#he's running out of system memory with all these languages

[velarisdusk]

Velvet Whispers, Midnight Truths

Azriel x Reader

word count: 5.3k content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, az doesn't pull out lol, casual sex, hurt/comfort kinda?, jealousy, friends to lovers, language ] summary: Frustrated by Azriel's apparent indifference towards you, you seek solace in the arms of others. But words exchanged over a family dinner ignite a long-suppressed jealousy. A heated exchange, an unforeseen confrontation, and a passionate encounter follow. author's note: i received this ask a couple of weeks ago and omg i had so much fun writing this, i love drama ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

You liked to think you could handle a lot; political disputes, bloodshed, mountains of paperwork. But this? No, this was simply too much. You were in hysterics when Nesta found you — or rather when Nesta was rounding a corner and you bumped into her with enough force to make even Cassian stumble back.

“(Y/n), do you sincerely believe that that,” she’d gestured between you and the general direction you’d run from, “was ever going to work?” Her words were like a knife to the gut, her tone like grabbing it by the hilt and twisting. How she’d known what you’d seen was beyond you. But it wasn’t lost on her, or anyone else except Azriel apparently; the longing stares out the window down to the training ring, always sitting next to or across from him at the table, the way your scent would change when he’d pop into and out of a room — a dead giveaway of where your mind went when he was around.

So to see him like that — with her… It was a sight that seared itself into your memory. Their lips were locked in a passionate kiss, her fingers threaded through his dark hair. His hands roamed her body with unbridled desire, tracing the curves of her sides, waist, and hips, cupping her breast, and cradling her neck. To say it stung would’ve been the understatement of the millennia.

“It’s just… how he is,” her tone softened when she noticed your wince. “He was obsessed with Morrigan for five hundred years… five hundred, (y/n). I won’t be surprised if he’s set on Elain for five hundred more. What she plans to do, well,” Nesta raised her hands as if to say ‘not my problem.’ Her words were harsh, but you knew they held some truth.

“Maybe you just need to go to a pleasure house and fuck him out of your system,” she’d said plainly, smoothing down your hair as if she were discussing the weather. A pleasure house? They were illegal, but you weren’t naive, you knew they were out there. They were all underground; places you found through a friend of a cousin of a neighbor. Before you could dry your eyes, Nesta pulled a pen out of her pocket and scribbled an address onto your wrist. You didn’t want to know why she’d had it memorized. “Pretend it’s him, or the cute guy at the coffee shop, or whoever honestly. Hell, maybe even think of whoever it is you’re fucking,” she said with a smirk as she wrote. “Whatever you need to do to get over him, do it.”

You spent months in and out of taverns, walking in alone, walking out with a different male each time. It was fun… when they knew what they were doing. It was a wonder; males don’t know what they’re doing even if they have all the time in the world to figure it out. On the nights when there were enough of you for a family dinner at the River House, you didn’t miss how they all tried to scent you subtly, and eventually how Azriel’s shadows crept under the table all the way towards your feet, curling around your ankles as if trying to unravel your secrets. That was one of the many things that had stopped lately, sitting near him. The first night you took Mor’s usual seat, she’d given you a bemused look but said nothing of it. Meanwhile, the windowsill grew colder, both from the changing weather and your prolonged absence.

Your thoughts, however, were as persistent as ever. You didn’t think about him as often these days (Nesta’s advice worked pretty fast, you thought), but that was before he walked into Rhys’s office while you were discussing how to best quell the persistent tensions with Autumn.

It had been a quick in-and-out from him, typical as of late. Azriel strode in, his movements fluid and purposeful. He dropped some papers onto Rhys’s desk, leaning over your shoulder to do so. As he straightened, his right hand briefly rested on your other shoulder, the touch light but noticeable. He gave Rhys a nod and left. The warmth of his touch lingered long after he’d gone.

“We’ll have to speak to Eris again, soon,” he’d said with a barely-there note of urgency as he sifted through Azriel’s report.

“I can go,” you’d volunteered. “I’ve been meaning to go for some honey. Autumn Court honey-”

“-is the best, I know,” he finished with a soft smile. “Listen, I know I don’t need to warn you, but whatever conversation you may have with Eris, it’ll likely be heated. And tense. Things right now aren’t the best after-”

“I know,” it was your turn to say. “I can handle him, Rhysie, don’t you worry,” you teased, using that nickname you knew he’d roll his eyes at. “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

The feeling of Azriel’s hand on your shoulder was a brand on your skin.

Not an hour after you’d met with Rhysand, you were standing in the entrance of the pleasure hall Nesta’d told you about all those weeks ago. The kind-looking female at the desk brought out a book of names so you could choose… your companion for the evening. You’d flipped through page after page, your nerves growing with each description you read. None of them were your type to begin with, but to pick and choose from a book felt wrong. You were about to point one out at random when the door opened, and who should walk in but the heir to the Autumn Court himself?

You’d somehow convinced him not to rush out, and to have a chat over coffee. He somehow convinced you that it was meant to be that he walked in right when you were about to make a mistake.

You’d somehow convinced each other it wouldn’t be an entirely terrible and irreversible mistake to get a room at the hotel across the street for a couple of hours.

Then again one night the next week.

And again three days after that.

That was how you found yourself underneath Eris Vanserra now. It was meaningless for both of you, purely physical, but you couldn’t deny the added thrill of finding someone so mutually attractive.

“Gods, you’re so fucking tight,” he groans from behind you, grabbing your hips and pulling you back onto his cock with a force unmatched by any of your tavern trysts. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, punctuated by your moans and heated whispers.

Rhysand would be waiting for you to get back. You were supposed to meet with Eris to discuss the logistics of a diplomatic meeting to address inter-court relations. And then there was the family dinner tonight. Almost everyone was home – only Amren was absent, her extended stays in the Summer Court becoming more frequent these days.

“Hurry up and finish, I’ve got places to be,” you tell him over your shoulder, looking his way just as he lands a firm smack on your ass.

“Better places than right here?” he asks. With a particularly hard thrust, you’re thrown off of your forearms with a yelp, face-first into the pillowy sheets.

��I didn’t say that-” You’re cut off by a moan that escapes you when he reaches around and toys with your nipple. “But I’ve got to get back and tell Rhysand that we-”

“Let’s not talk business, please,” he says, a hint of irritation in his voice. “The last thing I want to think about right now is leaving the lands of one tyrant to go back to the lands of another.” You turn your head indignantly at that, ready to defend your High Lord, when he shoves your face back into the mattress, abandoning any pretense of gentleness. Eris’s hands roamed your body, his touch igniting sparks along your skin. Your breath caught as he reached a particularly sensitive spot. You arched into him, pushing aside all thoughts of diplomatic meetings and family dinners.

This? This was simply too good.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

For the first time in months, Feyre called for a family dinner at the River House. It was a rare occurrence lately; as soon as someone returned, someone else had to leave. She and Cassian had returned from the Continent this morning, and Azriel and Nesta from Autumn hours ago.

Azriel’s gaze swept across the table, taking in the faces of his family. Rhys sat to his right at the head, one hand intertwined with Feyre’s, the other gently stroking Nyx’s hair as the toddler babbled happily in his high chair. Cassian’s booming voice filled the air, entertaining them with tales of his and Feyre’s adventure, and Mor leaned in, her golden hair catching the candlelight as she listened. Even Nesta, usually with her mask of indifference, couldn’t entirely hide the fond exasperation in her eyes as she watched her mate’s exaggerated retelling.

When his eyes fell on Elain, the tips of his ears reddened slightly. The memory of their encounter all those months ago flashed through his mind. The passion, the nervousness, the realization that followed. He’d handled it poorly. The guilt of touching her so intimately, only to find himself unmoved, still weighed on him. He quickly averted his gaze, hoping no one had noticed his momentary discomfort.

They’d been happily sitting at the table just shy of ten minutes when a realization struck him. The chair diagonal to his remained suspiciously empty. He cleared his throat, taking a sip of water to cover his sudden unease. “Where’s (y/n)?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral. “I thought we were all home tonight?”

“She’s probably with Jasper,” Cassian said offhandedly, sawing into his steak with perhaps more force than was necessary. Azriel’s grip on his fork tightened imperceptibly.

Feyre shook her head, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Jasper? No, that ended forever ago. Last I heard, she was seeing Ares.”

“Ares?” Nesta’s eyebrows shot up. “I could’ve sworn I saw her with Roan a couple of weeks ago.”

“Before Ares,” Feyre clarified, exchanging a knowing look with her sister.

Mor leaned in, unable to hide her curiosity. “Wait, wasn’t there a Soran at some point too?”

He tried to maintain his composure, but it grated on his nerves. His jaw clenched tighter with each name mentioned, his grip on his fork becoming white-knuckled. The metal bent under the pressure of his fingers, and his shadows whirled around him, betraying the storm of emotions the words had unleashed.

Elain’s soft voice cut through the chatter. “It’s been Eris a few times now.”

The table fell silent, all eyes snapping to Elain. She paused, her glass of wine halfway to her lips, suddenly aware of the weight of her words.

“Lucien mentioned something about it,” she murmured, before taking a rather large sip.

Something inside Azriel snapped. He slammed the bent fork onto the table with enough force to rattle the dishes, the sound cutting through the stunned silence. Without a word, he abruptly stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

Ignoring the concerned looks and half-formed questions from his family, he strode out of the dining room. His shadows darted around him, agitated and dark.

Outside, he took a deep breath of the cool night air, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. But he couldn’t; not until he knew where she was. His shadows slipped from him, spreading out into the night, searching for her. He clenched his jaw, the thought of them, of her with him, branded into his mind. With a low growl of frustration, Azriel let his shadows envelop him completely.

Azriel sat at the small, dimly lit cafe, the steam rising from the untouched cup of coffee in front of him. He didn’t need it, not really. The caffeine wouldn’t do anything to calm him, but it gave him something to do with his hands. He settled into a corner seat, his shadows swirling restlessly around his feet as he waited. He stared out the window, his eyes trained on the hotel’s entrance, but his mind was elsewhere. The fury simmered beneath his skin, an itch he couldn’t scratch, and it made him feel restless.

But why was he so mad?

They weren’t together. They’d never been together. She was free to do whatever she pleased, with whoever she pleased. He’d never allowed himself to think of her that way — she was beautiful, yes, but he had never looked at her and felt that familiar tug of desire that he’d experienced with others. She was more than that… It was different.

He scowled, leaning back in his chair as the thought sank in. If that was true, if he’d never seen her in that light, then why did the thought of her with Eris make his blood boil? What was it about seeing her with that arrogant piece of shit that had twisted something deep inside him?

His jaw tightened. Maybe it wasn’t just about Eris. Maybe it was about her.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

Azriel’s grip tightened around the coffee cup, the ceramic warm against his palm as he watched the entrance of the hotel from the cafe. It wasn’t long before he saw Eris stride out, pausing briefly to glance around as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. Azriel scoffed, imagining all the things he’d love to do to that self-satisfied prick. The idea of wiping that smug look off Eris’s face brought a twisted sense of satisfaction.

But then, his breath caught in his throat as you stepped out of the hotel, turning to walk in the opposite direction, towards the River House. Azriel’s jaw clenched. Were you planning on showing up and pretending nothing had happened?

He let out a slow, measured breath, willing the fury to simmer down as he pushed away from the table. Keeping a safe distance, he followed you through the darkened streets, his shadows drifting ahead to ensure your path was clear. He told himself it was just to make sure you got back safe. That was all.

But the anger, the confusion, the gnawing sense of something he couldn’t quite name — it lingered, gnawing at him with every step he took.

As you neared the house, Azriel’s pace slowed, his footsteps nearly silent as he watched you walk the final block. The moment you turned the corner, his form dissolved into shadows, and he winnowed back into the house, appearing in the dining room with a gust of displaced air.

“Az, where the hell did you–” Cassian started, but Azriel cut him off with a cold glare.

“Shut up and eat.”

“Az?” Feyre’s voice held a note of concern. “You–”

“I said sh–” he stopped himself when he looked up and realized who’d spoken. “Eat.” Azriel’s tone was softer but still left no room for argument as he dropped into his seat, his jaw clenched tight. The others exchanged uneasy glances, but after a brief, tense pause, the conversation resumed. It was quieter at first, voices subdued as they cautiously picked up where they’d left off, but soon enough, the normal rhythm returned.

Minutes later, the door creaked open, and you walked in, your presence instantly drawing the room’s attention. You hung up your coat, smoothing down your hair as you made your way to the table. But as you sat, the scent slammed into him, unmistakable — Eris. It was all over you, clinging to your skin, and your clothes, filling the room with the unmistakable evidence of your encounter.

Azriel’s fists clenched under the table, though his face remained neutral. To his left, Elain’s lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, her gaze flicking between you and Azriel. She had noticed the shift in him, the way his entire demeanor had changed the moment she casually mentioned who you’d been spending time with lately. And now, with the proof of it hanging in the air like a challenge, she could see through his cool facade, the turmoil beneath it. But Azriel said nothing, just stared down at his plate.

The table was silent as you ate, the tension thickening with every passing moment. Azriel’s gaze was fixed on you, his patience wearing thin. When it became clear that you had no intention of bringing up the unmistakable smell that lingered around you, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Why do you smell like Eris?” His voice cut through the silence with a directness that left no room for misinterpretation.

You looked up, eyes wide with surprise at the bluntness of his question. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for your response.

Azriel stayed deathly still, back straight against the seat. “You knew someone was going to ask. His stench is all over you — you reek of him. So why?”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression one of calm defiance. “I think you’re old enough to have had that conversation with someone else already.” Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Rhysand summoning a bottle of liquor from the cabinet.

A murmur rippled through the room. Elain’s eyes widened in delighted surprise, while Feyre’s face twitched, clearly uncomfortable. But a smirk played on Nesta’s lips, amused by the scene unfolding before her.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t look away from you. His jaw clenched, and the intensity in his gaze was unmistakable. “You know, most people would have the decency to keep their affairs private.”

Your lips curled into a sardonic smile. “And some people think it’s their job to play moral watchdog. How very… quaint.”

Mor, now holding the bottle of liquor and pouring, raised an eyebrow at the exchange but made no move to intervene, clearly interested in the outcome.

Azriel’s nostrils flared, his irritation evident. “Quaint? Is that what you call it when someone’s reckless behavior affects everyone around them?”

You leaned forward, your voice icy. “How is what I choose to do with my time affecting everyone else? And who’s being reckless here? I’m not the one who’s turned this dinner into a circus.”

Nesta’s smirk widened slightly, her eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. The room’s atmosphere grew thicker, tension palpable as both of you held your ground, eyes locked on each other.

“Can we take this somewhere else?” Azriel’s voice was edged with frustration. It was unlike him to let his composure slip.

You shook your head, a glint of challenge in your smile. “No, you’ve already brought it up. Go ahead.”

His voice dropped, carrying a hard edge. “I don’t think you should be with him.”

Your gaze hardened, your tone sharp. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I’m not ‘with’ him.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed. “I don’t think you should be fucking him then!”

You met his challenge head-on. “And who are you to decide who I fuck?”

His frustration boiled over, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m–” He started, but the words faltered on his lips. The reality of the situation hit him hard, and he realized he had no right to be this worked up. With a ragged breath, he abruptly stood from the table, circling it to your seat. Without another word, Azriel grabbed your arm with a firm grip and began to drag you towards the door. Your eyes widened in surprise, but you didn’t resist. The room’s atmosphere had shifted, the air charged with an electric tension. Azriel’s grip on your arm was firm but not harsh, leading you toward a quieter corner of the house.

He guided you into a dimly lit hallway, far from the prying eyes of your family. As soon as the hall door clicked shut behind you, the space seemed to close in. Azriel’s breath was uneven, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that spoke of more than just frustration.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “I just… I can’t stand the thought of you with him.”

You stepped closer, your voice equally low but steady. “And what does that matter to you? You’ve never been one to concern yourself with me.”

Azriel’s gaze softened. “That’s not true. I’ve always cared about you. And thinking about you with him… it drives me mad.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t seem like you were too concerned when you were feeling up Elain.”

Azriel’s expression shifted, guilt and frustration clouding his features. “That’s not fair. Things are complicated, you know that. It wasn’t about not caring for you.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Then what was it about? Because to me, it seemed like you were perfectly fine ignoring me.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but his voice was steady. “I never ignored you, (y/n),” he said, his touch firm yet gentle as he lifted your chin to meet his gaze. “I may have been spending more time with Elain, but I never ignored you. Her and I already spoke, forever ago, a few days after it happened, actually. It was a mistake. One I deeply regret.”

You shook your head, the hurt evident in your eyes. “Words are easy, Azriel. Actions–”

“–actions were a mess, I know.” He cut you off, stepping closer. “But I’m trying. I’ve been trying.”

You searched his face, conflicted emotions warring within you. “And yet, here we are, you feeling the need to interfere in my life.”

Azriel’s gaze held yours, earnest and intense. “Because I care about you, just as much as you care about me, if not more.” You had to suppress an eye roll at that. If only he knew. “Knowing you’re with him… I can’t help but feel it’s not right.”

A heavy silence fell between you, the unspoken words hanging in the air. Before you could break it, Azriel closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss. It was raw, demanding, and full of the emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface all this time. You responded in kind, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The world outside seemed to fade away. In the quiet darkness of the hallway, your bodies pressed together, the tension from your confrontation fueling a different kind of intensity.

Azriel’s hands roamed over your body with a desperate need, as if he was trying to erase the anger and frustration from earlier, trying to replace the scent tinging your usual honey and lavender with night-chilled mist and cedar. He pushed you against the wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his touch. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as his kiss grew more insistent.

You gasped against his lips, your body responding to his touch with desire and need. Your hands traveled down to the hem of his winter sweater, fingers curling around the fabric as you tugged it upwards, needing to feel more of him, needing to touch the skin beneath. Azriel didn’t hesitate; he broke the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head, discarding it to the side before his mouth was on yours again, more demanding, more fervent.

You let your hands explore the expanse of his chest, feeling the lines of hard muscle, the cool touch of his skin a contrast to the searing heat between you. Every caress, every brush of his lips, was fueled by the unspoken tension that had been simmering inside of you for so long. Though the thought of this wasn’t on your radar an hour ago, it felt as though this moment had been inevitable, the collision of anger and passion combusting into something neither of you could resist.

Azriel’s hands slid beneath your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he lifted the fabric, fingers trailing over your skin, up to your waist, his touch tender yet possessive. With a swift motion, he pulled your shirt over your head and then his lips were on your neck trailing heated kisses down to your collarbone.

“Is this what you wanted?” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and heavy, every word laced with the same intensity that had sparked this fire between you. “Is this what you were trying to find with those miserable fucks?” He nipped at your shoulder, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before soothing it with a kiss.

You could only nod, words failing you as the need in your body overpowered everything else. You wanted this — wanted him — and there was no space for hesitation. Your hands gripped his shoulders tighter as he pressed you more firmly against the wall, his hips grinding against yours in a way that made you gasp again.

Azriel’s eyes met yours, dark and filled with a mixture of desire and something more — something deeper. For a brief moment, everything paused, the air thick with unspoken emotions that hung between you. Then, as if some unspoken agreement had been reached, his lips found yours again, and all the pent-up tension spilled over. He pressed his hands firmly against your hips, his grip possessive as he lifted you effortlessly from the floor. With a deliberate stride, he carried you towards the guest bedroom he was staying in, his lips meeting yours once again. His lips burned against yours as he carried you down the hall, his pace steady but urgent. The guest bedroom door swung open with a firm push, and he set you down gently on the edge of the bed. The room, dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp, seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment.

He loomed over you, his hands still gripping your hips, his breaths deep as he took in the sight of you sprawled before him. His gaze roamed hungrily over your body, a smoldering look in his eyes that made your pulse quicken. His fingers traced the curve of your waist as he leaned in to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts. He reached beneath you, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. You arched your back, offering him better access. With a skilled movement, he undid the clasp and slid the garment off your shoulders. His gaze lingered on your exposed skin, filled with an intense, appreciative heat.

His hands roamed eagerly, exploring every inch of your exposed skin. He paused momentarily to meet your eyes, the burning desire in his gaze mirrored your own. “Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me how to make you feel everything you need.”

You pulled him down for another searing kiss, your fingers threading through his hair as you whispered against his lips, “Just touch me, Azriel.”

His response was immediate. He moved with a practiced grace, undressing you with urgency. Azriel took a moment to appreciate the view, his gaze dark and intense with a mixture of hunger and reverence. He shifted position, his hands exploring the newly exposed expanse of your skin. His lips followed, trailing fiery kisses down your torso, savoring every inch of you. He took his time, lingering over the most sensitive spots, teasing and testing to see what made you shiver and gasp.

He knelt between your legs, his breath warm against your inner thighs as he leaned in to kiss the sensitive skin. His tongue flicked out, teasing and exploring with a skill that made you writhe beneath him. The sensation was overwhelming, each stroke and flick sending waves of pleasure through you. His hands were steady and reassuring as he guided you through the rising tide of your desire.

The room was filled with the sounds of your shared desire — the soft rustle of sheets, the breathy gasps of pleasure, and the occasional low groan of satisfaction. Azriel’s touch was relentless and precise, each movement meant to drive you closer to the edge.

When he finally positioned himself above you, there was a moment of intense eye contact, his gaze fierce and protective, as if etching every detail of your expression into his mind.

As you reached for him, your fingers tracing the torso you’d pleasured yourself to the thought of countless times, Azriel gently took your hand in his. His voice was low and firm, filled with a mixture of resolve and tenderness. “Not tonight,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Tonight, I want to take care of you. We can worry about everything else another time.”

With that, he shifted his focus entirely to you, his hands and lips working in concert to bring you to the brink of pleasure. His body melded with yours, the sensation overwhelming, and you gasped at the sudden fullness, every inch of him filling you in a way that was electrifying and profoundly intimate. Azriel’s movements were rhythmic and purposeful, each thrust making your breath hitch.

“Azriel,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need. “I’ve wanted you so badly.”

His gaze softened, his hands tightening their grip on your hips. “I’m here,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You could feel the tension coiling tighter inside you, each thrust driving you further into a state of heightened arousal. Azriel’s movements were perfectly curated to push you closer and closer to the edge. His hands and lips explored your body with a dedication that made your pulse race, his touch alternating between gentle caresses and firm grips.

His lips traveled from your ear to your neck, his kisses lingering and teasing, each one sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you. You arched against him, your body instinctively seeking more, craving the deep connection he was giving you.

“You feel amazing,” Azriel murmured, his voice low and filled with awe. “Every part of you. I can’t get enough.”

You managed a breathless moan, your fingers gripping the sheets as you writhed beneath him. “Don’t stop,” you gasped. “Please, don’t stop.”

Azriel’s response was a low, rumbling growl of approval. His rhythm never faltered, he was relentless in his devotion, ensuring that every inch of you was covered in his touch, every gasp and shiver met with a responsive stroke. The pressure within you continued to build, the pleasure intensifying with every passing second. Azriel’s hands traced patterns on your skin, his fingers brushing against the most sensitive spots with a skill that made you tremble.

When you were on the verge of losing control, Azriel’s lips found yours once more, his kiss deep and passionate. His movements matched the fervor of the kiss, driving into you with a rhythm that left you gasping and clutching at him. You felt a wave of overwhelming pleasure wash over you. Azriel’s movements became more urgent, his breaths coming in ragged bursts as he drove you to the brink. You clung to him, your body arching and trembling as the climax hit with a powerful intensity.

He followed you into the release, his body shuddering with his own pleasure as he held you close, his grip firm and reassuring. The world seemed to dissolve around you, leaving only the shared warmth and satisfaction of your intimate connection.

Azriel looked down at you with a teasing grin. “You know, we might want to wash up.”

You laughed, catching his playful tone. “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t head back downstairs like this.”

He leaned closer, his grin widening as he scented the air near you. “No, they’ll be able to tell we’ve been at it. You’ve still got some Autumn on you and I’m going to be the one to scrub it off.”

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The Memory Keeper

Chapter 1 : List.

Pairing : Noa x human reader

Warning : A bit of mourning. Otherwise, all clear for this one!

Summarize (please I'm so bad at writing these!): A woman, allowed to live as long as the virus keeps running through her body, living on autopilot for 260 years, is going to see her life takes a new turn, finding hope in something that might come to put an end to her wandering.

Words : 3.2k

A/N : It has been a long time since I've written something and it feels pretty good to get back at it with this story! I hope you'll like it and do not hesitate to share your thoughts or like/reblog, it's always appreciated! As English isn't my native language, I'm sorry if you find mistakes or weird wording in there, let me know if you find some and I'll be glad to correct them!

Enjoy your reading 😊

The Memory Keeper masterlist.

It wasn't going to be a difficult day. The list was ready, the tasks the same as the day before and the day after. You had to go to the river: catch a fish, fill the flasks with fresh water, bathe… You had to get on your horse and on the way back, stop at the 16th tree on the right, get off, walk 30 steps and fill the bag with blackberries. You had to avoid the brambles and avoid tripping over the prominent root. Get back on the horse and ride home.

Prepare the fish: remove the head and tail, the skin, gut it and remove the bones, light a fire to cook it. Yes, evolution had done many things, but it must have missed the episode where it was necessary to improve the human digestive system. So the fish still had to be cooked.

The garden had to be tended. Over the years, it had evolved too. It had been a long time in the making. A vegetable garden, tomatoes, green beans and, you couldn't quite remember how, artichokes had found their place too. An apple tree was easy to grow. It took time, but it was easy. And then there was this little gem you'd stumbled upon one day: a rosebush. It was an important one. You had to take care of it too.

You always had to do something.

Your hands knew what to do and how to do it. Your legs took you where you needed to go, and at that particular moment, they had led you to your horse. You had to remove his saddle and bridle, check his hooves and remove any stones that might have got stuck on them. Run your hand over his belly to loosen the skin compressed by the girth. And don't forget to give him a drink. When it came to eating, he found everything on his own, except perhaps an apple, which you gave him from time to time to thank him for his help. He knew how to ask, too. In fact, he huffed and gave you a nudge.

Okay, an apple.

He followed you to the apple tree and you climbed onto his back. You could reach the branches, but it was always difficult to keep your balance. Especially when your right hip wasn't working properly. And you sighed. It really wasn't convenient.

You had to go on with the list, what was next?

“ Hearing my voice at least once and speaking so I don't forget.”

This was important. You had to remember how to speak. The world had forgotten, but you must not. You had no right to forget.

“Say something new.”

And you looked around.

“It's cloudy today.”

Which meant rain wasn't far off. Your horse was now grazing beside you.

“You should take shelter.”

You smile, you'd said one more sentence today. Your horse's ears twitched as if to say “I do what I want” and you shrugged. After all, he was the one to decide. But you didn't want to get wet in the rain. You patted his neck and went off to find shelter in your wooden hut.

You've lived here for a long time. A very long time. So long that you no longer needed a torch to light up the big room when night fell or when the clouds darkened the place. You knew exactly where the shaky table was, the armchair with its deformed, hollowed-out seat and even the little plastic pot you kept forgetting to put back on the table to avoid getting your feet caught in it. And despite the years, you never tripped over it.

You were right to come home. You'd just had time to put the water flasks and the cooked fish on the table when a torrent of water hit the floor. The end of the list would have to wait. The timing was perfect, as your stomach signaled that it was time to fill up, and the smell of the wood-fired fish made your mouth water.

Settling back in your armchair, you ate the fish, watching the rain fall against the hut's only window. Eating with your hands was no longer as disturbing as it had been at first. There were a lot of memories that had slipped away over time, but you almost smiled when you thought back to the embarrassment you'd felt the first time you'd had to eat like that. If you'd known back then where you'd end up…

A sigh.

Drops tumbled against the window and some seemed to challenge themselves to get to the bottom first. They were following the path traced by others before them, but obviously not all roads were good ones to take. Some raindrops went straight down, others tried to cut off their opponents' path, and still others weaved in and out to create their own path. Then a raindrop caught your eye. It seemed the most likely to win the mad race. It glided and slalomed proudly until it landed delicately on your windowsill, blending in with its sisters who had landed there before it.

You turned your eyes to the last piece of fish, which you brought to your mouth.

You took one last look out the window, and that's when you caught sight of it.

A shadow.

A shadow had just moved past your window. The rain kept on pounding against it and you could see the trees in the distance stirring in the wind, and you were sure you saw the shadow moving, quickly to the right, but the shadow was gone. There were only raindrops, only the wind, and you could even hear the dull roar of an incipient thunderstorm.

A deep breath. You had to.

Then a sigh.

The rain and wind must have played a trick on you. If the storm picked up, you definitely wouldn't be able to finish your outdoor to-do list. But that didn't matter, there was still plenty to do inside.

First you had to tidy up. Keeping the interior clean and tidy was important, so you couldn't leave the water bottles on the table. You grabbed them and stepped over the little plastic pot that stood between the table and what you could call a kitchen. At least, that's what you would have called this part of the hut back in the day, because there was only a broken sink and a cupboard without a door. You passed the front door and it rattled against the latch in the wind. You had managed to install a branch across the door, allowing you to keep it closed in bad weather. However, as it didn't close very well, the wind always managed to rattle it between the branch and the latch. But you got used to the noise. So you walked past the shaky door to put the water bottles in the cupboard, and when you heard a suspicious rustling sound, you jumped, staring at the door.

You frowned at the unusual sound. You had been holding your breath, but the wind suddenly whistled through the doorframe, which was sorely lacking in hermetic seals. So you breathed out, taking a calmer breath. The wind. Mother Nature was definitely testing your nerves tonight.

Well, you still had to change your clothes. Night was coming on and you couldn't possibly sleep in your day clothes. You stepped over the little plastic pot again and made your way to the wooden chest beside the fireplace to find a t-shirt and a pair of jogging shorts with a hole in the left knee. Maybe one day you'd find a stray piece of fabric while walking through the forest, so you could mend it. But you hadn't yet got to the list asking you to explore the surrounding area.

There were 7 lists divided into 4 sections, themselves arranged in 12 categories. It was your way of keeping track of time. You no longer counted the days, let alone the years; you'd long since lost the very notion of time. But to grow crops, harvest the fruits of the forest and simply follow nature's millimetric events and be able to anticipate them, you needed a reference point. The lists, though mostly identical, were that reference point. Hanging on the wall with pieces of wood you'd carved yourself, they determined your days and the things you had to do.

You didn't really know when or how you'd started making these lists. But judging by the ink, half washed away by the years - some of the lists had even gone back to being blank - it must have been a long time ago.

You put the current day's list back in its place. Tomorrow, you'd have to complete it while carrying out the next one. But there was one more thing you needed to do indoors before settling into your armchair for the night. One last important thing.

From the chest, you took out a picture frame. The corners were worn, the wood had crumbled and you had to handle it carefully to avoid getting splinters in your hands. You set the frame down on the floor by the fireplace, knelt in front of it and reached into the jar on your right to pick a rose petal, which you placed carefully in the right-hand corner of the frame.

You struggled to swallow.

That's where it always got complicated.

Once again, you reached into the jar and pulled out 7 petals. You always needed 7 petals. You placed 6 of them in a circle on the dry twigs in the fireplace and began humming a song whose words you'd long since forgotten. But you remembered the feeling. You felt a lump in your throat, and you often wondered how you managed to keep the song going.

You hummed, and on the last petal, with the help of a needle, you delicately traced his initials. You had to be careful not to press too hard, you shouldn't pierce the petal, just brush against it enough to see, if you concentrated hard enough, the outline of the letter you were drawing. You also had to blink a few times to see clearly what you were doing. It was important to get it right. Once you'd written the letter on the petal, you laid it at the center of the circle.

It was always at this moment that your hands shook. You needed a moment. Just a bit of time.

You had to wipe your hands over your eyes, the most important thing was to handle the two flints on the floor with care. Your hands had to be steady, not shaking. You interrupted the song to get your breathing under control.

Inhale.

Breathe out.

Grab the flints.

Inhale.

Exhale.

A sharp stroke.

The clatter of the stone threw sparks onto the pile of twigs and a flame sprang up. You started humming again as the fire slowly consumed the wood until it reached the petals of the circle.

A tear.

The fire continued to progress and you stared desperately at the petal in the center, quickly ridding yourself of the tears that were blurring your vision. The flame touched the edge of the petal and you watched the letter “C” burn away and disappear into the ashes.

The flame faded as the twigs gradually disappeared and, once gone, you slipped the petal on the frame back into its jar.

Now you had to put the frame away. Your fingers brushed the edge of the picture inside of it. Despite the years, you had managed, by some miracle, to keep the photograph almost undamaged. At least, sufficiently intact that you could still distinguish the shape of an ape in the center of the picture, despite the cracks.

He was a force of nature. You had taken this photo on a December day, you still knew because you could still discern the white flakes clinging to his dark fur. Back then, you loved taking pictures.

What did they call you again?

The memory keeper.

Even after all this time, it still made you smile. You gently squeezed the frame between your fingers, keeping it balanced on the knees you'd just tucked in towards you. This way, he was a little closer to you.

You made an extra effort to remember the day. He was standing high enough to see everyone around him. He must have been talking about something important; he always had that powerful, soul-piercing stare when he was saying something important. But he always looked…

“Grumpy.”

You concluded your thought in a whisper that knotted your throat. Grumpy. You almost expected to hear him growl, his ego bruised, every time you reminded him that he was sometimes a little too grumpy. “Grumpy because a lot on my shoulders,” he'd snap back at you. “No, grumpy because you're old” you'd always reply, your eyes always playful. And you were the only one who could say such a thing, with the only result being an amused snore coming from him.

And you felt yourself take a deep breath. Of all the pictures you'd taken, this was the last one you had left. You had to put the frame back in the chest, so your fingers tightened even more around the wood. Your head tilted slightly forward, closing your eyes as the wood touched your forehead.

Tonight was difficult.

You took another deep breath, and before the knot in your throat hurt too much, you straightened up and went to put the frame in the chest.

“Caesar, tonight is really difficult,” you whispered, watching the shadow of the lid close over the frame.

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

It had been a restless night. When your eyes opened the next morning, they felt heavy and swollen, and you found yourself rubbing your eyes to try and make the heaviness go away.

Today, there was much to do. After changing from your night clothes to your day ones, you removed the branch blocking the door and let the sun shine in, warming your skin. The fresh early-morning air caressed your skin and you took a few seconds to smell the distinctive light scent that follows a thunderstorm.

No sooner had you taken a few steps forward than your feet bumped into something hard, causing you to lose your balance. In a fraction of a second, you found yourself on your butt on the ground, a stabbing pain in your right hip that had failed to move to stop you from falling.

“Ouch!” was the only thing that slipped out of your mouth.

You straightened up slightly, remaining seated in the grass, to see what had caused your fall and a pile of apples laid exactly under the wobbly small porch that covered your front door.

God, what a dummy not to have put that away last night. You thought to yourself, looking down at your hands full of dirt. You'd have to go to the river to clean it up, and now you'd just have to take your night clothes with you because you'd also have to wash the ones you were wearing-the mud from the storm must have dirtied your current clothes.

A pile of apples. You thought as you rubbed your hands together.

A pile of apples. You glanced at your right hip. Pfft, if you'd made Caesar break it to put it back in its place, you'd never have fallen today. In fact, you'd have avoided more than one fall.

All because of a misplaced pile of apples.

A pile of misplaced apples.

And like a light bulb switching on, your gaze suddenly fell on those apples that actually had nothing to do there. You hadn't gathered them the day before.

Then you heard it. A muffled purr came gently from behind you. Surely you should have turned around, stood up and dealt with it, but you'd found yourself rooted to the spot, eyes glued to those apples, waiting as an orangutan appeared in your field of vision.

And you refused to look at him, your hands balled into fists to keep them from shaking. You weren't afraid. No. But for some obscure reason, your brain had simply decided to freeze.

The orangutan once again let out a rumble, softer this time, and held out his hand to you.

“I'll help.”

His voice made you blink several times. You did your best to snap out of your stupor, but this time your eyes agreed to look at him, and the orangutan seemed delighted.

Just one more moment. It took another second, just one, to see your hand slip into his and before you knew it, you were back on your feet.

“Raka, we must go.”

The second voice surprised you a little. It sounded familiar and your eyes fell on a chimpanzee, a little further away, who had just finished saddling a horse. You frowned, your horse? You were trying to determine whether it was really yours, but the distance didn't allow you to be sure. There was only one way to find out.

So you whistled.

The horse shook its head and the chimpanzee didn't have time to grab the reins before your horse galloped off to meet you. They were going to take your horse… in exchange for a stack of apples?

You grabbed the reins and stroked the horse's neck as he snorted. He chewed the bit and blew heavily through his nostrils.

For a fraction of a second, you forgot about the two large apes who, from the sounds they were making, weren't particularly happy to have lost a chance of obtaining a second means of locomotion: in your peripheral vision, you could see another horse quietly grazing.

Your hands still knew what to do, and it didn't take you long to remove the bridle and bit from your horse's mouth.

“He doesn't like it.” you said simply.

And only silence answered you, so you showed the bridle to the two apes.

“The bit, he doesn't like it, he's not used to it.”

Your answer didn't seem to convince them. They stared at you, dumbstruck, and if you paid close enough attention, you could almost see their mouths hanging wide open. And that left you bewildered. What didn't they understand? You'd heard them talking, so that certainly wasn't the problem.

“You can't take my horse.” You went on, starting to remove the saddle.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that they were staring at you as if you'd just landed from the sky.

“If you want a horse, there's a wild herd to the south, past the river.” And you pointed in the right direction.

They remained silent as tombs, but the chimpanzee followed the direction you pointed with his eyes.

“Just be careful, the group's stallion isn't very friendly.” You thought it important to tell him.

Your gaze fell back on them and the orangutan, Raka, if you'd heard correctly, hadn't moved a muscle. The chimpanzee, on the other hand, was staring at you thoughtfully, as if he was trying to put together a puzzle with a missing piece. He then moved towards you inquisitively, perhaps, confused?

“Echo, speak?”

It was certainly the most surprising sentence you'd ever heard in your life.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + twelve

authors note: ya'll remember the theme song from wizards of waverly place? 'everything is not what it seems'? yeah....remember that.

also, don't cuss me out for the ending, pleassseeee.

shoutout to the lovely @fearlesschimera for helping me with the italian translations! ❤️

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: violence against women, scene of dv, slight fighting? language, angst, fluff, sexy time scene aka mild smut

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 10k (unhinged)

So, I remember when we were driving, driving in your car

Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk

City lights laid out before us

And your arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulder

And I, I had a feeling that I belonged

I, I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone

Nina’s singing and subsequent light laughter is what tears away Solana’s focus from her artwork. Turning away from the paper on the dining room table, she angles her body in the chair, swinging her legs around as she watches her mom dance around the kitchen.

Nina’s voice is soft and melodic, a nice compliment to the singer whose name Solana can never remember despite this being one of her mom’s, if not thee, favorite song.

Without thinking twice about it, Solana climbs off the chair and runs up to hug her mom from the side.

Nina’s smile grows even more as she looks down at her only daughter. “Mija.”

Solana looks up, big eyes reflecting the same amount of love and adoration. She responds in her mom’s native language. A ‘secret’ little thing they do in times like this where her dad and brother are gone. Communicating in only a way they can understand. 

“I wanna dance with you, mommy!”

Nina’s laughter is similar to her singing and speaking voice. And it’s infectious too, Solana joining in as Nina playfully spins her around. “Then dance with me, mija.”

Solana doesn’t need to be told twice. And maybe it’s less dancing and more moving around in a way that represents the happiness both mother and daughter feel in this moment. A brief little thing, something that happens in small to medium doses infrequently. 

But when it does roll around, the both of them capture and hold onto it with all that they have. 

When the song finishes, Nina turns down the music system as she redirects Solana to her art. “Can I see what you made?”

It’s a question she already knows the answer to. Solana nodding furiously as she takes her hand and guides her over to the table. Pointing, Solana explains, “look, mommy, it’s you and me!”

Nina gasps quietly. Even at seven, her daughter seems to have a gift with the arts. Reading, writing, and drawing. It hurts her sometimes that she can’t feed it more. That she’s limited to so little resources when it comes to helping Solana better her craft. 

Nina lifts up Solana and sits down in the chair, her daughter on her lap. “It’s beautiful, mija. You’re so talented.”

The complement brightens Solana’s smile. “Just like you, mommy!” Solana lifts up the page, offering additional explanation. “See, that’s you and me at the Play—playa—”

Nina helps her out, “Playa Norte, Isla Mujeres?” 

Solana nods. “That!” 

A brief sweep of sadness overcomes her with memories of home. Memories of simpler, happier times. Her children still bring her a sense of fulfillment, but it’s often weighed down by the trauma of everything else. “Oh, I wish you could see the water, Sol. It’s so beautiful, so clear. It’s like heaven on earth.”

Solana looks up at her with all of her naivety and innocence. “We can go there one day, mommy, right? Just you and me?”

Her throat constricts at Solana’s question. Nina doesn’t have it in her to expose her young child to the ugly truth. “Of course, baby.” She brushes some of Solana’s hair back. “What about your brother?”

It’s not missed upon her how the mention of Wesley makes Solana’s smile dim. “He doesn’t like us….”

“Oh, baby…” Nina brings her hands to gently cradle Solana’s face. “He does. It’s just your father….your father tells him things about us that’s not true, but he does like us. He loves us just like I love you and him. I love you both so much.”

There’s not enough time in the world or ways that she can say it to truly exemplify just how much she means it. Even with Xavier doing everything he can to keep her away from her son, it doesn’t extinguish her love for him. 

If anything, it just makes it stronger. 

The sound of the garage doors lifting brings Nina back to her crushing reality, from her brief escapism. “He’s home.” Wide eyes dart to the kitchen as she realizes dinner is still about twenty minutes out from being ready. “Come, mija!” Nina jumps from the table and is quick to gather all of Solana’s artwork. She knows how this will play out, and she refuses to allow him to destroy Solana’s work the same way he often does her own. Reaching it to her, Nina hurriedly advises, “go to your bathroom, lock the door, and don’t come out until I come get you, okay?” Trembling hands reach Solana the CD player and headphones. “Don’t take these off, you hear me?”

Solana’s smile is completely gone, her eyes watering, “he’s gonna hurt you, isn’t he?”

Nina swallows back her sob. “‘Don’t worry about me, Solana. Just do as I say, okay?” The sound of the door to the garage being ripped open alerts her to just how pressed for time they are. With all of the urgency, she pleads, “go!”

And despite everything in her wanting her to stay, to help, to do whatever she can, Solana does as she’s told.

Rushing up the stairs, Solana doesn’t stop until she’s in the bathroom. She locks the door and falls on the floor, back up against it, eyes watering even more.

She moves as fast as she can to put her headphones on, but it’s not fast enough. She can’t make out specific words, but it’s not needed to know and hear her father’s angry yelling followed by the pained wails of her mom. Glass breaking, items being thrown, Xavier’s screams of unbridled fury.

That’s when the dam breaks, tears spilling out of her eyes as she hits play to sound out the noise that never really goes away, never really stops haunting her, from making her chest feel so full and heavy.

This….this is the soundtrack to her life. 

Solana isn’t unsure how long she sits there, working so hard to drown out the cries and screams of her best friend. Long enough to where she falls asleep only to be woken up by the same woman whose shouts of terror unintentionally and tragically lulled her to sleep.

The first thing Solana notices is the blood, followed by the puffy, blackened area under her right eye. Still, her mom is only focused on her, hand under her chin as she asks, “are you okay, mija?”

The tears return as Solana is face to face with the result of her father whose anger knows no bounds. “Mommy….”

“Don’t cry, baby.” Nina pulls Solana against her chest, braving the pain coursing through her body, particularly her ribs. “I’m—I’m okay.”

She hates lying to her daughter, feels almost sick with herself for gaslighting her. Solana is wise and perceptive. She knows that her mother is far from fine.

“What if—what if one day he hurts you real bad?”

Nina wasn’t expecting this question, wasn’t expecting her young daughter to ask something she herself has thought about from time to time. 

What happens when Xavier finally takes his beatings too far?

Shoving away those dark thoughts, Nina shows Solana her inner forearm. “What is this, Sol?”

Solana wipes at her eyes and focuses on the beautifully, dark inked hummingbird tattoo on her mom’s skin. “A Hummingbird.”

“That’s right.” Nina wipes at her tears. “And what did I tell you about Hummingbirds? Hmm? What do they mean to our people?”

Solana sniffles and explains in a quiet voice. “They’re messengers from the spirits in heaven.”

“Exactly, so that means even when people leave us in one form, they’re still here in another. Still here even if they look a little different.” Nina’s voice cracks a bit as she promises, “I’m always with you, Solana. No matter what.”

Emotion building back up, Solana thrusts herself against Nina and cries into her chest. “Why can’t we leave, mommy?” She looks up, full of confusion and fear. “Then he can’t hurt you anymore.” Nina swallows. “We can run away where he won’t find us!”

Nina has a hard time holding back her tears. A dream. That would be a dream. If she could somehow escape this hell, take her children from this nightmare. But, it's just that, a dream. Because this is the life they live. This is her reality. 

And there’s nothing that can change that.

Not without her putting her children’s lives at risk, because Xaver has made it abundantly clear in a variety of violent ways what will happen should she ever be “stupid” enough to think she could leave.

“Listen to me, Solana.” She wipes away the tears of her sweet child. “This…what your father does to me….it’s not love, and it’s not okay. I don’t want you to ever let a man treat you that way.” It feels almost bitter leaving her mouth, the amount of hypocrisy she feels at saying such a thing. If only she could practice what she preaches. “You are so special, and your heart is so big.” She places her hand over Solana’s chest. “This is your biggest gift, and you must always be careful who you share it with. Because yours is extra special.” She presses her lips against Solana’s forehead. “No matter what, never forget that life is a gift. You are a gift, Solana.” Her eyes shut, absorbing all the love and comfort. “My sol.”

________

Memories of much darker, sadder times have unintentionally become a motivating factor for Solana during training. She finds a sort of strength and fuel at reflecting on times from the past where she was bogged down with such fear. 

Now though, it’s not as much fear as something else that’s unfamiliar but not unwarranted.

Anger. 

It’s what helps and almost keeps her on her feet and in the game as she spars with Bayley, knife in the back of her shorts. It’s the first time she’s done as such, practiced training, practiced fighting, with that little thing that’s caused her so much pain throughout her life.

But now, she’s the one with the blade, with the ability to use it against someone else vs it being used against her. 

It’s a different feeling, still uncomfortable, but also empowering in a strange sort of way.

Naomi is on the side, calling out various tips and reminders as Solana is able to successfully avoid certain hits and attacks from Bayley. She knows her friend is still holding back a bit, but not nearly as much as she did in the beginning.

Solana slightly appreciates that.

She feels….she feels good almost knowing that the progress she’s made isn’t because it’s been given to her. It’s been earned.

And unbeknownst to her, there’s an audience observing the sparring, an audience that consists of none other than the twins, Nia, and her husband who watch from the balcony above.

Roman had a meeting with Nia earlier in the day, hence his presence at the Warehouse, but staying after to silently observe Solana while she trains wasn’t necessarily on the agenda. It just happened.

Much to the chagrin of Wise Man who once again tries to remind Roman of what he already knows. He clears his throat, nerves big and evident, “sir, I hate to interrupt, but we do have to meet with—-”

“I’m aware.”

Paul swallows, closing his eyes as he sends up a prayer, asking for mercy. “Of course, sir, but—but, if we don’t leave now—”

“The meeting will start whenever I arrive, and I’ll get there when I get there.” Roman’s dark, irritated gaze falls on his chief advisor. “Is that understood?”

Paul straightens, more than familiar with that look. The look that can be followed up with an act of violence. “Y—yes, my Tribal Chief.” 

With that shit straightened out, Roman easily falls back into the almost trance he’s in watching her. 

Updates with her progress from Naomi and Bayley have been one thing, but it’s another to actually see her in action. 

See the precision and speed in which she moves. She seems almost….in her element.

A far cry from the terrified mess she was when he first met her.

She’s coming into her own, and he loves to see that shit. 

But, it’s when Bayley lands a particularly harsh blow against Solana, one that has her holding onto her face that Roman steps forward. A fresh wave of anger comes over him at the fact that Bayley could be so stupid to hit her so hard. She should fucking know better. 

Who the fuck does she think she is to hit Solana?

He’s stopped, however, when Nia extends her arm across his big body, preventing him from checking on his wife. 

He turns toward her, and if looks could kill, she’d be dead. “Move.”

She rolls her eyes, unbothered, motioning for him to continue watching. “Wait.”

Roman has no fucking intentions on waiting. Not when Solana could be hurt. He’s going to tear Bayley a new one for that. Why the fuck would she hit her so hard?

But, it’s as he’s watching and sees Bayley move toward Solana to check on her, that he realizes why Nia may have stopped him from acting too prematurely.

Because Solana is suddenly no longer doubled over. She’s bringing her knee up to Bayley, forcing the other woman to double over from some level of pain. But Solana doesn’t stop. She instead uses her leg to swipe Bayley off her feet, sending her into the ground.

Solana pounces on top of her, forcing her on her stomach. Straddling her, a fist full of her hair as she yanks her head back and brings the knife up to her neck.

Roman smiles.

Around him, the twins start to make a whole scene.

“Oh shit, okay Soso! I see you girl!”

“Alright, sis! That’s how you do it!”

Roman watches as she drops the knife almost immediately but not before she smiles, emotional almost, while being cheered on by Naomi who runs over and hugs her from the side. Solana laughs as she stands up, Bayley also jumping up, joining in the celebration.

“You know, it’s not very often that I'm wrong, but I gotta admit.” Roman turns to Nia who also looks a level of impressed. “I was wrong about Princess.” Nia chuckles. “Girl’s got some fight in her after all.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, but that’s not out of disagreement.

Solana might be one of the strongest people he’s ever met.

And it has nothing to do with what he just witnessed.

Nia continues, announcing, “I think she’s ready to advance to the next level.”

Roman has his own definition of what that is, but he’s slightly curious about Nia’s take. “Which is?”

“She needs to start training with a man.”

He nods. They’re on the same page then. “I’ll talk with her about taking over—”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Nia has always been outspoken, but there are some days he has to remind himself that she’s family. Because her smart ass mouth on anyone else would have them six feet under.

“She’s comfortable with you. It needs to be with someone she doesn’t know.”

And this time, Roman is the one shooting it down. “No.” To make Solana train and fight with a man, a stranger at that, seems like it would be triggering for her. In no way, shape, or form will he let that shit happen.

Nia, however, seems intent on just that. “Look, four months ago, I would agree with you, but look at what that girl just did. She grounded Bayley, Roman.” He looks away, running his hand over his face. “She’s come a long way, and to stop her now would only be a disservice. You’d be hindering her.” When he says nothing, mostly because he knows she has a point and he hates that, she continues. “And I’d say have Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum do it, but she seems to be comfortable with them too. For some reason.”

Jey finishes chewing his snack, most likely a creation by Solana, asking with all the obliviousness, “hey, what’d you say?”

Roman ignores him while Nia rolls her eyes. “You’re a stubborn bastard, Roman, but you’re not stupid.” He looks at her. “You know I’m right.” 

He turns away,  watching as Bayely and Naomi talk to Solana, clearly providing her additional instruction. He’s focused on Solana. She looks so….relaxed. So in her element. It’s such a far cry from the first time he met her.

She’s almost like an entirely different person. This causes him to sigh loudly. 

Nia is correct. He’d be hindering the growth that’s got her to where she is today.

And that’s something he could never forgive himself for.

“I’ll talk to her.”

________

Bayley: If ya’ll could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?

Solana is taking a brief break to check her phone, mainly for any texts from Roman, when Bayley sends her message in the group chat that the three of them share.

Naomi: Ooooh, Bora Bora! Heard it’s beautiful!

Bayley: Nice! I’d say the Maldives. 

Bayley: Solana?

It’s a good question that she doesn’t really have the answer for. 

Solana: Idk. I’ve…I’ve never been out of the country, so it’s hard to say.

Naomi: Seriously? Never traveled at all?

Solana: No. 

Bayley: So then there definitely has to be someplace! 

It takes a minute for her to really think about how to respond, because her initial instinct is to double down on her first answer. But, it’s when her memory from earlier in the day returns to the forefront of her mind that she finds herself being more open than she anticipated. 

Solana: Playa Norte, Isla Mujeres. It’s in Mexico. My mom always said the water was so beautiful. 

And that they would visit someday.

That never happened though.

It never happened because she was murdered before she could make the dream come true. 

An uncomfortable blanket of sadness comes over her, forcing Solana to put her phone down and resume her work, an effective distraction. 

She grabs a set of books that need to be restocked and makes her way over to the appropriate aise when she overhears low sniffles.

Frowning, she places the books down on the cart and follows the sound of the sniffles that sound a lot like someone crying. It's when she moves to the next aisle that she finds the source.

A little girl. No more than 6 or 7. She’s sat up against a row of books, little legs pulled up to her chest as she cries into her knees.

Solana’s frown deepens as she slowly approaches the child, leaving enough distance to not startle her. Solana knows better than most the detriment of being taken off guard when already upset.

“Hi there.” Her head snaps up, and right away Solana is met with striking blue eyes that are blurred with tears and an emotion Solana knows all too well.

Fear.

“It’s okay,” she comforts, intentional about keeping her distance and voice soft. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

The little girl who, in a strange way, reminds her a lot of herself with her light complexion and russ brown hair that’s a combination of curl patterns, stammers with a response. “My—my mommy and daddy said I can’t talk to strangers.”

Solana smiles warmly. “Your mommy and daddy are very smart.” Staying where she is, Solana slides down onto the floor. She brings her legs to her side and offers her name. “My name is Solana. I work here in the library.” Wanting to earn some level of trust, Solana informs, “I really like to read.”

Her eyes light up a bit. “You do?”

She nods, keeping her smile. “My mom used to read with me all the time. Does your mommy ever read with you?”

The little girl nods and wipes at her eyes. “Yes. Daddy does too sometimes, but he works a lot.”

Solana’s smile dims a bit. She can both relate and not relate. Her father was never really home, and she preferred it that way. But when he was….it was hell. 

Using the opening, Solana asks softly, “where is your mommy?”

She hesitates, and her bottom lip trembles a bit, but she ends up explaining her presence. “I was walking outside with mommy, and I saw a butterfly, and—and I wanted to catch it, but then I got lost.” She starts to cry as Solana puts the pieces together, realizing she ran off, got lost, and maybe ventured into the library to ask for help. Or to cry in a safe space.

Solana gets that too.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll help you find your mommy, okay?” 

The offer seems to settle her emotions a bit. Solana watches as she wipes her eyes and almost asks in a hopeful tone. “R–really?”

Solana smiles again and nods. “Of course.” She stands up, not moving from her spot but offering her hand. “You want to come with me?”

The little girl nods and stands up, slowly walking up to Solana and taking her hand. She looks up, sharing in a slightly more confident tone, “my name is Emma.”

“That’s a very pretty name.” Solana gently squeezes her hand. “Now let’s go find your mommy.” 

Solana notes how Emma squeezes her hand back. It warms her heart.

She guides Emma toward the steps, careful to not walk too fast, mindful of the fact that Emma is still, wisely, very cautious of the fact that Solana is still a stranger.

Solo meets Solana at the bottom of the steps, his unkind gaze falling on Emma who hides herself behind Solana.

Looking down, she advises her, “it’s okay, sweetie.”

Solo rolls his eyes, gesturing with his chin. “Who is this?”

Solana looks back at him, answering while intentionally not providing a name. Emma provided Solana her name, not Solo. “She got separated from her mother. I’m gonna help her find her.”

He scoffs. “Ain’t that what the police is for?” 

Frowning, Solana finds herself defending her actions. “She’s already scared.”

He cuts his eyes, voice sharp as she reminds her of his role. “My job is to protect and watch you. Not some random badass kid—”

“D–don’t call her that.” Anger. Solana finds herself growing angry with Solo’s disposition. A rare emotion for her. But, she can’t stop thinking about the scared little girl clinging onto her leg, finding some form of comfort in her. She can’t stop thinking about how she used to be that little girl. How she used to cling onto her mother for comfort. 

Until she couldn’t.

“I’ll help her by myself. I—” Solana swallows. “I don’t need your help.” 

The library is in neutral territory. She should be fine to walk up and down the street to help an innocent child without the protection of someone Solana is realizing really doesn’t want to be there in the first place.

Gently encouraging Emma to follow her, Solana leads the little girl out the double doors of the library and onto the busy sidewalk.

Solo never comes after her.

And in a weird, sort of unfamiliar twist that she doesn’t really understand, Solana prefers it that way.

She prefers Solo not toggling along, his negative energy not interfering and exacerbating Emma’s fear.

Leaning down, Solana asks, still with that gentle smile, “do you remember which way you came from?”

Emma frowns again, shaking her head. “N–no.”

“That’s okay. We’ll just look left and right.” Straightening up, Solana decides to go to the left first, knowing that there’s a kids boutique a few doors down. It seems like a good place to start. And it’s while walking, Emma suddenly asks a question that literally makes Solana feel like she’s gotten the wind knocked out of her.

“Are you a mommy?”

Solana hasn’t the slightest clue why it takes a second for her to answer such a basic question. The question, in terms of complexity, is simple and can be answered with a single word. But everything else with it is…..not easy. Because she has no idea why her tone suddenly shifts to something sad as she finally replies.

“No.” And before she can think about what’s leaving her mouth, before she can even process what she’s saying, Solana adds, “not yet.”

It takes a lot for Solana to not backtrack, to try to offer some explanation that probably wouldn’t make any sense to such a young child why she was taking her answer back. But beyond that, there’s a part of Solana that doesn’t want to take it back.

She doesn’t want to take it back because….because maybe it’s the truth. 

Emma looks up with a small smile, revealing a missing front tooth. “You’re gonna be a nice mommy.”

Her chest constricts, and Solana feels her eyes watering from an emotion she can’t pinpoint.

Emotional smile and all, she manages to keep the tears at bay. “Thank—”

“Emma!”

Solana and Emma snap their heads and attention to the source of the voice, as Emma drops Solana’s hand.

“Mommy!” 

Solana jogs behind Emma who makes a mad dash in the direction of the woman who called her name. Solana stops when a large man moves in between her and Emma and the woman.

Emma’s little voice calls out at the same time Solana backs away, a bit of anxiety growing in her stomach as she thinks about the knife in the back pocket of her jeans. “No, she’s my friend!” 

“Bron, back off.” The woman speaks, and almost instantly, the large man with cold eyes that remind her of Solo moves away. The view and path is cleared again as Solana sees Emma being held by a woman who could never deny the child in her arms belongs to her. Emma is her twin outside of the blue eyes Solana would guess she got from her father.

“Mommy, this is Solana.” Emma introduces, pointing and waving. “She helped me find you!”

The woman, a few inches taller than Solana, with hazel eyes and almost perfect facial features, smiles. Again, Solana sees nothing but Emma. “Thank you so much—”

The large man who Solana hasn’t forgotten about and vice versa chimes in. “Brandi—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Bron.” She cradles Emma closer to her chest, as Solanaa clears her throat.

“Of course.” She points behind her. “I—umm—I work at the library. I—I do a kids reading club on Mondays, if—if Emma would like to join.”

Emma’s eyes light up at that as she’s pulling on her mom’s sleeve. “Mommy, can I go?”

The woman, Brandi, as Solana heard the large, unkind man refer to her frowns a bit. “After today, I’ll be lucky if your dad lets you or me leave just to check the mail, let alone go into town again.” Still, she turns to Solana, “but thank you for the information. She loves books, so I’d know she’d love to attend.”

And it’s then that Emma throws out with all the innocence of a child. “Solana’s gonna be a mommy too! Just like you!” 

Her breath catches. Solana once again has to fight back the tears that don’t make sense as well as the sadness that doesn’t make even more sense. “Some…someday.”

Brandi offers a smile that’s reassuring. Like she understands what doesn’t need to be directly stated. “Well, I wish you all the luck.” She tickles Emma’s stomach and jokes, “they’re a handful.”

And for a second, just the briefest of a second, solana visualizes just that. Visualizes herself holding a child, a child that would have her smile. Roman’s eyes. His strong will. Her innocence.

A perfect representation of them both.

But, it’s quickly pushed away, stomped on by logic.

That…..that’s not even something she should allow herself to consider right now when they haven’t even consummated their marriage.

Even if that very visual is exactly why the marriage was arranged in the first place. 

She clears her throat. Despite being outside, Solana all of a sudden feels almost closed in. “I—I should get back to work.” 

Brandi nods. “Of course.” She doesn’t even have to direct Emma to say goodbye, as the little girl with a sweet smile full of innocence is already on it.

“Bye, Solana!” She then adds on with all of the hope. “I hope I see you again!”

Solana hopes the same too.

After parting, Solana noticing the almost menacing glare that ‘Bron’ man sends her way, she walks back to the library in complete silence, feeling so conflicted and torn by emotions that usually don’t work in her favor in general.

But, it’s when she’s about to head up the steps, Solo appears again wearing an almost smug expression, that she stops in her tracks at his comment. “You done playing mother Teresa?”

She doesn’t know where it comes from. Doesn’t know how she’s even able to allow it to leave the safety of her mouth, the confines of her thoughts vs being expressed. But, that’s exactly what happens. 

Solana turns to him and doesn’t stutter as she asserts, “you don’t get to talk to me like that.” Swallowing and with an uncharacteristically amount of confidence, she warns almost, “Roman wouldn’t let you talk to me like that.”

And it seems like that not so little reminder of who her husband is triggers something for him. Solo clears his throat, muttering almost, “my apologies.” He asks, a perfect combination of forced concern and obligation, “whose kid?”

She starts not to answer, but being a form of assertive and dismissive feels like too much in one day. “I don’t know. Some man with her called her Brandi?”

At that, his attention seems almost intensified. He’s quiet for a moment. “Brandi?”

Confused at his subtle but noticeable change in demeanor, Solana nods. “Yeah. I think she called the man Bron?” 

Solo looks away, like there’s something about these two pieces of information that are important. So she asks, “why?”

Solo’s gaze is back on her, and like a snap of a finger, the intensity in his expression melts into something cavalier. “Nothing.”

Solana is quiet. And suspicious. Something in the pit of her stomach tells her there’s something he’s not telling her, something he’s keeping to himself. 

But she doesn’t push it.

She’s got other things on her mind.

Other things she shouldn’t have on her mind. 

But, she does. She really, really does.

________

Later that evening, the strange, conflicting emotions from her encounter with Emma and her mother, Brandi, are still plaguing Solana. She’s grateful that Roman has to take his dinner in his office due to work, because it at least gives her space to process such big emotions without him picking up on anything being wrong.

He seems to be very good at that. 

In preparation for winding down for the evening, she’s at the sink, washing the dishes when Roman comes up behind her. It’s only a brief second of tension that’s easily settled by his arms around her, his mouth on her neck. 

She smiles, noticing the increasing amount of comfort and want she’s experiencing at him touching her.

It’s getting to the point where she almost craves his touch.

It’s…comforting. 

Roman makes a sound, lips moving up to kiss her cheek. “Meet me at the pool in an hour.”

She frowns, turning toward him. “What?”

He brings hand to her mouth, thumb gliding over her bottom lip. “You said you wanted to get in, right?”

“I—” And she can’t protest, can’t find a way to politely disagree. Because she did say that. And he’s clearly holding her to it. “Yes.”

His hand slides down to cup her ass, Solana gasping quietly as he smirks. “Then let’s do it.” Her eyes shut, and she bites down on her bottom lip as he whispers in her ear, “I want to see that bathing suit of yours.”

Another gasp as he squeezes her ass. “Roman.” 

He says nothing else, walking away. Solana takes a second to reflect on the interaction, sits on the fact that he was able to touch her and she didn’t tense up. Didn’t freeze up. She almost…she almost liked it.

But what she doesn’t like is the fact that she now has to apparently meet this man in the pool wearing that bathing suit that nobody but her made him aware of. He would have never known she even owned it she hadn’t opened her mouth in a poor way to distract him.

And now he wants to see her in it.

And now the anxiety is growing again. 

Because while she’s grown more comfortable with his touching her, she’s been almost entirely clothed during those times. Even with the more revealing outfits. This one will definitely take the cake. She’s not sure her lingerie from their wedding night was as showy as this bikini.

She takes her time finishing up the dishes and is at least grateful to see he’s nowhere near their room or bathroom as she sneaks in and locks the door to put it on. 

Solana must mess around with the suit at least ten different times. Pulling. Tugging. Tightening. It doesn’t make a difference because the swell of her chest and backside prove too much. There’s not much to be hidden, to be camouflaged, to be covered up. And that’s always been her preference. Never in her life has she owned or even worn a two piece suit. And yet, here she is about to step out in one that leaves little to the imagination in front of one of the most attractive men she’s ever laid eyes on.

A man that gives her butterflies with just one look of his dark, beautiful eyes. 

She tries telling herself that it’s just Roman. That she shouldn’t overthink it so much. That he’s made his attraction to her clear, time and time again. But, it’s hard to factor those things in when he’s never seen this much of her, so much skin, so much scarred skin. Skin with stretch marks and cellulite. Scars from the stabbing. The pudge of her belly.

It’s all so…revealing. Physically and emotionally.

It’s almost to the point where she has more anxiety about him seeing this much of her body than actually getting in the water, which was and should be the main source of her abundance of nerves.

But, it’s not. It’s not because even with all of her progress, it’s so hard to not compare herself to other women he’s been with. Women like Samantha who look nothing like her, who must look better than her.

That brings on a deeper level of insecurity. 

Will he compare her body to Samantha’s? How can he not? 

They’re night and day. One is preferred. One is shunned.

And Solana has never been preferred.

Eyes watering, she reaches for the large t-shirt and slides it over her body, comforted by not being faced with so many flaws. Deterred entirely, she starts to think of an explanation she can give Roman as to why she can’t get in the pool tonight.

Or any other night. 

But when she steps out of the bathroom, that plan is thrown out the window because Roman is sitting on the edge of the bed. 

Shirtless.

Wearing only swim trunks.

She’s momentarily focused on him. Focused on every rippling muscle of his body that’s damn near perfect. So opposite of her own.

Realizing she’s staring, she shakes her head, “I—”

“It’s been an hour.” Roman drags his eyes over her, and it’s like she knows what he’s going to say before it leaves his mouth. “You’re not dressed.”

Pushing back some of her hair, Solana is very much focused on the piece of abstract art on the wall opposite his bed. “I was thinking—”

“No.”

That she wasn’t expecting. Such a….blunt rejection. Eyes back on him, she frowns. “What?”

“You’re not backing out.” Solana swallows. He sounds so definitive. “I won’t make you get completely in the water, because I understand why that’s difficult for you.” She says nothing, at least grateful for his understanding in that area. “But you can at least sit on the edge. Work your way up to it.” An ironic choice of wording considering the other thing they’re working their way up to. He stands from the bed, and as much as Solana wants to look away, she can’t. She’s focused on him. All 6’3 of him. So intimidating. But not to her. So strong. But he’s never used his strength against her. So attractive. The same way he feels about her. 

“Without the shirt.”

Her stomach drops, anxiety brewing again. “Roman….”

He’s suddenly in front of her, his hands reaching to pull her against him. “That’s not your trauma. It’s your insecurity, and I’m not accepting that shit because it’s not fucking fair for you to be as beautiful as you are and not see or feel it.”

She swallows as he reaches for the hem of her shirt. “Off.” It’s a statement, but there’s a questioning nature to it. Like regardless of how he feels, he’s still giving her the space to say no. 

To have that autonomy. 

It’s appreciated.

It’s also why despite her anxiety, with her eyes closed, she relents. “O–off.”

Roman doesn’t seem to waste any time pulling her shirt up and over her head. And as soon as she feels the chilly air of his room on her body, the realization that she’s more exposed in front of him than she’s ever been before, she’s crossing her arms over her chest. 

Hiding.

Embarrassed.

“No.” And his hands are on her forearms, pushing down, gently but with purpose. “No hiding.” She keeps her eyes closed as he forces her arms down at her side. “Solana, look at me.” And she wants to, she actually wants to, but it’s hard, because all she can imagine is his disgust, his disinterest. “Look at me.”

His tone is somehow forceful but gentle, in a way only he can do. In a way that never makes her feel scared, but always safe. 

So she obliges.

Roman’s gaze is on her, intentful and burning. His jaw is clenched. “It pisses me the fuck off that you’ve been made to feel anything less than fucking gorgeous.” And she watches as he travels his beautiful eyes over her body. Slowly. With a level of desire that she, even with all of her insecurities, can’t deny. Men like Roman don’t look at women like that unless they want them in that way. “The things I want to do to you….”

And once again, he’s affirming and practically repeating everything he’s assured her of several times now.

He wants her. 

“I’m going to make you believe it.” Wetting her lips, she watches Roman take her hand in his. “Come here.” 

He walks them over to the opposite side of his room where the black, full body mirror rests against the wall. His hands are on her hips, positioning her so that she’s standing directly in front of him, her back pressed into his chest. 

“Keep your eyes open.” His voice is commanding but still calm enough where it doesn’t unnerve her. “Spread your legs.” Solana is certain Roman can feel the way her body instantly tenses, because he’s kissing the shell of her ear, reassuring her. “Relax, baby. I won’t touch you there until you’re ready. Just trust me.”

And she does.

Maybe more than she’s ever trusted anyone.

It’s why she moves her legs apart so that her thick thighs are no longer rubbing against each other.

Again, he’s comforting her, “trust me…” Solana is briefly confused as to why he’s repeating himself when his hand is on her backside, squeezing in a way that makes her head fall back against his chest. “I love your ass.” She makes a sound, almost too low to hear when he moves his hands to her chest, big, strong hands cupping her breast. “But, I especially fucking love these.”

She moves her much smaller hands over his. For what reason, she doesn’t know. All she knows is that she nearly groans when his thumb flicks over her hardened areolas through the fabric of her swimsuit. 

“Roman….” Despite his clear directive, it’s hard to keep her eyes open when there’s so much coursing through her body.

“You know why I said your name when I was with her?” Not really, but also yes. It’s difficult for Solana to think straight with him touching her like this. A strange, unfamiliar feeling settling at the bottom of her belly. 

His mouth is back on her, kissing her jawline as he continues to caress her breast, alternating between light massaging and caressing her nipples. “Because I was imagining she was you. Because it’s you I want to be inside.”

Solana’s eyes are bouncing back and forth between open and closed, the soles of her feet  almost numb as standing suddenly feels much more difficult than it should be. There’s an unfamiliar ache in between her legs that has her thighs pressing back against each other. 

Her body is on fire, and despite this intimate touching, she has no desire to push him away. Doen’t feel shackled and stuck in a way that’s reminiscent of her trauma. She wants his touch on her. 

His deep, alluring voice is in her ear, watching every single one of her erotic reactions through the mirror. “There’s not a single part of you that I don’t want to touch….” Her breathing is labored and heavy almost as he moves his hand and trails his finger down the valley of her breast. “To feel…..” Her eyes are fluttering as his hand moves down to her stomach, hers shooting to rest on top of his, an unconscious effort to keep him from feeling the part of her that she’s always felt 

self-conscious about. Only for her to cry out when he lightly squeezes her stomach, rolls and all. “To taste….”

It should make her mortified, for him to be grabbing so freely a part of her that she used to cry over from embarrassment. But, it doesn’t. She’s simply trying to remain strong enough to remain on her own two feet.

Her body is on fire, and there’s this pressure building in her core. Intense but oh so delicious. A brand new sensation.

Whimpering, she moves her hand to his wrist. “Roman, I—”

“I know,” he coaxes, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “That’s what I want, baby.”  He moves his mouth over to her clavicle, tongue wetting her burning skin. “Want you to feel good….”

Good is an understatement. She feels completely overwhelmed in a way she didn’t think possible.

 And it only intensifies when his fingers create circles across her lower belly. Tears are pooling in her eyes, the throbbing in her belly and most intimate part increasing with every touch and every word that leaves his mouth. 

Solana also recognizes the wetness pooling between her legs. Something else she’s never experienced. Not like this. She’s been able to become aroused before, but never to this extent.

Not to this intensity. 

The pressure feels too much, too heavy, but she can’t seem to find the words to express as such while Roman continues to talk her through it.

“The next time you touch yourself, I want you to think of me.” His lips are ghosting the shell of her ear, his fingers continuing to trickle across the lower skin of her belly. “My mouth on you. Me inside of you.” 

She gasps, loud enough for it to almost echo throughout the room and almost bounce off the walls. “Oh my god….”

She feels just about ready to explode when his other hand has moved to her inner thighs, long fingers dancing across her skin and prying her thighs apart. She’s almost certain her essence has made her way past her bottoms and coats the tips of his fingers.  “I’m gonna be your first.” His words puncture her resolve, but it’s the latter statement that completely destroys it. “And your last.”

Solana cries out, stomach in waves as she squeezes his wrist, intense pleasure nearly knocking her off her feet if not for his strong arms around her. Solana feels partially discombobulated as he whispers things in her ear that she’s far too overwhelmed to make out.

She’s not sure how long she’s standing there, doesn’t know how long he’s holding her, helping her land back down to earth. She just knows there’s a pulsing between her legs that she’s never had before. An aftermath almost. 

The aftermath at what had to have been a climax. 

It takes a few minutes for her to finally be able to formulate words. She looks up at him, trying to not think too much of the way he circled his finger around the spillage between her thighs. It’s enough to make her womanhood start to pulse again. “how did—-I’ve never—”

Roman looks down at her, eyes almost narrowed with pure curiosity as she asks, “have you never had an orgasm before?”

Cheeks still flamed from what just occurred but also slight embarrassment at her answer, she explains, “I’ve—I’ve tried before, but I just—I couldn’t.”

He actually looks surprised but simply brings his hand to her chin, kissing her softly. “Well, it damn sure won’t be your last.” He gently bites down on her bottom lip before backing away. “Be outside in 10.” 

It takes a second for her to realize what he’s talking about. She’d completely forgotten what even kicked off all of that.

Watching him leave with her t-shirt, it’s only when he closes the door and she’s alone that something he said finally settles in.

Something that somehow gives her a sense of pleasure more enjoyable than even his talented touch. 

“I’m gonna be your first.” 

Just thinking of it brings tears to her eyes. For an entirely different reason. For so long, she felt so broken and devastated at having her virginity so brutally ripped away. To have it stolen from her before she could even understand what sex was.

And no, she can never truly get it back.

But this….Roman can give her. That first time of actually having a choice.

And that means more to her than he could ever know.

She cares for him more than she’s certain he knows.

And truth be told, Solana is starting to wonder if care is still a strong enough word to describe what she feels for a certain Roman Reigns.

________

After cleaning herself and gathering her bearings, Solana finds Roman out back already in the pool swimming laps as Dulce sits on the side just watching him, her tail wagging. She always seems so excited around him.

Taking advantage of him being underwater and not aware of her presence, Solana moves quickly over to the steps, faltering for a bit before stepping in just enough to where the water brushes against her knees. That’s when the anxiety starts. Her stomach begins knotting.

It’s also when Roman comes up from under, and she’s briefly distracted by just how good he looks while quite literally doing nothing out of the ordinary. She watches him swim over to her, one hand pushing back some of hair, the other reaching for her. 

She hesitates, and he sees it, gently reminding.

“I’ve got you….”

Solana just looks at him. He’s yet to not come through on that promise made time and time again. An oath almost, in every single situation where he’s asserted it.

It’s why she finds herself accepting his hand as she descends further into the water. And just as she recognizes her anxiety heightening along with the water that’s brushing against her chest, Roman tugs her against him. 

Gasping, her hands naturally move onto his shoulders, her legs naturally wrapping around his waist.

“Roman….” She’s looking from side to side as he moves them farther away from the steps. “I—”

“Can you swim?” His question both makes sense and serves as a brief distraction. 

“Y–yes, but I haven’t done it in years.” He’s still moving them though, and that still makes her nervous as more distance is created between her and a way to escape without actually getting under the water. “Roman, I—I can’t—”

“I know.” His assurance is soft, gentle almost. “I’m not gonna let you fall, Solana.”

And she swallows, because there’s an undertone to his statement. Like there’s another meaning that maybe one or both of them isn’t entirely ready to come to terms with.

It’s when they stop moving, she realizes that he wasn’t just aimlessly moving around. He wanted to bring them over to the stool within the pool that he sits on. It’s only then she really becomes cognizant of the fact that she’s straddling him as well as just how close her body is against his.

Not that he seems to mind.

His gaze on her is both distracting and tantalizing. She wants him to never look at her with such desire at the same time she wants him to never look away.

It’s….a strange experience.

Needing there to be some type of conversation, she goes with the first thing that comes to mind. “How….how was your day?”

Roman chuckles. “The same as most.” Solana makes an active effort to ignore how his hands remain planted on her ass, giving just the slightest pressure that makes her softly scratch at his taut skin. “How was yours?”

Eventful. She starts to tell him about Emma and Brandi, but that would somehow lead into a conversation about Solo and his odd behavior recently. And Roman already deals with enough. She doesn’t want to add onto his plate. 

She can handle that on her own.

It’s why she decides to share the most exciting news, a smile growing on her face. “I pinned Bayley today during my training.”

“Did you?” Something tells her that he already knew about this, that he was made aware of this occurrence prior to this moment. Regardless, she’s thankful for him trying to fake surprise. For him trying to give her the satisfaction of being the first to tell him. “Damn. They told me you’ve gotten good. That you’re fast.”

She nods, smile dimming a bit. “I do feel a little bad about how I did it though.”

“Don’t.” He’s quick to dismiss her concerns. “Bayley’s taken much worse in the ring.” After seeing Bayley fight on Night of Champions, she doesn’t doubt that one bit. “There’s actually something I want to talk to you about.”

Her anxiety returns at his ending statement. “O–okay.”

Roman seems to take a minute before explaining, “I think we need to expand your training.” Her confusion is evident and expected as he clarifies with all the preparation in the world for a less than pleased response. “You need to start training with a man.”

Deep down, she already knows his answer before she asks. But, she has to do it anyway. “Like with you?” Open to it, she even suggests, “or the twins?”

Safe people.

As expected, he shakes his head. “No. It needs to be someone you’re not familiar with. Not like you are with me or them.” She looks away, eyes focused on the spotlight on the opposite end of the pool. “It’s only to help you. You can fight now, that’s good. But, you need to learn how to fight someone you don’t feel comfortable with, because that’s the reality of our world.” He elaborates, seemingly pulling her closer to him. “I’m never going to let you be in a position where you have to defend yourself like that against a man, but it’s good for you to know regardless.”

That helps a bit. She believes him. Believes that he’ll never let her be in that space ever again.

But, there’s a ‘what if’ thought that she can’t push away. Because nothing in life is promised or final. Anything and nothing can happen. She could very well find herself one day on the opposite end of her brother, and the thought of him having that hold and power over her makes her sick.

Should that day ever roll around again, she wants it to be different. She wants to be different.

She wants to be able to fight back.

“I’ll do it.” She agrees in a quiet tone and goes on to briefly explain her answer. “I think—I think I need to do it for me.”

Roman simply nods and acknowledges her acceptance with a single word. “Okay.”

Solana is grateful he doesn’t follow up with additional questions. She doesn’t really want to talk about that, doesn’t want to participate in conversations that bring up old, painful memories. “Can I at least meet them before we start training?”

“Of course.” That provides another layer of relief. “Are you still alright with the Gala?”

And this time, she nods. A few days away, she’s already figured out her look for the evening, courtesy of Bayley and Naomi. Biting on her bottom lip, she finds her fingers moving across his chest. “I—I got my dress.” He makes a sound followed up with his mouth moving to her neck. “I think—I think you’ll like it.”

She struggles to keep her eyes open when he starts kissing on her wet skin. “I like everything you wear.” She smiles. “You thought about what you want for your birthday?”

 Once again, it’s hard to talk with him touching her like this. “No, cause I don’t–”

He chuckles against her. “Still on that shit, I see.” And before she can push him on that, he informs with all of the textbook coyness, “it’s alright, I’ve got it figured out.”

That makes her push lightly on his chest, to force his gaze on her. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.” His words are intentionally vague and don’t manage to answer her question. It’s expected, not entirely out of character for him, but still a bit irritating. 

She sighs. The last thing she wants is for this man to go out of his way for her more than he already has. “Roman…

“Solana, I’ve got you in my arms. Half naked.” His eyes take on a dark, lustful glint as he focuses on her mouth. “I really don’t feel like talking, baby….”

He brings his lips back onto hers, but it’s hard to get too into the kiss when her mind is so focused on one little word. 

Baby….

A nickname he seems to use with her more and more, the increasing usage doing nothing for the butterflies every time he calls her as such. But this time, this time the butterflies are for something more, something different.

Something she’s not even sure she should be telling him right now when they haven’t even consummated their marriage. 

It doesn’t stop her from saying his name, her tone serious enough to alert him that she has something to say.

“Roman….” He lifts his head, gaze focused on her, and Solana finds herself momentarily captivated by him. He’s so handsome. So attractive. The embodiment of strength. In so many different ways. Licking her lips, it falls out almost accidentally but also with all of the determination. “I’m going to give you an heir.”

His expression falters only for a second. He’s so good at maintaining composure at all times that it takes her off guard. His voice is lowered. “Solana, I told you, I’ll handle—”

“I know, but—but, it’s not because of that.” And maybe a part of it is, maybe she feels guilty that she’s failing to do the one thing he agreed to marry her for. Maybe it’s out of her trauma. Maybe it’s a sense of obligation. Whatever the potential contributors, there’s no denying the largest chunk comes from a place of pure individualistic want. “I never thought that I could, but….but I can.” This part she knows to be true. Solana never envisioned a life for herself where she could withstand the touch of a man, the desire to have a man touch her. The ability to be intimate. But Roman has changed all that. “I know I can, so I will.” When he says nothing, she adds on, starting to feel a bit unsure of herself. “And we don’t have to now, per se, but….we will. I—I want to do that for you.”

For us.

He still says nothing, but Solana can see there’s a million thoughts floating through her head. She’s prepared for him to push back, to maybe chastise her or scold her for whatever reason. In her experience, men have never really needed solid reasons to be upset with her.

He does none of that though.

Instead, she seems something gleam in his brown eyes, something she can’t name but feels is eerily similar to what she feels whenever she looks at him.

“Non sei quello che mi aspettavo.” Solana has no idea what he’s saying, but with the way he holds her, the way he hikes her higher onto his waist so she’s almost looking down at him, wet hands moving to his face, she doesn’t really care. Doesn’t really need to know. “Ma credo che tu sia esattamente quello di cui ho bisogno…."

—----------

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

Xavier smiles at the hint of nervousness in his son’s voice. Any other time, he’d scold him for weakness. But when plotting against the Bloodline, especially Roman Reigns, one can never be too careful.

“Not necessarily, but I do know your sister. She’s weak. Blinded by love.” Just saying the word leaves a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue. “Your mother fed her that shit, and now she holds onto it. It’s how I know she won’t let him do anything.”

Wes’s dark gaze rakes over his father’s still recovering state. “And yet he still put us both in the hospital.”

Xavier glares, voice icy. He hates being reminded of failure. “Watch it, son.”

We looks away, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his body. “I just think there is another way—”

“Have you heard from your sister? Found a way to get into contact with her without going through Reins?” Xavier already knows the answer but wants his son to recognize the stupidity of his stance. “This is the only way, and it’ll work. Trust me.”

Wes is still quiet, but Xavier is unbothered. He’s instead focused on his phone that vibrates three times, his lock screen showing a set of messages from an unknown number. And it’s in reading the messages that his day goes from good to so much fucking better.

“Well, I’ll be damned….” 

Wes notices the change in his father’s mood and gestures with his chin. “Who is it?”

“Not sure.” He reaches the phone to his son. “But, we’re definitely going to find out.”

And it’s when reading the text that Wes also smiles, the same wicked scheming oscillating in his father’s head traveling over to him. 

“Got you now, you little bitch….” Wes reads over the words once more, basking in the relief and potential this new development will provide.

Unknown: I believe we may have a mutual problem that needs to be….taken care of.

Unknown: Your daughter. Solana.

Unknown: Let’s meet.

—----------

translation: “you’re not what i expected, but i think you’re exactly what i need.”

[lvlyghost]

I love your stories so much I can't 😫😍😍❤️

Could you maybe write a angst to fluff ghost x reader story where the reader gets injured badly while ghost is on her side the whole time in the hospital while she is unconscious and he's having breakdowns and anxiety and all really angsty stuff and when she wakes up she comforts him and all is fluffy and maybe a bit smutty 🤭

No More Stars Left to Count

PAIRINGS: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

SUMMARY: Few things made Simon break down. Almost losing his girl takes a toll on him.

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

TW: Smut! MDNI! Angst, hurt, comfort. Injuries. Panic attacks. Grammar mistakes just the usual... Do not read if you're under 18.

A/N: I'm actually quite happy with this one🥹🩷 Enjoy Anon! This is my first time posting smut and in another language so sorry in advance if there are mistakes! Corrections are appreciated ✨🐝

Masterlist✨

Simon's head rests on his left hand, his eyes bore into your fragile body. Several machines are attached to you, helping you breathe, pumping meds into your system. He doesn't deserve you by any means. He doesn't deserve your trust, your laughter, your body.

All he can think about— as his brown orbs can't find the strength to look away— is how miserably he had failed to protect his team. To protect you. It's been twelve days and you still don't show any signs of waking up; it wasn't abnormal for you to not wake up. The damage inflicted to your body had been great. Simon thought for a painful moment he had lost you for good. The woman he cared for. The woman he utterly loved.

He swallows hard.

There aren't many things that'd scare him. He's simply seen too much. But this? Was this truly his destiny? To lose everyone he loved? His family and now you?

He inhales sharply, his free hands traces your inert hand, tracing soft patterns on your pale skin littered with cuts and bruises. That very hand he adores to hold when you were together. He blinks, memories from your last night together flooding his brain as he sinks further down the chair, adjusting the hoodie over his head.

The night before leaving for the mission in Romania.

-

"No, wait look Simon! Give it to me!" You chuckle, under the covers, both of your bodies remain warm. It wasn't unusual that Simon couldn't sleep so he'd often come into your room and spend the night with you. "There." You pointed out. Your hand and his hand stretched out in front of you, slowly you touch his, spreading out your palms comparing hands. Your eyelashes flutter at the mere sight of his big calloused hand outsize yours, completely engulfing it. You splay out your fingers until they're intertwined.

His breath catches in his throat. He loved how small you were compared to him. He wanted to protect you from everything even from himself, but you had refused to leave him when he tried to push you away.

"Come here." He grabs your arm pining you down and under his gargantuan body. You squeal, laughing at the sudden change of position; Simon sets his body between your legs. Your arms rest on his sides, layers of muscle tensing under your touch. Tilting your head back, eyes meet the dark sky outside the window.

"Look at them." You mumble, Simon lays a kiss on your neck taking advantage. He loves the feeling of your steady pulse on his lips. "The stars are so bright tonight." He hums absentmindedly, hands coming to grip his blond locks.

There's a fire burning in your belly and the ache between your thighs when you feel the tent forming through his grey sweatpants.

"Need you, love." He grumbles. His hands undress your bottom half making you gasp.

"Simon..." soft pink lips kiss your body. Your chest, your stomach... until he's lost between your legs. Mouth lapping at your wetness. You squirm under his touch, it's intoxicating. It feels like you might combust. The fire running through your veins, the goosebumps on your sensitive flesh as you clench around nothing. Unable to resist it you grab him by the arms. "You know what I need." In the blink of an eye two bodies intertwined moving desperately chasing the sweetest end together. He murmurs soft encouraging words in your ear that sent shockwaves through your veins, Simon couldn't possibly be more deep inside you, hitting that sensitive spot that made you want to scream, nails digging on his back, surely leaving red marks that he would proudly show tomorrow.

The purple and orange that tinges the sky outside filters through the window, casting an ethereal display of colors around this room that hides away the few moments you get to spend with him as you finish together; feeling impossibly more in love with him.

"It's clearing already." You point out. Simon looks up from your eyes, albeit reluctant to miss the beautiful shade of your orbs. "No more stars left..."

He kisses your forehead, then bumps his nose against you before he finds your mouth.

"There'll be plenty more to count tomorrow, sweetheart. I promise."

But you're not counting them as he promised the night before. Instead he's shouting orders like an enraged man. Heart beating out of his chest, you were so close to the evac point with your squad. Five minutes ago he had squeezed your arm and kissed your temple before urging you to get in the land rover from the SAS. Only to watch it blow seconds later. His heart stopped and then the ringing in his eardrums.

It was an ambush.

And as the rest covered him he rushed to you.

The blood. Crimson blood all over the bodies. He knew what this meant.

"Sergeant!" He forces his body to move, dragging you by the straps of your combat vest to take cover behind one of the vehicles. He knows he shouldn't be moving you like that, but right now he can't think of anything else than getting you out of there... "Bloody fucking hell!" He roars.

What was that feeling, like his soul was being ripped apart...?

-

Releasing a shaky breath, Simon squeezes your hand once again careful not to hurt you. The IV in your hand too foreign. It's too much. The sight, the memories of the vehicle flying through the sky...

The pit in his stomach grows, a wave of nausea and uneasiness hitting him all of the sudden. Simon stands on wobbly legs, taking one last glance at you he steps out the ICU. Crouching down he yanks the balaclava from his face. Why was his chest so tight, and his vision filled with blackness? The incessant ring on his ears is real. Fucking real. It was supposed to be a nightmare... this thing pulling him down.

"Come back to me baby." He pleads in a hushed tone although he knows you can't hear him. Simon lifts his hands to find support on the wall in front of him. He breathes as much air as he can through his nose, tries to blink away the black dots.

"Lieutenant Riley?" A feminine voice wafts through the empty hallway reaching him. He holds out a shaky finger without even looking at her.

"Leave..." he warns.

"Sir? I...-" the nurse hesitates.

"Now!" He barks.

She scurries away but not before calling the doctors and the Captain to the med wing.

Simon stays there until his ragged breathing evens, he then goes back to your room, deep down he hopes—prays— that your eyes will open when you hear him. But you don't. He sits again on the couch where he's tried to sleep, tossing the mask away from him. His throat bobs, what's happening to him? It burns. The door creaks open revealing a concerned John who looks at him in disapproval.

"This isn't going to help anyone Simon." He scolds him.

"What do you want Price?"

"You need to sleep. And for... just for the love of God eat something son."

"Not until I know she'll be fine."

Price sighs closing the door behind him.

"She wouldn't want this." Even then, Price doesn't want to look at you. This had taken a toll on everyone. But Simon wasn't handling it well. Rubbing his eyes he scoffs. "Come on go get some rest I can stay."

"No." Both men stare at each other not wanting to back down. "I'm on leave you don't get to tell me what to do Price."

John crosses his arm.

"I'm worried Simon. I want her to be okay too. We all do."

Simon's jaw clenched, hands balling into fists. They don't really know. They don't know, can't comprehend the extent of his love for you.

"What if this was your girl? Would you leave her fucking side hm?"

A tense pause electrifies the air as the two glare at each other, oblivious to the other person whose eyes are tearing.

The beeping sound increases as your heart rate goes up. Two pair of eyes snap to the sound. Your hand tries to snatch the oxygen from your face, but Simon darts out with dread plastered all over his features. You faintly hear John calling the doctors.

"Easy, love. Easy..." he soothes you. Stopping your hands from moving. Your body is in too much pain, tears slip down your cheeks, once again Simon grits his teeth. If he could he'd take it all away. "Don't force yourself you're..." he trails off. "You're hurt."

It feels like you're body is being torn apart. The drugs are slowly leaving your system.

"What happened?" your croak out, throat dry and inflamed. He sits bringing the glass of water to your lips not before removing for a brief moment the oxygen mask. You take a small sip and thank him with a weak smile.

"Ambush." He explains. Hating that he can see the images all over again in the back of his mind. "Thought I lost you."

More tears well in your eyes, as weak as you feel you reach out your hands tracing his jawline and cheekbone. He closes his eyes, and finally breathes again, with you touching him he feels alive again. He wants nothing more than to go home with you.

"How many nights..."

"Twelve..."

The doctors rush in but before they drag him away you say:

"That's a lot of counting we've missed."

A press of his lips on your forehead, a silent promise to never let anything happen to you ever again. Even if it mean giving his own life for yours. He would do it any day. Better him than you.

"We've got the rest of our lives, love."

[milf-murdock]

Nightmares

(Simon “Ghost” Riley x 141!Reader)

Summary: You’d always avoided spending the night with Simon, quick to make excuses and get out of there soon after your passionate and enthusiastic bouts of mind-blowing-sex.

One night, you accidentally fell asleep. And Simon finds out what you’ve been hiding.

Warnings: Soft Ghost™ should be his own warning ☠️ nightmares, comfort

It was practically routine at this point, you showing up at Ghost’s room, sneaking across base under the cloak of night. There was always a false pretense ready to go—oh, just a quick form for the Lieutenant to sign. Just need to go over one last detail of the mission—though you seldom ran into anyone asking too many questions.

Ghost was always waiting for you.

What started out as a single night of poor judgement, nothing more than blowing off steam with a squad-mate, quickly delved into something much much more. It happened as gradually as walking from the shallow end of a pool into the deep end: slowly, and then all at once, Ghost’s feet were out from underneath him and he was treading water. As much as he was loathe to admit it, he craved your company. And clearly, you felt the same way, if the way you tapped on his door night after night was any indication.

Seated on the edge of his cot, Simon took another sip of his bourbon, a rare treat he stashed away in his quarters for nights such as this, trying (and failing) not to look at his watch.

21:05. You were late.

Simon wouldn’t say he was waiting for you, per se. But he wasn’t not waiting for you. His thumb traced a drop of condensation running down the glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap. There it was: the signature three knocks.

It wasn’t intended as a code of any sort, but it had become a sort of running secret language system between you two.

Tap. Tap. Tap. I’m here again.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Let me in again, Ghost.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Come see me, Simon.

Ghost took a final sip of his bourbon before placing the chilled glass on the coffee table in front of him and pulling down his balaclava.

As he opened the door and your frame came into view, Ghost tried to pretend he didn’t notice how his heart racing as he took in your subtle beauty. His eyes raked over you from head to toe, drinking you in, committing your face to memory as if he hadn’t just seen you the previous night. Maybe he was going mad, but Simon could have sworn that the hours between each visit felt like they were getting longer and longer, despite you showing up at his doorstep at promptly the same time every day.

“Hey,” you smiled up at him, and for the first time Simon noticed the signs of exhaustion tugging at the edges of your eyes. You must not have been sleeping well, he thought to himself.

“Sorry I’m a bit late, lost track of time trying to wrap up this last report,” you continued, stepping over the doorstep.

“S’fine,” Simon assured as he helped you out of your coat. “Glad you made it.”

It was routine: taking your spot on Simon’s bed, your lips finding his as the small talk dwindled down. The unending waves of pleasure as Simon devoured you, thrusting into you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. The two of you collapsing into a sweaty, tangled mess, panting for air in the aftermath.

Simon tugged you into his side, letting your head rest on his chest as he cupped the back of your head, keeping you firmly in place.

“Fucks sake, love,” he panted out. “That was incredible.” Still deep in that post-orgasm haze, a small nod and hum of agreement was all you could manage as you tried to coax feeling back into your shaking legs. Lost in a moment of pure tenderness, Simon tentatively pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He was so so tempted to ask you to stay the night, just as he had been for the last several nights. And though the excuse differed from night to night, the gist was always the same. “Sorry, Si. I can’t.”

Just as he was finding the wordsto convince you to stay, Simon noticed the soft snores coming from you and the steady rise and fall of your chest.

This was new. You fell asleep.

Perhaps it was the lingering exhaustion from your last mission, or the intensity of the two back-to-back orgasms Simon coaxed from your body, or the soothing sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear as you laid on his chest, but for the first time, you fell asleep in Simon’s bed.

Simon smiled to himself in the dark and pressed you in a little closer, his hand trailing up and down your back. He hated to admit how nice this felt. How right it felt to hold you in his arms. And in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder what on earth had stopped you from doing this before?

It didn’t take long for Simon to fall asleep with you in his arms. Your steady breathing and comforting weight on his chest were quick to lull him to sleep, tonight already proving to be one of the best nights sleep Simon ever had.

There was a whimper in the dark.

Simon’s eyes fluttered open. Another sound, and his exhaustion-riddled brain was still trying to fit the pieces together when he felt the twitch of your body on top of him.

You were having a nightmare.

The realization dawned on Simon as another soft cry escaped your lips and you subconsciously pressed your face into Simon’s chest. He carefully brought up a hand to your shoulder, giving you a gentle shake. “Love?” He whispered into the dark. “Wake up, it’s just a dream.” His voice wasn’t used to taking on such a gentle tone. You let out another whimper, and Simon felt his heart cleave in two. He gave another firm shake of your shoulder, his voice growing louder. “Sweetheart, wake up.” You gave a final cry as your body twitched and you pulled your head up. Your breathing came in ragged gasps.

“Easy,” Simon coached. “Take it easy.”

You moved to sit up, Simon following suit, his hands resting on your shoulder in an attempt to ground you.

“Fuck,” you rasped out. “Fuck, I didn’t mean—“ you were cut off by another gasp, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes as the panic from your dream escalated into panic in the present, mixing with the embarrassment at the display unfolding in front of Ghost. “I didn’t mean for you to see that, to see me—“

“No.” Simon cut you off, his hands wrapping around your wrists and gently pulling them from your face. “No, love, don’t say that. Just breathe for me, yeah?” He released his grip on your wrist as he sat back, surveying your trembling form. You inhaled sharply, trying your best to do as he asked.

“Atta girl,” his low voice filled the space, calming you down even further. “Gimme another.”

You took another breath, finally feeling your heart rate start to slow down.

“Simon, I—“ you were cut off again, this time by Simon’s lips pressed gently against your own, just a quick peck, a motion meant to soothe, not to interrupt your stabilizing breaths.

“S’alright, love.” He murmured. “I get ‘em too.”

You nodded your head in understanding. You should have guessed. After all, you both had your fair share of traumatic, nightmare-inducing missions together. That’s to say nothing about the more personal hardships you had each endured outside of your time in the 141.

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding staying the night?” Simon took a shot in the dark, his voice was reserved, trying not to pry too hard for fear of you becoming even more of a flight risk. He couldn’t explain it, but he had this deep seated feeling that if he let you leave just then, you might never come back.

You gave a solemn nod, the thought occurring to you too late that he might not even be able to see the gesture in the dark.

“Thought so.” Simon sighed, raising a tentative hand to brush against your shoulder. This kind of touch was new to him. And to you. You bristled for a second at the sensitive touch, before caving in. Later on, you’d blame it on the midnight haze, still half drunk on sleep, the adrenaline from the too-real nightmare, the safety of the dark room. But you felt yourself slip into Simon’s grasp, strong arms folding you into his body.

You were unsure at first, stiff in his arms, before finally succumbing to the motion and leaning into his form. Simon gently lowered the two of you back down on the bed, making sure you were back in your original spot against his chest. “C’mere,” he muttered, a hand pressing into your back to pull you even closer. “I've got ya.”

It was an unspoken agreement in that moment, a truce of sorts. A line of vulnerability had been crossed and the shift in the atmosphere was palpable. There was no going back. Not for you. Not for Ghost.

Masterlist ✧ Ask Box

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Got My Doll Back » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Enhanced!Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America, Sam Wilson/Falcon, and Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

Summary: Bucky gets his wife back after thinking that she was dead for years.

Warnings: Fluff, language, mentions of past memories & trauma, fighting, crying, kissing, pet names (doll)

A/N: Y/N has the same powers as Wanda.

A/N #2: Thank you to @buckys-wintersoldier for helping find the first aesthetic picture🩵

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

“These 4 people are your mission. Get these 3 out of the way.” Pierce shows you pictures of Captain America, the Falcon, and Black Widow. “And bring the Winter Soldier back to us alive. Understand?” He says, showing you a picture of the Winter Soldier.

“I understand, sir.” You reply.

Alarms at the base you’re at went off, along with a flashing red light in the room. Pierce went to the security system to see four people walking through the hallways of the base separately. Pierce chuckles and smirks before turning to face you.

“This mission may be easier than we thought. Go to the south end of the base and bring the Winter Soldier to the room.” He tells you.

You nodded and headed towards the door. An agent opened it for you. You headed to the south side of the base. Your walk was cut short when you heard a woman’s voice. You turned around to see a woman with red hair and wearing a black mission suit, one of your targets. She rose one of her arms, getting ready to shoot one of her widow bites at you. Your powers glowed red in your right hand, along with your eyes glowing red. She began to walk towards you, but you used your powers to throw her against the wall, making her groan in pain when she landed on the floor. You ran away from her before she could get up and get you.

“Rogers, Barnes, Wilson. There’s a woman wearing all black with a red jacket is going to the south side of the base. She’s enhanced.” Natasha says into her ear piece.

“I’m on it!” Sam replies, running to the south side.

You rounded the corner to see your second target causing you to stop in your tracks, seeing a man standing across from you.

“I’m not about to fight a woman so let’s do this the easy way.” Sam says.

“That’s a shame.” You say, slightly tilting your head.

Your eyes turned red, along with a ball of red appearing in your hand. You threw it at him causing him to fall to the floor. You ran past him to find your other two targets.

“She’s going east now!” Sam says into his ear piece.

“I see her!” Bucky replies.

Bucky shoots at you. You quickly ducked to the floor to avoid the bullet. You chuckled and stood up with your back facing him.

“Got outsmarted by a woman, didn’t you, Soldat?” You say.

Bucky froze and his eyes went wide. The voice sounds all too familiar. It sounds like someone he knows. Someone from his past.

Steve rounded the corner and caught up to Bucky. He waved his hand in front of his face to snap him out of his thoughts.

“Bucky!” Steve shook him. “Did she do something to you?” He asks.

“N-No.” Bucky stutters.

Steve looks at you to see you facing away from him and Bucky.

“Turn around.” Steve orders.

Steve got his shield ready as you chuckled and turned around.

“You know, the last man who ordered me around, got thrown off of a building. I’m sure you don’t want that to happen to you, Captain.” You say, slowly turning around.

You looked up to see the two men with surprised looks on their faces. Bucky put his gun in the hostler and Steve lowered his shield.

“Oh my god.” Steve says, completely speechless.

“Y/N?” Bucky says with hopefulness in his voice.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, tilting your head to the side.

“Who the hell is Y/N?” You say.

Bucky couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His wife from the 40s was standing a few feet away from him. He slowly approached you which was a mistake on his part cause the next thing he knew was being thrown into the wall. Steve threw his shield at you, but you stopped it with your powers. It fell to the floor in front of you.

“Listen here, Captain and Soldat, but I’m not who you guys think I am.” You say.

Bucky stood up from the ground in time to see your eyes glowing red and a red light glow in your hands, making his eyes to widen.

“I was given a mission and I need to finish it. I’m sure you can relate to that, Soldat.” You say.

Before you could use your powers on them, you felt shocks to the back of your neck causing your body to tense up and lose consciousness. Bucky was quick to catch you before you hit the floor.

“While you two were busy dilly dallying with her, me and Sam got the file.” Natasha says, holding up the file.

Bucky moved your hair from your face to get a closer look at your face causing his breath to hitch in his throat and his eyes to tear up.

“What did they do to you, doll?” Bucky asks, talking more to himself.

Sam and Natasha furrowed their eyebrows in confusion as they looked down at Bucky.

“Doll? Barnes, do you know this woman?” Natasha asks.

“He’ll explain later. We need to get out of here.” Steve says.

Bucky stood up with you in his arms and carried you to the quinjet, holding you like his life depends on it.

A couple hours later, you woke up in a room that you didn’t recognize. You looked around the room, gathering your surroundings. Your eyes landed on a man sleeping in a chair next to the bed you’re in.

“Hello?” You say, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky woke up immediately. A smile grew on his face when he seen that you’re awake.

“Thank god you’re awake.” Bucky says relieved.

He reaches to grab your hand, but you backed away from him. You felt yourself beginning to panic.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He says in a reassuring voice.

You took a moment to yourself to think. You felt yourself starting to become overwhelmed, your breathing became uneven.

“Wh-Where am I?” You asked, looking around the room again.

“My apartment.” He tells you.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to calm yourself down. That’s when memories flooded your brain. Visions of a man appeared in your mind. The man looks exactly like the man sitting next to you. You opened your eyes and looked at the man. There was a few different features about this man compared to the man in your vision. He has long hair, stubble, and a metal arm.

“I know you from somewhere, but I don’t know where.” You say.

“Take your time. It’ll come to you.” He says softly.

You took your time and thought. You kept thinking until your head started pounding by more memories flowing back into your mind. You put your hands on the sides of your head and squeezed your eyes shut. You jumped slightly when you felt a hand on your back, but you didn’t move away. When your head stopped pounding, you opened your eyes and looked up at the man with tears in your eyes. It didn’t take long for you to realize that the man next to you is your husband.

“Bucky?” You say in almost a whisper.

“It’s me, doll. It’s your Bucky.” He says with a smile.

Tears spilled from your eyes as you hugs him. Bucky pulled you onto his lap, holding you close to him. His eyes teared up. Bucky never thought he would get the chance to see or hold his wife again.

“I missed you so much.” You cried against his chest.

“I missed you too, doll.” Bucky says, tears rolled down his cheeks.

You sniffled and looked up at your husband, looking into his beautiful blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was told to—” Bucky silenced you with a kiss.

“You didn’t hurt me.” Bucky says, looking into your eyes.

“I-I blasted you with my powers.” You say.

“It wasn’t you, doll.” He says, cupping your cheeks.

You shivered when you felt cool metal against your skin.

“What happened to your left arm?” You asked with concern in your voice while looking at his metal arm.

Bucky didn’t want to upset with the details of how he really lost his left arm so he came up with a different way to tell you what happened.

“I got hurt years ago and when I woke up, I had this.” He explains, showing you his metal arm.

Bucky watched as you carefully touched it, watching as your fingers traced the plates of it.

“I’m sorry for hurting your friends with my powers.” You say, feeling ashamed for your actions.

“They’ll understand that it wasn’t you, doll.” Bucky says.

“I didn’t hurt Steve, did I?” You asked.

“No you didn’t.” He says.

You smiled to yourself, knowing that you didn’t hurt your best friend.

“Is it ok if I see Steve and meet your friends?” You asked.

“Of course.” He smiles.

You got off the bed and followed closely behind Bucky while holding his hand as he led you to the living room where Steve, Sam, and Natasha are.

“Someone would like to see you guys.” Bucky says to them.

You slowly stepped out from behind Bucky and looked at everyone.

“Do you remember me?” Steve asks, trying his best not to overstep.

“How could I forget my best friend?” You say.

Steve smiles as you approached him to give him a hug. You looked at the two people standing next to him.

“I’m sorry for hurting you guys.” You tell them.

“It’s ok. We understand.” Sam says.

“Don’t worry about it.” Natasha says.

All of you talked for a while until you got tired and wanted to go to bed.

“I’m happy that I got my doll back.” Bucky says, making you smile.

You smiled and laid your head on his chest and played with his dog tags.

“I love you, Bucky.” You say sleepily.

“I love you too, doll.” He almost whispers. “Get some rest.” He says.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Of course I will. I’m never leaving you out of my sight again.” He says, leaning down and kissed you passionately.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[elliestwoleftfingerss]

birthday cake - simon riley

synopsis: simon doesn't like to talk about his birthday. what do you do? you give him a new one.

gender: not specified.

proofread: none.

warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of substance misuse (alcohol), mentions of violence, depictions of death, mild language.

Birthdays are a celebration of a person. A reminder that you've lived another year of life. A chance to commemorate the past years and what's to come in the future.

For Simon Riley, they were a burden. Filled with the violent experiences from his childhood, he wanted nothing more than to leave those memories along with the past. A birthday, to him, was a memento of his upbringing; those countless years of abuse and trauma inflicted upon him by the one person he should've been able to look up to. The one person who should've been there to keep him safe from harm.

The topic of his life was a sensitive one, and others knew not to bring up his past. Simon would avoid the dreaded conversation at all costs. He preferred to keep to himself; always had, always would.

Until you came along.

An optimist, always adorned with a smile on your face and a positive attitude to go with it. You were a ray of sunshine, and Simon, a dark cloud. An open book, widely known and easy to read, and a locked door, hiding everything within from people who don't have a key. An unbroken string, untouched and waiting to be played, and a scratched record, shuffling and replaying the same things over and over again until it broke down.

Simon could never comprehend how someone so pure could join a life of work like the military. More so, the Taskforce. The work was ugly, and the sights that presented themselves on duty were enough to deter a person and change their frame of mind. This kind of life wasn't made for someone like you. You were young, and you had so much more to live for. He'd never understood it.

You were a social butterfly around the base camp, always present and engaging in conversation, always happy and smiling. You had spoken to Simon a few times on operations and in the mess hall, but ultimately, you didn't see much of him.

Simon wasn't a talker. He was more of an observer. He had a couple of friends in the Taskforce, you recalled, like Johnny and Kyle, but he didn't initiate anything with other people. That included you. Simon had the fear that people would be able to see past the large man with a skull mask. The fear that people would see the real Simon Riley; a broken, war-roughened soldier, who was trying to pick up the scattered pieces of his life underneath that black balaclava.

The recent operation was just the same as the other countless missions you'd been on with your team. Infiltrate, gather information, and keep yourself alive. Working in the military was a routine, running over the same system time and time again. You'd go in and come out, leaving the place a little more wounded than you were before; physically and mentally. Sometimes, it was hard to keep looking up when it felt like everything was going down.

At the end of said operation, the members of the Taskforce gathered in the mess hall, surrounding tables, picking at half-eaten plates of food, and exchanging conversation.

When the team talked about reintegrating, you noticed Simon visibly tense up as he sat opposite you. The fork that was balanced in his hand hovered around his plate as he pushed around his food, his gaze lowered, and his shoulders went rigid at the mention of the word 'family.' You didn't know much about Simon outside of the military, though you figured he had someone out there waiting for him, like everyone else. Didn't he?

Your gaze would flick to Simon every once in a while, keeping an eye on his movements. He almost seemed wary, like he was waiting for something bad to happen.

That's when Kyle mentioned something brief about taking his family out for dinner because it was his mother's birthday. The other men continued to eat and speak, but Simon's movements had stopped altogether. His fork had stopped moving his food around his plate, and he watched the idle dishware with a distant gaze. He'd suddenly become disconnected, no longer paying attention to his surroundings as he got lost in his thoughts. You suddenly wished you could read his mind.

Simon's head was a dark place. Lurking with the ghosts of his past, memories threatened to break the surface if he didn't keep them buried deep in the back of his brain. He couldn't let them go, however; it was impossible. His fears kept him awake at night, and he knew that he'd never fully escape the life he was trying so hard to hide.

There was a loud screech of metal against tile, and just like that, Simon was gone. Leaving his dinner discarded and the conversation at a pause, his large figure left the mess hall and disappeared outside. Your brows furrowed, though you could see that the conversation had been making him uncomfortable ever since the crew had spoken about leaving base to go and see their families.

"What was that about?" You asked, head swivelling around to face the three other soldiers sitting at the table. Kyle had stopped talking, Johnny was watching the door shut behind Simon, and Price was eating quietly. Something was going on here, and you were determined to find out what.

One by one, the men turned to look at you. Johnny's expression caught your attention, in particular. His brows were slightly furrowed, eyes narrowed as if he was debating saying something. Again, his gaze would dart from the door and back, until he finally spoke up.

"He's gey closed aff. Doesn't lik' talking aboot his-sel," Johnny told you, his brogue accent rolling off his tongue with every word.

"How come?" You asked. You knew it wasn't right to ask about Simon, even more so because he wasn't there to tell you himself, but you couldn't stop yourself.

"Family matters," the Scotsman replied. "Nae a man o' celebration."

The cogs started turning in your head. What did Johnny mean that he wasn't a man of celebration? And family matters? You suspected that the topic of Simon's family was a sore one, as your mind went back to the Lieutenant marching out of the mess hall. You turned back to Johnny and, despite the voice in your head telling you not to, asked another question.

Simon gripped and twisted the door knob, stepping into the barracks. The noise of the door clicking shut behind him, and the sound of his combat boots clipping against the hardwood floors were the only indicator of life inside the quarters. He found his bunk and ducked down, taking a seat on the edge of the firm mattress. The man blew out a sigh and slid back to the top of the bed, extending his legs out straight across the bottom and putting his hands behind his head.

He stared blankly at the planks of wood above him which served to hold up the bunk above his head, his mind stirring with thoughts and feelings, near the point of overflowing.

Kyle hadn't said anything wrong. Hell, Simon had no reason to walk out of there anyway. He'd just been listening to Kyle talking about visiting his family, right? There wasn't anything wrong with that.

The man felt like he was reaching a tipping point. An edge of no return. Recollections of his drunken father, stumbling through the small town house where Simon spent his childhood with his younger brother, Tommy, and his mother. Evocations of the man swearing at the boys' mother, throwing fists with a beer bottle in his hand. Thoughts of how he'd give his sons a beating after seeing how he'd treated their mother, threatening them to keep their damn mouths shut, or he'd give them something to cry about.

He couldn't think about a family without remembering his own. He'd failed to protect them.

He shut his eyes and tried to get some shut-eye. There hadn't been any more news about any new operations yet, so he took the time to catch up on some sleep. Working full-time for the military could be tiring work, and his exhaustion quickly caught up with him.

As though no time had passed at all, the soldier woke with a start at the sound of knocking on the door of the barracks. He immediately found it strange, considering the barracks were communal. Ladies and gents were separated, but people rarely knocked. There was just no need.

He sat up, avoiding bumping his head on the top bunk as he slid out of his own bed. He had no idea what time it was, but he was still in a bad mood. He was upset and angry. Angry at the world. Angry at his family. Angry at himself.

Grumbling silent curses to himself, the Mancunian approached the door with a slight hunch. All he wanted to do was try and relax until they'd be dispatched again, but he knew deep down that that was impossible. The word "peace" wasn't in the job description, and for good reason.

He grasped the door knob and gave it a twist and yank, pulling the door open and revealing the visitor outside. He was silently taken aback by the sight. "Christ, the hell is all this?"

You stood in the hallway, looking like your usual positive self as you smiled up at the giant of a man. Your military gear had been replaced by civilian clothing, and you were carrying something in your hand. Upon closer inspection from the 6-foot-something soldier, he realised you were carrying a small china plate in your hand. In the centre, a cupcake had been delicately placed.

A small frown grew on Simon's face, but before he could protest your sudden arrival with a cake, you gestured for him to move backwards and took a step forward yourself. To your surprise, he turned around and walked back to his bunk, leaving the door open. You took that as your cue to enter, and you took a small step inside, nudging the door shut behind you.

Simon hunched back under the bunk, pulling his legs up and keeping an eye on you as you walked deeper into the room. You were walking slowly, cautiously, to avoid dropping the cargo you'd been carrying. You looked so careful, and it almost made Simon smile. Almost.

Simon moved his legs off the bed as you gently placed the plate on the thin duvet, and he was now able to get a better look at what you'd brought with you. A small cake sat atop the plate, encased in a gold and white striped cupcake case. The top was messily smothered with cream-coloured icing, and a silver, unlit candle protruded from the top.

"What's this for?" Simon asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion in his voice. He silently wondering why you'd brought a cake with you. Was it for him?

"It's decided that today, Simon Riley, is your new birthday," you said, and Simon's expression flattened.

A new birthday? He already had a birthday. He didn't need a new one. He had one already, and that was unnecessary, too.

"And who decided that?" He questioned, his gaze shifting from you to the plate you'd placed on his bunk.

"Me."

"You?"

"Yep."

"Y'know that I'm over thirty years old, right?" He said bluntly, looking back up at you. He watched you as you began patting down your trouser pockets.

"But isn't that only more of a reason to celebrate?" You'd asked him, digging your hand into your pocket and fishing something out. As Simon continued to observe, he noticed that you'd pulled out a lighter.

Without answering your previous statement, he asked a question of his own. "What's that for?"

You inspected the small lighter between your fingers for a moment; adorned with a scratched up flag of your own country, it reminded you of home. You smiled to yourself before flipping up the cap, brushing your thumb against the spark wheel and igniting a crimson flame at the top.

Simon realised what you were doing. You were lighting the candle. For him.

You'd taken a seat on the floor beside his bunk, one arm resting comfortably on the edge of the mattress as you lit the candle up. It glowed with a flickering orange light, melted wax drooling down the candle as it began to melt.

"What's so special about this whole new birthday thing anyway?" Simon asked, the warm light reflecting in his dark eyes.

"Everyone needs to be celebrated," you said simply. "And birthdays are a great excuse for eating cake," you added with a soft chuckle. You rarely spoke to each other, but you acted like you were his friend. Maybe that was what you hoped for.

And just like that, Simon could feel the icy armour around his frozen heart begin to thaw. Solely because someone, you, had done something like this for him. He may have acted like the idea was insignificant and useless, but inside, he was warmed by the thought that someone cared. Someone cared about him.

"I don't know your real birthday, so here's a new one," you added, your eyes moving from the lit candle to Simon as he sat on the bed opposite you. "A chance for you to make some new memories."

Simon was too taken by the gesture to realise that you knew about his experience with birthdays. He hadn't had a proper birthday in years. The last birthday he remembered was his tenth birthday party, where his father had thrown his cake against the dining room wall in a fit of drunken rage. The boys had spent the rest of their afternoon scrubbing chocolate icing off the wall.

Simon was snapped out of the recollection when you spoke again.

"Make a wish," you told him.

The man swallowed and looked down at the melting candle. he felt so vulnerable. He'd never given someone an opportunity to get this close to him, and he felt like he was betraying himself by letting someone past the barriers he'd built.

When he looked down and saw the look of quiet enthusiasm on your face, he lifted the china plate and held it up. He gazed into the weak firelight for a moment before he shut his eyes to obey your ask.

Before he blew out the candle with a small, lingering cloud of dark grey smoke, he wished for his family back.

author's note: i wrote this a few months ago (on my other account) and just now realised how hole-y and choppy it is! that's gonna bother me, but i'm not changing it. i may rewrite it at some point, but that day is not today.

hope y'all enjoyed :D

[moremaybank]

'TIL DEATH DO US PART — r.c

pairing rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary the night before your wedding, rafe reminds you that you'll always belong to him

warnings 18+, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, cheating, breeding kink (ish), creampie, language

author's note heyyy new layouttt. also i accidentally deleted the request for this bc i'm an actual idiot. don't hate me pls

rafe masterlist

Your rehearsal dinner looks like something out of a movie. A soft, warm light is cast around the room, reflecting off the chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling beautifully. The hall is jam-packed with almost every kook on the island, who are all dressed to the nines and engaging in small talk. 

You spot your fiancé Jackson across the way, catching up with some of his old friends from college. He throws his head back in laughter, assumably in response to a joke, and you smile at how happy he looks. 

A year ago, you never would’ve imagined that you’d find yourself engaged to Jackson. Truthfully, you only ever saw yourself marrying a certain Cameron boy. But things change. You still aren't sure for better or worse, but they have nonetheless. 

Deciding that you need another drink after thinking about he who shall not be named, you navigate through the crowd in pursuit of the bar. 

“A shot of tequila, please.” 

The bartender nods, grabbing a shot glass off one of the shelves and topping it up. You bid him a thank you and quickly down the contents of the small glass. You shut your eyes at the slight burn, feeling the warmth make its way down your system. You let it wash away the memories of him. Even after all this time, you can still feel his hands on you and his soul intertwined with yours, as if he left an imprint on you forever. 

He branded you, and you’ll never forget it, not even when you’re married to Jackson. 

You know it’s horrible. It’s awful. Jackson is an incredible guy. He’s everything Rafe isn’t, everything Rafe could never be, and you can see yourself being happy with him for the rest of your life. But even so, deep down, you still yearn for the imperfection and flawed love that came with being Rafe’s. 

You request another shot, knocking it back faster than your brain can process. The guilt is eating you alive, and you’re desperate to kill it. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. Not here, not now, and certainly not with your poor, unknowing fiancé across the room.

“Rough night?”

A chill runs down your spine, and goosebumps prick at your skin. It’s as if your senses have just come alive at the mere sound of his voice. 

You prepare yourself, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath before turning around to face him.

There he is, standing in all his devilishly handsome glory. His eyes are as icy and blue as ever, his sharp features already making you weak in the knees. His body is clad in a perfectly tailored Armani suit, with dress shoes to match. 

It’s shameful to admit, but he looks gorgeous. Then again, when does he not?

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

He inches closer to you, his dress shoes lightly clacking against the marble tiles of the floor. “Relax, princess. I just came here to give you your wedding gift, seeing as I’m not invited to the actual wedding.”

“You weren’t invited here, either. If Jackson sees you—”

“—Let him see me. I don’t care.”

Same old Rafe Cameron, you think, cocky as ever.

“You can’t be here, Rafe. I’m not going to let you ruin this for me.” 

Your hands find his arms, and you spin him around before shoving him and making a beeline for the doors. You locate the nearest restroom and push him inside, locking the door behind the two of you.

“I gotta say, I’m not feeling very welcome here,” Rafe notes. 

“That’s because you aren’t. You know Jackson has always felt insecure about our past. It’s not fair of you to come here and try to stir the pot the night before our wedding. You have to go, Rafe.”

Rafe’s eyes trail down your form. The dress you’re wearing outlines your curves perfectly. Your arms are crossed against your chest, further accentuating your cleavage. Thanks to the heels strapped around your ankles, your legs look longer, and you’re glowing more than ever.

“You look stunning,” he notes, rubbing his fingers against his lips as he drinks you in. 

“Why are you here? Seriously.” 

“C’mon, baby. You didn’t think I’d let you marry that fucker without getting one last taste of what’s mine, did you?” 

A sinister-like smirk plasters itself on his face when he notices your stern expression falter, and he knows his words are having the desired effect on you. 

“Don’t go there, Rafe,” you say, walking over to the sink and creating more distance between you. You brace your hands on the counter, taking a deep breath and purposely avoiding Rafe’s heated gaze in the mirror's reflection. 

“Why? ‘Cause you’ll jump at the chance?” He asks, stepping closer to you. “I can see it in your eyes, princess. You miss me.”

You scoff, “Actually, I don’t."

“You do. You miss my hands on you,” he whispers. His large hands find your hips. He glides them upward and toward your tits. He cups them over your dress, squeezing them and then revelling in the small, tortured moan you let out. 

His lips brush against the shell of your ear, “You miss my lips on you.” 

Then, his hands slide down to your hips again, pulling your ass against the hard cock in the confinement of his slacks. “And you miss my cock inside of you, fucking you ‘til you’re babbling.”

You can feel yourself growing wet as he rubs against you, and you’re tempted to lean into his touch and give in. But then you think about how wrong this is. Yes, you’re harbouring feelings for your ex, but you’ve never acted on them and never planned to. And so, coming to your senses, you brush him off and turn to face him.

“Go home, Rafe. You…you have to go home.” 

You're barely able to maintain eye contact with him, and you're sure he'll either call your bluff or straight-up ignore your wishes.

“I’m not going anywhere."

Straight-up ignoring, it is.

“Stop it.”

“No,” he simply states. “You’re mine whether you like it or not, don’t you get that? You can’t walk away from this. From me.”

Rafe’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips as he stares down at you, awaiting your next move. He senses your uncertainty. He knows you need him just as much as he needs you, and he can see how hard you’re trying to fight it. 

He’s always loved your fiery persistence.

His gaze intensifies on yours, and before you can speak, his hand slips under the slit of your dress, cupping your wet core through your barely-there panties. The familiar feeling of his cool rings against you makes you shiver, just like old times.

“Look at that. Your pussy’s giving you away, baby. Even she knows you can’t resist me.” 

“Bite me,” you grit out, trying your best not to give him a reaction when his fingers tease your clit. 

“I will. Just remember you asked for it.” His head dips down, and he scrapes his teeth against your jawline, partially making good on his promise.

“You’re impossible. I can’t even look you in the eye right now.”

“Then turn the fuck around,” he says, both hands grabbing you before he spins you around to face the mirror. He hikes your dress up over your hips and tugs your panties to the side. You hear the clinking of his buckle as he undoes his belt, along with the unfastening of his zipper, and before you know it, his cock slams into you without warning. You inhale sharply at the sudden intrusion, and Rafe does nothing to hide the smug look on his face. 

Without allowing you to adjust, he starts to snap his hips against yours quickly and harshly, as if he’s punishing you for even daring to look in another man’s direction. 

“Rafe, fuck,” you whine, your sanity now long gone. Your mouth is wide open as you take his harsh thrusts. He uses this opportunity to fuck the idea into your brain: you will never be rid of him.

“Look how much you missed me. It’s written all over your face. Not to mention, all over my cock,” he grates, referring to the arousal you've coated him in. He goes harder, impaling you balls deep. “So fucking needy. Does he even fuck you right? Get you off? Or are you thinking of me when he tries?”

“Shut the fuck up and make me cum, Rafe.”

“I don’t think you’re in the position to make demands, sweetheart. Not when you’re about to marry a pathetic nobody that can’t make you scream like I can.”

You hate how his words still cut deep, mainly because he’s right. But you don’t want to give him the satisfaction, not when he’s already getting what he wants from you. 

You shut your eyes, trying to ignore him, but Rafe quickly shuts that down. He lands a harsh slap on your ass before gripping your throat. “Nuh-uh. You’re gonna watch me while I fuck you. You need to know that your pussy belongs to me. All your cum and all your orgasms belong to me. Not him. Not anyone else. Me.” 

You stare into his eyes in the mirror’s reflection after opening them back up, biting your lip as you try to keep yourself quiet. 

“There she is. There’s my girl,” he rasps. His hand leaves your throat, slithering down to your clit and rubbing rough circles into it. He feels your knees buckle when he does so, and he doesn’t miss the breathy moan that escapes your lips. “Fuck, I missed those sounds, princess.”

Rafe’s cock jams into a particularly deep spot inside of you, and before you can stop yourself, you yelp loudly. His jaw clenches, and the hand on your clit abandons it to cover your mouth and muffle your noises. 

“Make one more noise, and everyone in the goddamn party will know what a greedy fucking whore you are. One dick just isn’t enough to satisfy my girl, huh?” 

The secrecy and excitement blossoming from your current affair both send you into a spiral. You whimper against the palm of his hand, and you bite down on the skin to silence yourself. He’s reaching immaculate places and making you see stars, and you think that this must be what heaven feels like. You’re not quite sure what to make of the fact that Rafe is bringing paradise to you instead of your loving and faithful fiancé, but all you can focus on is how electrified you feel. 

“Play with your clit. Soak my fucking cock, baby.”

You do, flicking it relentlessly as Rafe fucks you over the edge. You cry into his hand, your breath shaky as your body jerks. The warmth spreads throughout your body, leaving a dewy glow on your skin. 

Rafe releases his hand from your mouth and returns it to your hip to get his own. He pulls you back into him repeatedly, his cock jamming into you and weakening your legs. 

“I’m going to cum right inside this pussy. Imagine if you were walking around on your wedding day with my baby in there. I think you’d fucking love that,” he grunts, getting himself worked up even further. Your walls flutter around him, thanks to his filthy mouth. He chuckles breathlessly, “That’s what I fucking thought.”

You reach behind you, grabbing his balls and massaging them in your hand. You feel his cock twitch inside you, followed by the heat of his cum shooting into your walls and painting them white. Rafe rides out his orgasm, and once he calms down, he pulls out of you. He moves your panties back into place and pulls your dress back down before tapping your butt with his index and middle finger.

“Now run back out there to your loser fiancé with my cum dripping down your thighs. Congratulations on the wedding.” 

updated rafe taglist (join here!): @pankowperfection @tinyluvs @oncasette @rafesmoon @hopesdadswife @taintedxkisses @maybankslover @goldenroutledge @penny4yourthoughts @bmo-bri @hemogloban @princessbetsy123-blog @slytherhoes @whoisdrewstarkey @dreamingwithrafe @vigilanteshitposting @twelfthmortalofcrimsonpalace @laineywilsons @sw34terw34ther @adoreyouusugar @rosie-cameron @f4ll-for-you @rafesdirtyslut @tell-me-when-ur-ready @bbycowboi @venomwh0re @cecesrings @cumbuckett @jjmaybankisbae @mvybanks

[messenger-of-babel]

Till Death Do Us Part

Summary: Chris is plagued by memories, nightmares, and the dream of you. (Chris Redfield x reader)

Word Count: 2.8K

Notes: UNIT OF A MAN CHRIS REDFIELD. I love how he looks in Re8 (re7 Chris broke my heart and cut the brakes on my car fr). Veryyy minor language, I swore like once. It's funny I came here to be a resi blog and look at how the turn tables. Anyways, Chris stans rise up y'all are so nice~ xx

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Alone in the car, Chris was left with his thoughts a little longer than he would have liked.

Thumbing the lighter, he brings the flickering flame to his mouth, lighting the stick that hung from the press of his lips. With a deep inhale and slow close of his eyes, he lets the nicotine work its way around his system, blissfully whisking the worries from his mind. His muscles loosen under the layers of tactical and cold weather gear, finger relaxing on the gun trigger and letting the weapon rest in his lap. These were the moments that Chris Redfield let the memories catch up with him.

 His team was setting up in their operation in Miranda’s village, voices occasionally cutting in through his radio, but they didn’t need him right now. He could have a moment to himself among the chaos of it all, and deep down he knew his team gave him the space deliberately. For a moment, he stopped running for just a second and let his mistakes settle in.

Most of the time he thought of Piers.

He thought of the young man who came to him all those years ago and dragged him out of the pit he had dug himself into. The stern face of the young soldier who tore away the coffin lid of alcohol and blacking out in alleyways, pulling him back into the light. Who made him a captain again, who never gave up on him. The very same friend who pushed himself past the limits of being human to save Chris. To save the world.

When he was younger and more guilt ridden, he had played out the 'what if' scenarios like clockwork. What Piers would be doing now if he was alive, if Chris had been able to hand the mantle over to him like he intended. It had morphed into what Piers might have done if Chris had died instead, taken his place in the escape pod and been granted the chance to see the sun again. It was endless nights of lost sleep; the dreams being replaced with nightmares every time he thought of one of those situations. His sanity and his mind hung on by a thread in those moments, doing everything he could to not relapse into the place he was before Piers. He slipped more often than he'd like, but the seared face of Piers haunted the back of his eyelids like a ghost, and eventually, he always put the bottle back down.

The second person he thought of was Jill.

She was still alive, but not the same person she had been back in S.T.A.R.S. He couldn’t blame her though; he was hardly the same either. He was more rugged, more gruff, weather beaten and fucking tired. Despite the times she caught his gaze and bluntly told him to stop worrying, he never really could. She was like his lifeline back to the Chris of the past, where he cracked smiles more often than not and spent time making jokes at the captains expense. That kind of Chris who was young and full of cheek, brimming with the audacity of youth.

and with youth came naivety and innocence.

Joining the S.T.A.R.S team as ex-military he thought he had seen everything, which had given him the boisterous ego infamous among the RPD. The fact that he missed that naivety drew a copper taste to his mouth, forcing himself to swallow and take another drag of the cigarette. Back when Wesker was Captain Wesker, and Chris's loyalty was intact and oblivious to the sting of betrayal. When he still had Barry and Dewey and Dooley and Brad. Things were simpler, despite how often he liked to brag about what went on in his job. Yet at the end of the day, he was still passionate about serving and protecting the people he loved. He thought he was making a difference.

Jill never said outright that she was mad at him, she was his partner after all. Guilt had clawed way for a burning rage when he thought he had lost her, settling in his chest like a poison. Then she had come back, with a fire in her eyes that spoke to kill him. They had worked their differences out over the years, overcoming the scars of that ordeal together. The mansion, the canyon, the incident in Africa, all of those they had talked past with more than a bottle of whisky between them, and for like a small moment it was like it had never happened. They moved forward, together. stronger. He was more grateful for her company and support than he showed, and he knew that Jill would be uncomfortable if he brought it up.

Currently his mind was stuck on Ethan.

Ethan Winters, who he had lied to about the situation involving his family. He knew that Ethan deserved to know, deserved to know about Mia, his daughter Rose. Maybe his heart had gotten more and more calloused over the years, building slowly till he felt very little at all. It was so easy to make the calls, to think of the bigger picture all the time. For the greater good of the world, unable to see the pain he caused when he took away the only world that Ethan cared about.

And now Ethan was fighting tooth and nail to get it back.

Chris respected how the man had marched bravely into the face of death for the sake of his family, to get back his daughter. Even though Chris had warned him not to and Ethan caused an insurmountable amount of inconvenience in his wake; Chris respected him. He knew that Ethan would unlikely forgive him when he found everything out, would curse him for hurting who he had thought were his loved ones. Chris knew he had failed him already, so the sting of that thought had dulled each hour he spent in this cursed village. The village that Ethan Winters was currently burning down in the name of love.

Chris wanted to shake the man down, to tell him to stop fighting and to let him and his team handle it. That his emotions were getting the better of him, and he wasn't going to get anywhere with just willpower and a handgun. He wanted nothing more than to tell him he was being an idiot, and that Chris himself would never make such stupid decisions. Yet he couldn't make the words form in his mind, knowing he himself had been just like him once, willing to throw himself in the way of everything for one person.

You.

Chris had made many mistakes in his life, but you never were one. If anything, you were the one thing that was going right for him when everything seemed wrong. When he had come knocking on your door late at night, worn out from work, you always welcomed him in with a warm smile. No one knew about you two, and that's the way both of you preferred to keep it. You were a regular cop working with the RPD, letting you both trade glances with each other in the hallways and a few too many stolen kisses in the evidence room. He had a faint feeling that Jill suspected something, but if she knew she never said.

He loved how warm you were, how kind-hearted. Late nights lying in your bed talking about life, the past and the future. Leaning over his chest with sparkling eyes one night, you had told him why you had become an officer. Something with a wage big enough to pay for your two younger sister's tuition, so they wouldn't have to face the level of poverty you had. Something that could help others get off the streets, keep the kids safe and away from the drugs and addictions that plagued Raccoon's backstreets. With a soft smile on your lips, you told him of how you wanted to buy your mother a bigger house one day, with enough money sent home each week that she would never have to wonder if she could afford heat in winter again.

His breath was stolen at the genuine way you told him of your childhood, your upbringing and struggles. The way your eyes still glimmered with life after everything, that you were still able to see the good in things. The way that you used it to make yourself stronger. Although he had been in S.T.A.R.S, in that moment he wanted nothing but to have a fraction of the sheer strength you had.

Then had come the Arklay mission, which he left for so suddenly there was little room for more than a brief peck on the cheek and a reassurance that he would be back. That hadn't been enough to smooth the worry lines from your forehead, but you let him go anyways, fingers uncurling from the material of his uniform. He wished he had looked back just a little longer, held you just a little closer, not knowing that would be the last time he ever saw you.

Of course, everything in Arklay happened, the memory of that making him sigh and tap his fingers restlessly on the windowsill. Another drag of the cigarette brought his shoulders down from bunching near his ears. exhaling the plume slowly, he closed his eyes and let himself indulge in the thought of you. It was nearly your anniversary, a week off in fact. It was the only time he allowed himself to think of you, the only time he could let himself remember the curve of your smile and the glow of your eyes. If you had been allowed to be together, you would be celebrating your 24th anniversary this year. He wondered how many of those you might have been married for, if you would have had children or any on the way. Where you would have moved to, the house you would have wanted, the life you could have built.

But it hadn't worked like that.

He had left to chase Wesker, hoping he could end it quickly and come home to your arms, body tracing its way home like a beacon. He saw traits of himself in the way Ethan fought, fighting for his daughter and wife the same way Chris had fought for you. Instead, all he got was the news of Raccoon being destroyed, and taking his heart with it. His eyes had been locked onto the grainy TV of the European hotel room, shock making tears sting the back of his eyes. He had raced back, Wesker be damned. He could always chase him down again, but you? He didn't think he could survive another night restless like that again.

He had run home like the fear of God was under his feet, eventually finding Jill. It had been an accidental reunion, and he had been more than glad to see her alive. Someone was alive, which meant that there was hope. But when she regarded him with sad eyes and a slight hitch in her tone, he faltered. He wasn't sure if he had ever felt more fear than he did in that moment, vision blurring at the corners as she pulled something from her jacket pocket to give to him.

Maybe Valentine had pieced it together after all.

For all the horrors, monsters and battlefields Chris Redfield had seen, nothing had hurt him more than seeing your badge lying in the middle of her palm. He had demanded answers, not even caring if the tears burnt themselves to the forefront, but Jill refused. her lips were sealed tight, looking down and away from him.

"For your own good." She had said firmly, jaw set tight. "You don't…you don't want to know. They wouldn't have wanted you to know." She said softly, before quietly muttering her apologies. That had sealed the deal for him, heart beating out of time in his chest. All he could do was close his fingers around the cold piece of metal he scooped from her palm, blood stained and sharp.

Chris was no fool. he knew what had happened in Raccoon prior to it being bombed. The terror on the streets, the outbreak that spread like fire. he knew of cops and S.T.A.R.S members alike that turned, but he had always had a hope that you had gotten out. You were smart, so much smarter than him. But as Jill handed him your badge, he knew that no matter how hard he tried to fight it, you were gone.

Not knowing what happened to you exactly ate at him for years, plaguing his nights and soaking his sheets with sweat. It was the same dream, hand extending out towards him, pain written on your face. "Help me." you'd plead to him, over and over. He'd try his best, but he wouldn't be able to stop the way that your skin fell from your bones, melting off your muscles and running blood down your fingertips. He tried to hold you each time, trying to keep you together as you thrashed and screamed. His touch only seemed to make you decay further, skin rippling and warping under his fingertips. With a final ""Help me," you'd lunge for his neck without fail, jerking him upright with wide eyes and a rabbiting heart. He wasn't sure what was worse, wondering if you had turned and gone though the pain of becoming infected, or experienced the horror of watching a bomb come down on you instead of a rescue chopper.

It was too hard to imagine, so over the years he built his own story. It had started originally that you died doing something heroic, saving a family or some poor civilian. That was in your nature, always kind-hearted. It slowly morphed into you fighting for your life, bravely tracking down horde after horde to defend what survivors you could find before taking your last stand, being the hero he knew you to be. However, in his old age those stories lost their shine, and the comfort they brought turned into a grimace. Nothing could take away that you lost your life too young. So now he thought of a different one, a special one he only indulged in for this time of the year.

One where you were waiting at home for him as usual, radiant and beautiful as ever. He'd be able to come back home from this mission, taking his weary body up to your embrace and letting himself rest there as you welcomed him back. Hip popped as you leant against the front porch, wearing the same uniform he had left you in all those years ago. He could gaze into your bright eyes again, cover the smirk on your lips with his own when he kissed you, hand on your waist to remind himself that you were real. He'd take you out to some local restaurant you had both made your favourite, something he imagined you found together when you moved out of the city. In a quieter place like the countryside, just what you wanted. He'd take great pride ordering the meal you liked, something that he knew by heart. It was a dream where he got to see you all dressed up, smiling at him from across the flickering candlelight, reaching over to envelop his hand with yours. Then he would cast his eyes down and see the ring on your finger, filling his heart with warmth.

That was something that his nightmares couldn't even touch. The thought of you becoming a zombie, one of the infected and rotting away in his arms was banished the nights he let him indulge in the fantasy. A world where his leaving hadn't damned you, where his touch still meant promises for the future, not a death sentence.

For a full moment it would all feel warm and vivid and real, as if you had come down from your heavenly seat just to bless him for another moment. In that small corner of his heart, the rot couldn't touch you. You beamed up at him as radiant as the day he left you, a smile forever etched into his mind.

When he opened his eyes next you were gone, and he was back to sitting in the car preparing his assault on Miranda. There was a weak voice in the back of his head telling him that you were still waiting back home and all he had to do was finish this mission. He kept it alive, even through the crackle of the radio as his team patched in; already in position. He crushed out his cigarette, reloading his gun by muscle memory. As he exited the car he cast one look up at the bleak sky before patting the smooth, RPD police badge tucked into the lining of his vest, right over his heart.

"happy anniversary babe." he murmured softly, and he knew somewhere, someplace, you were smiling on the other end.

[dee-writes-angst]

Mismatched Eyes Of Fire

SUMMARY It's your first day at UA, everyone you've met has seemed genuine (with the exception of Bakugo), though one person stands out against the rest, a boy with a similar fire in his eyes that you had seen in Tenko.

CONTENT WARNINGS death, depictions of homeless children, mentions of abuse, loss, memorial shrines, and grief. For the sake of the series (and my conscience), all characters are aged up while still following the plot of MHA. In other words, think of UA as a college rather a high school.

AUTHORS NOTE three consistent updates in a row?! Look at me go, guys!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Eraserhead was eerily quiet as he led you through the halls of the school you could now call home. The hallways were a labyrinth of polished floors and sleek walls adorned with inspiring posters of pro heroes. As you followed, you couldn't help but notice the grandeur of UA: high ceilings, bright lighting, and a sense of history embedded in the very walls. The hallways buzzed with energy, the chatter of students mingling with the occasional announcement over the PA system. You walked up several steps and took even more turns before arriving at a pair of grand wooden doors with a small plaque that read "Principal Nezu."

Before opening the door, Eraserhead introduced himself as Mr. Aizawa and asked that you address him as such unless out on missions. You readily agreed, feeling a wave of gratitude toward your new teacher for sticking his neck out to help you find better sleep arrangements than the cold, dirty concrete you had been sleeping on.

Aizawa had you wait outside Principal Nezu’s office for what felt like hours as he shared your situation behind closed doors. The minutes dragged on, feeling like an eternity as you rocked back and forth on your feet, growing more anxious about the whole housing ordeal. Yes, you were now a student at UA, but the school’s dorms were for general studies students and definitely cost more than you could ever dream to afford. You stared at the polished wooden door, tracing the intricate patterns in the wood grain with your eyes, trying to calm your nerves. The soft hum of voices behind the door was barely audible, adding to your anxiety as you waited.

When the doors finally swung open, Aizawa was accompanied by the mousy principal walking elegantly at his side. Nezu, though small in stature, exuded an air of authority and intelligence that was palpable. He looked you over contemplatively, taking stock of your body language and your tattered appearance with a simple hum and a nod toward Aizawa.

"I can see now what you are talking about," the principal said, his voice soft, unwavering, and detached, which you found more unsettling than comforting. "Excuse my manners, dear," he chuckled hauntingly. "My name is Nezu. I run this academy, and it has been brought to my attention that you have nowhere to stay comfortably while you are with us, is that correct?"

You immediately nodded, a harsh blush reddening your cheeks and neck. "Yes, sir," you managed to choke out, bowing respectfully.

"No need to be embarrassed. Do you mind if I ask some questions, out of personal curiosity?" Nezu wondered, Aizawa sending him a confused look.

"Of course," you stammered in response, looking between the two men (?).

"Do you have any family?" Nezu’s question was delivered as gently as the intellectual rodent could manage.

"No," you responded quickly, your throat burning with the need to weep at the reminder of your loss, of Tenko.

"Why are you here? What is it you wish to achieve in our hero academy?" Nezu continued, his black eyes gleaming with curiosity. When you let out a shaky breath, he immediately took a breath to reign himself in. "My apologies, I am used to having a good read on the people I meet, but you seem to be an enigma. I hope I didn’t offend you."

"No!" you responded quickly. "You didn’t, it’s just a sore subject," you paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I raised myself on the streets since I lost both my parents before I could remember them. I guess that loneliness and feeling of invisibility pushed me to want to be a hero. I want to help people feel seen, if that makes sense," you chuckled bashfully, rubbing your neck.

"Thank you for indulging me," the principal responded somewhat cheerily, waving a paw at Aizawa who was still standing at his side. "Mr. Aizawa will show you to your room. Also, I am personally going to pay for your tuition."

"I couldn’t," you immediately declined, your head spinning at his offer. "Having free board is enough. Seriously, I will get a job or something and pay it myself."

"Nonsense," Nezu smiled—or at least that’s what you thought he was doing. "Consider it a donation made in good faith. You will be a welcome star in our hero course this year. I don’t want you to worry about anything except for your training," Nezu nodded at Aizawa before giving you one last curious look and returning to his office. You thanked him hesitantly before the heavy doors closed.

"This way," Aizawa huffed, encouraging you to follow him back down the way you came.

The dorms at UA were gorgeous, towering buildings with each class’s numbers on them. Aizawa led you to one furthest from the rest of the dorms, the lettering above the building reading 1-A. It was the only building in the area aside from an identical building reading 1-B standing tall just opposite 1-A, separated by a wide cement walkway. The buildings looked newly constructed, with large windows that let in ample sunlight, making them look warm and inviting. The exterior was modern, with sleek lines and a blend of concrete and glass that gave it a sophisticated yet welcoming appearance.

As you approached the doors of the dorms, Aizawa stopped you. "Your room is the only complete one at the moment, fifth floor on the right in the middle. Also, here is a meal card. Just show it at the cafeteria when you get food, and you should have no trouble there."

"Thank you," you stammered in awe, taking the license-sized card colored in blue with the classic gold UA lettering on the front and a barcode on the back.

"The communal showers should be operating as well as the kitchen. If you find any issues, my room is on the first floor past the living room on the left," he added, opening the doors for both of you to enter. The lobby of the dorm was spacious and modern, with comfortable-looking furniture arranged around a large television. The walls were adorned with motivational posters and bulletin boards filled with various notices and announcements. There was a large communal area with plush couches, a few tables for studying or eating, and a game area complete with a pool table and several arcade machines.

"You should get your uniform sometime tonight or early tomorrow morning before classes start. As far as your hero costume goes, just submit your idea with any specifications to me before the week is up, and we’ll have the support department get it done for you."

"Sir, I don’t know what to say, this is all—I’m grateful," you breathed, desperately trying to keep your composure.

"All that we ask in return is that you do your best, plus ultra and all that," he rolled his eyes at himself, seemingly irritated that the school's moto had made its way past his lips. Rather than cringe, you were filled with a new sense of determination. You would not let these opportunities pass you by, and you would show everyone that all the effort and money they had put into you wasn’t in vain. You would earn every cent back by becoming the best.

"I will, sir," you bowed with a determined gleam in your eyes, causing your teacher’s lip to curl into an almost imperceptible smile—something you doubted happened often.

As Aizawa left, you took a moment to absorb your surroundings. The kitchen was state-of-the-art, with stainless steel appliances and a large island for communal cooking. You took the elevator up to the fifth floor, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. Your room was at the middle of the hall, just as Aizawa had described. When you opened the door, you were greeted by a simple but cozy space with a bed, a desk, and a small window overlooking the campus. The room was sparsely furnished but had a warmth to it, with soft lighting and neutral tones that made it feel welcoming. A small dresser was tucked into the corner, and a bookshelf stood next to the desk, waiting to be filled with your belongings.

Setting your backpack down, you took a deep breath. This was your new beginning. You had a place to stay, food to eat, and the opportunity to become a hero. For Tenko, and for yourself, you would give it everything you had.

Your uniform had arrived just like Aizawa said, with a note reminding you to submit your hero costume design by the end of the week. The uniform fit perfectly, a stark contrast to the ill-fitting clothes you'd been wearing. It felt strange to be in something so clean and well-tailored, almost like stepping into a new identity. You'd spent several nights working on your hero costume design, carefully considering every detail, particularly the need for ear protection. When you finally handed it to Aizawa, you made sure to emphasize this requirement.

Aizawa nodded, taking the paper from you. Then, he handed you some cash. "From Nezu. He said to go buy some new clothes with it, preferably ones that fit."

Your face flushed red at the comment as you glanced down at your too-short pants and too-tight top. "Thank you, sir," you responded meekly, taking the money without complaint. By this point, you understood that it was no use arguing with the principal about money or anything else he had provided for your comfort. With a grunt, Aizawa left you to your thoughts, walking back to his room in the complex.

Today was your first day of classes, your first opportunity to prove yourself. You hadn’t had time to go out and buy new clothes yet, between studying and preparing, so you were thankful for the mandatory uniforms. As you got ready, you marveled at the difference consistent showers, access to clean water, and regular meals had made. You felt rejuvenated, less tired, and it showed. The dirt streaks and stains were gone, your calloused hands were softer, and your body had filled out enough to hide your ribs. You were beyond grateful for the opportunities you had been given, the space to prepare for the next big step in your life. This was going to change the course of your life forever, and there was no going back.

You had a feeling that these small acts of care were influenced by Tenko beyond the grave. For some reason, being here, achieving both your dreams, made you feel close to him, more connected. It felt nice; you felt seen again, a feeling that only Tenko had ever been able to give you. On top of that, you had asked Aizawa if you could set up a memorial shrine for your long-lost friend, and he had given you no resistance. Now that you had the means, you could remember Tenko properly. Every night before bed, you would light a censer and share your day with your friend, hoping he could hear your call and share in some of your light the same way you shared in his.

As you walked through the dormitory halls, you noticed how the early morning sun filtered through the large windows, casting a warm glow on everything it touched. The hallways were still quiet, with only a few students up and about, but there was a palpable sense of excitement in the air. You made your way to the common area, where a few students were already gathering, most likely checking out newly finished dorms, their nervous chatter filling the space. Some of them glanced at you curiously, but you were too focused on your thoughts to pay them much attention.

Standing at the entrance of your classroom, 1-A, you took a deep breath and stepped inside. The room was spacious and filled with state-of-the-art equipment. The desks were arranged in a semi-circle, ensuring everyone had a good view of the front where a large digital board displayed today's date and the UA logo. You took a seat near the middle, trying to find a balance between being too close to the front and not wanting to be too far back.

As more students trickled in, you noticed a few familiar faces from the entrance exam. Kirishima, the boy who had saved you from being crushed by the robot, waved enthusiastically at you before taking a seat nearby. You smiled and waved back, feeling a bit more at ease knowing you had at least one friendly face in the class. The chatter around you grew louder, filled with excitement and anticipation for what the day would bring.

Finally, the door opened, and Aizawa walked in, his usual tired expression in place. He set his things down on the desk at the front of the room and scanned the class, his gaze stopping momentarily on you. You straightened up, meeting his eyes with determination.

"Welcome to your first day at UA High School," he began, his voice firm but quieting the room instantly. "I am Mr. Aizawa, your homeroom teacher. We have a lot to cover, so let's get started."

By the time lunch rolled around, you were pretty familiar with most of your classmates. Mina, the fluffy pink-haired girl who had talked your ear off before the entrance exam, was still a ball of energy. When she noticed you seated next to Kirishima, she squealed, skipping over to you to start a conversation, with the rest of her group following along. Mina's exuberance was infectious, and you couldn't help but smile as she animatedly introduced her friends.

Hagakure, the invisible girl, nearly matched Mina’s enthusiasm. Her cheerful voice was easy to recognize, and she greeted you warmly. Ochaco introduced herself as Uraraka with a sweet smile and a polite bow, her presence gentle and kind. Jiro gave you a bored once-over before turning back to her conversation with a girl named Yaoyorozu, who introduced herself with a composed and confident demeanor. Yaoyorozu's authoritative aura suggested she would make a good leader.

Finally, a small girl named Asui waved hello, her expression wise and calm. She insisted on being called Tsu, and you were happy to oblige. Her serene demeanor was a calming influence amidst the lively group.

During a break between subjects, you met Shoji, Sato, and Koda. They were all kindhearted and easy to talk to when they did speak. Shoji's multi-armed form was imposing yet gentle, Sato's muscular build was contrasted by his soft-spoken nature, and Koda's connection with animals was endearing.

Ojiro introduced himself after you almost tripped over his tail. He chuckled, catching you by your arm with a crooked smile and a soft apology. His calm and composed demeanor made you feel at ease.

Kirishima introduced you to Kaminari, whom you had started to hope for a friendship with. Kaminari was actually really funny, but it seemed he was more focused on cracking jokes and making friends than on learning. You liked Kaminari, but you preferred Kirishima's grounded nature. Kirishima was just as kind as the day you met him at the entrance exam.

You introduced yourself to Tokoyami, who was hiding in a dark corner of the classroom, looking grossed out by something the short purple-haired guy had said. Tokoyami's brooding presence was intriguing, and you found his straightforwardness refreshing. Soon after, you had the displeasure of running into Mineta, the short purple-haired guy. You quickly understood why Tokoyami had made a weird face; Mineta was a perv.

You recognized Iida as the kid who asked the only question at the entrance exam. Turns out he wasn’t stuck up; he was just very particular about rules and guidelines. At least he seemed dedicated to his education, and you thought he could make a good leader if he learned to be more accepting of others' faults. Sero was talking with Iida at the time, so you were introduced to him as well. Sero's laid-back attitude was a nice contrast to Iida's strictness.

Aoyama was just sitting at his desk "sparkling," so you didn’t really have the opportunity to talk to him, but at least he was better than Bakugo, who was straight up unapproachable. In fact, Bakugo tried to yell at you when he bumped shoulders with you on the way to his desk, which led to the only acceptable response: you getting right back in his face and calling him out.

"You’re the one who ran into me!" you scoffed, sending an apologetic look toward the group of girls you were mingling with. They all stood stock still in shock at your response. The entire classroom had gone silent, seemingly holding their breaths for Bakugo's reaction.

"Weren’t you the idiot that was the closest to my score?" he huffed, glaring at you.

"Yes," you said confidently, throwing daggers with your eyes in his direction. Bakugo seemed unfazed, just as you were of him.

"You better get ready, I’ll kill you on the mats later!" Bakugo yelled, a sinister smile curving his lips as small licks of orange crackled from his palms. You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the pathetic threat.

"We’ll see," you hummed before turning back to your conversation as if nothing had happened. Being ignored seemed to only piss Bakugo off more, but he held his tongue and sat down.

That led you to now, walking through the lunch line at the cafeteria, gathering your food card in hand as you paid for your mapo tofu and a side of rice. The aroma of the spicy tofu dish made your stomach growl in anticipation. You had run into a green-haired kid when initially getting into line. He was one of the students you hadn’t had a chance to meet before class started. His name was Midoriya, and he was incredibly sweet and friendly. The two of you chatted up a storm while in line, sharing your mutual excitement about being at UA and your dreams of becoming heroes. Midoriya's enthusiasm and genuine kindness made you feel even more welcome at UA, and you were grateful to have met someone who shared your passion for heroism.

As you made your way through the bustling cafeteria, the aroma of various dishes wafting through the air, you balanced your tray carefully. The cafeteria was abuzz with the lively chatter of students, the clatter of utensils, and the hum of excitement as everyone shared their morning experiences.

You navigated through the maze of tables, searching for an empty spot, when you suddenly collided with someone, causing your tray to wobble precariously. Your mapo tofu and rice threatened to spill over the edges as you quickly tried to steady it.

"I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, looking up to see who you'd run into. Standing before you was a tall boy with strikingly mismatched features. His hair was split down the middle, one side white as snow and the other a deep crimson red. His eyes mirrored this dichotomy, one a cool, icy blue and the other a warm, fiery gray. There was something about his eyes that reminded you so clearly of Tenko, that same fire you thought, though it was also entirely different. This boys fire perplexed you, sure it held plenty of anger and hatred, but it seemed a lot softer than Tenko’s, more controlled.

"It's fine," he responded calmly, his voice steady and composed. His expression was stoic, almost indifferent, but his eyes held a depth that hinted at a complicated past. "I should have been more careful."

You felt a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck. "No, really, it's my fault. I wasn't paying attention."

The boy studied you for a moment, his gaze intense yet not unkind. "I'm Shoto Todoroki," he introduced himself, his voice devoid of any irritation.

You gave a small, nervous smile, introducing yourself as well. "Nice to meet you, Todoroki."

Todoroki nodded slightly, his eyes flicking to your tray. "You might want to find a seat before your lunch ends up on the floor."

You laughed softly, the tension easing a bit. "Good point. Do you have a seat already?"

He glanced around the cafeteria, then shook his head. "No, I don't. You can join me if you'd like."

Surprised by the offer, you nodded eagerly. "Sure, that would be great."

The two of you found an empty table near a window, the natural light casting a soft glow over your meals. As you settled down, you couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. Todoroki's presence was imposing yet strangely comforting.

"So, you're in Class 1-A too?" you asked, trying to make conversation as you began eating your mapo tofu.

"Yes," he replied simply, taking a bite of his own lunch. "I saw you during the entrance exam. Your quirk is… interesting."

You chuckled lightly, a bit embarrassed by the attention. "Thanks. It's called Dissonance. I can influence actions and thoughts with my singing."

Todoroki raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "That's a powerful ability. Have you been training with it for long?"

You nodded, grateful for the interest. "Yeah, I've had to learn to control it and not overuse it. It can be pretty dangerous if I'm not careful."

He seemed to ponder this for a moment, then nodded. "It's important to know your limits. My quirk has its own challenges too."

You glanced at him curiously, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn't, you decided to ask. "What about your quirk? It's pretty unique too, right? Though I don’t remeber ever seeing you at the entrance exam."

Todoroki's expression remained neutral, but you could see a flicker of something—perhaps hesitation or discomfort. "I got in through recommendation, I only saw you that day because I happened to step into the analysis room when you were using your quirk. As far as my quirk goes, I have control over both fire and ice," he explained, his tone even. "But I only use my ice side."

You tilted your head, sensing there was more to the story, but you decided not to press. "That's impressive. It must be difficult to balance both elements."

"It can be," he admitted, his gaze distant for a moment before returning to you. "But it's something I have to learn to manage."

The conversation flowed more easily after that, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying Todoroki's company. Despite his initial aloofness, there was a quiet strength and determination about him that you respected. As you finished your lunch, you felt a sense of camaraderie with him, a shared understanding of the challenges you both faced in mastering your quirks and pursuing your dreams at UA.

[paeliae-occasionally]

Hello! Intro Post.

Hi, so I’ve been hanging around for a while now, but I have recently started posting more so I have decided to write an intro.

Online I go by Pae, (or Pae pae) I am non-binary. (they/them) and I write and draw.

Current WIPs

Blue Posts are the essentials of you want to send me an ask , or if you just want an intro to the blog.

Pink are my personal favourites.

I’m doing 12 days of Christmas asks here!

Scenes

Memory and death

Marsh Prison scene

Lore stuff:

Magic

Magic Systems

The history of the runes

More runes lore

Culture

The mages immortality lore

The death realms

The gardens

Languages

The Druids

The Mulai’Kaleppi

The Opyri

The Tiel’Drysar

(More Necromancy)

The lighthouse keepers

Laith’Zairel

Gods Culture

History

The blood wars

Blood wars 2

The mist war

The Separation, Dissolution and Accords

Maps

-Laith’Emeris 1

-Laith’Emeris 2

-30BD map

-Laith’Zairel

-How I make maps (continents)

Join the Tag List~

Summaries:

Paeliae - Magic politician

A mage living in the period when the god vs mages war starts. (8 BD, before dissolution) He is a politician, despite having no patience for the ages old elvish mages who currently run the council. He is obsessed with leaving a lasting legacy even if that means dying today. As such he is vehemently against the concept of immortality, During the war he helps negotiate with the gods to come to a truce. 27, He/Him.

Xaeren - Runic Inventor

Xaeren designed 42 of the 47 runes and uses them to protect himself from the vengeful goddess Schaeres. When she finally attacks him, Xaeren realises there were very few limits to what he could do with the runes and sets out to kill Schaeres, both as payback and just to prove that he can. But some things can’t be done alone…

Xaeren lore 1

Xaeren lore 2- (This is a bit old so some of the Kell stuff has changed)

Xaeren lore 3

Kell - Magic Student

Xaeren rescues her from a small dock town and gets her a place at the Lysandri school of magic. Kell is thrust into a world of magic and has to keep up with the help of Xaeren’s tutoring, but as she begins to fit in with the mages there, her loyalty to the criminal godkiller Xaeren comes into question.

Tyro - Traumatised Sorcerer

lives in the modern day (about 1500 PD, post-dissolution). They have recently escaped from the abusive cult that adopted them as a child, with their adoptive brother Apollo. They are a sorcerer, so have born magic, but also we’re taught to use runes by the cult. They never used them because of trauma but they could if they wanted to. They are currently running from the cult and trying not to be noticed by the government, who take in all sorcerer children so they can have a monopoly on magic. They have found a family in some other sorcerers living in an abandoned manor outside the city. 17, They/them

Apollo - adopted older brother of Tyro.

He took care of them and the others in the cult, despite being abused severely himself. Despite the trauma he is a very powerful runic. He is currently being attacked by, and looking for other cults like the one he was adopted into to help other children like him. 21, He/They

Ez and Rin (~1000 BD)- The gay bois, who definitely don’t start the apocalypse.

Ez (short for Ezemhaziel) is the god of refined magic. He falls in love with Rin when he is researching to create the runes. He is somewhat of a Prometheus figure, as he brings the first magic to mortals by teaching Rin.

Rin is a gardener working for one of the altic kings, who equally loves Ez for his magic and creativity. Ez and Rin end up working on the runes together. The other gods get mad that Ez gave magic to a mortal, and they let the mortals murder Rin. Ez is mad. This will spiral and cause the start of the godly war, which then ushers in the godly mages war, where 3/4 of all mages die and the gods are removed from the world.

Ezemhaziel lore

Daimion and Marsh - the regretful and the merry murderer

Daimion and marsh grew up together being trained for an elite military unit, which they both got into. While in the unit they are ordered to fire on civilians and they do it, but later Daimion regrets killing innocents and leaves the unit without notice. He goes on to find the daughter of one of the people he murdered that day and the woman who has been taking care of her. He protects them fiercely and tries to make up for what he did. Marsh however, fully commits to the ‘I kill people as a job, I might as well enjoy it’ and ends up being so recklessly violent that he is imprisoned in the highest security jail in the country, which he later breaks out of to commit a massacre, then returns to his cell like nothing happened. This occurs a couple of times until Daimion has to go get him. - Marsh intro - Marsh lore

Just a brief overview of some of the things I am currently working on. I plan to post more about the magic systems and historical events of the world. I also post maps.

Feel free to ask me about this, and tag me in games. Interact here to join the tag list:

Tag List~

Thanks for visiting, feel free to stick around <3

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

peppermint gum, m | jjk | savor...

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

It’s impossible to fall in love when you’re already in love. And Jeon Jungkook was in love. Helplessly. But what could he do? Time passed. The world became tasteless to his eyes. All he could do was hold onto the crisp and intense color of those memories, remember her words, and wonder where she was now. Savor, and burst forth.

this is part i | click here for part ii | total wc: 25.6k

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; this story contains parental child abuse - child neglect and abandonment; sloooow burn; mild alcohol consumption; hardcore pining JK; angst and fluff and feels; (in part ii) smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamic, so much kissing, hair pulling, scratching / marking. grinding, choking, m-receiving oral, finger sucking, fingering, nipple play, m-masturbation, thigh riding, edging, penetrative sex, doggy, multiple orgasms); shifts back and forth between Jungkook’s POV and your POV; from lovers-to-strangers-to-lovers again :)

non-idol!AU; pining!Jungkook x noona!reader — ft JK's helpful? friends Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin; reader's close friend and talented guitarist, Kang Hyungu (ONEWE's Kanghyun if you want to see his appearance, hehe, same personality); JK has all his piercings and has hair (lol) had to be broken up into two parts bc it is 25k words, rip

--

“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll forget you?”

Those last words rang in his head, accompanied by her smile.

“Your mind might forget me, but the body always remembers.”

He wanted her to be wrong. But, of course, she wasn’t. Life wasn’t so kind. Life wasn’t so kind to give him a dramatic ending. Rather, it was a calm one of slow decay where he gradually learned to not miss her anymore. No ill feelings. Just helplessness. He had wanted her to be his morning, his afternoon, his night. She didn’t. He had been younger then. He had thought he could change what was already written.

She had done the right thing, actually.

Years past. The memories became a blur with everything else. Everyone else – between nights and bodies and the feeling of not quite right. Searching but not knowing what he was looking for so he cut them off just as he had been cut off. It hurt, of course, but not as much as it would have if he had let it drag on. Maybe that was what he had learned from that time.

He forgot to miss her.

But he still thought of her and wondered where she was now.

Tattoos, piercings, and countless hours at the gym later. Running. Life an endless loop despite the differences. Nowadays, he was making an effort to hang out with his friends more, not just for birthdays or online games, but socializing at in-person events that he still wasn’t very good at. Becoming older meant drifting apart since they didn’t have those common places to mingle in anymore, so it was important to put in the effort. If he wanted to improve in talking to people more casually, well, he should at least put himself in those opportunities, right?

Right.

Running.

Always running.

Sometimes, when he was in the dark surrounded by people and with just the right amount of alcohol in his system, he missed her terribly, but he couldn’t remember what standing next to her was even like.

Other times, he completely forgot she used to like this type of tea or that kind of snack. These details faded into the background, only to return to him in disorienting dreams and half-realities.

And most of the time, he forgot.

In between hands and lips and legs, he felt the rush. The exhilaration. Lust. He could make magic in the bedroom. Wasn’t that what it was all about? Wasn’t it all about the chase between two? Wasn’t love about strangers becoming forever-afters? Wasn’t it? He didn’t know anything about that when he was younger. Right. How could that be love?

Maybe.

Maybe he just forgot.

The spark always died so fast. It must have been not quite right.

She must have forgotten him too, by now.

When Jeon Jungkook saw her again, he hadn’t expected it at all.

It was at a nightclub concert. Loud and obnoxious and full of infectious energy. A friend of his was a singer of the band that was going onstage next. Currently, there was alternative rock band vibing with the crowd, singing songs that no one knew but spoke to feelings everyone understood. Breakup lyrics to sweetheart melodies. He was enjoying himself, but not paying much attention. In a split second, he had whipped his head around because one of his friends was playfully flicking the back of his hair, being an idiot, and then he saw her at the edge of the stage. Right there. He almost didn’t think it was her at first, but his eyes recognized that face right away, even amidst the chocolate smokey eye and cherry lip stain. He almost looked away, not wanting to stare at a now-stranger, but his body froze when she smiled, remembering the way his heart fluttered when those past-lover-now-stranger’s eyes sparkled with mischief when she smiled.

That couldn’t have been love, right?

He couldn’t remember.

Was she more beautiful than before or had helplessness desaturated his memory?

She was cheerfully speaking to someone. A young man who had cerulean hair. His undercut was dyed a gradient purple. Taller than her, with broad shoulders. Black t-shirt and tight jeans showing off a built body. He lingered near her the same way a cat stayed by its owner. She shook her head at him and said something. The man chuckled despite a demeanor full of nervousness. She handed him his purple electric guitar and pushed him, motioning him to interact with the band standing offstage. Oh, that was right. His singer friend had mentioned that their actual guitarist was out taking care of his grandmother. They had to call someone to fill in on short notice.

It was clear, by the instrument, that this was the fill in.

The young man trotted over to the band and introduced himself. He was meant with open arms and gracious bows that left him flustered and shaking his head.

Jeon Jungkook looked away, not wanting her to see him.

Would she know it was him?

He glanced at her again during the break for the band change. She was standing at the side, not too close to the wall but not too far. Could be noticed right away, because she was not drinking and because she was alone. Simply standing there. Almost regal even in a tight white crop top and hip-hugging black trousers. The thick black strap of her sling bag had a large plush keychain dangling by her waist. A tuxedo cat with a tangerine on its head. She didn’t seem bothered to be alone with no one to speak to. She also held onto a big, thick, black leather jacket. Folded and tucked in her arms. Could be hers.

Could also not be.

She was smiling in the direction of the substitute guitarist. Jungkook caught a shared gaze between them. She gave the man a thumbs up. He returned the smile, albeit awkwardly. A wordless exchange. Two people who knew each other very well. The lights dimmed. An announcement was made and cheers erupted around him.

But Jungkook was in the dark, surrounded by people, with not enough alcohol in his system to place the emotion he was feeling right now.

He looked to the stage as the spotlights returned to the stage, lighting up the band and his friend, but his mind held onto the image he had just now seen. Something about her makeup, with the striking eyeliner and black-cherry tinted lips. His own lips tingled, remembering the taste of a kiss from years ago.

A bright and refreshing flavor, so strong that it had seemed to last for hours after.

He was not self-centered or bitter enough to call her an ex-girlfriend. It had been a crisp and intense connection but, in retrospect, the time had been short. Fast and in a rush. The kind of love that made his skin prickle and his heart race. There had been no way to know how long it would last. There had been no comparison to realize that that love could be as fleeting as it was powerful.

A peppermint gum love.

Ah, what was he going on like this for? Maybe she didn’t want to be bothered. Maybe she wouldn’t want to see a ghost of her past. Maybe she didn’t even remember him. Jungkook knew he looked very different now. Back then, he had been a lot more worried about being presentable to everyone. Now, he was old enough to know he couldn’t and didn’t have to please everyone. He could wear loose clothes even if he worked out to look toned the way he wanted. He could get those lip piercings even if people told him eight ear piercings was already too many and adding two more on the right side of his lower lip was overdoing it. He could get a sleeve of colorfully dark tattoos and maybe consider getting more if he really wanted, even if some people found it tacky or not to their taste.

Well.

As long as he had the money for it, anyway.

He tried to discern how she was looking at the young man playing guitar, but Jungkook couldn’t figure out if it was the same expression that she had given him all those years before. He couldn’t remember.

His mind couldn’t remember.

But.

There was an interlude mid-act. He had made up his mind. He excused himself from his friends, mumbling the excuse of the bathroom. It was nerve-wracking to cut himself away from that safety. He didn’t have to do this. There was no ill feeling.

Just helplessness.

He moved through the crowd, winding between the people. Right there. There was so much noise. Conversations. Laughter. Drunken bickering. But all he could hear was silence. Bodies pushed up against him, bumping into him by accident, mumbling out apologies. But all he could feel was the suggestion of a touch, the faded peppermint gum love, grasping for a memory that he couldn’t seem to recall.

His finger tapped her shoulder.

He just wanted to know something.

“Do you still feel the same as you did back then?”

After the hey, how have you been, after the look of recognition and half-amused smile and the flutter of his heart, after the small talk of where are you now, he asked her the question. Those things were only the precursor. The filler and fluff. The pretense to the question that had been on his mind for a long, long time now.

“About what?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

“I don’t know if you remember…” He didn’t either, actually. Remember her original words. “But you said that you didn’t think you could ever understand love. You said something like that to me a long time ago and I wonder… I wonder if that feeling has changed.”

He knew it was a strange question and yet.

He just…

Needed to know.

The shadows in her eyes became darker, impenetrable. “Sounds like something I’ve said. But, are you asking me because you think that feeling should have changed?”

He shook his head quickly. “No.” Looked at her head-on, unsure if this bravery was from alcohol or the question itself that had been lingering in his mind for so long. “I remembered what you said after all this time because…”

Hot and heavy, but ultimately forgettable nights.

Cold and bright.

Unable to last and, yet, lasted.

“Because I think now I am beginning to understand what you meant.”

There was a lot of noise around them, but he barely noticed. There was so much light, so many people around them, but this moment was a spotlight between him and the past cold brightness. The shadows in her eyes softened, no longer bristling thorns, fading into a dark forest of overlapping leaves. He couldn’t know, but he felt those eyes were different now. Darker. More decisive. And yet, in some ways she hadn’t changed at all. One of the things that he had always liked about her back then was that she always answered him seriously and wisely even if the question seemed out of the blue.

They always had an inexplicable closeness, even as strangers.

She was even more beautiful and more attractive than he remembered though.

“I lied,” she admitted with a half-smile. Was that a sparkle of mischief in her irises or was he seeing things? “I remember what I said to you. It had upset you a lot, I remember, when I said I didn’t understand love. You cried. It must have hurt you, but I couldn’t understand why back then. Back then, I said I didn’t understand love because I both didn’t want to learn and couldn’t feel it. Only the latter is true now. Or, rather, I don’t think I feel the same things that other people feel when they are with the people they love. But why do you say you’re beginning to understand that I meant?”

His body remembered the feeling of her hand on his shoulder. Now, their relations weren’t close enough for her to touch him. He didn’t remember crying but he wasn’t surprised to be told that he did. When he was younger, he had been a bit of a crybaby. Just because he didn’t recall didn’t mean it didn’t happen.

But.

His heart could still feel that deep scratch of those familiar words, even now.

“When I met you back then… I thought I knew everything about love. Love was for good people. I wanted to be a good person so I could be loved. All I had to do was become the person that people wanted to love. But then I realized I wasn’t doing the things I wanted to do, only what was expected of me. Then you told me you didn’t understand love and I, someone who wanted to be loved by you, realized I had nothing to fall back on because I was only made of others’ expectations and ideals.”

He shook his head. He did remember crying after they parted. He remembered trying to make the sadness go away. He remembered nights in beds and stumbling home to cry in the shower, feeling disconnected in the physical connection. He remembered nights alone, empty bottles and holding a shot glass of tears, feeling unable to speak about this to anyone. Lost without knowing how to be found. Doing things based on impulse because only impulses were truly his and not poisoned by the opinions of others. Laughing at the search of happiness. Above all, he had been afraid. He had been afraid to give voice to his worries because then maybe they would gain power and overtake him.

But then he remembered the person who didn’t understand love.

There was such a person that existed out there.

He wondered how she was now.

“I wanted to tell you…”

And now he knew.

“I wanted to tell you I understand now. Or… don’t. Um.”

She smiled at him.

It was not the same way as she looked at the guitarist.

“Huh, you’ve become so mature and grown up. Well, welcome to the smoke-and-mirrors of adulthood, Jeon Jungkook,” she chuckled teasingly, shaking her head. “I scarred you that bad, eh?”

“No, I didn’t mean–”

She raised a hand to stop him, waving away his apology. “No, it’s okay. I’m surprised you still remember me. And don’t hate me. A lot of them hate me.”

Your mind might forget me, but the body always remembers.

His body did remember.

“A lot of them?” he echoed, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

The faintest tick of her eyebrow. “You gonna tell me you have all these tattoos and piercings and don’t get laid?”

His heart dropped. “You don’t like them?” He blurted that a little too fast.

She laughed. “My opinion of them doesn’t really matter.”

“Yes, it does,” was his quick reply.

She paused. The shadows in her eyes swirled. He tried to discern their meaning as he stared into those dark irises but the shadows were all evasive and clever, flitting away from him playfully. When she spoke again, there was a sternness to her tone. Not scolding him. Just getting her point across.

“Answer the question of whether or not you get laid.”

Hot and heavy nights that meant nothing compared to the cold and bright scratch on his heart.

“I…”

The tips of his ears suddenly burned but maybe it was the alcohol.

“I do. But I haven’t remembered or been bothered to remember a single thing they’ve said to me,” Jungkook heard himself say and wondered where that bravery came from.

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then she smiled in the way that made him shiver.

“Hyungu is gonna be pissed,” she laughed as the sound of a guitar riff pierced the air.

Oh, shit.

The spotlight faded.

Everything rushed back. Sound, color, light. It suddenly became very clear that he was too far and too long gone from his friends to go back now and face them. Jungkook spun around, seeing that the crowd had packed up tightly again. To his dismay, he had no idea where his friends were. They were no longer in that little pocket they had been. Did they get closer to the stage? Had they seen where he had gone? Did one of them text him? He was afraid to pull out his phone, both in rudeness and in the possible mortifying teasing. His phone was always on silent, at least. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

He turned back.

The melody echoing behind him was sharp and bright chords followed by a soulful voice.

She had been looking at the stage but immediately caught his gaze with a surprised expression. As if she hadn’t expected him to stay once the music started. And he shouldn’t, for it was rude and intrusive and inconsiderate to stay and invade a stranger’s space any longer.

But.

“You didn’t give me an answer.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

He pulled up the sleeve of his charcoal hoodie, revealing more of his tattoos. Her eyes tracked the movement, widening in surprise at the burst of color combined with thick black outlines. She had been able to see some of them, as his sleeves had been pushed up slightly, but it was much more obvious with the cuffs to the elbows. His forearm was covered with ink and there was no sign of stopping past the black patch in his inner elbow.

He looked back at her.

For a moment, they were young again.

Haloed by music, immersed in each other. A movie in real life. Suddenly it felt worth it – worth taking the risk of being rude, intrusive, or inconsiderate. Suddenly, it felt worth rolling the die and betting double just to…

Have a taste of that peppermint flavor.

“Yes or no?” he insisted, frowning, stubbornly pushing for an answer.

Deep down, Jungkook had always hoped she was thriving, shining brighter than all the stars, because then it proved that he, someone who also felt like he didn’t understand love, could be as impactful as that sparkling smile.

The corner of her lips ticked up in amusement. “Does a stranger’s opinion matter that much? I thought you weren’t going to let the opinions of others bother you anymore.”

Are we really strangers?

He grinned. “A stranger’s opinion would be the most unbiased, right?”

Can strangers speak like the way you and I do?

She stared at him for seconds that felt like forever-ever-afters.

Then she laughed, reaching up with a graceful hand and touching her fingertips to her forehead. His breath caught his throat, suddenly flooded with memories of youth and rashness, short as it was. He could see it all in a whirlwind. Crystal clear and fleeting all at once. A perfect storm and now caught in the eye, all of his wonders and helplessness thrown to the wayside upon seeing this familiar gesture that he didn’t even know until now was familiar, realizing now just how precious it was.

She lowered her hand with a mirthful and sparkling expression.

Beckoned with a downward wave as the music swelled, dangerously close to melting into the bridge.

“Step closer. You’re in someone’s way.”

Jungkook jolted, stumbling, realizing there was a short woman with carrying three full cups of foamy, honey-colored beer looking confusedly at him.

“Oh, shit, sorry–”

Her hand touched his shoulder, directing him gently.

His body moved but his mind froze at the touch.

“Listen. This is my favorite part. I’ll tell you after.”

One moment, there was space between them.

The next, he was standing next to her.

She tapped the air, closing her eyes.

“Listen.”

He closed his eyes obediently. Took away the visual, and suddenly his world was flooded with the auditory. An intricate guitar solo to bring life to his fluttering heart blending with piano and drums flowing together. Memories flashing past, too fast to grasp onto, happiness and misery, and then the bridge came, the lyrics painting the photo of two colorless roses abandoned by the heavens.

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

Her eyes opened at the final chorus, exhaling softly. Turned her head and he could see in the shadows of her gaze that she, too, remembered their minty whirlwind of memories.

Or…

Was he just hoping for that?

She smiled.

“I love your tattoos and piercings. You suit them well. I’m glad you found your own color, Jeon Jungkook. You shine so much brighter now than you did back then.”

It was at this moment that he knew...

He fucked up.

He shouldn’t have walked over here. He shouldn’t have asked the question. He shouldn’t have stayed and continued the conversation. He shouldn’t have asked if she liked how he looked now. He should have stayed with his friends and wondered. He should have preserved in the hot and heavy instead of searching for the past of crisp and bright. He might get used to it. He might end up finding what he was looking for, whatever it was. Or, better yet, he might just forget this whole feeling and her lasting words if he never saw her smile as she spoke to him again.

But he didn’t, so that meant he really fucked up.

Pit-a-pat.

He stared at her for so long that he didn’t realize he hadn’t said anything in reply until the song ended and her expression changed, tilting her head in puzzlement. She thinks I’m insane. Say something, Jungkook! Anything! But nothing was coming to mind, as how it always was in these situations. Awesome.

“Uh…”

She smoothly interrupted his awkwardness. “Did you come with friends?” Expression neutral. “I would hate to keep you from your company for too long.”

The notable shift from more casual to formal slightly stung.

No.

Really stung.

“I… Well, honestly, I don’t know where they are,” Jungkook confessed, scanning the crowd for a moment in attempt to look for them. It was a half-assed attempt, but it was an attempt. “I think I’ll have to look for them after the show. We’re meeting up with the band to eat, I think.”

“Oh? You know them?”

He pointed awkwardly to the stage. “Ah, yeah, the lead singer… We met in high school and are in the same friend group… Well, I’ve only recently started hanging out outside again. We’ve played a lot of online games together.”

“Oh, really?” She looked back up to the stage. “In that case, do you think your friends would mind if Hyungu tagged along?” A cautious smile. “It’s just… Hyungu-ah is in a band too, but they’re on hiatus right now. A few of them are doing military service. I think he really misses that environment. I can’t really talk music with him though, I don’t know anything,” she added ruefully, shaking her head and scrunching her nose. “Sorry, that’s probably a bit much to ask you after seeing you all this time. I’m just worried about that introvert, haha.”

Oh, right. The substitute guitarist. Right, because she didn’t simply magically appear as an act of fate or red string level of storytelling in a drama. Real life wasn’t like that.

“S-Sure, we can all go together–”

She was asking him to suggest or go along with the proposition to not alienate the guy. It was clear that she cared about him. He didn’t want to see them together, but… If she became part of his friend group, he might have a reason to go out more. Maybe he was a masochist. Maybe he just wanted to see if she was happy with that guy. Maybe he…

Okay, he wanted her to be close, even if it was all futile.

She relaxed. “Ah, phew. It really did take me a while to convince him to get out of the house,” she chuckled. “It’ll be nice for him to be around people that understand his true language of music, haha. I’ll stick around just in case, but don’t worry, I’ll leave and let you guys be guys, heh.”

Wait.

What?

Jungkook blinked rapidly. “Huh? Aren’t you coming too?”

She stared back. “Huh? Why?”

He looked at her and she looked at him.

Both blank stares of confusion.

“Why wouldn’t you go with your boyfriend?” he blurted.

Invisible question marks popped up over her head. Then she jolted and jerked her head to the band, to the blue-haired guitarist tearing it up on stage with a grin, then back at Jungkook, her eyes wide. “Me? Me?” She pointed to herself quickly, half-laughing in disbelief. “Me and Kang Hyungu?”

Jungkook gawked.

She burst out laughing.

“Oh, fuck, no, no, no,” she puffed, waving her hand all over. “No, no, he’s not… Oh, sheesh, no, we’re not dating. You thought… hah, sorry, there’s a misunderstanding here, hahaha…” She flicked her hand downward as if that idea was so ridiculous that it needed to be physically slapped out of existence. “Ah, no, how can I explain…”

Huh?

Wait, didn’t she mention earlier that his Kang Hyungu was going to be angry? She did directly say, Hyungu is gonna be pissed, right after Jungkook had told her he never bothered to remember what other girls told him, which would imply… argh, this was very baffling and Jungkook found his scatterbrained thoughts spinning trying to comprehend it all.

She straightened and ticked her head to the stage. “Me and him are just friends. We’ve been friends are a long time. Sorry, I can see why you’re mistaken since I came here with him, but Hyungu-ah is the type that really doesn’t like new situations. When he got asked to fill in for another band, he wanted me to come with him, since he wouldn’t know anybody. I believe he said he only spoke to these guys a couple times at festivals and he just needed some moral support.” She grinned. “Ya know, a tough cookie in case things get tough, hehe.”

Jungkook understood but also he was confused. “O… Oh…”

She motioned away his doubts. “In his words, you’re scary, noona. I’d feel much better if you came with me. Can you believe this guy? Just admit you’re lonely.” She rolled her eyes. “Hyungu-ah is a guitar genius. He’s a music nerd. I’ve known him since…” She paused, a dark shadow casting over her eyes as she recalled the past. “I was asked to tutor him when he was in high school and I was finishing university. He was shit at math and science. I helped him pass and then I…”

And again.

That pause.

Jungkook got the feeling she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell him or not.

She shrugged. “I moved away. Then I saw his name on a poster. Turns out this nerd made his dream a reality and started that band after all.” Her expression became fond. Gentle. “I went to go see him perform. I was surprised he recognized me, actually. Hah, kinda like–”

Her gaze shifted to him.

It was as if time stopped.

She continued, clearing her throat. “Anyway, I’m not dating anyone. Definitely not Hyungu. He’s more like a little brother to me. Or I’m more like a bodyguard, heh. With only intimidation tactics. I really should work out, huh…”

He frowned. “Have you talked about him before? I would have remembered someone so important to you.”

“Nah, I think you and me was after university. When I was being a slu–” She cut herself off. “Ahem, I mean, I was young and didn’t really want to deal with, well, anything. Running from myself, so to speak.” She sighed. A little heavy. “I meant to say sorry, back then. You got caught up with my madness.”

She winked.

Jungkook felt his heart skip a beat.

“But, hey, you dodged a bullet, eh?”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. That burst between them wasn’t there anymore.

Right?

Wrong.

He grinned.

“Nah, I’m bulletproof.”

Something about her.

Do you feel it too?

Her gaze sharpened and she stilled, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

“Oh, yeah?”

-

Well.

Can’t say you expected the events of tonight to be on this year’s bingo card.

You laid in bed and scrolled through your phone, but you didn’t pay much attention to anything on the screen. On one hand, you felt a little restless leaving Kang Hyungu to fend for himself with his low alcohol tolerance. On another hand, he was a grown man and would call you in the middle of the night to pick him up if he was really fucked up. Eh, he was too much of a good boy to be irresponsible.

You chuckled to no one in particular.

You were alone, after all.

It was a miracle, really, that little Hyungu still wanted to be your friend now.

In some ways, he was still the same kid you had met all those years ago. You didn’t really interact with him much as you were a couple years older and, well, a girl. You couldn’t really look at him either, all things considering. After all, wasn’t it highly probable that the bags under his eyes was your family’s fault? Your family and his family happened to be next-door neighbors at the apartment complex.

No one really talked about it.

In certain areas, the sounds of yelling and thrown dishes were simply background noise. Normal circumstances. The first near two decades of your life was that every day. Most of the time, your presence was as insignificant as a cockroach. Sometimes you would be spoken of but never spoken to. You learned from a pretty young age to shut up or be forced to shut up. The family motto was, children are not meant to be seen or heard. The adults were speaking. More accurately, arguing, escalating to screaming, and then to scalding silent treatment. Repeat cycle. You learned to snatch food from the fridge as soon as you saw it. No one was going to prepare anything for you, but at least there was always something edible in there.

Until you became a teenager, that was.

It got especially bad when you attended high school as both sides picked up hideous habits to deal with their issues. In your opinion, they should have picked divorce to deal with them, but instead they chose gambling and serial cheating. Sometimes neither would come home for days. Whenever they crossed paths, the endless war continued. There was no way to predict when the silence could become suddenly violate and now you were old enough to understand what was going on – and old enough to loathe it. You barely saw your next-door neighbors at that time because you did basically anything you could to avoid going home. There was only so much a child can take.

They either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

It was also about this time that you started using sex as a coping mechanism.

Approval by society wasn’t high on the list for you at that time, nor was it now. Must have been the upbringing. You watched alcohol become an expensive addiction for your parents and, paired with their mindless days at the casinos and excess spending on extramarital pleasures, illegal drugs were out of the question. Sex, however. If you knew what clinics to go to or where to shoplift, well. Free protection. Yup. During university, though, was when you needed money. You couldn’t go far as you couldn’t pay to live in a dorm. Your scholarships were barely covering tuition, so living at home was the only option. At this point, your parents had mostly forgot forgot that there was someone they birthed living in the apartment with them, which was fine by you, except when you needed to eat.

How Kang Hyungu knew things he shouldn’t know was a mystery you never figured out.

You had gotten locked out, again, and some loud dispute was happening behind the door. Deadbolted. It was shaping up to be a shit night – that was until a tall high schooler with a guitar bag approached the door to your right. You tried not to look at him and decided you would leave to find a PC bang to spend the night. But he must have seen your university-branded bag and called out your family name.

That was when Kang Hyungu started talking to you.

He must have noticed the many times that you had been locked out. Well, how could he ignore it? You didn’t want to do the small talk thing except for immediately informing him with your given name. However, your ears perked up when he mentioned that he needed help with math and science classes. He was looking to pay a tutor. Cram school was pretty expensive. Turns out you both had attended the same high school – of course, considering you lived in the same damn apartment building – and the high school posted notices about alumni that had received scholarships. That shit was a big deal to educators.

That was how you ended up in a basement studio room listening to five high schoolers make songs for hours and teaching them calculus, biology, and chemistry. All of them ended up being mild levels of garbage at those subjects, but it made teaching in a group much more efficient. It was thanks to Hyungu that you were able to eat all of university. Honestly, you didn’t really need the money as much as you needed somewhere to be. Yeah, it was pretty clear that Hyungu knew that somehow. He was a lot more observant than you gave him credit for. Neither of you really talked about it even though you should have.

Maybe, then…

When you graduated university, it was clear you had to leave. It was clear you had to put some distance between you and those who birthed you. Turns out, they did it for you, because one day you came home from job hunting and you didn’t have a home anymore. The apartment door was open and some random people were moving in. Cool. A talk with the leasing office, then. Turns out your parents moved out and didn’t bother to tell you. Together? Separately? Who the fuck knew. You found a box of your clothes in the dumpster along with some other random shit. Your birth certificate, even.

Your entire existence thrown in the trash.

It had really not been the best time.

Couple months of living strictly from PC bangs and business hotel rooms, you started a desk job at minimum wage. Funny how a degree didn’t do much but whatever. You also continued your not-so-great coping mechanism of fucking around, which is how you met Jeon Jungkook. He definitely had a different idea of how it all went down, but.

You paused, seeing that you had pulled up your phone contacts and there he was.

Even through changed models, your phone contacts transferred over. You never bothered to clear them out unless the person was worth blocking. Jeon Jungkook wasn’t worth blocking. The breakup, if you could call it that, was pretty simple. You said what you said and he didn’t fight you. You didn’t need his number in the years after, but you forgot about thinking you needed to delete unused numbers. You didn’t really forget him, though.

He was the only one that you felt sorry for breaking his heart.

He hadn’t been your type back then. Your type had been self-destructive, and you had become tired of that, so you chased for the complete opposite instead. You knew full well that it wasn’t going to work out. You didn’t even go into it invested. But you chose well, and he was the complete opposite. He trusted everything you said. He put up with your cold front. He liked you more than you liked him and he had no idea that he did. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised that he wouldn’t care even if he knew. He was good in bed too. Eager, quick to learn, and listened to everything you said. Tried everything you asked without questioning or judging. It was precisely why you broke it off before it got too deep, because it got too deep way too fast.

He thought of you too highly when, at that time, you were too low to be anything above a grey area.

Aren’t you afraid I’ll forget you?

Just by asking you that, you never forgot Jungkook. He was the only one who seemed worried about that. Everyone else called you a heartless bitch or a dumb whore who was making a mistake. But Jungkook asked you if you were afraid that he would lose your memory, as if it was valuable enough to be tarnished.

Life worked in mysterious ways.

The happening of you seeing Hyungu’s name on a poster was by chance. The choice to go to that concert back then was on a whim. The chance of Hyungu recognizing you and coming to find you, dragging you to his bandmates that all yapped excitedly around you as if no time had passed was surprising. You had always thought they had forgotten or resented you on some level. After all, you didn’t have a working phone for a while since you couldn’t pay for a plan. You had essentially ghosted them for years, but Hyungu acted as if you had always been there. I’ll never forget that you took good care of me, noona. There was no way you could even attempt to date Kang Hyungu. How could you ruin a relationship that he kept preserved so preciously when you abandoned it? He spoke highly of you even when you hadn’t been around, even when you had been too busy being selfish and self-centered. He smiled at you and relied on you once again because he trusted that you could be relied on. You would sigh and be hauled around by these young loons and support their blooming music career as you got your footing and made it to a better desk job with better pay.

And, by some fate, being close to Kang Hyungu caused you to cross paths with Jeon Jungkook once again.

Weird, eh?

You lowered your phone, staring up at the ceiling.

Well, life was full of coincidences, right? There was no reason to think this was a special event. After all, you had been trying your best to forget that time in your life where you felt the most lost. It took a lot of pushing past your own stubbornness to realize that how your parents felt about you had nothing to do who you were. Accepting that you weren’t the worst fuckup ever to exist, thanks to the saving grace of someone who remembered to call you noona in an endearing way and not in an obligated way. It would be counterproductive to…

Jeon Jungkook’s smiling face flashed in your mind.

You only had one orb-shaped lamp on currently. It was one of those that you could set the lighting color and tone to your taste. You liked the low, moody, cool blue lighting. Besides, you knew the layout of your apartment by now, and the overhead lighting wasn’t necessary unless you needed to look for something.

The orb shone like the moon.

Jungkook had known such a different version of you and yet he still smiled at you like that.

“You must have somebody, don’t you?” you sighed to the shining moon.

It was silly to think too much about a random conversation. And, really, all he wanted to know was if you still found him hot or whatever. Yeah, he was just looking for external validation. You just happened to be there. Tattoos and piercings and working out? Sounded like a quarter life crisis to you. One that worked out in his favor, though. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, but it wasn’t from a tangible cold.

In the darkness, the moon-shaped light glowed brightly.

“It would be nice if you had somebody.”

You frowned and turned your back to the light.

It was a coincidence. Another moment of going through life and realizing you had been climbing Penrose stairs all along. How different were you from back then, really? It wasn’t as if you magically started getting into relationships and had a damn epiphany. The cruel epiphany was that we were all stuck in this endless loop of our respective pasts catching up to the present. No amount of heat could dissipate the coldness of the future.

You sighed, melting into the comfort of your cool bedsheets.

“I should just forget about Jeon Jungkook,” you mumbled.

Whatever.

Wasn’t like you were ever gonna see him again.

You dozed off.

Your phone vibrated against your chest.

-

“You idiot, you know you have no tolerance…”

“Noona, it was so fun, ahahaha…”

The air was cold. The sting of winter clung to his cheeks. He called out her name, feeling like the sound was drowned out by the cars and white noise in his head, but, once again, Jeon Jungkook completely forgot how loud he was.

Passersby jumped as he ran past clutching a guitar bag.

Her arms were wrapped around a blue-haired man who was dwarfing her frame. He looked half-asleep and too proud of himself but that was probably under the influence of alcohol and good vibes. She jolted, startled, her eyes widening as Jungkook skidded to a questionably close stop in front of them, nearly colliding into her.

In fact, he did.

“Woah!”

“Yah!”

He threw an arm out and around them, snapping back to hold the three of them up, pressing the guitar bag to her chest. There they were, a bundle of people who somehow ended up like this with a guitar cuddled between them, standing in the middle of the sidewalk at midnight with nightlife bystanders staring at them like they were all insane. At least Kang Hyungu was completely oblivious. Come to find out during dinner, he had low alcohol tolerance. Less than a soju bottle low. Welp. Nobody had believed him and he had given in a bit. At least he had the backup plan of a close friend picking him up. The group of guys had all stayed at the restaurant, making sure he was safe until she arrived, flushed and windswept, bowing repeatedly in thankfulness.

Therefore, Kang Hyungu was blissfully unaware of the sudden awkwardness of past lovers staring at each other with their stunned faces millimeters from each other.

Jungkook froze, holding her tight.

“H… His guitar…”

Her lips parted but no sound came out.

In his shock, he had only now realized she had removed her makeup. His heartbeat leapt to his throat, suddenly remembering how much he had loved the shape of her eyes and the color of her natural, full lips. How her cheeks seemed more filled out now. Healthier. Her skin glowed. He could almost…

Almost.

His body shivered.

She blinked, casting her eyes down. “Oh, shit, how could I forget… T-Thank you. He would be heartbroken without his precious guitar,” she breathed out quickly and exasperatedly, reaching up to grab the strap. “Thank you. Sorry to trouble you.”

“It’s o-okay…”

Jungkook reluctantly peeled away from her, taking a step back. There was an awkward moment of her still holding onto her friend and shouldering the guitar, juggling between the two. Even in that short moment, Jungkook realized Kang Hyungu must work out. He was not as light as he seemed. Instinctively, Jungkook reached out and held Hyungu’s shoulders when the guitar slipped from her narrow shoulder.

“Aw, fuck–”

Jungkook almost laughed at her puffed cheeks and under-the-breath swearing.

Almost, because his heart ached suddenly.

She had been so cute when she was mad, even if it was being taken out on him. He always thought that, so it had always been hard to argue when he was trying not to be in love with those cheeks.

“Sorry, I got him,” she sighed. “I’ll get him home even if I have to drag him.”

“I’ll help you, noona.”

She froze with her arms around another man. Her eyes darted and fixated on him.

Jungkook realized his mistake and also froze.

He had been calling her formally by name out of politeness until now. The same way strangers would address each other with no intention of ever meeting again. The honorific had just slipped out naturally. Or unnaturally, depending on how one considered the effects of alcohol. The blue-haired guitarist was half-asleep on her shoulder. There were only two conscious souls under this streetlamp on this cold night.

A diffused spotlight.

He sputtered. “S… Sorry, was that too informal…?”

Her gaze shifted. Were her cheeks pink from the crisp air or was it his eyes playing tricks on him? “No, it’s fine, I just…” She shook her head, swallowing hard. “It’s been a while since you… It’s okay,” she chuckled, the corner of her lips rising. “I mean, I would be pissed if you called me anything else. Our age difference is not that significant, but it’s there.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Was there hope in those shadowy eyes or was it all in his mind?

“Don’t you have to go home too?”

He grinned.

“Ah, I stay up until three in the morning every night anyway. Let’s get Hyungu-ssi home.”

-

Which was how you ended up on a bus with not-so-little-anymore Kang Hyungu snoring on your left shoulder and your past fling Jeon Jungkook on your right.

Awkward.

You clutched Hyungu’s guitar bag like your life depended on it. Actually, deep down you were kind of glad it somehow ended up this way. Being on a bus at midnight meant the crowd was the unpleasant kind. It must have been an odd sight. Sleeping Hyungu by the window, you in the middle seat holding a very expensive guitar, and Jungkook at the aisle being a great big buffer to keep the unsavory folk away. He was wearing a thick black parka over his charcoal sweat set, and he had his hood up to protect his ears from the cold.

For some reason, his jaw was clenched.

His eyebrows were furrowed too, giving him a very mean appearance for no reason. Or, at least, no discernable reason you could conclude. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular as far as you could tell.

“Sorry about this,” you suddenly said.

Jungkook flinched and turned his head to look at you. Instantly, his expression burst into life, the stern expression melting away into sparkling big peepers and pink lips in a small ‘o’, making your breath catch as the small mole under his lip appeared.

You used to kiss that mole first before you kissed his lips.

Used to.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he replied with a smile.

“I feel like I cut your night short.”

He gave you a lopsided grin, scratching his cheek. “Eh, I can go to the club or karaoke bar some other time. And maybe I need to not be so easily influenced, ahahaha…”

You hummed. “Guess you’re still the same, going along with our people’s suggestions.”

He puffed his cheeks. “No, I’m not. I’m here with you now, aren’t I?” he shot back.

Pause.

You both looked away at the same time.

Hyungu snored softly in your ear.

Thanks for that, man.

You tried to ignore the creeping goosebumps along your back. It was not the outside temperature. You were wearing your big black leather jacket over the black sweatshirt and jeans you yanked on to quickly get out the door. Your shoulder bumped into Jungkook’s as the bus stopped and let some passengers off. It was still a few stops yet of this awkwardness. For fuck’s sake, you were the older one. Come on. You resisted the urge to slap your own cheeks to get a grip. Nothing is going on here. The heart palpitations were in your head. Yeah. Totally.

“Thank you, again.”

You felt him shift, sitting up straighter. “I really don’t mind at all, noona.”

You sat up too, casting him a sideways half-smile.

He bit the left side of his lip, mumbling.

“I never minded doing anything for you.”

A strange tingling sensation danced over your scalp and down your shoulders. Sigh. He was doing this on purpose, right? One look and of course not. You shut your eyes. Maybe you could just make up a reason to hate him. You thought you had lost him under other bodies and darker nights and bad decisions. You thought he hated you for ending it the way you did, so coolly and unfeelingly. You thought.

“Have you been happy, Jungkook?”

You felt him hesitate. You could almost remember how he smelled back then. Like crisp linens and bright cotton. He loved fabric softener and similar clean scents. Have you been happy after me? You hoped so. In retrospect, you had been such a small, meaningless part in this winding road of life.

“I… I guess? I’m doing things I like to do. I feel like I’m able to live more freely, and I figure I can just… keep doing what I’m good at.”

You smiled.

“That’s good.”

You opened your eyes.

“What about you, noona?”

Have I been happy?

Did you even know what that meant? And yet you felt the weight of precious Hyungu’s head against your shoulder. Someone who relied on your good heart wholeheartedly. Never mind your opinion of if your heart was good or not, or even there. Happy? You went to work. You enjoyed your hobbies like music and games. You stayed home and shopped online when you were bored. You had the money to buy your favorite snacks and you had the luxury to have poor time management to eat them at midnight and wake up puffy the next day.

You had a very simple life that your younger self could barely dream of.

I don’t want to end up like my parents.

Was that why you didn’t want to be in a relationship?

“Noona?”

You looked up suddenly, noticing your surroundings. Quickly pulled on the cord to create the gentle bell tone.

“We need to get off here.”

-

Somehow, Jungkook ended up in a stranger’s corner apartment surrounded by vinyl, boxed CD albums, and music equipment. It was on a lower floor so at least they didn’t have to climb any stairs to get to the front door. The living room area was less like a living room and more like a half-music studio, complete with guitars, speakers, and a computer with lots of expensive looking music equipment around it. The surrounding walls had black foam squares taped neatly, even on the ceiling. The rest of the wall space was occupied by posters of various indie and mainstream bands. He was surprised to see the few plushies of penguins on the couch. Along the wall of the stairs were flyers that each had a corresponding nail that hung lanyards with plastic cards – artist passes. Festivals and concerts and such, each one containing a recurring name if he looked closely enough.

He, along with his past lover, helped the young man he had just met tonight into the bed in the loft area.

It was a small space.

Somehow, they managed being that close.

“Thanks, again,” she sighed, descending down the stairs in front of him. “You must be thirsty. There has to be some water around here.”

Somehow, Jungkook found himself standing in the hallways of a stranger’s apartment drinking a bottle of water as he watched the one who got away rip a memo note off a pad and scribble something down, finding a Pingu mug to sandwich it under.

Somehow.

She turned around and sighed, looking relieved. The guitar bag was on the sofa, safe and sound.

Then they stared at each other, realizing they were now alone.

Well, not alone.

Above them, Kang Hyungu was in dreamland.

“Ah…”

Her shoulders slumped.

“Sorry, I didn’t even ask how out of your way this was. I’ll pay for a taxi back.”

“Ah, no, that’s okay. I can make my way.”

“Don’t be like that,” she scolded, although not with much severity. “I can’t take advantage of your kindness.”

He paused, staring into her eyes. They hadn’t turned on too many lights. Enough to see, and then turned off most of them right away to avoid waking up the neighbors with the brightness. Only the warm bulb by the door was on now, illuminating them together.

“Noona, can I ask you something?” he asked softly, realizing his voice shook a little.

She lifted her head, pulling her hands out of her pockets.

“Yeah, of course. What is it?”

Have you ever been in love?

He looked at her, and he remembered the question she didn’t answer on the bus. They had been hurried and trying not to inconvenience anyone. Now that what about you was lost in the whirlwind of sights, sounds, in time past. Jungkook was pretty sure that he knew what the line of love and distraction was, but he found he had no real words to describe it. Only a feeling of sureness, just as he was sure that if he asked this question, have you ever been in love, he would be overstepping a boundary somehow.

Mostly because it seemed obvious.

And also because it was not fair to ask questions that he was personally invested in the answer and honestly didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer.

Had he ever been in love? Sure, although he knew it was always with the caveat of what he knew at the time and driven by the image painted by his own parents. A miracle that he had a chance to witness. He hadn’t really thought about how deeply seeing them interact affected him until he met her. She never spoke about her parents. It was like they didn’t exist. No photos, no calls, no casual drop-bys to hand over a home-cooked meal and say hi. In contrast, Jungkook had the unfortunately mortifying moment of being balls deep and then interrupted by his own mother right before the big finale. She just silently laughed while hiding behind the door as his mom attempted to enter his apartment, why are there clothes all over the floor, aish, I keep telling you that I didn’t teach you to be messy, and him trying to reassure her that everything was fine and he had to be somewhere soon.

Yeah.

Anyway.

It the time it had been embarrassing, but she had told him something that had, again, stuck with him for a long time after. You are lucky that she takes the time to bother you. Some people would do anything to have their parents care for their well-being just one more time. The realization had humbled him. Sorry. I didn’t know your parents passed away. But she had just shaken her head with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

No, Jungkook, they’re very much alive. They just never cared about me, ever.

He had felt very sorry then, but she had waved her hand and laughed.

Don’t be. I can’t miss something I’ve never had.

It was then that Jungkook realized that he believed in love because his parents were in love. It was later when Jungkook realized that he, too, had been in love, but this was only after he had stopped seeing her. Only after he stopped tasting her strong, concentrated flavor. The world had become a tasteless future despite all the color and saturation trying to grab his attention.

Because she had left.

It might have been short, but that time had been a forever-after packed into a few months.

Jungkook jumped as she tapped the back of his hand with her fingertip.

“Hello? Welcome back to Earth. Did you enjoy your time spacing out?”

She looked amused.

“Guess you haven’t changed from your random space-outs, heh,” she chuckled, taking his empty water bottle and tossing it in the recycling. Even removed the paper label and everything. “Come on. You shouldn’t be interrogating me in Hyungu’s apartment anyway.”

She ushered him out of the apartment and made sure to lock up behind herself. He wondered why she had a key. Then again, her and the guitarist were very clearly good friends. Jungkook wondered if it would still be like that if Hyungu or her started dating. Or, maybe not, if they ended up dating each other.

Suddenly, Jungkook felt incredibly helpless.

She bumped into him because he stopped walking, bouncing off. They were still in the narrow hallway, trying to be quiet so as not to disturb the neighbors at this late hour. The light in the hallway was warm and low. Not due to the night. More because the lightbulbs were generally old and shitty.

“Woah, what’s going on? You don’t know how to walk straight? Do you need a leash?” she whispered lightheartedly, coming around him.

He looked up.

It must have shown on his face because the playful laughter in her features immediately slipped away upon eye contact.

He had millions of unfair questions swirling in his mind, can we try again, is there something wrong with me, why did you leave me, and Jungkook knew he could ask none of them. For fuck’s sake, they had only just seen each other again tonight. He should just be happy they were together now, even in this platonic way. He should just be happy that she seemed healthy and content. He should just…

But you’ve always known me so well.

You aren’t hard to read, Jungkook, she used to laugh when they talked about how fast they had gotten into bed together.

She placed her hand on his elbow.

Dragged from his minty whirlwind memories and thrown into the present, Jungkook stared at her unreadable expression, but there were too many shadows and his vision was too clouded with what was.

“Come on. We can’t stay here,” she murmured gently, pulling him along.

-

“I’m not letting you go home alone. It’s not safe.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Teleporting?” You scowled. “Besides, turns out your apartment is closer to here and mine is further down. It makes no sense for you to double back.”

One thing about Jeon Jungkook was that once he got an idea in his head, he was more stubborn than an ox. It was true back then when he was chasing after your ass and it was true right now. He was frowning at you and furrowing his eyebrows. The frustrated expression was broken by how big his dark brown eyes were.

“I keep telling you it’s not a big deal for me, noona. I don’t mind.”

“This isn’t about whether or not you mind,” you sighed grumpily. “It just doesn’t make sense. Fine. Fine, do whatever you want.”

Which was how you ended up in a taxi with Jungkook, crammed in the backseat of a tiny sedan with a grandpa who didn’t make small talk and blasted trot music. Well, it probably would have felt less tiny if Jungkook wasn’t right next to you like a big fabric blob. You hadn’t paid much attention to how crowded you had been on the bus since you were already weighed down by half-dead guitarist and his guitar. You had thought Hyungu had been playing up his drunkenness for the attention but he had thoroughly passed out by the time the bus had arrived. He was a lightweight so you weren’t super worried to leave him alone. Then again, you couldn’t tell Jungkook to get lost and leave you at another guy’s apartment, because what kind of message would that send?

Not that Jungkook’s opinion of how you spent your time mattered.

It had just felt rude, that was all.

You were kind of worried about him anyway. You witnessed him zoning out and simply standing there twice already. Boy was gonna get kidnapped one of these days. Sheesh. The car rolled to a stop. You paid the driver through the app and thanked him, getting a wordless nod in return. Cool. Opened the car door and climbed out, followed by a big shadowy blob.

Uh.

The car drove away.

“Jungkook, you should have asked him to drive you to your place,” you pointed out.

Those big brown eyes looked from your apartment complex to you. “Huh?”

Was the heck is on his mind? You sighed and pulled up the taxi app again. “Give me your address. I did say I’ll pay for it.”

“I, erm…”

You looked up at Jungkook’s uneasy tone. Confused. He looked uncomfortable and awkward, not really looking at you in the face.

“I kinda have to go.”

You blinked at him.

He waved his hands. “Eh, it’s fine. I’ll go find a bush or something. Um.”

“Jungkook, I’m not letting you pee in a bush. Do you see this place? You think they’ll let me continue living here after seeing on one of their cameras that my guest peed in a bush?”

He looked from the white walls to the stone fence to the black iron gate to the immaculately clean, very neatly trimmed, small ball-shaped bushes. They weren’t even knee-height. “I-I-I just don’t want you to t-think…” He shifted, wavering a bit. Eyes darting in every direction. “It was all the water and the alcohol earlier, um…” You sighed and turned around to punch in the code. “I didn’t want you to think I’m doing it on purpose.”

You paused.

Then you pushed the gate open and motioned him in.

“Come on before your piss yourself.”

Which was how you ended up sighing as you tossed your jacket onto your large charcoal sofa while Jungkook emptied his bladder in the bathroom of your apartment. At least you hoped that was what he was doing. You weren’t going to be a creep and try to listen for evidence. You flopped down, cozying into the soft but durable fabric. You wouldn’t have brought this couch if it wasn’t for the great deal and the ability for it to be modular, meaning you could lock the pieces together to make a bed and watch television, as well as also having the ability to make it look like an L-shaped sofa when you had guests over so that they didn’t know that you really put the potato in couch potato several times a week.

Hey.

Money well spent.

Of course, you usually only had very few guests over. Occasional one to warm the bed and maybe hosting Hyungu’s band members. Not at the same time. Duh. You weren’t trying to traumatize the five friends you had – Hyungu and the other four band members. Yeah. Wasn’t much, but they existed, even though they were busy right now being Korean men and all that. Soon, Hyungu would be egg-headed and off to duty too. You puffed out your cheeks. Temporary, of course, and yet.

Who knows what could happen?

You were always prepared to find yourself alone.

Wouldn’t be the first time to come home, only to realize home didn’t exist.

It never had.

You heard commotion and Jungkook reappeared, looking relieved. Probably because he was. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off.

You stood up.

You were past the wishing phase. The pretending phase. Past the numbness and looking for promises when there were none. Expectation was only the precursor to disappointment, after all. To be honest, if it wasn’t for your carnal sex drive, you would be past the distractions too. Good to know you weren’t completely ready to throw in the towel yet. If it wasn’t for someone relying on you, you as well have chosen to fade away.

If it wasn’t for…

You made eye contact with Jeon Jungkook, even though you didn’t want to.

Before today, you really wouldn’t have cared about seeing someone you used to date. Past was in the past. You had made a lot of bad decisions. So far, they hadn’t come back to haunt you yet. As you stared into those big brown eyes, frozen in place by your sudden attention, you wondered what you could say to assure him that you were different from back then. You could admit it now. You could admit back then you were weaker than anybody else, fighting your own demons by running away, wondering what was wrong with you to have parents who fought every day and did everything to run away from their internal struggles except the solution of divorce, and you could admit now that you took out that loss on everyone else around you, all the while knowing the reality.

That was just how life was, sometimes.

Life didn’t know fair and unfair. People made choices without caring about the consequences all the time. You didn’t care enough back then, because you knew you wouldn’t know what to do if they cared back. You knew you could never be beloved when you had nothing and no one to call home.

I don’t want to avoid reality, even if I’m afraid.

The past memories flickered like a whirling panorama – Jungkook nervous in front of you, trying to ask about how the automated system worked so he could get ramyeon with the soft-boiled egg at the PC bang in the dead of night. Playing computer games with him, laughing because he wasn’t very good but still trying for some reason. Learning that he wasn’t doing very well in university and that he was trying to do the escapism thing while working on his video editing business on the side. Sharing a bed with him, not saying anything about how all your belongings only fit in one duffel bag. He didn’t have to know. His face between your hands. Kisses that took his worries away. Body to body, warm for the first time in a long time. Your fingertips walking up his chest, all the way to his rattling heartbeat, turning a simple night into a fantasy.

The thought of your actions having any positive effect seemed foreign and impossible.

But maybe that was the victim mentality talking.

“Can I ask you something, Jungkook?”

He looked surprised. “M…Me?”

You hooked your thumbs into the belt loops of your jeans, doing something with your hands so they wouldn’t fidget about. Even now, he was the same. There was still this persistent innocence about him, stubbornly sticking around as if he could be young forever. He still believed in something, even if life kept trying to tell him time and time again that it wasn’t true.

“Do you still have feelings for me?”

You saw the whirlwind flash through his eyes.

Guilt. Nervousness. Uncertainty. Helplessness, wondering if he was asking for something that could never be given. He was still so easy to read. Those big brown eyes couldn’t hide anything and it wasn’t his nature to lie. There were stars in his eyes.

Those stars were tears.

“You said… You said you can’t feel love,” he shuddered, blinking hard.

There wasn’t much space between you and him. Somewhere around a meter. But it felt like light-years of desolate space and sudden heartache from a heart you weren’t sure you had. Maybe you were born with one, but all flowers wither with no care. You were the desert and he was the ocean, at least in the emotional sense.

You wanted to insist.

I can know love!

But, could you?

You collected a breath and nodded. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for back then. For using you, even though you probably don’t think you were used. For breaking the unspoken promise I couldn’t understand.”

Jungkook looked back at you. His voice small, stranded and lost.

“I have never fallen in love after you, noona.”

You were different now, you told yourself, but maybe you weren’t really and that was the problem.

“It’s impossible to fall in love when I have always been in love with you.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that was silly. It had only been a couple months. You hadn’t even really been that attentive. It had been a short-lived romance, if you could call fucking constantly and gaming at the PC bang at three in the morning that. A fleeting gratification. A sharp burst that lit up the timeline of a very long and eventful life that Jeon Jungkook would have. Nothing more.

Just…

A pop of peppermint gum.

You had meaningful relationships. Ones that taught you things about yourself and people. Maybe even ones that other people could consider love, depending on what their definition was.

But, then there was…

Jungkook.

You opened your mouth to tell him he was silly but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Had it been love?

And could it still be love?

“You… You don’t even know what I’m like now,” you blew out, suddenly feeling winded. “I could be a total asshole.” You looked away, tucking your tongue in your cheek.

“But I helped you make sure you got your friend and his guitar home safe?” Jungkook questioned, sounding confused. “Would a total asshole would do that?”

“I don’t know,” you rambled, not so sure about anything anymore. “I mean… you’ve only just met me again after how long?”

“A really long time,” Jungkook answered, frown in his tone.

“Yeah, exactly.” You latched on, not caring that he didn’t even calculate it. “How do you know it’s not rose-tinted glasses and all that?”

He shrugged. Glanced at you. “I don’t really think I have the brainpower for that, noona.”

You stared at him.

Jungkook shrugged again.

You shook your head. “You can’t say that about yourself.”

He scratched his cheek, looking sheepish. “At least I know where I’m still lacking?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “No, you–”

He beat you to it.

“Do I have to understand?”

You froze, realizing you had taken a few steps towards him, perhaps in hopes of shaking some sense into him. This was crazy. This didn’t make any sense. This was only a coincidence turned convoluted by memories, tangled emotions, circumstance…

“My mind might forget, but my body always remembered. There is only you for me.”

Your head snapped up, seeing his soft smile. The recall was so fierce that it was déjà vu, except you had been the one with the gentle smile and he had been the one lost, wondering if you were afraid of losing his love. Now. His short black hair a little windswept, his dark brown eyes a little glassy, and yet he smiled at you, mole peeking out from under the center of his lower lip. Do I have to understand? To understand was to know and to know was to be sure that you were in love, except that you said so yourself that sometimes the thoughts didn’t quite catch up to the heart.

He looked embarrassed, abruptly looking away, letting out a shaky breath.

“It’s just… I think I knew it all along but, even if I know, it doesn’t mean I can change your mind, ha… ha, can you imagine, running off to track you down, you would just think I’m crazy, and if I jeopardized your happiness for my own selfishness, I don’t think I could live with myself… and, anyway…”

He wasn’t really looking at anything anymore.

“Even if what I wanted was ugly, our time was beautiful.”

You stepped forward.

“It’s a common, basic story, isn’t it? My wish for us to be exceptional is too foolish,” Jungkook laughed weakly. Rambling. Speaking from his heart but still unable to focus on the present.

You reached forward.

“I wanted everything about you. I still do.”

Your fingertip touched his cheek.

“Don’t cry,” you finally said.

He froze.

You wiped away a fallen star, the overhead lights of your apartment catching the tears before Jungkook even realized they were there. You brushed the droplet away, but they were falling, falling, and he turned his head, still not really registering what was happening, even as the base of your palms pressed into his cheeks and swept his tears away, quickly breathless as you were captured by the universes entangled in his eyes. You could feel the wetness on your skin. The shudder in his breath. His hands came up to touch your wrists, and you still believed you couldn’t be enough for him, even now, but your body responded on its own, cradling his face, bringing him to you.

“Please don’t cry,” you said again, softly, and realized you said it because, a long time ago, you would have done anything to have someone tell you that in the past, please don’t cry. So, you told Jungkook instead.

He was someone as precious as a memory.

And, yes, even if your thoughts didn’t catch up right away, you pulled him to you, body to body, feeling him shiver, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this isn’t very manly of me, and like clockwork you told him to shut up and cry, holding him because you remembered he liked to be held. You had told him back then that you weren’t really the type to cuddle, but he had finally confessed late one night that he yearned to be close to you, even if only for a little while, and that he had been afraid to admit it in fear of pushing you away. So, you relented, if only to comfort him and make him happy.

Is that love?

“It’s okay to cry,” you murmured gently, stroking his hair. “It’s just not okay to cry alone.”

He buried his eyes into your shoulder and wept.

He was still in his jacket, swamping you with his frame and excess layers. You placed your arms around his waist under his parka, feeling his warm and shaking frame, gently placing your hands on his shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry… I-I don’t k-know why I’m c-crying…”

“Shh…”

You tugged him along. Step by step, and made him sit on the sofa with you, curled up in a tangle of limbs with your hands on his back. His body was hot from emotion, and he pulled his arms out of his jacket to wipe his nose and eyes with his hoodie sleeves, still not looking at you, and you gave him the privacy, not looking at him either, only holding him as close as possible and keeping his parka on his shoulders, covering you and him together.

“T-This wasn’t how… I t-thought… how I would be hugging you a-again…” Jungkook sobbed quietly, leaning his forehead against your shoulder.

You held him close.

“Yeah, well, nothing is really turning out how you or I planned it. Mostly because neither of us had a plan to begin with.”

He laughed, albeit feebly and wetly, but you just smiled and placed your hand on his head again, running your fingers through his hair. You didn’t have a grand speech planned. You didn’t even really know the right words to say or the correct way to organize your thoughts. You simply leaned him against you, nestled in the cushions, and kept your arms wrapped around him for a long, long time.

-

click here for part ii

--

masterpost

[thefallennightmare]

The Promise-Andy Biersack

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Pairings: Andy Biersack x OFC

Warnings: smut, language, angst(lots of it), a smidge of fluff, mentions of abuse, alcoholism.

Summary: High school was supposed to be some of the best years of a teenager's life; except for River. Those four years were hell, the only one that got her through it was her best friend, Andy. She thought he'd be by her side after graduation but after one night of giving each other something so treasured, life took both of them in different directions.

Almost ten years later, River and Andy meet again in a way neither of them expected.

Authors Note: This is my first time writing Andy Biersack but I'm very excited! As of now, it is a one-shot but might consider continuing it if people are interested!

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @mitchhbitch @concreteangel92 @flowery-mess @cookiesupplier @poppy-in-the-woods @viofcrows @sprokat @srorgana1 @bloody-delusion-expert

 “You don’t ever have to be alone, River,” his soothing voice cooed in my ear as he cupped my cheek. 

I looked up at him through the tears and choked on a sob. “Promise you’ll stay with me?”

He smiled that smile I fell in love with years ago. “I promise.” 

The sounds of yelling pulled me out of my thoughts in time to see a group of teenagers running past me on the street, youthful smiles on their faces. 

If they only knew what the future for them held. 

With the setting sun grazing over the streets of Hollywood as people made their way home from school or work, I was headed to work with my camera bag hanging on my shoulder and phone in my hand. I had the Maps app up giving me directions where I needed to go. It was going to be a long night at work for this music video shoot and I was already on my third cup of coffee, the feeling of caffeine still not flowing through my system. 

I spent the morning and afternoon bouncing between different shoots from clients and when I remembered I had booked this job taking pictures of a band's music video tonight, I cut the last photoshoot short by only a few minutes to make it in time. 

The company that booked me for this video shoot, Industrialism Films, didn’t tell me much about who the band was. They just told me to show up at seven p.m. and start working as soon as I was set up. It was going to be an all-night event and I needed to make sure to get shots of everyone in the band. 

Hence the third cup of coffee. 

It also hadn't helped that my mind had been plagued with memories of high school even ten years after graduation. Usually, I was great at pushing away those awful memories but the last few nights, those images of my past life kept clawing at me, dragging me down to the depths. I spent so long trying to crawl out of it and breathe that fresh air I desperately craved those four years of hell. 

The bullying. 

Eating alone in the bathroom stalls. 

The feeling of being so alone, I cried myself to sleep every night. 

The desperation of my home being a haven away from the mocking at school, only to have it worse there. 

Every single day of high school was miserable; except for one person. 

Him. 

My best friend and first everything; Andy. 

Until he left you to deal with the beatings alone so he could succeed with his band. 

Screwing my eyes shut tight to forget the sound of my dad's skin on mine, I turned the corner, and a large church and steps came into view. There were ropes blocked off around the perimeter, keeping outsiders away. As I reached a security guard, I pulled out my I.D. to show him. 

“River Murray. I’m the photographer,” I said. 

The guard glanced down to my I.D. then to the list in his hands and with a gruff of response, he let me walk past the ropes. 

“Have a great night,” I mumbled under my breath. 

Bodies were moving everywhere, and people were screaming over one another, but I was able to find the director of the shoot pretty quickly. He showed me a trailer where I could set up my things and once I was settled, I could start working. They didn’t care what pictures I shot, just as long as I got a lot of the band. 

“Who’s the band?” I asked Vincent, the director while setting my camera bag on the table inside the trailer. 

“Bloody veils? No that’s not right,” he scratched at the beard on his chin, trying to remember. “I don’t know. It's some metal band. I’ve only met them once before but they’re nice guys. It’s for their song Saviour II.” 

I nodded. “So I have free reign around here? As long as I don’t get in the shot right?” 

Vincent smiled. “You’ve worked on music video shoots before?” 

“Once or twice,” I shrugged. “I worked with Bad Omens on one and some local bands another time.” 

“Bad Omens?” He whistled low. “They’re one of the hottest bands right now. I’m surprised you aren't working with them.” 

“I dated their current photographer for a few months. He set up the shoot with them to help build up my portfolio,” I shifted on my feet, suddenly feeling uncomfortable divulging too much about my life to this stranger. 

A loud crackle and static came through Vincent’s radio. “Veil Brid-. They’re here.”

My heart stuttered in my chest for the briefest of moments but told myself to take a breath. It couldn’t be him; the radio cut off before finishing who was here, I was just in my head. 

“You’re beautiful, River,” he mused while kissing every inch of my bruised skin. 

Vincent clapped his hands which caused me to jump out of my thoughts and blinked wildly. 

“Alright, I’ve got to meet the boys and show them their trailers to get ready. Head out whenever you’re ready. There’s a radio for you on the table in case we need to communicate with you tonight.” 

“Sure,” I did my best to nod with a smile. 

Once alone, I sat on the couch in the trailer and went about assembling my camera, doing a few test shots. The past kept trying to crawl its way back into the present, doing its best to render me useless, but I wouldn’t allow it. 

Well, I tried to anyway. 

“You’re worthless.” 

“Piece of shit daughter. I should have dropped you off with your mother years ago.” 

“The only thing you’re good for is being a punching bag. But you can’t even do that right.” 

A swift kick to my ribs sent me flying across the room. 

Choking on a sob, I dug my palms into my eyes hoping that would force out those thoughts. 

“I haven’t thought of Dad in years but now he’s overtaking every part of me again,” I sighed to myself. 

Not feeling quite ready to leave the trailer yet, I fixed myself in the reflection of the mirror by tying my long black hair into a tight French braid and cleaned up my makeup a bit. The scar underneath my right eye was faint but visible to this day almost eleven years later. No matter how much makeup I wore to cover it, it was still a reminder of not only the best day of my life but also the worst day. 

“River, we need you on set.” 

“Be right there,” I said into the radio before clicking it to the belt of my jeans, and with my camera around my neck, I bounded down the steps of the trailer. 

By now the sun had set and the moon shone overhead so I stopped in my tracks for a moment to take a few shots of it before walking into the church where there was a large gathering of people. On the altar of the church were a set up of drums, guitars, an orchestra, and a microphone stand. 

After snapping a picture of it, I turned on my heels when I heard Vincent call my name. 

“River, I’d like you to meet the band. I figured you’d want to get some pictures of them before we start shooting.” 

I looked over the picture I had just taken of the drum set, something vaguely familiar about the logo, but then glanced up at the five men standing in front of me; the one in the middle with the bright gray eyes immediately catching my gaze. 

My breath caught in my throat as I nearly tripped over my feet when his jaw went slack, the familiarity slapping both of us in the face. 

“River?” 

The richness of his voice brought back all of those other memories I did my best to push away. I stood frozen, unable to move or say anything, while my brain tried to catch up on the man that stood in front of me; the one I hadn’t seen in ten years. 

The one that broke his promise. 

“Andy.”

Highschool. Senior year. One week before graduation. 

I pounded on the bedroom window as the rain assaulted me with no end in sight, drenching me from head to toe. The rain mixed with the salty tears that rolled down my cheeks as I continued to beat my palm against the glass while standing on the makeshift ladder we made of three cinder blocks. I needed a way to reach his window in times like this. There was no way I could walk through his front door looking like this where his parents could see and ask questions. 

“Damn it, Andy! Wake up!” I cried, still pounding on the window. 

The storm was a constant onslaught of rain, lightning, and thunder, so I knew it was hard for him to hear me. But that didn’t stop me. 

Finally, after a few minutes of crying and pounding on the window, Andy’s sleep-filled eyes stared at me through the curtain covering his window. I saw all the emotions run through his intense gaze. 

Confusion. 

Realization. 

And when he gave my face one long once over, the emotion that crossed the soft features of his face, I knew there was no way I’d be able to excuse my dad’s actions this time. 

Anger. 

“River,” his voice instantly soothing me when he opened the window, helping me inside. “What the fuck happened?” 

My body convulsed in shivers and I wrapped my arms around me to help keep some of my body heat. 

“I–I-I’m fi-fine,” my teeth chattered loudly in the quiet room. 

“Bullshit,” Andy spat while running a hand through his long black hair. “You’ve got a nasty cut under your eye and your lip is busted.” 

Now with the rain not washing away the blood, I could taste the bitter crimson on my lips and felt it pooling in my eye. I didn’t have to look at myself to know that the cut was deep and needed stitches. 

Typically, my dad made sure to hit me in places that I could easily hide. But tonight was different. I told him that once I graduated, I had plans to leave Ohio and move to North Carolina to start over; fresh. 

“Not with my money,” he spat.

Literally. 

When I told him I didn’t need his money and that I had other plans, he snorted while stubbing out his cigarette. 

“With that little boyfriend of yours? Sweety, he’ll drop you the second you follow him to that big fancy city.” 

“Fuck you!” I screamed. “You know nothing about Andy!” 

My cursing set him off and that's when the first slap happened, causing my busted lip. This time, I fought back, but in the end, it didn’t matter. My dad’s strength overpowered me as he threw me across the floor, face skidding along some of the broken glass from the cup I had thrown at him before. 

Hence the nasty cut underneath my eye. 

Andy’s sighing brought me back and I then noticed he was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. I’d seen him like this many times before since we were best friends but something about seeing him like this tonight, made my insides burn low. 

I’d had a crush on him since freshman year when he stepped between me and Alexa Dread from taking my camera and breaking it; again. Ever since that day, Andy and I were inseparable. We knew everything about each other and we always confided in each other about our feelings. 

Just not for each other. 

My feelings for him began to grow with each passing day but I had to watch him date girls that weren’t me with a fake smile because I needed to be happy for my best friend. 

He’d never feel the same way and that was something I came to terms with a while ago. 

My eyes grazed over the scattered ink on his arms, the random designs always taking my breath away. He was eighteen so was able to get the tattoos without the permission of his parents. 

I, however, was one month shy of turning eighteen and I’d been counting down the days. Ready to run from all of this the minute the clock struck midnight.

“Fuck, River. You’re shaking,” Andy’s hand reached for me, leading me to the adjacent bathroom off of his bedroom. 

“I d-didn’t know wh-where el-se to go-go,” I did my best to speak over my body shaking. 

He hushed me with a gentle squeeze of my hand. “You know you can always come here. You always have a place here, Riv.” 

I swallowed thickly at his nickname for me.

“You need to shower but I want to clean that cut first,” he motioned towards the soaked clothes that were clinging to me like a second skin. “Take them off.” 

I stilled at his words. While Andy had no problem walking around in his underwear around me, I, on the other hand, could not muster up that kind of courage. 

“I can’t,” I shook my head. 

His bright eyes narrowed through the thickness of his black hair. “Either you take those clothes off or I will. The last thing you need right now is to catch pneumonia.” 

Gnawing on the inside of my cheek, I still didn’t make a move, which caused Andy to sigh. 

“I’ll turn around so you can undress, and keep your bra and underwear on. I’ll keep my face on yours when I clean your cut,” he reassured me with a gentle smile. 

“Okay,” I said finally. 

Before he turned around, Andy turned on the shower so the steam could fill the bathroom and keep me warm while he cleaned the cut. Staying true to his word, he turned his back to me, and as quick as I could, I ripped off the wet clothes. The sound it made falling to the tiled floor made me cringe and I covered myself with my arms. 

My bra and underwear were not cute, nothing he’d seen his past girlfriends wear, so to say I was embarrassed was an understatement. A simple pair of black cotton panties and a red bra. 

“You can turn around,” I said softly.

Andy slowly turned around and kept his eyes straight ahead on my face as he motioned to the closed toilet seat. While I sat, I watched his back muscles contort as he rummaged around underneath the sink for the first aid kit. 

“Won't your parents wonder why you’re taking a shower at two in the morning?” I asked. 

He snorted his laughter, still rummaging underneath the sink. “They would never question why their teenage son would be taking a shower in the middle of the night.” 

“Huh?” I said, utterly confused. 

Andy glanced up at me from his kneeling position with his brows raised and a playful smirk. Suddenly, it clicked on what he meant. 

“Oh, right,” I muttered low; the image of his hand around his cock pumping it slowly then fast replaying in my mind like a movie. 

I’d never seen him do that but I’d thought about it a handful of times. 

“This might sting a bit,” Andy said, kneeling in front of me now; his eyes remaining on my face. 

“I’ve had worse,” I tried to joke but the stern look from him made my shoulders fall and I muttered an apology. 

“You need to leave home, River,” he said while soaking a cotton pad in peroxide. 

I shook my head. “And go where? I have no money and no other relatives that will take me in.” 

“You know my parents will let you stay in the guest room for as long as you need.” 

I snorted. “Right. I don’t think your girlfriend would like the idea of me staying down the hall from you.” 

Andy’s eyes snapped away from the cotton ball to my face. “We broke up.” 

I did my best to keep a straight face when my heart nearly soared out of my chest. 

“When?” 

“The other day. She wanted to have sex and I said no so she broke up with me,” his voice told me that he wasn't upset about it. 

My brows furrowed together. “You said no to sex with Ashley Jenks? You’re not sick are you?” 

I made a play of touching his forehead with the back of my hand, our laughter echoing in the small bathroom. 

“No,” he grabbed my hand, not letting it go right away. “I’m not going to give my virginity to the first girl that throws themself at me. Or in this case, the fourth.” 

I blinked. “You’re still a virgin?” 

Andy finally let go of my hand and I frowned at the loss of warmth. 

“I know it’s shocking but call me old school. I’m waiting until I find the right person.” 

Our eyes met in an intense battle of who would look away first but neither of us was faltering. 

“I am too,” I said quietly. 

For the briefest of moments, I saw his eyes widen before he played it off by holding up the soaked cotton ball. 

“I’m sorry for the sting.” 

I urged him on with a nod and didn’t even flinch when the cool liquid met my skin finally as Andy cleaned the cut on my cheek. Silence fell between us as he then cleaned the dried blood on my face and when his warm breath fanned over the cut to dry it, I nearly melted into him; skin rising with goosebumps. 

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” he murmured while looking closely at the cut. 

I sucked in a breath when I realized his lips were mere meters from mine and dared a glance down to his full lips. They were practically begging to be kissed and I wanted to be the one to do it. 

“I’ll put a bandaid on it after my shower,” I said. 

With me still sitting on the toilet and Andy kneeling in front of me, I spread my legs wide so he was able to get as close as he could to cleaning the cut. Now that he was finished, it was as if he had no idea where to place his hands so they rested on the wall behind me, his long body leaning over me. 

“You’re not going back tonight, River,” his voice was deep as he stared down at me. 

With shaking fingers, I brushed away the strands of hair from his face so I could see those gray eyes. 

“I know.” 

I tracked the movement of his Adam's apple as it bobbed low when he swallowed, his eyes finally grazing lower than my face. Down to the swell of my breasts and the slight pudge of skin around my stomach. 

I wasn't the skinniest of girls, another reason why I was bullied, but Andy never commented on it. 

“You should get in the shower,” his voice broke the trance between us. “Your lips are blue.” 

When his finger ghosted over my mouth, I let out a soft moan desperately wanting to feel the pressure of his touch everywhere. 

Suddenly like a ghost, Andy had vanished from the bathroom back into his bedroom, leaving me all alone. Since the door was now shut, I rose from the toilet and stripped out of my remaining clothes. 

The hot water stung like a blade against my sore skin and I groaned out in pleasure. I didn’t want to take a long shower only because the water had already been running for a while before stepping beneath it. I washed away the memories of today with Andy’s soap and wrapped a towel around me after I stepped out of the shower. 

“Shit, what am I supposed to wear?” I grumbled to myself.

Slowly opening the bathroom door, the light burst into Andy’s bedroom and lit up his form lounging on his bed reading a Batman comic. 

“Andy,” I said while shuffling my feet and clutching the towel close to my chest. “I don’t have any clothes.” 

Setting the comic down, he hopped off the bed and went across the room, opening the drawers of his dresser to pull out a pair of boxers and a shirt. 

“We’ll swing by your house at some point tomorrow to grab you some clothes. You’ll stay here for the weekend,” he said while standing in front of me.

I took the clothes with one hand. “Thank you.” 

Before in the bathroom, Andy made sure not to look at the bruises covering my skin but now, he made sure to take in every single one that he could see. 

The fingers imprinted around my neck. 

The bruise on my shoulder, left arm, and legs. 

These were the ones that he could see. The ones underneath the towel around me were worse. 

His jaw ticked with the anger he so desperately tried to keep within, knowing that one outburst from him would cause me to fall into myself. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I whispered. 

Andy’s eyes were dark but his voice was gentle. “Let me see all of it.” 

I vigorously shook my head. “I’m fine, Andy. I just want to get dressed and go to sleep.” 

All at once, I felt my body being pressed up against the wall and the towel falling to the floor at my feet. Andy’s gaze ignited as he pressed his hips against mine causing a shockwave throughout my body. His clothed cock brushed along my bare clit and I let out a moan while my eyes fluttered shut. 

“Riv.”

My eyes snapped open when I felt his hand cup my cheek. Tears burned at the corners and he gently wiped them away with the pad of his thumb. 

“Please,” I begged. “Don’t look. They’re ugly. I’m ugly.” 

The burning anger in his iris softened at my cries but still kept me locked in place against the wall with his hips. 

“You’re beautiful, angel,” he admitted with a steady voice. 

Angel. 

It was Andy’s nickname for me ever since sophomore year when I dressed up as a fallen angel for Halloween. We were too old to go trick or treating but not cool enough for parties so we both decided to get dressed up and spend the night in his basement getting drunk. 

It was also the night I had my first kiss. We were sitting on the couch in his basement, a few drinks in, and I had my head resting on Andy’s shoulder trying so hard to stay awake for the horror movie he put on. When I looked up at him, I was shocked to see that he was already staring at me and the next thing I knew, his lips were on mine. It was a short kiss, over before I could enjoy it. 

“Shit, sorry,” he apologized. “I drank too much.”

We never talked about that kiss after that night, both of us burying it away; much to my dismay. 

“I’m not,” I cast my eyes away from him. 

His warm breath fanned across the crook of my neck as he peppered kisses on the bruises there. 

“Let me show you.” 

Yet again our eyes locked with intensity, so fierce it set the space around us on fire. Andy’s hand moved down my cheek, over my neck, and the space between my breasts. I bit back a moan when his finger and thumb rolled one of my perked nipples between them. 

“Will you let me show you?” He asked, nuzzling his face in my neck. 

I licked my lips. “What about waiting for the right person?” 

“She’s already in front of me,” Andy admitted before crashing his lips to mine. 

My body had come alive with his touch and everything I wanted since freshman year was coming to fruition. Andy wanted me just as much as I wanted him. Our lips synced together perfectly, never missing a beat, as he lifted me and carried me to his bed. 

That night, we both gave each other something we held so dear to ourselves. Afterward, as we lay together with our naked bodies tangled underneath his sheets, Andy pressed a kiss to my forehead when I cried in his chest, scared to go back home once Monday morning came. 

“I hate being alone there. I’m afraid he’ll go too far and kill me.” 

“You don’t ever have to be alone, River,” his soothing voice cooed in my ear as he cupped my cheek. 

I looked up at him through the tears and choked on a sob. “Promise you’ll stay with me?”

He smiled that smile I fell in love with years ago. “I promise.” 

Andy lied. 

Four days later, he packed up his entire life and moved to Hollywood without a simple goodbye. 

PRESENT DAY. 

“River?” 

I blinked while shaking my head, trying to gather my bearings again. The past had sucked me in whole, forcing me to relive that night over again. I couldn't believe Any was standing in front of me again after all these years, the moonlight breaking through the stained glass windows of the church bathed him in a glow made for kings. Even though he looked different than the last time I’d seen him, with more tattoos and shorter hair; tonight he had a small white patch in his hair. I could vaguely make out the old lip-piercing hole and I remembered how the cool metal tasted against my tongue when we kissed. 

He, along with the guys around him, were dressed in their outfits for the video, so I was able to see the tattoos that littered his neck, chest, and stomach. However, those eyes were still the same. 

Those haunting gray eyes stared into the soul I previously just captured again as he waited for me to say something. 

Do I play it off like I don't remember him? 

Right, like you could forget the guy that took your virginity. 

Do I ignore him and go about work like a professional? 

How is ignoring the person you’re supposed to be working with professional? 

I was starting to grow tired of the little voice inside my head. 

Vincent glanced between Andy and me, pointing a finger. “Do you two know each other?” 

“We went to high school together,” Andy answered before I could. 

“No shit,” Vincent chuckled. “What a small world.” 

“Right,” I snorted venomously. 

Andy’s eyes sliced into me but I ignored him by giving him my back and looking over at Vincent. 

“I’ll get shots of them later. Radio me when you’re ready.” 

When he nodded, I took that as my cue to leave although I made it only a few steps before my name was called from behind. 

“You’re not even going to say hello, Riv.” 

I spun so fast on my heels, the end of my braid snapped to the other side of my face and I pointed a finger at Andy. 

“I’m not doing this with you. Not here and especially not right now. Both of us have a job to do. Let’s keep it that way.” 

One of the guys next to Andy watched us carefully and I could practically see the light click on above his head. 

“Wait, River as in River from high school,” the guy said. 

“Yeah, Jinxx,” Andy answered before taking a step towards me. 

I took a large step away from him. “I already said I’m here to do my job, that’s it.” 

Before he could try and sweet talk his way into my life, just like that night, I turned back around and marched out of the church, calling back that I was going to take some shots of it. 

Once outside, I let the cold night air brush the hot tears away from my face as my heart nearly burst out from my chest, sobs echoing throughout the vastness of the sky. 

No. This cannot be happening. 

For the last nine years, I spent my life crying over that man, wondering what I did wrong that night to make him leave me behind. He promised to stay with me but still left. 

Was I not good enough? Worthy of being by his side? 

Nine years I spent stuck in Ohio wondering why with the bitter taste of Hennessy, drinking away my sorrows and regrets. It wasn’t until a year ago when I finally questioned myself in the reflection of the bottle that I took whatever money I had left from selling my father's house after he died to move across the county to California. 

The last year I spent building myself up to the women I was now and creating my career empire with my photography. I refused to let the past crumble everything I worked so hard for; no matter how good he looked now or how bad I wanted to taste his lips again. 

“Get a hold of yourself,” I seethed. “He left you.” 

The sound of music from inside blasted through the walls of the church letting me know that they started shooting and choosing not to dwell on Andy showing back up into my life, I took a few shots of the church outside. Then I reluctantly walked back inside knowing I couldn’t avoid him forever and decided to get some pictures of the guys. 

Andy’s eyes quickly found me but I did my best to ignore him by hiding behind my camera. His voice erupted through the speakers and it brought back every single time during music class in high school when he would sing in front of the class or solo for me in his bedroom. 

My bottom lip trembled as I blew out a shaky breath while walking over to where Vincent sat, just as he yelled cut. 

“Did you get your shots?” He wondered. 

Clicking back through all of the pictures, I pursed my lips at the realization that while I got great shots of the other band members, I hadn’t gotten any shots of Andy mostly because I avoided him at all costs. 

“I need some of Andy,” I said with a long breath. 

“No problem. I think we got everything we need with this scene. Next up is the scene of him sitting in the pew alone so you can get them now,” Vincent patted my shoulder as he stood from the chair. 

“Lovely,” I grumbled while walking back towards the altar of the church directly in Andy’s path. 

He was talking with one of his band members but when he caught sight of me, he met me halfway. 

“Riv,” he began. 

“Don’t,” I seethed, walking past him. “You lost the right to call me that when you left me.” 

“Can I explain please?” Andy asked while reaching for my elbow. 

I yanked it out of his grasp, ready to move to the opposite side of the church when his voice halted me. 

“Angel.” 

Whirling around so fast, I nearly dropped my camera to the ground when I pushed him in his chest. 

“Don’t you fucking ever call me that again!” I nearly screamed. “You don’t have the right to call me that.” 

Anytime I heard that name, all I would think about was our first kiss and the night we slept together. 

His eyes softened, almost begging me to listen. “Please, angel. I have to explain-.” 

“NO!” My voice echoed inside the church. “There’s nothing to explain, Andy. Anything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.” 

“Do you guys need a moment?” Vincent’s voice carried over to us. 

“No!” 

“Yes!” 

Andy and I both said at the same time. 

“You know what, I think a break is a good idea. Let’s take thirty and come back,” Vincent directed to everyone with a wave of a finger. 

Having every intention of spending that thirty minutes alone in my trailer, I brushed past Andy and nearly tripped over my feet as I ran down the concrete steps, the vision of my solace getting closer and closer. Just before I could slam the door shut behind me, it closed on a body with an audible ouch. 

“Leave me alone, Andy!” I yelled. 

He stood tall in the small confines of the trailer, his broad chest heaving with each deep breath from chasing after me. His bare chest underneath his opened jacket and for a second, I allowed myself to study those visible tattoos. The eagle on his sternum, the sword in the crease of his stomach, the tiger neck to it. I couldn’t make out the tattoo across his neck or chest but I could make out the 26 in a hear on his neck.  

“Not until you let me explain,” he said. 

I grabbed the end of my braid, ripping it out so my dark hair could fall around my shoulders. 

“I swear to fucking God himself, if you say explain one more time I’m going to-.” 

“Do what, angel?” He raised a brow while resting his hands on his hips. 

I pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Andy didn’t move. 

“You're unbelievable,” I growled while making a beeline for the door instead, only to have him block my path. 

“I had to leave.” 

I blinked up at him, mouth agape. “What?” 

We were so close now, his familiar scent encasing me with its vise grip, and my mind kept screaming at me to create space. 

He ran a hand over his short hair and took a deep breath. “I had to leave. That Monday morning after you left, I got a call from an agent in Los Angeles offering me a small gig in a commercial. It's what I needed to get my foot in the door, to get Black Veil Brides started, so I took it. But I had to be out there the day after they called me.” 

“So you left me behind, without a single fucking goodbye,” I sneered, pushing past him to the other side of the trailer. 

“I didn’t have a choice!” Andy’s voice was raised now, it echoing off the walls. 

“You could have told me! You know I would have followed you!” I shot back. 

He began pacing the narrow space while having his hands on his hips. “I couldn’t, River. Not without knowing that everything would have paid off in the end. I couldn’t have you with me while I suffered.” 

I chuckled dryly. “Oh but suffering back home alone was fine with you?” 

“I wanted to reach out and check on how you were doing,” his shoulders slumped. 

“My number has been the same,” I held out my hands. “I lived in the same fucking house for nine years after you left. You could have come to see me.”

When he said nothing, his lips unmoving, I grew angrier and pushed his chest, ten years of holding everything in finally exploding. 

“You lied!” 

Push. 

“You left me with him to beat on me for another three fucking years until he died!”

Push. 

“You made me a promise and broke it!” 

I cried with one final push, causing Andy to fall back onto the couch, stormy eyes staring up at me. Tears were streaming down my face and my eyes burned with anger for the man in front of me. 

“You told me you would never leave me,” I snarled through gritted teeth. “You said you wouldn’t and you fucking did.” 

When he reached for my hand, I smacked it away. 

“Please, angel,” he begged. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. But I wasn’t in the best place. I couldn’t have you be with me, seeing all that shit. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“Just tell me all you wanted from me was sex so I can finally put the nail in the coffin, Andy,” I said with a shaky breath. 

His face fell. “That’s not even remotely true, River.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. After tonight, you’ll go back to your band and life as a rockstar.” 

With my back turned, I gathered my camera and was ready to get back to work when an arm wrapped around me from behind. 

“Come with me, angel,” Andy’s soft voice brushed along the shell of my ear. 

When I felt myself falling into his embrace, almost ready to give in, I pushed away from him. He made me so mad I could throw something at him. My camera or the chair. 

Myself. 

“You’re insane,” I shook my head.  

He linked our hands together so I could face him, the pleading bright in his eyes. “Give me a chance to make up for the last ten years.” 

I stared blankly at him, trying to determine if this was a cruel trick. 

“You don’t deserve my time, Andy. What we used to have is gone, you can’t fix it or try to bring it back.” 

“You’re not even going to let me try?” He asked. 

“Why should I? So that you can break my heart again? You don’t realize how much of myself I gave to you; parts I can never take back. You were my first kiss!” I raised my voice. 

He blinked. “I didn’t know that.” 

I scoffed while shaking my head again. “Of course you didn’t, Andy. Because you never brought it up again. You blamed it on the alcohol that night. What’s your excuse for the night we lost our virginity to each other?” 

Before Andy could speak, I waved him off and headed towards the door of the trailer. 

“It’s not even worth it anymore,” I muttered with my hand on the handle. 

Suddenly in a whirlwind, I felt myself being hoisted up and pressed against the bathroom door. Those dark gray eyes were reading my face, assessing every movement of my gaze as it burned into him. Andy held my hands pinned to my sides and kept me locked into place with his hips. The imprint of his cock was felt against the material of my leggings and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the moan quiet. 

It’d been so long since I felt his touch and I was ready to throw out everything, all of my morals, just to have him again. 

“River,” his hand cupped my cheek, the coolness of his rings almost a shock to my warm skin. 

I said nothing, simply glaring up at him with a clenched jaw. 

“Riv. Come with me.” 

AnDy breathed over my lips and I nearly lost it. But I still kept strong, not wanting to be the first one to falter. I worked so hard to build myself back up after he left and there was no way I could allow myself to fall. 

Not again. 

His thumb lifted my chin, keeping it locked in his grip, and his eyes dropped to my lips; a silent question. 

“Fuck you,” I spat. 

Something dark flashed in Andy’s eyes as a sinister smirk played on his lips. One that I recognized all too well even though it was never directed at me.

“I don’t ever remember you being such a brat,” he tsked. 

I swallowed thickly, unsure how the tension between us went from anger to sexual, but at that moment with him eyeing me hungrily, I didn’t want to question it. 

“How could you remember? You’ve been gone for ten years,” I shot back. 

Andy pressed his hips harder against me and this time I wasn’t able to hold back the moan. It slipped through my lips with sheer pleasure and I let my head fall against the door behind me. 

“I wasn’t drunk the night we slept together, River,” Andy’s hand wrapped around my neck, thumb now on my pulse point. “Or that entire weekend.” 

My cheeks flushed when I remembered we had sex multiple times that weekend. We never left his bedroom and thankfully, his parents left the next morning for a friend's wedding so they had no idea I was there. 

“All I ever wanted was you,” his voice was low. 

I raised my chin at him. “You have a funny way of showing it.” 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, an action I watched intently, and then his voice dropped even lower. Those usually bright eyes were dark and it made the air thick, heated, and full of spice. It made it harder to breathe as his grip tightened around my throat slightly.  

“Let me show you.” 

Those four words sent both of us back to his bedroom during high school and just like that night, I succumbed to the darkness that was Andy Biersack; consequences be damned. 

“Are you still waiting for the right person?” My question was a breath over his lips. 

A low noise rumbled in Andy’s chest as his hand gripped behind my neck, yanking my mouth to his. 

“She’s right in front of me.” 

Every single doubt and fight I had within me vanished the second our lips touched, those familiar fireworks exploding. My hands were all over Andy; his neck, chest, ribs, and back as they sneaked underneath his jacket. While one of his hands continued to grip the back of my neck, the other held tight on my hip so I couldn’t leave. 

As if I wanted to. 

Our tongues molded together and he swallowed my moan when his teeth bit down on my bottom lip. For a moment, reality struck with clarity and I pushed Andy off of me, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. 

“You need to leave,” I warned, breathless. 

His lips were kiss swollen and his jacket was falling off of his shoulders as those stormy eyes never left my lips. 

“Do you want that? Because if you do, I’ll leave right now.” 

When I remained silent, Andy smirked while grasping the back of my head to crash his lips on mine again, this time with more hunger. It was as if he was a man starved, desperate for his last meal. 

“You need to go,” I groaned when his lips began trailing down my chin and neck. 

“Go where?” He asked. “Here?” 

A gentle bite to the shell of my ear. 

“Or here?” 

A kiss on the sensitive part of my skin between my neck and shoulder which caused me to shiver in his embrace. 

“What about here, angel? Do you want me here?” 

The head of his cock brushed along my clit from underneath our clothes and I nearly fell at his feet until Andy’s strong arms lifted me to carry me over to the small twin-size bed on the other end of the trailer. 

“It’s like we're back in my childhood bedroom with this small ass bed,” he grumbled.

I fell onto the cheap mattress with a slight giggle but it was hushed with Andy consuming me once more. My entire soul went up in a fiery blaze when he began rutting his hips into me and it was as if we were a couple of teenagers again making out and thinking that was the best part of it. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other as I helped him out of his jacket and he all but ripped my sweater off, leaving me in an olive green bralette. 

His eyes darkened before he left teeth marks between the swell of my breasts, lapping up his saliva and dried sweat from the day and I raked my nails through the buzzed hair. 

“I miss your long hair,” I gasped, feeling his tongue slip between the material of my bra and catching my nipple. 

“I’ve missed the way you tasted, River,” Andy mused while kissing his way back up to my lips.

This time the kiss was slow, as if we had the rest of our lives together and there was no need to rush anything. It was like he was trying to imprint me into him, never wanting to forget anything again. 

I reached for the button on his pants, pulling down the zipper to slip my hand inside, palming his hard cock. 

Holy. Shit. 

It was a lot thicker than ten years ago. 

“Shit, Riv,” he cursed when I squeezed him. “Just like that.” 

I did it a few more times while his forehead fell to my chest, panting his warm breath over my skin. I lifted his face with my other hand to kiss him again, the savageness poured out of him. 

The room smelled of our desperation as I shimmied out of my leggings while he stepped out of his pants, after unhooking my bra and tossing it over his shoulder. As Andy stood at the end of the bed, I let my eyes rake over every defined muscle of his body; tongue begging for a simple taste of the ink on his skin and the head of his cock that was almost slipping through his briefs; the black briefs doing absolutely nothing to hide his arousal. 

Rising to my knees on the bed, I ran my palm over his cock again, his entire body shivering underneath my touch.

"Fuck, angel,” Andy groaned before his teeth grasped at my bottom lip, yanking it away from me. 

I hissed in pleasure, the taste of copper lingering on my tongue.

"Did you-." I licked my bottom lip and then tilted my head to the side. "Did you just bite me?"

Andy pushed me back down on the bed so he could take in the sight of me bare for him; those stormy eyes were now clear with only one thing. 

Heat. 

“I can’t believe I went ten years without this,” he muttered to himself while stepping out of his briefs, his cock finally springing free. 

I licked my lips at the sight of it, salivating for a taste of the precum that he smeared over the head. But instead, I felt like being a brat with Andy, not allowing him to think I wasn’t still upset with him. 

“It’s your own fucking fault,” I shot back with a sly smirk, resting on my elbows. 

My squeals echoed in the trailer when Andy flipped my tiny frame over on the mattress so my ass was exposed to his palm, a hard strike falling onto it. I writhed against the bed when another harsh strike came down on my ass, my mewls of pleasure being drowned out by the pillow. 

“You’re such an ass,” I seethed when the spankings stopped. 

Andy palmed my reddened cheek while looming over my back, his breath warm on my neck. 

“Do you still like it rough, River?” His question was heavy on his tongue. 

That weekend we spent together, I divulged what kind of kinks I might have been into due to my own research. Andy let me try things with him while I did the same and needless to say, all these years later he still knew exactly what my body needed to come alive for him. 

Instead of answering, I raised my hips from the bed with his name falling from my lips in a whine full of desperation. Andy had barely touched me but the wetness between my legs was warm and sticky.

I needed this release more than oxygen. 

"What do you want from me?" His fingers dragged up my slick folds from his position behind me before slipping one inside, the feeling of his rings making me stiffen. 

My head was turned to the side so I could gaze up at him over my shoulder. However, he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were trained hard on his finger pumping in and out of my pussy, the sounds of my arousal overpowering the sounds of my panting. Seeing the desperation on his face as he tried to hold himself back made me push my ass closer to Andy. 

“Use your words, Riv,” he ordered while flicking his eyes to me for a moment. 

I shook my head, words foreign when he slipped another finger inside of me, spreading them wide like a V. 

“Did you forget how to speak?” 

Andy clicked his tongue against his teeth, ready to pull his fingers out when my begging halted him. 

"You. I just want you."

The bed shifted behind me when I noticed Andy disappear only to feel the wetness of his tongue press against my pussy to lick my arousal. The sharpness of his teeth scraped along my clit as he buried his face deeper into the sweet spot between my legs. 

“You still taste so good, River,” he mused, pressing gentle kisses on the inside of my thigh. 

“Don’t stop,” I all but whined, wanting to feel his tongue again. 

Andy ate me out from behind with both hands on my hips, continuing to keep me in place as my body writhed on the bed from the onslaught of his mouth. When his lips wrapped around my clit to suck hard on the sensitive bud, I screamed out his name. 

“Andy,” I drowned it out with a moan. “It’s so good. I’m so close.” 

With the indication my orgasm was on the brink of collapse, he slipped a finger inside of me again. While his mouth was a rough attack on my clit, his finger was a gentle caress of my inner walls with slow strokes. Sheer ecstasy was slowly building at the base of my spine, warming up all of my senses until I felt like I could combust at any moment. Andy flicked his tongue over my clit and I buried my face into the pillow, the musky scent of my wellness tickling my nose as my body shook out my orgasm. My cries of release sounded like music to Andy’s ears as he hummed in praise, drinking up my arousal as it gushed over his tongue and fingers. 

It had been so long since I had an orgasm that wasn’t brought on by my hand or a toy. I lay limp on the bed, breathless, as the after-shocks slowly began to fade along with the hazy bright lights, my soul returning from wherever it retreated to. I barely felt the kisses upon my thigh and then lower back as Andy dragged a finger down my spine. 

“Still on birth control?” He asked, lust gone from his voice for a second. 

I nodded while glancing over my shoulder and seeing my arousal coating his lips. The sight was so intoxicating that I almost uttered those three words that plagued my existence since I first met him. 

“River,” he tapped my back, bringing me out of my thoughts. 

“Implant,” I replied. 

My head leaned back in pure bliss when Andy dug his nails into my hips as he pressed himself past my wetness, the thickness of his cock filling me. It twitched inside of me, earning a disgustingly desperate groan from me. 

It felt nothing like it did ten years ago. It felt better. 

Andy left no space between us as he held us in place on the small mattress and I tried to move my hips in his grip. It was so rough, I knew I would have bruises later but frankly, I didn’t care. All I cared about was how good it felt to have him inside of me again. 

“So tight, angel. I can’t-.” 

His eyes fluttered shut as his lips parted to an 'O' shape when I rocked my hips against him with my swollen clit rubbing against the cool blanket and I shivered at the sensation. Everything from our fight to our kiss sent me in a spiral of pure ecstasy and I felt the coil in my stomach pulling tight again. My previous orgasm was still lingering and it didn’t take long before I felt that familiar tingly feeling in my spine. 

“Andy, I’m going to-.” 

Still inside of me, he managed to flip me over so now I was staring up at those dark eyes; pupils blown wide with lust. Now, Andy didn’t hold back as he hooked my leg up and around his shoulder so he could thrust in a deeper angle. 

“Oh god,” I closed my eyes, the new sensation causing the coil to hurt. 

“Eyes on me, River!” He snapped with a low growl and I immediately obeyed. "You're so fucking beautiful, angel. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry it’s been ten years.” 

I didn’t want to hear his apology. I only wanted to have that coil spring free with my second orgasm. I attacked his lips with such force Andy had to hold himself up with one hand on the headboard, the other slipping between the place where our bodies met to play with my clit; exactly how I liked. Our tongues explored each other's mouths in a kiss so vicious it made my head spin.  Andy’s pace was erratic and merciless but it didn’t stop me from begging. 

"More," I mumbled into his lips.

That's all he needed before he maneuvered us so he sat in the middle of the bed with me in his lap and he held me closer to his chest as his hips snapped up into me in violent strokes, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot. I yelled out my pleasure, exposing my neck to Andy who immediately attacked it with his teeth leaving bite marks all along the skin sticky with sweat.

My body hummed in a prayer-like awaking, the flames and heat burning high in my belly as my organs crested higher; so fucking high I was afraid I would combust into nothing but matter in the air. His name fell from my lips in devotion, a woman praying to her God, and my toes curled as the orgasm ripped through me with so much force I screamed out in pure nirvana.

“I love you, River,” Andy professed with a strangled breath as he spilled himself inside of me, cock throbbing with his release. 

“What did you say?” I questioned, almost unsure if I had heard him correctly. 

He cupped my cheek, eyes softening. “I love you.” 

My bottom lip trembled at those three words; the words I wanted to hear for years. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to say it,” Andy brushed away my hair from my face. “But it’s true. I’m at a better place where now admitting it out loud doesn't scare me.”

We stayed like that, bodies tangled together in the silence for a few long moments until he laid us on the bed. I very quickly detached myself from him so I could put some space between us. 

Although he admitted how he felt, I wasn't ready to yet. I knew that I loved him ever since high school, but it was my turn to be afraid of what would happen if I admitted it out loud.

Instead, I remained silent while lying on my stomach on the bed, resting my chin on my hand to gaze down at his tattoos again. One of them immediately caught my attention and I smiled at it, a fond memory cresting to the surface. 

“I remember being with you when you got this,” I whispered while trailing a finger over the black and yellow Batman logo on his arm. 

“I still have the comics you got me for my birthday,” he said while propping his arm behind his head. 

My heart skipped at that because it meant that he was thinking of me during our time away.

“But you couldn’t come to see me,” I muttered under my breath as I turned from him. 

Andy reached for me to pull my back to his chest and lock me into place with a leg over my hips. His left hand grazed up and down my arm, sending shivers all over my skin, and I let out a soft breath. 

“Will you stay with me, River?”

I sat on his question for a few long beats, letting it sink in if it was something I truly wanted. My life in Hollywood wasn’t set in place, I’d always been on the move. But the thought of uprooting everything to be with Andy scared the shit out of me. How could I trust that he won’t leave me again? 

Then why did you sleep with him? You plan on leaving after this, so you’re no better than him.

“Why now?” I sat up to gaze down at him, his arm falling away from me. “How come now you want to make things work between us?” 

He hesitated with inner turmoil eating away inside as he slowly sat up and ran a hand over his short hair. 

“I was married for six years. The divorce was finalized last year.” 

My heart sank into the depths of my stomach; no farther. It fell straight to Tartarus. 

“We were together for a total of eight years but the longer our relationship went on I began to realize it wasn’t what I wanted. Who I wanted,” Andy explained. 

There was absolutely no reason for me to be upset with him because while he was married, I had been casually dating. None of them were ever serious enough to last more than a few months. But it still caused an ache in my heart. 

“Then why did you stay with her for as long as you did?” I asked. 

Andy has a soft smile. “I loved her, in a different way than I love you. But sometimes that kind of love isn’t enough. Not when someone else held my heart first.” 

Tears burned in my eyes and I blew out a shaky breath. “If that were true, Andy, then you would have come to me first. You wouldn’t have gotten married.”

Removing myself from his grasp, I began slipping on my discarded pieces of clothing while he continued to sit in bed, naked. 

“I’m not saying I’m perfect, River. But I’ve grown a lot in the last few years. The Andy you used to know wouldn’t have been good for you.” 

“And now?” I asked with my hands on my hips. 

The smile that played on his lips grew wider. “Now, I would love to have you come on the road with me. We leave in a few days for our North America leg then jump overseas for a few weeks. Plenty of time to make up for old times and prove I’ve changed.” 

I laughed. “You want me to stop what I’m doing here to come follow you? Give up potential jobs? Just to be your roadie?” 

Andy’s jaw twitched but with a deep breath, he gathered himself from the bed and stepped back into his briefs and pants. 

“You can be our photographer. I’ll talk it over with our management team, that way you can be getting paid.” 

I pursed my lips in consideration because his offer was a pretty good one. But was it worth spending all that time together?

You love and miss him. 

I sighed at the voice in my head, knowing it was true. Seeing him again brought up all the old feelings I spent years burying, trying to forget, and it was clear that Andy still felt the same.  

“You remember all the plans we made? When we were hoping for better days? You wanted to become a photographer and I wanted to sing in a band. We have that now. What’s stopping you from saying yes?” He took a small step towards me. 

“The promise you betrayed,” I said flatly.  

Andy’s shoulders fell. “You don’t have to forgive me for leaving you, Riv. But I swear to you that if you come with me, I will spend every day from here on out proving to you that you’re all I want.” 

When I didn’t say anything, he wrapped his arms around me and oh so gently, laid a kiss on my lips. 

“I love you, River Murray,” he professed. “We can start over; fresh. But only if this is something you want. If not, then we can both leave with some closure and go our separate ways.” 

I couldn’t explain the way my heart physically ached with the thought of leaving tonight and forgetting about Andy. Even with all the anger and hurt, I couldn't imagine acting like tonight didn’t happen. Maybe there was a small possibility that we could work through our issues, gain that trust back, and finally find what we were desperate to have. 

But the betrayal weighed heavy in my soul along with the fear of Andy doing it again, only this time while I was with him and leaving me stranded. 

“River, if you’re with Andy, can you have him come to set? We’re ready to start again.” 

I jumped at the sudden loud crackle of the radio, Vincent’s voice breaking through the clouds of confusion. 

With a sigh, Andy slipped back into his shoes and jacket. 

“Let’s get back to work, yeah? We can talk more about this on the next break,” he said. 

I swallowed the waver in my voice as it broke. “I’m actually going to sit here for a bit since I’m not needed right now.”

Andy’s thumb brushed along the soft skin of my cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, angel.” 

He left me with a kiss on the cheek and for the first time since reuniting with Andy, I fell to the ground with sobs wracking my body. Everything I worked hard to overcome was shattered by those three words and his offer. It terrified me to completely allow him in again but I also didn’t want to let him go. 

The decision was made in an instant as I rose from the floor, hastily wiping away the tears, and gathered my things together. I knew what I chose would have repercussions, some I may never recover from, but as the door of the trailer slammed behind me, it would be alright. Because my heart said it would be. 

[neouime]

Love Wins All: An Analysis

Here are my notes for the music video. I have more to say, but it's already two in the morning where I live, and I have been sitting here admiring and contemplating IU's artistry since four hours ago. My butt hurts. I will come here later once I let my thoughts marinate.

There's a cube object chasing after them. - The cube is obviously the antagonist of the story. I have no idea why they chose a cube rather than any other creature or shape. Maybe because the design is simple? I think a cube is a smart choice. It looks like human technology, something man-made. The cube may be an invention that was once intended for the benefit of humankind but ended up becoming an instrument for control. The shape of the cube with its equal sides can represent a system that demands conformity.

IU is mute/deaf (she uses sign language), and Taehyung is blind in one eye. - There is one reading by a Korean UAENA about how they represent people with disabilities. There is one cube targeting IU and Taehyung. No other people are shown, but by the end of the music video, we can see several floating cubes outside the building. We can deduce how the cubes may be specifically searching for individuals like them who are marginalized and in hiding.

There is a scene where IU performs on stage, and black figures point their fingers at her. - IU explicitly declared that the song is dedicated to her loved ones, including her fans. We can interpret the black figures as representing people who spread unnecessary hate (혐오) against artists like IU. (Regardless of context, pointing your fingers in Korean culture is considered rude. It is associated with assigning blame or picking out flaws.)

Both the cube and the people in black are forces that persecute and discriminate, respectively. - This reading stems from the fact that IU is a well-known personality in real life and that her character in the story has disabilities.

While there is a male and female lead, the story and the song are not exclusively romantic. LWA is a fan song. Taehyung represents UAENAs. 

While IU sings on stage, he gives her flowers and looks at her adoringly. - They are able to spend moments both happy and sad by each other's side. At the end of the story, Taehyung stands in front of IU to defend her from the cube and destroy it, while IU comforts him and covers his eyes as they're killed.

The camera and the pile of clothes are details prompting an intertextual reading. - This will be familiar to ARMY, but the pile of clothes is an installation by Christian Boltanski. This does not require further explanation since we can infer what it symbolizes from the story's outcome. On the other hand, the camera is something that is more important to the plot than it seems. It captures only the beautiful and healthy appearance of IU and Taehyung. The Korean UAENA I mentioned earlier said that the camera shows an existence where people with disabilities can live happily. 

The camera shuts down by the end of the music video. - Nothing is recorded, and the memories are lost. But then, how does "love win all?" Okay, we'll look at the lyrics. "찬찬히 너를 두 눈에 담아 한 번 더 편안히 웃어주렴 (With my eyes, I memorize you thoroughly. Let's laugh in peace once more.)

Artists like IU come and go. - For every single and album she releases, IU writes an introduction. For LWA, she sums up the story as a promise to "fade away together splendidly." Also, the lyrics "필연에게서 도망쳐 Run on" appear, which both mean to run away from (도망쳐, to escape) and to run towards the "inevitable." (Korean is not my first language so pardon me if I'm wrong, but I think there's a mistake with the translation provided in the music video. There, the lyrics say "run away from necessity, run on." They use the word necessity, but she's referring to an event that is certain to occur.)

Memories [of their music and their moments with fans] are all lost to history; what matters is to live in the moment. (You don't need a camera to prove that you existed and lived your life.) This aligns with her values as an artist. In her interviews, IU says her goal is to perform (creation rather than chart success).

You may say that the story is tragic because they both die in the end, but they were at peace since they were together. "일부러 나란히 길 잃은 우리 두 사람" (The two of us, side by side, gone astray on purpose). **Edit: IU Team StarCandy on Twitter translated the phrase 길 잃은 우리 as "[we] who took the road less travelled."

I love the lines "너와 슬퍼지고 싶어 My lover" (I want to be sad with you) and "부서지도록 나를 꼭 안아" (Crush me, wrap me tightly in your arms). It illustrates the relationship between IU as an artist and her fans. The song is a declaration of her intention to cherish the good and bad with us. She does not mind even if the pressure of our love sometimes feels intense. She believes love has the power to break you down, but instead, it builds you up. 

Additionally, the line "나와 함께 겁 없이," which is translated as "Will you courageously set with me?" actually more literally translates to "together with me, without fear." There is trust between IU and her lover. In other words, they may not know where the journey leads them, but they consciously choose to walk to it together.

A few more details from the music video that I loved are as follows. I like that the food (the macaron) is connected to memory and joy. It's the end of the world, but they haven't lost their imagination, hope, and ability to delight in each other's presence. In a way, food is crucial to survival in terms of sustenance and because it brings simple pleasure.

After taking a bite, they are transported to a less dreary setting. Their clothes are the same, but they're no longer tattered. Of course, things aren't perfect because while things are more clean, the people themselves remain evil. IU and Taehyung maintain their cheerful disposition even as the black figures appear and surround them.

IU and Taehyung choose to be happy. They dress up and dance around the room despite the reality that everything is still in ruins. (The photo booth is lit in bright, warm colors, while the room outside is cold and blue. Another piece of evidence for this interpretation is that while they're blissfully taking pictures, the strips come out showing Taehyung's milky eyes.)

I also like the alternative explanation for why IU is deaf, and Taehyung is partially blind. - IU performs happily in front of the crowd of black figures. It may mean that she either cannot hear or will not listen to their words of hate. As for Taehyung, he is partially blind to IU's faults. IU (the idol/artist) is the one leading them as they run while Taehyung (their fan) follows, their hands clasped in each other.

Moreover, neither of them speaks throughout the story. Whether IU is deaf or she signs to avoid making noise and risk their capture, I think it's beautiful that they can communicate through gestures. The relationship between fan and artist goes beyond the need for words (which is ironic, too, since we become fans of IU's music before the artist herself. Through her lyrics, we learn of her personality and how she sees the world).

I LOVE their acting. It's almost scarily good how IU can convey her love through her gaze. The smallest details too!! Her softly tapping Taehyung's shoulder to calm him while he tightly grips her hand as they face death? Chills.

Okay, I'm back. I just want to add this:

I said that the song is not exclusively romantic. However, the element of romance is indeed important to the plot. It elevates the story by depicting people (including those with disabilities) finding love even in the middle of hardship. - Their hardship is not the disability itself but rather the prejudices in the world that limit the possibilities they can enjoy.

IU and Taehyung know that the "end" is "inevitable" (she uses both words in her lyrics), and they know that they can only steal these short moments of happiness, but they still try to "look for the opposite of loneliness" (오랜 외로움 그 반대말을 찾아서).

Trivia: IU says that whenever she's stuck with writing a song, she uses the suggestion of a peer (Kim Eana) to look up the meaning of a word in the dictionary. Thus, giving birth to the idea love = opposite of feeling/being alone.

Love as an act of resistance - Viewing a brighter world through the camera, IU wearing the veil, and the pair teasing the black figures (IU sings on the stage despite their jeering and they run around the room) are acts of resistance. They may have a poor imagination (가난한 상상력), wherein they still desire to become "normal" and without their disabilities, but it is also thanks to their imagination that they are able to endure.

Note: The translations are mine. It's always difficult to think of how to word sentences that fully preserve the sentiment of the source, especially since they're song lyrics.

[reigns-devotee]

The Substitute Masterlist

Part 3

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Possessiveness, Body fluids, Oral (fem! receiving), language, 18+, MINORS DNI

Alicia spent the next day at home, wrapped in a haze of regret and the remnants of a hangover that felt like it was never going to end. The smell of stale liquor clung to her skin, and every movement seemed like an effort, her body protesting against the dull throb in her head. She barely made it to the bathroom before the contents of her stomach betrayed her, forcing her to hunch over the toilet, her body wracked with spasms. The taste of bile was still sharp in the back of her throat when she finally straightened up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her reflection in the mirror wasn’t much better. Her eyes were puffy, bloodshot from the lack of sleep, and her skin had that sickly, pale hue that only a night of bad decisions could create. The sunlight slanted in through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room, but it did nothing to ease the heaviness in her head. The world felt too bright, too loud, even in the stillness of her apartment. 

She turned the shower on, the cold water immediately stinging her skin as she stepped under the stream. She let it hit her face first, eyes squeezed shut as the chill of it burned away the heat that still simmered under her skin. Her body was on fire from the alcohol, and the coldness was like a shock to the system. For a moment, she just stood there, letting the water run over her, pretending that the pressure of the night before was something she could wash away.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get rid of the feeling of him. Mr. Reigns. His words kept looping in her head, every interaction replaying like a video she couldn’t stop watching. The heat in his gaze. The tension in his voice. The way his hand had gripped her arm, not rough, but firm enough to make her skin burn.

She bit her lip as the water dripped down her face, staring at the tile, trying to drown out the memories. She hadn’t expected him to be there. Hell, she hadn’t expected him to care. She wasn’t even sure if he cared in the way that mattered. But that look he’d given her — it was something else. Something darker. Something that sent a shiver down her spine every time she thought about it.

The cold shower wasn’t enough to calm her nerves. She stepped out quickly, grabbing a towel to wrap around herself. Her mind was racing again, running circles around the thought of him. She didn’t want to care. She shouldn’t care. But everything feels different now. That moment with him had changed something, even if she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what.

She dragged herself back to her bed, still damp, and buried herself in the blankets. The room was quieter now, save for the occasional muffled sound of traffic outside, but the silence was anything but peaceful. The remnants of the party buzzed in her head, the alcohol still sitting heavy in her stomach. She curled into herself, squeezing her eyes shut, wishing the world would stop spinning.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, a mix of naps and endless scrolling through her phone, pretending to check messages while actually avoiding the ones that mattered. Zoe had texted her twice, but Alicia hadn’t bothered to reply. She couldn’t deal with talking about last night. Not yet. Not when she still hadn’t fully processed what had happened.

By the time evening rolled around, the hangover had finally started to subside, but the unease in her chest hadn’t. She couldn’t stop thinking about him — Mr. Reigns. That tension between them, the unspoken things that hung in the air whenever he was near. The way he had looked at her. She was trying to figure out if she was imagining it all or if there was something more there. But it didn’t matter, right? She didn’t care. She didn’t need anyone, especially not a substitute teacher who clearly had his own issues.

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from *wanting* to know more. She wanted to understand him, to figure out why he’d even bothered to come to the party in the first place. It made no sense. It shouldn’t matter. 

But it did. And that pissed her off.

Her phone buzzed on the bed beside her, the screen lighting up with a familiar name. Damon. She groaned, already knowing what he was about to say before even opening the message. But she unlocked it anyway, her thumb swiping across the screen like it had a mind of its own.

Damon: “Where you at, girl? I been looking everywhere for you. You ghost me after last night with that teacher. I’m about to come over if you keep playing like this.”

She rolled her eyes, letting out a long sigh. Classic Damon. Always acting like he owned the damn place, like he could waltz in and out of her life whenever he felt like it. But still, her thumb hovered over the screen for a moment longer than it should’ve, her mind drifting back to how he'd touched her, the way his hands had felt on her hips, the heat of his body pressed so close. The alcohol had made it easier to brush off, but now, sober and still shaking off the remnants of the party, she could feel the weight of it more clearly. 

She typed back, her fingers quick as she shot off a response, hoping it would shut him up.

Alicia: “Stop playing, Damon. I’m at home. Not in the mood.”

She pressed send, but the way she typed it didn’t feel as convincing as she’d hoped. She had meant to sound like she wasn’t interested, but something in the pit of her stomach twisted. It had been a long time since she'd let someone get under her skin like this. And as much as she tried to deny it, Damon was good at it. 

A few seconds later, her phone buzzed again. 

Damon: “Lies. I can tell you’re just pretending. I know that look on your face. You still think about me. I saw it last night.”

She snorted, shaking her head. He was delusional, wasn’t he? The arrogance, the way he thought he could read her mind... It was infuriating. She rolled over on the bed, pulling the covers up around her shoulders, but her phone buzzed again.

Damon: “You know you want me, Alicia. I saw the way you moved with me. You think you can act like I don’t know what you’re about? You want me to come over? I’ll make it easy. You just let me know.”

Alicia’s stomach churned, a mix of irritation and... something else. Something that almost made her laugh at how predictable he was. The tension between them had always been like this — him pushing, her pulling back. She wasn’t his and he wasn’t hers, and neither of them wanted it that way. 

Still, her thumb hovered over the screen again. She was tempted to keep playing the game, but part of her knew it was only going to get worse. And yet... she couldn’t help herself. He was so sure of himself, so damn sure that he could have whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. 

She typed out a response, her fingers slow now, like she was weighing each word carefully.

Alicia: “You can’t just waltz in whenever you want, Damon. I don’t need you or your bullshit.”

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, but something in her chest twisted. She knew it was a lie. Not about needing him — she wasn’t that weak — but the way his words always pulled at her. She hated how much he could get under her skin without even trying. 

The phone buzzed again, but this time she didn’t even look. She threw it on the nightstand, burying her face in her pillow. The day was too long, too quiet, and all she wanted to do was sleep it off. But she knew, deep down, Damon wasn’t going to let that happen. He never did.

Damon and Alicia definitely had a backstory. The memories started to flood in when she looked back at her phone, her thumb still hovering over the screen after his last message. She hadn't heard from him in a while, not like this, not with the same intensity. But that was the thing with Damon — he always found a way to reappear in her life when she least expected it.

It hadn’t always been like this. Back in freshman year, Alicia had actually liked Damon. He was the type of guy that grabbed attention without even trying — the cocky grin, the easy laugh, the way he walked into a room like he owned it. At first, it was his charm that drew her in, but then it was the way he saw her. He wasn’t intimidated by her sharp edges or the way she held people at arm's length. He liked that she was different, that she didn’t fall for the usual crap that everyone else did. For a while, it was fun. He made her feel seen in ways she didn’t know she needed. He was unpredictable, spontaneous — and for a girl like Alicia, that was everything.

She remembered the first time they’d talked. It was the middle of a history lecture, and she’d been sitting alone in the back, just like she did in every class. She didn’t go out of her way to make friends. But Damon had found her anyway. He slid into the seat next to hers without asking, shooting her a grin that seemed a little too cocky, even for him. 

“You look like you could use some company,” he said, leaning back in his seat. His voice was smooth, like he was used to getting what he wanted. “Mind if I join you?”

She raised an eyebrow, already annoyed by his presence, but something about the way he said it made her pause. He wasn’t asking for permission, not really. He was just assuming. And for some reason, that made her want to respond in kind.

“I don’t mind,” she said flatly, “but I can’t promise I’ll talk to you.”

He’d laughed — that deep, easy laugh that had caught her off guard. “Fair enough,” he said, pulling out his notebook and turning it to her, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He started scribbling something, but his eyes never strayed too far from her face. “You know, you’ve got this vibe like you’re always ready to jump out of your skin. What’s that about?”

Alicia had stared at him, taken aback by how much he’d seen in that one glance. “I’m not here to entertain you, Damon.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, “but I’m not asking you to. I’m just saying, I get it. I like the mystery.”

Something inside Alicia clicked. The mystery, the challenge — it was what had drawn her in. But over time, it hadn’t been fun anymore. Damon had a way of pushing her buttons, getting under her skin in ways that she didn’t expect. He was possessive, unpredictable, and eventually, that charm started to feel more like control. By the time they’d ended things midway through sophomore year, Alicia had known that Damon wasn’t someone she could trust — not with her heart, not with anything.

It wasn’t until the start of senior year that Damon resurfaced, like a ghost, his presence suddenly there again. He acted like nothing had changed, like their past hadn’t happened, and Alicia had been foolish enough to think that maybe, just maybe, he’d grown up. That he’d realized the stupid things he’d done and would finally leave her alone. But the moment he’d started back working at Brews and Muse and shown up at that party, his hands on her hips again, the old Damon was right there in front of her. She could feel it, all of it — the possessiveness, the way he thought he could just waltz back into her life like nothing had ever happened, all when she was too intoxicated to even realize it. 

And now, looking at his message, she realized the truth. Nothing had changed. He hadn’t changed. He was still the same Damon — selfish, cocky, with the same habit of trying to control things that weren’t his to control.

Her thumb hovered over the screen again. Why did he keep coming back? 

She hated the way she couldn’t shake him off completely, the way he still had that power over her. He was like a fire she couldn’t walk away from, even though she knew it was going to burn her every time.

The old Alicia would have responded with something sharp, something that put him in his place. But now, she just stared at the screen, her heart thumping a little too loudly in her chest.

Maybe the worst part was that she didn’t want him to stop. Not really. She wasn’t ready to admit that yet, though. Not to herself.

Alicia skipped class the next day too. After the chaos of the party, she couldn’t bring herself to face anyone, especially not the looming stress of schoolwork. But she was good at this. She had learned how to get things done without leaving her room — how to slide by without anyone noticing. She spent the entire day catching up on assignments online, knocking them out one after another like a mindless chore. By the time night rolled around, she felt more like herself again, even though a part of her still buzzed with the remnants of last night’s mess. 

Today, though, was different. It was Wednesday, and Alicia was making it to school, whether she liked it or not. The sun was out, and the air was crisp enough to make her feel like maybe, just maybe, today would be different from the rest of the week. She wasn’t about to let Damon, or anyone else, mess up her vibe. She had other things on her mind — things that didn’t involve the drama that had been creeping back into her life.

She pulled into the school parking lot, her Mercedes purring like a cat as she found a spot near the entrance. She wasn’t one to park far away. Why should she, when she had a car that practically screamed “I’m better than you”? Alicia liked her space to be just as unapologetic as she was.

As she shut off the engine, Alicia caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. Her red lipstick was still flawless, and her curls were perfectly styled. She’d spent the morning taking care of herself — a full self-care day that included a cold shower, some skincare routine that felt more like a ritual, and a killer playlist to match the mood. No hangover was going to stop her today. She was going to look good, feel good, and forget about everything else.

She slid out of the car, adjusting her sunglasses and running her hand over the front of her red polo collar t-shirt. It was snug, form-fitting, and her favorite for when she wanted to make a statement without saying a word. The white skirt she wore was just short enough to show off her legs, but not too short that it would draw unwanted attention. It was the perfect balance — feminine, powerful, and effortless.

As she walked toward the entrance, her heels clicked against the pavement with a sharp confidence. She loved the way the red heels made her feel — like she could conquer anything. They were her statement shoes, the ones that made her feel like she was walking on air, even when everything else felt like it was dragging her down. 

A few people turned to look as she passed, their eyes following her like they always did. Alicia didn’t mind the attention, but she didn’t need it either. She was used to being the center of things, and today, she felt like she was on top of it all.

She adjusted the strap of her signature tote bag, the one that carried all of her essentials: lip gloss, sunglasses, notebook, phone. It wasn’t heavy, but it carried a weight to it — a constant reminder that she had things to do, things to keep in motion, and nothing was going to stop her from getting them done. 

By the time she stepped through the double doors of the school, she was already mentally preparing herself for the day. She’d been skipping class, yes, but she wasn’t about to let it catch up with her today. She was here, and that had to count for something. Besides, it was only Wednesday — the week was just getting started, and she had all the time in the world to make things right.

As she walked down the hallway, her eyes scanned the crowd of students milling around. A few of them nodded at her, others just stared. Alicia didn’t bother acknowledging them. They were background noise, nothing more. She was headed for class — or at least, that was the plan. But somewhere along the way, her thoughts drifted back to last night’s message from Damon. 

It was there, lingering like a shadow in her mind. She hadn’t responded, not yet, and she wasn’t sure if she ever would. But the curiosity gnawed at her, the way he always seemed to slip back into her life when she least expected it. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

She had bigger things to worry about. Like how she was going to get through this day without letting the past screw with her present. 

Her first class was in sight. She didn’t know if she was ready to face the people there — especially the ones who probably already knew about the party. But as she walked through the door, her red heels clicking loudly against the floor, Alicia didn’t care. She was here, and that was enough for now.

To her surprise, Alicia was twenty minutes early to class. With no students milling around yet. She had gotten in the habit of being on time, just so she could slip into class without the added stress of running late. The room was empty, and she didn’t mind the solitude — she could get a jump on the assignment for the day, or at least check her phone in peace.

As she walked toward her seat, smoothing the front of her red polo t-shirt, she heard the door behind her creak open and close. Her body tensed instinctively, her heartbeat quickening. She didn't even need to look over her shoulder to know who it was.

Damon.

Alicia didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to acknowledge him, not yet. The way his presence felt too big for the room was a weight she couldn't ignore. His energy had always been like that — consuming, possessive, and suffocating all at once. She could already feel the tension building in the air, like he was marking his territory.

"You're early today, huh?" His voice broke the silence, smooth, but with an edge to it. He always spoke in that tone, like he was used to getting what he wanted. 

She glanced over, her gaze meeting his dark eyes. He leaned casually against the doorframe, a cocky grin on his face, wearing his usual swagger. His thick leather jacket hung off him in a way that only made him seem more dangerous.

"I wasn’t expecting to see you here," Alicia muttered, the words coming out with more bite than she intended. She hated how much his presence rattled her. "What do you want?"

He took a step forward, and Alicia could feel the weight of his gaze. The way he looked at her was always the same: possessive, intense, like he owned her in some twisted way. 

"You know what I want," Damon said smoothly, his eyes never leaving hers as he took another step closer. "I saw you last night. You were on my mind all day. Thought maybe you’d be in a better mood today, but I guess you're still upset about what happened, huh?"

Alicia’s heart skipped, irritation mixing with something else. "I told you, Damon, I’m not interested in whatever game you’re trying to play."

He smirked. "We'll see about that." He took another step, his face inches from hers now, and Alicia had to fight the instinct to back away. She knew how he was — he didn't respect boundaries, and that unnerved her. 

But just as she was about to respond, the door swung open again, and a figure entered that immediately commanded the room. It was Mr. Reigns.

Alicia froze, relief flooding her. At least, now Damon couldn’t get too close.

"What's going on?" Mr. Reigns' voice was firm, his eyes sharp as he scanned the room. There was no mistaking the authority in his voice, and Damon, for once, seemed to recognize that. His confident smirk faltered for a second, but only for a moment.

"I was just talking to Alicia," Damon said nonchalantly, though Alicia could see the anger starting to simmer beneath his calm facade.

Mr. Reigns didn’t buy it. His sharp gaze turned to Damon, narrowing as he stepped further into the room, locking eyes with him. "You and I both know that’s not all you're doing," Reigns said, his voice low and dangerous. "You’ve been following her. You’ve been to parties you have no business being at. But this? Showing up at her class? That’s where I draw the line."

Alicia watched, her heart pounding, as Mr. Reigns confronted Damon. He was standing his ground, the air between them crackling with tension. Mr. Reigns wasn’t the type to back down from anything, and Damon, for the first time in a long while, seemed to hesitate.

"Don’t think I don’t know who you are, Damon," Mr. Reigns continued, his voice cold and hard as stone. "I know everything about you — your father, your so-called ‘business.’ I’m one phone call away from ruining your entire future. You want to mess with Alicia, fine.Try me.”

Damon’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything at first. Alicia could feel the weight of the moment, like a storm was about to break. Damon had never been intimidated by anyone, but Reigns wasn’t just anyone.

Reigns leaned in, his gaze never leaving Damon. "If I were you," he said, his voice steady, "I’d leave. Before I do something you can’t back up." 

For a moment, there was silence, just the sound of Alicia's quickening breath and the tension between the two men. Damon, his arrogance finally cracking under the pressure, smirked again, but it was a little less certain this time.

"You lucky I’m on campus, Reigns," Damon said, his voice a mix of annoyance and something darker, "but I’ll be watching you, Alicia."

Alicia felt a shiver run down her spine, but something else flickered too — butterflies, an unexpected flutter in her stomach. It was the way Mr. Reigns had stood up to Damon, so fiercely, so unapologetically. He’d protected her, even though they weren’t close. 

"Get out," Mr. Reigns said, his voice not budging an inch. "Leave. Now."

Damon glared one last time at Alicia, but without another word, he turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the walls.

Alicia stood frozen, her heart still racing, the room somehow quieter now. She had never seen Damon back down like that. Not with anyone. 

Mr. Reigns turned toward her, his gaze softening just slightly. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and gentle, though there was still an edge to it.

Alicia swallowed, her breath catching in her throat. "I... I think so," she managed to say, trying to steady herself. Her mind was still spinning from the confrontation, but she couldn’t deny the way Mr. Reigns' presence made her feel.

"Good," he said simply, his voice low, a sharp contrast to the stillness that hung in the air between them. His eyes locked onto hers, and he stepped closer, closing the distance with an ease that made her heart race. She didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. The pull between them was magnetic, undeniable.

He was so close now, she could feel the heat of his breath on her skin, each exhale sending a wave of anticipation through her. Her mind flashed back to that night at the party — when he had taken her upstairs, when everything had changed in the span of a single moment. That hunger, that electricity, was still alive in her, stronger than ever.

Her pulse quickened, her thoughts racing with a thousand unspoken words, all leading to the same thing: him.

She looked up at the clock above them. "Fifteen minutes," she whispered, her voice barely a breath, but it was enough. 

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he slowly licked his lips, his gaze darkening, and with a fluid movement, he reached behind his head, his fingers tugging at the hair tie that held his hair back in a messy man bun. When it fell free, his hair cascaded down in waves, perfect, wild, and just as untamed as the energy between them.

His hand moved toward her, fingers threading through her hair with a firm, possessive grip. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn’t help but lean into it, her body responding instinctively.

With one last whisper, barely audible, she said, “Kiss me.”

The words were a command, a plea — and he answered without hesitation. His lips crashed onto hers, fierce, unrestrained. The kiss was rough, animalistic, as though they were both starved for the other. The intensity was overwhelming, like a fire igniting in her chest, and she melted into it, her hands instinctively gripping him back, pulling him closer, never wanting to let go.

He gently lifted her off the chair and set her on the edge of the desk, his hand resting briefly on her waist. The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable as he positioned himself in front of her, his knee nudging her legs apart just enough to signal the shift in the air. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the intricate tribal tattoos that covered his chest. Alicia's breath caught in her throat, unable to tear her eyes away from the artwork that adorned his skin, the designs bold and commanding.

She glanced up at him, feeling the weight of his gaze as it locked with hers. He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between them.

"Don't look away," he said quietly, his voice low, yet firm. "Eyes on me, Alicia."

She hesitated for a moment, her pulse racing, before meeting his gaze fully. The charge in the air was palpable, the tension almost too much to bear.

"Yes, Mr. Reigns," she replied softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

His expression softened, but only just. "Call me... Roman," he murmured, his tone shifting, the edge of authority mixing with something more... complex.

Alicia’s heart fluttered as she nodded, “Yes Roman,”  her breath quickening as the moment stretched on, filled with the unspoken promise of something far more than either of them could yet put into words.

Alicia watched him as he knelt before her and lifted her skirt, taking a moment to admire her lips. With a slow and deliberate motion, he carefully pulled her thong aside and supported her legs on his shoulders. 

He traced the sensitive area with a single digit. "Already wet for me, sweetheart?" he asked with a hint of desire in his voice. Her scent was pleasing to his senses. Many women think men want them to taste like strawberries or vanilla, but if they want to eat pussy, they want to taste pussy. 

He began to lick her, alternating between small licks and long, hard pulls on her sweet little clit. Alicia fisted Romans' hair with one hand as he pushed two fingers inside of her.

Alicia covered her mouth, her fingers trembling slightly as her gaze flickered toward the clock. Her body was flushed with anticipation, heart racing, and she let out a soft, almost breathless moan. “12 minutes,” she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips, a quiet surrender to the electric pull between Romans mouth and her pussy. 

Alicia's pulse quickened as she met his gaze, feeling the weight of the moment pressing in around them. The clock ticked away, each second more tantalizing than the last. She was on edge, caught between wanting to cum already and the undeniable want to never stop, to feel his mouth work magic on her swollen clit forever.

Roman’s fingers thrusted faster, deeper, the feeling overwhelming, his dark eyes never leaving hers. His breath was steady, but Alicia could sense the restraint in him, as though he was holding back—just for now. She swallowed hard, her lips parting more, feeling the heat rise in her core.

“Im gonna… please,” she whispered again, the words coming out softer, almost pleading.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he slowed down his pace. There was no hurry in his movements, no rush. Every touch, every glance, was calculated. And Alicia felt it. Every inch of her was bare to him, of the space between them that seemed to shrink with every heartbeat.

“You’re not in control here,” Mr. Reigns said, his voice low, but it sent a shiver down her spine. His fingers curled inside of her, tilting her head slightly, forcing her to down at him. “Remember that, Alicia.”

She bit her lip, her stomach fluttering with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. She wanted more—she needed more. The pull of his gaze, the intensity of the moment, the way his hands and mouth worked so fucking good.

“You know what you want,” he continued, his voice rough now, as though he, too, was struggling to maintain control. “And I'm giving it to you.”

Alicia’s breath hitched as her heart pounded in her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat. She didn’t have to say anything. Her body was already speaking for her, and Roman knew it.

His hand moved to her waist, pulling her toward him more. Her breath caught as she felt the heat of his body against hers. 

He increased the pace, sucking and finger fucking her until her wetness dripped down his hand and her thighs. He loved it, drunk off the taste of her.

“Roman…” his name came out as a whimper and muffled. His cock throbbed when he looked up and saw she’d clamped her free hand with her mouth to muffle her moans. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he demanded. Rose red flooded her cheeks and tears glittered down her face from the suppressed force of her orgasm. 

Alicia's breath came in ragged gasps, her heart pounding as she lifted her gaze through eyes that were clouded with a mix of emotions. She met Roman's intense stare, feeling the weight of the moment as time seemed to stretch, the seconds slipping away like sand through her fingers. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, every breath feeling deeper, more urgent.

With a soft exhale, she lowered her gaze, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk beneath her. Her thoughts were a swirl of confusion and desire, but there was something about him, something about this moment, that made it impossible to look away.

"three... minutes," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but heavy with meaning. The words were a mix of anticipation and vulnerability, like she was handing him the last thread of control, knowing the clock was ticking down and the world outside would soon pull them back to reality.

Her fingers flexed, and she bit her lip, heart racing as she braced herself for whatever would come next.

Tag List: @isabella-2025 @jaza23 @potatosackk @trentybenty @partypoison00 @empressdede

[weepingflowerbonkcop]

I'm trying to finish these headcannons before moving on. I'd be more than happy to answer any questions about the headcannons. Enjoy reading!

Warnings: Wild being Wild, nothing else.

What the Chain thinks about a Modern! Reader using slang/meme references:

Part 2

Sky

• Sky has some basic education for Skyloft. I'd say he finished high school standards for them, but elementary in our standards. He's still pretty smart but just doesn't show it as much as Four does.

• Sky didn't know what to think of when he first heard modern slang.

• He's one of those people that pretend like they know what you're talking about. Reader would be talking casually and Sky would nod his head, listening intently even if he really doesn't understand.

• He likes it when reader goes to talk to him, but sometimes he'd like subtitles to exist.

• He goes to Four and Wind whenever he doesn't understand a word, hoping that they'd be able to give him some indication/translation of it.

• Memes on the other hand - he's actually pretty good at understanding them. He might not find all of them funny but he does manage to catch what they're about.

• He's that person that hears a joke and goes into a full detailed interrogation of the joke. Something like, "Yeah nah, the bro took his cuzy out to the pub. After he met this nice sheela and got a nice rootin' only to find out the day after it was no sheela." Him not knowing what's going on just goes, "So, you've told me before that a 'she - lah' is a girl, yes? And you've also said a 'bro' is a shorter term for brother. So, what does 'cuzy' mean and what does the root have to do with the story?"

• After you do a break down of the slang he just lights up with a 'ooh' and does a little giggle to himself.

• It's cute but ruins a good story when you have to go into another full explanation of said story.

• He's also an 8/10 at least he'll laugh at memes even if he doesn't find them funny.

Wild

• Thinking about him losing his memories some of his schooling had also been lost since his resurrection.

• I believe Wild is the most adaptable of the Heroes. He had to be adaptable out in the wild in order to survive.

• So, he'd be the quickest - next to Wind - to catch Modern! Reader's slang.

• He would also interpret it into his own day to day talking. His Hyrule is more flexible in my opinion to different ways and languages than other Hyrules.

• Him along with Wind and Four are your main translators to the others. So, when someone is in doubt they run to Wild to ask about a certain word or abbreviation then run back to reader and continue the conversation.

• However, Wild does radiate chaotic energy and sometimes whenever the others try to learn, he'd casually tell them the complete opposite of what it means for shits and giggles. An example, "Wild, what does 'Yo - lo' mean?" "You only lick once." The person would thank him and run back to you, "Indeed only one lick." "What the -"

• This annoys the living daylights out of Twilight, Time, Warriors, First, Calamity - basically all the serious Links.

• Wild appreciates memes from Modern! Reader's world. In fact he sometimes tries to recreate them with readers guidance.

• Other times he would try and create an entirely new genre of meme little does he know he already is with some of his really cursed selfies on his Sheikah Slate.

• Overall 10/10 best boy cause he gets it and screws with people that don't.

Hyrule

• In my honest opinion I don't think this boy had any type of schooling. Most of the things he knows comes from pure experience. He might've been taught more about magic, curses and things more related to the fae since he was raised by them, but no school system like ours.

• Hyrule much like Twilight thought it was just an accent rather than the modern day and age talk when he first heard it.

• Someone had to sit him down though to tell him it's not.

• Hyrule learns from Wild about the terms and their meanings as Wild starts using them more frequently in his own speech. So, Hyrule starts picking up that habit as well and sooner or later you got two four in actuality people talking like anyone from your world!

• I believe he would purposefully go to Legend and start telling him some of the slang that he's learned through either you or some of the others. It's similar to a kid running up to their parent to show them a picture that they drew. Legend actually appreciates this and finds it cute but wouldn't admit it.

• He does surprisingly catch on to memes quick.

• His brain works in mysterious ways as well so he'd instantly understand Modern! Reader's references.

• He does go and have little back and forths with Wind when referencing memes that reader uses the most. It's turns into a challenge between Hyrule, Wild, Wind and Four of who is right with Modern! Reader as the referee.

• He genuinely believes its interesting to hear how different the people in Modern! Reader's world talk in comparison to any of their Hyrules.

• Overall he's an 8/10.