same Geum Seong-je.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It started to unravel the day Seong-je offered to walk you home.

You hesitated, but agreed—how could you not? He was warm, he was calm for once, and you were tired of hiding.

But you weren’t expecting Si-eun to be standing outside the door, keys in hand.

He looked up at you, then Seong-je, then slowly—very slowly—back at you again.

“…Is this a joke?” Si-eun asked, voice like ice.

You stepped forward. “Wait, Si—”

Seong-je grabbed your wrist before you could move. “You know him?”

“You know her?” Si-eun’s voice cracked.

Seong-je let go of you instantly, stepping back like he’d touched fire. “What the hell is this?”

You swallowed hard. “Seong-je… this is my brother.”

Silence.

No one moved.

“You have a brother,” Seong-je repeated. “And it’s him.”

“Yeah,” Si-eun said before you could speak. “She does. And you’re the asshole who tried to break my ribs last year.”

Seong-je flinched.

You looked between them, heart in your throat.

“I didn’t know when we started dating,” Seong-je said, voice low. “I didn’t know you were—”

“You would’ve stayed away if you knew?” Si-eun asked.

“…I don’t know.”

That was the worst part. The honesty.

Because Seong-je wasn’t pretending to be someone else anymore. He wasn’t hiding who he used to be. He was standing in front of the boy he hated—your brother—and didn’t have an answer.

“Get away from her,” Si-eun snapped.

“No,” Seong-je said sharply. “She’s not a pawn in your weird little silent war, Si-eun. You don’t get to control her.”

“You beat the shit out of me for months.”

“You broke my friend’s arm.”

You stood between them, hands up.

“Stop it!” your voice cracked. “This isn’t about what happened in the past—”

“It is,” they both said at once.

You looked at Seong-je. “I wasn’t lying. I just… didn’t tell you.”

“I would’ve hated you if I knew,” Seong-je said quietly. “Back then.”

“But not now?”

His eyes flicked to Si-eun, then back to you. “No. Not now.”

—

Things weren’t the same after that.

Si-eun refused to speak to you for a week. Seong-je stopped texting. Your world felt split in half.

Then one night, a knock at your window. You pushed the curtain back

Seong-je.

He looked like shit. Wet hair, bruised knuckles, hoodie soaked.

“I got in a fight,” he said softly. “Thought maybe you’d yell at me less than my mom.”

You opened the window. Let him in.

He sat on your bed, eyes on your bookshelf. “You love him, don’t you?”

You blinked. “Si-eun?”

He nodded.

“…Of course I do. He’s my brother.”

Seong-je closed his eyes. “I never had anyone like that. I don’t get it.”

You sat next to him, your hand brushing his. “You don’t have to. You just have to try.”

Silence.

“Do you regret us?” you asked.

He turned toward you, jaw clenched. “I’ve regretted a lot of things. But never you.”

Your breath hitched.

And when he kissed you, slow and aching, it felt like an apology and a promise all in one.

—

It took time.

Si-eun still hated him. But he started letting you talk about Seong-je again, quietly, without cold silence.

And one day—months later—Seong-je offered him a ride home. Not to be nice. Just because it was raining. And because you looked at both of them like you were tired of being in the middle.

They didn’t speak. But they didn’t fight either. (i imagine him looking out the window of the car with his eyes like being hewould rather be in the rain then here)

That was enough.

For now.

111 notes · View notes

cherierot · 1 day ago

Text

message in a bottle ✹ op81 × fem!reader

previous | next

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

genre: slow burn enemies (but actually misunderstanding) to Besties to Lovers emotional damage with a side of banter social anxiety-core. smau x irl

chapter warnings: smoking, slight hints of depression, reference to past suicide ideation, themes of unresolved trauma, emotional repression (?), jetlag, dissociation (lol), accidental hose attack + 81% chance of hypothermia, for more content warning check linked masterlist above

synopis: once, he saved your life with shaking hands and a bad autograph. now, years later, you stand in his orbit—hattie's best friend with a half-healed heart and a wrist tattoo he'll never notice. he doesn't remember you. you never forgot him. It's messy. It's slow. It's everything and nothing at all.

author notes: so so sorry for the long wait, I mean with my personal life tearing me apart, writing is cathartic to me rn, but sadly I keep breaking my laptop, it refuses to say in one piece ya'll. but good news is, I have decided to say adios to my eyesight and light in from my phone (yay?!)

chapter one : sub rosa

➔ ❝ ...𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 ❞

You smoke out the window like it’s a ritual, watching the smoke curl up and disappear, the bitter drag of it filling the hollow parts you pretend don’t exist. The sky outside is dull, that late-winter grey that makes everything feel like it’s waiting for something to happen. Your inbox is full of unread emails, half-written assignments, and one string of voice notes from Hattie, each more dramatic than the last.

"I haven’t seen you in forever. Come visit me, please, I’ll die if you don’t—"

Then laughter. That sharp, untouchable kind of laughter that sounds like it belongs to people who aren’t tired like you. People like Hattie, whose orbit has always been bright and fast and full of noise.

You didn’t say no. Mostly because you didn’t have the energy to. Mostly because staying here another week, alone in this airless flat, feels like a worse kind of drowning.

You’re three days into ignoring your coursework. Two days into skipping meals on accident. One week into letting the dirty mugs stack up on your desk like some pathetic little monument to inertia. You know exactly what Hattie would say if she saw it. You can almost hear her voice in your head now, “Get up. Do something. Put on lipstick. We’re going out.”

You stub the cigarette out against the chipped brick of the window frame and watch the ash scatter like it’s trying to leave you too.

The thing is.....you miss her.

Hattie.

Her messy bedroom floor and her bad playlist choices and her habit of making everything feel urgent and impossible and alive. It’s been months since you’ve seen her. Since she hugged you too tight and told you she hated how small your wrists felt.

So when she begged you to visit, you said yes without thinking. Without asking who else might be there. Without giving yourself time to spiral about the possibility of running into—

No. You don’t go there.

You press the thought down like you’ve learned to press down every other stupid, sentimental, self-destructive thought.

This is about Hattie. About seeing her. About pretending you’re still capable of being someone who shows up for people.

The airport is exactly how you remember it: cold, too bright, and full of people pretending they’re going somewhere important. You move through it like a ghost, sneakers sticking on cheap tile, your backpack too heavy on one shoulder.

At security, you stand barefoot on the cold floor, arms out like a crime scene silhouette, while a stranger waves a plastic wand over your body like they’re trying to find something worth keeping.

The flight itself is short. Forgettable.

You sit by the window and let your headphones play the same three songs on repeat. Eyes on the clouds, fingers restless in your lap, heart doing that stupid, aching thing where it feels both too fast and too slow at once.

By the time you land, your phone’s at 9%, and Hattie’s already sent three texts:

"Where r u??"

"Do you want me to pick you up or are you getting a cab??"

"Also slight thing forgot to tell you something but lol nvm see you soon xoxo"

Your mouth twitched slightly, suppressing a slight smile. You don't reply.

You just grab your bag, sling it over one shoulder, and step out into the thick, summer heat of a city you haven’t been back to in over a year.

Not knowing that somewhere, across town, he’s already home too.

Hattie’s already waiting at arrivals when you step out, standing on top of a metal bench like she’s trying to summon an audience. She’s waving both arms like she’s directing air traffic, wearing sunglasses too big for her face and grinning like she’s just won something.

You pause for half a second at the sight of her—because no matter how tired you are, no matter how much your body feels like a half-charged phone, she still makes you smile like muscle memory.

"Oh my god, you’re alive!" she yells, way too loud for an airport.

A few strangers turn. You duck your head and walk faster.

She meets you halfway, launching herself at you with zero warning and enough force to make your carry-on bag swing off your shoulder.

"You smell like airplane and room freshener." she says into your hair, still hugging you like she doesn’t care that you’re awkward and stiff and slow to hug back.

"You smell like bad descisions and Red Bull." you mutter.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, fake-offended.

"Rude." she paused, gripping your forearms to pull you back in for another, "but not wrong."

The car she drives now is the same one she had back in high school.

A dented, sun-faded with a temperamental stereo and a cracked dashboard she once tried to cover with pokemon stickers. The passenger seat still leans too far back from that one night she let you crash there when you didn’t want to go home.

The seatbelt lock sticks. The air conditioning rattles like it’s got lungs full of dust.

But she drives it like it’s a chariot. Like every scrape on the paint is a badge of honor.

"Still haven’t gotten that fixed?" you ask, yanking at the stubborn seatbelt until it clicks.

"Charm, babe," she says, patting the dash like it’s a living thing. "This car’s got character."

She tosses your bag into the back with zero ceremony and climbs behind the wheel like she’s racing a countdown clock. The engine groans, then catches like it always does, like it’s trying one last time not to die on her.

"I got us snacks for the drive," she announces, grabbing a half-crushed bag of chips from the floor between her feet.

"Are they edible?"

"Debatable," she grins. "But it’s the thought that counts."

You settle in, letting the seat swallow you whole. The road stretches out in front of you, dust and sun and familiar turns you haven’t taken in far too long.

Hattie talks the whole way. About her classes. Her neighbors. The dog her mom’s thinking about adopting.

You let her comforting voice fill the car like music.

While you watch the sky shift from airport grey to something just slightly gold at the edges.

░░░░░░░ ✸

The drive is longer than you remember.

Or maybe it just feels that way because every street, every stretch of cracked pavement, carries something you’ve spent years trying to forget.

The closer you get to their house, the tighter your chest pulls.

The ghost of seventeen sitting shotgun with you, chewing on memories like gum you can’t spit out.

By the time Hattie pulls into the driveway, the sky’s bruised with late afternoon sun, and the house stands there looking exactly the same. Same chipped paint near the garage. Same uneven patch of grass near the mailbox. Same front steps where you sat one night with shaking hands and lungs too full of panic to breathe properly.

You blink hard, like that’ll stop the memories from clawing their way up your throat.

It doesn’t work.

Hattie’s already out of the car, grabbing your bag like it’s nothing, yelling over her shoulder about snacks and sun and how her mom made dessert just because you’re coming.

"Mum’s out, but she said to help yourself to snacks. Oh and if you break something, just blame me," Hattie’s said, already heading over to the house and kicking off her shoes.

You climb out slower, shoulders tight, heart heavy with nostalgia and another unknown emotion.

The air smells like summer and cut grass and something painfully familiar.

You barely get three steps toward the house when it happens.

A sharp blast of cold—sharp enough to steal your breath.

Water. Full-force. Right in the face.

You stumble back with a yelp, arms flailing, mouth open in shocked protest. Your shirt clings instantly to your skin, your shoes squelch against the driveway, and your hair drips into your eyes like the universe just slammed a bucket over your head.

It takes you two full seconds to realize what’s happening.

Another two seconds to process why.

And then—

You hear him.

"Shit-shit I'm so sorry."

You swipe water out of your eyes just in time to see him:

Oscar.

Standing a few meters away near the side of the house, holding a green garden hose like he’s just been caught committing a crime.

There’s a half-coiled mess of hose at his feet.

A patch of wet concrete where he was probably cleaning something… watering something… doing some dumb, harmless chore until you became collateral damage.

His face goes bright red.

Like full, sunburn-instantly kind of red.

He looks absolutely horrified—but also like he’s fighting the urge to laugh because the situation is objectively ridiculous.

"I—Jesus—I didn’t see you—"

He’s already fumbling to turn off the nozzle, stepping on the hose by accident, making the water spray even more before he finally gets it under control.

"I was—cleaning the patio! I didn’t—You—Wow, you’re… yeah. Properly soaked."

He scratches the back of his neck, awkward and sheepish and every bit the boy you remember, just… older now.

And The worst part, the truly stupid, gut-twisting part? Is that he dosent recognize you.

Your left hand instinctively twitches, just slightly.

Not even a flicker of recognition behind his smile.

Just that classic Oscar Piastri look of "haha oops my bad" mixed with "please someone end this social interaction immediately."

Hattie, from the porch, absolutely loses it laughing.

You stand there, dripping, heart in your throat, staring at the boy who saved your life once…

... Who also happens to be the one who just accidentally drowned you with a garden hose giving you a 'warm' welcome.

You blink at him.

Water dripping from your chin.

Your clothes sticking in all the worst places.

And for one stupid, self-destructive second, you consider saying his name.

Just to see if it lands.

Just to see if anything flickers in that clueless face of his.

But you don’t.

You’ve played this game before.

So instead, you force a breath through your lungs, swipe wet hair out of your eyes, and smile—tight and sarcastic and just a little feral at the edges.

"Cool. Love this. Really missed this climate change simulation experience," you say, gesturing down at yourself like a tragic weather report.

Oscar lets out this small, nervous laugh—too high, too boyish, like he doesn’t know where to put his hands or his eyes.

"Honestly… fair. That was—yeah. That’s on me," he says, already backing up a step like distance will make this less embarrassing for him. "Do you—uh—want a towel? Or…like… new clothes? I think Hattie’s got stuff? Or—"

"You think? Wow, very reassuring," you deadpan, but there’s no real heat in it.

Hattie’s still doubled over laughing from the porch.

"Bro I’m never letting you live this down," she wheezes at Oscar. Then, to you: "C’mon, come inside, I’ll get you something dry. You’re gonna catch a cold and it’ll be his fault, which honestly? Hilarious for me."

You follow her in.

Dripping the whole way.

Oscar stands there for a second longer, scratching the back of his neck, cheeks still pink, before finally turning back to whatever disaster project he was in the middle of.

Inside, the house is warm in that too-many-people, too-many-memories kind of way.

The air smells like whatever Hattie’s momz Nicole, was baking earlier.

There’s music playing faintly from someone’s phone speaker in another room.

Laughter from down the hall.

Normal.

Like that whole embarrassing, heart-stopping, water-soaked moment never even happened.

Hattie throws you a dry oversized hoodie and a pair of leggings, and you changed in the bathroom with your heart still racing in your throat.

You stare at yourself in the mirror for a second too long.

Hair damp and messy.

Neck flushed pink from sun and nerves.

You looked like a girl trying way too hard to look unbothered.

You roll your eyes at your reflection.

Stuff it all down.

Smile like none of this means anything at all.

When you step back out into the hallway, back into the noise, the laughter, the small talk.

You do it like you’re not drowning all over again

░░░░░░░ ✸

There’s clean laundry mixed with dirty laundry like they’re negotiating a peace treaty on the floor. Her desk’s buried under a pile of textbooks and skincare empties. Three different water bottles sit abandoned like ghosts of hydration attempts past.

You throw yourself dramatically onto her bed anyway, half-damp and still slightly cold from earlier. The oversized hoodie she gave you swallows your hands, sleeves hanging like emotional armor.

Hattie flops down next to you with all the grace of a dropped bowling ball.

"Sooo," she starts, already smiling way too wide. "How’s it feel to be back? Aside from the whole… accidental drowning thing."

You groan into her pillow. "Yeah, loving the full theme park experience. Got the welcome spray package and everything."

She laughs—loud, bright, no filter like always.

"Honestly? Worth the wait just to see your face when it hit you. Like, peak betrayal. If I’d had my phone out? I would have sent it to the group chat, they would have loved it."

You glare at her. "I hate you."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately."

You steal a gummy worm from the open bag near her nightstand like you’ve earned it.

You catch up in the lazy, sprawling way you always do.

You giving vague updates about uni that make your life sound way less lonely than it actually is.

Her complaining about the boys in her classes who look like 'sewer rats'.

She tell you about her most recent situationship—a disaster with a dude in her media studies group who thought 'boundaries' was a suggestion, not a rule.

It’s easy to fall back into this.

Like muscle memory.

Like you’re both still seventeen and none of the hard stuff ever happened.

And then, because Hattie can’t help herself, she drops it:

"Also, in case you somehow missed it... Oscar’s home for some time."

You snort.

Because obviously you knew.

"Yeah," you say casually, popping another gummy worm into your mouth. "Kinda figured when he turned the garden hose into a tactical weapon."

"God, I’m still laughing," she grins. "He’s helping Dad with the yard and stuff. I think it’s some weird post-season coping thing. Like… manual labor therapy? Or avoidance of sitting still for more than five minutes? Classic Oscar stuff."

You hum like you’re only half listening.

Even though your stomach does this stupid twist at the mention of him.

Hattie keeps going, all fond and oblivious.

"You’ll probably see him around. Just… ignore him if he’s weird. You know how he is. Social skills set to ‘buffering.’"

"Yeah," you say again, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it’s suddenly fascinating. "Not like I’m new to that."

Hattie doesn’t catch the double meaning.

Why would she?

To her, Oscar’s just her brother.

To you…

Well.

That’s a whole different story.

░░░░░░ ✹

The house is dark.

That kind of late-night stillness that feels like it’s holding its breath.

Your phone screen says 4:07 AM, glowing pale and too bright in the dark.

Jetlag sits thick and restless in your body, too tired to sleep, too wired to stay still.

You’ve already flipped the pillow over twice. The blanket feels both too much and not enough.

By 4:12, you give up.

You shuffle through the hallway, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, socks making soft sounds against the floorboards.

The air smells like dust and eucalyptus and leftover summer heat trapped in old wood.

You’re halfway to the kitchen, bleary-eyed and more ghost than person, when you catch the faintest sound of running water ahead.

The fridge door’s open. Light spills across the floor and there he is.

Back turned at first. Shoulders hunched. Hoodie hanging loose off him like he got dressed in the dark.

His hair’s a mess, flattened on one side and sticking up wildly on the other, like sleep never sat still on him for long.

You stop in the doorway.

He moves like muscle memory—grabbing a glass, filling it at the sink with slow, lazy movements.

Till he finally turns.

Eyes lift.

Land on you.

For one too-long second, he just… blinks.

Like you startled him awake. Like it takes him a full heartbeat to register you standing there in Hattie’s ridiculous borrowed hoodie, with a 'not today' and a dog in a sunglass printed in front, hair slightly damp, looking as tired as you feel.

The fridge door clicks shut behind him.

Neither of you says anything.

Just…

Something heavy and strange and unnameable sits between you.

But you don't dare look away.

That look.

The air shifts.

taglist : @karlosslanders @plastrizz @charlottes-ngvot @siennaluvshcky @cinderellawithashoe @zannete @lonelyladyghost @agaabara @utopiakys @elisaa-shelby @cdej6 @mits-vi @agaabara @wilmonyibo7 @haunteddestinykryptonite@edgyficuselastica@dollyvuu @shadowreader07

lmao first time I posted this—I forgot the tags🤡

122 notes · View notes

sunsetmade · 3 days ago

Note

Can you write a rafe x gf!reader where she gets partnered up with jj for a school project and he has to come to her house and rafe is there the whole time staring him down while jj just makes jokes and eggs him on, rafe just LOVES reader so much he can't stand the thought of her being alone with someone he doesn't trust!

Hope you enjoy reading and thank you so much for the request!!!

All Mine

Frat! Rafe Cameron x Reader

The moment her phone buzzed with the email confirming her sociology project partner, she didn’t even have to read past the first line before a twist of nerves stirred in her stomach.

JJ Maybank.

Not nerves about the assignment—she could handle that. It was JJ. Obnoxious, loud, always grinning like he got away with something. The kind of guy who could make a classroom feel like a party with just a wink and a smirk.

No, her nerves weren’t about the work.

They were about Rafe.

Rafe Cameron—college royalty. Kook heir. First-name-basis with every frat guy, every bar owner, every professor who was willing to turn a blind eye to his antics. President of Phi Delta-whatever (she still couldn’t remember the Greek letters), and most importantly, her boyfriend.

Her very territorial, unfairly hot, occasionally overdramatic boyfriend.

And if there was one person on the planet Rafe didn’t trust, it was JJ Maybank. Pogue or not, Rafe had a whole list of reasons he didn’t like the guy, most of which revolved around the fact that JJ was exactly the kind of guy who would flirt with someone else’s girl just to prove he could.

So, knowing how it would go down, she still sent the text.

Just a heads up—I got paired with JJ for the sociology thing. He’s coming by around 5 to work on it.

The read receipt popped up almost immediately. Three dots appeared. Then:

Rafe: which jj

Rafe: like blond, annoying jj

Rafe: that jj???

She snorted, already curled up on her bed with her laptop balanced on her legs, his over-worn hoodie draped over her frame.

Her: Yes, that JJ. Be nice Ray.

No reply.

Just dots.

Then nothing.

She sighed, pressing her lips together to stifle a laugh.

Yeah. She braced herself.

⸻

When JJ showed up right on time, all beach-blond charm and cocky swagger, she already heard the tension in the air tighten.

She opened the door, her favorite hoodie hanging off one shoulder (one of Rafe’s that she cut), hair in a soft clip, and a polite smile.

He leaned against her doorway like it was a stage, a notebook in one hand and that familiar shit-eating grin on his face. “Well, well, well. Look who drew the lucky straw. I get the sweetest girl in class as my partner. Fate is real.”

She rolled her eyes, with a huff as she opened the door wider. “Don’t make this weird, JJ.”

“No promises,” he grinned, stepping inside.

But the second his foot crossed the threshold, JJ slowed to a halt.

Because Rafe was already there.

Sprawled on the couch like a lion in wait. Hood up. Remote in hand. Stony expression in place. A bottle of water half-finished beside him like he’d been there for hours—because in reality he had been and positioned himself exactly for maximum intimidation.

JJ’s eyes flicked to him. “Cameron.” He sneered, “What a surprise.”

“Is it?” Rafe asked, eyes dragging over him with disgust. “I live here.”

It wasn’t a lie. Rafe had practically moved in two months ago—his hoodie collection alone now took up half her closet. Still, the message was crystal clear.

She coughed, motioning toward the dining table. “Come on, JJ. Let’s start. Rafe’s just… hanging out.”

Rafe didn’t so much as blink. His arm was draped across the back of the couch like a silent threat, jaw tight, leg bouncing like he was actively resisting the urge to body-check JJ into a bookshelf.

JJ dropped his bag by the table, already smirking as he pulled out his notes. “So this is what it feels like to be under surveillance. Cozy.”

She sat beside him, pulling her laptop toward her. “Ignore him.”

JJ leaned in, voice low. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being watched like a hawk on parole.”

She bit back a laugh secretly loving how Rafe was intimidating him.

From the couch, she could feel Rafe’s stare burn hotter every time JJ so much as gestured in her direction.

“I swear,” JJ muttered as he opened his textbook, “he’s not even blinking. Like, does he sleep with his eyes open too?”

“Just focus,” she whispered. “We’re already behind on the first section.”

“I’m trying, but every time I say a word, your boyfriend looks at me like I committed war crimes.”

Rafe’s voice sliced across the room, low and sharp. “You done talking?”

JJ blinked, then slowly turned toward him with a grin. “Not even close.”

She exhaled and groaned rubbing her hand down her face, “JJ just leave him alone.”

“I’m just saying—he’s got the whole ‘scary boyfriend’ thing down. It’s kind of impressive.”

Rafe’s stare didn’t waver.

JJ turned to her and mock-whispered, “Blink twice if you want me to fake an emergency and leave.”

She hid her smile behind her hand. “We’re literally on the introduction slide.”

“Fine, fine.” JJ stretched back in his chair, lazily scribbling in his notebook. “I’ll behave. But if he tackles me mid-discussion on Marxist theory, you’re my witness.”

For the next hour and a half, they somehow managed to make progress. JJ cracked jokes. Rafe said nothing, but his jaw never unclenched. And she alternated between stifled laughter and secondhand stress, silently praying Rafe wouldn’t snap and launch JJ through the window.

When the session finally ended, JJ stood and stretched like he’d just finished a marathon. “Well, that was productive. I’ll clean up the formatting tomorrow—unless your guard dog needs to inspect my PowerPoint slides too.”

She stood with him, closing her laptop. “Thanks for coming. And for mostly behaving.”

JJ grinned. “I try.”

He turned to Rafe on his way out, hand over his heart. “Always a pleasure, Cameron. Really loving the whole mafia-bodyguard vibe you’ve got going. It’s giving Goodfellas, but with extra protein powder.”

Rafe didn’t respond. Just lifted his chin a fraction.

JJ laughed all the way to the door.

As soon as it clicked shut, the air in the room shifted. Rafe was immediately on his feet, hoodie pushed back, pacing the carpet like he needed to walk off steam.

“I hate that kid.”

His voice was sharp—cutting through the quiet of the apartment like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue all night, just waiting to be said. She turned around slowly, arms crossed, trying (and failing) not to look entertained.

“You don’t even know him,” she said, eyebrow raised.

“I know enough,” Rafe shot back, jaw tight. “He’s smug. He talks too much. He walks around like he’s the main character. And—” his voice dipped, like the words tasted sour coming out, “—he made you laugh.”

That caught her off guard. She blinked. “Wait. That’s what you’re mad about? That I laughed?”

“I’m mad that he thought he could make you laugh.” Rafe’s brows furrowed, expression stormy. “He kept looking at you like… like he was waiting for a chance. Like you were available.”

She stared at him, almost breathless from how serious he sounded.

“He looked at me for five seconds, Rafe.”

“Yeah. Too long,” he snapped, stepping away like even standing still was impossible. His hands ran through his hair, the fabric of his hoodie shifting with the movement. “It’s the way he looked at you. Like he didn’t care that I was in the room. Like I didn’t matter.”

She softened instantly.

Rafe Cameron wasn’t afraid of much—not fists, not consequences, not the kind of power people whispered about behind his back. But the idea of someone else making her laugh? Stealing even a fraction of her attention?

It rattled him.

She crossed the space between them quietly, her bare feet padding against the hardwood. She pressed her palms to his chest, felt the heat of his skin through the thin cotton. His heart was pounding like he’d just run a mile.

“Baby,” she whispered, looking up at him. “Are you seriously jealous right now?”

Rafe’s arms slid around her waist like muscle memory, like his body had been waiting for her touch. He pulled her close without a second of hesitation, his hands splaying across her lower back, grounding himself.

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” he muttered. “I just don’t like guys like him. The ones who don’t care if you’re taken. Who think they can just swoop in and… and win you over. Like you’re some girl they can impress and walk away with.”

Her heart cracked open at the sheer frustration in his voice. He wasn’t mad at JJ. Not really. He was mad at himself—for not being able to control how much he cared.

She reached up, fingers brushing along his jawline, gentle and slow. “I love you,” she said, soft as air. “I’m not going anywhere, Rafe. You know that, right?”

He leaned down, forehead resting against hers like he needed to feel her skin to believe her. His breath was warm against her lips.

“I know,” he whispered, but his voice was raw. “I know. But I still wanted to deck him when he winked at you.”

She laughed then, unable to hold it back. She kissed his cheek, lingering there.

“You’re cute when you’re psycho.”

“I’m not psycho,” Rafe grumbled, his nose brushing along her temple as he held her tighter. “I’m just… territorial.”

She pulled back slightly, smirking. “That’s just a fancy way of saying clingy.”

He shrugged without shame. “Fine. I am clingy.” His lips ghosted along her neck as he whispered, “You’re mine.”

Her stomach fluttered. That possessiveness—the way he said it like a vow, not a claim—set her heart racing.

They stood tangled together, his arms firm around her waist, hers looped around his shoulders, swaying gently in the quiet. The tension had melted into something sweeter. Softer. He needed her close. Not just physically—emotionally. Desperately.

She nudged her nose against his. “Come to bed?”

⸻

Later, curled under the covers in the soft hum of the dark, Rafe had one arm draped possessively around her waist, the other hand playing with her fingers beneath the blankets. His chest was pressed against her back, his chin tucked in the crook of her shoulder like he was guarding her even in sleep.

She was almost out when she murmured, “Still thinking about JJ?”

“Absolutely not,” Rafe mumbled, muffled against her hair. “He’s dead to me.”

She snorted, reaching back to pat his thigh. “You’re such a baby.”

“I’m your baby,” he said without hesitation.

She giggled, poking at his side under the blanket. “My pouty, overprotective, jealous little baby.”

He made a grumbling sound, rolling her gently onto her back so he could half-climb over her, his face buried in the curve of her neck, his leg hooked around hers like he needed every point of contact possible.

“Say it again,” he whispered kissing her neck softly.

“What?”

“That I’m yours.”

She smiled, her chest blooming warm. She ran her fingers through his hair and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“You’re mine, Rafe Cameron.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all night.

“Damn right I am,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. Then, softer—like a promise meant only for her—

“And you’re mine.”

#outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfics #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #obx fic #obx x reader #rafe fluff #rafe cameron fluff #sunsetmade

112 notes · View notes

archivesctrccio · 3 days ago

Text

she drives me crazy. chapter 2.

⁠✧ pairing.. head cheerleader!jackie taylor x basketball player!reader.

⁠✧ warnings.. inspired by the 'She drives me crazy', book by Kelly Quindlen. characters are a little ooc(?)

⁠✧ words.. 3.9k.

✎ᝰ. jinx notes.. Sorry for the delay guys 😭 by the way, I have a question. Does the chapters being too long bother you? Personally it doesn't bother me but I get carried away writing... anyways let me know pls

prev. next.

It takes a while for all your senses to return. Your heart is racing so fast you feel like you're on a roller coaster. Your whole body is hot, and your palms are damp with sweat.

The car you collided with is a black sedan, but before you can get a good look, the other driver gets out of the vehicle, stomping her feet with all the rage of a rabid pinscher.

Jackie Taylor.

Fuck.

Your shock turns to fury immediately. It had to be her. You know you weren’t exactly looking when you crashed, but you also know you had the right of way. Jackie must have decided that the rules of the road don't apply to her.

Your adrenaline rush makes you get out of the car before you can think too much. You slam the car door and meet her halfway.

— What the hell is this? — you ask.

Her eyes flash when she sees you. Quietly, she answers:

— You’ve got to be kidding me.

You ignore her and walk over to the bumper. Miraculously, there's only a small dent; you'll have to fix it, but it's still drivable.

Behind you, Jackie examines her own car.

— Shit — she complains — my parents are going to kill me.

— Well, mine too. — You say, kicking a rock near the wheel of your car. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes, but you fight them back. You hate the idea of crying in front of Jackie Taylor. Again. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but when you turn to look at her car, your entire stomach drops.

Her rear bumper is a mangled, bent wreck; the right side is hanging off, dragging on the asphalt. It's impossible to drive a car like that. Your anger suddenly turns to panic. If her car is worse than yours, does that mean you're to blame? Even if you had the right of way?

You control your breathing and look at her.

— Damn. I'm sorry.

Her eyes burn like you just said something offensive.

— Are you really that stupid? — she snaps. — You should never apologize after a car accident. You basically admitted guilt.

You are so disturbed that you can only stare at her as she say:

— You're lucky I'm not the kind of person who's going to fake a serious injury or some fake emotional trauma to sue you and your parents until I suck all your money out of you, but someone else could do it. Use your head.

Anger flares up in you again.

— Are you really trying to teach me a lesson now? You're the one who reversed my car!

— Why didn't you stop when you saw me?

You create a commotion in the parking lot. A bunch of people from your class run over to see what happened. Even though school ended a few hours ago, There are still enough people that your accident would be impossible to hide.

— Are you guys okay?

— Aah, your car's back is fucked.

— Oh, shit! Tow Truck Girl fucked up her car again!

One of the cheerleaders rushes to your side, her eyes bulging out of her head. It's Jackie's best friend, the same girl who asked if you were okay earlier: Taissa Turner. She is the great-great-granddaughter of the legendary Mrs. Earl. Her family still owns the Emporium, and she is not exactly how you would imagine a girl to be who comes from a family whose business is Christmas. She has a sweet but firm voice, cartoonish expressions, and is extremely intelligent. She is the perfect combination of Princess Bubblegum and Marceline.

— Holy shit — she exclaims, running straight to you — What happened? Are you guys okay?

Jackie runs her hand slowly over her face.

— I have to call my mom. Shit.

She walks away with her cell phone, her eyebrow still furrowed in anger. Taissa gives you a sympathetic look, but you turn your back and grab your own cell phone.

Your mother shows up fifteen minutes after you call. She brushes the hair off your forehead and comforts you with her calm, steady voice. The whole world could explode and your mother would say: “Um, now how are we going to deal with this?”

— Are you hurt? — she asks.

— No.

— Were you on your cell phone?

— No.

Your mother nods, examining you with the "I don't let anything slip by" look.

— Okay. Let's call the insurance company.

Jackie's mother arrives shortly after this. She is an attractive, sophisticated-looking woman with wavy blonde hair and flawless lipstick, She is wearing a lilac lab coat and a name tag that reads Dr. Taylor. She has the same observant expression as Jackie, the kind that seems able to read you in a second. And that's exactly what she appears to be doing to Jackie now.

— How did this happen? — she asks, tilting her head toward her daughter. Her voice is calm, but authoritarian.

Jackie huffs, crossing her arms over her torso.

— I was reversing, I didn't see her coming…

Mrs. Taylor interrupts her.

— Weren't you looking?

— I was, but…

— But were you lost in your own thoughts, imagining other cheerleading routines?

Jackie's mouth forms a thin line and her eyes drop to the ground.

—That's what happens when you're not focused. — Mrs. Taylor continues. — You know you can't let your guard down. Take pictures of the back. From every angle!

There's an unbearable gap while your moms are on the phone with the insurance company and Jackie and you have nothing to do but exhaustingly ignore each other. When it's all over, your mothers nod to each other and announce that you're both responsible—since both cars were moving—but that Jackie is mostly to blame, since you had preference.

—That's not fair, — Jackie says, shaking her head. — She ran around the bend, she wasn't even looking…

—How do you know I wasn’t looking? — you say, irritated. — Look who's talking! This is the second time you've made fun of my car!

Your mother frowns.

— What do you mean by that?

A silence hangs in the air. You never told your parents the truth about how your car got towed last year; you lied and said you accidentally stopped in front of a fire hydrant. You were too embarrassed to admit that you had been bullied by the cheerleader captain.

Now you and Jackie face each other for an intense moment. Her eyes are wide and anxious. It's the first sign of vulnerability you see in her.

— She... accidentally spilled coffee on my car once.

You don't know what possessed you to say that. This could have been your chance to get some well-deserved revenge, but you'd rather be The Tow Truck Girl than The Snitch Girl.

— Have you ever been in her car before? — Jackie's mother asks. — Are you two friends?

You stare at each other for a long moment.

— Hmm. — Jackie says, recovering. She gestures to her uniform. — I cheer for her team sometimes.

It's a good thing no one is looking at you, because the eye roll you give would prove that's a lie in a second. You have no doubt that Jackie, as captain, could ensure that your team cheered for you rather than the boys, but why would a cheerleader bother challenging the status quo?

— Oh, that’s great, — her mother murmurs. — Well, that makes it less weird, doesn’t it?

Jackie's mother chuckles.

— Yes, what a relief!

What follows is one of the worst mommy embarrassments you'll ever experience. Your moms introduce themselves to each other, make horrible jokes about how neither of you are one of those strict, meddling moms that would turn this accident into a spectacle.

— Imagine having to do that to a Candlehawk woman! — says your mother.

—That's a level of hell I don't need today! — Jackie's mother laughs.

Jackie and you say nothing, waiting for them to stop.

— Y/n, you seem like a serious student. — Dr. Taylor says suddenly. — What are you studying?

— Mom, stop... — Jackie tries.

— Er... my favorite subject is History. — you answer.

— Is that what you want to study in college?

— Sure, — you lie. You’ve never thought about it seriously, but Dr. Taylor seems like the kind of person who needs a confident answer.

— And what sport do you play? Is that a basketball uniform? Basketball is a great sport. See, Jackie? You can be a serious student and a competitive athlete.

— I am. — Jackie says, looking like she’s had this conversation a hundred times before.

— Cheerleading is also an admirable sport. — her mother opines.

Dr. Taylor nods politely, but obviously disagrees.

— Well, it looks like everything is in order here. — she says authoritatively. — We're waiting for the tow truck, but we'll leave as soon as it arrives.

You meet Jackie's eyes at the word tow truck.

She looks away, but you can see a twinge of guilt there.

— Having your car towed is horrible. — you say with false empathy. — it happened to me once. I'm sorry about that.

You can almost see the smoke coming out of her ears. It's so satisfying that you almost start singing. But then…

— It sucks to be without a car in this city. — Your mother says. — How are you going to get to school, Jackie?

— My husband and I can leave you here. — Jackie's mother says with a wave of her hand. — It's easy for us. We live there on Sleigh Byrne.

— Sleigh Byrne? — Your mother gives you an awkward smile, and suddenly, you’re dreading what she’s going to say next. — We live on the street next to it, in Bells Haven.

You look at her and you know what's going to happen.

— My daughter can give Jackie a ride! — Her mother declares, her eyes bright. — Please, we insist. It's the least we can do.

You try to look at your mother to tell her that this is a terrible idea, but the damage is already done. Jackie's mother lights up like this is the best plan she's ever heard.

She smiles happily at Jackie and holds her hands up as if to say, "Look at this!"

Jackie blinks and offers a grateful, polite smile to your mother, but you know she hates this idea as much as you do.

— Well, it’s settled — your mother says, looking at you excitedly. — Everything’s okay, right?

It's only after you move away from the Taylor family that you convey your horror:

— Mom! — you complain. —, I can't stand that girl! I'd rather go to school naked than have to give her a ride anywhere!

—I thought you said you were friends?

— Um... I mean, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. — You mess up. — But it doesn't matter! The accident wasn't my fault.

His mother is unfazed.

— No, it wasn't your fault, but it's still your responsibility. It won't kill you to give her a ride until the car is fixed.

Ultimately, you walk away from your first traffic accident with a bruised ego, a dented bumper, and the impending terror of giving a ride to the one person who can make your senior year at school even worse.

Your father and younger sister are in the yard hanging Halloween lights when you and your mother pull into your driveway.

Your house is a classic blue and lilac house with wooden floors and a small porch in the front. There is a maple tree in the front yard that reaches as high as the second floor, and a row of shrubs that shades the front porch. That's where her father and Victoria are, arranging the orange lights so they hang on the bushes the way Tori likes them.

— Is there a problem? — your father asks as you and your mother join them in the garden.

— My front bumper. — you reply with a grimace. — It's all crumpled up but I managed to drive it home…

— I was asking about you, sweetie. — Your father says, placing his hands on your shoulders. He looks at you with a worried frown, as if he could guess that you have a concussion. That's one of the best things about your dad. He is going to be pissed about the bumper and will insist on accompanying you to the mechanic, but right now he's only concerned about you.

— I'm glad you're okay. — Victoria says, hugging you gently. — Want an ice pack? I have one in the freezer from when I hurt my big toe.

Victoria is the cutie of the family. She's only thirteen, but her parents like to say she has an old soul.

— It's okay, Tori, thanks.

— How is your neck? — your father asks. — Did it bounce?

— Just a little, — you reply, and your father begins to feel the top of your spine. He’s a chiropractor, so he’s always checking your back when you say you slept awkwardly or pulled a muscle on practice.

— Lie down on the grass. — his father says, taking a step back.

— What? Are we going to adjust it here?

— Tori and I are still arranging the decorations. — her father says as if it were obvious. — come on, you know how it works.

Your mother and Victoria just stand there, laughing, while you lie on the grass with your stomach down and your father starts to rub your back. If the neighbors are watching, you doubt they'll be shocked. Your family is known for doing strange things in the front yard. — Like the time five-year-old Victoria insisted you guys eat breakfast outside in your snowsuits. Right in the middle of summer.

— Okay, that should do it. — his father says, giving your neck one last twist. — Are you feeling better?

You can only grunt in response.

You spend the next half hour finishing up your Halloween decorations. It's already dark, so you're at the mercy of the porch lighting, but you're still motivated to finish because Halloween is next week. It is a tradition on your street that everyone gives their best in celebratory decorations. Your decorations, on the other hand, are pretty tacky. You put plastic tombstones all over the grass, and your mom puts a witch and vampire couple on the porch that look like the "American Gothic" painting, and Victoria hangs cobwebs on the mailbox. Your contribution is to arrange a group of skeletons around bales of straw. Last year, your dad made it look like the skeletons were dancing the macarena. This year, you put a thick piece of tobacco in one of their mouths to make it look like it's smoking. Your mother rolls her eyes, but leaves it at that.

Inside the house, you sit down to eat a chicken dinner that your father bought on the way back from the clinic. Your mother and Tori improvise a pasta dish, while your task is to prepare a dish for your older sister, Pamela, who is still working.

—I texted Pam about the accident—Tori says, helping herself to a double portion of pasta. — She was worried about you, y/n. I wanted to go straight home, but she said it was a mess there and that she was pissed off.

Pamela works as a bartender at the best bar in town, Chimney. She's saving up money to rent her own apartment, but for now she lives in your basement with her two cats, BooBoo and Pickles, who keep getting into your mom's garden to dig up the arugula. Cats drive your mother crazy. Your father is more relaxed with them, but he's always been more laid back when it comes to Pam, because he's technically her stepfather. Your mother divorced Pamela's biological father when she was still a baby, but did not marry your father until Pamela was seven years old.

— Y/n — your mother says when there is a pause in the conversation —, do you want to talk about what happened?

You peel the skin off the chicken, aware of everyone watching you. You knew the night of fun decorating would spill over into this conversation, but that didn't mean you were ready.

— Do we need to?

Your father tilts his head.

— Do we need to talk about the fact that you were so distracted that you didn't notice a car coming at you? Yes.

You drop your fork.

— I had a bad day, okay?

— Because of the game with Candlehawk? — Your father asks.

— Because of Allie? — Your mother adds.

You feel lucky to have parents who love you so much and are so involved in your life. They even know the little things that happen, like when you have a stressful test or if you had a fight with Lottie and that’s tormenting you. But sometimes this involvement is so sincere and omnipresent that you feel like every little thing has to end with them trying to sort it out at the dinner table.

— We're sorry we couldn't be there for the game — Your father says, ruffling your hair — We know it's a tough semester. It won't be easy for you without Allie.

— Losing your first love hurts a lot — your mother adds, understanding.

You're not sure your parents actually liked Allie. They smiled and hugged her when she came over, but you always got the feeling they were doing it for her sake, not because they genuinely liked her.

— I promise it will get better — your mother comforts you. — But that doesn't mean you can forget about the rest of your life. You still have your senior year of high school ahead of you, basketball, college, and your wonderful friends…

— I know, I know. — Tears well up in your eyes. You try to swallow them, but they end up falling onto your chicken. — I'm really sorry about the car, guys.

— It's okay. — Your mother says quietly. — Let's leave it at that for today. You can go upstairs and watch a movie. Victoria will take care of the dishes.

Doing the dishes alone sucks—you guys usually share the chores—but the wonderful thing about Victoria is that she wouldn't complain about it in a million years. She nods and clears everyone's plates, offering you a small smile, and you walk up the stairs to your room without looking back.

You spend a lot of time in the shower, probably your record time. For a while, you just stand under the water, your muscles burning, grateful for the heat. You wash your hair and scrub your face after a long cry.

Normally you would blow dry and straighten your hair so it looks good for school tomorrow, but tonight you don't feel like it. You pull on a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants and curl up in bed. For the first time all day, you feel like you can breathe.

Your mom was right to tell you to watch a movie. Today you put on 10 Things I Hate About You, the queen of teen romantic comedies. You can recite lines in your sleep.

A few minutes into the movie, Pamela walks into the room. She's still wearing her bartender uniform and holding her keys, which tells you she literally just got home. She throws herself on the bed, hugs you and makes a fuss as if you were an abandoned kitten she found on the street. Victoria walks in behind her, snuggling up on her other side.

— Who hurt you? — Pamela asks. — Who do I need to kill?

— No one. — You laugh. — I'm fine. How was work?

— The opposite of stimulating. Seriously, how are you?

—It was a shitty day. — you admit. — We played the opening game against Candlehawk. They crushed us. Then my car got crushed.

Pamela shivered.

— Candlehawk means Allie, right?

— Yeah, their new star. She gave me my button back.

Your sisters share a meaningful look.

— What? — you ask, even though you know what they’re going to say.

— She's horrible. — Pamela replies. Lying on her back on the bed. — Like, really, really horrible.

— She wasn't always horrible. Not until she transferred to Candlehawk.

— I think she was already horrible before that. — Victoria retorts. — Do you remember when she got mad when you posted that picture where her hair was frizzy?

— Remember when she didn't talk to you for a whole day because you refused to sneak into that concert with her? — Pamela adds.

That's the thing. You know Allie was difficult sometimes, but it makes you uncomfortable to hear that from other people. It makes you question your judgment, because for a while, you were so happy with her. Were you just completely oblivious to it? Or worse, did you convince yourself that she cared about you when she didn't?

— I know. — You run your hand over your face. — I promise she wasn't always this horrible.

There is a pause in which her sisters are clearly keeping their words to themselves.

— Can we watch the movie now? — you ask.

— Of course. — her sisters respond and nestle into your sides.

When you're about an hour into a movie, your cell phone rings from a number you don't recognize. You reject the call, assuming it's telemarketing.

A moment later, it rings again. Your sisters complain.

— Sorry! — you fiddle with your phone and answer it, impatiently. — Hello?

— Y/n? — a cold voice answers. — It's me, Jackie.

What the fuck.

You straighten up in bed, fumbling for the remote to pause the movie. Your sisters stare at you, but you gesture for them to be quiet. Why is this girl calling you? How did she get your number?

— Hi. — you answer on your phone, trying to sound casual. You turn on the lamp and swing your legs over to the other side of the bed. — I didn't expect you to call…

— How not? — she asks, abruptly. — We have a plan for tomorrow. You know, now that you have to give me a ride.

It takes a while for you to respond.

— Sure. — You answer, tense. — Of course. I just thought you would send a message.

— A call is more efficient.

You clear your throat, trying to stop yourself from yelling at her.

— How is your car? What did the mechanic say?

She ignores the question.

— What time will you pick me up in the morning? I usually leave at 7:25.

You're still trying to position yourself in this conversation, and it takes you a second to understand what she's asking. At 7:25? Your school is only ten minutes away, and classes start after 8:05.

— I usually leave at 7:40 — you reply in an incisive tone.

She makes an impatient noise.

— I have things to do in the morning. If I had my own car I would leave at 7:15.

— I guess you should have thought of that before you rammed into my car, huh?

There is a tense silence.

— Are you picking me up at 7:25 or not?

You grit your teeth.

— I will.

— Great. I'll text you the address.

— Great. How efficient messages are, right?

A moment passes.

— cute — she says, in the most acidic voice you've ever heard in your life. Then she hangs up.

— What the hell was that? — Pamela asks.

— She's my arch enemy. — you say it half jokingly.

— I thought your arch enemy was Allie. — Victoria says.

Pamela elbows her.

— Y/n — Pamela says, taking the remote from your hand —, I don't know what this says about me, but this drama of yours has become the most interesting thing in my life.

taglist: @moesthoughts, @javizheart, @antlertruths, @mistynatsfavourite

#˚. ˖ ♱jinxsfics #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #x reader #yellowjackets x you #archivesctrccio #jackie taylor #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor x female reader #jackie taylor x you #jackie yellowjackets #jackieshauna #lesbian #enemies to lovers #fake dating

84 notes · View notes

yunverie · 2 days ago

Text

aight lesgo *snaps neck and dislocates*

I always say how I'm a huge sucker for good starting lines/scenes and this right here actually gave me a clear look into the world you have curated in the potion class. A 10/10, hands down. I love how flowery your descriptions are, and how distinct each of your character's voices are.

Reader is such a sweet girl and perfectly fits the sunshine in a bottle persona! I'd love to be her friend :( Ahhh here comes Taehyun and, oop- And he hated you. Not in the way someone hates a rainstorm or a bad meal; no, he hated you with purpose. Ooookay he hates her. Damn. I'd be so sad if anyone called me a deranged fairy for being myself, and the fact that he said that even after she apologized for the accident... Taehyun, buddy, let's:

Holy shit. This entire passage about Oakenhart: [Professor Oakenhart clapped his hands for silence, the crystalline ting-ting-ting... let the hush linger, he enjoyed suspense the way a sphinx savors riddles; before letting his voice pour down like cold mountain water.] See what I like about this part is that you put such oriented details into a side character. You gave him his own little quirks with such care that I'm truly awed.

“Better a Horntail awake,” you murmured, “than a dragon who never learns how bright fire can be.” Gosh I love her so much.

Umm Taehyun, buddy... being emotionally constipated is not nice. Does he need some laxatives? (me everytime he was opening his mouth while sorting) :

Ahhh okay now that he took baby steps to learn how to open up... I think I feel for him. Been there ngl. I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt yup yup.

Her giving the chocolate frog to him is so damn cute :'(( and oh! Taehyun finally being nice and accepting the fact that it doesn't have to be a race? Will we actually get some character development and redemption? I love them already ;-;

OOOOH HE'S JEALOUS because miss girl was dancing with someone else awww. Wait, he's being emotionally constipated again- oh, no. Laxatives. WE NEED LAXATIVES!

Then, like a flicker of a flame Taehyun was kissing you. Merlin, save me. I had to get up, circle around my room, sit back down and silently scream.

“Still hate me?”

“More than ever.”

Something about this dynamic is so fucking hot to me bro.

Oh! This bitch is running away from her oh my lawrd. Taehyun stop being emotionally constipated for five seconds challenge failed. No the way he humiliated her in that brutal way... Buddy that is not nice. Not cool :// Lowkey wanted Sunoo to beat him up that'd be fun to see- who said that?!

“Look, I know you like to see the good in everyone, even in jerks who don’t deserve it, but maybe it’s time you started putting that heart of yours somewhere safer. Someone who’ll actually protect it.” Hell yeah Sunoo spitting bars lesgo

Ain't no fucking way he just humiliated her infront of the whole class :/ no fucking way bruh

Me @ Kang Taehyun inside the greenhouse:

“I’ve liked you for ages, you emotionally constipated genius,” I'm glad we both agree he's that.

I like how she made him a better person. This was such a sweet read though Taehyun made stressed me out every time he showed up but ayy we love flawed characters. Please don't say you this fic is bad because I loved every single part of this. Thank you for writing this, Rain <3

HOW TO HEX A HEART k.th

೨౿ ⠀ ׅ ⠀ ̇ 7.5K ⸝⸝ . ‌ ׅ ⸺ word count.

pairing s𝜗𝜚 ravenclaw ! taehyun ៹ hufflepuff ! reader ᧁ; angst ˒ fantasy ˒ hogwarts au

warnings ⊹₊ ⋆ angst hogwarts au grumpy x sunshine academic rivals to lovers yearning characters are aged up set in a college like hogwarts setting ft sunoo (enhypen)

in which୨୧ ㅤִ Love was sacred, love was rare, love was fleeting...but Taehyun wanted none of it. Instead searching for a fullfilling life in the pages of texts books and viles filled with potions, your cheery personality and natural smarts did little for his ego and too much damage to his high standings in all of Hogwarts academics. He must put a stop to it...if he wished to stay on top.

★ !rain's mic is on ⋆ ͘ . chat I'm so excited!! This is apart of a collab I'm doing with my fellow writers and friends: the nine and three quarters collab. I hope ya'll enjoy. guys I actually hate how rushed this is. I'm sorry!! i wrote it ages ago for our event and it’s been siting in the drafts for a while now, i can honestly say….its not even nearly close to my best work. i wish it was better because taehyun deserve better! i’ll be writing my coraline fic soon as a redemption arc for tae, i swear by it!

The dungeon was alive with a symphony of simmering cauldrons and chattering students, the air thick with the sharp tang of fluxweed and the earthy musk of powdered root of asphodel. Candles floated above the stone tables, flickering with a lazy indifference, casting golden halos across glass vials and worn parchment. You sat hunched over your cauldron, stirring clockwise; then counterclockwise, exactly as the textbook instructed, though you liked to think you added a little flair to your technique. Beside you, Sunoo leaned over to check your progress, his face drawn in a mix of admiration and mild panic.

“I swear mine’s more brown than bronze,” he whispered, frowning at his own mixture.

“It’s because you’re overthinking it again,” you giggled, nudging him gently. “You have to let the potion speak to you. Feel the ingredients. Make a little magic of your own, y’know?” He rolled his eyes but smiled, accustomed to your blend of mysticism and mischief. You were sunshine in a bottle, golden, glowing, maybe a little overwhelming on days like this, but endlessly kind, brimming with a passion for the craft that made even the most monotonous ingredients feel like keys to a hidden kingdom. You adored Potions. It was alchemy and artistry, mystery and discipline, all bubbling into something beautiful.

“Alright, ingredients table, now!” barked Professor Oakenhart from the front of the class, his robes flaring dramatically as he paced. “Step carefully. If you spill the unicorn hair again, Nott, I will make you polish the cauldrons with your tears.” You perked up immediately, hand shooting into the air before anyone else could even blink. “I’ll go!” you chimed, hopping up from your stool and bouncing toward the table with a spring in your step.

But in your unbridled enthusiasm, you didn’t see him. Kang Taehyun. Towering. Silent. Cold as the dungeons themselves and twice as sharp. He was the kind of student who didn’t just read the textbook — he memorized the footnotes, corrected the professor’s misquotes, and brewed potions with the precision of a seasoned apothecary. And he hated you. Not in the way someone hates a rainstorm or a bad meal; no, he hated you with purpose. Your effortless charm, your laughter echoing across the corridors, the way professors smiled just a little too brightly when you answered questions correctly. Worst of all, you matched him. In test scores, potion grades, practicals. You were sunshine to his storm cloud. And it infuriated him.

So when you turned and smacked straight into his chest, your half-filled vial of brewed Knotgrass solution flying from your hand and splattering all across the front of his pristine uniform, it was more than an accident. It was an act of war. “Oh—oh my god—I didn’t see you—! I’m so sorry!” you gasped, hands fluttering uselessly in the air, unsure whether to mop it up or vanish into the floor. “It was an accident, really, I didn’t—”

“Obviously it was an accident,” Taehyun cut in, voice cold and clipped, The potion dripped from his vest in sluggish streaks, soaking into the ravenclaw blue. “Next time, try looking where you're going instead of skipping around like some deranged fairy” You blinked, momentarily stunned by the venom in his tone.

“I—” But he was already striding off toward Professor Oakenhart, presumably to report the offense and extract his revenge in the form of docked house points or an extra essay. The silence he left in his wake felt oddly loud, like someone had extinguished the warmth in the room. You returned to your seat with what you hoped was dignity, though your cheeks burned and your heart thudded a little too loudly in your chest. Sunoo was watching you, eyes wide.

“That was brutal,” he whispered. “Are you alright?” You forced a bright smile, even though the potion fumes still clung to your nose and your pride felt a bit bruised. “Just peachy!” you chirped, plopping back onto your stool and picking up your ladle. “Besides, a little Knotgrass never hurt anyone. Except maybe his ego.”

Sunoo snorted into his sleeve. Somewhere behind you, you swore you could feel Taehyun’s glare like a knife to your spine.

Professor Oakenhart clapped his hands for silence, the crystalline ting-ting-ting of his silver rings against his wand echoing through the vaulted stone. Bubbling cauldrons fell obediently to a hush, the once-lively chatter collapsing into a hush so complete you could hear the delicate pop of fluxweed bladders bursting in the brew. Oakenhart let the hush linger, he enjoyed suspense the way a sphinx savors riddles; before letting his voice pour down like cold mountain water.

“Next year’s class prefect,” he announced, letting the words hang, “will be chosen in three weeks’ time. The badge will go”, his dark eyes skimmed the room, “to the student who best embodies the virtues that keep this ancient castle alive: scholarly excellence, unwavering helpfulness, and the kind of leadership that does not require howling at those beneath you.” His gaze flicked, ever so briefly, toward the Ravenclaw benches, then to you in your Hufflepuff yellow, where you sat up straighter on reflex. A hush of anticipation prickled through the air, sparking like powdered moonstone hitting hot embers.

It took no more than a heartbeat for both your hands and Taehyun’s to shoot skyward, mirror images of ambition in two very different skins. Your arm rose with sunshine optimism, sleeve fluttering like a pennant above a castle tower; Taehyun’s lifted with predatory precision, elbow locked, fingers slicing the air as if claiming rightful territory. Two comets on intersecting orbits. “Questions?” Oakenhart invited, his thin smile hinting that questions were only respectable if they tasted of genuine curiosity and not vanity.

Taehyun noticed you first, noticed the way your fingertips wiggled for attention as though determined to catch falling starlight, and a quiet scuff of disapproval hissed past his teeth. “Little miss perfect,” he muttered under his breath, the phrase delivered like a curse brewed from nettle and spite. But the professor’s nod landed on you, not him. You stood, straightening your robes with a soft brush of palms, and the dungeon’s torchlight caught the hopeful glimmer in your eyes. “Professor,” you began, voice warm as summer rain, “will academic collaboration — tutoring students outside one’s own house, for example; count toward the leadership criterion, or is it measured strictly by individual achievement?” The question sailed across the room, thoughtful and earnest, carrying the faint scent of cinnamon from the potion still clinging to your cuffs.

Taehyun’s scoff was immediate, a low, velvety sound of contempt. “It’s hardly rocket science,” he drawled, loud enough for the nearest cauldrons to tremble. “Prefects inspire excellence, they don’t spoon-feed it. Obviously individual performance weighs heaviest.” His sarcasm slithered through the air like a smoky serpent, confident that everyone would see the answer as plain as daylight.

Instead of bristling, you turned to him with the brightness of a heliotrope bending toward dawn. You dipped your head, just a fraction and let a beatific smile unfurl, soft and sincere. “Thank you, Taehyun,” you replied, voice edged with honeyed cordiality. “But I find that shining your light helps others see where they’re going, and what’s leadership if not lighting the path?” Your gentle retort glimmered with the audacity of grace, and the dungeon seemed to flicker brighter for a heartbeat. The sight of your tilted head and unconquerable optimism struck Taehyun like a spell gone awry. A low, involuntary snarl rasped from his throat, a feral sound quickly smothered behind a pursed line of lips, but not before you caught it, not before half the class saw the flash of winter in his eyes. The tension between you twanged like a harp string wound too tight: one pluck away from music, one tug away from breaking.

Professor Oakenhart cleared his throat, once, sharply, expelling the storm before it could fully gather. “An astute question, Miss, Yes, mentorship and cross-house assistance will be tallied.” He inclined his head toward you with a hint of approval, then pivoted to Taehyun. “Mr. Kang, if you have a different inquiry, do raise your hand properly rather than providing commentary mid-air.” A ripple of muted laughter swept the benches, but your gaze held steady on Taehyun’s. Where his irises turned to flint, yours softened to amber, and in that quiet, smoldering stalemate something unspoken sparked, an ember that might turn to wildfire or to warmth, given time and care. For now, though, it merely glowed, pulsing in the shadowed dungeon like a promise you both refused to name.

Sunoo nudged your elbow the moment you sat, wide-eyed and whispering, “I think you just poked a Hungarian Horntail.” You responded with an easy grin, quill poised to continue your notes. “Better a Horntail awake,” you murmured, “than a dragon who never learns how bright fire can be.” Across the aisle, Taehyun pressed a palm flat to the cool desk, steadying himself against the tremor of unfamiliar emotion. His quill scratched furious strokes into his parchment; ink as dark as midnight vows, but beneath that practiced scowl, a new question brewed in secret: How does one extinguish sunshine…without first stepping into its light?

After the classroom became a quiet hush, everyone working silently alongside their partners, Professor Oakenheart instructs Taehyun and yourself to rise and follow him to his desk. “You will both report to the potion storeroom tonight. Seven o’clock. No excuses. And no magic.” He says with a sigh. “I cannot have students arguing in class, it’s unsavory.”

“Yes, Mr. Oakenheart.” You say with the downward tilt of your head. Taehyun didn’t say a word. His robes still glistened from your accidental splash, the potion drying in uneven patches across his sleeve. He glanced at you once, briefly, with all the warmth of a midwinter frost, then turned away.

You walk back to your seat next to Sunoo solemnly, sitting down next to him silently. Sunoo whispered, “You’re cursed,” under his breath as you sat back down. You grinned and whispered back, “Just peachy.”

–

Seven o’clock arrived like a tolling bell, and the potion storeroom, usually locked, usually silent, opened with a low groan as Professor Oakenhart wordlessly ushered you both inside. The room was narrow and cluttered, lit by a handful of enchanted lanterns that hovered in lazy loops, casting golden light onto rows of old wooden shelves. Vials of powdered roots and dried wings lined the walls, their labels yellowed and curling at the edges. The air was rich with the scent of earth and time; rosehips, wolfsbane, peppermint, and mildew. “You’ll sort and organize all of this,” the professor said, gesturing to a chaotic pile of unbottled ingredients and stained glassware stacked across the center table. “Without the use of wands. You leave when it’s done.”

Then he left, the heavy door clicking shut behind him with an ominous finality. You turned to Taehyun with a sheepish smile. “Well… could be worse.”

Taehyun didn’t even glance at you. “Could be over faster if you stopped talking.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, grabbing a jar of shriveled billywig stingers. “You act like I spilled that potion on purpose.”

“You didn’t not spill it,” he muttered, picking through a box of dried dittany leaves with the care of a jeweler inspecting glass. “You’re always fluttering around like a butterfly with no sense of direction. No wonder you can’t stay upright.” You rolled your eyes and tossed your hair back defiantly. “You’re so dramatic. One splash of Dreamless Sleep on your sleeve and you act like I’ve ruined your career.”

“That potion was for me, actually,” he snapped. “A concentration tonic. For my study schedule. Unlike you, I don’t need to flirt my way through classes.” The words hit like a slap; sharp, misplaced, and far too personal.

You blinked. “I wasn’t flirting, Taehyun.” He didn’t reply. Just turned, his fingers tight around the neck of a decanter filled with bluebell essence. The silence stretched long and brittle. You turned back to the shelves, trying to focus on alphabetizing vials instead of the heat rising to your cheeks. You hated that he could twist your sunshine into something shallow. You hated that it hurt a little, even if you knew better. It was when you were climbing a rickety step stool to reach a jar of flobberworm mucus that it happened, your foot caught on a crooked rung, and the world tilted sharply. You yelped, arms flailing for balance, but gravity was faster.

And Taehyun; curse him, was there. He caught you by the waist in a startled breath, your chest nearly colliding with his, both of you frozen in a strange, suspended heartbeat. For one unbearable second, the air was different. He smelled like cloves and parchment and the faint memory of apples. His hands were warm through the fabric of your robes. Your face was tilted up to his, and his jaw tightened like he was holding back a thought that tasted too much like truth. Then he let go.

You stumbled back with a startled gasp, catching yourself against a shelf just in time to stop an entire row of beetle eyes from toppling to the floor. “You—!” you started.

“I’m not your babysitter,” he snapped, brushing his hands down his robes like your presence had scorched him. “You’re so dramatic,” you said again, this time with venom. “One second you’re catching me, the next you act like I’ve hexed you.”

“And you’re unbearable,” he bit out, his voice low and dangerous. “Always smiling, always talking, always pretending the world is sugar and stars. It’s exhausting.” You stared at him, chest heaving, the light from the lanterns catching the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the irritated furrow in his brow. But underneath all that anger; buried like a secret, was something else.

You exhaled slowly. “Maybe it’s not pretend.” Taehyun said nothing. Just turned back to his work, jaw clenched, knuckles white where they gripped a jar of valerian root.

You returned to the pile of unsorted ingredients with a huff, brushing the dust from your skirt and refusing to meet his eyes. The silence between you wasn’t peaceful, it was brittle, strained, the kind of silence that creaked like a staircase in an old manor, aching to be broken. Taehyun was the one who cracked first. “Maybe if you focused half as much on your work as you do on being liked, you wouldn’t be in detention.”

You turned sharply, a vial of crushed lovage seeds in one hand. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh, I did. I’m just stunned you think being liked is a flaw.”

He scoffed, not looking up from the set of empty phials he was aligning by size. “Popularity isn’t the same as talent.”

“And coldness isn’t the same as intelligence,” you snapped. “Just because you glare through every lecture doesn’t make you smarter than everyone else.” He finally turned to face you, eyes flashing like lightning behind stormcloud lashes. “I’m not cold. I’m focused. There’s a difference.”

You stepped closer, your arms crossed now, potion dust glittering faintly on your sleeves like constellation flecks. “You’re so scared someone else might outshine you that you treat everyone like competition.”

“No one has outshined me,” he replied, voice like steel. “Until you.”

The silence that followed was a strange one. Thicker. Quieter. Like the world had taken a step back to let those words hang between you — taunting, trembling, true. You blinked. “What?”

He looked away too fast. “Forget it.”

“No, you said—” You took a step closer, your heart thudding, not from the argument, but from the accidental confession strung beneath it. “You said until me. You think I’ve outshined you?”

“I think you’re exhausting,” he muttered, back to organizing now with unnecessary force, placing bottles like they’d offended him personally. “You breeze through everything like it’s easy. People like you. Professors praise you. And somehow, despite all your little smiles and your sunshine-and-daisies attitude, you’re still top of the class.” You stared at him, stunned. “You think I haven’t worked for this?”

“I think you’ve never needed to work as hard,” he hissed, not cruel but bitter, like it was a wound he’d carried for too long. “You show up and everyone adores you. I have to fight for everything.”

Your voice softened. “That’s not my fault, Taehyun.” He paused, a jar of dried mint frozen in his hand.

“No,” he said, after a breath. “It’s not. But it still feels like I’m running a race you get to skip the hurdles for.” You didn’t know what to say to that. The space between you wasn’t so wide now. Just one potion-stained table and a pile of unsaid things.

“I don’t try to make you feel that way,” you said, quieter now. “I just… I like being here. I like learning. I like this world. It’s not about beating you.” Taehyun exhaled, slowly. “It’s always been about beating me.” You looked at him then; really looked. The precision of his posture. The tension in his shoulders. The fury not just with you, but with himself. With his need to win. And buried beneath that, the fear of what it might mean to lose to someone like you.

“Maybe,” you said gently, “it doesn’t have to be a race.” He looked up, and for the first time, he didn’t seem angry. Just tired. And quietly, painfully aware of you in a way that went far deeper than rivalry ever could. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he said, but his voice had lost its edge.

You tilted your head and smiled; not mockingly, but softly. “Maybe I would.” He didn’t smile back.

–

The sky was ink-blue, bruised with stars. The Astronomy Tower stood quiet, wind whispering through the slits in the stone as if the castle itself was holding its breath. The hour was late enough that most students had turned in, their dormitories dim with drowsy candlelight and dreams. But you couldn’t sleep. Something in the air tonight felt unsettled. Heavy. Like the prelude to a storm, but not one outside.

A strange instinct tugged at you; soft and insistent. So you wandered, slippers padding across stone, drawn not by sound but by silence. You found him there. Taehyun. Perched on the low ledge of the Astronomy Tower with his knees pulled up and his arms resting on them, his robes dark against the greystone, face upturned toward a sky he didn’t seem to be seeing. There was something wrong in the stillness of him.

He was always sharp in class, always stiff with pride, always holding himself like a blade; ready to cut, ready to be cut. But here, under the stars, he looked… tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. The kind that came from being measured too often. From being whittled down into something small and perfect and hollow. You approached gently, your footsteps careful. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you at all. Just kept his gaze fixed forward, eyes unreadable, expression carved from stone.

But you saw the parchment clutched in one hand, wrinkled and shaking slightly in the wind. You didn’t ask what it said. You didn’t need to. The way his shoulders curled inward, the way his mouth pressed into a thin, unfeeling line; it told you enough. So you sat beside him. You didn’t speak. Didn’t press. Just opened your satchel and wordlessly held out a Chocolate Frog, your last one. You kept it for exam days and rainy Sundays, but tonight, it felt like he needed it more than you. For a second, he didn’t move. Then, without looking at you, he took it. His fingers brushed yours. Cold. Tense. But real.

You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease. You just sat beside him in silence, letting the stars be the only witnesses. Letting the wind pass between you like breath. Letting kindness be quiet and simple and soft. And when you left, he still hadn’t spoken. Still hadn’t looked at you. But the Chocolate Frog wrapper sat folded neatly on the ledge when you returned the next day.

The next morning in Potions, everything feels almost normal. Almost. You and Sunoo arrive late, breathless from a stairwell that decided halfway through to rotate in the wrong direction. Professor Oakenhart levels you both with a tired glare, but waves you in without comment. You settle into your seat and reach for your ingredients; belladonna, porcupine quills, armadillo bile, your fingers moving on instinct while your mind drifts elsewhere.

To the Astronomy Tower. To the letter he never spoke of. To the way he never thanked you. To the way you hadn’t needed him to. It happens so fast you barely register it. A soft pop. A hiss. The sharp crack of glass. And then, boom. Your cauldron erupts in a bloom of green smoke and sparks, a chemical chaos that splashes up in a hot rush of steam and acrid potion. You flinch, arms flying up to protect your face, heart hammering in your throat. But nothing touches you.

Because in the heartbeat before the blast, a shield spell snaps into place; silver and curved like a falling star, held firm by a voice you know too well. “Protego.” When the smoke clears, you’re blinking through tears, more from shock than anything and coughing through the haze. Your cauldron is scorched, bubbling like a wounded beast, and Sunoo is somewhere under the table muttering prayers.

But all you can see is Taehyun. Standing across the aisle. His wand still raised. His hair mussed slightly from the force of the blast. His robes dusted with soot and powdered nettle. He says nothing. Just looks at you for one long, unreadable moment. Then lowers his wand, turns on his heel, and walks back to his seat like nothing happened. You stare after him, stunned. Because it wasn’t like him to help. It wasn’t like him to notice. But he had. And something in your chest warms like sunlight over frost.

The Professor grumbles something about careless brewing, assigns a week’s worth of clean-up duties, and moves on. But you don’t care. You’re still staring at the back of Taehyun’s head, and the words you didn’t say last night echo louder now than ever: Maybe it doesn’t have to be a race.

–

Snow had draped itself over the castle like a dream.

Hogwarts shimmered under winter’s enchantment, its towers crowned with frost, its courtyards glowing gold with fairy lights. Students bustled about in robes lined with velvet, their laughter rising with each breath like smoke into the star-splattered sky. Tonight wasn’t the Yule Ball, not exactly, it was something smaller, softer. A midwinter celebration organized by the Prefects and Professors: music in the Great Hall, warm drinks passed from student to student, and the magic of December clinging to every flickering candle. You arrived with Sunoo, cheeks flushed, hair kissed with snow. Laughter danced on your lips before you even crossed the threshold, Sunoo telling a joke that made your sides ache, your friends gathering around like stars drawn to your gravity. You were radiant in your winter robes, something golden in your grin. You loved nights like this. Nights full of warmth and wonder. Nights where the world felt like it belonged to you.

He was already there. Taehyun stood on the far edge of the room, near the refreshment table but untouched by it. Alone. Always alone. His Ravenclaw blue scarf hung loose around his neck, frost still clinging to the hems of his sleeves, and his expression unreadable, carved from cool stone.You didn’t notice him at first. Not really. Not until someone asked you to dance.

It was a boy from Gryffindor, tall, smiling, a little shy. He offered you his hand and you, ever the sun, said yes without hesitation. Your friends cheered. Sunoo nudged you playfully. And soon, the two of you were spinning between floating candles, the music lifting your steps, your laughter like honey and light. Taehyun noticed. He noticed the way your head tipped back when you laughed. The way your hands fit so easily into someone else’s. The way you looked, joyful, unguarded, lovely, and not at all like the girl who once gave him her last Chocolate Frog in silence.

He didn’t stay. He turned before he could think better of it, his footsteps soundless on the marble. The corridor outside the Great Hall was quiet, save for the distant hum of music and the soft hush of falling snow through an open window. He didn’t know why he left. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t have the words for it. He just knew he hated watching someone else hold your smile. So he left. And you followed.

You found him near the foot of the grand staircase, his back to you, the golden candlelight brushing against his shoulders, setting soft fire to the edges of his silhouette. “Taehyun.”

He didn’t turn. You stepped closer. “You left early.”

“I wasn’t enjoying myself.”

“Why not?”

A beat. Then: “You looked like you were.”

There was something sharp in the way he said it. Something jealous. Something that trembled beneath the surface, unwilling to admit what it truly was. You folded your arms. “So you were watching me.” He turned to you then, slowly. His expression unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes were thunderclouds.

“You always want people to look at you,” he said, low and quiet. “So don’t act surprised when they do.”

Your breath caught, more from the venom than the words themselves. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you always have to be seen, don’t you? Always the center of the room. Always dancing, laughing, shining — like you need everyone’s attention to survive.” You flinched. But you stood your ground. “And you push everyone away because you’re afraid they’ll see something you’re hiding.”

“Better than parading around like you have nothing to hide.”

“At least I’m not cruel about it.” You quip back, hurt.

“Oh?” he snapped. “You think I’m cruel because I don’t fawn over your every word? Because I don’t melt under your smiles like everyone else does?”

“No,” you said, stepping closer now, your voice trembling not with fear but with fury. “I think you’re cruel because you can’t stand that someone else might be your equal.” His jaw clenched.

“And because you’re angry,” you whispered, “that I make you feel something you can’t control.” Silence. Thick, aching silence.

“You’re insufferable,” he breathed.

“And you’re impossible.”

“I hate the way you laugh.”

“I hate the way you lie.” A pause. A breath.

“I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you.” Your breath catches in your throat. Your mouth suddenly like cotton.

Then, like a flicker of a flame Taehyun was kissing you. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire meeting fire, snow melting on burning skin. His mouth met yours with all the tension of months pressed into a single, trembling heartbeat. He kissed you like he was trying to erase every insult, every rivalry, every bitter word. You kissed him like you’d been waiting for him to stop running. When you pulled apart, breathless, your hands still clutched his robes. He stared at you, stunned. Like he hadn’t meant to do it. Like he wanted to do it again.

You smirked, the corner of your mouth curling just so. “Still hate me?”

His lips twitched. “More than ever.” But his voice was hoarse. And his fingers didn’t let go.

Morning broke cold and silver, the kind of pale light that softened the snow but sharpened the air. In the Great Hall, everything looked the same. Students chattered over toast and pumpkin juice, scarves half-tangled around their necks, steam curling from mugs like the remnants of dreams. The enchanted ceiling swirled with drifting snowflakes and a pale winter sky. But something was off-kilter in the space around you. Something missing You scanned the tables without thinking, eyes flickering past familiar faces. Sunoo noticed, you could feel his gaze as you forced a too-bright smile, buttered your toast with robotic precision.

“Did something happen last night?” he asked, voice soft, careful.

You shrugged, looking down at your plate. “Nothing.” But your hands trembled. And Taehyun wasn’t at his usual place near the end of the Ravenclaw table. Not that you were watching. Not that you were waiting. But still. You saw him again outside the library, later that morning. His robes were immaculate as always, scarf draped neatly over one shoulder, a book in his hand he wasn’t reading. You approached him cautiously, your heart fluttering like a sparrow trapped in your ribs.

“Taehyun,” you said, gently, like the name itself might break if you spoke it too loud. His eyes flicked up. Cold. Unbothered. Your smile faltered.

“Can we talk?” you asked, hands twisting in the hem of your sweater.

“No.” Just like that. Clipped. Sharp.

You blinked. “What?”

“I said no.” Something inside you shrank, just a little. “Taehyun… what happened last night—”

“Was a mistake.” The words hit like a slap. You felt the breath leave your lungs, staggered by the sudden, cruel distance of him. “You kissed me,” you said, voice small, cracking. “You said—”

“I got caught up in the moment.” His tone was flat, practiced. Like he’d already rehearsed these lines. Like he’d spent the whole night scrubbing every softness out of himself. “It didn’t mean anything.” The world tilted. Your lips parted, your voice caught in your throat. You could feel the sting building in your chest, behind your eyes. He didn’t look at you, wouldn’t. His gaze stayed fixed on the spines of books he wasn’t reading, as if pretending you weren’t there would erase what happened.

“I thought you—” You bit your lip, hard. Swallowed. “I thought you cared.”

“I don’t.” It was brutal, how easy he made it sound. And that was what broke you.

You turned before he could see the tears spill, before your voice could crumble entirely. You ran, not caring who saw, not caring where you were going, just needing to escape the weight of that hallway, of his voice still echoing inside you like the last note of a song gone wrong. Snow flurried around you as you burst outside, not feeling the cold through the heat in your cheeks. The castle loomed behind you, windows glowing warm with light you couldn’t bear to be near.

You collapsed beneath the shadow of a tree near the lake, the frost crunching beneath your knees, and let yourself cry. Quietly, messily. Like the sky had fallen only for you. You hated how much you’d hoped. Hated that one kiss had unraveled you. Hated that even now, even with his cruelty still ringing in your ears… You still wanted to believe he didn’t mean it.

The next morning came like a betrayal. Sunlight poured through the dormitory windows, golden and gentle, but it felt wrong against your skin. The castle still breathed with its usual rhythm, owls cooing in the distance, portraits murmuring, fireplaces crackling softly, but none of it reached you. It was as though something inside you had gone still. Quiet in a way that even your cheer couldn’t touch. You sat beside Sunoo in the Great Hall, picking at your breakfast with no real interest. Your usual glow was gone, dulled into something shadowed and quiet.

Sunoo nudged you gently with his shoulder. “You didn’t say much last night.” You didn’t meet his eyes. “There wasn’t much to say.”

He watched you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “This is about Taehyun, isn’t it?” Your fingers curled tighter around your spoon.

“We kissed, ” you whispered, barely audible. “And then he said it was a mistake.”

Sunoo’s brows lifted, and then quickly drew together in concern. “What?”

“I thought it meant something,” you said, voice cracking. “But he shut me out. Said it didn’t mean anything. Like I was just… a moment to him. A mistake to be scrubbed out.”

Sunoo’s expression darkened. “What a bloody idiot.” You gave a weak laugh, one that didn’t reach your eyes. He reached across the table and covered your hand with his. “Look, I know you like to see the good in everyone, even in jerks who don’t deserve it, but maybe it’s time you started putting that heart of yours somewhere safer. Someone who’ll actually protect it.”

You nodded, lips pressed tight. “You’re right.” But the ache didn’t lift. Later that day, you filed into Potions class with the rest of the students, your bag slung over one shoulder. The scent of crushed herbs and simmering roots clung thick to the dungeon air. You walked with your head high, shoulders back, smile forced into place like armor. He was already seated when you walked in. Taehyun.

Sitting at his usual spot near the front, posture rigid, jaw tight. His fingers tapped soundlessly against his textbook. He didn’t look up when you entered. Didn’t so much as flinch. But you felt the chill in the room anyway, the weight of all that was unspoken crackling between you like a live wire. Still, you were you. Still sunshine, even with cracks in your light. You walked over, careful steps echoing softly, and perched on the edge of the desk beside his. “Hi, Taehyun,” you said, your voice light, as if your heart wasn’t twisting. “I was wondering if you finished the reading for today. The part about powdered asphodel, wasn’t that fascinating? I thought—”

“Can you just shut up for once?” His voice cut through the room like a blade. The entire class went still. You froze. “I’m trying to concentrate,” he said, still not looking at you. “And I don’t need your insipid, cheery commentary. Merlin knows it’s exhausting enough seeing you parade around like everyone’s personal ray of sunshine.”

A few people snorted with laughter. Someone whispered behind their hand. You felt every eye in the room swing toward you, your face, your smile, your frozen stance. And Taehyun finally looked up, and his expression was cold, clipped, composed. But your world cracked. You swallowed the lump in your throat, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. You looked around, saw the amusement on their faces, the mockery, the disbelief that anyone as soft as you could’ve tried to reach someone as sharp-edged as him. And then your gaze landed back on Taehyun.

“All I’ve done,” you said, voice trembling, “is try to be nice to you. To care for you. Even when you were cruel. Even when you didn’t deserve it.” He said nothing. Your voice dropped to a whisper. “But I’m done.”

You didn’t wait for his reaction. Didn’t want to see if there was even a flicker of regret in those storm-grey eyes. You turned on your heel, your shoes tapping hard against the stone, and fled the classroom. Again. But this time… you didn’t cry. This time, your chest burned with something else. This time, you were done being soft for someone who only knew how to bruise.

Taehyun sat frozen in the aftermath. The laughter had faded. The stares had drifted away. But the silence that followed your exit rang louder than anything else in the room. He stared at the empty space where you’d stood, chest hollow and knotted, something sour rising in his throat. The words he’d thrown at you echoed back in his ears; sharp, venom-laced things forged in fear, insecurity, and pride. And regret, thick and immediate, curled in his gut like poison. “Taehyun?” the professor called. But he didn’t answer. He stood up abruptly, chair scraping back, and bolted.

His shoes struck stone as he ran through the corridor, breath tight, wand forgotten. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to find you. That he had to. His heart beat painfully against his ribs. The hallways blurred past him, students turned their heads as he passed, but he didn’t stop. He found you in the greenhouses, your favorite place, tucked behind the castle where the air smelled of earth and mint, where your emotions could breathe. You stood alone beneath the arching glass dome, surrounded by sleeping winter blooms. The late afternoon light spilled through the frosted windows in ribbons of gold. You had your arms crossed, head bowed, lips pressed tightly together. When you heard the door open, you stiffened.

“What do you want?” you said, voice hoarse, but strong.

Taehyun’s breath hitched. “I’m sorry.”

You laughed, bitter and soft. “You’re always sorry.”

“I know.” He took a step closer. “I know I keep ruining things. I know I keep hurting you. But I don’t—” His voice broke. “I don’t mean to.”

“Then why do you?” you snapped, eyes glassy, anger trembling under your skin. “Why do you keep pushing me away? Every time I try to be kind, every time I try to care about you — you throw it back in my face.” Taehyun looked down at his hands, curling them into fists. “Because you make it hard to pretend I don’t feel anything.” You stared at him.

He looked up, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes were wide, vulnerable, raw. “You’re always happy. You shine so damn much it hurts. And I... I’ve spent my whole life trying to be perfect, trying to be what everyone expects. And then you walk in, and you’re better than me, and kinder, and I didn’t know what to do with that. So I lashed out. Because it was easier than admitting I—” He swallowed. “I like you.” Silence bloomed between you. Quiet. Fragile.

“You’re such a bloody idiot,” you muttered.

Taehyun blinked, startled. “What?” And then you stepped forward. Fast. Sure. Your hands came up to grab the collar of his robes, tugging him down before he could react. Your mouth crashed into his with a force that knocked the air out of both of you. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was furious, raw, earned. Taehyun made a soft, strangled noise in the back of his throat, his hands fluttering for a moment before settling; one on your waist, the other braced against the table behind you. But you didn’t wait for him. You deepened the kiss, teeth and warmth and heat and something frantic behind it all. You poured your anger and your longing into him, tasting the apology on his tongue, daring him to mean it.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your eyes burned into his. “I’ve liked you for ages, you emotionally constipated genius,” you whispered, chest heaving. “But I’m not going to keep running after you if you’re going to keep running from yourself.” His mouth parted. He didn’t speak. He only nodded, once, reverent.

“I won’t break for you again, Taehyun,” you said, softer now. “So if you’re going to kiss me back next time… mean it.”

“I will,” he breathed, eyes wide, lips swollen, still stunned by the hurricane of you. “I swear.” And this time, when you kissed him again, it was slower. Sweeter. The first page of a new chapter written in ink instead of fire. And for once, he let himself feel it.

–

The announcement came quietly, a simple flick of parchment and a name spoken with no ceremony. At breakfast, the Great Hall was humming; spoons clinking against porridge bowls, owls flapping in with the morning post, low chatter weaving between house tables like mist. Professor McGonagall stood at the podium, spectacles glinting as she unrolled the scroll of student appointments. Her voice carried with its usual sharpness, precise and unyielding. “The Prefect position for next term,” she said, “has been awarded to Miss Eliza Rowe of Gryffindor.”

A polite smattering of applause followed. Nothing loud, nothing triumphant, just the rustle of hands clapping out of obligation more than celebration. Eliza, three seats down from the golden trio’s old haunt, blinked, then straightened her back and nodded once, the picture of composed satisfaction. She’d dotted her i’s with logic, crossed her t’s with ruthlessness, built her empire from timetables and perfectly executed essays. And she deserved it. You blinked, mid-sip of pumpkin juice. Across the table, Taehyun paused, one hand wrapped around a buttered scone. For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other. And then, like a shared secret, you both burst into soft, startled laughter.

No bitterness curled on your tongues. No resentment twisted in your chests. There was no sting to the loss, only the warm realization that you hadn’t even noticed the stakes anymore. Taehyun leaned forward, elbows brushing the edge of his plate, eyes gleaming in the slanted morning light. “You know, I think this might be the first time I’ve lost anything and not wanted to hex someone about it.” You smirked. “Wow. Character development.”

He grinned, actually grinned, the corners of his mouth curling like sunlight creeping through storm clouds. “Don’t push it.” You looked down at your plate, then back up at him. “I mean, we both lost, technically. And yet…”

“And yet,” he echoed, voice low and warm, gaze lingering. His fingers brushed yours under the table, just a whisper of contact, but it said everything. You glanced around at the bustle of the Hall. No one was paying attention to you anymore. The spotlight had shifted elsewhere. You and Taehyun were no longer the top contenders, the academic titans vying for dominance. And you didn’t care.

The rivalry had sharpened you both, carved out the edges where you met, but now, here, in this quiet moment between spoonfuls of marmalade and melted butter, it felt like something new was blooming. Not softer, exactly. But truer. Less about pride. More about presence. “I think,” you said slowly, “I’d rather have this.”

He tilted his head. “This?”

You shrugged, fighting a smile. “Us. Whatever we are now.” For a moment, Taehyun didn’t answer. Just looked at you, like you were the only person in the castle worth watching. Like maybe, in some unspoken way, he’d already chosen this over everything else. Then he said, “Me too.”

Epilogue

The letter arrives on a Tuesday. It isn’t sent with an owl, or folded with formal corners. It’s slipped into your Potions textbook, tucked between a page on amortentia and the properties of powdered moonstone. You find it when your fingers brush against the soft, familiar parchment, sealed with nothing more than a pressed flower. A heliotrope. His favorite. And yours. Your name is scrawled across the front in his ever-meticulous handwriting, slanted and confident and just a touch dramatic. But inside; it’s him, wholly and undeniably.

Meet me at the Astronomy Tower. Tonight. Midnight. Don’t bring Sunoo, or I swear.

Stop asking questions you already know the answer to, Little Miss Perfect. It makes me want to kiss you. Which is inconvenient. Because I hate you.

—T.K.

You laugh, soft, delighted, head shaking in disbelief. The paper crinkles in your hand as your fingers clutch it tighter, your stomach blooming with something golden and giddy. You press the letter against your lips, a half-suppressed giggle escaping. He still says he hates you. You roll your eyes, slip the letter into your sleeve, and go anyway.

The Astronomy Tower is quiet when you arrive, the air tinged with cold and the faint, fragrant echo of spring pushing through winter’s shadow. Snow clings in delicate lace to the ramparts, the sky a deep indigo velvet scattered with stars. Hogwarts sleeps below, its windows glowing faintly, warm and distant. You find him leaning against the parapet, robes fluttering slightly in the breeze, curls tousled and dark against the moonlight. He doesn’t turn as you approach, but you know he hears you. He always does. “You’re late,” Taehyun murmurs, without looking.

“You’re impossible,” you reply, stepping beside him, shoulder brushing his.

He finally glances at you. “And yet, here you are.”

You smile. It’s soft, easy. “What’s the occasion?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks up, at the moon, at the stars, at anything but you. When he finally speaks, it’s quieter. “I used to come here to get away from people. To think. Sometimes just to breathe.” You say nothing. You let him unravel in his own time.

He exhales, long and slow. “Now all I think about is how badly I want you here. All the time. Even when you’re babbling. Even when you’re winning at things I swore I needed to beat you at.” You glance at him, heart beating like a drum beneath your ribs. He turns to face you fully now, the night making a poem of his profile, sharp lines, soft edges, eyes full of unspoken things.

“You ruined my solitude,” he whispers.

You tilt your head, teasing. “You’re welcome.”

His lips twitch. “I should hate you for it.”

“And yet?”

“And yet,” he says, stepping closer, “you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to be wrong with.” You reach for him first this time, fingers brushing his, pulling him into your gravity. He meets you halfway. The kiss is quiet. Slow. Like a confession. Like a wish. Above, the stars burn steady. Below, the castle dreams. And somewhere between the heavens and the earth, a boy who built walls and a girl who tore them down find something far sweeter than victory. Not perfection. But something better. Home

(♬) - @beomiracles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire @dawngyu @izzyy-stuff @1-800-jewon @xylatox

#˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🌕 ꒱ ˎˊ˗ yun recs⭑.ᐟ #tomorrow x together imagines #tomorrow x together x reader #taehyun imagines #kang taehyun imagines #tomorrow x together

190 notes · View notes

beomgyuversee · 1 day ago

Text

Glacier Heart

✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:**

pairing: Sunghoon x fem!reader

Synopsis: When you're assigned to write a feature on the nation's most elusive figure skater, Park Sunghoon — quiet, precise, and guarded to the core, you expect cold shoulders and half-answers. But beneath the cold, hard ice, there’s something waiting to break through. And maybe, just maybe, you're the one who’s meant to catch him when he finally falls.

genre:~ non-idol AU, Figure skater AU, strangers to lovers, cold boy learns to love again, angst, slight slowburn, hurt + comfort

rating:~ 18+ (MDNI)

warnings:~ unprotected sex (should've listened to Heeseung), more vulnerability because i'm an emotions person 💔, readers a virgin (but its not a key part of the story), angst (Sunghoon doesn't think he's good enough), soft Dom!Sunghoon

wc:~ 2k (Its midnight leave me alone 💔)

a/n:~ I decided to do a soft smut, I MAY still do a version without smut but we'll see.

MINOR OR AGELESS BLOGS DNI

✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:**:･

The rink was colder than you expected.

Not just the air—though it made your breath fog and your fingers numb—but the silence. The way the space echoed with emptiness. You thought there'd be music or voices, but instead there was only the quiet hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional cut of blades against ice.

He moved like he wasn't real. Every glide, every turn, every sharp breath he took—it was all too polished, too practiced, too far away from anything human. You watched him skate from the bleachers, scribbling in your worn-out notebook, though the pen hovered more than it wrote.

Park Sunghoon. Olympic hopeful. The Ice Prince.

You didn't want this assignment. You didn't even write about sports. But your editor was relentless, and you needed the paycheck. And your job A feature on one of the country's top figure skaters sounded like a dream for someone. Just not for you.

When he finally noticed you, his eyes met yours through the glass with cool precision. Then he skated toward you in long, confident strokes, coming to a smooth stop at the edge of the rink.

"You're early," he said, voice low and unreadable.

"You're late," you replied before you could stop yourself.

For a second, you thought he might skate away. But then the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely—and he nodded once. "Touché."

Later, you write in the margin of your notebook: he skates like he's trying not to feel anything at all. Like he can't.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

He didn't make interviews easy.

Every question you asked was met with a shrug or a clipped answer, like you were wasting both of your time.

"What does skating mean to you?" "It's just what I do."

"What inspires your routines?" "I don't know. Music, I guess."

You tried to push, but there was a wall, and Sunghoon wasn't letting you anywhere near the other side. He was polite, sure, but detached. Mechanical. Like he had perfected the art of being present without ever actually being there.

But then came the night you stayed late.

You were packing up your notes in the stands when you noticed he was still out on the ice, long after the others had gone. There was no audience, no coach, no cameras—just Sunghoon and a haunting piano melody echoing through the empty arena.

It wasn't a routine. It was something else. Something raw.

He moved like the music lived in his spine, every line of his body drenched in emotion he never let show in daylight. And when the song ended, he didn't bow or skate off. He sank to his knees, shoulders rising and falling like he couldn't catch his breath.

You let out a small sound. It escaped without permission.

He turned. His gaze found you like a spotlight.

"You weren't supposed to see that," he said, still on the ice, his voice quiet now. Vulnerable.

"Did you want someone to?" you asked.

He didn't say anything after that. He didn't need to. The answer was obvious in the way his head bowed.

Something changed between you after that.

He wasn't suddenly warm or open, but he started meeting you halfway. He didn't avoid your questions. He even started asking a few of his own. And sometimes, he even smiled. Not the stiff, polite kind. Real ones. Small and tired and genuine.

One night, you sat on the bleachers after practice, sipping lukewarm cocoa from a vending machine. The lights above flickered slightly as you both stared at the rink.

"My parents come to competitions," he said out of nowhere. "But they don't really talk afterward. They only point out where I could've scored higher."

You turned to look at him, but he wasn't looking at you. Just the ice.

"I hate the nickname," he continued. "Ice Prince. Makes me feel like... like I'm not allowed to be anything else."

He rubbed his hands together like the cold was finally getting to him. You reached out and took one gently.

His fingers twitched, startled. But he didn't pull away.

"I don't think you're made of ice," you said. "You just hide in it."

From that day on, it became a ritual. Late-night walks after practice. Shared snacks on stairwells. Long silences that were somehow comforting. You learned that he had a dry sense of humor, that he liked indie music with soft lyrics, and that he always, always stretched too long before skating because he hated the feeling of failure in his muscles.

And then came the storm.

The city shut down overnight. Trains canceled, streets snowed in. You both stood at the front of the building, watching the snow fall like a curtain over the world.

"You can stay at my place," he said. "If you want. Until it clears up."

You hesitated. Then nodded.

His apartment was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the heater and the muffled stillness of snow pressing against the windows. You were still wearing the hoodie he gave you—worn-in and oversized—and the sleeves had slipped halfway down your hands. His room was small, neat, lived in but not loved, like everything had a place and nothing was ever truly used.

Sunghoon sat beside you on the bed, close enough that your legs touched. He looked down at your joined knees, then slowly turned toward you.

"Do you want to stay in here tonight?" he asked, voice low, almost careful.

You nodded slowly. "Yeah," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "If that's okay."

He exhaled through his nose, the tension in his shoulders softening. "It is. I want you to."

There was a pause. His hand found yours on the blanket, and he ran his thumb over your knuckles before lifting your hand gently, like he was testing if it would break.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked.

That question—spoken with such care—pulled something tender in your chest.

"Yes," you said, your fingers tightening around his. "Please."

Then his lips met yours—soft, tentative, warm—and you kissed him back slowly, letting the moment stretch between you. He kissed like he skated—controlled, purposeful—but underneath, there was something trembling. Something restrained. You could feel it in the way his hand settled at your jaw, in the slight hitch of breath when your lips parted.

You deepened the kiss, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

When your hands slipped beneath the hem and touched his bare skin, his breath stuttered. You felt the heat of him, the ridges of muscle tensing beneath your touch, and his mouth opened against yours with a quiet groan.

His hand trailed down your side, slow and reverent, finding the edge of your hoodie. He broke the kiss, eyes searching yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked, breath shallow.

You nodded. "I want this. I want you."

His expression softened into something almost vulnerable. "Okay," he whispered.

He pulled the hoodie over your head, eyes never leaving yours, then kissed your shoulder as his fingers slid the waistband of your sweatpants down your hips. The air was cool against your thighs, but his hands were warm—steady as they caressed your legs, your waist, your sides like he was mapping every inch.

You tugged at his shirt in return, and he let you remove it, revealing pale skin flushed with heat. Your eyes roamed across his chest, the subtle slope of his collarbone, the firm tension of his abdomen. He leaned in again, kissing you deeper this time, more urgent, his hands tangling in your hair.

You shifted backward onto the bed, and he followed, settling between your legs with a quiet sigh against your mouth. His hips pressed against yours, and you could feel him—hard, wanting, restrained still.

"I've never..." You started, but the words died in your throat. He rested his forehead against yours.

He touched your cheek. "It's okay," he said. "We don't have to rush anything."

"I want to," You said softly. "Just... slowly."

He nodded. "Slow's perfect."

He leaned down again, kissing down your neck, your chest, his lips brushing reverently across every inch of skin he uncovered. You gasped as his mouth found your breast, tongue flicking gently over your nipple before sucking lightly, his hand stroking the other with careful precision.

Your hands gripped his back, nails dragging down the smooth curve of his spine. You felt him shiver against you.

When he slid your underwear down your legs, his movements slowed even more. He kissed the inside of your thigh, and you felt his breath against you—hot, shaky. His hand cupped you gently, thumb sliding through your folds as he explored you, slow and curious, watching your reactions.

When he pressed a finger into you, you exhaled a soft moan, your hips rising to meet his touch. He added another, curling them slightly until your head tipped back, your body moving with the rhythm he gave you.

"You're so warm," he whispered, kissing your shoulder.

He pushed his boxers down, his length flushed, full, hard. You reached between you, wrapping your hand around him, and he shuddered, eyes fluttering shut at your touch.

When he finally lined himself up, he paused, his lips brushing your forehead.

"Tell me if you need to stop."

"I won't," you whispered. "I need you. Please."

With a soft groan, he eased into you—slowly, inch by inch, his hands gripping your hips, your thighs. You clutched his shoulders as your body stretched around him, both of you gasping as the connection settled into place. He filled you completely, carefully, never once breaking eye contact as your breaths tangled.

He rocked into you with slow, deliberate movements, his hips pressing against yours with a gentle rhythm that made your toes curl. Every thrust was deep, controlled, intentional—like he was trying to memorize every sound you made, every way your body responded to his.

You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, lips brushing his neck, his collarbone, whispering his name when it all became too much.

Sunghoon moaned quietly into your skin, "You feel like everything I didn't know I needed."

You kissed him fiercely, and he held you tighter, moved deeper.

Your climax built slowly, like warmth spreading from the inside out. His thumb found your clit, rubbing gentle circles in time with his thrusts, and you cried out his name when it hit you—body arching, limbs trembling, the world folding into white-hot bliss.

He came moments later, with a breathless moan muffled into your shoulder, his body curling over yours as he spilled inside you, hips stuttering. You felt him shake as he rode out the wave, breath ragged and shallow.

And then, silence.

Not awkward, not empty. Just the kind of silence that followed something sacred.

He pulled you into his arms, one hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed your temple.

"You're incredible," he whispered. "You... you're everything."

You tucked your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

He didn't let you go.

You fell asleep like that—tangled together, skin to skin, heartbeats pressed close.

And when morning came, the snow still blanketed the city, but the world felt warmer somehow.

Because he wasn't cold anymore. Not with you beside him.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

He didn't win at the next event.

He fell on the triple axel. Not a catastrophic fall, but enough to lose the lead. The headlines were ruthless. "Ice Prince Cracks Under Pressure." Slow-motion replays on loop. Endless speculation.

You found him back at the rink the next day, sitting in the middle of the ice. Not skating. Not talking. Just sitting.

You stepped onto the ice and walked to him carefully, sitting beside him without a word.

"I gave everything," he said after a while. "And it still wasn't enough."

You turned toward him. "You don't have to win to be enough."

He blinked slowly. "You really believe that?"

"I believe in you," you said. "Even when you fall. Especially then."

And maybe that was the moment he finally let go. Not of skating, not of ambition—but of the pressure to be perfect.

He leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. And for the first time, you felt him truly exhale.

A year later, he skated again.

He didn't win. But he didn't fall either.

And more importantly, he looked free. His movements weren't tight or mechanical. They were joyful. You saw him smile mid-spin.

After the routine, he scanned the crowd and found you instantly.

You met him backstage, throwing your arms around him before he could speak.

"You looked happy out there," you said, breathless.

"I was," he whispered.

He kissed you slowly, hands resting on your waist like they belonged there.

"You're not made of ice, Sunghoon," you said when you pulled away. "You just needed someone to hold you long enough to melt."

And this time, he didn't argue.

He just kissed you again. Because he knew you were right.

And you were the one to do it.

✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:**:･

a/n: ~ I am actually flabberghasted with how long this took, I deadass thought it would take an hour MAX to edit and add the smut scene + ratings and all that but its rolling in on 3 am and I started this at like 5pm. Hope you like it i'm going to bed now. 😞

#enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #kpop smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon smut #sunghoon enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon soft thoughts #sunghoon soft hours #enhypen soft hours #enhypen hard thoughts

78 notes · View notes

mafiadad5 · 2 days ago

Text

Teach me to not love, Epilouge: Haechan’ s Journal.

Read: Teach me to not love -> Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

W/c- 1.3k

Now playing: Journey Mercies- Mark Lee

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #1 – The Day You Left

I messed up.

I keep replaying her face from that night— when it all finally hit her. She looked so exhausted, so tired. Not just physically, but like her soul had been carrying too much for too long.

Yeah, Jaemin was part of it, but so was I. Probably more than I want to admit.

I tried to protect her, but it was too late— and in the worst way. I thought just being there, having feelings, meant I was doing something right, but love isn't enough if your actions don't show up with it.

I wanted to explain everything. I wanted her to scream, to cry, to throw something, anything but just walk away, but I slipped up, and made it worse. Everything she said before she left... about me ending up alone... it hurt. Not because it was new, but because I've told myself that for years. Hearing it from her made it real though. Because she tried, she gave me a chance, and I blew it.

I drank myself sick that night. Don't even remember calling her. But when I woke up and saw her there— water on the nightstand, trash can by the bed, I knew I didn't deserve her.

I don't really know if I'm writing this for her or for me, maybe both.

But I know one thing: I want to be better. I have to be.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #2 – A Week After You Left

Therapy's weird.

I hate silence, but this kind of silence... it pulls the words out of you. And once I start talking, it's like I can't stop.

Today I told him I feel like I ruin every good thing that touches my life. That even my own parents didn't really want to deal with me. He asked when I learned to survive like that.

I didn't say anything at first, then I said everything.

We talked about control, about how I hold back, how I try to manage pain by never letting anyone get too close.

I realized something. I didn't just want her, I wanted the moment she chose me and I wanted to hold on to that moment forever. That's not love, that's fear dressed up as romance.

Real love lets people walk away, and still hope they find peace.

I'm starting to understand that.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #3 – One Month Later

If she ever comes back, and that's a big if... I'm not going to be the guy who just says, "I've changed."

I want her to see it.

I'll show her patience. Speak softly, even when I'm hurting. I'll listen, even when I want to argue.

If she needs space, I'll give it. If she says no, I'll respect it. If she doubts me, I'll understand.

Clarity is something I need to meet, not fight.

Now, I just want to deserve her.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #4 – The Night You Came Back

She came back.

It felt like coming up for air after being underwater too long.

She looked different, not in a physical way, but like... whole. Like she found pieces of herself I never even realized she lost.

When she said she was willing to try again— slowly, I didn't feel like I got her back. I felt like I was being given a chance to love her right this time.

And that's the only way this works.

If this is all we are... soft steps forward, quiet moments, a journal and a promise, I'll take it.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #5 – One Month Later

We're still taking it slow.

Some people think slow means uncertain. Like we're tiptoeing around something fragile, but it doesn't feel like that.

It feels calm. Like we're both learning to breathe again in the same space, at our own pace.

She smiles more now. Not the kind of smile that hides things. This one's different, it's soft, real, and sometimes when she doesn't know I'm watching, it breaks my heart in the best way.

I didn't know watching someone else heal could feel like healing too.

I still get urges to rush— reach for her hand, kiss her, ask if she's mine yet, but I don't act on them. Not out of fear, but out of respect.

And honestly? I like this version of us.

If love is slow and steady, I'm finally ready for that kind.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #6 – Two Months Later

I think I'm ready to ask her out.

Not in the casual, "let's see where this goes" way. I mean for real, with intention.

I've thought about what I'd say. I'd tell her this isn't about our past, it's about what we've built through it.

That loving her like this— slow and steady... with care, has been the best thing I've ever done.

If she says no, I'll be okay.

That's how I know I'm really ready. I don't need her to say yes to feel whole. I don't need her to love me back to believe I'm worth loving.

Still... I really hope she says yes.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #7 – Five Months Later

She said yes.

I asked her while we were walking, hands in my pockets, stumbling over my words. I was so nervous, it probably didn't even make sense.

She laughed, then she smiled and said yes.

It wasn't fireworks, it wasn't some big cinematic moment. It was quiet and it meant everything.

We're not perfect. We still have tough days, we still talk things through slowly, but now there's honesty.

She doesn't wonder if I'll change. I don't worry if she'll leave.

We both did the work. First alone, then together and now we're here. Still growing, still healing, but in love— for real this time.

And if this is where the story ends... I wouldn't change a single word.

══════════════════════════

You stayed up later than you meant to. The apartment was quiet, just the hum of the AC and the soft rhythm of Haechan breathing beside you, out cold after insisting he "wasn't tired" and falling asleep twenty minutes into the movie.

The journal sat open in your lap.

You hadn't expected him to hand it over so casually tonight. Just said, "If you're ready... I think I want you to read this now."

And you were ready, you didn't realize it until the first few lines, then you couldn't stop.

Entry after entry— his fear, his shame, the way he tried and failed, and tried again. The way he broke things, the way he realized he wanted to fix them... not just for you, but for himself. The way he started to become someone better, even before you said yes.

You wiped your cheeks more than once.

Not because it was sad— but because it was honest.

And now, sitting here in the glow of the hallway light, with his words still fresh in your mind and his arm gently brushing yours in sleep, you felt it for real.

You weren't the same girl who spiraled at parties and mistook chaos for love. He wasn't the same boy who ran when things got too real. You both unraveled and then rebuilt yourselves in the quiet, and in doing that, you somehow found each other again, not as broken people clinging to each other, but as two whole people finally learning how to hold love the right way.

You closed the journal, laid it on the nightstand, and slid under the covers beside him. He stirred slightly, mumbling your name like it was instinct. You smiled to yourself, letting your fingers trace gentle patterns along his back.

You weren't sure what the future held, but tonight, you were sure of this:

You were healed. You were in love. And this time, you weren't losing yourself to keep him.

══════════════════════════

a/n- hi guys ! Thank you so much for reading, I truly hope you enjoyed it. I poured so much of myself into this, so it’s a little bittersweet to let it go… but also kind of a relief, lol.

Just a quick reminder: part one, two, and the beginning of three portray a VERY toxic version of love. This is not how you deserve to be treated, so If you ever find yourself in a similar situation— run 😭.

And with that… goodbye 💋 <333

97 notes · View notes

shifteruncensored · 1 day ago

Text

i am TIRED everyone out here throwing "shifting advice" around like it's some universal law or some shit !!!!!!!! like nooo pls stop. a lot of this advice is so ridiculously fucking generic too……it's kinda insulting? like no one is taking ownership of their truth. no one's even TRYNA own it, everyone's just replicating or copying the same boring ass rulebook that isn’t even really relevant to them (for attention most of the time…)

i just want to SCREAM sometimes bcs nowdays people act like there's ONE way to approach shifting & if you don't do it their way …..oh brother!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! they act like you are doing it WRONG or something. but honestly fuck no. because of that nobody has the courage to WRITE their own damn rulebook. people are starting to be too afraid to be messy or different or like really REAL with what works for THEM bcs of some bs some creators keep parroting.

i just feel like most people should throw all that "do this, do that" crap out the window and MAKE your OWN rules. yes make your own insane crazy rulebook that doesn't necessarily make sense to anybody else but YOU. prioritize yourself.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! bcs shifting is fucking personal. how many times must it be said for you to finally acknowledge that……………even my advice is my own takeaway, my thoughts at the moment, and that's it. i'm not some guru with some perfect fucking guide.

and that's the damn point. nobody's got all the perfect answers that will work for everyone in the shifting community. stop messing around trying to fill up someone else's damn mold. blow it up! burn it! fucking rewrite that shit! do whatever the hell you want. just don't listen to that cookie cutter crap that makes you feel unimportant or stupid or lost or not enough.

pls just be you. stop trying to wear someone else’s skin. be the author of your own damn story. even if it is crazy. even if it is weird as fuck. even if you don't have everything figured out. i see so many people trapped trying to follow someone else's "rules" that don't even resonate with their soul. with who they are. all for the sake of shifting. it’s fucking sad….

this isn't me saying don't take advice though!!!!!!!!!!! pls do if it helps !! ask questions, experiment w/ shit, learn from people!! some advice really can change everything.

BUT!!! and it’s a big ass BUT 🍑 don't act like the advice your getting is law or a needed requirement. it's just one person's experience. not the word of the almighty shifting god (just kidding but you get what i am trying to say right?) take what you like & leave what you don't. remix it. break it. ignore it if you don't like it.

you get to make your own rules. you should. shifting is a personal journey FOR YOU. no one knows you more than you.

so plueasseeeeee create your own damn rulebook. and if someone's gonna come at you and tell you what to do? laugh in their fucking face because they don't know shit about YOUR truth.

#shiftblr #reality shifting #shifting community #shiftingrealities #shifting consciousness #shifteruncensored #personal

71 notes · View notes

tovibeornottovibe · 10 hours ago

Text

Broken Things

Azriel x Fem!OC (Sereyna)

this is based on this request! thank you, anon, for being so patient with me, i hope this is worth the (month long, i'm so sorry) wait and that you enjoy it <3 (if not, i can always write you a different version, i have about five drafts all with different plot points lmao)

After a terrible night in the Day Court, one where he feels more lonely than ever, one where his heart won't stop fucking shuddering in his chest, Azriel unexpectedly meets his mate. The problem? She wants absolutely nothing to do with him and rejects him in all but name. He goes to Rhys for answers, and doesn't like what he hears. [8.5k words]

warnings: we're dealing with Under the Mountain here so abuse, implied sexual assault, canon typical violence, Amarantha, but also angst, fluff, suggestiveness, horny azriel, angry azriel, protective azriel, drinking, smoking, swearing, protective rhysand, asshole rhysand, az is also kind of an asshole at the start of this, but he's a sweetie at the end

masterlist | Prefer Ao3? [down at the minute, will upload the link when it's back]

So they’re in a club. Him, Rhys, Feyre, Cass and Nesta, Mor and Helion, all in the Day Court. Rhys had called it a diplomatic mission. Everyone else is in agreement that it’s an excuse to drink all of Helion’s wine, play some games, dance a little.

It’s called letting loose, Az, Cass had told him. Have you heard of it?

Az had said nothing, had done nothing. He let his brother primp and preen and enjoy calling him a killjoy. Tonight, he doesn’t feel like snarling or snarking. He thinks everything will be easier if he just waits out the night alone, quietly, letting everyone get cosy and coupled, too drunk—even Nesta—to wonder if he isn’t doing the same. Maybe tomorrow, when they’re back home, his chest will stop feeling so fucking heavy.

It’s like his heart is working to claw out of his chest and his ribs are tightening and tightening and tightening to try and stop it. The music’s loud and his shadows hate the lights; they keep hissing at him to go outside, curling around his ears and ducking under his wings. People keep bumping into him. He’s remembering why he hates clubs. The female next to him at the bar is eyeing him like she wants to ride him like a horse and thinks he’s hung like one too.

Suddenly, he’s feeling sour and he’s dying for a drink that’ll make his head go quiet. He catches the bartender’s attention, asks for a shot of something stupid expensive and strong. Necks it in one. The female next to him chuckles.

“Rough night?” she asks, her voice dipped, sweet like honey, raspy, sultry, practiced.

He glances at her and motions for another shot (it’s all on Helion’s tab, so why not?). She’s pretty in the same way that all High Fae are pretty. Long legs, long lashes, tanned and toned in places meant to please. She’s blonde, wearing red. Az scoffs at the sight, thinking of Mor, then, resentfully, of Elain, while his fifteenth shot of the night runs down his throat and beats down his heart trying to crawl up his gullet.

“Worse now someone’s talking to me,” he says. Rude, his shadows bark. So what, he thinks. Still he tucks in his wings, keeps his gaze firmly uninterested, and tries not to look like he’d punch her in the mouth if she said the wrong thing. Which he wouldn’t, but he’s seen it happen. Character building, that’s what Devlon used to call it, until Azriel held him over the side of the cliff which marks the edge of Windhaven and threatened to drop him. They’d bound his wings first, of course.

Anyway.

If this female would kindly leave him alone and let him do another shot, he’d be much happier.

Instead, she whistles low and takes a sip of whatever cocktail she ordered, placing it back on the bar with a clink. A martini, maybe. She seems the kind, and his shadows trill to confirm it. “So it’s true,” she says. “The famed Shadowsinger is a mean son of a bitch.” His mother aside, she might be right. “I’m Rhona.”

Az turns his back on the bartender and leans against the bar, scanning the crowd. Rhona glances at his forearms braced against the side. So, Cassian had it right for once—he says ‘The Forearm Effect’ is part of Az’s strategy to pick up lovers in bars, even in spite of the scars.

He asks, “Is there something you want from me, Lady Rhona?”

She laughs. Gets closer. Touches his upper arm as she does. He clenches his jaw and stills, but his shadows spike. “I’m not a lady,” she says, “but I appreciate you saying so.” He stares. She gets the idea. “To answer your question, yes, Shadowsinger, I do want something from you.”

Again, Az doesn’t talk—he’s good at waiting, and people hate silence. Rhona’s no different.

She leans in. Her chest brushes up against his bicep and she starts to stroke his forearm, tracing the uneven skin with the pad of her thumb. Az can smell liquor on her teeth.

Her lips graze his earlobe.

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my own name,” she murmurs. “Can you do that for me?”

Hm…

He can.

On a different night, he probably would. There’s nothing wrong with Rhona. In fact, Az would say the only thing she has to improve on is picking who she wants to go for in clubs. Plenty of males are capable, and if Rhys and Cass weren’t mated, he’d send her their way in a heartbeat.

Gently, Az places his hand on hers, barely touching, and moves it off him. “Not tonight,” he says, and his heart thunders again to the point of pain.

To her credit, Rhona takes it on the chin. She shrugs and moves away completely. “Pity.” And for a moment, she just looks at him, assessing if perhaps she could persuade him otherwise, then she picks up her glass and drains it with a grimace. All the grain spirit had settled at the bottom, Az guesses. “See you around then.”

“Sure.”

With a playful little wave, she turns and stalks into the crowd. If she sways her hips when she walks away, Az doesn’t have the inclination to notice.

His shadows smoke and fizzle in his ears. Outside, they seem to say. Go now. Now. Now.

Why? he asks, catching sight of Rhys and Feyre in a booth. She’s draped over his lap and he’s looking at her like she’s the only person in the world, like she hung the moon and stars just for him.

Go, they repeat in a whisper. Outside, outside, outside. There’s distinct urgency in their tone but no threat, it’s not life or death. Just important, somehow.

Az takes another look at his friends. Cass and Nesta are dancing hip-to-hip, smiling, laughing, to the thumping music. Mor and Helion are talking quietly by the band, but it’s not particularly amorous—they look serious, involved, and decidedly aren’t looking in his direction. Feyre and Rhys are kissing slowly, his hand snaking up her thigh and rucking the hem of her dress beneath his fingers, until she pulls away, peppering his jaw and his neck with glittering marks of her lip gloss. He sees Rhys sigh, his throat bob when he surely makes a noise that causes Feyre to smirk down at him, shifting on his lap carefully, positioned just right to feel what she can do to him. She coaxes his mouth open. Trails her hand up his neck. Sticks her tongue down his throat and—Az snaps his gaze away, swallowing harshly, appalled, less than he should be, by the growing heat starting to flood through him at the sight.

By the Mother, he needs air. And maybe a tab of mirthroot or two, though he hasn’t smoked since Rhys got back and he shouldn’t break his streak. Still, he’s drunk enough to want it, and turned on enough to think he might need it.

So.

The crowd parts for him, but not in a way that draws attention. It’s glances behind them, sudden realisation, and shuffling to give him room. When he slips out the front door, his hearing is dull and muffled and that annoys him. He hops the barrier before the bouncers can even think about moving it for him. The queue to his right makes sounds of excitement, thinking that now he’s leaving, they’ll be able to get in, but Az is walking away and tuning them out before he can see if they do.

Away from the club, the street is quiet. It’s narrow, would be shaded even in the day, and lined with rows of townhouses with cafes and family businesses on the ground floor. The soles of his black leather shoes clack against the cobbles. He rubs at his ear, hoping to regain some of what was lost in the blaring music, and his hearing slowly gets replaced with high-pitched ringing, which might be worse, honestly.

He doesn’t know where he’s going; he doesn’t have a plan or a goal, only places he knows he doesn’t want to end up: the palace; back at the club; any of the libraries; nor the tavern he visited once with Rhys and Cassian when they snuck past the wards of the city and ended up running half-naked from the barmaid’s father down the street. Az is simply moving, one foot in front of the other, letting himself get pulled in whatever direction seems the right one. No one is following him, nor does he have Rhys or Feyre tapping against his mental shields, so he’s in the clear.

His shadows chirp contentedly while the buzz of the alcohol starts to drain from his body in the cool night air and it settles in his blood, slightly jittery, but pleasant enough. Eventually, he finds himself down by the river banks, faced with the boardwalk by the water, and the view.

Az remembers it—or, rather, what it used to be. Over the other side of the wide water, right up against the banks and lined with piers and boats, there were hundreds of buildings. Libraries mostly, but houses, restaurants, all manners of shops too. He always thought that of all the places in Prythian, that stretch of Helion’s city was the only one which could rival Velaris.

Every building intersected. You could walk from one end to the other and never step foot on the street, and if you wanted a taste of the outdoors, all you needed to do was find one of the terrariums. The largest collection of ancient relics, books, and scholars had made it their home.

Now, it’s flat. Utterly, completely razed to the ground, replaced with a park, littered with grey stones, names etched onto each one. A memorial for those who were killed when Amarantha and, Az reminds himself bitterly, Rhys tore through the city. Rhys had been earlier that day, quietly, without the rest of them in the first hours of the morning. Az knew, but didn’t follow.

Thousands of years of knowledge had been destroyed when she had those libraries burnt. Yet more souls were lost. It looks different at night, faintly lit up so anyone can visit at any time. Something about it is so intensely lonely.

At the edge of the river, a little ways away, a plume of smoke catches his eye.

With her legs swung over the side, dangling just above the calm water, a female sits, staring out at the park. Then it hits him, that woody, earthy scent—mirthroot. By her side, she has a case, glinting gold under the faelights which brighten the street, with rolled tabs inside it. One hangs from her mouth, half smoked.

Would she share? he wonders.

Oh, but he shouldn’t.

No, really, he shouldn’t. It always makes him feel like shit the morning after in a way that alcohol and sex and blood on his knuckles can’t give him. If he goes back and Mor sees him high, she’ll look at him with such disappointment. Cass might smack him. And Rhys will either get worried—Az was always the one to turn down a smoke before—or ask him if he smoked everything he bought.

He almost turns away. Almost. But he looks at her again, this lone female by the river, and he watches the way her hair moves in the gentle breeze, trails the dip of her spine that he can see where her top leaves the smooth skin of her back exposed. She’s leaning back slightly, resting on one hand while the other pulls the tab from her mouth. On her neck, there’s a scar, cut from the bottom of her ear and disappearing at her shoulder.

And just doing that… well, his head goes quiet. His ears stop ringing. His shadows too have stopped chattering. In fact, they’re curling beneath his shirt and in the black of his hair as though they wanted to hide, or at least be unseen. His heart though, that throbs.

It stutters against his ribs, clenching, lurching painfully and he fights the panic starting to flood to his brain. He’d thought it was just anxiety, just the club, the people, the noise, but that’s wrong.

And he realises.

It’s her, isn’t it?

Gods, it’s her.

Azriel knows this feeling. He’s read about it, seen it in his brothers and in Feyre, in Nesta, even in Elain, even when she doesn’t want it. He’s longed for it. He’s wanted it for so many years that now it’s actually happening he thinks maybe he isn’t ready for it after all.

That thread in his chest, something shaky but alive, unfurls in his chest. It wraps around his ribs, tugs and pulls like it can’t help it, and the pain sputters to a stop, replaced with… calm.

Go, his shadows insist, skittering back as soon as they can.

Of course. They knew. Of course, of course, of course.

He should talk to her—or, at least ask her for a tab—but he can’t find the words. Actually, he’s not sure he even knows any words. Is it enough, he thinks, just to know it’s her? Does he have to speak? Or can he just be content in the knowledge she exists and she’s his and that’s all?

His shadows creep up to his ears slowly. Like they used to when he was a kid, they whisper to him, telling him words for him to fit together, and then they vanish again.

And Az looks at her again.

And his feet move.

And suddenly he’s standing too close for her not to notice but not close enough to be strange, even though he is strange, isn’t he? For the love of the Mother, he’s a single, drunk Illyrian in a foreign city, approaching a single female in the dead of night with no one else around. If she doesn’t run at the sight of him, she might be a fool.

Gentle and quiet, she says, “You can have one.”

What?

She glances up at him, a brow quirked, and a soft smile turns her lips when he says nothing. Then it disappears. Wordlessly, she pushes the case of mirthroot tabs towards him, sets down her lighter, and goes back to watching the other side of the river.

Right. He sits, his wings splayed out enough to be comfortable but not large enough to intimidate, with the case between them, untouched.

The words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“You’re my mate,” he says. He can’t bring himself to regret it when he does. It feels better this way, the weight in his chest lifting a little. It’s hardly romantic, but he’s never been the type for that anyway.

She flicks ash off the end of the tab and looks at him again. “I know.” Fuck. Okay. “I saw you in the club earlier.”

And he hadn’t even noticed. Azriel didn’t see his mate when she was right in front of him.

“You—you didn’t say anything,” he replies, because there isn’t much else he can do but wonder why.

Her brow furrows. Her eyes turn sad. She looks away.

“You’re part of Rhysand’s entourage, aren’t you?”

It’s not an accusation. Her voice doesn’t shake or fill with emotion. No anger. No hatred. Nor any love or even pity. It’s just a statement, a question asked when she already knows the answer and dislikes it.

He says nothing. What is there to say? She has every right to take issue with it and—Rhysand, the word, it strikes him. Not Rhys, but not High Lord either, and not any nickname or insult that’s been thrown at him.

They’re familiar.

She knows him, but Azriel doesn’t know her. A horrible sinking ache spreads through his bones as he casts his gaze out across the water.

“Aren’t you?” she repeats, this time with enough weight behind her voice that he has to speak.

He swallows thickly. “He’s my brother.”

A bitter-sounding huff escapes her, half a laugh, half incredulous.

“Then I’m sorry,” she says, “but I don’t have anything to say to you.”

It probably makes him look insane, but his lips twitch into a dark smirk and he doesn’t have the decency to hide it.

What a cruel, clever joke of the Mother to give him a mate who all but rejects him before he can even get to know her. She’s good at that, the Mother. He supposes his brothers got lucky so She has to balance it out with giving him some misery. As though I haven’t had enough, he thinks fleetingly, but the self-pity is pathetic, so he purges the notion.

It’s fine. His mate has her reasons, Az is sure, and that’s okay. Who is he to question it? If he were her, he’d probably have been meaner about it. So, it’s fine, because it has to be. He just wishes it didn’t feel like getting stabbed right in the heart. Honestly, he might prefer the real thing.

But, it’s actually a little bit funny, isn’t it? That he’s just destined to be alone?

Or is he just delusional?

Or is he starting to overthink the fact that he has nothing to do with it and that the only male name that’s come out of her mouth is Rhysand?

Its end burnt down to her fingertips, she stubs out the tab of mirthroot on the stone beside her. Looking at him, she waits in the silence between them.

He looks back.

“I’m sorry too,” he says. For whatever it is, I’m sorry.

That doesn’t seem to satisfy her, but nor does it displease her either. She just nods, a muscle ticking in her jaw, and, with a murmured sigh, she stands, right on the edge of the bank.

This is it. She’s leaving. Az’s heart squeezes like it might stop beating if she never looks at him again.

“Your name,” he blurts, entirely not ready to see her go. “Will you at least tell me your name?”

She stops. Hesitates. Opens her mouth. Shuts it again. Then, blissfully, she says softly, “Sereyna.”

Sereyna. His mate is called Sereyna. It sounds like a song.

“Azriel,” he offers back, even though she doesn’t ask and probably either already knows or doesn’t want to.

It doesn’t seem like it matters, because she smiles at him again, a weak, tiny thing, but it’s there. “You can keep the case, Azriel,” she says.

And then she turns, and she walks away without looking back, and Azriel watches until she rounds a corner and he can’t anymore.

His shadows start to wrap lightly around his wrists and wind through his fingers but he bats them away, wanting the quiet.

He picks up the gold case of mirthroot, a little piece of her in his hands. On the back, engraved, recently, sharply, are her initials: S.C. Sereyna… something.

Az plucks a tab out of it and flicks on her lighter. It’s a clever contraption right out of the Dawn Court—powered by a conduit of elemental magic that has to be replaced every so often—the flame a perfect teardrop shape. Against the scars of his hands, the fire flickers, and though Azriel hasn’t been afraid of fire for centuries, having it so controlled right in front of him makes something uncomfortable settle in his chest, right next to the glowing, gaping absence of his sweet, quiet, soft mate by his side.

He lights the tab, smokes it until his lungs can’t take any more, and savours the taste on his tongue while he looks across the bay.

It’s early morning when he makes it back to Helion’s palace, his head hazy and Sereyna’s case empty, tucked into his pocket with her lighter.

You see, over these past few hours, Azriel has formed a plan. One that his shadows don’t know because he hasn’t told them. One that makes absolute, total sense to him just about now, five tabs of the strongest mirthroot he’s ever smoked down.

One that involves dragging Rhys from his bed and pummelling him until he tells him what the fuck he did to his mate.

He passes through the palace like a whisper, careful to keep out of sight of the guards and servants, feeling anxious that they might somehow know his plan and try to stop him. The door to their guest wing clicks shut behind him. Az listens for any signs of movement—but there are none. Unsurprisingly. After last night and without interference, it’ll be a miracle if any of them wake naturally before noon.

Rhys and Feyre have the biggest chambers, but not ones with wards that can keep him out. In here, it smells like sex and power, sweet, stale arousal mixed with the metallic tang of High Fae magic. His High Lord and Lady are asleep, tucked into one another, Rhys’ wing cocooning them from the outside world.

He doesn’t give himself time to feel guilty.

In fact, he feels a pleasant amount of abject rage. It’s better than nothing at all.

He approaches silently.

In one jutting movement, he grips Rhys by the back of the neck, firmly, enough to hurt, enough to wake him, and closes a fist around the top of his wing. By the time he can do anything to respond, Azriel has already yanked him upwards, and the darkness that explodes through the room is left behind as Az winnows him into the main living area of their quarters and smashes his face against the wall, keeping him there, paying no mind to his state of undress.

He’s taller than Rhys. Stronger because he hasn’t let himself go soft. It’d be even easier if he had his siphons. Against his bucking, Azriel holds well. The domination clears his head a little.

It’s true that Rhys could kill him with a thought, rip through his mental shields like he’s trying to do now, but he won’t.

They’re still brothers, after all.

“Explain,” Azriel snaps, unbothered by Rhys’ order to let go, now, despite all the roiling in his stomach that tells him to obey, thinking that a refusal probably amounts to treason and that he doesn’t much care.

Rhys splays out his wings in an attempt to break Azriel’s grip and knocks at a painting on the wall, causing it to crash down and smack against the floor. The others will hear and come in, expecting a fight. He’s a little shocked Feyre isn’t in here already. He wrestles Rhys to stop him moving, all too aware that his patience will run thin and he’ll use everything he has to get him off him.

“Cauldron, Azriel, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he fires back, trying to get a grip on his belt buckle to yank him away.

A mirthless laugh escapes him. “Answer me.”

“It might help if you tell me what I’m supposed to explain to you!”

“Sereyna,” he hisses, the word heavy on his tongue while the bond lashes in his chest at the sound, “explain whatever it is you did to her to me and I’ll decide if it’s worth letting you keep Feyre’s favourite part of you.”

Rhys lets out an exasperated sigh and Azriel’s irritation joins his anger.

“Let go of me, Azriel.”

“Give me a reason to.”

And that’s the exact moment Cassian and Mor decide to open the door.

Wanting to avoid getting pulled across the room by Cass, Azriel lets go of his brother, and Rhys uses the split second where he’s looking between them to throw his fist directly into his gut. Cassian swears when he doubles over, bracing a hand against the wall to stop himself from bringing up bile and whatever alcohol might be left in his stomach, while Rhys flicks a wrist and dresses himself.

“Will someone please explain what’s going on?” Mor asks, glaring daggers at her cousin, who sets himself down on one of the sofas like nothing happened.

“Azriel,” he says, his nostrils flaring, “is acting like a child.”

He whirls, ignoring how his stomach protests. “Fuck you, you—”

“Gods, Az,” Mor says, drawing closer to him, her brows furrowing as she looks over him, “are you high?”

Ugh, here it comes. That look. Pure disappointment. Mor counted how many days clean he’d been more than he had. And now it’s back to zero.

He sags back against the wall, his head pressed against it. “A little,” he says, refusing to look anywhere but at Rhys, who’s staring at him with something in his eyes he infuriatingly can’t place.

Cassian shuts the door. “Azriel…”

“Don’t,” he snaps, cutting him a look, but, as ever, he persists.

“You swore—” he starts, but Az interrupts.

“I lied,” he says, pushing himself up and locking eyes with Rhys, dismissing Cassian entirely. “Sereyna, Rhys.”

He doesn’t miss it when Mor stiffens, her mouth set. So she knows too—and the one thing Mor knows about Rhys more than either him or Cassian is Under the Mountain. That horrible sinking ache returns.

“You’ve met her then,” Rhys drawls. “Is that who you disappeared with last night?”

The insinuation makes a feral rumble bubble in the back of his throat. “She’s my mate,” he snarls, pushing closer. “Explain to me why my mate won’t even talk to me because of you.”

Silence cleaves through the four of them, but the utter shock on all of their faces almost makes it worth it. Rhys’ quickly deteriorates to complete devastation, before it’s gone in a blink. He rubs a hand over his face, either in frustration, or for some impending headache.

Cassian dares break the quiet. “Cauldron, you pick your moments, Az,” he says, sighing, sitting across from Rhys, and pouring a glass from the decanter of whiskey that someone has presumably left out from the night before. Mor, her face tight and looking between them, joins him, taking a sip from his glass when he puts it down.

“Where’s Feyre?” she asks, ignoring it when Az scoffs.

“Asleep,” says Rhys, “I told her everything was fine.”

“You always were good at bullshitting,” Azriel says. “Did you use that much Under the Mountain?”

He feels a kind of coldness washing over him, thick with terrific fury, not caring that Cass and Mor are in the room. Let them see, he thinks, let them see.

“So you know,” Rhys says, “and you ask me to explain for what? Punishment?”

“I don’t know shit,” he shoots back, his voice so, so hard, “but I can figure it out. Don’t make me think the worst of you.”

“Because you’ve always struggled with that, haven’t you? I did what I did for us—”

“I’m aware. And I’m grateful. Aren’t we all?” Az asks drily. “I’m certain my mate knows exactly what you did—!”

“She was a child!” Rhys roars, before his tone softens and goes quiet. “She was a child and I tried to protect her from the worst of it. You weren’t there, Azriel.”

“Then start at the beginning.”

“This is totally unnecessary,” Cassian mumbles into his drink.

“If it were Nesta,” Azriel says, “you’d want to know too. If it were Feyre, Rhys…”

And he waits, knowing how low he’s going, knowing how much it’s going to hurt, but needing an answer, needing to know because if he doesn’t he might go mad with guilt.

Rhys squeezes his eyes shut, sighs, and talks.

“Amarantha,” he starts, the name coming out of his mouth ruefully, like a curse, “ordered the destruction of the libraries in the city, and the extermination of the scholars here who were publishing condemnations of her Court. Just because she was petty and she could… Sereyna’s parents were two of those scholars, and they lived in the riverside commune, so they were on the list, as well as any of their family. Old, young, ill, it didn’t matter to her.

“I found Sereyna hiding from me in a closet in their bedroom, and I was going to leave her there.” His eyes had gone blank, like he was lost in the memory of it. “I told her to be quiet and to wait, but she was scared and she begged me not to hurt her, that she was the one that had encouraged her parents and that it was her that Amarantha wanted, not them. She’d heard me, in the other room, with her parents, you see. She was lying, of course, but if anyone had heard, they’d have dragged her out to Amarantha in public. She—I don’t know—she couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, too clever for her own good, and she just kept pleading with me and by the time I’d slipped into her mind to get her to stop, Amarantha had come into the room and seen. So I bargained with her. I knew that she’d have me kill her if I didn’t, and she agreed to have her come Under the Mountain if she ‘earnt her keep.’

“She used to do little tricks for her. She was known for it. The rest of the fae from the Day Court called her a prodigy, a future genius. She could remember things exactly, like they were printed in her brain. She did spellwork far beyond what a child should be able to. And Amarantha made her use all that extraordinary power to turn wine into blood and make people dance until their ankles gave when she got bored of using me to do it. She’d make her sing for hours on end until her throat bled and at first she wouldn’t let me heal her, but she gave in when she realised there was no chance of her doing it on her own.

“She grew up in that fucking place. Had her childhood wasted and there was nothing any of us could do about it. You think you can picture the worst, Azriel? Well, you can’t. The things that bitch made her do when she came of age would make even you sick.

“I tried to help her. I promise you, I did. And when we all got out I asked Helion for permission to see her, to talk or apologise or something. And she declined, rightfully so. Apparently she just said she wanted nothing to do with any of it. She didn’t need anyone to say sorry or to get involved.

“So,” he says, his voice harsh, “when I tell you to say the fuck away from her, I mean it. Don’t look at me like that. You aren’t entitled to her and she owes you nothing. She told you she didn’t want to talk to you, so you don’t. That’s an order.”

It should stun him like it’s knocked Mor and Cassian out of their thoughts.

The audacity of it. Of pulling rank like that.

But it doesn’t. In fact, it’s exactly what he’d been expecting. They’ve been here before, but it worked then, and it won’t now.

Az holds onto his rage, keeps it tucked away, rage for the sake of his mate and at his brother, but mostly at a dead female he wishes he could resurrect so he could kill her again.

He laughs wryly.

“Is that everything?” he asks. “Not gonna tell me to go to a pleasure hall this time?”

Rhys sits back, any sign of anguish vanished from his face, replaced by a High Lord who doesn’t like being tested. “You still resent me for that? When it turns out I was right all along?”

“Go fuck yourself, Rhys.”

Az straightens, sets his jaw, and goes to leave.

“Stay,” Rhys orders, and he ignores him, even though it takes everything he has to keep walking.

When Az turns the door handle and opens the door, Rhys tries to get Cassian to stop him.

Just as he shuts it behind him, for the first time maybe in centuries, Az hears Cass tell Rhys, “No.”

Sereyna wakes up with the dawn, but then, she hadn’t really slept.

She strips out of the clothes she had on the night before, still smelling faintly of mirthroot and sweat, and takes a damn long time in the bath, running over her skin in places where she can still feel someone else’s hands. It doesn’t really help.

Out on her balcony, she takes dandelion tea from a pot made for two and sips it slowly while she watches the city breathe. People pass by on the street below, carrying produce to sell, sometimes with children on their shoulders, chattering innocuously.

The world keeps spinning, Sereyna, no matter what happens to us.

Rhysand had said that to her, so long ago that it feels like yesterday. He’d been healing bruises on her thighs, but had to leave the ones on her neck; Amarantha enjoyed seeing marks.

The thought makes her stomach swoop like she might throw up, but a faint warmth spreads throughout her chest, almost like an accident, and for the briefest moment, she lets herself enjoy the comfort.

Then she shuts it out.

Drinks her tea.

It had to be, didn’t it? The Mother isn’t fond of letting her catch a break.

Just when she was getting better, when she could stand to be in crowds, to wear clothes that didn’t make her skin crawl when it was exposed, to drink and kiss and fuck because she wanted and was wanted by another. Just then, when she was considering talking to her High Lord about taking up her mother’s old post, or at least working up to it, to actually use her magic for something worthwhile after years of letting it fester, then a mating bond snaps. The idea of being involved in anything that might remind her of being there and her and him looking down at her cowering from him at nine-years-old sent her spiralling.

She’d broken her streak of being nine months clean and found the stash of mirthroot she hid in her apartment and even that just made it worse.

Her parents were mated, you know, but they loved each other. They had been married for a century before it snapped, and all it was was confirmation of what they already knew.

But they’re dead, and her mate’s brother is the one who killed them.

The world keeps spinning, Sereyna.

The world keeps spinning.

The Spymaster, Azriel, she reminds herself, a pretty, old name. An angel—she remembers reading the stories as a child. He ferries the dead to the land of milk and honey. Some call him benevolent, others say he kills his victims himself just to give himself something to do.

But her mate doesn’t seem like either, or maybe he’s somewhere in between. She’s heard the stories of him too.

When she saw him in the club, in a huddle with her friends across the room, she had thought he was the most exquisite, most unfairly beautiful male she had ever seen. He had real, true, classical handsomeness. The kind the fae of old would start wars over. The kind that would make the gods jealous. He had these living shades peeking over his shoulders and sliding around his wrists like sworn protectors, and brutal scars, ancient, faded, but burnt into the skin like someone had doused them in oil and set them alight, and before she could stop it, her heart had ached for him. But most of all, his wings. Glorious, glorious things with sharpened talons and intricate membranes she knew took centuries of study to understand.

He had glared at his brother, another Illyrian, and she’d heard a laugh. Rhysand’s laugh. One she knew better than the back of her hand, one that had once been tipped in cruelty so often that it was hard to separate then from reality.

The bond snapped right there, at the apex of that laugh, stretching out her heart and cracking against her ribs.

She left before her friends could stop her. Before her mate could even see her.

She knows it could never work. He’s Rhysand’s Spymaster, for the sake of the Mother. He is a warrior, a war hero, a figure of nightmares and of dreams and she, well, she can barely get out of bed some mornings.

He would want her to know him, know his family, but she can’t. It would be an insult to their memory, a betrayal of everything she promised herself when she was scared and alone and Under the Mountain.

But when she saw him, when he stood next to her by the river, still so, so beautiful, but so sad, so angry, so tired, she saw something of herself in him, some reason for the Mother to join them like this.

She couldn’t reject him. Not officially. Not when everything had been screaming at her to touch him, to talk to him, to just lean against him and stay there for a little while.

It’s better this way, she thinks, finishing her tea, about to pour another. We’ll both be happier this way. She can’t give him what any male would want in a partner, let alone a mate, and he shouldn’t have to wait around for her to get her shit together. This way, she thinks, we can both move on, but something in her chest twinges, and it feels oh so very wrong.

Sereyna decides to make a plan for her day to stop herself crawling back into bed and doing nothing: finish the tea; put the pot away; stretch*; find all the mirthroot stashes and flush them; buy bread; eat lunch; see Carmella and apologise for ditching last night—no, scratch eat lunch, have lunch with Carmella; pay; then apologise; come back; write a letter to Melphalia and get a talking session tomorrow; finish book chapter; make dinner; start new chapter; bathe; bathe again; make sure all the stashes are gone; no drinking, none at all. Bed. Sleep—at a reasonable time.

She drains her mug. Her deck chair scrapes across the balcony tiles when she stands, but there’s no avoiding it. The basil plant by her door is sagging a little. *Add water plants to the plan.

Teapot set down, draining beside the sink, she takes a moment just to breathe.

The world keeps spinning, Sereyna, no matter what happens.

A knock comes at her door. Two hits, quiet, almost hesitant, and somehow, she thinks she knows who it is.

The thread in her chest goes taut, strung tight with anticipation.

She doesn’t want to talk to him. For his own good, she shouldn’t. She should leave him out there so there can be no confusion—they are mates only in name.

Yet the bond lashes out, tugging, pulling, and she wonders if it’s him doing that, or if it’s the Mother willing it so.

He knocks again, something final in it, and Sereyna realises this is the last chance she’ll have.

Her body won’t let her stay put.

She crosses her apartment in an instant, pulling open the door just to confirm—yes, it’s him, and the bond sings.

He’s standing there like he hadn’t expected to see her, and his pretty shadows skitter behind his wings when they notice her. A day has made him no less stunning, and he’s perhaps more so now, his eyes wide and his hands clenched nervously by his sides.

His lips, which look so soft, part. He scans her face, then the rest of her, and she can’t tell if he’s admiring or assessing, and she’s not sure it matters.

“How did you find me?” she asks gently, her voice just so because anything louder might startle him.

“Shadows,” he replies simply, his tone equally quiet.

Sereyna swallows thickly, frowning, looking him over again. The purple bruises under his eyes make it look like he hasn’t slept, maybe not for a few days. His wings are tight against his back as though he were trying to make them, and himself, look smaller.

“I know you said you have nothing to say to me—” I have a lot to say, I just can’t, “—and if you want me to go and to never see me again, I’ll make sure of it. Just say the word and I’ll leave. But… I have some things to say to you, if that’s okay?”

It’s not. It’s not okay because she wants to forget about everything else and hear him out. It’s not okay because she wants to touch him, wants to feel his hands on her and take away the memory of everyone else. It’s not okay because she wants to let him in.

Because she wants him.

“Okay,” she says, widening the door.

“Okay?” he repeats like he can’t really believe it.

She just nods. “You—you should probably come in.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she cuts him off. “Just come in before I change my mind.”

So he does. He follows her inside, ducks his head to fit under the doorframe, and she fights the urge to pace by her sofa. Instead, she sits, her knee bouncing while he looks around her apartment, probably thinking it’s too small, too cluttered, and noticing that the floor is uneven and that her books aren’t kept in any order on her bookshelves. He stands awkwardly in the foyer, waiting. Despite herself, she thinks it’s endearing, if unnecessary.

“You’re allowed to sit, Azriel.”

The sound of his name seems to garner his attention, and they lock eyes for a moment. Hazel, she thinks, with flecks of gold.

He does as she says and sits in the armchair across from her, rearranging his wings as best he can in a chair not built for them, still not saying a word.

Right, she supposes she’ll have to coax it out of him.

“What is it that you wanted to tell me?” she asks, clasping her hands in her lap because she suddenly doesn’t really know what to do with them.

Sereyna sees as he runs his tongue over his teeth, chewing on the inside of his cheek, searching for the words.

“Rhys,” he says, the name almost making her flinch, “told me what happened—here, and Under the Mountain.” Some restrained kind of anger simmers the gaps between his words.

Her lips twitch. “That wasn’t his story to tell.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I asked him. I had to understand and I practically forced him to tell me.”

She sits back a little, her discomfort soothed by just his proximity, by the thought of him being in her apartment, surrounded by the scent of her. “So he knows,” she says, less a statement, more a question.

Azriel nods uneasily. “He does. He asked me—ordered me—not to come here. Not to talk to you.”

He ignored a direct order from his High Lord just to see her?

Fuck.

“Yeah,” she lets herself laugh, because she’s not certain of the alternative, “that sounds like him.”

That makes Azriel frown, before he schools his face. “You don’t hate him.”

“No,” Sereyna says, before she adds, “well, sometimes I do. He—I owe him my life, and I don’t blame him for what he did—I think it would make me a hypocrite if I did.” She forces herself to look at her mate when she continues; he deserves to know the kind of person she is. “We all did things we aren’t proud of down there. I did things I’m not proud of. But I’m alive because of them, and I can’t regret them or I think I’d go crazy with guilt.”

For a second, she thinks he might call her out, or leave, or tell her she’s a bad person. But he doesn’t. In fact, he gives her a look, one that no one else would catch, that says one thing to her, I understand. Then he gives her a small smile, the first one of his she’s seen, and says, “That wouldn’t be ideal.”

Oh, and a chuckle escapes her, and his eyes light up at the sound, and the bond jumps like it can’t contain itself.

And she has to tell him before it’s too late.

“Azriel,” she says seriously, “I—I don’t think I can be who you want me to be.”

He tilts his head at her. A curl of dark hair falls over his face, and her instincts yell at her to brush it off his forehead, maybe card her hands through his hair until he keens. “You don’t know what I want.”

“You want a mate,” she says. “Someone you can spend the rest of your life with. I can’t give that to you. I can’t go to the Night Court, I can’t live there or visit or even think about it without wanting to—to cry, honestly. I don’t have my life together, I drink too much, I have about seven different stashes of mirthroot hidden around this place so my friends don’t take them off me, sometimes I don’t get out of bed until three in the afternoon and—”

“Sereyna,” he says, stopping her spiral before she can tell him something stupid like how she still gets scared of the dark sometimes, “just breathe.”

Right. Air. Yes. That’s good. He’s good at that, at comfort, even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it.

She inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, catches how his fingers move like he wants to touch her, thinks that she might quite like that, but he doesn’t, inhale, exhale, until her breathing evens out.

The world keeps spinning.

“Can I tell you what I think now?” he asks, not smugly, not arrogantly. It’s just a question, given without judgement. Sereyna thinks that if she says no, he would leave her be, even now.

She nods, so he talks. “I think that you’re my mate, so none of that really matters.”

“That sounds like you’re settling.”

He laughs, such a lovely thing. “If you think anyone is settling for you, you might like to reevaluate.”

A flush creeps up her neck and blooms high on her cheekbones.

He’s a flirt.

“I—was that everything you wanted to say?”

At the question, he turns coy, almost boyish. “I suppose so. I just—I just thought you should know,” he says.

Silence settles over them, but it’s comfortable, the kind of peace that comes when a weight has been lifted. In it, his shadows start to simmer around his shoulders, shyly peering at her as though they want to look but not to be noticed. She pretends not to, just to see if they’ll stick around.

Azriel, though, starts to brace his hands on his knees like he’s going to get up and leave, but Sereyna doesn’t want him to.

Absolutely, unequivocally, she wants him to stay.

If this is how it’s going to be with him, if he doesn’t mind her and everything that comes with that, if he can offer such understanding, if he can be alright with managing his expectations—though it seems he doesn’t expect much at all—maybe she can do the same. Isn't that fair? Doesn’t he deserve to be treated well, in the same way that he treats her? To be complimented and flirted with?

To be understood?

She can do that.

No, it’s worse. She’d like to do that for him. She wants to make him smile, laugh even. She could listen to his voice all day, even if he was spouting nonsense and nothing else. She wants to know every petty, little detail of his life and hoard the knowledge all for herself.

Most importantly of all, if she doesn’t prevent him leaving now, she might never see him again, and that fills her with such grief that she decides she has to stop him.

Fuck the plan.

“Tea,” she blurts, already wincing as the word comes out of her mouth, realising how stupid it sounds. But he stops moving, waiting for her to continue, so her strategy worked, she supposes. “I mean, do you want any—do you want to stay for tea, a cup of tea, is what I’m trying to ask. And breakfast, maybe? Not made by me, of course, for obvious reasons, but there’s a bakery down the street which has these pistachio pastries and those are really nice and—please, just say yes or no so I don’t have to keep talking.”

He smiles again, so making a fool of herself was worth it. “I’d like that,” he says, still grinning.

She narrows her eyes at him. “Were you enjoying me rambling like an idiot?”

“Maybe a bit.”

“You fucker,” she says, but she’s smiling too.

“If you want me to be.”

“Gods,” she groans, burying her face in her hands to hide the blazing heat on her cheeks, “let’s just go get breakfast before you get completely shameless.”

Sereyna stands before the world can come crashing down, before he can turn around and say that actually it’s all a lie and he doesn’t want anything to do with her, crosses over to him, and holds out her hand.

“Come on,” she says, wiggling her fingers.

His gaze drops to her hand, and tentatively, like she might spook if they touch, slides his hand into hers, standing too. The skin is rough, marred by the scars she’ll one day ask about, probably right after he asks her about the one on her neck, and a little cold. That’s okay, though. She’s always had warm hands. Gently, she interlocks their fingers and squeezes, only once.

He squeezes back.

As she leads him back to the door, he says, “I still have your case. And your lighter.”

She shrugs. “I told you, keep them. I’m getting rid of all my tabs anyway.”

He goes quiet for a bit, thinking, and she lets him. If he wants to say something, he will. And he does.

“The C on the engraving…” he starts, “your family name?”

Letting out a little hum of confirmation, she replies, “Yeah. Caerwyn. It’s one of the old names from before the Courts.”

As they leave her apartment and he shuts the door behind them, he says, “It suits you.”

“Thanks,” she laughs, “just don’t call me Lady Caerwyn. My poor mother would roll in her grave. Titles made her passionately aggravated.”

“Right,” he says, “so glare at anyone who calls you Lady until they get the idea?”

“You catch on quick. She’d have liked you. My father too.”

Ah, success. He blushes so sweetly.

“I’m glad,” he says quietly.

“Me too.”

And they go down the stairwell, hand-in-hand, content in the moment with no need to worry about what comes next. That’s all for after. He can sort out the fallout of whatever happened with his brother, and she’ll be there, supporting him how she can. And she can start actually getting her act together, and he can support her.

Sereyna thinks, gratefully, that this might actually work.

But for now, pastries and tea.

a/n: saw a typo? let me know! this behemoth of a fic is 8k words and they're easily missed :)

#azriel fic #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel one shot #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel fic request #poor illyrian baby gets dunked on by the mother at every opportunity

71 notes · View notes