#op i live for your art of these two

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows 03

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it. Carmilla and Velvet feud because I also live for that. I also really favor Zestial for some reason as a calm mediator.

Song for this chapter: Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61

A/N: Thank you all so much for your positive feedback & feedback in general on the last two posts!! I really didn’t think this would catch so much attention but I’m so glad people like it. For some reason Tumblr’s being weird and doesn’t want to let me tag certain people, I don’t know why but if anyone does please let me know because I really don’t like that ;/ But I hope you all enjoy this chapter!! Please note that some blogs cannot be tagged, so I recommend checking this post and to check your settings to make sure I can tag you! If anything I can always just message you when the next chapter comes out, and yes I am making this series longer :) it’ll also be posted on my Wattpad soon!

Word count: 3890

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote @froggyferrets @frompeach @absurd-ash @sillysillyxinnabun @urdariingdoll @delectableworm @immahuman @justaproudslytherpuff @local-mr-frog @angeli-fucking-cat @coldsweetsenthusiast @jadekomaeda @iaaeav @coffeethoughtsandanxiety @lunalixya @pretty-puppy-stuffies @lemonrolls @asimplikeallyall @lunalixya

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part two. // Part four.

Engaging with guests throughout the night had become an exhausting endeavor, and a part of you yearned for the solace of your absence. Nevertheless, you maintained the façade, acknowledging every sinner whose smile dripped with crimson mischief. Having greeted each guest, you discreetly slipped into a shadowed corner, your shadows enveloping your figure quickly, seamlessly disappearing from the expansive room in mere seconds and emerging into an intimate gazebo outside, meticulously arranged beneath the sweeping branches of a weeping willow, you marveled at its unique ambiance. Unlike the earthly counterparts that stood white, the willow in your realm bore a deep crimson hue, its leaves adorned with a subtle, luminous sheen. A gentle smile graced your lips as you leaned against the sturdy black iron railing, delicately cradling a piece of the weeping willow between your fingertips. In the distance, the grand mansion hosting the gala loomed, its opulence contrasting with the simplicity of your secluded retreat. Despite the awareness of etiquette dictating against leaving guests unattended, the need for a mental break led you to this haven, a safe space for you. Reflecting, you acknowledged a desire for better preparation and rehearsal with the shadows, realizing the repetitiveness of conversations with the familiar sinners had rendered the night somewhat lackluster. It almost felt like you had come out of hiding for nothing. Quite the disappointment.

You sigh, massaging your temples, the lace fabric on your fingertips only slightly soothing the growing headache. However, not too far behind, you hear the sound of soft grass. You straighten up and turn around, seeing none other than your long time friend Zestial, who just smiled, nodding at you.

“Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial inquired, standing by your side with his back against the railing. You resumed your original position, taking a moment to appreciate his father. Mentally noting how much of your grandfather Zestial reminded you of, you kept the sentiment unspoken.

Tonight, Zestial adorned himself in an outfit resonant with his time period, preserving his distinctive color scheme. A dark, meticulously tailored coat with lime green accents draped over his slender frame, capturing the essence of his demonic class. The cloak, adorned with lime green spider webs, unveiled a mesmerizing display when unfurled—his lime green eyes radiating, the upper pair embellished with vivid red irises. Instead of the customary big top hat, Zestial selected a smaller, more appropriate hat with a touch of flair. Dark as the shadows you command, it featured a light grey patch at the front and was finished with a grey-colored skull and a lime green and red-striped feather on the right side, adding a distinctive touch that mirrored his nature.

“Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial repeated, shifting toward you a bit. Yet you resumed your original position, savoring the quiet ambiance before finally answering him. “What shall we discourse upon during our repast this eventide?” Zestial asked. Though his wording occasionally posed a challenge for others, having grown up in a family of eloquent speakers, you easily deciphered his intent. Something he truly appreciated. Though he was learning to speak more ‘modern’, or as modern as he could be.

“Quite unsure of that. Everything is changing, and I fear I might be left behind,” you expressed bluntly. Zestial sighed in response, a mix of understanding and concern evident in his lime green eyes.

“Madame, thou art timeless,” Zestial said with a bow, his cup proofing into smoke. “I pray thee, vex not thyself o’er so trivial a matter,” he added, his words resonating with both reassurance and genuine care.

You nodded, handing him a card. His surprised expression upon finding two cards instead of one didn’t escape you. “What manner of thing is this?” Zestial inquired, prompting you to summon a shadow for yourself, knowing he would find his own means back to the Gala.

“Carmilla. I am no fool to the both of you,” you said, amusement coloring your words as Zestial shook his head.

“Thou dost astonish me on every occasion,” Zestial remarked, standing by your side as you walked into your portal. Two seats vanished, leaving four empty seats at your table and six occupied.

In your study, you floated scripts in front of you, checking off names on the table list for tonight. With a few overlords left to choose from, Alastor and Charlotte secured seats based on trust and connections. Vox, Zestial, and Carmilla, an unspoken but potent couple, promised intrigue. Reconsidering Velvet for her potential devolution, you weighed each decision with strategic acumen.

Valentino, the Von Eldritch twins, and other weaker options were dismissed, maintaining a careful balance of power and influence. As you weigh the option of inviting Rosie to the gathering, her unpredictable nature adds a layer of excitement and potential surprise to the upcoming discussions. However, this unpredictability could also introduce challenges, creating an air of uncertainty around her contributions. Hopefully with Alastor around, she’d feel more inclined to behave. You check her name off the list.

In considering Stolas, the Goetia prince, his personal issues and tarnished reputation pose significant hurdles. Divorcing from his wife, sleeping with an imp for fun, as well as losing control of his daughter on Earth, it all seemed too risky to get involved with. While his wisdom and influence could contribute positively, the shadows of his struggles may complicate the dynamics, stirring potential conflicts and requiring delicate handling. Someone might get out of line with a comment towards him. His power was incredibly useful, but not worth the risk.

Husk’s transformation from a former overlord to a bartender signals a decline in power and status. While his laid-back demeanor might bring a sense of unpredictability, his diminished influence raises questions about the relevance of his involvement in the current political landscape of hell. Though he was your friend, you needed to keep your reputation pristine.

As the you contemplate the overlords assets, a mix of excitement, caution, and uncertainty envelops the decision-making process. Each overlord’s potential positive contributions are balanced by the looming negatives.

“Madame?” One of your shadows materialized, prompting a nod for them to proceed. “There seems to be some trouble in the lobby between the guests. What would you like us to do?” it inquired. A grimace crossed your face, hoping the disturbance wouldn’t mar your night. “Let me handle it,” you declared, snapping your fingers, causing the script to vanish. The shadow nodded, blending back into a wall for you to step through.

Upon reappearing, you assumed the form of a taller shadow. The room surrounded by guests revealed Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla standing in the middle. Zestial, seemingly composed, stood close behind Carmilla, observing the situation. Carmilla appeared visibly upset, with Velvet in proximity, a pointed finger dropping as soon as she noticed your arrival. Alastor maintained his usual wide smile, though it bordered on the eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The scene unfolded, presenting a potential challenge to the serene atmosphere you aimed to maintain during the gala.

Everyone seemed to stop, slowly turning toward you to see your face. Except there was no expression, just the large shadow you had taken form of. In seconds the shadow disappeared, leaving you in the fog, the expression on your face anything but calm.

"Madame I-" Velvet began, but her words were halted by the sight of your lace glove, your hand rising to silence her. Approaching the overlords, you spoke with an air of cold authority.

"My quarters. Now," you commanded, and with a snap of your fingers, smoke enveloped your spot as you vanished. Shadows materialized around the overlords, guiding them to your quarters, leaving the stunned guests in the lobby.

"Well, that was interesting," Valentino remarked.

In your study, the overlords found you seated in your tall, black chair. Its ebony surface featured intricate carvings of black glass, elegant swirls, and patterns tailored to your essence, creating an atmosphere of undeniable authority and refinement.

"I hope you all had fun acting like children," you chided sternly. The overlords lined up, forming a unified front. Leaning against the right side of your chair, you crossed your legs, elbow on the armrest, pinching the bridge of your nose with a sigh. Annoyance laced your words as you questioned, "What did you feel the need to argue about now?" Before Velvet, Vox, and Carmilla could respond simultaneously, you halted them. "One at a time. I'd assume you all handle this like adults, if you even can." The tension in the room hung thick as the overlords awaited their turn to address your inquiry.

“She wants me at her table Vaggie! Me!” Charlotte said excitedly. Vagatha just smiled.

“That’s good! Now you can tell them about the hotel, and maybe someone will be interested.” Vagatha said, and Charlotte just nodded.

“Maybe they-“ Charlotte stopped, observing as people began to crowd around the center of the lobby. Charlotte and Vagatha stood from their spots at the bar to walk toward the center, where the overlords stood. Velvet and Vox were next to each other, while Carmilla, Alastor and Zestial were across. Carmilla and Velvet were face to face. “What’s going on?” Charlotte asked as Vagatha and her pushed their way through the crowds of people.

“Come on, Carmilla, always the mood-killer,” Velvet scoffed, a disrespectful tone tainting her words. Carmilla shot her a stern look, ready to assert her authority.

“Watch that tongue, Velvet. I will not let your insolence slide,” Carmilla retorted, attempting to rein in the escalating tension.

Vox, ever the smooth talker, chimed in, “Ladies, ladies, let’s not turn this into a drama fest. We’re all here for a reason.” Vox said, sternly giving a tight lipped smile to Velvet, silently telling her to keep her shit together.

Carmilla shot a glare at Velvet, who replied with a defiant smirk, “Drama or not, Vox, some of us aren’t here for the ballroom charm.”

Alastor, drawn to the brewing chaos, couldn’t resist adding his flair, “Well, well, a bit of spice never hurt a party, does it?”

Carmilla, unfazed by the chaos, spoke with a calm authority, “Velvet, your insolence is unnecessary. This is not a playground; it’s a gathering of overlords. Act accordingly.”

Velvet, seemingly undeterred, shot back with a dismissive laugh, “Poor Grandma, always trying to play the responsible one. Maybe loosen up a bit? Have a drink will you?”

Vox, ever the smooth talker, added with a slick comment, “Perhaps we can focus on the matters at hand. Save the theatrics for later ladies.”

Alastor, intrigued by the unfolding drama, simply grinned, “Oh the picture box has spoken! Quite intriguing.” The room continued to buzz with tension as each overlord, except Rosie, added their own flavor to the brewing turmoil. As the tension thickened, Vox, with a sly grin, couldn't resist adding his own slick comment to the mix.

"Ah, Alastor, the radio days were quaint, but it seems you're a bit outdated. Television is the future, perhaps you should tune in sometime," he quipped with a wink, the words delivered with a calculated smoothness. The room momentarily hung in a charged silence before the verbal sparring resumed, adding another layer to the complex interplay of personalities at the gala.

With Vox's comment about Alastor being outdated sinking in, the radio demon responded with a sly grin, sharp teeth on display, his eyes displays dials, as the rooms lights began to deepen, "Ah, Vox, your television endeavors are impressive, but remember, I'm not just audible; I'm unforgettable. A little screen time won't change that," he retorted, “This face was made for radio.” He said with a grin, tilting his head to the side, a sharp snap in his neck, his words carrying a mix of amusement and confidence. The verbal exchange between the two overlords added another layer to the already charged atmosphere, each comment becoming a piece in the intricate puzzle of conflicts and egos at the gala.

“See what you did grandma, now you’ve got the two of them fighting.” Velvet said, pointing a finger into Carmella’s chest. She scoffed, shoving her away.

“Don’t you dare get disrespectful on me you brat.” Carmilla said, beginning to heat up with anger.

That's when Madame stepped in, reappearing in the form of a taller shadow, casting a lengthened silhouette in the room brimming with guests. Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla found themselves at the center of the unfolding tableau, and Zestial, seemingly composed, lingered just behind Carmilla, quietly observing the escalating drama. Carmilla's visage betrayed a hint of distress, her pointed finger lowering as she registered your reappearance. Alastor, with his trademark grin, bordered on eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The unfolding scene disrupted the serene atmosphere you had meticulously aimed to maintain during the gala, presenting an unexpected challenge.

A hush fell over the room as everyone turned their gaze toward you, anticipating your reaction. However, your face remained expressionless, concealed within the depths of the large shadow you had taken form of. In mere seconds, the shadow dissipated, leaving you in a misty veil. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a storm brewed, ready to challenge the delicate balance of the evening.

Now, here you all were, sitting in the study after Carmilla had explained the situation.

“Madame, with all due respect,” Carmilla spoke, looking down. “I truly do not believe Velvet is mature enough to be at our table tonight.” Carmilla said.

“Are you questioning my judgment?” You asked sharply, to which Carmilla stiffened quickly, shaking her head then.

”No Madame, I would never-“

“Then do not say foolish things.” You said. Sighing, you shut your eyes, feeling the weight of the situation. Tonight sensitive information would be revealed and Carmilla did have some point here. Velvet clearly could not hold her tongue.

”Vox, control your associate please, or you both will be cut from the dinner tonight.” You said finally, to which he nodded nervously.

“Of course Madame.” He said, nodding to you.

“I wasn’t finished.” You said, looking to Alastor.

“I want none of this technology talk either.” You spoke, staring at Alastor who just smiled with lidded eyes. You knew he was very much upset, but you had forbidden anyone to fight in your home, anyone but you of course. “You all will act like mature adults wether you like it or not. I am not your guardian, I should not be having this conversation with overlords who should know better.” You said, standing. ”Now, all of you, out.” You said, snapping your fingers. Quickly the shadows began to move, ushering everyone out of your study. Everyone except Carmilla. “Not you.” You said to her, Zestial nodding to you and her as he stepped out, giving you both privacy.

“Madame, I didn’t mean what I said-“ Carmilla said quickly. You waved her off, straightening yourself out.

“Nonsense Carmilla, I know you meant well.” You said with a stoic expression. You sit back down, crossing your legs and snapping your fingers to form a chair in front of your desk, ushering her to sit. “I wanted to speak to you about your weapons.” You stated. At this her eyes went wide, before dropping again.

“Oh, very well then. What would you like to know?” She asked. You grinned, before standing again.

“Well, how much would I need to give you for you to make me a personal bayonet?” You asked. She went silent for a moment, before answering.

“Nothing at all Madame.” She said, standing to look at you. “May I ask what for?” She questioned. You shook your head.

“No, just to have on display. I want a new one, the old one I have is quite out of style for me.” You replied. She just nodded, before you waved to her, sitting back down and summoning a script again. “You may go now, and please, do not argue with children.” You commented. She just smiled and nodded, leaving you to your own vices.

It was half-past eleven, five minutes till the midnight bells chime. Everyone in the lobby was beginning to get excited for the entertainment you had planned for the night. Oh, you knew you would not disappoint.

“Madame would like everyone to accompany her on a journey tonight. She has sent me to retrieve you all. She would like to formally welcome you to tonight’s entertainment.” The large shadow said, standing from the topic of the stairs. Behind it was a large portal. It stepped backwards, into the portal, and nodded for the guests to start coming through.

The custom-built coliseum stands as a testament to Madame's vision, a grand fusion of opulence and dark elegance. The circular structure boasts towering columns, but instead of conventional pillars, thick chains rise, intricately linked and serving as both ornamental decor and structural support. The arches, molded in black, curve gracefully around the circumference, evoking a Victorian Gothic aesthetic that permeates the entire venue.

Two larger-than-life statues of Madame herself flank the entrance, capturing her regal poise and adding a touch of imposing authority. The statues serve not only as decorative elements but as a representation of the gala's hostess, a constant presence overseeing the proceedings, she is always watching, all seeing, perfection.

The overall ambiance is one of grandeur and mystery, with the black molding on the arches casting shadows that play into the darker undertones. Every intricate detail, from the chains to the statues, contributes to the unique Victorian Gothic feel of the coliseum, matching Madame’s home perfectly, matching her perfectly. The venue, finally being unveiled to the guests, now welcomes them who are treated to an appetizer course, surrounded by the striking architecture and entertained within the darkly enchanting atmosphere Madame has meticulously crafted.

Numerous shadows, dark and formless, line the entrance walls, extending silent greetings to the arriving guests. Their presence adds an air of mystique and intrigue as they blend seamlessly with the Gothic architecture. As attendees make their way into the coliseum, these shadowy figures create an ethereal welcome, embodying the unique atmosphere of Madame's custom-built venue.

At a separate entrance reserved for the handpicked members of Madame's esteemed dinner table, a solitary shadow stands guard. This entrance, reserved for a select few, hints at the exclusivity and importance of those who will partake in the upcoming dinner. The shadowy sentinels serve not only as silent greeters but also as guardians of the event's secrets, casting an enigmatic allure over the gala.

A singular shadows escorts Charlotte, Alastor, and the rest of the overlords to the exclusive section, leading them to an elevator to bring them to the best seats in the coliseum. The elevator’s interior is a striking display of elegance, with white and black checkered flooring lending a timeless touch. The walls, enveloped in darkness, exude an air of mystery, while black, smokey glass engravings on the ceiling add intricate detailing that dances in the ambient light. Each number on the elevator, indicating the ascending levels, glows a vibrant red, creating a vivid contrast against the monochrome palette.

“Oh I’m so excited! What do you think we’re gonna see? Gladiators? Sinners fight? Oh actually I hope not, I don’t want people to die.” Charlotte said to Alastor. Carmilla just chuckled at her antics while Zestial eyed her with curiosity. Where did Alastor find such a girl and why the princess of all people?

The elevator stops at the top floor, revealing the opening in the middle, which was surprisingly covered with water.

“What is Madame playing at?” Carmilla questioned as the overlords sat in a row at the top. From there they could see everything and everyone.

“I am quite uncertain, yet my anticipation is stirred nonetheless.” Zestial said. The lights around began to dim, and shadows began to pour glasses of water in front of all the guests. Down in the middle of the coliseum was the tallest shadow, the one that seemed to be Madame’s favorite, since it always spoke for her.

“Greetings all. It is Madame’s pleasure to invite you all to the special entertainment tonight. Madame has put together some of hell’s finest performers for your entertainment tonight. I would like to present, preforming here tonight, The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra preforming Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61.” The shadow said with a bow, before it vanished just as quick as it came. Then, other shadows appeared, but this time they were different. They were people, performers, with clear outlined silhouettes, faces and expressions, even clothes.

“Hey, Al?” Charlotte asked, leaning over in her seat to Alastor. He let out a ‘hm?’ In response.

“Does Madame own those souls down there?” Charlotte whispered, but before Alastor could answer, a shadow had already cut in.

“Yes. All the shadows here, even yours, Madame owns.” The shadow said quietly, filling Charlotte’s glass cup with water. Charlotte nervously, perked up, but said nothing as she shadow carried on with it’s catering.

The ethereal notes of the music filled the air as the performance unfolded. Around the musicians stood ballet dancers, their movements a delicate poetry in motion. Clad in all black, the performers created a stark contrast to the dancers, who emerged with an otherworldly grace akin to figures rising from the depths of water. The dancers moved with an angelic fluidity, their forms intertwining seamlessly with the haunting melody, creating a mesmerizing tableau that captivated the audience. The visual symphony of black-clad musicians and the whisky-hued ballet dancers painted a scene of enchantment and mystery within the grand coliseum. Even down to the dancers, this had Madame written all over it.

Velvet's keen eye captured the essence of the dancers' ethereal movements on paper. With each stroke of her sketch, she depicted the dancers as if emerging from a watery abyss, the fog enveloping their feet creating an illusion of water flowing upward. The intricate details on her sketch paper brought to life the dancers' graceful forms, their figures seemingly intertwined with the rising mist, evoking the enchantment of a waterspout captured in a moment of sublime artistry. Velvet's artistic interpretation added a layer of depth to the performance, transforming the ephemeral dance into a tangible and captivating visual narrative.

Water had begun to swirl, the dancers moving around it, the water getting taller and taller, similar to the way it had when you had first made your entrance at the beginning of the Gala. Now, it was water, and from Charlotte’s seat, she had struggled to make out what was going on. She turned to Alastor to see him holding a pair of opera glasses in his hand. Without you having to ask, he tapped the armrest of her seat. Charlotte turned to the side to see a pair tucked neatly against the front of the armrest. She grabbed them quickly, before looking through them and at the waterspout now forming in the middle. Her jaw flew open, as well as the loud screech of Alastor’s track playing. Vox had short circuited, and Carmilla gasped loudly. Velvet stood silent, but there was evident confusion on her face, while Zestial sunk into his seat, conflicting emotions flowing through him.

“Madame- she’s-“ Charlotte stuttered, and Alastor nodded, swallowing thickly.

“With an exorcist. I know.”

[vivalabunbun]

Midnight Piano Interlude in D Minor, Op. 1

Summary: Growing pains don’t go away the moment you reach adulthood, instead it goes by a different name: Regret. 

Word Count: 17.9k ( I have a problem, no I cannot fix it)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Pianist!Reader, Aspiring musician!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic (look at the word count), Heavy Angst, Smut(r18+), NSFW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, a lot of memories from the past, Fluff, Second chance romance, TW: Character death (Alhaitham’s grandma), TW: Themes about regret and low self-confidence, Heavy adult themes, gifted kid burn-out, toxic family, unhappy childhood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Service top! Alhaitham, mutual pining? kinda, unrequited love? sorta, slightly obsessive!Alhaitham, Soft!Alhaitham, Alhaitham is not faultless his current views have been formed through trial and painful error. 

Authors Note: This is very experimental. I almost didn’t want to post it, but I just believe even the most stoic person isn’t without their past mistakes and regrets. Alhaitham doesn’t understand most forms of art... but he does value music. Enjoy. 

There was something off about this stanza, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. A cup of now room-temperature coffee was on your dining table, next to the sheets of music you were currently editing. Tapping the end of the pencil on your lip as you shut your eyelids. You played the notes on the paper in your head. 

It was an early Saturday afternoon, so you still had plenty of time before you had to go to your gig. It was a ritual on Saturdays that you would edit and write your compositions. A peaceful way to transition out of your lowly officer worker identity, and into the pianist you were. The thought of spreadsheets would be slowly replaced by lines of musical notes. 

At this moment there were no emails to be answered. No shallow dry small talk from nosy cubical neighbors. No long meetings in uncomfortable chairs about irrelevant projects.

Just the low hum of your refrigerator accompanying your experimental melodies. It was your time to embrace your aspirations that were contained to only two days every week, but it was worth all forty-eight hours.  

The fingers on your free hand tapped against the chipped lacquer table, envisioning the keys of your keyboard currently stationed in the crowded living room. Your fingers stilled as your eyes fluttered open. You found the error, crossing out the D major scale and changing it to D minor instead. Yes, D minor fits the somber tone of this piece much better. 

Excitement bubbled up inside you, that small tweak had finally solved that bothersome feeling that had been vexing you the whole week. Oh, you felt it, you were in the zone now, inspiration and motivation were just flowing undisrupted through you. Quickly gathering up the sheet music, you sauntered to your keyboard, sitting down on the cheap pull-out bench. 

There was no reason to worry about a noise complaint when it was in the middle of the day, but to follow social etiquette you made sure to lower the volume on the keyboard to just barely above mute. It was time to put everything together, you put your hands into position eager to press down on the smooth keys to finally hear the composition you had worked so hard on-

“Be careful with that! My unfinished models are in that box! Don’t just slam it down!” A voice boomed from the hall outside your door. 

The sudden disturbance cut off the flow within you, fingers hovering over the keys. Of course, asking for peace and quiet in this dust heap apartment complex was a luxury the residents couldn’t afford. You inhaled deeply as you straighten your back.

It’s fine, it sounds as if a new neighbor is just moving in. You were used to this, just continue forward. 

“Oi! Could you not just dump everything into the entranceway? How am I supposed to get through?!” You could hear the shuffling of boxes. 

“Most people would be grateful for the help. Especially, when the help-seeker is someone who has yet to pay five months' worth of rent.” A box was dropped onto the floor.

“I just told you to be careful! It’s fragile! And I was busy saving up to move, I’m sure me moving out is well worth the rent money.” 

“Brilliant rebuttal. Is this the same explanation you give the bank when they call inquiring about your debt, Kaveh?” 

“And this is why I cannot stand people like you!-”

Your fingers were pressing down with force on the keys, yet you couldn’t hear any melody over the theatrical bickering taking place in the hall. The inside of your cheek is currently being abused by the grating of your teeth. It appears that social etiquette is dead, killed by narrow-minded individual interests. 

The two voices continued to bounce off the wall, more accurately it was mostly one thunderous voice followed by a deep tone dripping with sarcasm. Your ears weren’t even processing the words being thrown around, their focus all on the impending tinnitus developing. 

You needed to bring a stop to this now, lest it develops into a regular performance. Your thighs pushed back the flimsy seat, lips deep in a frown. The flow was ruined. 

Unlocking the deadbolt that detained the door, you looked straight ahead as the rusting hinges sang their chaos, ready to bring a stop to this public disturbance. 

“Can you please keep your voices d-” Your sentence died at the tip of your tongue.

The sight in front of you stopped you dead between your doorway. The blond-haired man’s head snapped towards you, eyes slightly apologetic. However, his face wasn’t what you had set your sights on, no, it was the familiar face of the ashen-haired man. A face you haven’t seen for seven years, Alhaitham.

Those same disinterested teal eyes shifted their focus onto you, and it paralyzed every muscle.

The silence was deafening now, not a single inch was budged by anyone. Like a frozen snapshot in time. His gaze was heavy, it was suffocating so your eyes switched over to meet with rudy irises instead.

The blond man’s attention flickered back and forth between the two of you, taking note of how his companion’s eyes never left your frame. His lips pressed into an awkward line as his head slowly turned towards the boxes behind him, finally reading the room. 

“I’m going to start tidying up.” The blond didn’t perceive the desperation sent his way by you as his figure disappeared behind a closed door.    

Now it was just you and Alhaitham. Finally reunited after seven long years apart in a decrepit hallway. The gurgling of the aging pipes and shuffling of feet from floors above  accompanied the scene. Your body was still frozen in the midst of emerging from your apartment, and his tall figure was still stationed right across the narrow hall. 

What were the last words you said to him that day many years ago again?

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.” 

A hand hidden behind your back clenched into a fist as you recalled that embarrassing memory. Sharp words directed toward a younger version of the man in front of you. Words birthed from irrationality and wounded pride.

Now your brain had once again latched on to this core memory, you were certainly going to be kicking your blankets tonight. What a mortifying souvenir of the past. 

The past anger and frustrations were all but lingering smoke in your hair, your heart couldn’t recall the heat of how they burned the bridge down. They say time heals, and it's true.

The years apart had gradually soothed over the tender wounds on your ego. With the pain subsided your brain was clear enough to review the moments that lead to that outburst, and it made you die internally. 

Should you just apologize right now? To alleviate the creeping guilt traveling up your shoulder, and so your poor blanket won’t be kicked as hard tonight. Can a small apology really travel across the full length of the seven-year-wide rift that had formed? Your lips stayed firmly shut, there was your answer. 

Alhaitham took a step towards you, instinctively your body shuffled three more steps away, widening the berth between your bodies. His movement paused, teal eyes peering down at you as you looked at the space behind his head. No words were said. 

This awkward scene was very reminiscent of your introduction to the ashen-haired man many years ago. 

–

Your parents, esteemed researchers working for a renowned corporation, had moved into a new neighborhood. The house was much larger than your old home, large enough to house a grand piano in the living room. 

“It’s about time you start learning the piano.” Were the orders your parents had given you, sitting your six-year-old self at the intimidating instrument. 

On the same day you were introduced to your new duty, you were also introduced to the neighbor’s kid. The only other kid on the block filled with prominent academic figures from the nation’s top university. A grey-haired boy was standing by the side of the older lady, while you clung to your father’s slacks. The boy’s bored teal-eyed stare made you advert your eyes to your pretty shoes. 

“This is Alhaitham, he is the same age as you. Say hello.” The stern hands of your father broke your grasp on his slacks and pushed you towards the boy named ‘Alhaitham’. 

“Alhaitham, won’t you greet our new neighbor?” The older woman’s wrinkled but kind eyes motioned to your nervous frame. 

“Hello.” Greeted a flat voice. 

Your tiny hand found its way back to your father’s slacks, grip wrinkling it even more. You were physically unable to utter a single noise. After what felt like an eternity of staring at your shiny sneakers, your father’s hand tug you away. The adults were now having a small conversation, mostly your parents apologizing for your shyness and the older professor laughing the matter off. 

“There is no need to apologize, children are fickle sometimes. But I hope that she and Alhaitham will get along. You are always welcome to visit, little one.” Her eyes peered at your restless form. You liked her eyes, they were warm.

That night you sat through a long lecture from your parents about your rudeness toward the grandma. All you could do was bow your head, back perfectly straight on the plush new sofa. You were sent to bed with no dinner that night, told to think about how your actions would reflect upon your parents. 

–

The invasive memory triggered by this sudden reunion left a bitter taste on your tongue. The taste that you’ve purposefully been fleeing from all these years. Now with his presence so burdensome, it was dragging your thoughts down deeper. You needed to put a stop to this before your head disappears under the water. 

So just like all those years ago, you disappeared from teal eyes. Not uttering a single greeting as the resounding click of your door was heard. 

Exiting the automated glass doors, you could finally relax your shoulders. The sun was hanging in the sky this Wednesday evening, you were grateful that you were actually able to clock off work on time.

Your eyes scanned the unfamiliar buildings that decorated the landscape, all large and reaching towards the sky, light bouncing off polished windows. You were free to explore. 

Your job required you to attend a meeting about some closing of a deal between the two companies. Thus, the reason why you were currently in the midst of the upscale business district of Sumeru City. Opposing the rundown sector you called home, the sidewalks here were leveled and free of fissures. Many of the trendy shops that lined the streets beckoned you closer to their displays. 

With one glance over the price tags attached to the chic items your body instantly turned away. Of course, the prices in the yuppie part of the city would be out of your budget. 

Walking further down the road, you let yourself enjoy the warm breeze of Sumeru against your stuffy blouse and pencil skirt. Your skin has finally thawed out after being in that overly air-conditioned conference room. Turning onto a quieter side street you walked past the tantalizing smells wafting from the small cafes. 

The gig from last Saturday compensated you quite handsomely. Perhaps you could splurge a little, a reward for yourself securing a returning performance later this month. 

One particular cafe caught your interest, it was a combination of a bookstore and a coffee shop. The blackboard sign placed outside listed the daily specialties, and for once the prices of the drinks weren’t outrageous.

A small bell chimed above your head, welcoming you inside. After placing your order, you decided to peruse through the selection of novels the shop had on display. 

Most of the titles were of the new best sellers or latest academic papers. Your fingers brushed across the smooth covers, observing the different arts and fonts. It seems that you’ve wonder quite a bit down the rows, somehow ending up in a section filled with the simple cover illustrations of children’s books. You were far too old to enjoy such books now. 

Just as you turned on your heel to head back up the aisle, a brilliant verdant cover catches your eye. ‘Oh, so it’s still in print’, you thought. The Giving Tree, the title of the first book you ever learned to read. 

–

“Alhaitham is the same age as you, yet he’s reading scientific journals. You should learn from him.” Your mother’s eyes examined your round eyes looking back up at hers. 

Your small frame deflated even smaller, the bright aura that had been radiating off of you dissipated like morning dew under the harsh sun.

Just earlier you had your first piano lesson, the piano teacher was so excited to tell your parents how much potential you had, and how filled with talent you were. Their words made you perk up on the bench, the instrument no longer felt as frightening. 

The praise had left you in a good mood, so much so that you agreed to accompany your mother to the neighbor’s house. A book clutched in the hand that wasn’t held in your mother’s clammy grasp. You weren’t sure if you were in a good mood anymore.

The kind grandma led you to a small library where her grandson was, Alhaitham was curled up on the rug with a thick journal in his small hands. The thin children’s book in your hand paled in comparison. 

“Now, now. Alhaitham is just very passionate about reading. Your daughter is at the normal age where children begin reading, perhaps she’ll also gain a fondness if they read together. I think they’ll have fun together.” The kind woman gestured for you into the room. 

Your mother releases your hand, a cold look ushered you toward the empty spot next to the boy. Settling down on the other side of the rug, you glanced up quickly. She seemed satisfied. 

The grandma soon led your mother to another part of the house, continuing their conversation. You turned toward the boy next to you, he was too focused on the text in front of him to bother greeting you. 

Spirits a bit dejected, you opened the cover to your own thin book. It was your father that placed the book in your hands, telling you to start reading. As your eyes glossed over the figures that took up only a fraction of the page, you came across the obvious hurdle.

You don’t know how to read. No one had ever sat you on their lap and gone through this book with you, or any book really. 

The illustrations and script on the page taunted you, calling you to decypher their meanings and symbols. The pages were quickly flipped through until you hit the back cover, then flipped through once more until you were back to the front.

A foolish attempt for a miracle, that if you flipped through the book fast enough, somehow those scribbles on the pages will make sense. 

“Are you even reading?” Spoke a slightly irritated voice.

Oh, your loud turning must have distracted the boy from his reading. The flipping stopped, as you glanced at him seeing the disinterested eyes staring back, you looked away. The embarrassment this time compelled your mouth to speak. 

“N-no… I don’t know how…” Cheeks burned from shame, you could already feel that familiar sting in your eyes. Oh no, if you cried then mom might frown again. 

A sigh resounded beside you, Alhaitham shifted his body out of his comfortable position against his pillow. Oh no, is he getting up to tell mom about the dark secret you just spilled to him? You didn’t get him to promise he won’t tell, will he get you in trouble? 

“Give it here.” An expecting hand reached out, palms open. 

You blinked at the hand slowly, did he want the book in exchange for not telling? Obediently, you placed the small book into his hold. His teal eyes glance over the title quickly, before he lays the book open in the space between your two bodies. Your head tilted in confusion at his actions. But as soon as his tranquil voice read the word out loud, that confusion stopped. 

“Mmm… I don’t like the boy.” You crossed your arms in front of your small body, round cheeks pushed out in a pout.

Alhaitham just finished reading the story to you, he ran his small finger along with each word he spoke so you could follow along as well. His eyes connected with yours inquisitively, waiting for you to continue. 

“The nice tree gave him so much, and he never said ‘thank you’. And he left the tree alone for so long, the tree must have been so sad. He’s mean, a big meanie and… and…”

“Ungrateful.” Alhaitham finished your sentence. 

“Un-un..grateful?” You titled your head again, the unfamiliar word felt weird on your tongue. 

“Ungrateful. U-n-g-r-a-t-e-f-u-l. It means having no feelings of thanks, you can also say he’s selfish.” The boy answered your question before you could even ask it. 

You pressed a finger against your lips, turning the newly learned vocabulary in your head. Yeah, those words fit the boy in the story very well. Ungrateful and selfish. You looked back at the boy sitting next to you, a smile stretched your chubby cheeks. The grandma was right, reading with him was fun. 

“You’re really smart.” You beamed at him. 

“That means nothing to me.” He huffed, turning his face away. 

You could spy with your little eyes the red tint on the tips of his ears that peeked out from his ash-colored hair. 

“Hehe, and you’re funny too.” For the first time in a while, you giggled.

–

What a bittersweet memory, like the fragrance of the different brews traveling throughout the small shop. Yet, the nostalgia brought a small curl to your lips. You turned away from the book, only to flinch at what your eyes saw next. 

The boy from your memories is now a man standing adjacently. You must’ve been too lost in thought to notice his towering stature. 

After that tense reunion in the hallway, thankfully Alhaitham didn’t decide to knock on your door. Not that you would’ve answered anyways. He probably had already predicted your actions, and thus saved himself the time. 

He was dressed in a suit and but the tie was loose around his neck, he must’ve just gotten off of work. The path back to the coffee bar was just slightly blocked by his wide frame, you had to get past him. 

Teal-orange eyes converged with your stare, ah it’s too late to try and sneak past now. Alhaitham acknowledges your presence with a slight nod of his head, expression blank and unreadable. Once again you didn’t say a single greeting.

As if a merciful archon had been watching this pathetic interaction, an opportunity for escape was granted in the form of the barista calling out your name. 

“Excuse me.” Was all you could muster, hastily striding past him, body pressed against the selves so as to not brush against him. 

Before you the bell at the front chimed again to signal your departure, you made sure to leave some extra mora, more than the necessary amount. Done in silent gratitude towards the unsung hero of a barista. 

It was now the last Saturday of the month, meaning it was time for your return performance. In your bathroom mirror, you smoothed out any stray hairs, straightening out your black performance garb.

A sacred ritual to slow the beating of your jumping heart. It’s a bit silly to admit, but no matter how many times you’ve performed, your nerves always went haywire. A terrible habit that made its way to adulthood. 

The tavern you were performing at was quite a popular joint among the locals of Sumeru City. The nice wooden and homey interior gave many city dwellers their taste of nature in a progressing world. A grand piano was tucked away in a clear corner of the establishment, a ring of tables enclosed the area into a stage of sorts. 

Pushing through the intricately carved doors, you entered Lambad’s Tavern eyes surveying the audience for this Saturday night. There were some tables still empty, awaiting the future stream of guests. Chatter quietly reverberated through the serene scene for now.

The atmosphere can get a bit rowdy as more and more alcohol ran through the systems of patrons. In a way, it was perfect for you, a perfect stepping stone in your slow climb. 

Checking in with the manager at the front, you got the thumbs up to start setting up for your show. An agreement had been reached earlier this month that you would be playing the piano for three hours, three hours of having the privilege to play on a grand piano again. Not on the electronic imitation of your keyboard. Eager hands glided their soft touch along the smooth keys. 

Yes, nothing can truly capture the beauty of the grand piano’s voice, not even the CDs you set up on a table nearby. Recordings with a mixed tracklist of classical pieces and original compositions, just like your setlist for tonight. 

Lifting up the fallboard, you set the sheets against the music stand. Not that you needed them. Every note, every rest, and every change in tempo memorized in your fingers. Taking a deep breath, your eyes did one final scan around the room. Most tables were too emersed in their own conversations to take note of you. 

Rubbing your fingers together to grind out the tremble of your nerves before you shut your eyes. In the darkness quiet darkness of your mind, your fingers moved into their positions over the keys. Erik Satie’s Je te veux resonated with the muddled conversations of the audience, adding to the serene air. 

You’ve always closed your eyes when performing, a trait that has embedded itself from the start of your music career. The darkness of your mind offered a reprieve from the critical eyes of judges and parents during recitals and competitions.

You first stepped into this safe haven around the time of your first recital at the age of eight. 

–

It’s been a few months since you first began your piano lessons, and your teacher was eager to announce your first recital. They had a sparkle in their eyes, keen to show off their most talented disciple. 

They had discovered an unpolished diamond among the mediocre ruff, a young naturally blessed child. Your lips were kept sealed about the long hours your parents forced you to sit in front of the piano after each weekly lesson. 

Before you only ever played under the watchful gaze of either your parents or teacher, not an audience of strangers. To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you were terrified. 

“I can’t do it.” You retracted your hands from the piano once again, as if the keys were scorching you. 

“You said you wanted to play the piano for me.” The young boy beside you huffed out, annoyed at your actions. You had repeated these steps five times now. 

“I know! But I’m… scared…” Your posture deflated. 

“If you can’t play in front of one person, how can you play for a crowd?” Alhaitham’s disinterested eyes crept back to the book he had placed beside him, you had dragged him away from his reading for this. 

“I don’t know…” A frown pulled at your face, eyes feeling the incoming burn. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. 

There was a tense moment of nothingness between the two of you. The boy quietly observed the paper propped up against the music stand. 

“Do you know how to play this piece?” His flat voice broke the suspense. 

“Yes I do! I’ve been practicing this every day, I can even do it with my eyes closed.” You huffed in disbelief at his accusation. 

“Then do that. Just play with your eyes closed.” He retorted as if it was the most obvious statement in the world. 

Which in truth, it was the most obvious statement in the world. You’ve been practicing Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen since the beginning of the month every day for six hours a day. The rhythm and keys were ingrained into your fingers by the second week. 

The solution was so plain and simple, why didn’t you think of it? Your parents were right, you are always a few steps behind the brilliant boy. 

An embarrassed flush covered your round cheeks. Suddenly his stare was heavy, heavier than the ones from your parents and teacher. The muscles in your finger felt tense. Your young mind could tell that if this continued then the tune embedded in your hands wouldn’t come out at all. 

“Can you not look?” A quiet plead. 

“I thought you wanted me to watch.” A grey brow was raised. 

“I know… But…” Around him, you couldn’t seem to finish your sentences. 

“Fine.” Deciding that prying further would be a wasted effort, Alhaitham turned his short body around on the bench so that his back faced the piano instead. Cracking open his thick book back to the page he had left off on. 

“I don’t need to look at you to hear you play anyways.” The young boy’s eyes returned back to their place among the text. 

Sitting back up straight again, shoulder back and hands into position. You took a deep breath and entered the darkness behind your eyelids. This time your fingers guided you through the moment, and the piano sang out its melodies. 

–

Coincidentally, Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen just so happened to be ending right now as the memory finished its course. You had transitioned into the piece some time ago, finishing five out of the many on your three-hour setlist. It was right about time for a small break. 

As your eyelids lifted a few soft claps reached your ears, from the growing chatter it seems that more customers had funneled into the tavern. 

The manager of the tavern was a very generous man, so much so that he offers you a complimentary drink you could claim during each of your breaks. You would be a fool to turn down such an offer, but you reminded yourself that you need to maintain a certain level of sobriety. For the sake of your performance. 

The sweet wine felt divine running down your parched throat. The alcohol did wonders in mellowing out your racing thoughts as you returned back to your place at the piano. Just like before, you did a small survey of your surroundings. Big mistake, for your mind kicked into overdrive when locking gazes with teal eyes.  

‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’. 

A superstition you should really be more mindful of. Shifting your body towards the piano, you ended the impromptu staring contest. Ah, what song were you supposed to play now? Thoughts scrambled as you can still feel the heaviness of Alhaitham’s gaze on your back. ‘Just play’ you internally scolded.

Letting your fingers take over the piano, retreating back into the comforting blackness. 

“Who was that?” Kaveh creaked open the door to his new apartment, inquiring his now former roommate about the scene that unraveled moments before. 

Alhaitham observed the heavy metal frame that closed you off from him once more. This was certainly an unexpected surprise. It’s been seven years since he last hear your voice. Seven years since you marched forth on a path carved by your own grit and resoluteness. 

Many things have changed these seven years.

Who are you?

Eyes still following the cracks of the paint running up your door, the ashen-haired man’s mind recounted a scene from long ago. 

–

It’s been a few months since you first moved into this neighborhood, taking Alhaitham’s title of ‘only kid on the block’ away. During your first introduction, you wouldn’t even greet him constantly tugging on your father’s pant leg and staring at your feet. 

Now you wouldn’t stop greeting him. After lunch, almost like clockwork, there would be a knock at his front door. Disrupting his precious reading time. You’d be there on the other side with a new book for him to read to you, or you’d bounce on the heels of your feet inviting him to hear your piano. 

Today, it was the latter. Alhaitham had his back facing the piano, the position that made you the most comfortable. A book was open in his lap, but his mind was busy pondering a mystery to pay attention to it or to the tune you were playing. Grandma said it wasn’t good to hold in questions, lest they consume the curious mind. Best to get answers from the source of the mystery. 

“Why do you seek me out?” His flat voice interfered with the sharp notes.

“Huh?” You turned to him perplexed, fingers now hovering over the keys.

“Are we friends?” He asked directly, it’s good to be straightforward. 

“Of course we’re friends! Even if you’re a bookworm, you’re still a precious friend of mine.” Chest puffed up at your bold declaration. 

“If I am a bookworm, it’s only appropriate to call you an earworm.”

“E-earworm? There are worms that live in the ear??” 

“No, it’s just a figure of speech. Earworm refers to a tone or melody that repeats constantly in the mind.” 

“Ooh. Earworm…” You pondered the term for a bit before another splitting smile spread across your face. 

“Yes! You’re a bookworm and I’m an earworm.” A finger was directed at him then back at yourself, giggling. 

Strangely, the young boy felt a tickle at the back of his throat, as if your laughter was contagious like a cold. He decided to hold it back in favor of observing your expression for a bit longer. 

“Oh!” You jumped up from the bench, reaching into the shiny pencil case you kept close to the piano. 

Pulling out a bold black marker you uncapped the tool before climbing onto the bench, the extra height allowing you to maneuver the top half of your body into the body of the piano. 

Now it was his turn to be bewildered, quickly snapping his eyes towards the entrance of the living room, watching out for signs of your parents. Soon you reemerged from the instrument, capping the marker with a proud look in your eyes. 

“There, now there’s solid proof of our friendship.”  

Alhaitham peers into the piano, observing the words clumsily written along the wooden shell:

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

“Why am I before you? It’s your piano isn’t it?” 

“Well ‘B’ comes before ‘E’.” You puffed out your cheek at his lackluster response to your heartfelt gesture. 

For the first time ever in front of you, Alhaitham let an obvious smile appear on his face. 

–

What a bittersweet term. Friends. Yes, the two of you were once friends long ago. Close friends who morphed into strangers. The catalyst for this change? With each new stage of life, branching paths will appear, the parting of ways is just a natural phenomenon. 

He is Alhaitham and you are you. Separate individuals with separate lives on separate paths. 

“Just someone I used to know.” Came his candid answer. 

“Right.” Kaveh rolled his eyes, clearly displeased at how the ashen-haired man won’t give his question an actual response. 

Alhaitham removed his eyes from your door, picking the cardboard box back off the tiled hallway. Kaveh didn’t need to know the specifics, the precious details shall forever make their home in a safe corner of his mind. 

Alhaitham exited the ornate doors of the office building. Currently, it was the closing quarter, meaning the office has been more bothersome than usual. Even with his perfected front of acting busy, more and more troublesome characters have been strolling into his office. It’s irrelevant now, for the secretary is now off the clock. 

The sun was still in the sky, perfect weather to grab a bit to eat from a local coffee shop. It’s been a week since he last picked up a new book as well, there was one place that came to mind that would allow the man to kill two birds with one stone. Long legs walked with swift strides towards his destination. 

Even will his earphones in, Alhaitham could still hear the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. In Sumeru City this was expected, construction, traffic, and pedestrians, everything thing muddled together in noisy inference with his thoughts. He turns up the volume. 

Opening the door to the cafe, the bell sounded his arrival. The usual barista was there at the counter. With a quick glance up the barista instinctively placed his order, a testament to just how often the ashen-haired man frequents this place. Good, this saves him the trouble. 

Without pausing his music, Alhaitham began pursuing the nonfiction section of the small shop. There were a few new scientific journals that have been published, maybe he’ll give them a read. 

Although his ears were currently occupied, that doesn’t mean his other senses were dulled. He could feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon his back. Usually, the man would simply brush such occurrences off. But there was this small nag coming from a corner of his mind. This could be a result of a brain being bored by a day’s worth of paperwork. He’ll indulge his curiosity. 

Returning the weight of the gaze back to the mysterious source he felt his jaw clench just a bit. There you were again, staring at him with your lips pressed together tensely. Your wide eyes were very reminiscent of a spooked songbird. Everything about your body language read startled and for flight. 

This time, Alhaitham doesn’t encroach, he simply nodded his head in a small greeting. It seems even this small action sparked you to flee. You mouthed something before quickly strolling past him. 

Shamelessly, his teal eyes followed your path as you paid for your coffee and disappeared out of sight from the shop windows. Yes, his statement that these seven years have brought about much change was correct. It wasn’t like this before.

–

“Alhaitham, why are you reading here?” His grandma inquired about the reason behind her grandson situating himself at the window nook instead of inside the library. 

“I just wanted to enjoy the sunlight.” Came his crafted response. 

From this small nook, the window gave a clear view of the front steps and the path that led to the house just across the street. The older woman took note of this, kind eyes giving the young boy a knowing look and smile. You had begun attending the local school.

Meanwhile, Alhaitham adamantly wanted to stay home and self-study instead. Stating that all the material the school covered he already knew. The old lady didn’t raise any objections to her grandson’s decision. 

“If you go over to her house remember to be polite, and inform me before you do.” A wrinkled hand tussled through his soft ashen locks. 

“There’s no need. I’m just sitting here to read.” He leaned into his grandma’s touch. 

“Of course, of course. Then I shall make use of this afternoon to review some material. Remember what I said.” 

“Yes, grandma.” Came his reply. 

With that, Alhaitham was left to his own thoughts by the window. He didn’t really know why he felt the pull to sit by the window. Was it to get a glimpse of you? The neighbor’s daughter? 

You and he were the only two kids on the block, so it wasn’t surprising you would often seek out his company. A friendship formed by virtue of close proximity. However, now you were attending classes filled with other kids your age. His company would sooner or later fade into obscurity. 

Alhaitham has always been very attuned to the situation around him, displaying a level of maturity and insight way beyond his years. Perhaps he still retains some semblance of that childish essence. Demonstrated by his current position, the book in his lap only held half of his attention, the other wondering out the clear glass. 

What is he hoping for realistically? Others can provide you much livelier company than he ever could, and yet he still-

The boy puts down the book, short legs pattering across the wooden floor swiftly carrying his body to the door. Small hands turned the cold brass before he channeled all his strength into prying the wooden mass from the frame.

Revealing your bewildered face, hand frozen in its position ready to knock on the now open door. Once your eyes met, it wasn’t long before a smile replaced your expression. 

“Hi, Haitham! Wanna hear me play today?” 

–

Yes, that was how things used to be. Even as your social circle grew, even as new families moved in, you’d still appear back in front of him. Beaming that smile he lost the privilege to see. Like a songbird that returned every day to sing in front of his window as the solitary child read.

 Alhaitham’s eyes found themselves locked once more on a door, the one you had rushed out of not so long ago. There was a weight pulling down on the corners of his mouth. He entered Sumeru’s education system during high school. Missing the crucial formative years previously where cliques and social labels were formed, he stood alone as a loner. 

But You always rushed towards him through crowded halls and rooms. Breaking away amidst your social circle from orchestra and band. Just to tap him on the shoulder and eat lunch together in the sanctuary of a private practice room that housed the school’s piano.

These repetitive memories plaguing him brought a bitter taste to his coffee. Perhaps it was the dreadful combination of sweet memory and awareness of the current state of affairs. 

Finally, the end of the month has come. Meaning things at work have sorted themselves out, at least for another three months. In lieu of attending an actual company-sponsored dinner, Alhaitham decides to get a drink at the local tavern.

Company dinners were noisy, filled with black ties and white lies. Too troublesome. However, recently his mind has been filling the silence of his house with redundant thoughts. 

A drink from time to time is a good way to destress and quell the mind, Alhaitham reasons as he enters the establishment. Lambad’s Tavern was a local joint that provides a small solace from the rambunctious city streets. A place the man likes to visit on occasion, usually when an invitation was extended. 

From the moment he entered through the doors, he could hear a piano ending its cords. It seems that there was live music tonight. Usually, it was nice to have background music accompany the chatter of the other patrons. But why a piano of all choices tonight? Alhaitham takes a deep breath before letting out a small sigh, it’s as if a ghost of the past is haunting him. 

Placing an order for a bottle of wine to be delivered to a secluded area, Alhaitham makes his way to the usual table. His body maneuvered through the sea of flushed face patrons, and the sight of the grand piano came into view.

The bench by the instrument was empty, perhaps his mind really is just conjuring up a ghost. Regardless, once the wine comes these thoughts will settle. 

“Your wine.” The alcohol was set down. 

“Thank you.” Alhaitham swirls the glass a bit before taking a sip. 

 His bored eyes began to wander once more, looking for anything to bide the time with, unsurprisingly they were beckoned towards the piano. Only this, time it was no longer empty. No, this time it was no ghost invented by a bored mind, it was you. He stiffly swallowed down the wine. 

He wasn’t subtle nor careful with how obviously he was staring, thinking too occupied by astonishment. This must have tipped you off, as once again your wide-eyed gaze connected with his heavy one. You made that tense face again. You broke away, tightly shutting your eyes before your fingers hit the keys, making the piano sing. 

‘Oh, so you still closed your eyes when you played’. Alhaitham found a strange satisfaction in this fact as if he found comfort in the one constant he still knew about you. Arms and fingers moved fluidly, a sight he used to not be able to see out of respect for you. 

–

Your parents were busy with their research, and his grandmother had her hands full with academic responsibilities. It was only Alhaitham who had the time, a resource only abundant in youth, to attend your recitals and concerts.

As the crowd and the judges bored holes into your figure up on stage, the young man kept his eyes peeled on the book in front of him. 

The young man didn’t mind attending these events, the audience was mostly silent save for the occasional applause. After so many years and lunches spent by your side at the piano, his ears have gotten used to the melodic accompaniment to his reading.

The final chords of your performance reverberated throughout the air, followed by the rolling clapping of hands.

He lifted his attention up to the stage. Although it’s ironic how the only time you wanted him to watch your performance was at the end, he’ll respect your wishes. From the brightly lit stage, you were finishing your bow, and as your head rises your eyes connected with his. A beaming smile was directed at him.

Was it you or the stage lights that stung his eyes? 

“How’d you think I did, Haitham?” Was the first thing out of your lips after rejoining him. 

The concert hall had emptied out some time ago, and Alhaitham had been waiting by the backstage door to walk home with you. You held a thick folder against the front of your formal black gown, a bounce in your ballet flat steps. Alhaitham pretended to contemplate his answer. 

“I’m not well versed in acoustics nor how to judge music, so I don’t see how my opinion would matter.”  Came his flat reply.  

“Haitham, you listened to me play for years. How have you not learned a thing?” You pouted, just like how he predicted. 

The young man gave you a simple shrug. Of course, he found your performance exceptional, he was there for the hours of practice you put in. 

“Whatever, now that it’s over. I can start looking at the piece the conductor wanted me to accompany for the school’s orchestra. Ahh, I only have three weeks to practice.” You made a face as you dug through the thick folder as the two of you continued to walk. 

He only hummed in response, shifting his focus back to his book. It was the sweet Sumeru Spring of your third year of high school, the perfect for a serene walk home.

Over the top of the pages, his teal eyes could see your lips press into a crooked line, desperately trying to suppress your snickers as you sightread the notes on the sheet. 

“Is that a piece by Debussy?” 

“Huh? How’d ya know, Haitham?” 

You were easy to read. After knowing you for over a decade now, you were like an open book to him. The journal hides his small smile from your sight. 

–

The memory reminded him to advert his eyes, focusing back on the glass of wine in front of him. He came here for a drink, he should follow through with his plan. The wine quickly vanished as Alhaitham signed for another. It took an impressive amount of willpower for his eyes to not wander back, he won’t let them. 

Your small performance had come to an end, sounded by the closing of the fallboard and how the bench dragged against the floor. He knew you were bowing to show thanks to the audience, yet he still refused to look. From your earlier actions, it was blatant that you despised his presence.

So even as your figure passed by his table, Alhaitham refused to allow you into his line of sight.

It’s been an hour since you left the establishment in a rush, and Alhaitham had run up quite the tab now, best to call it a night. Tossing some mora onto the table, the ashen-haired man stands up ready to begin the taxis ride back. 

The effects of the alcohol must have made his eyes wander back to the piano, a fruitless attempt to watch one last glimpse. And a glimpse they found, in the form of a CD you had carelessly left behind. 

You had abandoned it, thus it was now free for the taking.

It was unlike the stoic man to order rounds after rounds of wine, but he needed something to busy himself with. Just as how you were busy with the piano, he needed the alcohol to quell undesirable impulses. However, as his unsteady steps made it up the front porch, he was chastising himself for that decision. A hangover was guaranteed in the morning.

Roughly slamming the door shut behind him, Alhaitham entered the asylum of his home. The newfound stillness of the house was usually a luxury the ashen-haired man indulged in. However, at the moment it was a tribulation, for his noisy thoughts filled the silence. Its volume only exacerbated by the alcohol in his system. 

When he was younger, Alhaitham naively thought the knowledge gained from academic journals was equivalent to experience. After all, he had just read about another person’s experiences, he could pinpoint their flaws and learn from their mistakes so as to not repeat them. 

Just like the knowledge obtained from his books, he assumed that you too shall always remain in his possession, you shall always stay by his side. Of course, only a naive teenager, no, only a naive child would think this way. 

Did you know that the downfall of many great kings, heroes, and gods was their hubris? Excess self-confidence blinds their vision. Excess confidence only a naive child would have, believing he could analyze everything. 

Oh, how life works in mysterious ways, finding lessons to humble such egos. Alhaitham, against his will, reminisces about the event that taught him a valuable lesson in the noisy silence of his house. 

–

“Haitham, I can’t believe they did it.” You were curled up on the couch of his grandmother’s home, tears streaming down your face. 

“They sold my piano, Haitham. They sold it because they wanted me to get over this ‘hobby’. Hypocrites, as if they weren’t the ones who forced me to practice hours a day since I was a kid.” 

Alhaitham said nothing, silently holding the tissue box out to you. The pair of you had just returned from school just a few hours earlier, bidding goodbye before returning to your respective houses. However, just an hour ago his quiet reading was disrupted by frantic pounding on the front door. He had opened it to your tear-stained face. 

“How could they instill in me a passion for all my life, but when I want to continue with it as a career, they do their damnedest to snuff it out?” You were furiously wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. 

Oh, so that’s what happened. Alhaitham had already seen this coming, knowing how your parents were, it was predictable. They had valid reasons for not wanting their daughter to pursue such a career path.

You still had stage fright, constantly telling him to not look at you when you played. How would you make a living like this? He analyzed the statistics and figures before he comes to his own conclusion. 

There was no reason that you couldn’t balance a stable career with your passion for piano. In Sumeru, they had one of the most progressive work cultures of all of Teyvat. There were generous amounts of paid time off, sick days, and reasonable hours. You had more than enough time for music.

He decides to share his conclusion with you. 

“Music should stay a hobby. Even graduates from the most prestigious music universities aren’t guaranteed a career. To be frank, it’s better if you pursue a degree that leads to a steadfast position. Of course, be firm in your boundaries so that you can have the time for piano.” 

The room fell silent, your wide eyes stared into his calm teal ones. A heavy hush hung in the air as the grandfather clock continued to tick away, until it rang, signaling the change in the air. After the last resonance of its chime faded, you let out a laugh, but there was no joy in your voice. 

“Of course… Why did I think you’d be different? This is why they love you.” Your tone was dry as your shoulders shook, eyes now trained on the floor. 

“Look at Alhaitham, what a level-headed guy he is, you should learn from him. Look at his grades, why can’t you be top of the class? He’s so talented and good at everything, what can you do? Why can’t you be more like Alhaitham?” You spat out his name as if it was poisonous. 

“Comparison is the thief of joy, you shouldn’t-” Alhaitham needed to de-escalate this crescendo.

“If only you were born their son… Then I wouldn’t have suffered.” More tears fell from your eyes as you stumbled off the couch. 

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.” 

Alhaitham once believed that words, which have no physical form, couldn’t hurt him. The stab in his chest from an unseen force dismissed that notion.

Your burning eyes reconnected with his gaze. He knew that look, he’s seen it many times. Jealousy, anger, and hatred. They were familiar emotions that others cast his way, yet he found himself taken aback. You’ve never looked at him like this before… Have you? 

Before he could utter another word, you stormed off. All the young man could do was watch the back of your figure as it disappeared from sight. 

–

There was a firm frown now on Alhaitham’s lips and a furrow between his brows. He wanted this horrible play to end, for his brain to stop showing him events that have already passed. It’s always one’s own mind that can show the most cruelty to itself. 

–

It’s been a month since you’ve last spoken to him. Taking long about ways to school so as to avoid crossing paths with him, your lunches were spent locked in private practice rooms.

Young Alhaitham had a whole month to analyze and reanalyze at which moment everything fell apart. After much deliberation, he concluded that he made a miscalculation. He overstepped his boundaries. 

In the end, it was your life, you should be the one to decide how you will live it. His unsolicited suggestion was wholly unnecessary. He knew an apology was needed.

However, he could read from your actions that you weren’t ready to talk to him just yet. It wouldn’t be wise to approach you, lest you look at him again with those eyes. That’s fine, he can wait until you came to him. Alhaitham bided his time with more books. Was reading without music always this lonely? 

It was the day of your graduation. From within the sea of celebratory gowns and cheering students, teal eyes honed in on your figure. You were intentionally avoiding his gaze, instead going to congratulate and talk to fellow musicians and classmates. His hand balled up into a fist before he unclenched it. It’s fine, you need more time, and he’ll respect that.

It’s the least he could do. Either way, the two of you had the whole Summer to make up before university started. 

Another miscalculation on his part. 

Alhaitham recalls the panicked ringing of his doorbell, but instead of you, the door opened to reveal your parents. You were gone. Your phone was left behind, important documents missing from filing cabinets, and a bag full of belongings gone. You’ve vanished, the only explanation they got was a note: 

“Don’t Bother Me”. 

You’ve already become a legal adult, how could the Matra have any justification to drag you back? 

That whole hellish Sumeru Summer Alhaitham read at the nook located by the front door. For that whole Summer, the young man answered any number that flashed on his screen. He knew that you had limited money, after your pitiful savings dried up you were bound to return. If not to your house, then at least to this haven.

Your voice was never on the other side. 

Laughably, it took the prodigy Alhaitham an entire Summer to finally come to terms with the facts of the matter. The songbird had left its tarnished cage, and it will never return. He started university without you by his side.

–

Grey lashes fluttered open as the play finally ends. Memories that once looped like a broken record in his mind. With time this memory became a softer hum to his thoughts. An earworm that burrowed deep within so as to remind him of his past shortcomings. 

Yes, his past mistakes made him aware of his limited human vision. That he did in fact not know everything. The series of errors that strayed you away from him. Humans weren’t books, they’re not as easy to decipher as scripts on a page. The growing pains of maturing. A lesson he has learned well.  

Once was an accident, twice is a coincidence, and the third time… a chance. Alhaitham doesn’t believe in gods or fate, but he does believe in opportunity.

Teal eyes made their way to the CD left on top of a polished ivory top. This time, he shall turn around and chase after the ghost, to return to her what was rightfully hers. 

If these occurrences were bound to happen more often, then it’s best for you to catch up with the seven-year backlog of information. Of course, instead of consulting the primary source for the much-needed answers, you turned to a secondary source instead. You are nothing, if not a coward.

Hence why on this warm Thursday night you were out at the local bar, wallet getting emptied by the blond slumped next to you. 

“Ugh, that man was a tyrant. Leaving books everywhere, letting dust just pile up, and every other sentence had to be a snide remark.” Kaveh finishes another glass, another cry from your wallet. 

You were still nursing your second glass while Kaveh’s got a scarlet glow already. A part of you regrets inviting your hall neighbor out, but you appreciated the wealth of information he spilled out once a drop of liquor hit his tongue. 

Currently, Alhaitham is employed at the top company in Sumeru city. he’s the secretary but quickly raising up the ranks. He also owns his own house in a rich suburb, one he used to share with the drunk man beside you, but now it only houses himself. 

“Not only that but every week like clockwork that apathetic bastard would bring home the ugliest furniture. He once brought home an old piano. It took up so much space and clashed against the dark wood of the house! He wouldn’t even try to arrange them, he messed up the feng shui! He can’t even play! What was it for then?!” 

Ah, you can see why the architect was willing to move into the lackluster apartment, he was desperate the spare his blood pressure. You don’t blame him, in fact hearing about your former friend’s spending habits brought a sour aftertaste to your wine.

Oh, how nice it must be to have such financial freedom. 

“Then whenever I make a polite suggestion that he try to consider aesthetics, his response? ‘It is my life, my house, and my money. Suggestions from others are irrelevant and should be ignored. I’m guessing such philosophies are difficult to uphold for designers who must bend to their client’s will.’ Can you believe how insufferable he is?”  

“Hypocrite.” That word rolled bitterly off your tongue, a past dialogue resurfacing from the back of your mind. 

The blond’s hazy eyes peered at your inquisitively. Then his drunken mind sparks a thought: Why were you asking about Alhaitham? He also remembers that he had unanswered questions as well. 

“By the way, what is your relation to that detached man?”

“Just a nobody who got compared to his brilliance.” 

That doesn’t satisfy his question at all. 

“Not this game again. Seriously, just what went down between the two of-”

“For a person who prides himself on his empathy, you sure are oblivious to the discomfort you’re causing. Prying for details that don’t concern you.” A deep voice from behind made your skin prickle. 

Why was he here?

You didn’t need to look to feel the heavy weight of his teal eyes, boring holes into your stiff frame. The wine tasted awful now. It’s rude to ditch the guest that you had invited out, but you needed to get out of here before bile begins to taint your palette. 

Quickly signaling for the tab, you didn’t even comprehend the number before you slammed down a bunch of mora. 

“I’ll leave first. It was nice drinking with you, Kaveh. Let’s do this again sometime.” An excuse and lie. 

“Hey, wait-” The blond lifted up his hand. 

“I’ll walk you home. It’s quite dangerous this time of night around here.” Alhaitham’s body turned to follow you. Ah, he’s pointing out how shit your neighborhood was, isn’t he. 

“Oi! Stop interrupting your senior-”

Alhaitham tosses an extra handful of mora onto the table. Kaveh was nearly shaking with rage, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of another few glasses of wine.

You were taking exaggerated strides across the uneven concrete, trying to put some distance between you. However, your legs were no match for the towering man’s steps, as it wasn’t before long until he caught up. 

The clicking of your shoes and the thumps of his steps filled the tense silence. You refused to meet his gaze. But the thoughts racing through your mind needed answers, in particular, why is he haunting you now of all times? 

“Why are you here?” You punched in the code for the entrance of the complex. 

“I was looking for you. It just so happens that I spotted you through the window of the bar.” 

There was an annoyed twitch at your eyebrow. He is not aware of how creepy he sounded right now?

You swiftly pulled the heavy door open and tried to slam it behind you, to create a barrier. However, Alhaitham’s foot was just a bit faster. His tall figure continued to loom behind you as you ascended the stairs. 

“I have a reason to seek you.” 

“Oh? Then pray tell, why a young professional would follow a woman to her home.” Keys fumbling to fit into the loose door handle. 

“I took a CD. I’m no thief, and I believe that a musician should be fairly compensated for her work.” Came his flat reply. 

That’s it? You already had a terrible week at work, becoming the scapegoat for the incompetency of managers. Now, his presence was only exacerbating the negativity flowing through you. Maybe the heat of the fire hasn’t been completely forgotten. You don’t want his money, you don’t want his pity. 

For the first time, you whipped around intentionally staring straight into his teal-orange irises. You don’t need his money nor pity. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, maybe it was the mounting stress on your shoulders or a damning combination of both.

You wanted to wipe that indifferent look off his handsome face, you couldn’t stand it. 

Alhaitham’s lips parted ready to continue the transaction, only to be interrupted by the crashing of another on his. Your fingers were tangled in the collar of his shirt, wrinkling the crisp fabric. Your burning stare never left his slightly raised eyes, wanting to observe anything hint of human emotion. 

Shock? Disgust? Fury? You’d take anything over his infuriatingly stoic face. 

Instead of shoving you off like you inferred, Alhaitham slowly lowers his eyelids. Parting his lips even more as if to grant more access, allowing his tongue to dance with yours. These actions only irked you more. 

This wasn’t your first kiss with him, the first time happened while two friends were sitting by a piano, heads turning to face each other too fast. An accidental brushing of lips. It irked you that the mushy feeling from that day was currently making its grand return. 

Breaking away to allow oxygen back into your burning lungs, a thin strand of saliva trailing between. You were panting as his eyes reconnected with yours, something else was swimming behind those impartial irises. Too bad you were too impatient to decipher it, as you pulled his face back down.

Back pushing the rusty apartment door ajar. Two bodies disappeared behind the awful singing of its hinges. 

–

For once, you woke up before the screeching of your phone. The sun was just barely peeking through the blinds. A muscular arm was draped over your bare torso, sheets still a bit damp from sweat. You knew that smell currently suffocating you in the room. You just slept with your former friend. 

Your hand itched to slap your face. Idiot, you avoided him for all this time just to welcome him into your bed. 

Stealthily shimming your body out of bed, you could feel the slight wobble of your legs. Of course, he’s good at sex, he’s good at everything. You cast a quick glance at his slumbering form. Teal eyes were still hidden behind closed lids. Good, he’s not awake.

Like a thief in your own home, you toed around the clothes scattered across the floor, careful to avoid the creaky wooden planks you’ve memorized. 

Swiftly grabbing a random assortment of items out of your closet, you deemed the outfit professional enough for work. Trying to glide across the cluttered apartment like a ghost, you put on your heels, ready for the walk of shame away from your apartment. At least your gym membership will see some use now, a shower would be great to wash the shame and guilt off. 

It’s not like you had anything worth stealing. Grabbing your bag off the table, you exited the scene of the crime. Hinges announcing your departure.

If the you from a few months ago saw what the reunion of friends had morphed into, she’d probably keel over in shock. Can you even call yourselves friends anymore?

The next Saturday following that incident, you had finished up another gig at Lambad’s Tavern. An all too familiar face made his way up to the piano. Browsing through the selection of CDs you still had on display. 

“I’ll take this one.” Alhaitham held the smooth plastic in one hand, as his other reached for his wallet. 

You gestured for him to stop. Crossing your arms in front of your body as if soothing your nerves. Pride still too great to accept his money, a resource he seems to have in excess. Just earlier in the day, after reaching the second round in the audition, the proctor thanked you for your time and lead you to the exit. Another failed attempt to join an orchestra.

You knew that returning to your cramped abode will only lead you to wallow in misery with a cheap bottle of liquor. 

“You can come over. I’ll take it as compensation.” 

How would you define this relationship? Friends with benefits? But the two of you were ex-friends, so that wouldn’t really make sense. Regardless, you knew what you wanted. To forget the sting of failure through pleasure. You turned your head to face him, awaiting his reply. An attentive stare was the silent confirmation you needed. 

Does he think you’re easy or desperate? You didn’t particularly care for his opinion anymore. Alhaitham was currently kneeling by the side of your mused bed, he was here to ‘compensate’ you, and compensate he will. Your thighs were firmly held in his large hands, spreading them apart granting him access to the honeypot he seeks. 

His hot tongue lapped at your slick folds, parting the labia and collecting your slick. Making sure to end the journey with a small flick to the little nub on top, before the wet muscle traveled back down. The noise was sinfully melodic. Your legs were straining against his hold, instinctively wanting to close in on his face, but his strength far surpasses yours. So instead, you pressed your lips into the back of your hand. Denying him the privilege to hear your moans.

This must’ve displeased him greatly, as the next thing you knew he broke from his steady tempo, and his soft lips enclosed around your sensitive clit. Alhaitham’s tongue was now accompanied by the suction of his mouth, torturing your poor little bundle. Slurping and sloppy wet flicks bounced off the thin walls. Hot flashes shot up your legs as your toes curled, a moan was fighting its way past your teeth. 

He changed his pace once more. Now intertwining deep laps of your leaking hole with the overwhelming attention on your now swollen clit. Your honey was dripping down his chin as he continued his efforts. Your legs were trembling now, unable to give any resistance against his domineering hold. Thus, allowing him to slip one hand between, two long fingers stretching out your gummy walls. Prodding their way through the tight warm hole, mapping out their way to that special spongey patch. 

Your teeth wouldn’t hold back the moan any longer. Back arching off the messy sheets, the internal and external pleasure created a maddening duo, pushing your sanity off the edge. Your vision when white was your body shook, nonsense babbling out of your lips. Alhaitham gave your pulsing clit a few more slick licks before pressing a sweet kiss against it. 

His towering frame got up from the floor to loom over your recovering body. Teal eyes observing every twitch and shiver of your sloppy face. Soon his face descended closer, this time you were the quick one. Snapping your head to the side. Denying him a kiss, lest those mushy emotions bubble up during this moment. Alhaitham stills, he says nothing, just letting his warm breath fan across your face. 

He got the message. Pulling away to give space between your lips, he searches his back pocket for a condom. Even with your bodies connected. There was still a line deeply etched into the sand, separating the two of you.  

–

Once again you woke up before him. Once again you slipped out of his embrace. Ocne more his arms gave no protest. Another journey to the gym. 

One time turned into two times, two times turned into… you lost count at this point. However, it would simply be a waste of time to think too deeply about it. It’s Alhaitham after all, that man would never bother with activities that waste his time. If it doesn’t serve to benefit in any way, he’d be the first to drop it, what an objective guy he is. 

The two of you were still young professionals with a lot of steam to let off. A familiar face of convenience to destress and feel the wisp of comfort from another warm body in this cold world. This is what’s become of the pile of ashes from a once beautiful bridge.

The back of your head hit against the brick wall supporting your body. Another rejection, this time you made it all the way to the semi-finals. Alas, from behind a curtain, the panel of judges deemed you unworthy of playing in their esteemed orchestra. Your aching fingers dug into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract from the burning sting welling up in your eyes.

The pursuit of knowledge and the pursuit of dreams were more similar to each other than what great scholars of the nation of wisdom cared to admit.

They were the shining light that broke through the murky uncertainly of life, beckoning stray souls towards them. Those lost in the labyrinth of reality desperately seek to walk the path illuminated by their glow. 

In the end, knowledge and dreams were like the sun’s warm rays shining through the leaves of a tree. No matter how many times your hands reach for and grab, you can never hold them.  

The multiple part-time jobs you juggled between your college courses taught you the most valuable lesson no lecture ever could: Dreams cost money, and so did rent, and so did food, and so did utilities. 

Scornfully, you had to tack on extra courses to your piano major, a witless minor in business administration. It stings your pride to this day to attribute your current steady stream of income to that last-minute academic decision. 

It stung because, in the end, Alhaitham’s prediction was correct. Regardless of if one was a natural or artificial prodigy like you. Even the brightest and most dedicated musicians aren’t guaranteed a career, degree or not. Perhaps, this truth that you’ve come to terms with was the water that smothered the flame of anger. Leaving behind the defeated wisps of regret and embarrassment. 

Of course Alhaitham was right, he always is. 

There was a chime from the store door opening up beside you. A certain ashen-haired man walked out with a bouquet of Sumeru roses in hand. ‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.

You quickly adverted your gaze, but it was useless as he had already taken note of your presence. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Deciding to take control of the conversation before anything starts. 

“I don’t have a show tonight.” Referring to the bouquet in his hands. 

“I’m aware. I was going to visit my grandmother today.” His deep voice drummed. 

Oh. You wanted the archons to strike you down at this very moment. Stupid, why did you assume such things? There’s nothing but a tightrope formed by virtue of convenience connecting your paths. Just what were you hoping for? Your cheeks were now burning with shame. 

“Would you like to come with me?” His calm tone beckons you out of your thoughts. 

At this rate, how could you refuse? Perhaps it was due to the surmounting weight of guilt and embarrassment. But a part of you also knows it’s because you missed her. So you followed Alhaitham to his car, buckling yourself in and opening your arms, offering to carry the flowers. The car ride was silent the whole time. 

Alhaitham’s grandmother always looked at you with those tender warm eyes of hers. Extending out a warm hand to comb through your locks in exchange for every song you’d play for her. She was the only voice that offered your impoverished heart any words of encouragement.

Words that brought an inkling of warmth from the icy stares of your parents. 

–

The final note echoed throughout the common area of the hospital. Applause could be heard from the few patients attending your impromptu concert. However, your attention was focused all on the soft smile of the frail woman in the wheelchair beside you. Her thin, wrinkled hands clapped together. 

Jokingly you gave a dramatic bow from your sitting position at the piano bench, earning a gentle chuckle from her. 

“Oh, what a lovely performance by the loveliest girl.” A hand reached out towards you. 

You swiftly bowed your head under her palm, allowing her fingers to rest against your scalp. Gently she began to stroke your head, making a wide smile stretch your cheeks. Your heart’s weekly dose of encouragement. However, this tender moment was broken by the vibrations of your phone. Your eyes quickly scanned the name of the caller. 

Oh, it was your tutor, you skipped your lessons once more in favor of visiting the Bimarstan. 

The woman beside you takes note of this and lets out a huff. 

“You’re already plenty smart. I don’t understand why your parents insist on such endeavors.” 

You didn’t have the heart to tell her the hours of tutoring and cram schools you sandwiched between your demanding schedule was due to the idolization of her grandson. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t his. 

It was yours, for not being to stand on equal footing with the prodigy Alhaitham. You pressed your lips sealed. This detail didn’t escape her aging eyes. She shifted her attention to the sheet music propped up on the stand. 

“Do you know the story behind Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro?”

You tilted your head to the side, you’ve never researched any piece in depth before. Reading your answer from this action, the old lady continued. 

“It was written for quite a famous play. A story and message that caused waves through society at the time. A story about servants rebelling against their masters, taking fate into their own hands.” Her warm eyes gave you a knowing look. 

“That is why it’s my favorite song from Mozart.”

“Oh? Then I’ll play it for you again. As many times as you want.” The smile returned to your face. 

You never thought that the next time you’d ever play that song would be at her funeral. Fellow professors and colleagues dressed in black filled the room of the wake, paying their respects to her and their condolences to the young man beside you.

What an awful transition into adulthood Alhaitham had. 

Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the marble floor. Peering at the face of your dearest friend, his cheeks were dry. 

By the time the sky began to turn its brilliant pink and orange hues, the attendees had all funneled out of the room. Your parents were the first ones to leave, but you stayed firmly by Alhaitham’s side. It was only you, him, and the casket in the room now. 

She wanted a private burial, thus the staff informed you that they’ll begin the process soon. However, before they did, you wanted to play her favorite song one last time. Your send-off for her. 

Sitting down at the sleek black piano provided by the funeral home, you took a deep breath. Alhaitham takes his place next to you on the bench, with his back facing the piano you couldn’t see his face. 

The bright tones of this joyful song resounding through the room harshly contrasted the somber mood. But you continued playing regardless, fingers never skipping a note nor compromising the tempo. 

Alhaitham’s head found its way on your shoulder, the weight slightly interfering with your range of motion. However, you didn’t say anything and never stopped playing. The bright melody comforting two grieving souls. 

–

The last memories you had of her resurfacing as he places the flowers down at her grave. The tombstone is still as clean and polished as the day it was inlaid into the ground. A testament to the diligence of her grandson, the only family she left behind.

Today was the first time the day didn’t end with a trip to your bed. The mood was inappropriate for such things. 

Just two souls quietly reminiscing about the things that are now gone. As it was, it shall never be again. 

If his colleagues were to ever discover the current predicament the raising secretary of the company was in, they’d either dismiss it or laugh at him. How unthinkable. The phlegmatic man whose hands always held the reins of control, reduced to such a complacent fool? The desert would freeze over before any of them would ever believe such a thing. 

However, Alhaitham didn’t need to justify his actions to anyone. The ashen-haired man already knew the reason behind his actions. He’s known for quite a while now. He holds his convictions firmly and will walk through hell with them.

–

Sitting down in a private study room provided by the university, a senior was currently wallowing in an irrelevant emotion. Alhaihtam knows the name, it’s grief.

Of course, it’s depressing to lose a familiar face, a person who stood by your side throughout your developmental years. However, you were still alive. Why is he grieving over a person who’s still healthy and breathing? Questions unrelated to his thesis plagued his thoughts as his paper remained untouched on the desk.

Teal irises scan the stack of books he had piled to the side. Perhaps he should review some of the material to refresh his mind about his thesis on the consequences of unrecorded words.

Picking a random psychology journal from the mound, this book could hold the answers to why his thoughts are redundant. Alhaitham began his quest for an epiphany.

The student’s experienced eyes scanned through the text, noting details that could potentially support his points. It’s not a surprise that psychology and etymology go hand in hand, after all, words were born out of human thought and the need to communicate them.

This journal was only scratching at the ceiling that prevented him from crossing into the territory of true understanding. It frustrated him. 

Disdainfully scrutinizing the text further, running through each passage over and over, until he finally reads the first line of the final page:

“Psychology as a science has its limitations, and, as the logical consequence of theology is mysticism, so the ultimate consequence of psychology is love.”

The student finally closes the covers of the book, it had served its purpose.

No matter how many times his thoughts circled back, searching for correlations and different conclusions from figurative pinpoints. Alhaitham knew in the end, they were all just excuses. 

Love is illogical by nature, an unexplainable consequence of human thought. A fever which comes and goes independently of the will. Maybe, the true explanation of love has been lost to time, the unwritten words that belonged in the spaces between the script printed in preserved texts. 

So Alhaitham will understand his limits now. It matters not if he understands the origins of love or language or words. All that mattered to him is that he understands now: He was in love. A diagnosis and truth that came years too late. With this revelation quelling his thoughts, he finished his thesis. 

Acceptance, the last stage of grief. 

–

‘This is unhealthy’ a voice in his mind chastised. Alhaitham didn’t feel the need to defend his current actions, because the voice was right. This is unhealthy. Teal eyes concealed the running thoughts in his head, watching the raising and falling of your chest.

After all these years you reappeared in front of him. The ashen-haired man knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Even though it was made from a rope of thorns, he still grabbed onto it. 

For now, he shall set aside his pride, his hubris. Sex was the only time you would willingly approach him. Alhaitham was more than willing to exchange his body for the privilege of being close to you once more. A fair trade in his mind. 

‘If you love something set it free. If it comes back it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.’

The stoic man is sure the saying would disagree with his tampering. Like setting a songbird free, only to lure it back into his hands with the irresistible treat of pleasure. It was all he could do. Alhaitham knew that cruelly grasping at the songbird will only snap the fragile tightrope that connected your paths. 

After all, you had fled the hated cage of your childhood home the moment the door was left open. He already decided he won’t do that to you. 

Instead, he’ll keep holding out his hand, palms wide open, waiting for you to come back to taste the pleasure he offers you time after time again.

You were laying on his chest, sleep drenched every fiber of your being, heart vibrating steadily against his own. 

It’s a paradox, how can your body be so close but your heart still so far away? 

The desire for sleep outweighed his lust for answers. Or it could be that he already knew, he was just delaying the thought for the morning. His heavy lids closed.

When they open again in the morning, he knows they’ll be greeted by the sight of an empty bed. He knows the sheets that hold your lingering scent will be cold. He knows he will be left alone in your apartment.

Alhaitham knows, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The Sumeru Grand Orchestra, the golden ticket for any musician. Status, recognition, and generous paychecks. When the auditions were first announced you were one of the first to jump at the opportunity, and so did everyone else, flooding the application sites, but you were able to secure a number: 211. 

Weeks in advance on a muted keyboard you practiced every classical piece you could, sharpening your sightreading senses. You were led into the waiting room with all the other aspiring musicians, it was now a game of survival. 

You made it to the final round. It’s been five hours since you last left the palatial concert hall where the auditions were held. The one cramped room was now a motionless void, mutterings of prayers to any archon that would listen whispered through the thick air. 

“Number 211.” 

You were the lamb up for slaughter. The audition piece that was placed into your hand half an hour ago crumbled under the force of your tense grip. The proctor closed the door behind you, stealing off your path of escape as they led you through the labyrinth. At the end of the tunnel, you were greeted by the harsh stage lights glaring off the grand piano. 

The curtains that once shielded you from the captious glares of the judges were gone. All of you laid out clearly on the stage. Your fate is balanced on the tips of their immaculate pens. The minuscule tremble of your hands couldn’t escape their hawk eyes.

Chin up and shoulders back, you strolled across the polished wooden planks, settling down at the matte black piano, it was like staring into the abyss. 

Taking a deep breath, you signaled the start. Fingers danced along the ivory keys in accordance with the notes memorized. This stanza was from Meditation from Thais, the hypnotic theme filling the empty concert hall.

It’s been a while since you hear your own playing resounded out through such a place. However, this was a turning point a chance to take fate into your own hands. 

To once again stand under the warm lights and bow to an audience enamored by your music. For the songbird to fly free from it’s grey sterile cubical. 

“Stop.” A cold voice struck the fragile wings of a bird in flight. 

You did as you were ordered, even before your mind even registered the words. Oh no, you weren’t finished, you didn’t get to complete this round. 

“Number 211 is disqualified. The playing is soulless, empty notes that just echo off the walls.” 

–

Soulless. Huh, you’ve never been told that before. Raindrops landed into your unblinking eyes as they observed the darkening sky. Was nature taking pity on you too? Crying for you when your tear ducts were still frozen in shock? You let the cold droplets trail down your cheek. Around you, the crowd dressed in suits and ties walked passed the scene of a death.

The death of your dreams. 

You used up one of your precious sick days to attend this audition, but now it might no longer be just an excuse. You couldn’t feel anything but the sharp shards of shattered hope gouging into your back. Staring up at the gray sky from the deep, cold well of your misery.

When did this happen? When did the bright fire fizzle out? When did your passion die?

A sorry excuse of a laugh slipped out. No, it might be accurate to say that there was never a passion in the first place, something nonexistent cannot die. Something nonexistent cannot be created even if the haze of a fever dream might say otherwise. Now that the rain had washed away that haze, you could now clearly see the void. 

Did you really like the piano? Or was it a lie engrained into your flesh by stern hands? 

Maybe the judges were right, your playing was soulless, pieces only ever practiced for technical perfection. Talent meticulously crafted by grueling long hours. Fingers that separated your beating heart from the inanimate black and white keys. In the end, you were an artificial prodigy, with an artificial passion that quickly denigrated under the droplets of calm rain. 

“You’re soaked.” A baritone voice resounded behind you as a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders. 

Alhaitham had just gotten off the clock, exiting the grand sliding doors only to spot your listless figure standing as an obstacle for the weaving crowd of the city. However, you kept staring at the dull sky, uncaring about how your wet clothes clung to your shivering figure. You didn’t even seem to perceive his words. 

“You’re going to get sick.” Two warm hands placed themselves upon your shoulders, guiding your body to a secluded area, away from the crowd and rain. 

This motion jostled your eyes, allowing them to read the company name proudly displayed on the front of the towering skyscraper. Was this the future you had gambled away for a false path shown to you by a dream? A steady job, good savings benefits, and prospective increases in income. All the chips you had pushed into the center of the table as you drew dud cards. 

You shifted your eyes away from the imposing letters and connected with teal-orange irises. Was his mask of indifference hiding his smug satisfaction that his prediction was correct? Was he holding back an ‘I told you so’? The bitter whispers of a green-eyed devil tickled against the shell of your ear. 

“Come, I’ll drive you home.” 

No, you can’t go back to your abysmal apartment. You couldn’t even stomach the thought of seeing the sight of your reality. The messy bedroom, the music sheets scattered all across the cluttered living room, the mocking keyboard pressed up against a corner. If you were to step foot back in there, you’ll disappear under the murky waters in the ocean called ‘regret’. 

Your trembling hands grounded themselves in the crisp button-down, crumbling the fabric against Alhaitham’s smooth skin. No words could travel past your vocal cords, throat numb to move. All you could do was shake your hang head from side to side. You could feel the ashen-haired man take a deep breath, his mind quickly forming an alternative plan. 

“Come with me.” Large hands gently untangling your fingers from his clothes. 

–

Those same gentle hands were now rubbing a fresh towel through your dripping hair, soaking up the excess water that had been trailing droplets down your skin. His house was quiet, no rumbling of car engines from the streets, no loud gurgling pipes, no thumping footsteps. Still and serene, only allowing the soft pattering of rain kissing the ground and windows.

Alhaitham hasn’t spoken a single word to you ever since he welcomed you into his home and sat you down. 

As Alhaitham continued with his efforts to warm your shivering body, all you could do was observe the spotless wooden floors. They were so polished and lustrous… just like the grandiose stage.

Something vile was creeping up your neck, slowly making its way up to the falling sanctuary of your mind. No, you needed to push it back, you needed to distract it. To buy you some time before the vileness consumes you wholly. 

Hopeless hands trailed up the toned arms of the man currently drying your hair, making his movements stop. You took this opportunity to shift your body so that it pressed against his, the dampness of your clothes transferring to his. Ah, it must be uncomfortable for him. 

Clumsily, you began to undo the neat buttons of his button-down, only for your hands to be enclosed within a delicate grip. You could feel the weight of his condemnatory gaze upon you, teal eyes observing your movements as if he was calculating his next move. 

There wasn’t any time for contemplation. The bitter bile thoughts were quickly encroaching on their destination. With your hands immobilized you used your mouth instead, nuzzling into the skin that peeked through the unopened portion.

You could feel the small shiver of his warm body reacting to your cold cheek. Alhaitham lets out a deep sigh, hot breath fanning over the top of your head. He got the message. 

Your soaked dress was pulled over your head, heavy black fabric falling to the side of the bed in which you lay now. The sheets providing your shivering body with softness and a semblance of warmth. Alhaitham presses tender kisses down the nape of your neck, stopping between the valley of your breast to push your body further up the bed.

Larger hands ran along the length of your legs, as if to warm them up with the slow friction. Your legs gave no resistance as he places one over his shoulder, lips brushing against your knee. 

You let out a small sigh, the skin-on-skin contact was just what your frozen body needed. Your body twisted further into his sheets, your other leg pressed against the back of his hip as if to spur him to hasten his pace. However, Alhaitham, being the steadfast man he is, ignored your neediness and continued to trail kisses down your soft skin. His mouth ended his journey with a slow and deep lap at your clit, causing your body to jolt. 

“Mmm.”

Your skin has thawed, every nerve now acutely aware of each slow lick his wet tongue brushed against your sensitive bud. You no longer had any pride to uphold, thus moans just freely flowed out of your mouth just as how slick dripped from your aching hole. Once more you dug your heel into him, your neglected walls yearning for attention.

This time he was merciful, running one thick finger along the slick pooling between your folds. Gathering up the dew and tracing small circles along the entrance.

A whine followed, you twisted even more along the tussled sheets, reaching a hand down to tangle into his ashen locks. Alhaitham gave you want you wanted, slowly his thick finger was welcomed into your eager walls as his tongue continued to play with your clit. Your head was thrown back, heavy pants fogging up the room in the air, lidden eyes barely anything but the back of your head. 

Another finger was soon added, stretching out your leaking hole only leaving your gummy walls craving more. A few soft kisses were pressed against your now twitching bud, before his skilled tongue took over for the final push toward nirvana. With practiced precision his fingers swiftly pressed against that spongey patch, making white flames shoot up your spine. Your quivering legs and curling toes didn’t faze Alhaitham in the slightest.

“OH!”

With a firm tug to ashen locks and one final flick to your swollen clit, your eyes meet the back of your head, a stretched moan bounced off the walls. Back arched almost painfully off the bed, Alhaitham continued the slow thrust of his soaked fingers into your contracting hole. As you rode the waves of pleasure back down, Alhaitham finally detaches his lips from your cunt, a slick trail connecting them. 

The burning between your legs didn’t stop. You needed more, legs wrapping around his muscular torso, urging him to give you more. His self-control all but turns into dust in your presence. There’s not a plausible scenario where he could ever deny you. Finally, his leaking member can have its turn. 

Fighting against the restraints of your legs, Alhaitham was able to pull the condom over his full length. Your hole jolted with joy the moment it felt his fat tip pressing up against your entrance. The slow circling before he finally sunk in, in an instant your walls clung onto every inch he pushed in, thanking him with pulsing contractions.

He sucked in a long hiss from how your warm, slick walls perfectly hugged him. You let your tongue loll out with a deep moan, legs pulling his body closer so that your arms could find purchase around his broad shoulders. 

His pace was slow and deep, warming your walls up so as to not hurt the delicate you. This greatly displeased you, evident by how your nails dug into the solid muscle of his shoulders. You need it fast, you wanted it deep, you wanted him to pound those bitter thoughts away with his thick member. Two hands clasped around your hips, snapping your body tightly against his. He’ll grant your request. 

“Ah! Ah! AH!” 

His merciless pace had your breast bouncing and incomprehensible words babbling out of your lips. Heavy cock dragging out along your grasping walls, then slamming his hips harshly against your sobbing cunt. Every punishing thrust was welcomed by your slick walls thanking him. His heavy pants fanned across your ear as he continued this ruthless speed. 

Your body was now burning, precipitation hanging heavy in the air, yet you still arched your back off the bed to chase after his warmth. Bodies entangled in a mess of limbs in an animalistic chase after pleasure and orgasm. 

The wet noises of your weeping hole welcoming him back in over and over again. In between the heavy slaps of his balls against your sloppy cunt and thick tip bullying your poor spot, you could feel the deep vibrations in his chest. 

“Look at me.” You felt him pull away just a bit so he could have a clear view of your loose face. 

You didn’t want to. Lest his searching teal eyes discover the truth of why you pulled him into bed, to give him the satisfaction. You squeezed your lids closed. The particularly deep thrust he snapped displayed his displeasure at your actions. 

“Please.” The unfamiliar words coming from his mouth made your eyes wide again. The tone is gentle. 

So, with your resolve weakened, you finally connected with his gaze. What was that look in his eyes? It was too soft to be malice, too calm to be anger, too tender to just be lust. Yet your pleasure-melted brain couldn’t process it.

 In gratitude for you granting his wish, his thumb found its way to your swollen clit, rubbing deep circles into the sensitive nerve. You pressed yourself impossibly hard against his body, walls clamping down on his thick member. 

His actions made the knot inside your stomach pull against itself taught until the treads of sanity snapped. Even though your eyes were rolled to the back of your head, all you could see was the blinding white light of cloud nine. Your walls clamped down around him like a vise, snug walls now binding his length. Alhaitham clenches his jaw, stoic face twisted in the throws of pleasure as he spills himself into the barrier deep within. 

Long fingers painting the sides of your hips red as he recomposes himself. Chest heaving from the exertion. He helps himself to a few more slow thrusts in your gummy walls, riding out his own orgasm even as his red tip teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure. Your soft thighs still entrapping his towering frame. It looks like you still haven’t come down yet. 

Alhaitham’s hand gently cupped your messy face. Your lips were off limits, so he shall kiss those bitter tears away from your eyes instead. 

Like always you woke up before Alhaitham again. However, this time you couldn’t bear to look at his face. Was this out of embarrassment, shame, or guilt? You didn’t know and didn’t care.

Unwrapping his arms from around your waist, you hobbled towards the clack lump of your dress. The fabric was still ever so slightly damp, ah, the sensation against your skin made the bitter bile restart its journey again. 

You couldn’t help the envy that bubbled up in your system as you observed the spacious halls of Alhaitham’s house. Footsteps softly tap along the polished wood floors so as not to awaken the sleeping homeowner.

Of course, he has a nice house in the most upscale neighborhood. Of course, it's located in a quiet suburb a commutable distance away from the raucous city. Of course, it has nice big windows and expensive dark wood furnishings. 

Of course. Of course. Of course. It’s because he’s Alhaitham. He’s got everything. 

Your face scrunched up as bitterness crept up from the back of your tongue. It wasn’t from the bitter waters of regret, no, it was from a certain green-eyed creature. You needed to leave this house as soon as possible before you did something foolish. 

You dug your hand into your purse for your phone, ready to call a lift back to your shabby apartment. It was all becoming too much. Just at the end of the hall, you could spot the solid oak doors that blocked off the outside world. Get out of this cage and breathe the fresh air. 

You no longer cared about the noise your steps were making, thumps echoed throughout the halls frantically carrying you toward the shiny knob. A shaky hand grasped onto the cold smooth metal, ready to twist the deadbolt free. A glimmer of white coming from the side room caught your eye, reeling it back from its tunnel vision. Your head couldn’t help but follow. 

It was a grand piano. 

His former roommate was right, the white lacquer finish on the piano contrasted harshly against the dark wood bookshelves. It really did look out of place, taking up too much space in the side library. The dark walnut wood piano seat looked odd next to it as well. 

The viridescent seat cushion looked a bit worn as if it had been sat in regularly. Still, the pearly finish that reflected the morning rays beckoned you closer, the sense of nostalgia growing stronger with each step. 

It looked exactly like your old piano, your most cherished treasure that had been plundered from you so long ago. Trembling hands ran along the glossy fallboard, not a speck of dust was found along the paths of your fingers. You caught sight of the gold lettering inscribed along the front, it was even the same brand. 

The pull of intrigue was too great, you had to know, but do you dare? Why are you lifting your hopes up so high? Have you not learned your lesson after being dropped over and over again onto the cold pavement of disappointment below? Maybe you were some type of masochist. Just like Schrodinger’s cat, you can’t confirm if those hopes were dead or alive until you opened the lid. 

A resounding creek rang out from the protesting hinges, the lacquered lid heavy as if trying to conceal the truth away from your searching eyes. But your determination beat out any old hinges, lifting the heavy top above your head. Your breathing halted. 

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

It was written clear as day on the naked wood concealed by the glossy outer casing. Clumsy letters scribbled in harsh black permanent marker. The proof of authenticity. This is your treasured piano. 

Your arm lost all strength, the heavy lid slammed down reverberating all the strings and hammers in a chaotic symphony of shock. The clashing vibrations pierced your ears, causing the ringing that was now the background music to the realization crashing down upon you. 

All this time, Alhaitham stayed himself. His unfazed individuality moved through life to the metronome of his own heart. Like a firm apple tree whose roots held the ground below him together. The fruits of his labor dropping down to satiate a heart hungry for encouragement.

The shiny red fruits were given at every meeting, in exchange for every CD and performance attended. All this time, he never once looked at you with pity nor disdain. He treasured you.

And what have you given in return? You participated in gossip behind his back. You looked at him with the same prejudice you promised to defend him from. You broke your promises to him. You lied to him. You used him, even down to his physical body to further your own self-interests. 

When did the whispers of a green-eyed monster turn you into that selfish child from the storybook? 

If your past self was there to witness the scene in front of her, she’d be appalled. She’d beat you with hatred at the torment you put her beloved friend through. Yes, she’d hate you. You hate you. You’ve never hated yourself more.

How could you do this to him? You really are your parent’s child. You never considered how the shrapnel of consequences from your actions would wound those close by. 

You couldn’t even look at the reflection staring back at you from the polished white surface, her eyes stared back at you with malice. You were a selfish traitor. 

Too self-absorbed in your own wallowing to notice the slow steps approaching from down the hallway. Alhaitham’s steps were slow as he stared at the back of your figure. Like a watcher trying not to startle a resting songbird. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, making sure he wasn’t just looking at the afterimage of a person who had long left the house. 

A small creak was all it took for your head to snap toward his approaching figure. Eyes wide and shaking. Alhaitham made sure to stop a arms length away as he accesses the situation. It looks like you’ve discovered his small secret. A fragment of the past that he relentlessly searched for, the only time he ever asked anything of your parents. He planned to return it to you one day. 

You looked like you could collapse at any moment, so Alhaitham held out his hand, palms open and awaiting. You reached a quivering hand out, pulling back slightly a few times before finally landing. Your fingers clasped onto each other, you drew closer to his board figure until your forehead was resting against his chest. You didn’t dare look at his face.

He made no further moves. 

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.” Your mouth couldn’t stop spewing the regrets deep from your heart. 

Even though you were apologizing, you didn’t want him to forgive you. You couldn’t even forgive yourself, how could he? It would be easier if he just hated you. If he were to just say ‘I hate you’ right now with that stoic voice of his, you could die peacefully. The best end that you deserved. You could feel the wet spots forming on his shirt from your tears. 

“I won’t forgive you.” The vibrations from his deep voice were felt against you.

Four words cut into you deeper than any knife ever could. But you deserved this pain. Your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth, on the verge of splitting open from how hard you were biting back your cries. You didn’t deserve to cry. 

“Not until you play Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro.” 

Those words halted your breathing. Like a rope that’s been thrown down the dark well you were wallowing in. Will your hands reach out and grasp onto this opportunity? Slowly you lifted your gaze up. Something behind the calm teal of his eyes was egging you on to do so, to take a hold of the lifeline thrown down from the bright sky. 

“… Of course.” You let go of him. 

Moving back over to your grand piano. Lifting the smaller section of the lid first this time placing it gently back on the larger section, allowing the music rack to appear. Setting up the notches into position, you then lifted the heavy back lid up. Placing the prop up this time so as to not put your piano through the same chaos again. 

Finally, the dustfree fallboard was lifted up, revealing the keyboards that held the faint imprints of history. You settled your self-down at the bench, your hands hesitantly reaching out only for your fingers to retract the moment your soft tips brushed against the smooth ivory. The bitter shame of failure scorching your delicate senses. 

Inhaling a deep breath, you turned to face Alhaitham reconnecting with his teal gaze as he stayed in place. A silent plead. With quiet steps, he approaches closer to the bench, the wooden protested under the added weight. Two bodys not touching, facing in opposite directions. Ah, just like a familiar scene from many years ago. 

Once more, you attempted to reach out your fingers, emboldened by the soothing body heat of the man besides you. Placing your fingers back into position, the scorning of your finger tips becoming irrelevant. Lulling you to return back into the blackness of your sanctuary of mind. Recalling the song that symbolized a period of great change, wonderful change. 

The pressed keys played their notes, the hammers inside your piano striking against the string. Ringing out the awful tones of stings that have gone out of tune from years of unuse. Even if it stung you ears and his the same, you continued to play the chipper overture. The bitter bile fizzling out like sea form, as laughter tickled the inside of your throat. 

“It sounds terrible.” You giggled honestly. 

“Mm. I’m not all that familiar with performance etiquette, but I’m certain talking during a show is bad manners.” There was no bit to his words. You couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile. 

Two hearts now closer than previously, became the metronome for the off-key rendition of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, accompanied by the bright giggles of the pianist and the content sigh of her audience. Outside the window, a songbird chirps to greet the beautiful sun that resurfaced after a day of rain.

He absolutely adores you, he always has. He knows that you know now. But he also knows that you weren’t ready to hear it. The weight of three small words would be enough to topple the stability of your consciousness. It wasn’t strong enough to handle them, not after the mangling hands of guilt and regret vandalized it. 

So he won’t say those three words, not yet, not until you’ve repaired your cracking foundations. Alhaitham will wait to tell you ‘I love you’. Like a patient tree standing on the hill biding its time for the return of a beloved creature. 

Fin~

DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

[booksandabeer]

Stucky, Fandom Longevity, and "Primacy Bias"

There’s this post that's been floating around the past few days about how the Stucky fandom in its heyday produced fic and art masterpieces like they were all collectively possessed by an unprecedented spirit of creative insanity. It’s a good, fun post and I agree with the person who wrote it. (not rb'ing because I didn't want to hijack their post with something that's only tangentially related).

It was indeed a magical time and the creative output in both quantity and quality in the two-year period following the release of CA:TWS is—with perhaps a few exceptions—unmatched by anything that I’ve seen before and since. However, going through the notes on that post, I noticed something that left me a little irritated and quite frankly sad since it is in congruence with, and to a certain extent the confirmation of something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

For one thing, there are so many people in the notes expressing sentiments along the lines of “it was such a wonderful time; I wish I could go back; I miss these fics; I want to read these fics again,” etc., etc., you get it. And it feels a little silly pointing this out, but…you can just do that? Almost all of these fics are still right there, waiting for you to be (re)read. Yes, a lot of people left the fandom after The Great Devastation of 2019, but their stories didn’t just disappear. It's not like there is now a big, black hole where the Steve/Bucky tag used to be on AO3. So, if you miss these fics and you want to revisit them—just do it. Chances are the authors will be delighted that people are still finding and enjoying their stories all these years later. And—since apparently this needs saying, too, judging from the notes on that post: A lot of people seem to be very concerned with losing ‘coolness points’ for openly admitting that they still miss the ship and often feel tempted to dip their toes back into the Stucky pool. I don’t know how to tell you this, but if someone tries to shame you for simply enjoying or missing something, they are an asshole. Not to mention that all this is happening on tumble.com—'coolness' doesn't exactly live here. And that is a good thing, to be clear. Fandom is not about being cool. It’s about being as enthusiastic, as silly, as absolutely fucking unhinged about the things you love as you want to be. So, stop caring what other people think and enjoy yourself.

The other thing is that there seems to be a pretty widespread misconception that the Stucky fandom hasn’t produced any good fanworks after 2016.

First, that is patently and demonstrably untrue. There is so much incredibly good fanfiction and fanart still out there. Not as much as back in the day, sure, but it still exists. And more is being posted every day! Even some of the OG Big Names are still around. One of the most beloved Stucky series that started all the way back in 2014 was updated as recently as December of last year. The artist, who I believe the op is referring to as creating ‘baroque’ paintings, posted their latest Stucky art not even two months ago.

Second, I find this “primacy bias” more than just a little insulting to the many hardworking and incredibly talented people who are still putting their blood, sweat, and tears into creating for this community. And it’s one thing if people who have long left the fandom believe or say something like this, but it’s frankly irritating when I see people who are still very much active—and therefore definitely should know better—feed into that same false myth. Yes, it sucks that the Stucky ship isn’t as big as it used to be, but that doesn't mean there isn't any 'fresh talent' to be found anymore. I’m also not saying we shouldn’t still celebrate and recommend older works—I do it all the time! And it sure as hell doesn't mean everyone has to reblog absolutely everything all the time, either. Your blog, your rules.

But maybe we should put a little more focus on the good things, on the creators and the community we have now, especially if we want that community to still exist in another ten years. I mean, imagine you’re a person who’s just gotten into the fandom (because yes, there are indeed still new people discovering Stucky all the time) and one of the first things you’re being told is “eh, nice that you're here, but you’re about 7 years late; the big party is already over.” Does that seem like a fun space to hang out in to you?

So. Let’s all—and I do not exclude myself from this because God knows, I love to complain—spend a little less time mourning the ‘good old days’ that are never coming back anyway, and instead focus our attention on enjoying and appreciating both the incredible treasure chest of an archive we have AND the wealth of high-quality art and fic that is still being created by this wonderful community every single day. With this in mind:

🥳🎊Happy Stucky Week 2023!!! 🎊🥳

*I want to make it very clear that this is a general thing that’s been on my mind lately and that I’m trying to work through here—probably not very coherently. I'm not trying to tell anybody 'how to do fandom' and I’m most definitely not vagueposting about any particular incident, person, or group in this fandom. This isn’t a callout post. It’s an I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this and I don’t know what else do with them post.

[ranbitteeth]

Hello! Could I request a sub!mizu/bottom!mizu x softdomGN!reader that features a nipple play smut scene with a lot of moaning please? Mizu's titties deserves all the love and praise and pleasure!!!!!! Thank you❤️

Note: Ahhh OP this should NOT have taken as long as it did. It was originally to be a modern au, frankly rather vanilla and sweet— but my interests have been seized by shibari as of late. And, guess what I’ve found? The art of “shibrai”( or Kinbaku) in Japan first originated in the Edo period. The art made itself!

So, do take this as a tribute to Mizu’s titties and also the lovely art of shibari. If it’s not to your liking, I can always write that modern version!

——————————————————————

Speak, Fetch, and…

——————————————————————

Tags: Bottom!Mizu, Submissive!Mizu, Dominant!Reader, Top!Reader, Shibari, Edging (if you squint), Light Degradation, GN! Reader, Bondage, Gag Uses, Breast/Nipple Play

——————————

A/N: Made [Reader] A rich and powerful Shibari enthusiast in this to apply settings and dynamics. Hopefully it adds a layer of kinkiness to this piece! My inbox is always welcoming requests, so feel free to drop some! Regardless, Please enjoy! ^^ <3

“You look so perfect like this.”

The words spill past your lips flowing with the adoration only heard in the prayers of the most devout monks. Mizu, the demon samurai, elusive, raging, and entirely inaccessible to all but you. There she was, the most feared bastard in all of Japan, laying on your bed, bound and panting, drooling with a gag in her mouth as a whore would in any decent brothel. Crimson red, thick and bruising knots were intricately designed to fit snugly around her body, expertly marked by your hands— deft with skill, in loving patterns tracing up and down pale skin. The body that could move like a monster, the body that has taken so many lives and maimed thousands— subdued and helpless, entirely at your mercy.

You see her cheeks redden with embarrassment at the compliment, you see her entire body shudder as goose pimples spike across her scarred skin, you see the glistening quality to her cunt that has your knees buckling with the insatiable desire to run your mouth against her core.

But all things in due time.

No, in the heart of your gaze were the two pert, round, soft mounds of skin that made up the two halves of her buxom, rising and falling as her chest heaved with pleasure. Moving in hypnotic, wave-like movements in sync with her breaths were the two lovely buds that bloomed at the tops of her petite breasts, the color of soft petals, of womanly skin. Your ropes only accentuated the shape of her body, the emphasis on her maidenhood.

“Are you feeling alright, dearest?” You croon, running your fingers along the tight patterns across her body, teasingly tugging at a select few strands that ran the texture of your ropes against her skin in a delicious friction, so much so that her head flew against your mattress as her toes curled and shook with ecstasy. Oh, and to think that this samurai had yet to be defeated in battle. What would his foes think, seeing him as a woman, crying out for pleasure as her voice cracked beneath a gag, face flushed and eyes brimming with tears. You’d barely even touched her.

“I could keep you like this forever, you know…” you begin to contemplate aloud, finally deciding to crawl towards your truest possession on your hands and knees, your warm body hovering over hers as you continued to tease at her desires and fantasies with a malicious tongue.

“You’d fit in beautifully with every display in my palace, every work of art. I could invite the most revered men and women of the nation, I’d let them see you..” Mizu moans at this, writhing with the desire to hide but unable to move. Shy. Finally, your face is aligned with the samurai’s chest. Unable to hold yourself any longer, your mouth falls against the plush skin, hungrily wrapping your wet lips around the hardened bud with a carnal desire, eagerly running the warm, slick muscle of your tongue against the buds of her roses while her entire body contorted with pleasure.

Mmmmph! , she’d say something, anything at all— but your infatuation was unending. With your opposite hand, you grope and massage the delicate, long-abused tissue, milking out the sweetest, most unheard of noises from her pretty mouth. And to think that the display beneath your face would have been mistreated and hidden away all these years behind rough, ugly binds.

You pull away from her breast with a ludicrous pop noise that communicated only filth before you moved your mouth directly over the other half, unleashing the same cruelty of your mouth. The first little bud, now swollen and wet with spit, was pinched in between your thumb and forefinger, the suddenness and crassness of the action making Mizu grunt and buck her hips with want. As a punishment, reward, and reminder, you gently bite down on her breast until she draws in a sharp, stuttering hiss. You groan against the firm, supple skin of her breast before you pull away to take in the sight you created, the ropes binding around and in between her breasts, accentuating their shape— the swollen, reddened bud of her nipples, slick and shining with spit, all because of you.

Your eyes finally move from her chest to her face, soaking in that flushed, almost embarrassed expression she held in her usual sharp features.

“You want it off, fighter?” You ask teasingly before you quickly move to dispose of the gag in her mouth. She’s earned it, after all, being so good beneath you.

By the time it leaves her mouth, the cloth is wet and heavy with drool and Mizu is gasping for air, chest shuddering as she desperately forces her body to catch up with the racing thoughts in her mind. It’s even better like this, you think, seeing Mizu grit her teeth, bite her lips, and grunt in all attempts to keep her dignity and not moan like the whore you knew she was. These thoughts enrich your psyche like opium, and your hands absently find their way to each breast as you straddle her hips. You are comfortable like this, and Mizu is entirely at your mercy.

“Can you imagine your enemies seeing you like this?” You ask lightly, your hands trailing down from her breasts to the smooth dip in her waist, subtle and firm. “The damned, all powerful, blue-eyed half-breed; moaning in my chambers in my palace...”

“(N-Name…)” she tries to grunt, though it escapes her lips as a whimper. She’s embarrassed, humiliated— in any other context you would have backed away and apologized— but you felt her pussy against your skin, you felt the positively soaking quality of her privates against your sheets. She loved this.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” you say knowingly, making those dazzling blue eyes flutter and turn away from you in shame. This calms her, in a way. Words now seem on the verge of leaving her mouth, though shyness, or perhaps embarrassment bids her silent.

“What do you need, dearest? Go ahead, don’t be scared.” You say, encouraging, one hand now abandoning the possessive hold around her waist to gently cradle her cheek. Unable to keep herself from doing so, she leans into the touch, relaxing.

“Water…” she rasps, and your thumb gently runs along her upper cheek.

Easily, you reach over for a chalice filled to the brim with water, gently ushering her head higher before bringing the rim to her lips as you watched her lips drink up the water.

“Just like that, good job…” you hum, making her relax and sigh beneath you. Finally, she’s had enough, almost having drank the cup empty before you put it aside, now facing her seriously.

“If it ever comes to be too much, use the signal. Understand?” You ask as you adjust Mizu’s legs to sit around either side of your hips, bringing yourself closer until your nakedness was flush with her own. She nods affirmative like the good pet she was, going as far as to spread her legs further to grant you better access, an action that made something molten and possessive coil in your chest and gut. No one else in the world would ever see Mizu like this, pliant, shy, and oh so pretty. The sight of those eyes submissive and watery, those cheeks flushed red and those lips bitten to Hell and back were yours and yours alone.

Your hands move down south before you could stop them, swift and eager as one hand pinned Mizu’s left thigh open and against the cushion while your dominant hand pushed two fingers into her gushing warmth, making her grunt and squirm against her bonds. You laugh something genuine as you feel the sheer quality of her arousal on your hands, pulling away just to show her the arousal that has already coating your palm.

“Look at yourself,” you say, eyes blown and voice rushing with warmth. Before Mizu could fix her lips to say anything, you bring your soaked fingers up to your mouth and place them over your tongue, making Mizu gasp in shock at your actions. Mizu’s wetness floods your tastebuds, makes you groan into your hand before you eagerly continue your efforts of working her open and relaxed. To be used, to be worshiped, to be claimed. You shudder at the thought, easily thrusting your fingers in and out of her while she gasps and moans your name like a prayer. A chant, a hymn. [Name! Name! Name!] for all of Japan to hear in answer to the question of who she belonged to.

“K-keep going! Don’t stop! Don’t…s-stop…!” she whined, almost demanding as her cries rise from the depths of her belly in guttural moans— as if she were in battle. Your fingers slow down, caressing her insides in slow, deliberate, cruel swipes of fingers while your thumb circled her clit.

“Is that anyway to ask for anything?” You scold, pushing your thumb against that swollen little bundle of nerves until she hissed and arches her back, leaving her body in a beautiful display of rope, power, and pleasure.

“[N-Name,] please— don’t stop…” she gasps, twitching as her orgasm inches closer and closer the longer you deny her the friction of your touch against her sweet snatch. You only stare expectantly at the near puppy-like gaze she shoots at you, and you begin to understand why people call her a dog. Good dogs listen, good dogs obey. Good dogs get their rewards.

“Beg.” You say, and she sees that your eyes are swarming with a raging storm of lust with her at sail in the dead center. Your hands only slow down to a near stop, and she could’ve sobbed at the loss. She was losing her mind, on the verge of fainting. Despite this, her hands were free, the signal in a moments reach. If she needed to stop, all she had to do was snap her finger and you’d cut her loose, rope be damned. But her hands only shook with desperation as she opened her trembling lips, voice cracking.

“Please, please…please,” she begged, voice breaking as she emphasized the final syllable, to which you easily obliged, attacking her cunt with a ferocity only shown in battle that made her cry out in shock and pleasure. It was an exquisite sight to behold, one that would forever be ingrained in your memory. Here in your bed by your hands, the strongest and bravest swordsman in all of Japan lay moaning like a whore as her orgasm washed over her body and loins in a wave of fire. Yes, she had her blade, her strength, those eyes—But you had your ropes, your tongue, and your wit.

So far, you remain completely undefeated.

[jjkeverlast]

HI LATI! CONGRATS ON YOUR MILESTONE!! CAN I REQUEST FOR PART 2 of TASTE JJK? 🥹💜 with this prompt "I have seen you naked before." OPs yn being all shy . THANKYOU 🤭

touch | jjk (m)

>> pairing jungkook x fem!reader

>> genre/au's college reunion AU | smut

>> summary jungkook finishes what he started.

>> word count 1.8k

>> warnings vmin being hilarious | dry humping | fingering | missionary | reader is a shy baby :')

>> author's note i love how you requested them to do it hfdsjhf anywho, here you have it babe. i tried my best to follow your orders! enjoy this filth 👅

[keep in mind that i do not have taglists for request, and prompts are marked in bold! thank you.]

“Where have you two been?” Taehyung questions when he notices you and Jungkook joining them after being gone for god knows how long. 

Jimin gives a side glance towards Taehyung, for him to catch on. “Oh.” Taehyung lets out, while Jimin begins to laugh loudly, clutching onto Taehyung’s form to prevent himself from falling. 

“Pay up, Kim.” Jimin says in between giggles. Taehyung rolls his eyes before he grabs onto his wallet, fetching the money they bet on. 

“You guys are ridiculous! We didn’t even fuck.” You state the obvious. It was what they bet on, so basically Taehyung doesn’t owe Jimin anything. 

“Yet.” Jungkook responds, glancing towards you with a side smirk. You slap him lightly on the chest, a sign for him to keep his mouth shut in front of the guys. 

“Well then, what are you guys still doing here? You’re more than welcome to leave. Y/N, I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” Jimin suggests, raising his eyebrows when he notices how Jungkook’s ears have turned red by the implication that you might stay the night. 

“Shut it, Park. Let’s go, Jungkook.” You’re tired of even hiding the obvious answer. To make it easier and less embarrassing for yourself, you don’t even try to hide it, grabbing Jungkook’s hand and walking towards the exit. 

Jungkook’s hand tightens around yours the further you leave from the crowd. No one bats an eye in your direction, too busy catching up with one another. 

You still can’t truly believe you’re about to go home with Jungkook. 

The car ride home to Jungkook’s is filled with laughter as you both reminisce every memory from college. One thing you both agree on is that Taehyung and Jimin have never changed, still being the iconic duo today. 

When you’ve reached his apartment, you realize it’s the first time you’ll see where he lives. Nerves were beginning to trickle, excitement mixed with nervousness as you reached the top floor. What made your mouth drop was the fact that the apartment was incredibly spacious and beautiful. Just very Jungkook. 

“Wow, your apartment is amazing.” You compliment, wandering around and noticing the small details such as the plants by the window, and the art hanging on the walls. 

“So is my bedroom actually, wanna see?” You roll your eyes. Classic Jeon Jungkook flirting way too directly to the fact it works. 

“Lead the way.” You stifle a laugh when he shows excitement, grabbing your hand again and leading you down the hallway to his bedroom. It is quite simple, just everything you need in one room with some space between the furniture. 

“I’m not as impressed as your living room.” You comment, earning a glare from Jungkook. 

“I’m offended.” He dramatizes the comment, putting a hand on his chest in shock. 

“Are you really?” 

“No.” Jungkook grabs your waist, pulling you closer till your noses brush up against each other. You’ve lost your words, mind clouded by Jungkook’s close proximity. Somehow the mood has changed from when you had a little fun in the office, now it’s more intimate. 

You blame the dimmed light by his night table and how you haven’t had sex for almost a year. You’re not scared, this is Jungkook, he’s seen more of you than anyone but the thought of it happening again grows in the pit of your stomach — butterflies. 

Jungkook seems to do better than you, taking the lead by kissing you gently. Not long after the kiss turns heated, more languid movements and tongues tasting each other. Your hold on Jungkook tightens, hands wrapped around his biceps as he steps forward until you feel yourself fall backwards onto his warm bed. 

Jungkook hovers over you, kissing you more firmly now, his hand holding onto your jaw. Your hands begin to roam onto his back, earning a smile from Jungkook before he moves downwards, peppering your neck with slow and wet kisses. Shit. How is he so good at that? 

His hands begin to slide beneath the material of your dress, pulling it upwards to expose your thighs and underwear. You gasp, overwhelmed by how good it feels to have Jungkook above you, touching as if he’ll always remember what you like. 

Despite everything feeling incredible, you’re growing shy with every action. You feel as if you’ve lost your touch from college, the crazy wild side disappearing after you finished, whereas Jungkook seems to still hold onto that. Fuck. 

It’s as if Jungkook can feel you freeze beneath him, removing his lips from your neck and now staring at you. “Are you okay?” His tone indicates he’s worried, as if he’s caught onto the wrong signal. 

“I’m okay, it’s just…” You pause, uncertain how to form it out into words without sounding ridiculous. 

Jungkook’s fingers rub against the apple of your cheeks, calming you down while he awaits your answer. 

“I haven’t had sex for over a year… So I’m just a little nervous.” Jungkook softly smiles, never stopping touching your cheek gently. 

“That’s okay, me too. Don’t think too much, Y/N.” Jungkook says to reassure you. It does help a bit, but there’s still a tiny gap that doesn’t seem to disappear. 

“I—” 

“Stop.” Jungkook breathes out, fighting your nervousness. 

“It’s not my fault you make me nervous.” You say as if it wasn’t obvious enough. 

“I make you nervous?” He sounds surprised. 

“Just a little bit…” 

“Y/N. I have seen you naked before, there’s nothing to be nervous about.” He’s not wrong, he’s seen you naked more than any of your girlfriends. 

“I know. Just– kiss me.” You demand, wanting to just push aside your nerves and focus solemnly on Jungkook. 

He obeys, kissing you again, nibbling his tongue on your bottom lip as he presses down on you. You can feel his hard on pressing onto your inner thigh. A sudden urge inside of you grows, resulting in you bucking your hips upwards to feel it press down directly onto your core. 

“Fuck–” Jungkook mumbles against your lips by the action. He removes himself, taking off his press on shirt, revealing his abs and chest. You support your body with your elbows, not caring how you’re ogling Jungkook. 

“How the fuck do you still have abs? I’m impressed.” Jungkook pauses, turning shy at your compliment. He’s not used to being praised for simply having abs. 

“I… work out?” Jungkook answers hesitantly. You smile, grabbing onto the nape of his neck, pulling him downwards. His skin feels warm beneath your touch, your hands never stopping touching every part of his chest and stomach. Which also explains how one of your hands reaches to his abdomen, trailing your fingers lightly over his belt. Not wanting to drag out the time, you start unbuckling it, while Jungkook trails kisses on your breasts over the fabric. 

Clearly, you’re both impatient. It results in Jungkook already being in his boxers, and your dress about to be pulled off. Jungkook unzips the side of your dress, the fabric starting to loosen, revealing your naked breasts. Jungkook quickens his movements, rushing to get your dress completely off to see you again. 

When the dress lands on the floor, you look away from Jungkook, too shy to look at his expression. He’s not saying anything, just staring at your exposed naked body. 

“You’re unreal.” He says in awe. You turn your head, watching how his mouth has dropped, gaze completely lost. 

“Shut up.” You cover your face. Jungkook grabs one of your wrists, removing it from your face. He places it above your head, intertwining your hands. “Don’t do that, you’re gorgeous.” He whispers. 

You’re too stunned to answer, so you settle on smiling softly. Jungkook goes back to kissing you. Your bodies align, grinding on each other until one gives out. You can feel Jungkook’s covered cock drag itself between your lips, causing a whine to escape your lips. 

You’re tired of this. Therefore your free hand trails downwards, grabbing the waistband of his boxers and pulling it down to free his cock. 

“So impatient, baby.” Jungkook jokes, even though he’s doing just as bad as you. 

“Need you to fuck me.” You say, biting down on his bottom lip. Jungkook curses under his breath before moving upwards, letting go of your hand and focusing on getting your underwear off quickly. 

With a swift pull, they land on the floor with the rest of your clothes. Jungkook pulls his boxers further down, till they reach mid thigh. He presses back down on you, his hand cupping your sex. You buck your hips, his fingers sliding with ease inside of you, filling you up and stretching you out. Even though you haven’t had sex for a whole year, your body is relaxed, no burning or aching feeling following. 

“So fucking wet, shit—” Jungkook watches his fingers disappear inside of you, covered in nothing but your slick. His thumb works itself on your clit, rubbing it gently in circles which causes you to moan. 

It’s hard to wait, because fuck, you need him. 

“Can you just—” You breathe out, moaning once more not being able to form a simple sentence. Jungkook grows hotter by just watching you looking completely fucked out, by just having his fingers inside of you. 

“Hold on, let me get a condom.” Jungkook removes himself, quickly fetching a condom from his drawer. Jungkook has never in his life put on a condom faster than he has at this very moment. He almost fails, but luckily it glides smoothly on the skin of his cock before he repositions himself. 

It starts off slow, Jungkook thrusting with ease, scared to hurt you. After thrusting gently for a while, Jungkook manages to fill you up completely. The stretch feels good, warm and full. Jungkook’s close proximity makes the situation very romantic, as he fucks you slowly, dragging out his cock almost fully before re-entering. The movements make your body tense, forgetting how good sex feels for a moment. 

“Don’t go slow, want you to fuck me.” You command, grasping onto his body. Jungkook doesn’t respond, instead he moves upwards, grabbing your hips and starts slamming harder. 

One thing about fucking an athlete, their stamina is incredible. Jungkook certainly hasn’t lost his touch, hitting your g-spot with every drag of his cock inside of you. His head tips back, groaning when he feels you clench around him. 

“Fuck, you drive me crazy.” Jungkook admits, smiling before biting down on his lip. Your back arches when Jungkook somehow manages to rub your clit, while still moving his hips in an unforgettable rhythm. 

You blame it on you not having sex for over a year, because it took Jungkook just a few minutes of fucking you, until you came undone all over him. Jungkook wasn’t no better himself, losing it right after feeling how wet you’ve become after he made you finish. 

Afterwards, Jungkook gently pulls out, landing down beside you. 

“So, about you staying the night…” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows, knowing Jimin was right regarding seeing you first tomorrow morning. 

“Say one more thing and I’ll leave.” You threaten. 

Jungkook shakes his head, propping himself on his elbow and pecking your lips. “I’ll make breakfast tomorrow.” 

© jjkeverlast 2023 [do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.]

[lunarw0rks]

Hi!!! Can you please do 141+ Alejandro with a black widow s/o who’s a super bamf 💗

All Bark, All Bite | 141 (+Ale)

Warning(s): canon-typical violence, strong language, established relationship, fem!reader, mil!reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I combined this w/ a similar request. they requested that reader is part of an all-female squad called "The Widows" so creds to that anon for a partial part in this request! Not proofread.

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? 𓆩♡𓆪 ask box

SYNOPSIS; if there were a side-by-side of you at work vs. at ease; the difference would be striking. You were with the best of the best, hand-picked to join The Widows five years ago, based solely on your battle smarts and physical durability.

You've retained dialects and languages after spending years doing covert ops around the world, as well as an array of fighting skills. The most significant thing you've accumulated? Your partner.

Dating in the same line of work, paths were bound to cross. Yet, seeing each other was both a blessing and a curse.

Price

When you limped up to the porch, the sight of the lights illuminating the inside made you both cringe and cheer at once. Time was precious when you both were home at the same time; though you were dreading the questions surrounding your appearance. You didn’t have time to wash off and instead went straight home after filling out your after-action reports.

John was in the sunroom with only a dim lamp on—forgetting once again to shut off the rest of the house lights. You weren’t in any mood to scold him, though, nor did you want to. In the least arrogant way possible; you were jaded from keeping the world safe. His gaze ascended from the paperwork resting on his lap, then scanning your striking appearance; in uniform and stained with crimson.

❝It’s not my blood, John.❞ You sighed, a look of both defeat and nonchalance—it was a conversation you two had many times before. This time, it really wasn’t your blood, except for a few measly scrapes and scratches.

He blinked a few times, as stunned as he was the first time he saw you after a daunting mission. ❝Is that supposed to make me feel better, sweetheart? Go shower off.❞ You couldn’t be aggrieved, it’s precisely what you would’ve told him to do. Besides, the last exchange you wanted to have right now was one about work.

John and you did that enough, probably to a fault—being that the two amplest workaholics found each other.

Simon

The work was daunting, sometimes downright depressing considering the things you’ve witnessed, and lived through firsthand. It wasn’t easy to get back out there, put on your bravest face, and work with skilled swiftness. Though your other half had conquered the art of appearing half-hearted—his mind was constantly buzzing with feelings, especially after getting involved with you.

Simon hated your guts, purely for making him fall in love with you. His co-workers either die in front of him, die apart from him, or go missing so long they might as well be dead. He couldn’t handle it, the prospect of getting a sit-rep declaring you had been KIA.

❝What’s on your mind?❞ The weight on the thin barrack mattress shifts as he sits beside you, eyes trained on your failed attempt at masking your gnawing thoughts. God, his observance was irritating at times—how you couldn’t conceal the slightest hitch in your persona.

In truth, it wasn’t any specific memory that was chipping at your psyche. It was… everything all at once. The constant reminder that you had to be a soldier—hardened, snappy, and with little emotion plaguing your every tactical decision. And your decisions? The pressure of choosing the option with the least amount of casualties—never was it a zero.

Unbeknownst to you, you were silently preaching to the choir. ❝It doesn’t matter. Can’t sit here and let feelings stop my day.❞

Simon reached across the cot, cupping each side of your face with a headstrong glare—one somehow sterner than his default frown. ❝With you, love, feelings do matter.❞ He shook you ever so slightly as if he was literally jerking some sense into you. Normally, he would agree and order the softie to keep going.

But you weren’t weak-kneed, nor did you let emotions affect your work.

You were the strongest soldier he knew, second to no one, not even himself. Your ability to feel so openly off the field was something Simon could only voicelessly yearn for. Something he didn’t want you to renounce, as he had years ago. What kind of relationship would it be, if you were both stoic robots trained to kill? It wouldn’t be one at all.

Soap

The two of you separate was enough to make any superior cringe, but together? It had them white-knuckling, all while assured that you two could get the job done clean. He was called Soap for a reason, and you—well, your squad had been picked for a reason. No one was privy to your relationship, and that’s how you both wanted to keep it, purely to not let a conflict of interest affect future ops.

Johnny had to bite the bullet and fight the urge to show you off, gush about you, telling very long and detail-heavy tales about how you two met, and how it was a rocky start. He was starstruck by your skills, and you were adamant about remaining tactical, nothing more.

Clearly, the stubbornness had budged, given the rule-bending involvement you two were in. ❝Ye sure you can handle the boom, lass?❞ Soap smirked, finger hovering over the button of the detonator. He was grasping at straws to rile you up because he knew you were both forced to work with him—and would come home to him that night.

For him, it was a win. For you? It was a persistent thorn in your side.

❝Press the damn button before I hurt you, Soldier.❞ You hissed, covering your ears to shield them from the explosion… or his pestering, it could be a mix of both. Soap grimaced as he signaled the boom, a deafening rumble in the distance, loud and close enough to make the building shake.

Once it passed, you scowled at the sight of his faux-dramatics. ❝It’s ‘soldier’ now, eh? Why not just shoot me, it would hurt less.❞ Soap retorted, taking one more glance at the ash falling in the distance—the result of his own pyro-artfulness.

Oh, how badly you wanted to tussle with him, then apologize to him with a kiss simultaneously. And he knew it too. Your toughness was an attractive quality, one that aroused him, even when you pressed a blade against his throat the first time you were stationed together.

Gaz

Your work with the 141 had gone off and on for some time now. You were glad to interact with Kyle but dreaded every mission together on the off-chance that something went horribly wrong. But that was the cost of your line of work—a sentiment you reminded yourself of nearly every day. The only thing you could do was do your job and find limited time to cherish with him.

It was your lucky day; you had time to visit.

Though you had told Price it was to visit with all of them, you only wanted to see Gaz. The others were great company, sure, but out of the field? They could be… both a complete mess, while being the most tightly-wound group you had worked with.

You made brief conversation with each member, a polite nod or greeting until the small talk became agonizing to get through. When you reached the end of the line, finding Kyle, your expression of professionalism became one of relief. After months of only communicating through comms or phone calls—you were finally face-to-face.

❝Shit, I should get going. Duty calls.❞ Your gaze diverted from Kyle to your phone, a precisely-timed interrupt you needed to tend to right that second. He understood entirely, and it only gave him an excuse to snake you into his bunk that night.

Without realizing it, you intertwined fingers with him for a few seconds, whispering a romantic farewell before parting ways with him. One of his entire Task Force witnessed with a slightly dumbfounded expression on their faces. You, high in the Widows’ chain of command, gone soft and holding hands with Gaz. Frankly, they were slightly intimidated by your skill, the way you always presented yourself in action.

To be flirting with Gaz, it was uncanny. And the headstrong Sergeant Garrick now plagued with an unavoidable flush? The snarky jokes wrote themselves.

Kyle’s eyes widened slightly as you walked away, a slow turn towards his co-workers, interrupting the inevitable comment slipping through their lips. ❝Not a word.❞

Alejandro

Your comms’ static was a constant reminder of the inevitable crisis arriving. Until an update finally came through after several minutes of pausing. Your allies were in need of sniper recon; not just any ally, either—Colonel Vargas was in need of sniper recon. Though you always made your best effort to remain tactical and move with purpose, this one was your purpose—the reason you fight to come home during each deployment.

You radioed back, signaling for the neighboring Widows to follow in your path. If something were to go wrong, Alejandro wouldn’t be left empty-handed, he would have your remaining soldiers to assist. Your squad moved swiftly, some sporting pistols, while the other half had their precision rifles at the ready. The rifle in your hands typically held little weight in your trained arms, but right now it only seemed to be restricting your snappy advancement towards the compound.

Perhaps it was the figurative weight of not getting there in time to relieve them. There was no time to interject personal affairs, however. It wasn’t just Alejandro that needed your assistance—it was his men, the allied soldiers, and most importantly, the innocents caught in the mix of this active warzone.

Your soldiers began to clean the house, allowing execute authority to eliminate any hostile forces. An order that was both the toughest yet quickest one you ever had made, given the circumstances you were plunged into. Behind the thick metal door, there was a blend of bellows in both English and Spanish—the Vaqueros deep in cover when you seized access.

By the time you got close enough, few enemies were left, thankfully. As you poked out of cover from your overwatch position on the skywalk, ready to make your presence known to them, an enemy had come into view.

One that is about to get the upper hand on Alejandro. It was moments like these where your heart stopped, as cliche as it sounded. All the years of training, fighting, hardship, death—it all needed to matter right now, or nothing would again.

You aimed down your sights, watching as the man you loved struggled against the hold. Your watchful eye observed the scuffle until Alejandro had moved out of the danger zone enough for you to get a disabling shot. Once you knew the bullet would be tactical and on the book, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation.

The trigger was squeezed, a suppressed pop of the high-caliber bullet, then the limp splat of the man grappling Alejandro. His gaze skipped around the room, an instinctive point in the direction of the shot. You stored the precision rifle, jogging down the steps that led to the catwalk, until you approached the life you had just saved.

He let out an impressed chuckle at the sight of you, his savior. ❝Why am I not surprised, Cariño?❞ His eyes danced from you to the enemy that had him staring death in the face. Though he masked it with humor, his verbal gratitude would never make the cut. In the field and in his heart, you had yet to let him down.

[homosexuhauls]

Can you imagine if a white lesbian public figure brutally murdered two trans women in an interracial relationship and their black son? The headlines, the think-pieces, op-eds...we would never hear the end of it. It would be blamed on lesbian communities as a whole and the transmisogyny and white supremacy we obviously perpetuate on a daily basis just by existing. Cotton ceiling discourse would be back with a vengeance. There would be rallies and vigils, there would be calls to "Stand by your trans", there would be "#LWithTheT" marches. There would be a community in mourning, full of fury and hurt and self-righteous rage at the nasty lesbian aggressors who clearly caused this anti-trans hate crime. There would be no room for nuance and all lesbians would be painted with the "evil cis white dykes want us dead" brush. All of this would be seen as a completely acceptable and understandable response to a brutal act of anti-trans violence by a lesbian perpetrator.

So where is the noise? Where is the clamouring? Where is the sound and fury, when a famous white trans activist murders an interracial lesbian couple and their black son? I don't expect (or want) it to spark a radfem revolution, but why is the silence around the Dana Rivers murder case so deafening? Why does no one in the so-called LGBTQ+ community care enough to loudly and proudly mourn and celebrate these women and their son? Charlotte, Patricia and Benny deserve to be remembered. They deserve our sound and fury. Even if it's difficult, even if the optics don't suit your world views, we cannot ignore some injustices and claim to fight against others. The cowardly LGBT+ media organisations and charities covering their eyes and pretending that this act of violence never happened, they will happily call on lesbians for solidarity this pride month, despite showing no solidarity for a lesbian family slaughtered by an apparent member of our own "community". How can we call this anything other than a cover-up, or at the very least, deliberate and contrived ignorance?

Patricia Wright. Charlotte Reed. Benny Toto Diambu-Wright. Their lives were stolen from them on November 11th 2016. I can find no obituarities, and minimal mainstream media coverage of their murders. For many years, it felt almost as if their suffering had been forgotten. It has taken six and a half years for their murderer to be convicted and sentenced to life without parole, a sentence which Rivers will spend in a women's prison. Is this justice, or a pale imitation of such? Either way, I hope this family may finally rest in peace and power, and that their loved ones may begin to move forwards.

Pat and Char, as they were known to friends and family, are survived by two children. Patricia worked as a school teacher and deaf interpreter for schools, while Charlotte worked in a salon known locally for being trans-inclusive. Patricia was also an artist and talented actor, having considered a career in performing arts after high school. Charlotte had previously been a member of an all-female motorcycle club, which Rivers was also involved in. Both Charlotte and Patricia were also former regular attendees of MichFest, a feminist music festival which was closed down in 2015, following years of protests by trans women including Dana Rivers. 19-year-old Benny had just graduated high school and, according to his brother, hoped to become a nurse.

A victim impact statement was read out by Richard Wright, Patricia's younger brother, during Rivers' sentencing. I can't find the full text but much of the statement can be found in the Berkeley Scanner article below. Wright describes the impact of finding out that his sister and her family had been "assassinated in their own home" and the traumatising experience of searching for important paperwork at the bloodied crime scene that was once their home. According to Richard, Dana Rivers "chose her [sic] entitlement and narcissism over basic human decency" and "chose violence, cruelty, sadism and entitlement — over and over and over again." This is in reference to the length of court proceedings due to Rivers' changing pleas, as well as the brutality of the crime itself, which was carried out using guns, knives and arson. According to the judge, the murders of Patricia, Charlotte and Benny were "the most depraved crime that I’ve handled in the criminal justice field in 33 years."

No one but Rivers is responsible for these heinous crime, but all of us are responsible for ensuring history is not forgotten, and that the stories of those taken from us continue to be told. And when we tell their stories, in sound and in fury, we must ensure they do not fall on deaf ears.

"They were real people, not collateral damage...They deserve to be seen."

- Richard Wright's victim impact statement

For more information, see below:

[apuckishwit]

"What the HELL are you wearing?"

Steddie ^^

A continuation of this (hope OP doesn't mind, but it fit so nicely!)

“What the hell are you wearing?” Steve—shit, Eddie should probably find out his last name if he’s going to be following this guy back to Paris…and also asking him back to his hotel room after the show—calls as they enter the charming little chateau he’s staying at. Seriously. It looks like something out of a fairy tale—ivy covered walls, a beautiful garden full of flowers and vegetables, a snowy white cat perched on the fence. If you looked up the phrase ‘charming little chateau’ in the dictionary, there would probably be a picture of this place right next to it.

Eddie peeks around Steve’s shoulder (it’s only polite to wait to be invited inside, it has nothing to do with him wanting a longer look at that enticing ass in those jeans) and for a moment, his heart sinks. There’s a woman around their own age standing in the—charming—living room, bathed in sunlight from the wide picture windows. There’s nothing particularly offensive about her outfit…except for the neon purple beret perched on her head. She’s got a huge canvas set up on an easel in front of her, the floor covered by drop cloths and paints, brushes, and other tools covering every flat surface. She’s pretty, in an off-beat kind of way—not as classically attractive as Steve, to Eddie’s eyes, but pretty all the same, and Eddie can sense the easy familiarity between the two as Steve drops his bag of purchases by the door and saunters into the living room. He plucks the beret off the woman’s head, examining it with a look of disgust and dodging nimbly when the woman reaches to snatch it back.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, has he misread this whole situation? Or, Christ, is he about to be invited to a threesome or something? He doesn’t think he’s been misinterpreting the looks Steve keeps casting at him, but he does not feel like awkwardly turning down some hot young couple trying to be adventurous…particularly as he’s kind of depending on them to get him back to Paris in time for the show.

Then he takes a closer look at the woman.

“Holy shit, you’re Robin Buckley!” he exclaims, drawing her eyes to him. They immediately go as wide as his feel.

“Holy shit, you’re Eddie Munson!” she gasps.

Well. At least he knows Steve didn’t bring him back here with the intention of having a threesome.

Steve freezes, glancing between them with a—still unfairly attractive—frown. “You two…know each other?” he asks slowly.

“I mean…not personally?” Eddie says. “Just—oh my God, I love your art! My best friend is obsessed with you!” he can’t help gushing. Robin Buckley is a darling of the international art scene—her portraits and paintings in demand in galleries all over the world. Eddie would kill to have some of her art on one of their album covers.

Chrissy is going to die of jealousy when she hears about this. She’s been nursing the worst crush on Robin Buckley for going on two years now. Ever since she saw the woman speak at a charity gala dedicated to raising money for art scholarships for LGBT+ youth.

“My art! Dude! I love your stuff. Holy fuck, the Touchstone album was on blast 24/7 while I was painting my last triptych!”

Steve has moved further into the living room and is examining Buckley’s canvas with interest. At Robin’s words, he looks back at Eddie, arching an eyebrow. “You’re a—singer?” he asks, obviously guessing. Eddie ducks his head down, biting his lip a little.

“Something like that,” he says modestly. Buckley cackles.

“Oh my God! Dingus! How do you go out for booze and come back with the freakin’ lead singer and guitarist of Corroded Coffin? What is your life?” She points a paintbrush covered in yellow paint at him, causing him to dance backwards with a laugh that is fucking musical to Eddie’s ears.

“I don’t know who that is! No offense,” he tosses over his shoulder at Eddie, “he was trying to ask that clerk in the cheese shop for help finding the train station.”

Buckley nods sagely. “In English?” she asks Eddie.

Eddie nods sheepishly. “Didn’t go so well. Thank God Stevie here was in line behind me.” He notices Steve’s cheeks go a little pink at the pet name, and can’t help but smile. He hopes he gets to see how far down that blush goes tonight.

Buckley hums, her eyes flicking between him and Steve before they go a little sly. “Stevie,” she says, sidling a little closer to her friend. She glances at Eddie again. “Voulez-vous coucher avec lui?” she asks with a smirk.

And look. Eddie doesn’t speak French. Gareth made him memorize how to ask where the bathroom is, order a beer, and tell someone to fuck off (just for funsies) and he has a handful of other helpful phrases written down phonetically in his lyric notebook. However, Chrissy blasts Lady Marmalade every time it comes on the radio and he knows damn well what Buckley just asked Steve.

Steve shoots him a sly little side-glance, looking him up and down in a way that has heat blooming in Eddie’s gut. “Oui,” he says, tossing Eddie a little wink. Eddie kind of wants to fist pump.

Buckley laughs again, sounding delighted. “Oh my God, I can’t wait to tell Dustin about this. He’s going to die!”

Steve shakes his head. “Rob, I swear to God, if you tell Dustin about this, you can walk back to London next week.”

“Pfft, like I can’t buy my own plane tickets. Worth it!” she singsongs before whirling back to Eddie. “I am so delighted to meet you, Eddie Munson…would you like to join us for lunch, or do we need to get you back to Paris, like, ASAP?”

He glances at the—very charming—clock sitting on the mantle behind Buckley’s easel. He’s not due at soundcheck for another few hours and Steve said the city was only about an hour and a half train ride. Besides. Chrissy has been so good to him over the years—she truly is his best friend as well as their manager. He owes it to her to put in a good word with the woman she’s been pining over, doesn’t he?

“I could eat,” he says. “Gotta keep my energy up for tonight,” he says, making direct eye contact with Steve as he says it. That delightful flush sweeps over Steve's cheekbones again.

Seriously. Wandering around the French countryside. Best. Decision. Ever.

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Sunrise, Sunset

[A/N: I wrote this in a rush bc there’s some stuff going on in my personal life and I just watched episode 9x10 and I needed a good cry 🥺]

*Warning you rn, sad Stevie ahead

—————

“Christ,” you grumble under your breath, slipping in a puddle and nearly falling flat out on the back porch. You try to adjust the grocery bags in your hands to see where you’re stepping, juggling your house keys between two fingers as you mutter on, “How many times have I told that man to wipe down the deck after a swim? Gonna break my damn face one-”

Your griping comes to a dead halt and the bags fall onto the deck with a series of heavy thuds. It’s not water you slipped on.

“St-Steve?” you stammer out, choking on his name. As you follow the trail into your home, now resembling more of a macabre art exhibit than a kitchen, your voice grows stronger and you yell, “Steve! Steven!” Red streaks and fingerprints are smeared across every visible surface, and the sheer volume of blood on the floor sends your heart leaping into your throat.

You can hear heavy footfalls rounding the corner, and you brace yourself to meet your demise at the hands of the same man who attacked your husband minutes ago. Then panicked blue eyes appear at the doorway, and tears pool in your own as you rush into the familiar security of Steve’s arms.

“You’re okay,” you exhale sharply, hands roaming every inch of skin that you can find. Your fingers graze over several bandages along his arms and chest, across his split lip, down the bridge of his nose, and you repeat again, “You’re okay.”

“Most of that blood’s not mine,” he assures you, tenderly brushing his thumb over your cheek and giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Is this- Is someone after your team?” you ask, taking note of his harried appearance and red-rimmed eyes as he leads you to sit on the living room couch.

He sniffs sharply and averts his gaze before answering, “Not Five-0. My team from the Morocco op.”

You take his hand and bring it to your lap, squeezing it tightly and running your thumb over his knuckles. “How many, Steve?”

He swallows thickly. “Three.”

“And…” You steel yourself for your follow up question. “And Joe?”

Giving your hand a squeeze in return, he says, “Joe’s okay.”

You take and release a deep breath, then lift his hand to your mouth and press a kiss to the back of it. “Do what you need to do,” you say softly. “Just come home to me in one piece when it’s done.”

“Angel, this might not-”

“Consider that an order, Steve,” you cut him off, lifting your resolute gaze to meet his. “You will come home to me.”

“Okay, mama,” he whispers. “Okay.”

—————

The telltale sound of a key slipping into the lock has you jolting awake in the dark living room. Sitting up on the couch, you rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock to find it’s nearly three in the morning. Steve steps inside and locks the door behind him before dropping his bag to the floor. Even in the dim lighting, you can see the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders, and you call out to him softly.

He takes lumbering steps towards you, then sinks to his knees and rests his head on your thigh, his arms coming up to encircle your waist. “I came home to you,” he says, haunted, his voice muffled by your cotton shorts.

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper, carding your hands through his hair as he tightens his grip on you, his anchor.

“I came home,” he intones again. Your heart aches at how small he sounds, and you understand in that moment what he’s really saying to you: I’m the only one who came home. Pressing your lips to his forehead, you murmur, “You can let go now, honey. Let it go.”

His large body quakes beneath your fingertips, heaving with silent sobs as a lifetime of loss and sacrifice takes its toll. Drawing in shuddering breaths, he clings to you like you’re the oxygen he’s seeking while you rock him side to side and run your hand along his back.

The sun will come up in a few hours, and with it, a new day. But for tonight, all your husband can focus on is coming home to you and the most beautiful sunset he’s ever seen.

—————

[A/N… again: Writing that last line broke me 😔 If you’ve seen this episode I hope you get the reference; seeing my baby sad breaks my heart and I was ugly crying by that point ngl]

[jacenotjason]

How would the opposite neighborhood react to seeing their original selfs?

i wanna draw this, but im gonna jot my thoughts down real quick!!

(Here’s the AU masterpost!)

Also doodles!!

They try their best to find something they have in common. I feel like OG Eddie is way to nice to be scared or like grossed out by Opposite, he’d just feel a little bad and wanna be his friend.

They talk about Frank, they have that in common. Like:

OG: …uhm.. arts and crafts?

OP: I’m not five? What about sports?

OG: I can’t follow along with all that..

OP: eugh… mm…

OG: …

OP: ..Frank?

OG: Frank!!

OP: Frank!

Oh they would hate each other. OG would be trying to be nice and then Opposite would insult his business model, and then they fight. I lowkey wanna see these two brawl, I think opposite would kick OGs ass no offense.

OP: *looking around OGs store* Where’s your price tags? The unlabeled scam is scummy, even for me.

OG: Hm? Oh, buddy, I don’t charge money for my products!

OP: … What?

OG: Yah! I prefer accepting other meanings of payment! Things much more valuable then money, friend!

OP: … That’s dumb.

OG: 🙂 what.

Then they BRAWL!! Ok probably not OG howdy probably doesn’t resort to violence. But a lot of insults are thrown back n forth hueurheye-

I honestly think they’d love each other. OP is basically Franny, and OG is OP.Franny they’d literally just:

OG&OP, at the same time: You look like my sister!!

Plus they both love fashion, and hair, and makeup, and Sally- ohmygod theyd be the best of friends i cant even theyd be so girlboss together

OG teaches her some games, and then OP teaches her some girlboss survival skills. Before they leave, OP gives her a pink sparkly pocket knife to remember her by :3

Yknow that fancy rich ppl thing ppl do where they kiss each others cheek? They do that

OG: My dear! Won’t you let me in? I’m you, you can trust me!

OP: what in gods name makes you think I trust myself..?

OG: We are one in the same, starlight! I am you, you are me! A mirrored doppelgänger of your own image! I don’t look to harm you, starlight! Put aside your distrust.. for yourself?

OP: haha… okay, shakesqueer…

Then OP lets her in :3

I have lots of thoughts about these two hanging out. OG makes her a new outfit after judging her gross clothes, lightheartedly ofc and OP is like “haha yeah its gross” and OP gets a cute dress! OP absolutely shocks and destroys OG in video games, they dance together, and they talk about Julie huehuehuehue

WAHHH THESE TWO! I honestly feel like theyd get along, but have little bickering about their different mothering styles.

OG: a.. punk mother? Interesting..

OP: whaat? My kids are all party animals, just like me! I can’t contain that.

OG: haha that’s fair.. I guess.. but.. partying? Thats so… much..

OP: …dude unclench your beak and live a little.

Someone calls OP Ma and OG is like “Ma? Thats so sweet.. i wish my neighbors called me mom :>..”

OG: a dog wearin’ pants? That ain’t right.

OP: aah.. it’s just.. to walk around half naked, is that not discomfiting?

OG: Discomfiting?? Thats a big ol’ word for a big ol’ dog.

OP: Ahaha… I’ve got a bit of a considerable vocabulary.

OG: you got a word-a-day calendar or somethin?

I feel like they’d be friends? Maybe?? OG kinda pokes fun at OP and OP is like “I’m talking to my opposite self :) dimension plane is real :) ain’t that wild :)”

OG: …

OP: .. :3

OG: …I have questions

OP: :D

OG: why the turtleneck?

OP: its like a shirt is giving my neck a hug! :D

OG: …ok. Why the hair?

OP: fluffy! :D

OG: no why is it white?

OP: I bleached it :D

OG: why?

OP: preti :D

[accio-victuuri]

RANDOM CANDIES 💌

I’ve been seeing some old candies being discussed around weibo and they are not long enough to require their own post. but these small ones can all live in this one space. 🫶🏼

a good number of these are fake rumors so keep that in mind. i cannot elaborate on them because that’s what these are, small hearsays and stories.

• While filming the scene in the waterfall, wyb told xz to call him “husband”, xz thought he meant to call lwj that but wyb said “call me.. not him.”

• OP said that when was on the set before, XLS would pout occasionally, it may be a subconscious action. Then WLS would say that XLS is so cute, He will say that every time, if XLS is tired, it is as good as if he is not because of WYB.

• Recently there was a kiss that looked like the two of them. They saw it and then WLS said if he hadn’t been there with him ( XLS ) he will believe that it’s true 😂😂😂

It’s allegedly this photo :

• i really don’t know how true this is, but it’s a fake contribution so just chill. OP said for the eleme commercial, there was a part that WYB’s character was supposed to draw something, he did but it was edited. because what he made was a “rabbit” and it ended up being just a person with a smiling face. and well, we know who the rabbit is — xiao zhan. 💟

• wyb said this to xz : “be cruel to others, leave your cuteness to me.” LOL.

• during cql days, XLS ordered KFC for everyone but realized he didn’t order enough so he just got one box and asked others to eat. So he started eating his chicken wings, WLS then said he wanted some too. Then he took bites from the same chicken wing XLS did. HAHAHAHAHAHA! The food sharing between them is just 👀 — they have no boundaries on that.

• i’m not really a fan of cpns that say they see something in xz’s eye. i just feel like it’s reaching too much. but this one is pretty sus cause i actually see it. who knows. 👁️👄👁️

the photo of wyb looks like the one reflected in his eyes.

• a rumor of XZ going through the bjyx st, because for 520 he mentioned that there is an art he really liked and praised it. saying that it’s of a beautiful couple and there is a red plum blossom. it is allegedly this art below. awwww. wangxian! we all know XZ loves them and he is an artist who has an eye for these things. didn’t expect to like the more scandalous type of art tho 👀

• apparently the filming of “drunk lwj” was chaotic, xz was first asking wyb if it’s okay to carry him and wyb said he is light. xz asks, how light? then wyb replied that he didn’t weigh himself recently. there was talks of xz carrying a sack ( wyb ) and them being asked to walk in an “s” direction, not in a straight line cause lwj is supposed to be drunk. they were stepping on each other clothes, hitting the pillar and just laughing the whole time 😂😂😂

• the fact that wyb once gave a wedding gift to a friend and it’s from wedgwood. now, xz is endorsing the brand.

-END.

[v-rg1l]

I so deeply love trans people it is hard to express I love us like I love the stars, the way the summer loves the monsoon winds, the way the spring loves the flowers, the way sidewalks love the fallen leaves and the way life loves the sun. I love us all, even if here i speak specifically to trans mascs, I love every single one of us dearly. You are Loved.  

I love trans men, trans mascs, I love us when we have full chests and when we have flat ones, I love us in skirts and suits and shorts and pants and dresses that flow like a stream. I love us in binders in bras pre post and no op i love us with deep growly voices like the rushing waterfalls and I love us with gentle voices like birdsong on the wind and I am so in love. 

I love fat trans men I love thin trans men I love us toned and muscular I love us soft and squishy I love us so deeply. I love disabled trans mascs I love mentally ill trans men I love chronically ill trans men I love Black trans mascs I love Indigenous trans men I love Asian trans men I love European trans mascs I love mixed trans mascs love us all so dearly I can barely take it. 

I love us with scars and I love us with freckles and I love us with acne i love us with facial hair, with beards and mustaches and stubble that just won’t seem to grow out but it will love I promise and you’ll be so handsome and even if it doesn’t you glow like the mid afternoon sun hasn’t anyone told you ? You are beautiful, to your very core. 

I love sunny and bright trans men who reflect the colours of the rainbow like a prism I love scene and goth and punk and alternative trans mascs I love plain trans men who wear t shirts and shorts I love showy trans men in their frilly shirts and corsets. 

I love us roaring with laughter and crying out in anger I love us singing until our throats are hoarse I love us in the waves of pleasure I love us in the quiet content like sitting on the earth as the gentle breeze tickles our skin. 

I love us in love, I love us who have one, two, any number of partners or no partners at all I love us no matter what faith we hold I love us without any faith at all I love us who feel the energy of the universe and I love us who do not. 

I love us taking part in the joy of creation i love us who create art i love us who build cars or fix roofs i love us who educate i love us in theatre and music i love us making scientific developments i love us in hardware software the brilliant machine that is the human body I love us saving lives I love us creating new ones I love us so much. 

I love us like we hung the stars and the planets I am so in love I feel as though the word cannot possibly contain the true and full depth of my feelings for us. I do not have the vocabulary to thoroughly express how much I love us, how deeply in love i am with being trans. 

There is so much more I could add but if you are trans, if you are a trans man or are trans masc or anything at all I love you so much. We will be happy, we will thrive. We are beautiful and valuable and we are, dare I say it, divine. You do not have to make it into the history books to be so valuable. You are of the greatest worth of anything for simply being. I wish you nothing but happiness and a life that you love.  Be well, you who I gladly share my soul with. You are more than words could ever describe.

[yuikomorii]

The day tumblr stans will stop being chronically online is the day I will finally like this fandom. Goofy aah people think their opinions matter?

Last year everyone adored Ayato on this platform but after a certain ahem cult ahem of people joined, I can sense they’re secretly having beef with Ayato and are sending mean anons to Ayato fans for some jealousy reason.

Granted he is not my personal best boy but he’s DiaLovers’ best boy for a fact and the hype he started getting is pretty much deserved. In a series of games that’s a bit dead, I’m glad he’s able to keep it relevant not only for the DiaLovers fans. Don’t mind delulus saying bad things about him, those only exist on this platform anyway and are just seeking for attention and approval from random strangers.

// Tbh, I’m disappointed but not surprised. Unfair and two-faced people are everywhere and if they truly spend their time in that manner, you can already see how miserable their lives must be.

I believe that the Ayato hate train began with Youngblood and picked up steam this year after the release of the Meow Meow vampire art. Many people made fun of Ayato's appearance and blamed him for FaVoRiTiSm , despite the fact that everyone in Japan adored him there. I don't know why, but the DL Tumblr fandom is completely out of touch with everything DL-related. They have no idea that Rejet simply creates Ayato content as a marketing ploy; in fact, Japanese fans are literally the ones who request it. In 2020, Ayato was stated as fans’ top choice and got invited as a co-star with a national idol at Nino-san, which was broadcasted on the second largest television corporation in Japan. If people hadn’t recommended him so much, he wouldn’t have ended up there… it’s not that hard to understand.

This has the same vibe as those kpop fans who always complain about how their ult group is underrated but don’t even stream their songs, instead they spend their time criticizing bigger groups for what??

I’m not forcing anyone to love Ayato but at least give me good reasons to dislike him. I understand not liking ALL Diaboys but isn’t it hilarious how some people would give you a litany of reasons why they can't stand Ayato, but when you look at their bias, he did the same (or worse) things as (than) Ayato? If you truly dislike those actions, at least pick a side, lol. I honestly don’t hate any Diaboy (though I don’t agree with their behavior all the time) but even if I did, I wouldn’t throw shade at that one character out of the blue only to piss of his stans.

And I swear, it's incredibly annoying how some people would tear Ayato down when asked about their favorite character/ship/route, etc., even though he has absolutely NOTHING to do with the question or he isn’t even the main topic of the question. Saying things like, "Yeah, I like this character because, unlike Ayato (just an example hehe)—" or "No hate towards Ayato but — *proceeds to mischaracterize and hate on him*" are examples of uncalled hate speech. Literally why use HIM most of the time as an example when talking about negative things?? At this point that’s not even a coincidence anymore, but a pattern, which is truly giving fan behavior.

Such people are really the worst. Reminds me of how some fans still think it’s okay commenting stuff like “This is great but I don’t like *inserts thing the OP obviously likes*” or “Not trying to be mean but *starts being mean*”. Respectfully, who even asked for your opinion? Mind your own business and learn basic etiquette.

[kaldurcalm]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers ♡

I'm gonna be real with you, these always seem to come at a time when I feel least equipped to answer the question.

On the bright side, I guess that means I get to recommend comics I like.

1.

This is so cute and sweet that I'm bouncing just thinking about it. Just. Look at them.

Adorable. I love them. I love them so much. Thanks @moosopp-art!

2.

We're gonna take a hard left. For some reason, watching this teenager take on an improbable amount of attackers is so so satisfying. He's the opest of op characters. I love it.

He's also clueless about how to live a normal life and all he wants is for his grandpa and sister to be happy. He goes to deliver a lunch his sister made to a friend, finds out the friend is in trouble, drops the kawaii lunchbox on a nearby table and takes out an entire gang like it's nothing.

This is a light day for him.

The friend is also a gangster. They met because he was hired to attack a teenager and as soon as he engaged he was like, nope, this kid is out of my league, pull back. Now he goes and helps the kid's grandpa on a regular basis.

He's still a gangster he's just more of a found family business now.

3.

*chef's kiss* everyone is messy and the color palette changes often. The depictions of mental illness are extremely vibrant. Mal is doing her best and also a mess. The commenters affectionately refer to her main love interest as rat man. I love them.

4.

*vibrating excitedly* how do I describe this one

Neoma starts as like, perky magical girl protagonist. Surprise! We get to explore toxic family dynamics.

She meets a guy who figures out he also has spiritual abilities. He likes her and is down for exploring but is Very Concerned by her grandfather. As he should be.

It's one of those I can see spirits stories and it looks like we're going to be exploring why being perky all the time is bad for you actually. I love the art style and the character dynamics. Can't wait to see where this one goes.

5. @painted-bees and their Hi-Note universe. They also have a webtoon called Woven and I really wanna see that through to the end, but Hi-Note is a bit more relevant to my current age and life experiences. Adhd 🤝 autism bros. (Not platonic but also sort of platonic.)

It's just a good depiction of (mostly) two people going holy shit, no one has ever understood me in this way before. I love it. I love that. Cortez scares me a little but they seem interesting too. (Eldritch being. They don't show up as much because it's still in development.)

~::~

OK. Thank you. Smiling now. This was good.

[ranbitteeth]

More subby Mizu!! 👏👏

Had this idea for a while - I don’t imagine Mini being the type to go down on his wife, so what about soft!dom reader eating her out for the first time? Just gently talking her through it, taking the time to just make her feel good.

Pussy Eating, a Delicate Art...

A/N: OP you genius you. Not sure if this aligns well enough with your vision, but alas, viola!

—————————————————-

Tags: Pussy Eating, Ambiguously Gendered Reader, Uses of the word c*nt in reference to pussy, Fingering, Dirty Talk if you squint.

Fill my inbox! I have plenty more where this came from.

—————————————————-

“You think I could?”

The idea had been planted in your mind long before you made it known. When exactly, you couldn’t say. Maybe when you and Mizu first showered together and she shied away from spreading her legs. Maybe it was after a long day of work that you watched her come home, silently groaning to herself before she wordlessly nestled into the soft cushions of your bed. However, you could very much pinpoint when this desire evolved into an insatiable, soul-crushing *need.*

Every month, the two of you made it a point to spend time together. Be it inside the house, on a date, movies, park, with friends. You wanted Mizu to know you loved your wife. You crushed every doubt she could have.

The last month, about a week or so ago— the two of you had reserved a ravishing dinner in a wealthier part of town. It was fun to play dress-up with her, to act and look the part just for the night. You expected her to be wearing her usual slacks and blouse when she asked you “What do you think?”, as the answer was so ready to slip past your lips and sing her praises. It was only when you actually turned around and *looked* that you could see she surprised you with a rather short slip-on dress that reached just to the middle of her thighs. Her long, shapely legs were only accentuated by the heels she decided to match that night. You could've dropped the reservation just then and there to take the night entirely for yourself, but it’d be an embarrassing amount of money down the drain. You’d much rather enjoy the sight, let the world see what they couldn’t have. The delight you relished in seeing Mizu’s legs was short-lived, however, as in the middle of dinner, she had asked to borrow your coat and begrudgingly placed it over her lap. Oh, well. As long as she was comfortable.

You’d think back to that night nearly every day that followed. Of course you’d see her nude, that wasn’t the point. The point was that the sweet thing had conspired behind your back and planned to wear a dress to surprise *you*, and you had been rocked to your core. It was impossible not to imagine running your hands up her legs, spreading them apart and pushing her underwear aside. You wanted those thighs wrapped around your neck, you wanted to hear her voice break with want. Soon enough, you offered this— and Mizu only blinked at the ceiling before pinning you with a questioning stare. *Woof.* Her previous husband had only done the minimum, as was obvious by her aversion to anything besides missionary and the standards.

“You don’t have to,” you murmured, toying with her hair as she visibly contemplated the thought. “And even then, we can stop whenever you feel like it. No one will get mad.” No, you couldn’t imagine resenting Mizu for anything. She realized this, it seemed, as she had finally relaxed after a tense moment, nervously looking between you and her lap.

“Do I..?” she began to wonder aloud, awkwardly spreading her knees apart before you huffed out a laugh.

“No, no, you gotta ease into it,” you say, leaning in to close the space between the two of you and languidly pressing your lips against hers. This, she knew, and responded back beautifully. Her lips parted, allowing you access into her mouth before her hands made their way over your face— your heart swells. You break the kiss before you decide to descend onto her neck, though not without a parting peck. Your mouth trails up and down her slender neck, delicately marking up the pale skin of her collarbones until you hear her breath hitch. You pull away to look up at, her hand in yours as your thumb caresses a knuckle.

“All good?” You ask, to which she nods in return.

“I’ll let you know…” she says lowly, pupils blown. You grin at this, relieved she wasn’t forcing herself before you continue. You gently raise the hem of her old tee over her chest, gently cupping one of her breasts in your hands before you take the bud in your mouth. She makes a noise at this, the one you're chasing. You can feel her muscles tense beneath you and take it as a sign to descend further down until your hands slide over her waist, holding it firmly as you begin to pepper innocent kisses everywhere your lips could touch skin. She seems embarrassed at this, averting her gaze while her expression grows into that of feigned boredom and irritation. You knew better. You always did— no way could she be mad now.

“Relax, I’ll get to you soon enough. What if I just want to kiss your tummy the whole night?” You tease, though you eagerly begin to adjust your positions now knowing Mizu’s eagerness to continue.

“Then I would’ve stayed in the dojo.” She responds gruffly. You make a feigned noise and motion of being shot in the chest, to which she only rolls her eyes and shoots you an unimpressed stare, though you smirk in response. You see her lips, her eyes— you know she’s fighting a smile with every muscle in her body.

Slowly, you begin to pull her underwear off her hips, pulling them down past her thighs and over her ankles, allowing her to kick them off herself as you take a place between her thighs. You make a noise in the back of your throat as you’re suddenly face to face with the object of your desires and fantasies for the past few days. Your warm breath fans and tickles over her core, but you can’t be bothered to start yet, too enraptured in the lovely quality about her. What pained you is that she didn’t even *realize* this, didn’t even realize how stunning she was.

“If I wanted to be stared at all night I would’ve—nngh-?!”

Her bratty little retort had been cut short by your tongue suddenly pushing its way past her folds and into the fleshy warmth inside. A strained, awkward noise was heard— though it was not discomfort. Far from it, by the way Mizu’s eyes went impossibly wide, hips jutting forward and greedily chasing the pleasure your mouth provided. One hand instinctively flew over her mouth while the other was entangled in your hair. Oh, now this just wouldn’t do.

Heartlessly, you pulled away from her, pinning her down with a quirked brow and a tilt of your head.

“If you want me to keep going, you’ll do me a kindness and take your hand away from your mouth.” You say evenly, squeezing the soft skin of her thighs as you spoke. “I need to hear you.”

Hesitantly, she obeys, her trembling palm now living away from her face and down to the sheets. You hummed in response, muttering a quick “good girl” that made her stomach flutter.

Slowly, you began to work your tongue around her cunt again, languidly rolling the slick, warm muscle against the insides of her folds before you found her clit— obvious by the startled, sexy little noise Mizu made, forced to air it out into your space. *There,* instead of mercilessly attacking the lovely little bundle of nerves and sensitivity, you grace circles in the surrounding area, massaging and pushing, *sucking* on her flesh and drinking up the arousal that began to coat your lips and chin. Mizu’s shy, strained, and awkward noises slowly began to bloom into unabashed, almost *girlish* moans and whimpers. Rarely did she ever sound this way, being so accustomed to lowering her voice and acting as an intimidator for most of her life. You soaked up these noises like the demon you were, taking it as a sign to continue to relentlessly flick your tongue over and inside of her. Mizu took this all beautifully, arching her back and moaning out your name in a way that awakened something primal in you.

“Mmf…fuck…” you groan into her pussy, enjoying the way she twitched against you. “You taste amazing…” you begin to babble, grabbing her by the hips and pushing her further against you in a way that made her openly gasp.

“(Name…!)” she grunts, fighting against every instinct in her body that urged her to hide her face and noises behind her palms.

Wordlessly, you bring one of your hands away from holding her hips and down to where your mouth met skin, easily pumping your digits inside of her thanks to the gushing quality of her pussy.

“God, Mizu, you’re soaking up the sheets..” you scold teasingly, making her face grow hotter than it was. You look up, noticing her eyes glazed with unshed tears as her body trembles. You coo at the sight, your fingers still relentless.

“Aw, you’re close, aren’t you?” You say, voice light and adoring. You’ve never seen her in such a wreck, but a cruel, primal side of you adored the sight and hungered for more, hungered to keep her desperate and begging for hours— to tear her apart…

But the saner, better side of you was reminded that Mizu could only take so much for her first time, and there would always be more time.

“I got you, baby..” you mutter before you begin to eat her out with far more conviction than before, now desperate to milk out an orgasm that would blind her with pleasure. Your finger massages her deeper, and Mizu’s breath hitches. *There.* At the same time as your tongue, your finger attacks Mizu’s most sensitive areas before you feel her thighs clench around your head as she arches her back and *cums,* voice breaking in all her desperation as she sobs out your name. Greedily, you drink up the arousal that was dripping out of her pussy like a person deprived of water. By the end, you’re both out of breath, bodies slack and lazy against each other. You made haste in readying a warm, damp towel as you cleaned up your wife, making her sigh in contentment. You’re both eventually back beneath the warm covers of your bed, but you’re staring, unashamed and adoring at Mizu’s giddy expression. It was a subtle thing, but everything with Mizu was subtle. The slight squint beneath her eyes, the upwards curve of her lips, the flush over her cheeks.

“I didn’t go too rough, did I?” You ask, now fidgeting with the cloth of her raggedy tee.

She chuckles at that, adjusting herself so that she could face you until your foreheads touched, a warm flush across her face.

“If that was rough, gentle wouldn’t be enough, now would it?” She says, pinning you down with those eyes that drew. you towards her in the first place.

“So I can go again?”

She pauses for a moment, eyes going wide for the slightest of seconds. You resist the urge to laugh.

“Tomorrow.”

[sailoryooons]

Established relationship with yoongi. He needs some inspiration for his new mixtape and someone offers him to add some moaning sounds to his new track. And his girlfriend offers to record these in studio for real.

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x female reader

❀ Summary: Yoongi has been lacking inspiration in the studio. When one of his coworkers suggests using some out-of-the-box background effects for his music, Yoongi realizes that you’re the perfect person to help him. 

❀ Word Count: 1,486

❀ Genre: Established relationship, pwp

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, recording sexual encounters (audio), heavy making out, light grinding, Min Yoongi’s tongue tech

❀ Published: August 6, 2022

❀ A/N: THE ANSWER IS YES. IMMEDIATELY YES. I tweaked it just a tad because I actually had like a shell of something like this in my drafts from two months ago that never went anywhere, and then this beautiful ask was bestowed on me so I tweaked it a bit for this. I hope you enjoy 🥵 SHOUT OUT TO THE AMAZING @here2bbtstrash FOR BEING MY BETA ON THIS. I AM VERY BAD AT EDITING AND M MAKES MY LIFE SO MUCH EASIER I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust Request Fill |

Yoongi: Can you come to the studio? Need some help with a track. If you’re busy, no problem. Just needing some inspiration and had a few ideas.

Me: Of course, baby. Want me to bring anything on the way?

Yoongi: Wine?

Me: You got it. Be there in 30.

When you get to the studio, you’re surprised to find Yoongi not in the control room as usual, but in the live room where he’s seemingly checking the mic. Seeing no one else around, you pop your head inside, catching his attention.

He grins, making your heart flutter at the sight. Yoongi is always beautiful- calm expression with intelligent eyes, mouth prone to smirking, a laugh deep and soft that makes your toes curl. But there’s something about his current outfit that drives you a little mad: plain white tee stretched across broad shoulders, straight black jeans that emphasize what little ass he has, and a backward hat over his dyed-blonde hair.

“What are you doing in here?” You ask from the door as he finishes adjusting the microphone.

“Come in here.”

“I’ve told you a million times that I won’t sing for you.” You nod toward the mic and put your hand on your hip.

He smirks and crosses his arms. You eye the way his veins jump, making your mouth water a bit. You had never understood the obsession with people’s hands until you started dating Yoongi. Now, you get it. His hands – and arms by extension – are lovely. Artful. Sinful.

“I said, come in here.”

There’s little denying him when he uses that tone of voice, so you slip inside and shut the door behind you, the soft click chasing your heels as you cross the space. He doesn’t have headphones out or any gear, so you furrow your brows as he looks you over. He meets you halfway, taking the wine out of your hand and setting it on a stool off to the side. 

“What’s going on?” You ask as soon as he comes back and put his hands on your hips. You feel the warmth of his hands through your shirt. Your heart jumps a bit, the smell of his woody cologne making you dizzy. Yoongi makes you dizzy in general, especially when he just smirks and guides you toward the couch.

“I told you, I have an idea and I need your help.”

“Oh, really?”

He sets you gently on the couch, dropping down to his knees. Your legs fall open immediately, staring down at him as your breath quickens. Fuck, is this the idea? Your heart is stuck in your throat as his hands skate up your thighs to your shorts, tugging a little.

“Will you let me draw pretty sounds from you, hmm?” He leans forward and nips at the inside of your knee, making your hips cant a little. You can feel yourself growing wetter at the thought of what he’s asking. “Want you to be featured in my music,” he continues, kissing your inner thighs and leaving a wet trail. “Wanna hear you cum on my tracks.”

“Fuck,” you breathe as his hands work the button of your shorts. You let him pull you out of them, the denim scraping down your legs. Your panties already feel damp as he brushes his thumb over them, up and down up and down. Your eyes flutter shut. “This was your idea?”

“Mhmm. Joon suggested making the song sexier.” He presses on your clit and you moan loudly, sparks shooting where he applies pressure. “What’s better than the sounds you make when I eat you out, hmm?”

“Yoongi.”

“Yes?”

“Please.”

“Do I have your permission?”

“Yes, please just touch me.”

His chuckle is soft and raspy as he pulls your underwear down slowly. He curses when he sees how wet you are for him, licking his lips as he fixates on you. You look at him, half-lidded when all he’s done is brush his lips against your knees and inner thighs.

“Fuck, you always get so worked up for me.” He traces your slick slit with his index finger and you squirm, watching and panting. You didn’t come here to be teased, a whine slipping out of your lips as he traces your clit lazily. “Gonna cum on my tongue for me, yeah?”

“Yes,” you beg.

Yoongi is slow when he leans in, tongue languidly licking you up from your core, sucking on your clit gently. You sigh in relief as he repeats the motion, preferring to savor your taste as he licks you up and down, building tension and making you buzz.

You’re not quiet, especially when he takes your clit in his mouth again and sucks gently. You dig your head back into the couch, hand shooting to his head. You knock the hat off of his head to grip his hair, making him laugh. It vibrates right through you, making you shut your eyes as he continues.

Everything feels warm. It’s like you’re short of breath as he continues, making messy noises as he sucks at you, doing the most so you can hear the way you drip for him. Yoongi eats pussy the same way he enjoys other things he likes: with vigor, focus and sounds of pleasure.

Hearing him makes you quake. His fingers press into your thighs, spreading you open for him as he shoves his face deeper into your pussy, sucking hard at your clit. Your muscles twitch under his ministrations, eyes squeezing shut.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum,” you gasp, one hand squeezing his hair tight enough to make him growl, the other squeezing the pillow next to you.

“Cum then,” he mutters between fucking his tongue into your hole. You gasp at the feeling. You tremble at the way he skillfully prods your entrance, looking up at you, sides of his lips curved in a smirk and glistening from your slick. “Love when you cum on my tongue. Make the prettiest fucking noises and you taste so good.”

“Shit.”

And then he does the thing he knows would drive you insane – he leans up a bit, gathers his saliva, and spits directly on your pussy as he sticks two fingers inside of you, massaging that soft spot inside of you.

For a moment, you think you see God. Everything in you squeezes – your eyes, your legs, your lungs, your soul. For a moment, you can’t breathe and all you can hear is your distant scream as you cum, and your vision goes white.

Yoongi slows his fingers, stroking you through your orgasm and kissing your thighs. You’re vaguely aware that he’s speaking to you. Fuck I love when you do that. Squeezing my fucking fingers. Just like that baby, so fucking hot.

When you’re finally able to breathe again, you look down to see Yoongi looking up at you, smirking, mouth covered in your cum. His eyes are dark, hungry. Your legs feel like jello and your heart races in your chest, a wild drum that you can’t slow down.

You already know what he wants when he asks, “Another?” 

“Mmm wan’ suck you off.”

“Hmmm … after one more. You can cum on my tongue again for me, yeah?

-

You’re busy making dinner when Yoongi comes home from a day of finishing off his editing for his album. He slips behind you and gives you a hug from behind as you stir dinner. You grin as he gives you a kiss on the side of your neck.

“Hello,” you greet gently, turning to meet his lips for a quick peck. He’s soft around the edges today, finally relaxed now that he’s done with the hard part of his album. “You’re back early.”

“Went smooth.” He drops his stuff on the island and walks over to where music is pumping out from your phone. He disconnects you from the Bluetooth speakers and connects his. “I have a new song for you to hear- it’s track 11 on the album.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmm.” He grunts, finding it and playing. It starts with a nice beat, something lowkey and kind of sexy. But then you hear it, making you spin quickly, ladle in hand, to see him all out laughing.

“EEEEK!” You scream, barely able to hear the sound of you moaning layered on top of other adlibs and sounds. You know that most people may not be able to hear it, but you sure can. “YOU ACTUALLY USED IT?”

“Your voice is fit for music, baby.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“Shhh … this will be your favorite part.” There’s a pause as the beat switches, but not without an audible sound of spitting.

In an instant, you become hot and bothered. Yoongi grins at you knowingly, walking into the kitchen and flicking the burner off as he looks down at you. “Can dinner wait, baby?”

“Yes. It absolutely can wait.”